My Brown-Eyed Earl (14 page)

He shrugged. “Convents. Head-shaving. A general attitude of disdain.”

At that, she blushed scarlet. “That was many years ago.”

“And yet, it seems like yesterday.” He smiled and swirled the brandy in his glass so that she'd never guess how deeply her words had cut him.

“Would you like to know why I said those things?”

Well, that all depended. Was the truth going to gut him? “If you feel the need to get your thoughts off your chest, I have no objection.”

She cast a knowing smile his way and stood, her skirt rustling in the warm breeze. “Then I shall tell you. First off, it should be noted that I was a young woman of fifteen—an age that relishes drama as much as it eschews reason.”

Will crossed his arms over his chest and nodded casually. So far, he liked this explanation—primarily because it kept his pride intact. “Duly noted.”

“Second,” she said, pressing her nose to a pink flower, “I had good cause to think you were a cad.”

“Right—the incident at the lake.”

“The
spying
incident at the lake,” she corrected, “which gave me a most unfavorable impression of your character.”

“A false impression that has since been rectified?” he asked, hopefully.

Rolling her eyes, she glided to another bush bursting with red blooms. “I concede that there may have been extenuating circumstances. However, you are not entirely absolved of guilt.”

He could live with that. “Also duly noted.”

“But neither of those reasons in and of themselves would have precipitated such an extreme reaction from me.”

He went to her side, plucked a flower off the bush, and slid it behind her ear. The rich red petals accentuated the hue of her lips and the blush on her cheeks, almost blinding him to the unfortunate sludge color of her dress. Almost. “Then why did you reject me, Meg?”

Her lips parted, but she hesitated, as though afraid to form the words. At last, she said, “I don't expect someone like you to understand.”

He felt his hackles rise. “What does that mean,
someone like me
?”

“It means you are a man. Someone with power and the ability to make your own decisions.”

“And you resent me for that?”

“To a certain extent, yes.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Don't you see?” she pleaded. “I
craved
the independence you take for granted. I couldn't bear the thought of someone dictating who my husband would be or what my future would hold.”

“You're a bluestocking,” he mused.

She tossed her head. “Call me what you like. I chafed at the idea of taking a husband in order to please my parents. A successful marriage requires more than a handshake between prospective in-laws. It requires … love.”

“It seems you're also a romantic.”

She waved a hand, scoffing. “Hardly. I'm a practical sort, intent on keeping my family together and my uncle out of debtor's prison. My sisters deserve to own a new gown or two. That's why I'm here.”

“So you wouldn't
really
rather shave your head than marry me.”

She arched a wicked brow. “I didn't say that. But I will admit that the words I spoke that night—they were less about you than my frustration with the situation.”

“I was frustrated too. And completely blindsided by our parents' announcement.”

“Yes, but you were probably already plotting ways to extricate yourself from the betrothal.”

Damn, but she had an uncanny ability to peel away his polished veneer and see the scoundrel who dwelled beneath. “Weren't you?” he countered.

“I fear I couldn't get past the shock. Besides, if the engagement had become public and was subsequently dissolved, no one would dream that it was by
my
choice. Why would a mousy girl like me willingly break a betrothal to a rich gentleman who was heir to an earldom?”

“Don't forget handsome.” He grinned at her.

“The point is,” she said softly, “you had all the power. I had none. And I found that vexing in the extreme. I still do.”

Contemplating her words, he reached for her hands and met her gaze. With her hair gleaming in the moonlight, her skin glowing with passion, and her eyes challenging him to deny the truth of her words, she appeared anything but helpless. “I think you underestimate your own power.”

“I lack wealth, status, and beauty,” she said matter-of-factly. “Pray tell, what power is it that I wield?”

Slowly, he lifted his hand to cup her cheek and brushed a thumb over her satin-soft skin. “You have power,” he breathed. “You have power over
me
.”

 

Chapter
FOURTEEN

 

Meg's breath caught in her throat and her heart pounded in her chest. The earl's gaze dropped to her mouth like he wanted to kiss her but was waiting for her to grant him permission—with a sigh, a movement, or a sound.

It seemed the power
had
shifted to her, if only for a short time. She sought to prolong the heady feeling.

“How so, my lord? Are you not my employer and I your governess? How can I possibly exert power over you?”

“At this moment, madam, I am your servant,” he murmured, his husky voice promising all manner of wicked delights.

“
My
servant?” She boldly placed her palm on his impossibly hard chest and heard his sharp intake of breath. “And what, precisely, are your duties?”

“To please you.” As he leaned in, his lips a mere hair's breadth from hers, his eyes fairly burned with intensity. “Let me. Say the word.”

Meg swallowed. She wanted to resent the earl, truly she did. But in spite of his carefully cultivated reputation as an incurable rake, he'd shown glimmers of decency and goodness. He'd honored a promise to his cousin and taken in two little girls with nowhere else to go.

Worse, he had the sort of dangerously handsome face and athletic physique that might well bring a woman to her knees.

The heat in his stare left no doubt he wanted her … and yet, he'd handed her the reins. All she had to do was say …

“Yes.”

The word wasn't even out of her mouth before he hauled her against him. Their bodies bumped together, thrilling her senses and igniting her desire.

Everything else slipped away. Her earlier desperation to find Diana, her worry about Uncle Alistair's ball—even the shame she'd felt about kissing the earl. None of it mattered, or if it did, it was all eclipsed by the glorious sensations of his lips pressed to her neck and his hands cupping her bottom.

It was both liberating and exhilarating, living only in the moment. She was neither mired down by her past nor limited by her future. Surrounded by the vine-covered arbor and fragrant blooms, they were in their own small Garden of Eden.

In this paradise, there were no repercussions to sliding her hand beneath the earl's waistcoat and caressing the deliciously taut muscles under his shirt.

