The Earl is Mine (11 page)

“It’s perfect,” he whispered. He looked into her eyes and ran a lazy circle with his thumb over the linen shielding her nipple.

He had her hypnotized.

And this time when they kissed again, something happened, something raw and needy between them that each had been suppressing in the carriage and up until that moment. Except for the warm and cozy bit at the end, the encounter in Gregory’s vehicle had been mostly uncomfortable, awkward, and tense, all at the same time. This kiss was a reward for their endurance.

She couldn’t help wanting to feel him as intimately as he was exploring her, so she ran her hand over his belly, her lips never leaving his, and pushed her hips into the firmness that bulged in such enticing fashion in his trousers.

“I like this,” she said. “I never want to stop.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

When he ended the kiss—slowly, reluctantly, it seemed—she couldn’t help following his lips with her own until the two of them were well and truly parted. She opened her eyes and looked into the deep blue depths of his. They dazzled her brain and made it hard to think.

“I—I do appreciate your trying to stay out of the papers while I’m gone,” she said, her voice feeling like taffy. “I know for you, in particular, with your Don Juan ways, it will be a difficult task.”

“It will, indeed,” said Gregory in a scratchy, low tone. “I often practice my seduction skills on women dressed as men, and I anticipate at least four or five will crop up in the next several months. It will be hell avoiding them.”

She yanked her cravat out of his now loose fingers and watched him over her shoulder as she moved to the window.

He said nothing. Neither did he move.

Good.

“I’m going now,” she said over her shoulder. “Good-bye.”

But as she retied her cravat, part of her was disappointed he hadn’t followed her. She’d rather be kissing him than standing alone at this window, which looked cold, square, and utilitarian. Outside was a side yard filled with rows and rows of lumber immersed in several large puddles that had ripples across their tops due to the rising winds.

She tried her best to budge the frame. Surely, all it would take was one mighty heave.

“It’s painted shut,” Gregory said. “Don’t you remember I tried to open it when we got in here?”

“I forgot,” she said to the panes. She’d forgotten because when they got in here, she’d been daydreaming they were married and were on a trip to Paris together and that night, they’d have to stay at the inn in a cozy bed made for two.

She’d envisioned what would happen. She wasn’t exactly sure of all the details, but she had a very good idea. It was something she longed for at night when she thought of Gregory. It must be entirely embarrassing, but with him, it would be exciting—a grand adventure.

Stupid of her, she knew, to indulge in such a fantasy. Perhaps the rain had made her delirious. Or the whiskey had made her mad.

She turned around to face him. “Are the ten minutes up?”

“Six to go,” he said, looking at his watch fob. “But I’m willing to open the door now if you can walk through it peaceably and get straight into my carriage.”

“Why, that’s Uncle Bertie’s watch.” Her heart gave a little lurch as she wondered what her dear elderly relative was doing at the moment.

“Yes, it is,” Gregory said, popping it back into his waistcoat pocket. “He gave it to me last night when I promised to look after you.” He threw himself into a chair and tilted it backward, a favorite activity of his since he was a boy. “I suppose changing the subject is your way of saying you’re not ready to cooperate.”

She traveled to his side, her man shoes scraping across the floor, then nudged his shoulder with her hip. “Kissing me is hardly looking after me. And you promised we’d leave after ten minutes, whether I cooperate or not.”

“You’ve already been a very obliging prisoner.” He kept his eyes on the fireplace, crossed his arms behind his head, and looked the epitome of relaxed man. Relaxed,
handsome
man. “We could go back to what we were doing.”

She scratched the side of her nose and moved away a step. “I couldn’t kiss you for six minutes even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, yes you could.”

“Hah.” She gave a shallow laugh. “Kisses can’t last that long. We’d run out of breath.”

“It’s like magic,” he said to the fireplace. “Somehow you don’t.”

“You would know,” she said. “A gentleman shouldn’t be kissing so many women for so long. It leads—it leads to a dissolute life.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing—if you’re stupid. But
you’re
not stupid. You can’t fool me for an instant. You don’t want a dissolute life.”

