Never Entice an Earl (21 page)

“I want you here,” he rasped against her neck. “But I won’t make love to you for the
first time against a wall.”

In one swift move he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the end of the hall.
“It’s not too late to turn back. Tell me now, and I’ll take you home.”

She encircled her arms round him and pressed her face to his neck. “I don’t want to
go home.”

With a thrust of his boot, the doors swung open to reveal an enormous state bed, draped
in curtains and tassels, illuminated in the moonlight coming in through the window.
“What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfectly pretentious,” she murmured, as he crossed the floor. “Just
right for an earl.”

An earl. He still had trouble thinking of himself in that way. The title remained
simply a means by which to advance his search for Laura’s seducer, and when alone
he tended not even to think of it, or how the inheritance would affect his future.
One day, he supposed, he would be a marquess and his eldest son, should he be so blessed
with one, would be the earl—

But he didn’t want to think of that faraway future now, not here alone in the shadows
with Daphne, when that future could not include her.

He fell over her, onto a silken paradise, kissing her face, neck, and shoulders, and
heard her slippers fall,
thud
…
thunk
…to the floor.

But something whispered in his mind that he could not ignore. “Something changed your
mind tonight, something that upset you, and I want to know what it is.”

“The riot—” she murmured dreamily, reaching for his shirt and tugging it free of his
breeches. “You saved me. I want to be with you.”

“Not that.” He kissed her eyelids, and her cheeks. She sighed and embraced him, raising
her arms to encircle his neck. “Something else.”

“I saw you go with that woman into the forest, and it made me realize—”

“You aren’t the jealous sort. That isn’t why you are here with me tonight.” He stared
down at her face, that looked just like Daphne…but so like someone else, a fantasy
painted in shadows, lush and eager to share his bed.

She remained silent for a long while. “Tell me.”

“I saw my mother kissing Mr. Birch.”

He smoothed a tendril of her goddess-hair from where it had caught between her shoulder
and the coverlet. “How did that make you feel?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.”

“Which is why you should.”

“It made me feel happy for her.”

“And?”

“Sad for me.” Her eyes closed.

He lowered to kiss them again, and like magic, they fluttered open. “You’ve sworn
that you won’t marry.”

“I won’t. Even if…she and Mr. Birch…marry, but I realize I want something for myself.
This. You.” Her voice thickened. With a sudden frown, she shoved him off her, and
rolled away from him, onto her stomach. “You’ve ruined things now by being so serious.
On purpose, I think, so you wouldn’t have to make love to me.”

Cormack smiled, staring at her rounded buttocks beneath the blue silk. “On the contrary.”
He touched her ankle, which was covered in the sheerest silken stocking, and traced
his finger…up… “If you don’t allow me to make love to you, I’ll tell everyone I saw
Daphne Bevington—”

…up her calf…and circled his thumb behind her knee.

She shifted and sighed and, reaching for the pillow, gave up a little gasp. “What?”

“—dancing on the stage of the Blue Swan.”

She rolled again, smiling, and threw the pillow at his face. “Scoundrel! So you think
to resume your blackmail of me, do you?”

“I do indeed.” He climbed over her, straddling her waist, easily pinning her by the
wrists so she could not move, something she allowed without struggle.

Bending low, he caught the upper edge of her bodice with his teeth and dragged the
silk low. Still finding her completely concealed by her corset, he growled in complaint
and did the same with her corset, managing to reveal, with some effort, one perfectly
round breast.

The moment his mouth closed on her nipple, she arched and twisted, breaking free of
his grasp, only to hold his face, and rake her fingers through his hair. “Oh…Cormack.”

He lifted himself off her enough to pull her skirts up over her thighs.

“Wait!” she said.

Wait
, she said. But her eyes did not say
stop
. She stared up at him, her breast exposed, and the smooth skin of her thigh gleaming
in the moonlight.

“Yes?”

“If you wish to make love to me—” She pushed him onto his back, and half-rolled to
splay atop him, her breast puddled against his chest and her thigh across his hips,
as if she instinctively knew how to torture him. But her expression was one of innocence,
her first time playing this game. “You must tell me a secret that I may hold in confidence
against you.”

The front of his breeches caught her eye, and the swollen ridge that had become apparent
there. She rested her hand on his hip, just inches beside him.

“May I?” she said in a soft voice.

“Of course.” He held rigid.