There was no one to frown upon her wantonness as she deliberately pressed her belly against the front of his trousers, reveling in the stark evidence of his desire.

Like Eve, she'd surely regret her brash behavior come dawn, but tonight she would surrender the need to control every maddening aspect of her life, from her family's pitiful financial state to her uncle's eccentric reputation.

Tonight she would willingly abandon the rules of polite society and simply feel … alive.

With a sigh, she speared her fingers through the hair at Will's nape and tilted his head toward her.

For
this
was what she needed. His hot, wet kisses trailing down her shoulder. His deft fingers waging war with her neckline. The slight stubble on his jaw abrading her skin in the most delightful way.

He
was what she needed, and this once, she would not deny herself. Brazenly, she twisted in his arms, presenting her back to him. “Loosen my laces?”

He growled, making short work of them. But when she would have turned around to face him, he placed his warm hands on her now-bare shoulders and stilled her. “Wait.”

He swept aside the tendrils of hair that tickled her back and tugged her gown lower, exposing her skin to a sultry night breeze. “Slip off your sleeves,” he murmured in her ear. “I need to see more of you. I must touch you.”

Her nipples tightened in response to his wicked words, and though she did as he asked, she held the front of her gown tightly against her breasts.

“Much better,” he whispered approvingly. “But there is the small matter of your chemise.” He reached around her, plucked the tie at her neckline, and pulled it free. “It must go as well.”

He did not beg permission this time, but shoved the thin lawn garment down her arms so it was no longer a barrier between them.

And then he moaned. “Jesus, Meg.” Though he was clearly exasperated, she rather thought he was pleased at the same time. And that pleased
her
.

He rested his chin on her shoulder and slipped his hands under the coarse wool of her dress, gliding his hands around her sides, up her belly, and beneath her swollen breasts. “So beautiful,” he said. “So perfect.”

The gown slipped through her fingers and bunched wantonly at her waist. She leaned back against him, unsure if her own legs would support her and grateful for the hard solid wall of his body behind her.

He cupped her breasts easily, taking their weight in his hands as he kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Oh God. This was more than a stolen kiss, far beyond the realm of
allowing him a few liberties
. And that knowledge thrilled her all the more.

She whimpered as he caressed her with whisper-soft strokes. Cried out when he lightly tweaked the tight buds. She'd never imagined that he could induce such bliss with a simple touch, but a delightful heat pulsed between her legs and echoed throughout her body. Every nerve ending seemed connected and on fire—for him.

Somehow, he understood what she wanted before she did.

“Come here,” he said, guiding her to the bench. “Sit.”

When she did, he knelt before her, letting his gaze rove over her bare skin. She would have covered herself with her hands, but he pinned them to the bench beneath his own. “Don't hide yourself from me. Ever.”

“I don't belong to you, and I am not yours to command.”

“Perhaps not. It's one of the reasons you intrigue me so. But one day soon, Meg, you
will
be mine.” With that, he bowed his head to her breast and drew the tip into his mouth, his tongue tasting and teasing.

She sucked in her breath, dizzy from the sheer ecstasy of it. “Do not stop,” she begged.

As he left one breast to lavish attention on the other he shot her a lazy, seductive smile. “I
am
yours to command,” he said, throwing her words back at her. “Especially in this.”

Any retort she might have made died on her lips, and her head fell back.

He slid his hand beneath the hem of her gown and stroked her leg, just behind the knee. “I want to make you feel even better.
Let
me.”

“What, precisely, do you propose to do?” she asked breathlessly.

“I could tell you, if you like.” He nibbled at her ear lobe. “Or I could show you. Trust me?”

He looked impossibly handsome and vulnerable at the same time. An irresistible combination.

“I trust you,” she said.

A feral gleam lit his eyes as he lifted her dress, glided a hand up the inside of her leg, and gently spread her thighs. Her skin glowed pale in the moonlight, and the warm evening air kissed her … everywhere. When she would have squeezed her knees together, he leaned in to capture her mouth in a kiss.

With one hand he traced decadent spirals on her bare breast; with the other he found the sensitive folds at her entrance and stroked her, reacting to her every moan, responding to her every need. He circled the most sensitive spot until she was on the edge of something big, panting with desire and nearly incapable of coherent thought.

“I've dreamed of touching you like this, Meg. Of making you moan with pleasure and watching as you come undone.”

“Why?” she gasped, leaning her head on his solid shoulder. “Why must you always push me to give up control?”

“Because you fight so hard to keep it.” He slid a finger into her, and instinctively, she thrust against his hand. “And because I know that when you finally
do
relinquish control, it's going to be … exquisite.”

“Help me,” she begged. “I don't know what to do.”

“It's very simple.” He chuckled softly. “And you are closer than you think. But you might try thinking wicked thoughts.”

“More wicked than being half undressed in your garden?” His finger moved inside her even as his thumb caressed her outside, setting up a hypnotic rhythm.

“More wicked than that,” he confirmed.

“I am at a loss.” Suddenly shy, she bit her lower lip. “But I've a feeling you could assist me.”

“Wicked thoughts happen to be my area of expertise,” he said smugly. “Just do as I say.”

She was so tightly coiled, so ripe for release, that she didn't consider balking at his command. “Very well.”

He plucked a petal from the bloom in her hair and held it before her face. “Imagine that this is ice cream.”

“Ice cream,” she repeated with some skepticism, even as she savored the pressure of his touch beneath her skirt.

“Mmm. Pineapple flavored. I'm dripping it here”—he swept the petal through the valley between her breasts—“and here”—he said, tracing a path to her navel. “Cold and sweet, it trickles down your sides, but I dutifully lick every drop off your skin.” To demonstrate, he lapped an imaginary droplet from the swell of her breast.