My Brown-Eyed Earl (10 page)

 

Meg bristled. “I am quite capable of making the journey to my bedchamber without assistance.”

“You almost swooned earlier,” Will said.

“How gallant of you to remind me.”

He shrugged. “And then you drank claret at dinner. Therefore, I will escort you to your room.”

Feeling her blood heat, she crossed her arms. “I feel that I should have some say in this matter.”

“I feel that I should be allowed to play the part of a gentleman. After all, you've already emasculated me once today.”

Dear God. He was never going to let the incident go.

“Besides,” he continued, “I won't have you tumbling down the stairs, creating yet another mess for Gibson to clean up.” Ouch. He stepped closer, much closer than was proper, and offered his arm. “Indulge me this once … Meg.”

Her name was a whisper on his lips. Soft. Seductive. Meanwhile, his eyes gleamed mischievously, daring her to say yes.

Though she knew she shouldn't, she slipped her hand in the crook of his arm and let him slowly lead her from the room and down the corridor.

They made their way up the staircase in companionable silence, but she was much too aware of his long legs brushing her skirts and his powerful thighs flexing as he took each step. Swallowing, she averted her gaze.

Thankfully, this sweet torture was almost over. When at last they reached the landing, she whirled toward him, intending to bid him goodnight. Mistaking her sudden movement for tipsiness, he gasped and steadied her, his large hands encircling her waist.

They stared at each other for several seconds, and Meg noticed he was breathing almost as hard as she was.

“You weren't about to fall just then, were you?”

“No. I am generally able to manage a staircase without catastrophe.” Although she'd tried for a breezy tone, it sounded more breathy.

He frowned at his hands, still firmly settled just above her hips, as though they'd betrayed him. “Well then, this is embarrassing.”

Embarrassing, yes, but also exhilarating.

“There has been no shortage of humiliation today,” she agreed.

His brow wrinkled. “But today wasn't
all
bad, was it?”

“I suppose not—if you discount Diana's near trampling and me breaking your crystal glass and kneeing you in the—” She threw up her hands and leaned her forehead against his chest. “It's been a horrid day,” she mumbled into his waistcoat.

He chuckled, but Meg didn't care. It felt so good to stop sparring with him, to let down her defenses for a moment and simply absorb his strength. She was tired of fighting him and perhaps, more specifically, the attraction she felt toward him.

As though he understood, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her flush against him. “Everyone is safe,” he reminded her. “Diana, you, and even me.” He held her there at the top of the stairs and lightly caressed her back and neck till she was certain her knees had turned to jelly.

“Come,” he said softly in her ear, “sit down next to me.”

He helped her sit right there, on the top step, settled himself beside her, and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “It's not a bad view from up here.”

Meg had to agree. Moonlight streamed through the transom above the door in the foyer, making the polished marble floors glisten below them like a river. The chandelier's teardrop crystals twinkled above them like stars. And the stairs, covered in a plush runner, rose up to meet them like a grassy hill in the countryside.

In was easy to imagine that they were miles away from London, and that only the two of them existed. “It's lovely.”

“Do you want to know my opinion about today?” he asked.

“Please.”

“As far as days go, I'd say today was a very good one.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “I fear your standards are rather low.”

“I don't think so. First, it must be noted that in spite of the near misses, all serious injuries were averted. Almost as remarkable, you and I reached a truce. But for me, the best part of today was dining with you and, well … right now.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, which she felt somewhere in the vicinity of her chest.

She swallowed, then asked the question she simply had to know. “Why is now the best part?”

“I suppose I like having someone to share the view with.”

Odd. He sounded almost lonely.

“And because,” he continued, “while I do enjoy our little battles of wits, I also like to see you smile. Your smile is…” He rubbed the stubble on his chin as he searched for the words. “Bright, fleeting, rare. Like a comet shooting through the midnight sky.”

She blinked slowly, letting his words sink into her skin and thrum throughout her body. Dumbfounded, she stared at the chiseled perfection of his face. “That's … beautiful. But my smiles are not so rare.”

“No? The ones directed at me are rare.” Cupping her face in his palm, he lightly brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I suspect you'll make me wait seven years to see it again.”

She smiled at that, because it was ridiculous and sweet and because she couldn't stop herself if she tried.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his expression turned serious. “Meg,” he breathed. It was a question. A plea.

In response, she leaned forward.

And then his lips were on hers.

It was the height of foolishness to allow the kiss, even worse to invite it, but it seemed to be the predestined ending to their strange, emotional day. All of the fighting, the bargaining, and the revealing had led to this, the most unlikely of kisses.

And yet, here they were.

His mouth slanted across her lips, still parted in a soft smile. His hand cradled her cheek, pulling her closer and claiming her as his—at least for the moment. He growled and deepened the kiss, thrilling her with the knowledge that he wanted her. Desired her.

She wouldn't have believed it possible a few short hours ago, but there, on the earl's staircase in the evening's waning light, she could imagine that she was not a governess in a dowdy dress.

At that moment she was, as he'd said, a comet, bursting across the heavens in a shimmer of light.

A delicious shiver shot through her limbs as their faces bumped lightly, retreated, and came together again. He speared his fingers through her hair, cursing at the blockade presented by her tight bun. Changing course, he trailed his fingers lightly around her ear and down her neck, where the barrier of her modest neckline renewed his ire.

Unwilling to surrender, he teased the seam of her lips apart with his tongue, daring her to open to him. She did.

Never before had she been kissed like this—like it was meant to lead to something more.

Though her head was muddled with equal parts shock and bliss, she was certain of one thing: the earl could teach her all she needed to know about kissing. And other things as well, no doubt.

