Defying the Earl (27 page)

“Are you feeling all right?”

She wore a cotton chemise and petticoats and while he inquired about the strike she’d taken to her forehead, he wondered how much longer
he’d
be able to remain conscious if she continued to undress and he played the gentleman, forced to hold back from running his fingers along her silky soft curves.

“Yes, I feel fine. I’m warm and dry. My forehead is only the slightest scrape. It’s my emotions that suffered the worst of it.”

She matched his eyes and he noticed they nearly overflowed.

“What is it?”
What had he done?
He rushed to her side, his bare feet brushing against her stocking-clad toes as he cradled her face and wiped away the tears all at once coursing down her cheeks.

“My parents’ accident…” A sniffle interrupted the telling. “It was my fault.”

“Whimsy, that’s not right. Why would you claim it?”

“Because it is true.” She pulled from his comfort and stepped away, her eyes slanted toward the flames in the firebox. “My parents and Livie were returning from a visit to my aunt who’d recently had a baby. My mother was asked to serve as godmother and the christening had been planned for weeks. As a family outing and a welcome to our new cousin, everyone was excited and looking forward to the excursion.”

He reached for her, but she stepped closer to the fire and so he let his arm drop, his attention riveted to her continuing story.

“A few days before we meant to visit, I learned an impromptu poetry assembly would be showcased at the Shropshire library on the same date. I’d read the works of several of the guests, but one poet proved a more reclusive gentleman. His work was genius and gaining favor even though he never presented publicly. I became obsessed with the notion of hearing him recite his poems. I’d followed his revered success through articles in the newspaper and discovered he’d soon be leaving for America. I convinced myself fate offered me this one opportunity to hear him speak. For some foolish, immature reasons, I took it to heart that I must attend his presentation, and reassured my misgivings with platitudes that I would have other chances to celebrate my cousin’s arrival.

“The morning when we were to be off, I remained in bed and claimed illness, embellishing to a point that convinced my mother I should stay behind. I will never forget her look of concern and disappointment. She knew there was no way the trip could be cancelled with the christening and her role as godmother, yet she worried for my welfare and felt uneasy leaving me home with the staff, no matter Livie volunteered to care for me. Mother could see no point in both of us missing the celebration and of course, the fear of illness near a newborn was paramount in her mind. Still I urged her to go and acted with unforgivable selfishness; wishing them all to leave so I could sneak out and hear the poetry presentation, then return before any servant thought the better of it.

“I’d only walked partway to the library before I was overcome with shame. How could I listen to sonnets and pretty verses when I’d deceived my parents and sister, causing them undue concern? I returned to the house and walked straight into the path of our butler. He understood the situation before I explained, and sent me upstairs directly, calling for Cook to prepare a wretched tincture to help me overcome my malaise and, I suspect, teach me a well-deserved lesson. Our housekeeper checked on me regularly, but there was no need. I lay in bed from afternoon into evening disgraced with myself for the deception I’d created and the situation I’d instigated.” She shifted, her shoulders sloped in defeat, her words laced with melancholy and regret. He watched as she twisted the bracelet on her wrist, lost in thought and somber remembrance.

“Eventually I must have fallen asleep, yet the next morning the ache in my heart was no less. I’d decided to confess my selfish plan as soon as my parents returned, but I never had the chance. The last words my parents heard from me were a selfish lie.”

Her voice had dropped to nothing more than a whisper and her face appeared so forsaken, his heart broke for her.

Wilhelmina exhaled and faced Valerian. Would he think the worst of her? His eyes glittered with refracted firelight and she stepped closer, anxious to understand his reaction to her long-kept confession. She’d never told anyone. Not even Aunt Kate. Yet somehow revealing her secret seemed the right thing to do after the evening they’d shared. And with their confessions of love, she wanted nothing between them. No secrets, misunderstandings and, smiling slightly with the realization, no clothing either.

He came at her, his forceful strides full of stunning grace and she knew, sure in her heart and deeply in her soul, she would marry him for love and nothing more. The absolute honesty of the moment was almost too much to bear.

She reached up and pushed away a lock of hair covering his brow. His eyes were such deep fathoms of emotion, shadowed by lush black lashes, yet she saw only adoration there. “I behaved terribly and caused a horrible accident.”

