My Brown-Eyed Earl (15 page)

“Ooh.” The image of his dark head bent over her body and intent on pleasuring her filled her head. The pulsing in her core grew stronger, more insistent. “What else?”

“Close your eyes.” She did. “Feel me touching you”—he stroked her entrance, teasing mercilessly—“here.”

“Yes.” Heaven help her, she was scarcely aware of anything else.

“Now imagine I'm caressing you here, not with my fingers … but with my mouth. Tasting and exploring to my heart's content. Driving you mad with every wicked stroke of my tongue.”

Dear God. A thousand pinpricks of light gathered in her core and smoldered for an eternity. She whimpered, fearing they might never ignite, but then he grabbed a fistful of her hair, drew her head down, and breathed in her ear. “Come for me, Meg.”

And she burst into flames. Fierce and beautiful, the fire roared through her, sparing not an inch of her body or soul. Her skin tingled, her heart pounded, and her toes curled. And all the while, Will stayed close, holding her and watching her with something akin to wonder.

Slowly, the world sharpened back into focus. A light breeze blew, the fountain gurgled, a toad croaked.

And Meg knew she'd never be the same again.

When at last the embers of her pleasure subsided, he pulled the skirt of her gown over her legs and sat beside her on the stone bench. “You're an excellent pupil,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple.

Suddenly embarrassed, she'd swallowed and slipped her arms back into her sleeves. She'd surrendered to Will, and it was madness. Pure madness.

Clearly, the earl had not found the same sort of satisfaction she had, and yet, he did not urge her to venture any further down the lane of impropriety. Perhaps he was aware that she'd already strolled much further down that path than she'd intended.

“Allow me to help you with your laces.”

Wordlessly, she turned and let him secure her dress while she attempted to repair the damage to her hair. A minute later, she could have almost passed for respectable.

But she knew very well that she was not—and what she must now do.

It was going to break her heart.

 

Chapter
FIFTEEN

 

“After what just transpired,” Meg said soberly, “I do not think it possible for me to remain in your employ.”

Jesus. Will was still hard as a rock, drunk on the scent of her, and reeling from the raw power of her release. “Let's not be hasty.” He nuzzled her neck, wishing he could take her to his bed and pleasure her a dozen different ways before morning. “There's no reason for you to leave. I will admit that this complicates things a bit—”

“It's more than a complication,” she said. “It changes everything. A stolen kiss was one thing, but this … we cannot go back to the way it was before—at least,
I
cannot.”

“Running away will accomplish nothing. You must give me time.”

“Time for what?”

An excellent question—and one he wasn't quite prepared to answer. “To sort things out. To show you … that I care for you.” God help him, he did.

She straightened her spine. “I harbor no illusions about the future.”

“Maybe you should raise your expectations.” The words had tumbled out of his mouth, unbidden—and yet, they rang true.

“So that I may ultimately be disappointed?”

Damn it, he was in no position to make promises. Meg was nothing like the type of woman he'd envisioned as his future countess. He needed someone born to the role—someone who could move about society with ease, visiting genteel drawing rooms during the day and hosting lavish dinner parties at night. Someone whose dowdy gowns wouldn't raise eyebrows in ballrooms or spark gossip amongst the town's elite. Someone who would give him an heir but not demand too much of his time or heart. That wasn't Meg.

But he sure as hell wasn't ready to let her go. Not after she'd just come apart in his arms.

Maybe he could slightly alter the vision of his future countess in his head. Perhaps Meg could change a little, too, and they could find some middle ground.

Of course, her stubborn streak was a mile wide, so the odds of reaching a compromise were not in his favor. He only knew he had to try.

He blew out a long breath. “Give me the chance to prove to you that my feelings are true.”

She blinked at him, her heavy-lidded gaze innocently seductive. “Couldn't that be accomplished while I was at my uncle's?”

Undoubtedly. But the distance would also make it infinitely more difficult for him to crack her armor. “Selfishly, I want you here, under my roof. But you need not fear for your reputation. While we are in the company of others, I promise to be the model of propriety.”

“That in itself is sure to raise suspicion,” she teased.

“And though it will kill me to refrain from touching you all day,” he murmured, “I will. I'll see you, and I'll remember the feel of your satin skin beneath my hands … the decadent taste of your lips … and the glorious sight of you coming undone.”

He lifted her chin and gave her a tender kiss—both a promise and a plea. “The choice is yours, Meg. You may stay or you may go. But by God, I want you to stay.”

She arched a brow, regarding him thoughtfully. “And you need a governess.”

“There is that. But right now”—he slid his hand up her side and cupped her breast—“I swear I'm thinking only of you. Of us.”

Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed softly. “I'm quite certain that I've lost my mind.”

“As have I.”

“But I do need the money. I will stay. For now.”

He ignored the stab he felt at her mention of money and brushed his thumb over her nipple, pleased to find it taut and straining against the fabric of her dress. “Good,” he growled.

“You must understand, though. I cannot risk a scandal.”

“I'll protect you,” he vowed.

She shook her head as if he failed to understand the gravity of the situation. “I
cannot
bring shame upon my family or sully my sisters' reputations. I won't jeopardize their chance to make a good match. If it seems we are in danger of being discovered, I shall be forced to leave at once and sever our connection.”

“I won't let that happen.”

“Some things are out of our control, Will. Isn't that what you keep telling me?”

“I had no idea you were actually listening.”

Smiling ruefully, she stood and shook out her skirt. “I must go. The girls and I have much to accomplish tomorrow.”

He reached for her hand and pressed his lips to the back. “Perhaps you'll save time in your schedule for me?”

“That all depends,” she said vaguely.

“On what?”

“On the success of naptime.” She pulled away, and he reluctantly released her fingertips.

