The Earl and His Virgin Countess (10 page)

“I did.”

She glowed with an inner beauty that blinded him. Joining hands, they faced the minister, whose lordly voice rang out to the standing-room-only wedding in his church. Andrew should have listened more closely to what the man had to say. But, in truth, his entire focus stayed directed on Miranda.

Since the announcement in the paper, he had been the ultimate gentlemen, escorting her and Sarah wherever they wished to go. He attended every ball Miranda received an invitation to. Her joy in being invited overruled his desires not to go. And the hostesses invited her to every single blasted ball held, as were the other
House of Lords
wives. The ton clambered to meet the new wives and claim an association.

He hadn’t known true frustration until two weeks earlier, when Miranda’s well-mended ankle finally allowed her to dance. He’d gritted his teeth when men, eager to fill her dance card, swarmed and demanded her attention.

“The waltzes are mine,” he had said in a loud tone, daring any of the young whelps to test his stake. And Miranda had danced beautifully, never missing a step, and after each waltz, it required every bit of his self-control not to throw her over his shoulder and find a private room in which to claim her innocence.

After one particular dance, he’d found needs so blatantly obvious, she’d had to walk him off the dance floor and guide him to the well-lit garden patio. His hand had clutched the stone railing until the rock cut into his palms.

“Why are you waiting?” she asked. “I am yours for the taking, if you will but have me.”

“You have waited twenty-plus years for me. The least I can do is wait a few more weeks for you.”

She grazed his cheek with her lips, bestowing the softest and most chaste of kisses. “You are very sweet, but you hide it well.”

“Let’s keep that between us, shall we?”

Taking in the beauty of his bride, he let his joy show. It was considered bad ton to wear one's heart on his sleeve, but Andrew had never particularly cared what was considered socially acceptable or not. He wanted the room to accept the contract meant nothing, but his heart wanted, needed, to have the woman beside him for the rest of his life.

“I will.”

As they walked in the open air, he handed Miranda a bag of coins to distribute to the children who had come out to witness their lord wed. She would be a good countess to them, making sure the families who worked his land were taken care of. She had proven such that very week when she’d brought baskets of food to two families in need, one a widow whose husband had died, and the other had welcomed a new mouth to feed.

Once back at the estate, with the guests fed, cake cut, and rounds made, Miranda leaned in to whisper in Andrew’s ear, “How much longer must we stay?”

Concern filling him, he touched the back of his hand to her forehead. “Why? Are you feeling all right?”

“I am ready to become your lawful wife in every way God intended. I do not wish to wait any longer.”

Andrew couldn’t breathe. A month of frustration and vivid, erotic dreams blended with hours of awake fantasies had made it impossible to get any work done. He’d been useless at Parliament, and, if not for his steward, his lands would be in worse shape than his nerves. Yet, his vixen of a wife stood before him, batting her eyes like a harlot in the body of a virgin goddess.

The shock on Andrew’s face forced Miranda to bite her lip to prevent a chuckle. The poor man had been torturing both of them without good reason. She wanted him to have his moment of chivalry, but only frustration could describe the feeling he caused. She wanted him to touch her, kiss more than her lips. She wanted his hands on her body, on her over-sensitive skin.

Once he pulled himself together, he asked, “What the hell kind of virgin are you?”

“The kind that is sick to death of being a virgin. So, do you intend to take care of this issue or not?”

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her behind him. “Ever your servant.” He approached his butler, who stood in the corner of the ballroom. The reddish tinge on the normally stoic man’s face revealed he knew exactly what his master had planned. With a bow, he wished them a good evening.

“Evening?” Miranda arched an eyebrow at her new husband.

“Oh, more likely a few days.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Stopping, he lifted her into his arms and took her into the private chambers of the earl and countess, a section of the house she had yet to visit.

Addressing the footman, he said, “No one is to disturb us. No one. Any food may be left by the door to the lord’s suite, and I will get it.”

“Yes, milord.”