Yes, she was in excellent hands. And since the magical evening couldn't last forever, she might as well enjoy it while she could.

Tentatively, she curled a hand around his neck, lightly tugging the soft curls at his nape. When he groaned, she gave herself over to the kiss—and him.

The earth beneath her gave way, and she was floating, anchored only by his hand on her hip and his mouth on hers. She thought of nothing but the taste and feel of him, the pressure and heat of his body next to hers. Her breath came in short gasps and her skin heated. When the wall of his chest brushed against the front of her gown, her nipples tingled and hardened to tight, aching buds. As though he knew, he reached between them and caressed her breast, teasing its peak through the layers of lawn and wool, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

She cried out softly, but he swallowed the sound and murmured against her mouth. “I always knew.”

Reluctantly, she broke off the kiss and pressed her forehead to his. “What did you know?”

His heavy-lidded eyes gleamed, reflecting her own desire. “That you were a magnificent, passionate creature.”

In other circumstances, she might have been insulted, but since he clearly meant it as a compliment, she decided to accept it as such. “Thank you.”

“I told you the day wasn't all bad. We managed to salvage the end.”

He pressed a kiss to her palm and held her hand in his lap for a minute, giving her pulse a chance to return to normal. With each beat of her heart, she felt the spell between them slowly breaking, and the stark reality of their situation intruding once more.

She had
everything
to lose. Her virtue, her pride, her job.… her heart.

Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled her hand away and smoothed a tendril of hair behind her ear. She required time and space to think about what had just happened and to figure out what, if anything, it had meant. “This day did have some things to recommend it. However, I think that now I shall truly retire for the evening.”

When she reached for the balustrade to pull herself up, he immediately stood and offered his hand, lifting her to her feet. With his hair disheveled and cravat askew he looked vaguely lost. Almost vulnerable. “Until tomorrow,” he said, his words holding the hint of a question.

“Of course.” However, she wasn't really sure of anything. Not while her lips were still swollen and her mind was still reeling from his kiss. “Tomorrow.”

He walked beside her as she made her way to her bedchamber, crossing his arms as though he didn't quite trust his hands to be free. As she opened the door, he stepped aside but lingered.

Perhaps he wanted to say something, like
I shouldn't have kissed you
. Or ask her a question, like
Could we pretend this interlude never happened?

Or maybe he wanted to kiss her again.

Her skin tingled at the thought.

He leaned his long frame against the doorjamb, reached for the curl resting on her shoulder, and twirled it around his finger as though mesmerized. His gaze drifted to her mouth, and she knew. He
was
going to kiss her again.

But instead of coming closer, he dropped the curl and backed away solemnly. “Good night, Meg.”

She closed the door to her room and rushed to the mirror above her washstand to check her reflection. She wanted to see if her face looked as flushed and her lips appeared as swollen as they felt. In short, she wanted to see if she had the look of a woman who'd been ravished.

But no. The change, it seemed, was primarily on the inside.

It was only after she'd washed, changed into her night rail, and slipped beneath the covers of her sumptuous bed that she realized the irony of the evening she'd spent with Will.

She'd gone to see him intending to turn in her resignation, but had ended up
kissing
him.

Even worse, she'd begun to think of him not as
the earl
or
Lord Castleton
, but as
Will
.

Clear signs she had begun the steady and inexorable descent into madness.

 

Chapter
TEN

 

Despite the warm breeze wafting through an open window, the room reeked of stale sweat and blood. Will eyed his opponent, Alec, who lightly bounced from foot to foot, his boxing gloves raised in front of his torso. Their weekly match at Jackson's Saloon was a welcome diversion from the mental flogging Will had been giving himself since kissing Meg—his
governess
for God's sake—the night before last. It complicated everything, and complications were precisely what he did
not
need.

But Alec was no novice at the sport, and if Will wanted to preserve his month-long winning streak, not to mention his straight nose, he had to focus on the basics—footwork, jabs, and blocks. Damned difficult, since Alec had the
highly
annoying habit of initiating conversation while they sparred.

“I saw Marina at the opera last night,” he gasped.

Will dodged a punch intended for his jaw. “That's nice.” It had only been a week since Will had broken things off with his mistress but seemed more like a year.

“She asked about you.” Alec swiped a forearm across his brow. “Said she misses you. I'd wager she's willing to take you back.”

Will deflected a blow with his left glove and landed a punch to Alec's abdomen with his right. “Lucky me.”

Alec grunted and stumbled back a few steps before sticking out his chest and clapping his gloves together. “You could go back to your old arrangement. I thought you'd want to know.”

“Don't care.” A week ago, Will might have. But seven days without Marina had made him realize that he was better off without her—and there was no doubt that she was better off without him.

“Well, well, well,” Alec drawled, “isn't that interesting?” He wore a grin that begged Will to knock his teeth out. “One of the most beautiful women in London invites you into her bed”—he feinted to his left, just out of Will's reach—“and you
don't care
?”

“None of your concern.” Will wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple with his forearm and shot his friend a warning look.

“Would this sudden disinterest in your former mistress—by all accounts a skilled seductress—have anything to do with your new governess?”

A lightning quick burst of power surged through Will's arm as he swung and connected with Alec's cheek. He felt the satisfying smack of leather against skin, and—

Bam.

Alec hit the ground like a felled tree.

Shit.
Will dropped to his knees beside his friend, who was out cold. “Somebody bring water,” he yelled to the half dozen men who'd been watching, “and smelling salts.” Then to Alec, “Can you hear me? Say something, you blazing idiot.”

Alec groaned, pushed away the salts being waved under his nose, and blinked. “Jesus, Will. You almost took off my head.”