She hesitated, but for only a moment, before smoothing her hand over him. At feeling
her inexperienced touch, everything hard went harder. She gasped. “It moved.”

But she smiled, above widened eyes.

“Yes, it does that,” he answered thickly.

Swallowing hard, she worked the fastening of his breeches, pulling down the center
placket until his stomach and cock were laid bare.

She whispered, “It’s very…turgid.”

“What an interesting word to use,” he answered raggedly.

“And bigger than I expected.”

“It gets…bigger.”

“Oh yes?” She met his gaze. “How?”

“Ah…well…”

“Like this?” She touched him softly, at the crown, and slowly drew her fingertip down
his length.

“That works remarkably well.”

“And this.” Her hand closed around him and tested his girth.

“Yes. Oh, hell. Not too tight—”

“I’m hurting you?” She froze, her hand still gripped there.

He covered her hand with his own. “No, that is not the problem at all.”

“Then show me.”

Slowly, he guided her hand into a rhythm, which as a student she took to very well,
so well—

“Oh, my,” she breathed.

He removed her hand and pushed her shoulders…

“I can’t…let you anymore…I’ll explode.”

…until she lay on the bed. His heartbeat raced, and everything blurred into a haze
of desire. He did not undress her. He could not survive the wait. Pushing her skirts
high, he crouched over her and stroked her stomach, the delicate skin at the tops
of her stockings, and the place between her thighs, which he found slick and ready.
She writhed, luxuriating like a cat at his touch.

“I can’t wait.” He
couldn’t
wait.

“I don’t want you to.”

Parting her thighs he positioned himself, as she grasped his shoulders tight. “
Wait.
”

He laughed, a desperate sound. “I just told you I can’t, Daphne. I want you too much.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt and, smiling playfully, her eyes glazed with desire,
she demanded, “Your secret. I would have it before we go further.”

His breath rasped in his throat, as her body cradled his sex between her thighs, tormenting
him with the promise of splendor.

“I wish…it could be you…”

Did she understand?
Forever.
He wished it could be her.

She released him, and lay back on the bed, her eyes shining. “Yes. Cormack. Make love
to me now, hurry.”

Gripping her hips, he thrust, entering her body a few inches before she arched and
twisted, her head falling back against the coverlet. He tugged her bodice, freeing
her other breast, and moved his hand over them both in solemn appreciation.

“I wish it could be you,” he repeated.

“Yes,” she whispered, choking on a sob of passion.

Harder, and more desperate now, he thrust again, breaking the last wall between them.

Daphne cried his name and held him tightly, wishing she could hold him like this forever,
joined with her, not only body but heart and soul. For a long moment, neither of them
moved. Her body protested, claiming reckless abuse.

“Is that it? Are we finished?” she asked softly, dismayed.

His shoulders, and the muscles of his back, bunched powerfully beneath her palms.

“Not yet. Just give me a moment…please, to assert some control—oh, hell, I don’t have
any, darling, I’m sorry—”

He moved suddenly, thrusting even deeper inside her body, spreading her, filling her
more completely than she had ever imagined possible.

“I want to see,” she gasped.

He jerked, but lifted, and she peered between them, at their bodies joined in the
moonlight. “I’m yours. Part of me forever, but all of me tonight. And you are mine.”

“I fear forever,” he said, lowering again to kiss to her temple.

“No…”

His hips moved again…and again…taking up a rhythm that both pained and pleased her….
The quiet of the room, broken by their gasps and moans, until there was only…pleasure,
which she felt suddenly desperate to intensify, to perfect.

He guided her into a new and faster tempo. The mattress bounced beneath her hips as
he pumped faster and faster, while guiding her hips upward to meet him.

A euphoric pleasure sluiced down her spine, to center between her legs. She cried
out, unable to contain the sudden and unexpected power of her passion. He cursed hoarsely,
and whispered her name, and suddenly—

An explosion of stars, of unimagined pleasure—inside her head—inside her body, so
deep she wanted to cry from the beauty of it. She arched, feeling the strong pulse
of his sex inside her womb. He stretched out over her, seizing her into his arms,
crushing the breath from her, which only made her smile.

A moment later, and he had pulled the bed linens and coverlet over them.

“That was…the most marvelous thing I have ever experienced,” he murmured against her
neck, before burying his face between her breasts. “I should have been stronger, but
I can’t resist you.”

