When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) (16 page)

“James?”

He did not answer.

“Well, I shall require your assistance with my gown, at least. We left Grimsgate so quickly, I neglected to bring a maid. Dreadful nuisance, but”—she sighed with false regret—“one bears what one must.”

He stopped near the window, looking out at distant flashes and gentling rain. “I know what you’re about.”

She raised a brow. “Do you?”

“Yes.” The word sounded like gravel being ground beneath his boot. “You may cease your seduction, Viola. There is no need for it. I bloody well plan to bed you.”

Uncertain what he was nattering on about, she gripped the edge of the wooden table harder and tried to tear her gaze away from his thighs. They were thick and heavily muscled beneath the fabric of his pantaloons. Tucked alongside his left thigh was an additional bulge. This, she presumed, was the male member Georgina had described, although the size was both longer and thicker than had been reported, likely because everything about James was bigger than other men. Most compelling. “Mmm. That is relieving to hear.”

“It is just that I must … determine how best to approach the precise … mechanics of it all.”

Alarmed by his stuttering confession, her eyes shot up to his face. His red-flushed face. “Oh, dear,” she murmured, blinking rapidly. “This is rather unusual, is it not?”

He sighed and nodded.

“Both
of us being untried, I mean,” she continued, her teeth nibbling at her lower lip, her hands strangling the poor, cheap dressing table as genuine worry began to set in. “Well, I do know a little. Mrs. Cumberland has been surprisingly helpful in that regard. I suppose if you and I both apply what knowledge we possess, and we do those things which bring us both pleasure, then we cannot go too far wrong, can we?”

“Viola.”

“Perhaps we should begin by removing our clothes.”

“Viola, I am not—”

“Or, rather, do you think we should start with kissing? I adore kissing. At least, I did the first time you kissed me. Come to think of it, you seemed quite skilled in that area, as I recall.”

“I am not untried.”

“Yes, I am certain we should commence kissing immediately. Removing our garments will feel much less silly after—”

“Viola!”

Startled away from her rapidly progressing plan of action, her eyes flew to his. “Oh! Yes?”

“I am not a virgin, lass.” He appeared to be struggling against mirth, as he was wearing both a frown and a suspiciously firmed mouth.

She swallowed. “You aren’t?”

“No.”

Now, she was the one reddening. “Well, what else was I to imagine?”

“Perhaps that our relative sizes might prove a challenge.”

“I don’t know why it should matter.”

“Because I have no wish to hurt you.”

“You would never hurt me.”

“I would never mean to, lass. But these hands”—he held them up—“could bruise you too easily. Not to mention, there are other parts of me that might prove difficult for your wee body to manage.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

“The first time a woman lies with a man, she suffers pain, even without such a … disparity.”

She folded her arms across her bosom, thoroughly annoyed with his obvious hesitation. The man had avoided her grasp long enough. “You shall not evade your husbandly duty with this silly nonsense, James Kilbrenner.” She turned her back to him and gathered her hair over one shoulder. “Now, unfasten my gown, if you please. I cannot reach all the buttons.”

Several seconds of silence ticked by before she felt his fingers plucking lightly, deftly at the embroidered silk covering the center of her back. The resulting tingles spread all the way around to her breasts, where her nipples tightened and strained against their confinement. She lowered the bodice of her gown and slid the straps of her chemise down her arms, bunching the fabric around her waist.

“Good,” she said, her voice breathless. “Now, my corset, if you please.”

Again, those fingers he so feared might hurt her tripped like a whisper through the delicate laces of her corset. The thing loosened, causing her bosoms to spill forth. She caught the fabric against her with one arm.

“Much better. Now, shall I assist you with your—oh!” The last word was a moan. She could not help it. His big, strong, capable hands had suddenly shifted, sliding beneath her loosened corset and coming around to cup her breasts. She leaned back into his big body, her neck arching with the spectacular pleasure of it, her skin tingling and sparking with it. Then, it got better. His mouth nibbled at her exposed neck. His hands began moving. Stroking. Pleasing her nipples with sweet little circles of his palms. The heat of his breath mingled with the rasp of his jaw against her skin. “James,” she pleaded. “Oh, that is really just lovely.”

