To Wed a Wicked Earl (20 page)

“Yes, he is. He was, that is. I have no idea if he has been delayed or changed his mind.”

She stared at him, looking as if a thousand thoughts were rambling through her head. Her lips worked, but no words emerged.

Perhaps this was the extent of her anger? He hoped. Maybe? He flashed her a devastating roguish grin, hoping it would offset her anger. It had worked for him before…albeit not on this particular woman.

“How dare you smile at me,” she bit out. She pushed at his chest with all her might. It didn’t move him an inch.

She kept trying, grunting with the effort.

“Charlotte, what are you trying to do?”

“Push you down, you selfish, self-absorbed, egotistical man!”

“You could have stopped at the first adjective. I’m quite sure they all mean the same thing.”

“What are we to do?” she asked desperately, giving him one last push that did absolutely nothing but wrinkle his shirt.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he assured her quietly.

“What do you mean? Of course we have to do something! Now we have to get married!”

He shook his head slowly, his mind again coming to grips with the fact that this woman would never, ever, want to marry him.

“I can’t marry 
you,”
 she said, sounding as if she would cry.

His jaw hardened. “I am well aware of your preferences in men, sweetheart. Now,” he said, stopping himself just short of reaching out to brush a silky curl from her collarbone, “do not worry. My grandmother will not hold us to it. In fact, there is a chance she will forget all about it before she even reaches the house.”

“But what of my mother?”

“Your mother has no idea. And it will remain as such.”

Her gaze searched his. “But why? Why did you need to do this?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

It occurred to him then just how dark the sky had become. Indeed, it looked almost like dusk. “Come, I’ll explain as we walk.”

They were halfway to the house and he was halfway through his explanation about his necessity for haste in finding a temporary bride when the sky opened, pelting them with heavy drops of rain.

The closest shelter was the small covered porch of the back door. Shrugging off his coat, Rothbury handed it to Charlotte to hold over her head. They were running now, slipping in the mud that seemed to form instantly on the path.

His hand sought hers, hoping she’d take it so he could be sure she didn’t fall. She batted it away.

“Why me?” Charlotte shouted the question over the roar of the rain and ensuing thunder. “Out of all those women at the Hawthorne Ball, why did you pick me?”

“Because I…Because I…” 
Because I love you
. “Because I knew that out of anyone there, you were the easiest to persuade, the easiest to fool.”

He hated the words.

She stopped cold. So did he.

The driving rain drilled down on them. He turned to face her. Ready to receive whatever punishment, whatever scathing looks or words she wanted to give him. He deserved it all.

At first he thought all she would do was stand there and glare up at him, her spectacles dotted with rain. But then her chin lifted and hardened. Reaching out with one hand, she pushed him as hard as she could.

This time, however, Rothbury was not on steady ground. His leather boots were encased in slippery mud and her puny shove did him in.

He fell backward. He didn’t even fight it.

Ironically, Charlotte didn’t wait to witness the successful result of her shove. He reckoned she didn’t even realize what she had actually accomplished.

As he lay there in the mud, watching Charlotte as she marched away from him holding his coat over her head and shoulders, he felt he was exactly where he deserved to be.

Well. It was done. Tomorrow, after they visited the haunted forest, Charlotte and her mother would be on their way back to London. And rightfully so. He didn’t know what bothered him more: the fact that he had hurt her or the fact that if she didn’t find a suitor quickly enough, she’d find herself married to Witherby before the year was out.

He needed to ride. To hell with the rain. As soon as he changed, he’d ready his horse himself and set out to God knows where. In fact, why bother changing? In fact, why bother staying in England? Perhaps he’d go abroad. Visit his sprawling villa in Italy, pay a return visit to the sunny paradise of Cyprus, reintroduce his senses to the exotic spices of the Orient.

Slowly and sloppily, he rose up enough to lean on his elbows, his eyes settling on Charlotte’s retreating form.

And then the oddest thing happened. She stopped and spun around.

Shaking her head, she strode back to him, nearly slipping a couple of times, but managed to catch herself before she joined him in the mud.

She extended her hand. “Come on,” she said, holding back a laugh. “Get up.”

“No,” he said. “I think I’ll stay.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Grab my hand.”

“Charlotte, go into the house. It’s freezing, you’re wet, I’ve got mud in places I didn’t even know I had…”

“Rothbury…”

“Oh, all right. I’m coming. But you’re not helping me up. Right now, you’re just wet. I, however, am covered with five pounds of mud. If I touch you, I’ll ruin your clothes.”

Gingerly, he stood, shaking his head to dislodge water and mud that had found its way into his ear, then followed her to the covered porch.

Walking through the painted columns, they paused to catch their breath. Just being out of the driving rain felt like heaven.

Her sodden skirts were nearly plastered to her legs, but because of his coat, her upper half was almost completely dry. Well, there was a mist of rain upon the flesh of her exposed bosom above her bodice. And a scattering of droplets upon her face. He watched as one ran over her cheek and dipped down to the corner of her mouth. He wondered if it was a rivulet of rain or a damn tear that 
he
 had caused.

“I forgive you,” she said, breathlessly. “You’ve helped me in the past. But I still think you should have asked me instead of tricking me.”

“I agree,” he said, just as breathlessly.

Her eyes dipped to his mouth as he spoke, igniting a scorching heat in his blood.

Surely, he was misjudging where her eyes were cast. Her spectacles were streaked with rain. He could be mistaken. He had to know.

Slowly, he reached out, gently pulling them from her face. She did nothing to stop him. And damn if her sapphire gaze was yet fastened to his mouth.

He swallowed hard. “Charlotte, are you all right?”

