Kiss the Earl (27 page)

But if her father got wind of her tale before her reputation was safely recovered, Patrick himself would pay the price.

Ella might be widowed before she could return home.

Ella didn't know what had been said between that messenger and Patrick, but whatever it was must have been pretty bad.

Before that little private chat, Patrick had seemed pretty upbeat, approaching normal. But when he came back, his handsome face was thundercloud dark, though he did his best to hide it.

“Good news, Lord Brownstone,” Patrick said in a too-bright voice with a fake-looking smile. Ella stared at him critically. “A messenger from my cousin has arrived to say that Amelia has been found, whole and well.”

“Thank heavens!” the baron crowed, his round face breaking out into a wrinkled smile. “Oh, my dear little poppet. Where is she?”

“She is in Town.” Patrick beckoned to the nearest stable lad and tossed him a coin. “Have our cases fetched to the carriage, and inform the driver we leave for London within the next five minutes and not a second longer.”

“Yes, milord.” The boy grinned and darted off.

“What else did the man say? Where has she been these last weeks?” The baron, still ebullient, seemed to be remembering that he was kind of pissed at his dear little poppet. Ella was curious herself.

“He did not have any more details. Sir Iain felt that we should know about her whereabouts as soon as possible, and so dispatched the man posthaste.”

“Well, it's no matter.” The baron rubbed his hands together. “My little girl is safe, and I myself will deal with whoever put her up to this.” He clapped Patrick on the back. “At least I don't have to worry that it's you, my lad!”

The baron's guffawing laughter didn't even wrench a smile from Patrick, and Ella's guts began to knot worriedly. But, sadly for her, she wouldn't get a chance to ask Patrick what the messenger had really said, because she was bundled into the carriage while he joined the baron on horseback. Again.

The trip to London was long and tedious, probably more so since Ella had so much to worry about on the drive. She tried to distract herself with plotting out issues of Admiral Action, reciting the bad teenage poetry she used to write… Hell, she even played a primitive version of Candy Crush with the jellied fruit slices from the inn, which actually didn't work very well. That stuff was sticky.

They stopped that night at yet another inn, but at this one, to Patrick's obvious relief, there were enough rooms to allow them to sleep separately. The baron ate with them, and after three hours of hoping the man had drunk enough to pass out, Ella gave up and went to bed. The man had an incredible tolerance for alcohol, and was completely oblivious to the hints she threw out there about wanting to speak to her husband alone.

Another day alone in the carriage, and Ella was about ready to scream with boredom and frustration. Patrick looked bleaker and bleaker the closer they got to London, and she wanted to know why. That afternoon, the sky had started to look like Patrick's mood, but not even the threat of rain had encouraged Patrick to ride inside the carriage with his wife.

“He's avoiding me,” Ella had fumed, her chin in her hand as she glared at the gray-green countryside. “Whatever's going on, he doesn't want me to know about it.”

And he was pretty good at avoiding her too, but that night at the inn, she took matters into her own hands.

“We'll arrive into Town by noon tomorrow,” the baron was saying, slurring a bit as he slumped into his seat by the fire. “And then I shall see m'gel, kiss her cheek, then paddle her silly.”

“I highly doubt that,” Patrick said, taking a sip of his own glass of port.

“She deserves to be beaten. Disappearing like that. Oh no, I know it wasn't her fault. It was some man, some villain who set his heart on her. Mayhap that vicar.” The baron frowned as he drained his port. “And I shall make the blackguard pay, make no mistake.”

“Well, it's getting late,” Ella said, standing. Patrick and the baron both stood when she did. It used to freak her out a little, but she was getting used to some of the manners of the time.
Of
course I get used to everything when I'm about to leave
. “Patrick, would you mind accompanying me?”

Patrick blinked in surprise. Ella didn't say anything else, just raised one eyebrow like she was the queen. She didn't ask him point-blank for much, and if he said no, it would look really bad in front of the baron.

She was counting on that.

“Of course, my lady. Do excuse me, Lord Brownstone.”

“Go ahead, young lovers,” the baron said, gesturing with his empty glass. “I'm for my bed soon anyway. Can't keep my little poppet waiting on the morrow!”

