Kiss the Earl (6 page)

He would have to be a scoundrel to take advantage of a madwoman who could not know how beautiful she was, how very close to nude she was. He was a gentleman, and he'd remember that if it killed him.

And if the throb in his blood was any indication, it very well might.

“It is late,” he said, straightening. “You should rest.”

She nodded, her jaw widening on a yawn. “So should you. Where are you sleeping?”

“Ah.” Patrick kept his face stoic. “Well, after my cousin's convincing tale, we are expected to share this room, and there is but one bed.”

Miss Briley frowned, narrowing her arched brows. “What exactly are you saying?”

He glanced around the room. The chair's back was broomstick straight, and the floor looked no less forgiving. But she was an unwed female, and his damned sense of honor would not relent. He stifled his heavy breath. “Nothing at all, Miss Briley.”

“Good.” Scooting down under the coverlet, Miss Briley turned and gave him her back. “Sleep well.”

Patrick crossed his arms and looked down at her. She was in the exact middle of the bed, her shiny black hair fallen around her like some sort of sinful snow, that purple streak standing out bright against the white pillow.

With one last longing glance at the bed, Patrick sighed, then sank into the chair. Blast.

He wished he were less of a gentleman and more the rake Amelia had sworn he could be. If he were, he'd be warm and comfortable now, instead of fully dressed and sleeping in a hard chair.

Chivalry
be
damned
, he thought as he rested his chin on his chest.

He stayed in the blasted chair until close to dawn. He'd removed his coat, waistcoat, cravat, and boots, deeming himself presentable enough in the circumstances. The few times he had managed to drift off into the arms of Morpheus, however, his head would bob like a duck on Meadow Pond, startling him awake.

By the time the sky was starting to lighten in the east, he'd begun to seriously consider what life would be like as a rake, warm in a bed beside a female—even a sweetly strange one like Miss Briley. He'd found his night as a perfect gentleman singularly unsatisfying, and even though there was but a short time left to rest before they must be on their way, he did consider sneaking into bed beside her.

The thought of his late father's scowl of disapproval deterred him.

Miss Briley gave a soft snore, rolling toward him, her lovely face relaxed in sleep. A silky black curl decorated her bare shoulder, and he found himself wondering if it was as soft as it looked.

A sudden noise from the hallway beyond the door caught his attention. Voices coming down the hallway, hushed but loud enough that he could discern them if he tried. Leaning forward, he stilled his breath, listening.

“…sorry, sir, but I ain't supposed to disturb the guests.”

“Oh come now…Sallie, wasn't it? It is my own cousin here. I gave up my room to him and his new bride, but I seem to have left my handkerchief inside. Besides, I spoke with him last eve, and he was most desirous of my having a quick word before I left this morning.”

A giggle came then, and Patrick panicked. Oh, that silver-tongued devil Iain would be in here, sure as a shot, wanting to see if his machinations from the night before had worked.

A slight sound drew Patrick's attention to the bed. Miss Briley was awake, and her eyes were wide with panic.

“Well, if'n you promise not to tell old Smitters, and he really did want to see ya…”

Patrick had no warning. Before he could protest, Miss Briley reached over and grabbed his arm, yanking him toward the bed.

“Get in here!” she hissed, jerking open the buttons of his shirt as he nearly fell into the bed. She twined her arms around his neck and began a passionate kiss just as the door squeaked open.

“Oh goodness! Pardon me, Your Grace…” Sallie began.

Patrick shot her a glare without lifting his mouth from Miss Briley's, who was kissing him as if her life depended on it, twining her fingers in his hair as if she'd been waiting all night for him to come to her. It was difficult to remember that there was an audience then, because her touch was delicious, her body soft and warm from sleep, curving around him like she belonged there. Patrick stifled his groan of pleasure and settled for kissing her more deeply. Her mouth was soft, pliant, hot, and sweet, and it would be so easy to forget this was a ruse.

“I say, Coz, well done.” Iain looked over Sallie's shoulder, his eyes twinkling with devilry as he took in the scene. “We'll leave you to it. Come on, Sallie.”

With a bit more force than necessary, Iain shut the door. At the loud click, Miss Briley's eyes opened, staring directly into Patrick's.

For a moment, Patrick continued kissing her, purely for the enjoyment of feeling her soft lips on his. God, he'd not imagined she could feel this good, be this responsive. He should stop. This was wrong. But she was so warm, so willing. His hand ran down her back, resting on her full hip. The simple touch did it. His senses returned and he tore his mouth from hers.

With no warning, Miss Briley shoved him away.

