My Brown-Eyed Earl (19 page)

“Morning,” he repeated to himself. “And would you have agreed to speak to me then?”

She deflated a little. “Probably not.”

“I was worried about you. I had to make sure you were all right.” He brushed a wet strand of hair away from her face. “Are you?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. You could have broken your neck.”

“I didn't. Besides, there were shrubs below me. Even if I fell, I would have escaped with a few scratches.”

“Your confidence might well be impressive if it weren't so bloody foolish,” she said sharply.

His laugh, low and rich, vibrated through her limbs. “That's one of the things I adore about you, Meg. You don't mince words. You don't believe in false flattery or blind agreement. On the contrary, you challenge me at every turn.”

“
Someone
has to,” she said sullenly.

“Yes. And if you want to know the truth of it”—he cupped her cheek in his palm—“I'm inordinately glad that person is you.”

She couldn't help it—she warmed at the compliment. Most men thought her prickly personality was a liability—something to be hidden or apologized for. But Will liked her tendency to speak her mind. More than that, he seemed to genuinely like
her
.

He leaned in and touched his forehead to hers, looking very much like he wanted to kiss her. Her traitorous heart leaped and her lips parted.

He was but a breath away when she remembered and drew back. She had to ask, even though she knew the answer.

Especially
since she knew the answer.

“Who is Marina?”

*   *   *

Good God. Will winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How do you know about Marina?”

“I hear things,” she said vaguely. “But I know very little. That's why I'm asking you who she is.”

No. He couldn't talk about his ex-mistress with Meg—especially not now, when she was already upset. He pushed himself to his feet and offered her his hand. “You've had a trying day. Let me bring a chair over and make you comfortable.”

Refusing his assistance, she untangled herself from a web of blankets and sheets, and stood, facing him. Her hair was a glorious mass of dark, wet curls, and her damp chemise clung to her like a second skin.

“I don't require a
chair
,” she said slowly. “I require the
truth
.”

Damn. Will wished to God he was back on the windowsill, hanging by his fingertips. The truth was going to hurt Meg, and hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do. “Why would you ask about Marina? She has nothing to do with us.”

“There is no
us
, Will. Especially if you cannot answer this simple question for me.
Who is Marina?
”

He could respond that she was a friend—nothing more—and it would be the truth. But Meg wanted the whole truth, and he had no choice but to respect that.

“Fine. I will tell you. But fair warning—you may not like the answer.” He clasped her hand and guided her to the edge of the bed, where they both sat.

As he looked into her beautiful, wary eyes, his stomach clenched. He'd sooner have this uncomfortable conversation with his mother than with her, but there was no avoiding it now. No way to spare her the pain.

He drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and let the words spill out. “Until recently, Marina and I were … lovers.” She flinched at the word but did not look away. “She is a widow, and wealthy in her own right. Our arrangement was purely physical—that is, neither of us had any expectation of courtship or marriage.” Until Marina changed her mind, prompting him to end things. In retrospect, she'd done him a favor.

“What happened?” The lamp's light flickered over her pale face.

“The relationship ran its course, as we both knew it eventually would. She's now seeing someone new.”

Meg stared at him, long and hard, as though she doubted the veracity of his words. “When did you last see her?”

He hesitated a beat. She must already know. “Earlier tonight.”

Her chin trembled and her eyes welled again. “I don't understand.”

“I know it sounds bad. There was a matter we needed to discuss.” He wanted to reassure her, and yet, he did not think it wise to mention the masked man who'd questioned Marina about the twins. The less Meg was involved, the better.

“I see,” she said, but he could tell that she wished to know more.

“I promise you,” he said, taking her hand, “that there is no romantic involvement between Marina and me. She has moved on, as have I.”

“Will you see her again?”

“Possibly. But only if it's absolutely necessary. She's trying to help me with … something. I know it all sounds very vague, but I'm asking you to trust me.”

“I want to. But I confess I can't begin to understand a relationship that is based on nothing but…”

“Pleasure?”

“Yes. And how it could end so … abruptly.”

“You are right to question such things.” God, he wished he had some brandy. “The truth is that such relationships are often shallow and ultimately unfulfilling.” Only it had never bothered him before.

“That is rather … sad.” She crossed her arms, stood, and paced beside the bed. “I suppose it was naïve of me to think that our tryst in the garden was anything more than a pleasurable encounter.” Her cheeks flushed bright pink.

“No.” He shook his head adamantly. “You are not naïve. It meant something to me, too.”

She stood very still before him, silhouetted by the lamplight. “
What
did it mean to you?” She asked as though his answer had the power to change everything.

Though his jacket and trousers were still damp, a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. “I'm not skilled at putting these things into words.”

“Try.” It was both a demand and a plea.

“Very well.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts, such as they were. “When I'm with you—it doesn't matter if we're kissing or arguing or just talking—I feel alive. Like I'm not just gliding through life, doing what little is expected of me, playing the self-indulgent rake. You make me feel like I'm … more.” He speared his fingers through his hair. “Christ. That sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?”

She swallowed and slowly shook her head. “No.”

“It's the same reason I sought you out as a teenager, that day at the lake, I think. You've always had a strength and confidence about you—a tendency to question things and to defy tradition. I like that.”

“That tendency lands me in trouble on a regular basis,” she admitted. “But I can't help it.”

“I wouldn't want you to change.” He grinned. “Well,
sometimes
I might wish you would follow simple requests—like backing away from the window—without an argument.”

She arched a brow. “
Sometimes
I might wish that you would avoid dangling from my sill.”