His tongue played over a spot between her shoulder and neck. As he lifted his head, the spot cooled deliciously. “We’re only beginning, lass.” His fingers squeezed her nipples with a firm pressure that made her gasp and sent her hips writhing back against him. “Perhaps now you’d like to help me with my coat.”

*~*~*

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“A man’s most arresting talents may not be obvious, but a discerning woman seeks them diligently. And a clever one puts them to proper use.”
—The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady Rutherford upon said lady’s remarkable description of Lord Rutherford’s newly acquired skills.

Lying naked on the bed and rapidly developing a chill, Viola propped herself up on her elbows and loudly sighed her impatience. “What in blazes are you searching for?”

James, now garbed in only his white linen shirt and buff pantaloons, dug through the contents of his valise. “It was here. I am certain of it.”

“Can this not wait?”

His eyes came up. Lingered over the length of her. Went hot and molten and hungry. His throat rippled on a swallow. “No. It cannot.” Frantically, he returned to his task, dumping fistfuls of items—clothing, what looked to be supplies for shaving his whiskers, a small book—onto the floor. Soon, divine relief came over his face. He closed his eyes briefly as though saying a prayer of thanks.

Curious, she frowned at the small, flat wooden box in his hand. “What is it?”

Without answering, he stood and moved to the dressing table. She heard the rustle of paper and a bit of splashing. Beginning to feel conspicuous lying there without any covering, she grasped the edge of the wool blanket and drew it over her body. It was rough and scratchy against her skin, but at least she would not catch a chill. She turned onto her side to face her husband, letting her eyes linger over his broad shoulders and muscular buttocks.

Already, warmth was returning to her flesh. Perhaps it was the blanket.

He reached back to grasp a handful of his shirt, just below his neck, and drew the shirt over his head, exposing a gloriously naked, divinely sculpted male back to her avid gaze. Inexplicably, her heart began pounding, seizing at the sight of so many muscles bulging and flexing beneath his skin. Heat took her in its hold, flushing and throbbing and needing.

He turned around to face her. And it grew worse.

“Oh, James,” she groaned, biting her lip and sliding her legs against the sheet beneath the blanket. He was beautiful. So big and heavily muscled, she could scarcely take in the sight of him. A fascinating mat of hair covered his upper chest, diminishing in the space between his ribs, becoming a mere dusting around his navel. The hair was darker than that on his head, swirling a bit around flat nipples. “You are … you are wondrous.”

Those massive, wondrous shoulders shrugged. “I am a brute.”

She raised her eyes to his.

He glowered fiercely.

She smiled slowly.

He wetted his lips and ran a hand through his hair. “Viola, you must help me.”

She sat up in the bed, clutching the blanket, eager to comply. “Anything.”

“Ah, God.” His head dropped back and he stared at the ceiling, the muscles of his belly tightening and rippling in the most astonishing, sensual fashion. “Ye must … stop, lass.”

“Stop what?”

“Tempting me.”

“But, I want you.”

“God be merciful,” he muttered, dropping his head to stare at his toes.

She clutched the blanket harder and watched as the singular bulge behind the veil of his pantaloons appeared to swell and lengthen, pressing outward against the fabric. “Furthermore,” she continued, “I see no reason we should delay any longer.”

“There is a bluidy guid reason.”

Again, his brogue tripped along her spine as though he’d trailed his fingertips against her skin. She wanted to kiss his wondrous mouth. She wanted to feel his tongue slide along hers. She wanted all his heat and size and strength pressing against her without a single barrier between them.

“Ye’re sae beautiful—” He groaned deeply, his chest heaving, his muscles hardening. Long seconds ticked by while he appeared to struggle inside himself. “Even the thought of touching you arouses me, lass. I must have control if I am to avoid causing you unnecessary pain.”