“I don’t see it that way.” The corner of his mouth rose in reassurance, then he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the tender scratch across her forehead. “The carriage accident would have occurred regardless of your actions. Your choice to remain behind did not bring about the event that occurred. In the end, you and Livie have each other. As trying as Jasper may be, I love him dearly and would not trade for any brother on this planet.”

“Had I been there I might have helped.” She circled his neck, the charm bracelet on her wrist sliding with a tinkling noise. She eased forward and pressed her ear to his heart; the steady thrum a comfort as much as his generous strength.

“Or you might have died.” He wrapped her closer with a gentle tug though his tone had gone gruff. “Saying those words aloud is difficult now that you’ve filled my heart. Accidents occur. You must forgive yourself. Sometimes we are victims of circumstances we can neither prevent nor avoid.”

His fingers found her shoulders to loosen the buttons of her petticoat and she allowed him, her nerves dancing, her mind lost in dreamy sensation. Could this really be happening? Could any of this? Only hours earlier, she’d crumbled in her London bedchamber bemoaning the misstep of sending Caroline into Valerian’s arms.

Now she needed him. She needed to feel his heart against hers, to belong to him, to celebrate life and a future of happiness and security. She could not repair the past, but somehow by sharing her secret and herself with Valerian, it resurrected hope. And she loved him. Without doubt or hesitation.

Cool air whispered across the nape of her neck, down her spine, as he lowered the cloth from one shoulder, and she was all at once insecure, anxious to cover her body from his view and reclaim the garment before it fell to the floor. She jerked her arms from his neck and her bracelet caught on his collar.

“Good heavens.” The distraction proved exactly what she needed to forget Valerian’s heated gaze, her undergarments hardly a barrier to her embarrassment. She disentangled the bracelet where it had snagged and pulled one of the silver links loose, then opened the catch and curled it into her palm. “Where shall I put this?”

He extended his hand with a low chuckle and when she surrendered the jewelry, he placed it on the mantle aside a small painting without dragging his eyes from her silhouette. She flushed from head to toe, the unwelcomed reaction adding to the intensity as he untied the ribbons of her short stays and she stood bared to his view in nothing more than a sheer cotton chemise and firelight.

“Do you mean to take everything off?” Her words held an incredulous tone.

“Shall I go first then?” His question was all amusement and he flashed a wicked grin, his gaze an intimate caress.

He disrobed slowly, much to her awe and pleasure. His body, hidden under layers of linen and wool, was muscular and smooth. Each action revealed planes of strength and masculinity causing odd sensations to swirl within her. She’d never seen a man completely unclothed, but she couldn’t imagine a more superior example. Broad shoulders, well defined arms, a strong chest tapered to a lean waist. Her mouth went dry despite she grew wet down below.

Any attempt at modesty forgotten, desire took hold as she stood in her chemise, firelight dancing shadows across their bared skin, while an incredibly handsome man undressed before her. They would make love and make promises. She must have lost consciousness during the carriage accident. This could only be a dream of the very best kind.

When his fingers came to his trouser buttons, her breath caught but she did not speak. Instead she offered him a shy smile and placed her fingers over his, guiding one button after another until she could feel the hard length of him jutting against her palm. Strength and heat, she wanted to touch him, learn him, have him explore her body with intricate attention.

He reached for her hand and they walked to the bed. Her fingers fluttered in his palm, a sure sign of her fear, yet she trusted him with her heart. Words failed or perhaps proved unnecessary, their bodies communicated on another level. She had no label for the dizzy giddiness alive inside her. When they neared the four-poster bed, he paused and matched her eyes with sincere affection.

“Are you sure, Wilhelmina?”

“Oh yes.” She attempted a smile, but her nerves won the battle. “I’ve never…” She hadn’t the words to explain.

“I know.”

This time it was he who smiled.

“I don’t know what to do.” Her confession comprised insecurity and outrage. She wanted this moment to be perfect, not ruined by her inexperience and innocence. She’d need to banish every hesitation that counseled caution and allow longing to overtake her.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Trust me.”