Once inside the chamber, Andrew placed her on her feet, then began to work at the tie around his neck while leading her to a large room in the back covered in gold trim and ornate carvings. He was out of his overcoat, vest, and shirt before she had taken in half the room.

“You can explore the room to your heart’s content later. Allow me to play ladies maid and help you out of your gown.”

“It’s amazing.”

“The gown or the room?”

“Both, but I meant the room.”

His fingers were like whispers against the bare skin exposed on her back. “How do I get these things undone?”

“The lacings are inside at the bottom.”

“It’s beautiful but it needs to come off,” he said, easing the dress from her. Grasping her shoulders, he pivoted her to face him, then gulped. “Good God in heaven.”

The modiste had created her chemise and petticoat of the sheerest silk material, and the corset, which usually covered at least the bottom half of her breasts, lay beneath, leaving a clear view of her nipples under the chemise. And it had been her decision to go without pantaloons.

Recovering from his shock, he reached for her. His lips were hungry for hers, his fingers working her nipples into hard, aching nubs. She wanted more. And the friction of the fabric against her skin only made the ache grow.

She moaned and rested her hands on his bare arms. “Get this corset off me.”

“Can you breathe with it on?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then it stays, you minx. I want to make love to you in this.”

“But we have to be naked. All the books show people naked.”

Drawing back, he searched her face. “What books?”

“The books Aunt Sarah lent me.”

Breathing hard, he raised his eyes toward the ceiling and cupped her breasts with his hands. “You are very dangerous.”

“I simply wanted to be more active in our lovemaking.”

“If you are any more active, I might never survive to take your maidenhead.”

“We can’t have that.” Lowering her hands, she stood stiffly and faced forward like one of his footmen. “Will this help?”

“You. Are. A. Minx.”

She stole a peek at her husband and said, “You’ve said that already.”

“If you have no care for your safety, I will have to take it in hand.”

“Please do.” She never imagined that lovemaking could be so playful. One second, her feet were firmly on the expensive silk carpet, the next she lay flat on her back on the plush bed.

“Don’t move.”

By the sound of his voice, she didn’t venture to shift an inch.

Other than a stout curse as his foot hit the bedpost, the only sound she heard was the remainder of his clothing hitting the floor. And, finally, the bed lowered from his weight as he climbed over her. He pulled her petticoat up over her thighs and gathered it at her hips until his hands found her apex. Spreading her folds, he eased a finger inside. Throwing her head back, she groaned. His touch soothed the fire deep within, not putting it out, but tapering it so it didn’t consume her.

“You are so wet.”

“I have been wet for hours.” She lifted her head to kiss his lips.

The thin hold on his self-control broke and he returned the kiss feverishly, his fingers working her into the same passion he had aroused in her before. She should tell him to slow down, but worried if he didn’t claim her, she would burst into flames. Sliding her palms over his chest, she moved them up to his shoulders and pulled him closer. She ached to get closer.

“You have to slow down,” he mumbled against her lips. “Trust me on this, please.”

“I can’t stop.” She whimpered, needing him more than the air she breathed. “Please help me.”

“I will, but trust me when I tell you if you want this to be good, you have to slow down.”

She gripped his shoulders tightly, believing him. He had the experience to make their union pleasurable. Nothing she’d read in the naughty books her aunt had given her talked about virgins and their experience. Everything she had read dealt with woman who wanted to improve the sex life they had in new and varied positions. Her aunt had advised the first time would hurt, but she’d also echoed Andrew’s words to trust him. Miranda took a deep breath and released her thighs from around his hips, not realizing she had wound them around him.

“We need to slow down a bit. I had the whole evening planned to make this special for you.”

She looked into his eyes. “Haven’t you figured out yet that everything with you is special? I never imagined you could be so kind and romantic. You have made up tenfold for my years of sadness with weeks of joy.”

“With you, it’s simple. Miranda, I love you. A thousand times I’ve thought to tell you that. But this—now, seemed like the very best time. So I waited.”