“Oh.” She nibbled her lip and rubbed the wool between her fingertips. “Does this mean we cannot kiss? I do so love your kisses.”

Her heart sank as he turned away again, attending to a mysterious task involving whatever he had pulled from his valise. She dropped her gaze to her fingers, which worried at the brown folds of wool in her lap. She had rather hoped he’d found her kiss as stirring as she’d found his, but it appeared her skills were as lacking in that amorous art as they were in embroidery or music.

“I am a novice in this endeavor, James,” she said quietly to the blanket. “I shall strive to do whatever pleases you. But perhaps soon you will permit me to practice kissing a bit, as I should very much like to mmph—”

His mouth capturing hers was a stunning pleasure. Firm lips caressed her own. An encompassing hand cupped the back of her head, holding her still, pressing her forward. She moaned and released the blanket to cradle his precious face between her hands. She stroked his prominent brow with her thumb and opened her mouth for his insistent tongue.

The mattress shook and depressed beside her as he sat on its edge, facing her. His arm snaked around her waist and tugged her into his body, flattening her breasts into a hot, furred chest. He tasted of salt and smelled of pine. She moaned a hum at the myriad sensations.

Then, she was being lifted, her breath leaving in a whoosh, his strength a marvel. The hand that had held her head dropped to her thigh and bent her leg along his hip. She gasped helplessly as something large, hot, and foreign abruptly pressed and slid against her most intimate flesh. Her head spun. Or perhaps it was the room.

No, it was James, turning them together and sitting on the bed with his back to the headboard, his legs sprawled behind her, his hands now positioning her astride his thighs. As though he were a horse and she a brazen rider. Most brazen, indeed.

Moaning again around his hot, slick tongue, she let her hands slide from his cheeks to his jaw, then down to bracket his thick, muscular neck. She did not know what else to do. Everything was too much. There were too many wondrous parts to touch and stroke. Too many sensations begging to be noticed, each one a revolutionary pleasure.

His hands now cupped her cheeks, his fingers long enough to interlace at the back of her head. She was utterly surrounded, caressed and contained inside his strength and heat.

He pulled away from their kiss long enough to whisper, “I could spend eternity kissing you, lass.” He kissed her again to prove his point. “If I did not feel such urgency to move on to other things.”

“Such as touching?” she asked hopefully, running her fingers down over his collarbone, feeling the crisp hair of his chest on her palms. “I have wanted to touch you for so long.”

A slow grin curled his mouth and lit his eyes as his hands moved around to stroke her back and play with her hair. “Have you, now?”

She nodded and smiled. “There is so much of you, I do not know where to begin.”

Those green eyes heated into a blaze. His grin faded. “Perhaps next time. I do not know how much more I can bear.”

Unable to help herself, she let her fingers roam down to his nipples, wondering at the differences between his chest and her bosom. That was when she caught a glimpse of the hardness that had been prodding and sliding between them as they had kissed. It was longer even than she had suspected, fully erect against his belly. And it was covered in some sort of sheath, secured two inches short of the root with a blue silk ribbon, of all things.

Her eyes shot up to his. “Am I to unwrap it?”

Groaning laughter rumbled deep in his chest, making her blush and smile at once. He drew her in for another kiss. “No. It is called a French letter. Men wear them to prevent a babe.”

Confused, she shook her head. “But, we are married now. Surely …”

His hands slid to her breasts, ensuring all rational thought disappeared. “Let me touch you now, lass.” His thumbs circled her nipples, generating small, licking flames of pleasure that burst from the tight centers outward over her skin. “Do you like that?”

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She bit her lip and nodded, grinding her hips against his thighs.

He plucked and stroked, cradling and plumping her breasts with his palms. “There now. I have ye. I can feel how wet ye are.”

She groaned. Closed her eyes. Tried to control her breathing but only succeeded in making herself dizzy. Between her spread thighs, the muscles deep inside seized and pulsed with want. She felt empty. Achy. She needed him.

“James,” she panted. “When do you put yourself inside me?”

