Yankee Earl (46 page)

      
He was grinning at her, the great Yankee lobcock! What else could she do? Rachel threw herself into his arms and kissed the arrogant smile off his lips. She dug her fingers into the thick black hair of his scalp and tugged on it as he deepened the kiss.

      
“What's a poor Yankee earl to do?” he asked between kisses. “Here I am, beset by a savage little brother, a devious grandfather, and a wife with a bizarre animosity toward maidenheads. Duty demands that I remain in England and set all aright.”

      
“Oh, and how, m'lord earl, do you intend to do that?” Rachel asked, tightening her arms around his shoulders.

      
“I shall begin with a compromise. Falconridge, Harleigh Hall and, eventually, all the Cargrave lands are yours to administer as you wish. You may plow the earth; but I, my darling Countess, will see that you are well plowed also.”

      
Rachel laughed, a rich bubbling sound of overwhelming joy as she said, “A delicious bargain, m'lord earl, but even for a Yankee, you are vulgar.”

      
“Yes, Countess, but a damn good plowman,” he replied, slanting his mouth over hers once more.

Epilogue

      
Snow fell softly across the rolling hills surrounding Falconridge. Soon it would be Christmas, the first one celebrated together by the earl and his countess. And it would be a very special occasion for a number of excellent reasons. His entire family had come from America for an extended holiday visit, via a most circuitous route through Canada. Drum had agreed to forgo the pleasures of the Great Wen for the privations of the countryside just to spend Christmas with Jason and Rachel. Fox had just completed his first term at Harrow with gratifying results. Grandfather, breaking his decades-long holiday exile at Cargrave Hall, had come to the earl’s seat instead. Hugh and his other two daughters and their families were also expected to join in the festivities. Even a still-bereft cousin Roger had been coaxed into spending the holiday with the rest of the family.

      
“This house will be Bedlam shortly, when everyone awakens,” Jason said to his wife as he raised himself up on one elbow, resting his head on his hand. His tone indicated not the least perturbation as he looked down into Rachel's sparkling eyes.

      
“I cannot wait to see Fox's expression when he opens the package Mama Beaumont brought him from his Shawnee cousins,” she murmured as his free hand reached out and cupped her breast, thumb teasing the nipple of a ripe, full breast.

      
“Much as I look forward to Christmas morning, this morning I have other joys in mind…” His voice trailed away as he let his hand glide down the voluptuous curve of her hip. “You are filling out most lushly, Countess. It must be all the holiday feasting,” he murmured as he trailed kisses across her breasts and down to her navel.

      
“Not precisely that, Jason. There is something I must—”

      
Her words were interrupted by a sharp little gasp of pleasure as his mouth found the dark curls at the apex of her thighs and nuzzled them, causing her to arch up into his caress. Her hands cradled his head, guiding him up beside her. Bracketing his face with her fingertips, she said breathlessly, “No, first I must—”

      
“Later, my love,” Jason murmured as his lips took hers in a slow, lazy kiss. He slanted his mouth across hers and let his tongue persuade her.

      
Rachel acquiesced, dueling with him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him over her. His big body pushed her into the mattress as they continued the kiss, fiercely, then gently, then with renewed hunger. At length, he moved his lips from her softly swollen mouth to plant moist caresses across her eyelids and cheeks, then let his tongue trace the delicate curves of her ear. His hand seized a mass of her hair, spreading it out across the snowy pillow.

      
“Like spilled chocolate, glistening, warm and inviting.” He held a fistful up to his face and rubbed it across one beard-stubbled cheek.

      
Rachel caressed his stubborn jaw, murmuring, “Until you, I always thought of it as plain brown.”

      
“No imagination.” He feigned a sigh of regret as he lowered his head to her breasts, feasting on one, then the other as she writhed beneath him, offering herself joyously. When her nipples contracted into wet, shiny little nubs, he raised his head in satisfaction, allowing her access to his chest. Clever fingers trailed through thick black hair and sought out his own hard male nipples, circling them with her nails until it was his turn to gasp with pleasure.

      
He rolled onto his back with her in his arms, one hand buried in her hair, cradling her head, while the other roamed lower, skimming the delicate vertebrae, moving down her spine past the deep valley that led to the sweet mounds of her derriere. “You are smooth and firm,” he said, kneading one buttock, then the other as he kissed her throat.

      
“No soft English lady's rump…too much riding,” she murmured, wriggling provocatively under his ministrations.

      
“You haven't been riding lately…on horseback, that is,” he whispered with a teasing grin.

      
She kissed it from his mouth, then used her tongue to dip into that delicious dimple at its side. He was utterly beautiful, unshaven, his hair tousled, his sea-blue eyes heavy-lidded with a mixture of sleep and passion. How she loved him! Rachel slithered down his body, causing a growl of satisfaction when she brushed over the hard evidence of his desire. Sliding from atop him, she took his phallus in her hand and glided up and down, observing with keen pleasure the single pearly drop perched at its tip.

      
Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her lips, licking them in anticipation as he watched her through half-closed eyes. When her tongue darted out and swept the drop into her mouth, he cried out her name. Then she opened her mouth and took him inside, tasting and teasing as he arched his back in ecstasy.

      
After a few moments, when he could bear the pleasure no longer, he pulled her up and rolled her over, kneeling between her spread thighs to taste of her. She was glistening wet now, utterly enchanting as the essence of her unique female musk blended with the soft fragrance of her bath perfume. They'd had quite a time of it in the tub last night, he thought fleetingly as his mouth closed over the portal of her sweetness, finding the tiny nub that made her whimper with joy.