She nodded. “I realize why you did it, but I’m…”

“You’re what?” She needed to stop looking at his mouth.

“I’m quite sure…”

“Charlotte?” His heart thundered in his ears.

“Hmm?”

“I will replace your ruined dress,” he stated firmly.

“But my-my dress isn’t ruined. It’s only rain.”

“And mud.”

“There isn’t any mud,” she pointed out, her brow quirking. “You’re the one covered—”

One heavy hand at her waist, the other molded to the back of her head, he dragged her roughly against him. His starved mouth swooped down upon hers, smothering her next words with his kiss, changing her next syllable into a soft, feminine moan.

His coat lay forgotten on the floor along with her spectacles.

This kiss, this first kiss, was not subtle, soft or gentle. It was as if they were ravenous for each other. She opened so easily for him. He didn’t expect this reaction from her. Truly, he hadn’t expected to kiss her today. But as their mouths joined, their lips caressing, moving hungrily, steadily becoming more demanding, he wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner.

“I could kiss you for hours,” he drawled hotly against her mouth. “Possibly for days.” It felt as if he was savoring heaven. Something Rothbury never thought he would ever even glimpse let alone taste.

She responded to his words by grasping at the sodden material of his linen shirt, her arms trapped in between their chests.

The feel of her lush mouth under him was intoxicating. She tasted sweet, wet, the rivulets of rain upon their faces making the kiss wilder, hotter somehow.

His lips moved hotly over hers. He had thought about this moment for so long, and now that it was actually happening…it was better than he ever imagined it could be.

She stumbled a bit, sinking further into him. Her hands now clutched at his shoulders, her fingers sinking into his muscles. Sweet Lord, she was kissing him back, a bit too eagerly, especially when the rhythm of his kiss slowed before picking up again. It was as if she was afraid that he was stopping.

Over and over she met his movements, surprising him with her fervor, humbling him with her unexpected enthusiasm. For a second he had to ask himself, just who was kissing whom here?

He broke the kiss for a moment, his lips a breath away from hers. They were both panting heavily.

“Still think my kiss is rather mundane, Charlotte?”

“Mun…what?”

Hmm. Kissed her senseless. He could live with that.

“Do it again,” she whispered, tilting her head, offering her mouth to him.

Staring down at her swollen bottom lip, he gave it a little lick.

A small, soft moan sounded from the back of her throat.

“Ask nicely,” he whispered.

“Please.” She gave a lock of hair at his neck an impatient tug.

He came undone. Delving his tongue inside her sweet mouth, he walked her backward until her back met one of the pillars. With one hand cradling the back of her head for protection, his other hand held her hip immobilized, under his control. Rhythmically, he sank his tongue into her honeyed depths, mimicking the motion of making love.

She whimpered, the sound a desperate plea. Her fingers threaded through the damp hair at the base of his neck; her other hand clutched at his forearm.

He squeezed her hip, his long fingers digging into her soft bottom as he rocked her into his arousal.

For several moments, she ground her hips against him as he plundered her mouth. The kiss was no longer enough. He wanted to take her. Right here, right now. His fingertips trailed down the back of her neck to caress her shoulder, her arm, her breast. His breath hitched when she pushed herself more firmly into his hand. She wanted his touch. He complied of course: he would never deny her. Gently he kneaded her through the fabric of her dress, purposely passing his thumb over the hardened tip. She made a small sound of pleasure that nearly pushed him over the edge.

The manor, the rain, the mud disappeared. Reason and practicality were momentarily suspended. Nothing mattered in those moments. Nothing but the ever-escalating power of their passion.

And then suddenly, everything seemed too quiet. The rain had stopped. The radiating warmth of sunlight spread along his back. Their movements stilled, their lips parted. The spell cast between them had broken.

A rhythmic sloshing sound, imbedded somewhere in the distance, grew closer. Someone was coming.

He set her apart from him just in time to spy Tristan rounding the far corner of the manor.

“Who is it?” Charlotte asked.

“Tristan.”

“Did he…do you think he saw…”

“Undoubtedly, part of it at least.” Truthfully, all he could have seen was when Rothbury set her apart of him. But she didn’t know that. And given what she wanted to accomplish today, that just might be all that Tristan needed to see.

“Wh…why did you do that?” she asked, bringing up her hand to touch her fingertips to her lips.

His gaze swung back to her. He was such a damned idiot. He should have never brought her here. But he was weak. Years of self-imposed restraint, months of being close to her, it had all come to a tipping point once she stared at his mouth quite like she 
wanted
 to kiss him. But the idea was preposterous. She considered him her friend. She thought she could turn him into a gentleman, and if anything, his behavior just now only drove the point home that she was wasting her time.

Belatedly, he realized she wasn’t wearing her spectacles. That’s right. He had taken them off of her. They must have dropped. He scanned the ground.

“Did you know he was there? Did you know he was coming? Was that why?”

Hell, no, that wasn’t why. But he couldn’t tell her why.

No, she didn’t want him for a husband, he wasn’t good enough for her. But she sure as hell couldn’t deny her response to him. He should be relishing the moment, but all Rothbury could think right now was how much he wanted her heart.

“Was that why you kissed me?” she asked through her teeth.

He grasped the excuse Tristan’s presence presented. “That was your little plan, wasn’t it?” he bit out. “Got a little swept away, did you?”

Bending down, he plucked her spectacles from just to the left of his mud-caked boot. For a second he mulled over the fact that there wasn’t a stitch of clothing on his person that wasn’t soaked with mud or rain. He couldn’t possibly clean them. But he needn’t worry about it much longer.