He shrugged. “You think too much, Lieutenant.”

That old name! It warmed her heart to hear him say it, although she wouldn’t tell him.

“And you don’t think enough,
Captain,
” she told the top of his head. She longed to run her hand through those shiny, dark curls.

He stood up, and the front chair legs hit the floor with a loud thump. “Listen to me.” He hovered above her. “You can’t go to Paris—what would be the point if you did? Monsieur will say no to tutoring you. Can’t you learn the art from books?”

“It won’t be the same. Can you learn how to design buildings only from books? Or didn’t you need a mentor to help you reach your potential?”

“A mentor is preferable, but it’s not realistic in your case. What would you want to do, once you learn the art of sugar sculpting from Monsieur?”

“I’ll come back to all of them,” she said, “Uncle Bertie, Mother, Brick and the other servants, and the moor, after I’ve learned everything I can. When I live in Dartmoor again, I’ll be in great demand. By then, I’ll have learned to pack and ship my wares, and people will pay extraordinary amounts for my creations.”

“You’re a lady, Pippa. You’re supposed to get married, have children. Don’t you have an obligation to your family to make a good match?”

She sighed. “You know the answer to that. Of course I do, in the eyes of the world. But the moor”—she grasped both his hands—“it speaks every day, and it’s much louder in its silence than any gossips, the Toad, Mother, and all the expectations that have been thrust on me since I was a little girl. The moor says that I have only one chance”—she squeezed his hands hard—“
this
chance, to live my life. And I’m going to take it.”

He pulled away, walked to the window, and peered out. “We’re grown now.” His voice was steady when he turned back to face her. “Today you were preyed upon by a scoundrel who’ll deny everything if he’s accused. I thought you were merely in the garden or downstairs when I walked by your room this morning and found you gone. Hawthorne and Trickle had already cleared evidence of him from your room.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“And then you put yourself in further danger by naïvely throwing yourself on the mercy of what is, in large part, a cruel world. Furthermore, I’m on my way to a dull house party where I intend to work on a modest commission that will get me no further ahead in the realm of architecture than running away will do for you. This is real life, Pippa. It’s time to put childish fancy behind us.”

Her throat was suddenly hot. “When we were children, you were the perfect companion. We saw wondrous things together, and we acted as if only the present moment mattered. I always knew”—she gulped—“I always knew we would be friends—that there was no limit to our understanding of each other. But that didn’t last long, did it? A dozen years ago, you changed completely. I suppose you grew up, according to your definition of the term. And now we’ve nothing in common. Nothing beyond—”

She couldn’t go on, but she was thinking of how well their bodies fit together when they kissed.

She strode to the door, but before she could unbolt it, he caught her hand from behind.

“So we’ve nothing in common, eh?” he said close to her ear.

She shook her head.

“And I know nothing of joy?”

She nodded vigorously.

He encircled her waist with his palms. “If that’s so, how is it that I can make you feel”—he raised his hands and cupped her breasts—“like this?”

She froze and tried to ignore the incredibly erotic sensations his hands aroused in her.

“And why is it,” he murmured, “that I know exactly how to make
you
happy?”

“No you don’t.”

“Oh, yes I do.” A beat of simmering silence went past. “I dare you to let me try.”

“Gregory Sherwood, when you dare me, something always goes wrong.”

“It won’t this time,” he said. “I promise.”

She twisted around to face him. “That’s what you always used to say.”

He chuckled. “The last time I dared you to anything I was barely thirteen.”

“True,” she said slowly.

“Let me try again. But you must trust me. Do you?”

She gave a quick nod. “But I’m only saying yes because it’s time you got back to your old self. You became quite dull as you got older. Moping about Uncle Bertie’s library. Refusing to hike on the moor. Not laughing at my jokes. I don’t believe you have it in you to have a lark. In fact, this dare is about
you
. Not me.”

“You’re going to regret saying that.” He pulled her coat off and lowered her leather braces.

“Excuse me?” she said, her heart beating faster. “I need those braces!”

