Kiss the Earl (20 page)

She wasn't sure how she held it together through dinner, but she did. Sitting at a table across from Patrick was pure torture, and she avoided looking at him as if he were a Gorgon. Fortunately, Iain was his typical self, joking and making suggestive comments and wriggling his dark eyebrows at Ella.

The jealousy on Patrick's face would have warmed her heart if she had seen it, which she totally hadn't because she wasn't looking at him. Not even from the corner of her eye, watching as he ate some kind of raisin-filled dessert, his arm muscles flexing as he raised and lowered the spoon from his lips.

Damn it.

Ella tossed her napkin onto the table. “I'm heading up to bed. Good night.” She gave Iain a tight smile as she turned to go.

On the other side of the door, she paused to ease the catch in her throat. Blinking through eyes that were suddenly watery, she looked up at the ceiling.

Chill
out. Come the hell on.

Before she could move toward the stairs though, Iain's voice drifted from the dining room.

“Did you tell her?”

Patrick's reply was brusque. “Tell her what, that we are leaving? Certainly I did.”

“No, about Mrs. Comstock. She deserves to know that she will be here for quite a while, if she is able to return home at all.”

Ella's heart stalled out, then started thumping in triple time.

“No, I have not.” Silverware clattered as if Patrick had tossed his spoon atop the table. “I saw no need to distress her. Once this business with Amelia is concluded, then we shall make arrangements for Miss Briley's well-being.”

She had to lean against the wall. Her legs wouldn't hold her up anymore.

“I would marry her, you know. She is quite comely; it would be no chore to bed her.”

Patrick's snort acted like a gunshot wound to her heart. “You would bed a sow, you randy goat. Neither of us will be forced to wed her, so put it from your mind. Come now, let's have some port.”

A hand clapped over her mouth, Ella ran up the stairs.
Damn
him, damn him to hell and back.
Every time she thought she was done being hurt by something he said, he'd rip her heart in two all over again. Eventually they'd have enough for a party, little pieces of Ella-heart confetti everywhere.

Once the bedroom door closed behind her, Ella stopped—stopped moving, breathing, thinking, everything. Just for a second, she needed to be free. Of everything.

But it didn't last long. Once the need for oxygen burned too much to ignore and her eyes opened, reality crashed down and it motherfricking
hurt
.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Ella stripped out of the yellow dress and tossed it over the chair. She slipped out of the stockings, undid the ribbons on the chemise—as Mrs. Templeton had told her it was called—and finally removed the bandaged padding from her heel. The wound had scabbed over now, the flesh a much healthier pink now that the infection was gone.

Moving slowly, with a huge dose of trepidation, Ella stopped in front of the full-length mirror.

There she stood, Patrick's huge, masculine bedroom laid out behind her. She sniffed as she took in the truth of what she was, who she was.

She was pudgy, her skin dotted here and there with imperfections—moles, tiny scars from childhood and klutziness beyond. Her breasts were okay, she guessed, but they could be a little perkier, better shaped. She certainly wasn't going to win any awards for them. Her thighs were too thick, her legs too short, her waist not small enough. Raising her chin in defiance, Ella stared straight into her reflection's watery eyes.

“It doesn't matter,” she whispered. “None of this matters. Not what you feel, not what you've done or what you've tried. None of it changed anything, and now what have you got? By the time you get back, there will be no job, no home, no life, and most definitely, no Patrick.”

Her little speech finished crumbling her insides, and she crawled beneath the covers to vent her feelings. Stuffing the corner of the pillow into her mouth, Ella sobbed.

It wasn't because Patrick was leaving, or that he'd lied, or that she really didn't know what the heck he felt about her. It was that she honestly, really thought she had begun to understand what love was about, what it felt like to have your world revolve around another person and their happiness, because they made you feel so incredible that you wanted to dance and sing and yell in public.

And now that she knew he didn't feel that way about her? It was too much. She was stuck here alone, and she'd be alone forever.

“So I'll cry if I want to.” The words came out half-choked, the pillowcase wet against her cheek. Her breath burned inside her lungs, and the rough, ugly sobs shook the bed.

It took several moments for her to realize she'd heard something. Peeling her cheek from the pillow, she lifted her head.

“Ella? Are you in pain?”

“No, Patrick, go away!”

Whoa, she hadn't meant to say that out loud, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Ella lifted her chin, wiping at her stinging, raw cheeks with the back of a hand.

The door cracked open and Patrick's face appeared. “Ella?”