To Patrick's great dismay, there was not enough bed behind him to prevent him from tumbling to the floor. He landed with a hard thump on the cold floorboards. There was no denying that he deserved it, but damn, that hurt.

“What do you think you're doing?” Miss Briley clutched the covers to her chest, looking for all the world like an outraged virgin.

“I beg your pardon, madam.” Patrick shoved himself to his feet. “But you are the one who pulled me into your bed and kissed me.”

Miss Briley glared at him, the covers high under her chin. “I did what I needed to do to keep us from getting caught. What's your excuse?”

His temper flared. “Excuse for what?”

Her glare speared him through, but she said nothing.

He glowered back. “Had I wished to ruin you, I could have done so last night. And if anyone gets word of our being alone together and puzzles out who we truly are, you'll be ruined anyway. I am a gentleman. Were I not, would I have allowed you to wallow alone in that very large and comfortable bed?”

Her cheeks fired hot. “I don't wallow.”

“You certainly made use of the whole bed, madam, leaving not one scrap for anyone else.” The fact that he'd never have joined her was immaterial at this point. He was exhausted and irritated, and she made an excellent target.

“Well, you're the one who got me into this mess. If not for you, I'd be—”

“Be what? If you are to be believed, you would be searching for some magical key to send you back to the land of the future. So please, do tell me, Miss Briley, if not for me, where would you be?”

She looked away, not answering. Her hair was mussed, her lips pink from their kiss. She looked damned delectable.

Patrick realized then that he'd been shouting, his hands on his hips, glowering down at her as if she were some sort of recalcitrant child. He, of all people, should have known how awful that could feel. Shamefaced, he dropped his arms and took in a heavy breath.

“I apologize again, Miss Briley.”

“Ella,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. She lowered her hands into her lap, staring at them. “My name is Ella. Can you call me that, please? It's kind of all I've got here.”

Sweet Lord, he'd hurt her feelings. Some gentleman he was. Patrick shook his head inwardly. He'd have to treat her more kindly. None of this was her fault, after all.

“Of course, if you wish it, Ella.”

She gave him a wan half smile. “I'm sorry about last night. And this morning. Dumping you on your ass on this cold floor wasn't the nicest good morning you've ever had, I bet.”

Despite himself, Patrick laughed. “True enough.”

With a little wiggle that reminded him of just how well she'd fit against him earlier, she scooted over in the bed. “If you're honorable enough to sleep in that chair all night, then I'm sure I can trust you to take a nap beside me, if you want. We can sleep another hour or so, yes?”

Though he was truly exhausted, he started to say no, but she continued.

“I know you're engaged, and I promise to stay on my side of the bed. Seriously, it'll be fine.” She patted the space next to her, the sly chit.

He opened his mouth to tell her that he wasn't engaged, not really, but some sort of devilry urged him to keep that information to himself.

“Thank you, but I cannot.” Patrick moved to the chair.

He was as mad as she was for even considering it.

* * *

As Patrick settled into the straight-backed chair, Ella wondered what the heck she'd been thinking, inviting this strange man into bed with her. She clutched the covers to her chest as she looked at him, his tawny, tousled hair falling across his forehead as he crossed his arms.

He was only feet from her.

His shirt was open.

He was hot, and that made Ella really, really uncomfortable.

She cleared her throat and rolled over, facing the window. The technique didn't exactly work, though. The feel of his lips was still burning on hers, a delicious sensation that she couldn't shake.

A heavy breath blew behind her, and Ella blinked at the dark wood of the wall. She'd slept pretty soundly, and that wake-up call was definitely unexpected. Unexpectedly wonderful, actually. She ran her tongue over her lips tentatively. Patrick was a damn good kisser, if she did say so herself. His hands were large and expressive, and his touch had turned her on like nobody else had before.

Not that she had a lot of experience in the bedroom, that is.

A soft snore came from over her shoulder, and she chanced a glance back at him. His dark-blond lashes dusted his cheeks and his strong jaw was shadowed with new beard growth. His shirt hung open, gifting her with the sight of his chest. A light dusting of hair coated his defined pecs and disappeared under the waistband of his breeches. Blushing, Ella jerked her gaze back to the ceiling.

She was ogling him in his sleep. Was she really that desperate?

Curling up into a ball on her side, Ella tucked her chin into her chest.

She'd never had what could really be called a boyfriend. When she was in high school, in a backwoods suburb of Chattanooga, Tennessee, she'd agreed to attend her junior prom with a new student. Her first date ever. He'd been okay looking, she guessed, but about as good with girls as she was with boys. They'd danced, he'd snuck under the bleachers with a few jocks and they'd passed around a forty, and then afterward, Ella had driven him home in his mom's minivan. A “magical” ten minutes in the backseat, and she'd been relieved of the burden of her virginity.