She tried to pull them back up, but he stayed her hand. “I told you to trust me,” he chided her softly.

Her pulse thudded in her temples, but she couldn’t look away from the depths of those eyes she’d dreamed about every night he’d been away in America—and long before that.

“I’ll try,” she said airily, hoping he didn’t know how pent up she was with nerves. Mixed in with those nerves was a desire to kiss him again, too. But she was afraid. He was big. And handsome. And he knew how to kiss too well. That honeymoon fantasy she’d had when she got here was supposed to remain that. A fantasy.

She needed to get out of this place.

“I won’t let you.” His mouth barely tipped up in a half-smile.

“What?”

“Leave.” He shot her an implacable look. “So forget it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, which could very well be the reason he gently turned her around so that her back was to him.

He pulled her shirt out of her trousers with ease as they were far too big at the waist. Before she could protest, he stuck his palms down the back of them, and she practically jumped at the feeling of his hot hands on her bare bottom.

“Gregory!” she called out sharply, and gasped when he yanked those trousers down in one fell swoop and made her step out of them.

“I’m not sure about this,” she said, feeling quivery and shy. She was glad her shirt was almost as long as a night rail.

“Trust me,” he said softly from behind her shoulder and caressed her upper arms. “Now I’ll need you to put your palms on the door.”

“All right.” She could
do
that.

“And now … spread your legs for me.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure? We’re in a taproom. And—what if someone looks in the window?”

“It’s like an ocean on this side of the inn. No one’s going to be walking through that puddle. And if they did attempt such a foolhardy thing and peer in the window, they’d only be very jealous of what they see.”

“Jealous? I don’t know why.” Pippa lifted her chin. “So far this isn’t much of a lark.”

“You need to be more patient.”

“I don’t like being patient.”

“Yes. I know that. I believe everyone knows that about you, Pippa. Now go ahead,” he ordered. “Spread your legs. I promise nothing will go wrong.”

“Very well.” She gulped. “What if—what if someone knocks?”

“We’ll ignore it. I assure you, it’s so loud in that taproom, no one will guess what’s going on in here.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Slowly, she spread her legs.

And then he caressed her derriere with one hand. It was a fleeting caress—
too
fleeting—sending curls of pleasure to her feminine core. She blinked about a thousand times, wondering what she was getting herself into.

“It’s all right so far,” she lied—because already that one touch was something she’d never forget—“but if this doesn’t make me happy, Gregory—”

She ended her statement on what she hoped was a threatening tone.

“It will. Just you wait.” He gave her a light slap on the bottom, and she flinched.

Her nerves had never been so taut—not with fear, as she’d supposed—but with anticipation.

A second later, she was jolted by the feel of his mouth and tongue on her buttocks. “Oh, heavens,” she gasped. “This can’t be right.”

“It is,” he said. “And there’s more.”

“More?”

He proved it by exploring the intimate folds of flesh between her legs with his finger while he laid kisses on her backside and her hips.

“Gregory,” she couldn’t help whispering. “This is getting out of control. You promised me nothing would go wrong.”

“It won’t,” he said, with a soft laugh against the back of her thigh, which felt heated beyond reason as he tasted its length. “You like things out of control, remember? Castles that don’t fit convention. A runaway journey to Paris. A moor that’s unpredictable every day you cross it. Admit it, Pippa. Control isn’t something that matches up well with you.”

“I suppose it doesn’t.” She was aghast that her breath was coming shorter and shorter. “But this is so unexpected that I’m not sure I—”

He found the nubbin from which all the pleasure she’d felt heretofore seemed to radiate, and she released a quiet, lengthy moan. How could he be doing this to her?

She sounded like an animal.

But she liked animals.

She
loved
them.

So she squeezed her eyes shut and gave in to the sensations Gregory was conjuring as if from a magic spell in a giant, great book of spells hidden away from ordinary view, to be taken out when one needed—

Relief.

She needed relief in the worst way. But where to find it?

Where?

Where?

Her panting grew stronger.