“I am a staunch supporter of naps,” he said, watching her glide toward the house.

“As am I, my lord,” she said over her shoulder. “As am I.”

*   *   *

“Valerie has nine ribbons.” Meg counted out nine pebbles and placed them in front of Diana. She and the girls had pushed the desks and chairs toward the walls of the nursery, opting to sit on the worn but comfortable rug in the center. “Then she gives four of them away.”

Diana slid four of the pebbles to the side.

Meg nodded approvingly. “How many ribbons has Valerie now?”

“No one knows,” Diana said cheekily, “because her dresser is such a mess.”

“Not as bad as yours,” Valerie retorted. “At least I don't collect weeds in my drawer.”

“They're flowers!”

“They might have been
once
. Now they're just dead.”

“Girls,” Meg said smoothly, while making a mental note to help Diana tidy her drawer later, “let's finish our lesson, shall we?”

Diana considered the pebbles once more, her lips moving silently as she counted. Raising her head, she said, “The problem is nine minus four, and the answer is five.”

“Well done!” Meg exclaimed.

“Bravo!” cried Valerie. “You've got it.”

“Yes, I think I do,” Diana said, preening. “Now it's Valerie's turn. I shall make up a problem for her. Let's see.
Diana has six turtles
.”

“Pardon me, ladies.”

Meg looked up to find the earl standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the jamb and wearing a midnight blue jacket that might have been molded to fit his broad shoulders and trim waist. “Miss Lacey, might I have a word?”

“We're in the middle of a lesson, my lord.” Heat rose up her neck and flooded her cheeks.

“I only require a moment of your time,” he said firmly, inducing the same sinking feeling as a summons to the headmistress's office.

“Very well.” She pushed herself off the floor as gracefully as possible, which was to say not very gracefully at all, and addressed the twins. “Take turns making problems for each other, and write the equations on your chalkboards so that I may see them when I return. I shan't be gone for more than a few minutes.”

The girls nodded mutely, staring at the earl with saucer eyes.

Meg stepped into the hallway where Will waited, and shut the nursery door behind her. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“I missed you.” He reached for the long, loose curl that hung over her shoulder and wound it around his finger. “So I thought I'd inquire about naptime. When is it?”

“Not for another two hours, at least.”

“Damn.” He scowled, and though his grave and obvious disappointment melted her a smidge, she was all too aware that the twins might have their ears pressed to the door.

“Perhaps this afternoon isn't the most opportune—”

“Just meet me in the library,” he said, his gaze hot and hungry. “I promise to behave myself. Unless you'd rather I didn't…”

“I shall try to be there.”

“That's all I ask.” He released her tendril of hair, brushed his thumb over her lower lip, and stared at her mouth.

“I must go.”

“Until later, then.” He let his hand drop, but as she went to open the nursery door, he said, “How is Diana today?”

Puzzled by his question, she frowned. “She is well. Why?”

“I wondered if she had recovered from yesterday's adventure. It must have been frightening for her, to be lost and on her own—even if she didn't wander farther than Mayfair.”

Meg's heart squeezed in her chest. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Of course.”

She placed a hand in the crook of his elbow and leaned toward his ear. “I think that you care more for the twins than you let on.”

Scoffing, he shook his head. “They're terrors.”

“If you say so.” Unable to resist, she rose up on her toes and kissed his mouth, lingering longer than she should have dared.

He groaned, and she smiled as she returned to the nursery, already counting the minutes until naptime.

*   *   *

Will closeted himself in his study and surrounded himself with contracts and ledgers in an attempt to appear productive for the next two hours, even if he was not.

He wrote a few letters making discreet inquiries into Lord Wiltmore's finances. Meg's uncle was the closest thing she had to a father, and if she'd agreed to take the governess position, he must be in dire straits, indeed. Will had no doubt he could help the baron, but first he needed some idea of the extent of his debts and troubles.

Will was melting sealing wax onto the last of his correspondence when Gibson cleared his throat from the doorway. “Begging your pardon, my lord. This just arrived for you.” The butler held a letter between his thumb and index finger the way one might handle a dead rat.

The moment Will snatched the letter from Gibson, a wave of perfume assaulted his nose and stung his eyes. He recognized the expensive but cloying scent as Marina's. “Bloody hell.”

“Precisely, my lord.”

“That will be all, Gibson.”

Will turned the letter over in his hands, debating whether to read or burn it. He'd broken things off with his ex-mistress, and no good could come of prolonging their attachment—even if he attempted to keep it strictly platonic. He had no wish to give Marina the wrong idea. Especially now that he was involved with Meg.

But, guilt niggled. He and Marina had been intimate for several months, and though their relationship had been more business than personal, he owed her the courtesy of reading her letter.

Cursing, he unfolded the note and breathed through his mouth as he read.

Dearest Will,

I trust you have not changed your mind about us. I confess I am disappointed, however, I shall not beg you to come back to me. I'm sure it is no suprise to you that I've a multitude of options available. However, their is a matter of some import that I feel compelled to share with you, and I think we must discuss it in person. Please send word indicating where and when you'd like to meet.

—M.

Will read the note over again, shaking his head over Marina's spelling and searching for a clue about what the
matter of import
might be. For all her faults, Marina was not one to play games, so if she wanted to speak with him, the most likely reason was …

Shit
. His mouth went dry and his head started to pound. He'd always taken precautions to avoid getting her with child, but French letters were hardly failsafe.

Maybe she was mistaken, or perhaps she wanted to speak to him about something else entirely … but his gut told him that whatever the news was, it wouldn't be good.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. If Marina was pregnant, it could ruin everything … but he had to know, and he had to do the right thing where the child was concerned.

He stuffed her letter in the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper to compose a reply. The sooner he spoke with her, the sooner he'd have his answers—and he wanted them now.