“When ye’re ready.”

“Oh, good. I feel quite ready. You may proceed.”

“No’ yet.” Those diabolical hands continued their torture of her nipples, which now produced raw and fiery bolts with every stroke and tug of his fingers.

“Yes,” she growled, digging her fingernails into rock-hard biceps, grinding her hips against his thighs. “Now.”

His hands dropped to circle her waist. He lifted her as effortlessly as he would a jug of ale, and laid her back upon the wool blanket, his big body moving over the top of hers. Then, he was propped on straightened arms, his knees between her widespread thighs, his flagrant, giftwrapped male hardness jutting upward in the space between their bodies.

“Not. Yet.” His own growl was a deep, resonant rumble.

She let her senses feast on him—the muscles flexing in his shoulders and arms, the ferocious heat in his eyes, the flush upon his skin. “I need you, James,” she panted.

Without another word, he lowered himself, crouching between her legs. Then, his mouth was upon her breasts. Her nipples were suckled into an inferno. She dug her heels into the blanket. Dug her fingers through thick, cool strands of hair, satisfied for the moment with the opportunity to touch any part of him she could reach.

Strong, capable hands stroked her thighs, gently kneading. Thick, long fingers brushed against her, right at the center, causing her belly to leap, her heart to pound furiously.

“Be easy, lass,” he breathed against her breast, the air cooling the beaded tip after the warmth of his mouth. He kissed her belly, one hand splaying wide over her ribs while the other played among the needy, wet folds at her core. And, suddenly, his mouth was there, too. Kissing her.
There.
Loving her with his tongue. Stretching her with a single blunt fingertip.

She cried his name.

His finger slid deeper. His tongue firmed and found a golden jewel of pleasure.

She sobbed his name.

His finger stretched her further, stinging just a bit.

She writhed and arched and prayed for the everlasting torment of pleasure to go on forever and yet somehow end.

“Please,” she begged. “I feel so … so tight inside.”

“That ye are.”

“I need you to do something. I am dying.”

His shoulders heaved. His body rose again above hers. His hands scooped her up and brought her once again to straddle him. “Now, then. Ye must take me inside ye, lass.”

She nodded emphatically, hugging his neck with all her might, breathing in his evergreen scent, working her hips so her folds slid firmly against the hardness that remained between their bodies.

“Nae, no’ that way, my bonnie lass. Rise up on yer knees.”

She nodded again, but he had to direct her with his hands at her waist, positioning her so that her core hovered above his manhood. He raised her higher with one arm while taking himself in his other hand.

Then she felt it. The blunt, sheathed tip. It was probing inside where his finger had been. Her eyes flared as she began to realize how very—oh, dear. How very big he was.

She swallowed and winced. “Th-this is what you meant by”—she grunted as the earlier sting she’d felt was dwarfed by a stabbing, burning pain—“by disparity, I take it.”

His face was rigid, his eyes ferocious, the muscles along his jaw so tight, she feared he’d crack his teeth. “Only take … as much as ye can,” he rumbled, panting the words.

“I want to take all of you.” She leaned closer to kiss his jaw, feeling the prickly tingles of his whiskers against her lips. “Every bit.”

“Ah, God.”

With a seemingly involuntary jerk of his hips, she received half her wish.

Suddenly. And with no small amount of discomfort.

His long, tortured groan accompanied the closing of his grip on her hips.

She held his neck tighter. Tried to breathe through the shocking invasion. Her breasts loved his chest. Her lips loved his chin. Her heart loved him from the soles of his giant feet to the last strand of dark-blond hair on his head.

But this was genuinely uncomfortable. Her thighs flexed, wanting to close against the invader. Her core did not seem to know whether to drive him out or draw him deeper. Was there a deeper? She did not know.

Placing her lips next to his ear, she whispered, “Take what you need, James.”

His head shook. His arms trembled. “I canna,” he grunted, the agony in his voice twisting her heart.

“Yes, you can. I am well. Go on, my love. It is all right.”