“I have no regrets. Please, don’t you have them, either.”

“You might regret this tomorrow.”

“I don’t see how, when all I can think of is when we can do it again.”

He laughed, emitting a delightful rumbling sound from deep inside his chest. “You
are incorrigible.”

Suddenly, the sound of dogs barking and men’s voices echoed up through the house.
Cormack froze.

“Who is that?” gasped Daphne, her eyes widening. She clasped the sheet against her
breasts.

“I don’t know,” he growled, raising up.

Boots thumped on the stairs. Lots of them. From belowstairs, Hugin and Munin howled.

“I’ve got to hide.” She made as if to leap from the bed.

The rapid advance of footsteps thudded in the corridor, accompanied by raucous laughter
and the emission of a shrill whistle.
Jackson.

He seized her arm and pulled her back. “There’s no time.”

A
t the very same moment the door flew open, he dragged the sheet over her head and
shoved her down. Jackson burst through first, his arms outstretched, trying to hold
back the others.

“Now see here, His Lordship isn’t accepting callers at the moment. Won’t you fine
gentlemen return tomorrow?”

He wore a good-natured smile, but threw a look of utter panic over his shoulder toward
Cormack.

Realizing the identities of the men who pushed aside his manservant, Cormack secured
the sheet even more securely over Daphne, and urged her with his open hands against
her shoulders to remain concealed.

“He’ll see us, boy,” announced Rackmorton. At the sound of his voice, Daphne plastered
herself against him. “Now run along. Or don’t.” He laughed. “The more the merrier.”

His glazed eyes fixed on the bed. “My, my, my, what have we here?”

His Lordship was drunk, as were the other four with him. More than one bottle passed
between them.

Cormack’s muscles tightened, but he enforced an easy calm to his features. “As you
can see, Rack, I’m entertaining.”

Two of the others threw themselves into armchairs before the unlit fireplace. Another
adjusted his cravat in the mirror while the fourth threw open the window and unfastened
his breeches with the clear intention to urinate.

“How’d you get so lucky, in all that tangle of a mess?” Rackmorton’s eyebrows went
up. “Is it Bunhill?” He moved closer. “Even better, is it
both
of the Bunhills? If so, I’d be happy to join you.”

“It is not the Lady Bunhills. I made a new friend.”

“Do I know her?” His gaze raked over the shape under the sheet and his lips spread
into a houndish smile. “Who is it?”

If it were even possible, Daphne scooted closer, gouging her fingers into his sides.

Along the far wall, Jackson paced, lifting a hand to rub his face, his expression
one of thinly veiled fury. Cormack knew he only had to say the word, and his manservant
would intervene and assist.

“A gentleman never tells.”

“That’s not true. We only say that for appearances.” He grinned. “We tell all the
time, at least to each other.”

“Speak for yourself. I do not.”

He came another step closer, touching his gloved hand to the bed. Teasingly, he trailed
his fingertip over the linen, veering in a sudden movement to graze the bottom of
her foot. Daphne jumped, and drew her legs up. His eyes erupted in flames of interest.

“Don’t do that again,” Cormack warned.

“No, truly.” His lip drew back in a canine leer. “Let me see her.”

“No.”

“Spoilsport.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,
why
are you here?”

“Because we’re bored. Because we happened to be in the area. Because things ended
so abruptly, when those roisters broke into the gala.”

“So they did.”

Rackmorton dared lean across the bed to prop his elbow on a pillow and rested his
head on his palm. “I just wanted to make sure Kincraig and his ridiculous talk didn’t
taint your opinion about me and my associates.”

Cormack remained silent, prepared to intervene if His Lordship made the slightest
move to touch Daphne again.

“Bastard.” Rackmorton rolled his eyes. “He completely ruined the moment. Whenever
new members are inducted, it’s important to instill an air of pomp and mystery…it’s
just always been done that way. You understand the importance of tradition.”

“Of course.”

“But we are here now. As a show of goodwill, without even wearing our masks. Not all
of us, of course, but I feared if we all barged in, we might come off as…intrusive.”
He crossed his booted feet near the end of the bed, looking like a contented houseguest.
“I just wanted you to know, the invitation still stands and we’d be honored if you
joined us.”

“Point taken.” He’d had quite enough. Now it was time for them all to leave. “Thank
you for stopping by, but I hope you can understand that at this particular moment
I’d rather be finishing what I started…when you weren’t here.”