“I said go away.” She pulled the sheet over her head, hoping that he'd take her not-so-subtle hint. He may not love her, but she hadn't thought he was cruel. Staying here while she was sobbing classified as cruel to her.

“You sounded as if you were in pain. You are not ill again, are you? You should not have walked so far this afternoon.” His footsteps came closer until they were right next to the bed.

In her makeshift burrow, Ella began to bargain with higher powers—anything to get him the heck out of the room and leave her to her misery.

“Ella?” The sheet drifted downward, and she grabbed it as quickly as she could.

“I don't want to talk to you right now,” she said, well aware that her voice was still rough from crying and she sounded like a petulant kid anyway.

“I am sorry, but I must know that you are healthy before I go. I could not forgive myself if I—”

“If you what? If you hurt me?” She yanked the sheets down and glared bloody murder at him. “It's too late for that.”

“What do you mean?”

Why did he have to look so sincere? She wanted to be angry with him, wanted him to get out of her life without twisting her heart into any more knots. But the way he sank down on the edge of the bed, his eyes saying more than his lips ever had, it made her want to…

“I never asked you to marry me, you jerk,” she whispered as her tears streamed faster. “I heard you talking to Iain. You hurt me, Patrick.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” Patrick whispered as he cupped her cheek. “I swear to you, I never meant for this…”

He leaned forward to kiss her, and God help her, she closed her eyes and met his lips eagerly.

It was too late for her anyway. She might as well enjoy the fall.

* * *

He'd only meant to check on her. Intending only to ensure that she was unhurt, he'd passed by the room, but when he'd heard her heart-wrenching sobs through the door, something inside of him had twisted and strained, forcing him through that door, and now he was kissing her.

This was too much for any mortal man to bear, and yet he must. There was no choice at this point, only passion.

He slanted his mouth over hers as she parted her lips, and he plumbed her depths with eagerness. She tasted salty, her tears lending an almost poignant tang to their embrace.

The sheet slid down between them, and as Patrick's hands moved down her neck to cover her shoulders, he made a startling realization.

She was blessedly, totally nude.

Shifting closer to her, Patrick surrendered to the urges that had been plaguing him since he had first laid eyes on this bewitching creature. Pulling the sheet down, past her waist, over her thighs, he raised his head and feasted on the sight of her nakedness.

When she drew her hands up to cover herself, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment, he stopped her.

“No, Ella.” He grasped her hands in his. “Let me look at you.”

“If you keep doing this, I don't know that we can stop.”

“Who told you we should stop?”

The look that crossed her face was like sunshine after a month of rain. Sudden and beautiful, it sent shockwaves to his heart.

He would do anything to make her that happy again—including betray his own code of honor and make her his own.

As he leaned forward to kiss her again, a sudden doubt crossed his mind.

What was he doing? He'd told Iain that she was a young lady of quality, not one to be trifled with. Was he no better than the rake Amelia had planned to present him as? Had he lost all his morals, all his breeding?

“Patrick?” She raised her eyebrows in a worried look. “Are you all right?”

Could he truly ruin her? Was he that selfish?

And then her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and at the sight of that tiny, innocent action, all his baser instincts took over.

He captured her mouth with his own, tongue teasing and lips tugging, advancing, and retreating as she writhed against him, her mouth open and begging for more. He indulged her as his hands roamed the planes of her body, memorizing every curve, dip, and hollow of her flesh. Her pebbled nipples strained against his palms, and she moaned in pleasure as he massaged the turgid points.

“Please,” she whispered against his mouth. “I want you so much. I've never wanted anyone like I want you.”

Her words woke some sort of masculine pride deep within him, and he bit her neck lightly. She tossed her head back in abandon, her greedy hands tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, silently begging for more. He indulged her, kissing and sucking and laving her tender neck with his tongue.

She was so sweet, and she was his. If only for tonight, she would be his.

“You are wearing way too many freaking clothes,” she gasped as he nibbled her collarbone.

“I couldn't agree more.”

His fingers fumbled on the buttons of his waistcoat, but he quickly recovered and made short work of it. Ella helped push it from his shoulders. Whipping the shirt over his head, he groaned as Ella began kissing his chest.

“Easy,” he warned as her fingers went to the buttons on his breeches. “I do not know how long I shall last if you continue to tease me.”

“I'm not teasing,” she said with a wicked grin as the fabric loosed enough for her to slip her hand inside. “It's not teasing if you plan to deliver.”