      
Her body bowed up as he tongued her in that intimate caress, her hands curving around his head, guiding him and urging him on until she could feel the crest nearing. Then, by supreme will, she tugged him away, gasping, "Tis time…well past time for plowing…"

      
Breathing hard, he towered over her, cupping her buttocks in his hands as he buried himself to the hilt in her hot, wet sheath. Rachel looked up through pleasure-glazed eyes to feast on the magnificence of her Yankee, so lean and dark and sinuous, with his night-dark hair obscuring his face in shadow. His blue eyes glowed, shining down on her, meeting her own, turned hazel-gold with passion.

      
They communicated silently with each gliding stroke as he plunged in, slowly withdrew, only to plunge once more. They moved in perfect sync, like dancers in a beloved and familiar ballet, each intuiting the other's slightest intent—to prolong the incredible pleasure…to rush breathless and heady toward the ultimate completion.

      
And at last that was what they did.

      
Rachel signaled the beginning of her spiraling ecstasy with the tiny tremors that began to build deep inside her. Jason responded to her cue, swelling rigidly and pulsing his seed in rhythm with the contractions of her body until neither could distinguish one's culmination from the other's. Finally, he collapsed onto her and she held him fast in her arms as they both panted in satiation.

      
After several moments joined in that tender embrace, he raised his head and smiled down into her glowing face. “I seem to recall you had something of great import to say before I…distracted you. Would you by any chance happen to recall what it was?” he asked smugly.

      
Now it was her turn to grin. “As a matter of fact, I would. You mentioned that I have not been riding for the past week or so…”

      
He looked puzzled. “I assumed 'twas because you've been so busy with all our guests.” His expression turned to concern. “Rachel, you are not ill—”

      
She pressed her fingers to his lips, shaking her head. Her whole body was tingling with the joy of what she had to say. “I have never been in better health in my life. I only wanted to be certain before I told you that you are to be a father in the late spring.”

      
At once Jason rolled off her and took her in his arms as if she were the most fragile china. “I should have let you speak, not fallen on you like a ravening wolf. Could I harm—that is, can we—I mean—”

      
Rachel's laughter pealed like Christmas bells across the vast space of the master suite. “I am breeding, my love, not an invalid. My mother and both grandmothers birthed children without the slightest difficulty. I come from hearty stock, and given my predilections toward vigorous exercise, I should do even better, since I am tough as a badger and strong as a plow horse. Speaking of which, there is not a reason on earth that I should stop my work on the estates. Neither will I allow you to shirk your duties as a plowman, m'lord.”

      
Jason threw back his head and laughed with sheer joy. “Have you not heard what fools for work we Yankees are? I would not dream of shirking. 'Tis but a small way for me to become acquainted with our offspring before he or she enters the world.”

      
She caressed his face. “I did not tell you after we came home from Bristol, but…”

      
“But?” he prompted.

      
“When I feared I was going to lose you, 'twas not only my joy in coupling with you that led me to seek you out repeatedly. 'Twas also the hope that you might give me a babe before you sailed away.”

      
He kissed her reverently. “What prideful fools we were. I worried that such might happen and I would not be here for you and the child. I spun all sorts of improbable plans to have Drum inform me the moment he learned you were breeding, but all the while, what 1 really wanted was to remain here as your husband.”

      
“If nothing had impeded us, you would not have sailed, then?”

      
“Never,” he replied simply. “Tis you, only and always you, whom I shall love, my countess, Madame Beaumont.”

      
She smiled. “You make that sound treasonously French,
Monsieur Le Comte
.”

      
Jason returned her smile. “Twas French surname in the distant past. The Normans may have conquered England, but their victory was short-lived. 'Tis home and the heart that always conquer in the end.”

      
“I will love you, only and always you, Jason Beaumont, be you earl, marquess or Yankee privateer, I care not.” Rachel sealed their tender words with a kiss.

Author’s Note

      
The idea for a Yankee privateer forced to make a devil's bargain with his ruthless English grandfather came from my husband, Jim, who wrote me a whole plot synopsis of Jason and Rachel's story. The idea so intrigued me that I decided it might be the first in a series of books about bold, reckless American men who inherit titles and meet their matches in clever, resourceful Englishwomen who teach their hearts to love.

      
Thus, the concept for the American Lords was born. However, since I had already written two books set in Regency England,
Wicked Angel
and
Wanton Angel
, I decided to move ahead in history after
Yankee Earl
.
Rebel Baron
is set in Victorian England just after the American Civil War, and
Texas Viscount
takes place in Edwardian England at the very opening of the last century

      
Because my reader mail indicated that Alvin Francis Edward Drummond, “Drum to his friends,” was so popular in the Angel books, I gave him an encore in
Yankee Earl
. I sincerely hope you share in the laughter as Jason and Rachel are drawn against their stubborn natures to build a life together. Originally, there was only to be a trilogy of American Lords, but the character of young Fox Barlow began to fascinate me as the story developed. A Shawnee Lord…now there's an idea. Let me know what you think at
 
www.shirlhenke.com

      
After all I can't rely on Jim for all my ideas. He might become as full of himself as Jason Beaumont! Indeed, he was well along the way before Jason Beaumont ever came to be.