Rackmorton’s gaze again dropped to the form beneath the sheet. “I can imagine that
you would.” He chuckled, low in his throat. “We shall leave you to your endeavors,
then.”

The others assembled near the door.

Cormack watched in relief as Rackmorton eased up from the mattress—only to swing his
open hand round to clamp onto Daphne’s behind.

Underneath the sheet, she squealed and bored her head and hands into his chest. Cormack’s
hand shot to Rackmorton’s wrist, exerting such crushing force the man bellowed in
pain.

“Ow!”

“Mine,” Cormack uttered, clenching him a degree tighter before shoving his hand away.
“Don’t trespass again.”

Rackmorton rolled from the mattress, his face red and rubbing his wrist. “Bloody hell,
you take your women seriously. All in jest, and among good friends. By the way, I
saw you that night, at the Blue Swan, when you ran out into the lane. As my carriage
traveled past. I know…who you are, and what you’ve been looking for here in London.
And I can tell you it’s Kincraig. After tonight, we just can’t protect him any longer.
Consider it a gift, offered in anticipation that you will join us.”

He straightened his coat, ran his fingers through his hair, and spun on his heel at
the door, where the others stood silent and watching. “We’ll talk again soon.”

Cormack held Daphne still until they disappeared into the corridor. Jackson followed
them. “I am so sorry. They were in the house before I realized.”

“Lock the door after them, and let the dogs out from where I shut them up.”

“Yes, my lord.” He pulled the doors closed behind him. Cormack slipped from the bed,
and latched them in the event anyone decided to make a sudden return. Going back,
he found Daphne at the center of the mattress, with the sheets held high as her face,
which was white with shock.

“I think I’d like to go home now.”

Once they were dressed, Cormack insisted on summoning the cook from her sleep.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” Daphne asked from the far side of the drawing room.
She now wore a green-and-silver-threaded shawl around her shoulders to cover her ruined
gown. Cormack had told her he’d purchased the luxurious fringed item days before as
a gift for his mother, but that he believed it should serve a more necessary purpose
now.

He responded in a hushed voice, “She doesn’t have to know we did not just arrive.”

He paced, clearly impatient to see her delivered home. She, too, wanted nothing more
than to return to the comfort and security of her grandfather’s house. The incident
with Rackmorton had almost scared the life from her. And yet, she wasn’t ready to
be separated from Cormack.

“What will you do about Mr. Kincraig?”

“I don’t know yet. Go talk to him tomorrow, I suppose, and just ask him outright.”

He’d told her everything. About Laura and Michael, and the Invisibilis and his reason
for coming to London.

“Promise me you won’t kill him. He is the family’s only hope for an heir.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” he answered quietly. But she supposed if he intended
to, he wouldn’t tell her. “I just need to know the truth, then I can decide what must
be done.”

“When will I see you again?” she asked in a rush, suddenly fearing that he would tell
her never. That her relation to Kincraig made any further relationship between them
impossible. That the love affair between them was over before it had even begun.

She knew they couldn’t last forever, but still, she wasn’t ready to say good-bye.
The end of summer would come quickly enough, and she suspected he would then return
to his home in the country, and she would in turn go to Camellia House in nearby Lacenfleet
to stay with Sophia and Claxton, where she would spoil her sister and assist with
preparations for the baby’s arrival.

“Whenever you wish,” he answered steadily, his gaze touching upon her hair and her
mouth. “Wherever you wish. I am yours to summon.”

The promise in his eyes thrilled her and gave her assurances that he would seek to
resolve things with Kincraig in a civilized manner, as gentlemen did even under the
most difficult of circumstances.

A small woman with wiry red hair entered the room, bleary eyed and stuffing her curls
into a lace cap. She gave a little curtsey to her employer. “I am here, my lord. I
hear there is a young lady requiring chaperonage?”

Cormack provided Mrs. Green with a brief explanation of the excitement at Vauxhall
that had separated Miss Bevington from her family, and the situation with the roads.

“That, my lord, is what you call a riot, and not the first to have taken place on
those grounds. My dear girl, you must have been terrified. It’s why I won’t spend
my shilling to go there. Why, I can have a slice of ham and a jig right here in the
kitchen, without all that other trouble, though I do like a display of fireworks from
time to time.”

“The fireworks. We didn’t even get to see them tonight, I’m afraid.”