She was so wicked in her sweet, shy way, and he could not get enough. In just a moment, he was as naked as she. As he stood by the bed, arms at his sides, he followed her wide-eyed gaze.

All the way to his groin.

“You're beautiful,” Ella said, drawing her knees up. Patrick did not bother to tell her that this position gave him a rather excellent view of her beautiful womanly parts.

“Men are not beautiful.”

“You are.” She was looking at his rod, and he was relishing the sight of her womanhood, and he could quite happily expire from pleasure at just the thought of sinking into her glistening, hot flesh.

He knelt on the bed in front of her and kissed her tenderly, stoking her hunger. Soon she was running her fingertips over his chest, tracing the lines of muscle down his body. And when her hand closed around the tip of him, he nearly shouted with pleasure.

Not to be outdone, however, he laid her back against the pillows, careful not to discourage her touch. Kissing his way down her body, he stopped at her breasts—light, soft touches of his lips and tongue around the top of her swells, moving down, down, around the edge of her areola, his tongue flicking and teeth scraping ever so gently over her skin, leaving goose pimples in his wake.

Her hips lifted against him, and she panted, her eyes going wide with want. “Please,” she hissed, her back arching in supplication.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, intentionally aiming his breath over the peak of one breast.

“I… I…” She tossed her head back and forth, fighting her own desires and his demands.

“Tell me, Ella.” His forefinger traced a circle around the edges of her dusky pink nipple, being ever so careful not to touch the straining bud.

“Kiss me.”

Her moan was too much for him to deny. And when his lips captured her hardened peak, he knew he had found heaven.

Surely nothing on earth was sweeter than this woman's body beneath him.

As Patrick's mouth closed on the aching tip of Ella's breast, she thought she'd died. Stars exploded behind her eyelids and she gasped, her back arching as his hot, wet mouth loved her turgid nipple.

This was more than she'd ever thought she could feel with another person. And, even more incredibly, it was Patrick doing these things to her—Patrick's hands traveling the planes of her body, Patrick's tongue making lazy swirls around her nipple, then nipping it softly. She tangled her hands in his hair, never wanting him to stop.

Until, that is, his hand splayed across her lower belly, pinky finger tangling in the small triangle of curls that she, quite thankfully, had neatened up before leaving home.

A girl never knew.

“Patrick,” she said, hardly able to recognize the throaty, needy voice as her own, “please.”

Her hips lifted as her core throbbed, aching for his touch. She'd dreamed about this, about a man's large hand pressing up against her damp heat, his finger dipping inside her, but she'd never dreamed it would be this good.

But damn him, he took his time. Lifting his head from her breast, he smiled down at her.

“Please what?”

“Don't make me beg,” she gasped as his hand traveled lower, his pinky finger gliding along the inside of her nether lips—just enough to drive her crazy.

“How am I to know what you'd like if you do not tell me?”

He was truly the devil. His palm now covered her throbbing wetness, pressing oh-so-gently against her, his forefinger lightly caressing her inner petals. She curled her fingers against his chest, raking her nails down muscled skin lightly dusted with dark blond hair.

“You know what I want.” Her forefinger rubbed across the masculine bump of his nipple, and she was happy to see that his nostrils flared in pleasure. She'd tuck that information away for use later.

“Perhaps this?” He dipped his finger just inside her entrance, and she gasped, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body was throbbing with want now. Her nipples ached, they were so hard, and her knees trembled with the effort of keeping still.

“Or maybe this?” The heel of his hand pressed down on her clit, and she couldn't stifle the long, low moan that came from the depths of her in response. She bit her lip, hard, trying to keep her hips from grinding against the delicious pressure of his touch. His forefinger was moving now, pressing inward, then withdrawing, never going deep enough—just a tease, really.

“Yes, more.” Not knowing what else to do, Ella raised her arms and gripped his shoulders. She wanted to touch him, to drag his essence into her and not let go. He was playing her body like an instrument—one that was so simple for him to master. She ached to make him feel the same, but her brain was so fogged with lust she couldn't function.

“Perhaps this will be enough to satisfy you.” Never breaking the rhythm of his palm on her clit, he added a second finger inside her.

“Ah,” she moaned as the delicious stretch registered. His fingers were moving deeper now, aided by the rush of moisture from her body. The soft, wet sound of his rhythmic manipulation of her only made her want more.

Her eyes flew open as she realized his fingers weren't enough anymore. She'd show him what she wanted. But was she brave enough?