Patrick pulled Ella's hand through the crook of his arm and escorted her upstairs. Once they'd stopped in front of Ella's door, he started to bow and wish her good night, but she shook her head.

“No you don't. Come in here and let's have a discussion.”

“Ella, there is nothing to discuss,” Patrick said lamely, but Ella didn't let him go. When she'd shut the door behind them both, she crossed her arms and glared at him.

“I've tried to talk to you about eight times in the last day, and you've been completely avoiding me.”

He didn't say anything, just stood there, a blank look on his face.

“I know that messenger told you more about Amelia than you're letting on. For the moment, I'm your wife, and I deserve to know what's going on.” Ella hoped she sounded more confident than she felt, because inside, she was really getting scared for Patrick. This wasn't good, and she was afraid to know just how not good it was.

“You cannot help me with this,” Patrick said as he turned away, but she wasn't about to let him get away with that.

Lunging the two steps that separated them, she grabbed his arm and forced him to turn. “Why don't you let me decide what I can and can't do? Tell me what's going on.”

He glanced to the side, his spine straightening, as if he were fighting some sort of inner battle. But before long, he drew a deep breath in through his nose and locked gazes with her.

“Amelia is still unmarried. And she is claiming that I ruined her.”

Ella clapped a hand over her mouth, knowing what that meant. But Patrick continued anyway.

“Apparently her vicar did not wish to have the stigma of an elopement hanging over his marriage, so he insisted that they post banns. They've been hiding in London this whole time. She obviously believes that being ruined is the only way her father will allow her to marry George at this state, and she may well be right.”

Patrick barked a bitter laugh. “But as I am now married, I cannot step in to save her virtue the way her father would wish me to. Now, the only way to avenge his daughter's soiled reputation and his own manly pride is to call me out. We will duel, and the baron will aim for my heart, I'm sure.”

“But, Patrick, you can't. It wasn't your fault—she's lying!” Ella gripped Patrick's lapels, her knuckles white with tension. “Once we get to Town, you've got to get her to tell the truth.”

“Ella, don't you see? She cannot admit her guilt at this stage, not if she wants to marry her vicar.” Patrick cupped Ella's cheek. “This is the only way she can get what she wants. I am sure she will try to keep her father from killing me, but we cannot be certain that she will succeed.”

“This is my fault,” Ella said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “If I hadn't been here, then you could have married her, and you wouldn't have to duel.”

“It is not your fault at all, sweet Ella,” Patrick said, his voice thick with some emotion Ella couldn't name. “Please, do not cry for me.”

Ella wasn't sure if she raised up on her toes first or if Patrick tilted her face up to his first, but either way, they were kissing each other desperately, as if it were the last kiss they'd ever share on earth.

* * *

Though it had only been days since he'd known the splendor of her kiss, it seemed like he'd been waiting forever. Her mouth was so incredible, lips soft and parted and yearning for his invasion. He threaded his fingers through the hair at her nape, pulling her mouth slantwise across his own, granting him deeper access. She melted against him, all resistance gone. She tasted sweet, of the port she'd drunk, mingled with the salt of her tears.

God, he'd give anything to prevent her from crying again. It seemed that all he did was cause her pain.

She tore her mouth from his even as she wound her arms around him. “Patrick,” she said on a breath. “Please, don't go. Not tonight.”

All the reasons he should go were still the same. Nothing had changed, not really. But Ella's sweet, warm body was pressed tightly to his, her fingers digging into the muscles of his upper back. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, smelling the lavender soap she'd used before dinner. But it was more than that. It was Ella, and she wanted him.

How could he say no?

“I will stay if you wish it,” he whispered, lifting her chin with a single finger. “But I cannot promise we will remain clothed.”

Her lids fluttered shut, sooty lashes beckoning him. “That's okay. I want to be with you tonight, Patrick. Just tonight, let's pretend none of this matters.”

He would give anything to make that true for her, for them both. But for now, pretending was the only way, and so he did it.