Though the passion that had taken place between herself and Cormack had been much
more fiery and explosive than any display of fireworks she had ever seen.

“Thank heavens for honorable men like His Lordship, who will risk his own life to
see a young lady of quality to safety.”

Cormack’s jaw tightened at that pronouncement. “Shall we be off, then?”

The three of them walked along the footpath toward Hamilton Place, with Mrs. Green
chattering cheerfully between them. It was then that an unexpected sadness came over
her, one she couldn’t even explain. Making love with Cormack had been just as wonderful
as she’d dreamed, even more so. Perhaps if they’d had more time after to simply hold
each other, and talk, before Rackmorton and his cohorts had interrupted them. Her
heart felt…slightly dissatisfied. Incomplete.

Daphne looked over Mrs. Green’s head, to find Cormack staring at her. He winked at
her, and offered a reassuring smile, as if he understood just how she felt.

When they arrived, several carriages crowded the curbstones in front of Wolverton’s
house. Among them was the one that had delivered her and her mother and sister to
Vauxhall earlier that evening, the one belonging to Kincraig. His was not at all as
fine as Wolverton’s town coach, which, despite the earl’s offer to make use of it
for the night, he had obstinately refused.

The door swung open. Her heart leapt with joy when her mother’s face appeared, and
Mr. Birch’s beside her. He climbed out, and assisted her mother and sister down. She
hadn’t yet stepped foot on the pavement to cross the road before her mother and sister
were tearing down the walk, their rumpled gowns pale streams of color in the night,
crying out relieved greetings, then enveloping her into their arms and leading her
to the house.

Daphne explained, “One of the horses went lame, so we’ve walked just this last bit.”

It wasn’t a lie, and for that she felt relieved.

“As you can see, we have only just arrived ourselves,” announced Clarissa. “What a
miserable night this has turned out to be.”

Lady Margaretta leaned close, squeezing Daphne around the shoulders. “My dear, I know
that you saw Mr. Birch and I—”

“I’m not traumatized, Mother, I just didn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re very certain?”

“I am.”

Clarissa winked at her. “Well, I for one am utterly traumatized.”

Mr. Birch, oblivious to the true nature of their conversation, followed behind. “But
we are all safe, and that’s all that matters.”

The three ladies burst into giggles.

Her grandfather waited at the door in his bath chair, his valet, O’Connell, standing
at his side. A backward glance over her shoulder found Cormack slowly following them,
his face drawn, and, it seemed, several shades paler.

Oddly, Kincraig greeted Cormack with a hearty “Well, hello there. Shouldn’t we come
up with some sort of a secret greeting, or even a handshake?”

To Daphne’s relief, Cormack only said, “May I pay a call on you tomorrow? I’d like
to talk to you a bit about what happened tonight.”

By all appearances, he intended to handle the matter like a civilized gentleman.

They all moved to the drawing room, and Daphne heard Cormack explain, “We actually
made it as far as my residence and—” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. Daphne’s
face colored. “—waited for things to clear a bit there, before coming on.”

Lady Margaretta reached to squeeze his hand, smiling radiantly. “And I see you picked
up another traveler along the way.”

“Yes, that is Mrs. Green, my cook.”

The marchioness looked between them. “Thank you, Mrs. Green. I know you must rather
be sleeping, instead of playing chaperone in the middle of the night.”

“Oh, no, ma’am. I understand. Thank heavens your daughter found herself under the
protection of a gentleman such as His Lordship, who understands the importance of
propriety and appearance. The earl even insisted on riding with the driver, so there
would be no questions.”

As Mr. Birch explained everything that had occurred to Wolverton, Lady Harwick bestowed
an adoring glance on Cormack, who looked to Daphne a bit green about the gills. “And
there
would
be no questions. We have not known His Lordship long, but we’ve no doubt at all about
his character, and trust him implicitly. We are so thrilled to have made such a lifelong
friend. Girls, upstairs now.” Her mother herded them toward the door. More discreetly,
and out of the hearing of the gentlemen, she murmured, “Baths await you, and bed.”

On the way to the door, Daphne reached to touch Cormack’s arm, and he turned from
Wolverton and Mr. Birch, with whom he’d been speaking.

“Thank you again, my lord, for seeing me home.”

His eyes conveyed a thousand sentiments.
I’ll miss you. I hope you are well.
And, she feared,
I ought to have been a stronger man
.