Reaching out with a trembling hand, she started at his hip, trying to focus through the delicious sensation his hand was giving her. His skin was so warm, taut—a delicious feeling that she could relish for days, if she'd had the time. But as her lower belly tightened, she realized that time was a luxury she didn't have. He was going to bring her to orgasm soon, and she wouldn't be able to stop it. If she wanted to come with him inside her, she'd have to work fast.

Marshalling her courage, she let her hand drift lower, across the crinkly mat of hair at the base of his belly, and then her nervous fingers closed around the base of him.

“Oh God, Ella,” Patrick moaned, his rhythm faltering as her palm circled his erection.

Ella smiled. Finally she was making him as crazy as he was making her. Emboldened by her success, she carefully stroked up and down his length, making sure to rub her fingers across the heavy drop of crystalline fluid at the slit. Smoothing the wetness over the silky, plumlike head of him, she stroked down to his base and then back up.

“I want you inside me,” she breathed as she looked into his wide, lust-filled eyes. “Please, I don't want to wait anymore.”

Pressing a third finger inside her, Patrick smiled as she gasped in pleasure.

“You don't have to wait a moment longer.”

She released him as he came to his knees and maneuvered himself atop her. Ella's legs were spread wide, her body open to receive him. With one last glance at his thick erection, Ella let herself drown in the delicious want he'd stirred in her belly.

This would be amazing, because this was Patrick, and he would never hurt her.

“Ella,” he said only a second before bending his head and kissing her deeply. She wound her arms around his back and reveled in the feel of his tongue exploring her mouth, her back arching to bring her aching nipples closer to his chest. And then his blunt head was pressing against her wetness, and she gasped into his mouth as he slid home.

There was no pain, only an incredible stretching, tight feeling as her body burned around him. For just a moment, they lay there, holding each other tight as Ella's body became more used to the deep feeling of Patrick's sweet invasion. Though she hated to break their kiss, she did, just so she could bury her face against his chest and breathe him in.

The moment was so perfect that she didn't want it to end.

But then Patrick began to move inside her, and it only got better.

Slowly at first, he slid out, then even deeper inside her, brushing against her throbbing clit with each thrust. Ella moaned in pleasure as he quickened his pace, the beautiful muscles of his arms straining as he held his weight suspended above her. She let her hands wander over his body wherever they wanted—over those delicious biceps, across the span of his pecs, down to his defined abdominals, then her nails curving into his pistoning buttocks.
More. Deeper, harder, faster.
The words tumbled through her head, but she couldn't voice them, just low moans and pants of pleasure as he quickened his pace within her.

“Ella, I cannot wait much longer,” he said, his voice a husky growl as his eyes glittered at her. Shifting his weight to one elbow, Patrick reached between them and found her throbbing, aching nub. With a gentle finger, he rubbed circles around it, quickening his pace to match the thrust of his hips.

The delicious ache in Ella's lower belly tightened, circling faster as he manipulated her, thrusts and fingers and body straining all for that same peak. Her pants became moans, became screams as she shattered, her body clenching at his, her hands clutching at his shoulders, trying so hard to bring all of him inside her, deep as he could.

With a growl of possession, Patrick thrust deeper than ever, shuddering as he poured himself into her. Ella's gasping breaths echoed the deep jerks of his body inside hers.

Then, the room was silent, only their pounding hearts and heavy breathing mingling with the crackle of the fire in the hearth.

His sweat-dampened body atop hers, Ella held him tight.

She'd never imagined she could feel like this about anyone. It was too much. She could never have expected it.

With a smile on her face and the thought that everything was different now, Ella fell asleep, still cradling Patrick deep inside her body.

* * *

Patrick was shattered. Utterly and completely. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to withdraw from the sweetness of Ella's body and stretch out beside her, tucking her close to him before unconsciousness claimed him.

But when he woke, several hours later, pleasure was a distant memory.

Ella was curled against him like a sleeping kitten, her hands tucked beneath her chin and her delicious bottom against his thigh. He looked down at her in the dimness of the firelight and wondered what the hell he'd been thinking the night before.

He'd spilled his seed inside her. He'd taken her as if she were naught but a common doxy, and had not even had the presence of mind to attempt to prevent a pregnancy. She had a home to go to, one she longed to see more than he could fathom. He could not marry her and keep her from that, but how could he let her go?

Staring up at the ceiling, Patrick looked within himself. Quite frankly, he did not like what he saw there.