Tears blurred her vision. “You have shown me in everything you do that you care for me. It’s why I met you at the altar today. If, for one second, I’d thought my feelings for you weren’t reciprocated, I wouldn’t have come.”

“You love me?”

“Yes, and before you worry. I didn’t love the earl. You were right; you
are
two different men. I admire the earl very much, but I love you, Andrew.”

He caught her lips with his again, but softer, less frantic. Caressing her breast with one hand, he worked her thighs open with the other then slid it under her hip to lift her. He rubbed his hard cock against her once, twice, before positioning it at her opening and slipping in. He stopped at her maidenhead. She met his eyes and breathed deeply in preparation. Fear filled her. Yet, he waited, merely holding still above her. Unable to form a word, she nodded, and murmuring words of love against her mouth. He flexed his hips and surged.

A gasp caught in her throat. Pain filled her, tears formed, and, for a moment, she considered pushing him away.

Cupping her cheek, he caught her tears with the pad of his thumb and held her tight. “I am sorry—breathe with me, my love.”

As he filled his lungs, so did she, and, together, they worked through the sharp hurt. Slowly, the pain faded, not completely, but enough to allow her to experience a strange, but not unpleasant, sensation of fullness.

“I am all right.”

“That’s all, no more pain. I promise.” He slid out then back in.

Fear turned to marvel as what little pain remained lessened, to be replaced by the sensations of being full and part of more than simply herself. He eased up from her, never breaking eye contact, but brought his cock to the very entrance of her womanhood.

She squeezed, hoping to hold him in place. “Don’t leave.”

“I don’t plan on it. Simply letting you feel your way.”

Tentatively, she lifted her hips and, when he groaned, she did it again. She loved the feel of his muscles as they contracted with every thrust forward, only to relax again when he nearly left her.

He maneuvered his hand between them, working her nub. Bliss rocked through her. As he sped up, so did her desire to feel that ecstasy again.

Urging him on, she dug her heels into the bed until she screamed his name and let the tension go and waves of ecstasy passed through her. His hips pounded into her, and she held on for dear life, until he grunted and collapsed. Holding tight, she ran her fingers through his hair, and over his sweat-dampened back. Closeness like she had never imagined engulfed her, and she relished it. She imagined nothing sweeter in her life than this moment with him.

“I’m too heavy,” he murmured.

Not minding the weight, she went to protest, but he had already rolled off of her, pulling her into his embrace. With a painstaking pace, he worked at the ties of her stays, loosening them enough that she could pull them over her head, along with her chemise. The petticoat soon followed, leaving she and Andrew gloriously naked, with the late day sun coming through the window bathing them in its warmth.

“Perhaps, if we should ever have a girl, we could name her Eve,” Miranda said some hours later, her head resting on his chest, as he played with her hair.

“I think we will have to beat some other couples to the punch with that one then.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are a few people I know who are giving thanks to the matchmaking abilities of Madame Eve.”

Rubbing her bare leg up his, she lifted her head to gaze at him. “We should try hard to beat them then.”

“I love the way you think.” He rolled over, forcing her under him. “Now, tell me about these books your aunt gave you.”

“What…but you already have plenty of experience in the bedchamber!”

“Perhaps you have a lesson or two to teach me.” He curved over her, taking advantage as she hoped he would when she arched her neck for better access.

“You want me to show you?” her voice sounded far huskier than she’d ever imagined it could. And, although he was still leading her at the moment, she knew one day he would let her take control, but, for tonight, she loved how he made her feel, how much he felt for her. She’d never dreamed she would be loved as much as she loved, but he had proved he did. As his lips made a trail from her neck to her collarbone, all thoughts fled except the need to have this man in every way she could.

“Perhaps after a few more lessons myself,” she agreed.

“How about I show you, then, my love?” Pulling the covers over them both, he blocked out the rest of world until only the two of them existed.

Award winning author Dominique Eastwick grew up a US Navy Brat, so if there was a Naval base that was probably home. She currently resides in North Carolina with her husband, two children, crazy lab and lazy cat.