He kissed her again, this time leaning into their embrace so she landed on the mattress with gentle finesse. His hands skimmed beneath the edge of her chemise, his touch hot against her cool skin, though she felt heated from the inside out, anxious and ignited, curious and eager. His kisses spoke of urgent longing, a passion kept bottled up overlong, and she reveled in the awe of it all. That Valerian would desire her, that she reclined in his bed, that she’d found personal bliss when all she’d sought was to make others happy.

He stood at the edge of the mattress, his exquisite physique, thick muscled legs and firm chest, outlined in gold by the flames in the hearth, his wavy hair turned gloss and ebony, as if transformed into a patrician hero drawn in pen and ink on the page of one of her favorite poetry tomes; yet his eyes glittered as if he held the answers to all her questions, and perhaps a few surprises as well. She wanted to close her eyes, fall into the dream of being loved by Valerian, but a stronger part of her didn’t dare miss a breath of what was to happen next.

Chapter Twenty-Three

He wanted her desperately. Good lord, he wanted her like he’d wanted no one, no other thing in his entire thirty-one years. Not pride, not redemption, not solvency for the earldom…more than food and water. More than air. He craved her with the potent lure of passion and a strong tug of lust, yet he was astute enough to realize he needed to act with care. She’d attempted bravado, her sweet fingers undoing his trousers, yet he hadn’t missed the rosy bloom of embarrassment flooding her creamy skin when he’d shed the last of his clothes leaving only smalls to outline his prominent desire. He’d noticed the flare of her eyes, the quick twitch of lips as nerves consumed her. He ached to feel the tremble of her touch on his skin. He yearned to taste her, kiss her until her breathing was ragged and her knees were weak, to sink into her tight heat, but no, he had to go slowly. She deserved reverence and in truth, it was all he had to offer.

She lay before him now, gauzy fabric clinging to each delicious curve, a hint of breast revealed at the neckline where her chemise caught behind her shoulder, an incandescent image of innocence and yearning. Her hair spread across the linen coverlet in waves of amber, inviting him to get lost in the fragrance of silky strands, every inch of her indescribable temptation. How he would temper his passion, he had no idea.

With care, he palmed her waist, his fingers splayed, trapping the chemise to the curve of her hip, molding his hand down the length of her thigh. She didn’t utter a word. Her breathing hitched. Her lashes fluttered. At last she said his name and her lips caressed each syllable.

He was no master at seduction. His liaisons had all been agreeable, congenial and somewhat ordinary. Yet the thought of sinking into Whimsy’s sweet softness had him second guessing his every action, trembling like a green boy straight from Eton and anxious, too anxious for his own good. His body hummed, as if by new invention. Electricity skittered beneath his skin, itching to ignite, daring to be connected.

“You needn’t be nervous. I won’t know if you’re doing something wrong.”

She misread his hesitation and her desire to reassure sent him further into adoration. “Oh, I know exactly what to do with you and none of it will feel wrong,” he murmured with a low chuckle, his voice remote. “It’s more a matter of where to begin.”

That was the point, wasn’t it? Beginnings. He hadn’t offered her marriage. He hadn’t offered her anything. He couldn’t, mired in financial distress, yet she lie before him offering everything, asking for nothing in return. She deserved so much more. A fierce battle between conscience and desire raged. He could never satisfy her heart the way he’d satisfy her body. “I’m sorry, Wilhelmina, I can’t—”

She rose on her elbows, her chemise pulled taut across her breasts, her eyes beseeching understanding.

“— wait any longer.” He shadowed her enticing body with his own, easing them to the mattress, his hand curved around the back of her neck, locking her in place as his mouth, hungry and insistent, stole her reply. Their bodies joined hip to hip, the brush of her smooth skin, the intimacy of every soft sweet sound, he’d never last if he didn’t rein in his ardor, but there really was no hope for it.

With exquisite ambition, he gathered her chemise in his fist and tugged lower, over one shoulder then the other, shimmying the fabric down her flat belly, past the golden glint at the apex of her thighs, across the delicate arc of her calves and to the floorboards with a flutter. All the while he whispered endearments, murmured against her ear to reverberate in her heart because he meant every word and had little more to give than sincere affection. He worried her skin with a whisper of kisses and battled the pulse of raw desire building within.