He'd been selfish, a bounder, never considering what Ella might take from their exchange. Would she demand marriage? She was well within her rights to. But she had not been a virgin. There had been no maidenhead to bar his entry to her body. A flash of jealousy had scorched him, but it had dissipated quickly in the pleasure of the moment. No matter what had gone on before, Ella was his alone last night.

But what now?

“What do I do?”

His whispered question went unanswered, as he'd expected. As a gentleman, he should offer to make an honest woman of her. But would she feel obligated to wed him to satisfy his honor? Could she ever be happy here, kept apart from her friends and her occupation?

With his brain a tumble of fevered worries, Patrick found himself unable to sleep. And in any case, he reasoned as he carefully slipped from the bed, it would not do to have Mrs. Templeton find them in bed together.

Then she'd have no choice but to marry him.

After gathering his discarded clothing, Patrick quietly pulled on his breeches and shirt. With a last glance at the still-slumbering Ella, Patrick left the room and headed straight for the guest bedchamber he'd been occupying ever since he'd brought Ella to Meadowfair Manor.

As he walked as quietly as he could, Patrick reaffirmed his decision. He'd leave in the morning, just as planned. Nothing had really changed. It would be best for him and Ella to have some time apart. They had been too much in each other's company since they'd met. This madness, this passion and longing she stirred in him caused him to do things he would otherwise never consider. He was a gentleman, and that code was all he had. Without his breeding, his manners, his comportment, who was Patrick Meadowfair? Patrick did not know, and he did not care to find out. He was an earl, and he would do the Meadowfairs proud—starting with clearing his name regarding Amelia's most recent escapade.

He'd lit several candles and begun to pack for his and Iain's journey to London—living without a valet had been quite different over the past few weeks—when a knock came at the door.

“Yes?”

The hinges squeaked softly as the door swung open. Ella's face looked pale in the flickering light of the candle she carried, framed as it was by her tousled black hair.

“I woke up and you were gone. Is everything okay?” She slipped into the room, wearing his white nightshirt.

He looked down into the case he was packing, trying to gather his words. He must treat this situation delicately or risk hurting her again.

Egads, he was a damned blackguard.

“I did not wish to wake you. I needed to pack for the journey, you see.”

He glanced back at her. Her knuckles had gone white on the candlestick's small handle. “You're still going?”

“Of course,” he said, carefully folding a pair of breeches and tucking them inside the case. “Amelia is still missing, and I cannot ask my cousin to continue to search while I stay here and do nothing.”

“And you still don't want me to go.”

It was not a question, and he knew it, but he answered her anyway.

“I believe it would be best, under the circumstances, if you and I were to enjoy some time apart.”

She set the candlestick down on a side table with a heavy thunk. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He was making a right bungle of this. He must tread carefully now. Setting the stack of fine lawn shirts aside, Patrick turned to her. “Ella, please, calm yourself. I—”

“Calm myself? After everything that happened between us tonight, you're just pretending that I don't mean anything to you? That's bullshit, Patrick!” Her cheeks were stained pink with temper, and her voice was approaching a yell.

“Please, Ella,” he said, palms out in a supplicating gesture. “I assure you, this is in your best interests. What happened between us tonight was a mistake brought on by too much closeness, and I—”

“Mistake?” she echoed, her jaw dropping in shock. “You think that sleeping with me was a mistake?”

“Perhaps that was not the best choice of words,” he said quickly. “I only meant that perhaps we had not thought through the possible consequ—”

“You aristocratic bastard!” Ella had dropped any pretense of lowering her voice and was now in a full-fledged temper. “How dare you? I don't just do that with anybody—it has to be special! I thought you understood that, and I—”

“Am I perhaps interrupting something?”

Patrick had never been so happy to see his cousin in his life. “Iain!”

Ella's mouth thinned into a line, and she crossed her arms and glared at Iain as he slipped into the room. Iain gave a cheery smile first to a grateful Patrick and then to a glowering Ella.

“Sorry to bother you, Coz, but as I was making my way to my bedchamber, I heard angry voices. Am I perhaps interfering in a lover's tiff?”

Though his fingers itched to close around Iain's throat, Patrick smiled tightly. “Just a difference of opinion.”

“I see.”

And Patrick was afraid that Iain did see, much more than Patrick wished for his cousin to.

“Do not worry, I shall be ready to ride at dawn.” Patrick nodded to his half-packed case.

“Do you know, I don't think you will,” Iain said, looking down at Ella. She'd stopped even paying Iain the slightest bit of attention and had resumed her death stare at Patrick.