“You see,” he said, pointing at her. “You take me to task when I deserve it—and I usually do. You won't permit me to skate by without examining myself or my actions.”

“I am not certain that's a compliment,” she said frowning, “but I shall take it as one anyway.”

“It is indeed a compliment, Meg.” He pulled her down beside him, wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders, and rested his chin on her head. Her damp hair smelled like soap, citrus, and summer. “You demand more of me. Even better, you make me want to give more. Be more.” He sighed. “Does any part of these ramblings make sense?”

“Not really,” she murmured, snuggling against his chest. “Little has made sense since the day you interviewed me for the governess position. I detest you one minute and admire you the next. You mock me one minute and praise me the next. I know that we are not well-suited for one another. But I like being with you.”

His heartbeat sped from trot to gallop. “You do?”

“Against my better judgment, yes.”

He lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes, willing her to believe him. “Things between us are complicated, but I do know this—I want to make it work. Tell me you do, too.”

“You know,” she breathed, “I think I do.” Tenderly, she lifted his hand, uncurled his fingers, and kissed his abraded palm. Innocent enough, and yet, his trousers grew uncomfortably tight.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

He grinned. “Feeling better by the minute.”

“When I'm with you,” she said, “I feel alive too.” She placed his hand just above the loose neckline of her chemise, on the tantalizing curve of her breast, and held it there. Her heart pounded beneath his fingertips, echoing the rapid beat of his own. “It's very difficult to resist you.”

“Meg,” he said earnestly, “I know I shouldn't be here. I charged into your bedchamber uninvited, but I will go right now if you want me to. Just point me to the door.”

“You don't care to exit the same way you entered?” she teased, twining her arms around his neck.

He slid his hand beneath her chemise and caressed her breasts. “No, vixen. I want to stay.”

“In that case, I think we'd better remove your wet clothes.”

 

Chapter
TWENTY

 

This was madness. Pure, simple, impossibly sweet madness.

Meg shoved Will's jacket off his shoulders. Their arms tangled in a frenzy to remove it—along with his cravat, waistcoat, and shirt. Fabric ripped, buttons rolled across the floor, and garments were abandoned.

Leaving his torso completely bare.

He was a sight to behold, and, Lord help her, she couldn't tear her eyes away if she tried. All lean muscle and raw power, his chest and shoulders flexed as he bent over and tugged off his boots, one at a time. The sinewy strength of his arms made her mouth go dry, but it was his abdomen that mesmerized her. Her fingers itched to touch the fuzzy, flat planes above his waistband and test their hardness.

When he straightened, he wore only his trousers and a triumphant grin. With his dark hair hanging low over his brow and his damp skin glistening in the lamplight, he might have indeed been a marauding Viking or a dragon-slaying knight.

Either way, he was
hers
.

Perhaps not for forever … but for tonight.

“Any second thoughts?” His eyes searched hers.

“On the contrary. I fear my thoughts are very … wanton.”

He released a breath, relieved. “I approve of wanton thoughts, as you well know.” He sprawled his body diagonally across the bed and patted the mattress. “Come here.”

She climbed up beside him, every nerve tingling with anticipation. “What now?” she asked, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

“Miss Lacey,” he said, clucking his tongue. “Have you learned nothing?”

Heat flooded her face. “I think you know that I am still very much a novice.”

His low chuckle made her body hum. “I'm referring to a lesson I gave you some time ago.”

“
You
gave
me
a lesson?” she asked, incredulous.

“Indeed. I counseled patience, and told you that if you're always in a rush to get to the end, you'll miss all the fun.”

Blast, he
had
said that. “That advice was given in an entirely different context,” she pointed out.

“You had your context; I had mine. The most valuable lessons can be applied to many aspects of one's life.”

“I see,” she said, although it was nearly impossible to concentrate on his words when his mouthwateringly handsome, hard body was only inches from hers.

He found the loose string at her neckline and slowly tugged, inch by inch, his hot gaze roving over the swells of her heavy breasts. “It's best not to rush things.”

The soft lawn of her chemise grazed the tight peaks, sending a sweet ache straight to her core. “If you say so.” It was a relief to surrender control and let someone else take charge for a while. To give herself over to him, completely. She stretched out on the bed beside him. “I promise to be the very picture of patience.”

A devilish gleam lit his eyes. “We shall see about that.” He dragged her chemise off her shoulders and pushed it down to her waist, then pinned her wrists to the mattress, above her head. “Mine,” he breathed. “You are mine.”

He bent his head and took the tip of her breast in his mouth, sucking and teasing till she arched her back and moaned, aching from the sheer pleasure of it. He lavished the same attention on the other breast, then looked down at her with heavy-lidded brown eyes.

“I want to explore all of you, Meg. At my leisure. And even though we have all night, I already know that it won't be nearly enough time. I'll never have enough of you.”

She melted, falling a little further under his spell. “Let's enjoy each other now,” she whispered. “As much as we can.”

He dedicated himself completely to pleasing her. With a growl, he wedged a leg between hers and caressed the tops of her thighs, working his way higher and teasing the folds at her entrance until she was dizzy with need. She strained toward him, seeking the glorious release he'd given her in the garden.

“Not so fast, vixen,” he said, but he was nearly as breathless as she.

“I want to touch you too.” She wriggled her wrists where he still clasped them gently above her head.

He arched a brow as though considering her request. “Maybe we can make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“I shall release you, if … you remove your chemise.”

She was about to point out that her chemise was barely on her but shrugged. “Deal.” He let her wrists go, and she began to push the garment over her hips.

“Not like that,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Stand over there, in front of the lamp, so I can see you properly.”