Ella winced, bringing the covers up to her nose. She wasn't proud of that. But at least she'd been a willing participant. She couldn't exactly say the same of the disastrous date she'd had in college. Fortunately, a little self-defense training went a long way, and she'd been able to get away from that asshole. That one was supposed to be a movie and a late dinner after. Instead it'd been an uninvited grope and a trip to the ER for the asshat.

Another snore met Ella's ears, and she smiled despite herself.

Patrick wasn't like either of those guys. Of course, he was also titled, engaged, and completely off limits, but still. She was here, a couple hundred years before any of her experiences had even happened. She was so far away from her past mistakes—maybe they couldn't touch her. Maybe her regrets wouldn't haunt her here. Maybe she'd been given this chance to become a braver, better, stronger person than the Ella Briley who lived in a small apartment and tried her hardest to avoid life outside her comic pages.

Maybe she could. Maybe she would. And maybe Patrick would help her.

Just then, a loud yowl rumbled through the covers and echoed in the otherwise silent bedroom. Ella grabbed her stomach, trying to silence it. It only growled louder, signaling her hunger for probably three counties.

A hearty chuckle came from Patrick's direction. Of course he wouldn't sleep through that.

“You seem famished,” he said, smiling over at her. “Shall I ring for some breakfast?”

Ella wanted to fall underneath the bed and die. Instead, she just nodded. God, how embarrassing.

“If you'll excuse me,” Patrick murmured, then stood. He yanked on what Ella presumed was a bell cord, then disappeared behind a screen in the corner.

Oh
God
. Ella's stomach dropped. There was something she hadn't thought about. There were no flushing toilets here. Before, she hadn't stayed long enough for it to be a problem. But now? It was a problem. And she was in the same room. With a man. A handsome, polite gentleman. Who would hear her pee if she didn't do something drastic.

Patrick reappeared from behind the screen, adjusting his breeches and then wiping his hands clean with a wet cloth.

“Maybe you should go get us some breakfast,” Ella said, looking toward the window. Her legs shifted nervously beneath the covers. “I mean, go downstairs and see if it's ready.”

“I just rang for it,” Patrick said mildly, drying his hands on a towel. “They'll be up in a moment.”

“But what if they need help? Shouldn't you go check?” Things were getting desperate. Now that she'd heard him go, her bladder was tap-dancing. Things were urgent.

He gave a laugh. “You are truly extraordinary. I am an earl, and we are guests here. I'm no idler, but the servants are completely capable of bringing up a breakfast tray for—”

Ella clamped her knees together with a whimper. “Please. Don't ask me why, but I need you to leave for a minute.”

He didn't lose his smile, but his brows peaked in confusion. “Well, I—Oh.” He went as pale as the white curtains at the window as her situation finally dawned on him. “Oh. I'm so sorry, of course. Privacy.”

He grabbed his waistcoat and coat, and pulled them on, yanking open the door at the same time, muttering apologies all the while.

Ella would have laughed if she could have, but as it was, she had one goal, and it was behind that screen. She swung her feet over the side of the bed, and as carefully as she could, she walked on the outside edges of her abused and bandaged soles, wincing with pain as her weight descended on the tender skin. When she got behind the screen, she looked down at the unassuming, lidded china pot.

“Man, am I glad I was forced to go camping when I was little,” Ella said, picking up the lid and wrinkling her nose. “If I can squat behind a tree, then I can do this too.”

It wasn't fun, but it was a relief, and once Ella had taken care of her needs, she hobbled back around the screen. She washed her hands, then sat down on the ladder-backed chair to check out the clothes the maid had given Patrick the night before.

A pair of short boots, their brown leather a little scuffed but nice enough; some kind of stockings; an underdress, plain and kind of shapeless, with a little white ribbon around the neckline; and then, the dress. It was a soft blue, a little plain, but pretty enough.

Ella smiled at the dress. It wasn't anywhere near the same time period, but it kind of reminded her of all the costumes she'd worn for the Renaissance Faires. It was pretty, girly, and feminine. This would be fine. Besides, beggars couldn't be choosers, and right now she was certainly a beggar.

Taking advantage of the fact that Patrick was still out of the room, Ella wriggled out of her skimpy blue dress and pulled on the white undergown. Since her Spanx were out of commission after the way she'd tried to make them into makeshift bandages last night, she went commando. Hey, what they didn't know couldn't label her, right? But man, she wished she had a bra with her. But there wasn't any help for that. As she slipped on the blue dress, Ella wondered what Patrick would think of her new look.