Pulling the pins from her hair, he watched as the silky black waterfall tumbled around her shoulders. Her eyes, still moist with tears, looked all the bluer for their wetness. He stepped back, holding her arms out to the sides, just looking his fill.

“You are beautiful, Ella.”

She blushed. “I'm not. I'm average at best, and I'm awkward and shy and—”

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “Please do not speak of yourself that way. I am telling you how I see you, and Ella, you are beautiful in my eyes.”

She bit her lip as if she wanted to protest but had thought better of it.

“Excellent,” Patrick said with a smile.

He made short work of the buttons that marched down her front. Lifting the dress over her head, he tossed it aside. The shift quickly followed, then stockings, and soon she was completely nude in front of him. The sight reminded him of that all-too-brief encounter on the breakfast table, and he sighed in regret.

“What's wrong?”

“I had imagined painting these with orange marmalade.” He flicked her nipple gently, and she gasped. “But I did not get the chance.”

“Maybe later,” she said, but they both knew that it was unlikely. Their time was borrowed and growing shorter by the second.

As if reminded of that grim fact, Patrick leaned down and kissed her again, this time a passionate onslaught intended to leave her breathless. He made love to her mouth, pressing his clothed body against her nudity, his hands roaming over her, claiming her as his tongue did the same. She gasped, arching her back and moaning as he continued his passionate torture.

It wasn't enough. Lust was surging through his blood, burning him from the inside out, hardening his rod, and clouding his brain. He needed to be naked with her, covering her, pressing into her.

Now
, his subconscious seemed to growl, and he was all too happy to obey.

Ripping his mouth from hers, he made short work of the buttons of his waistcoat. Ella helped, eagerly destroying the beautiful knot of his cravat, popping buttons from his fine lawn shirt, tossing clothing hither and yon, and pressing kisses to the exposed flesh of his chest.

And once he was as naked as she, he pressed her back, onto the bed, cradling her head in his arm.

“Ella,” he said, running his hand down her delicious body, through the valley between her breasts, over the slight rise of her belly, lower to tangle in the soft, damp curls that covered her, “you have a beautiful body.”

“So do you,” she said, mimicking his hand's path as she traced his muscled abdomen down to his groin. She wrapped her fingers around his erection just as he parted her curls and pressed his index finger against her intimately.

She gripped him, her hand hot and smooth as she began a slow, sensuous stroke of his rod. Breathing harder, he copied her movements in a leisurely swirl around her throbbing nub. Catching one pink lip between her teeth, Ella's eyelids lowered as her hips lifted against him.

“You like this,” he said. It wasn't a question, but he pressed harder when she didn't answer him. She gasped, and there was an answering tightening grip on his rod. He bit back his own groan.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a low moan was all she could manage. Taking pity on them both, Patrick removed his hand and stretched out atop her, kissing her deeply as he nestled between the warmth of her thighs. Her breasts were swelled against him, nipples tight and poking against his chest. Pressing her down into the mattress, he let her have his weight, the blunt head of him bumping up against her wet heat.

Matching his tongue stroke for stroke, her moans intensified as her caresses became more frenzied. Her nails raked down his back as her hips twisted and writhed. Her body wanted his, and he was withholding it. They should not be here, together in this way, but nothing short of the inn burning to cinders around them could induce him to stop now. His own passion was building, his body urging him to seek her heat.

“Are you ready?” He had just enough mind left to ask her.

“Please, Patrick, I need you inside me now.” She tossed her head back and forth, black hair tangling with her movements. “Please!”

He would not deny either of them any longer. With one last kiss to her lips, he surged forward, seating himself within her with a single, deep thrust. She cried out in surprise and, he hoped, passion.

Stilling himself there, he looked down. Ella stared at him, wide-eyed and wanting.

“We are one,” he said simply, and then began moving inside her.

Slowly at first, he sank into her wet heat, then more quickly as she began to rise against him, her passionate cries spurring him deeper, faster into her. Her legs wrapping around his hips, she pulled him deep, her sheath gripping him like she never wanted to let him go. And when her movements became frantic, her cries more plaintive and desperate, he reached between them and found her, flicking and caressing her nub until she shuddered around him, her rhythm breaking as she found her release.