'Twas the Night After Christmas (19 page)

His gaze shot back to her. “No, not often. Not when their fathers think it’s
dandyish.
”

Her heart caught in her throat. “I’m beginning to hate your father.”

“You wouldn’t be the only one.” Narrowing his gaze on her, he added, “So your refusal to sing for me has nothing to do with Fowler.” He bent close and lowered his voice to a hiss. “Nothing to do with how he looks at you. How he speaks of you.”

Confused by the anger in his voice, she stared up into his finely etched features. “How
does
he look at me?”

“As if you’re the answer to all his loneliness.”

And that’s when it hit her. “You think Mr. Fowler . . . and I . . . ” She laughed. “You’re quite mad, you know. He’s twenty years older than I, at least.”

Apparently he didn’t share her amusement, for all he did was glare at her. “Some women like older men. And I can see why the attentions of a man like him would be appealing to—”

“A mere lady’s companion?” Her temper flared. “An orphan?”

“A widow from a loveless marriage who wants to, as you put it, ‘catch that elusive tune.’ He practically said he’s in search of love, so I can see how you might fancy yourself in love with him, too.”

“Oh, you can, can you?” she said tartly.

“But it would be wrong, the two of you.”

She stared at him, not sure what to make of his new concern that she might “fancy” herself “in love” with Mr. Fowler. She could think of only two reasons he might feel that way—one was insulting, the other intriguing. She was almost afraid to find out which.

But she had to know. “Are you worried that I might leave your employ to marry Mr. Fowler, forcing you to find another companion for her ladyship?”

“No!” he said, the look of outrage on his face relieving her. “I’m speaking to you as a friend, that’s all.”

“A friend,” she echoed. “Are we friends?”

That took him aback. “I thought we were.”

“I see. So you, as my
friend,
think me and Mr. Fowler wrong for each other.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you have any particular reason for feeling so? Since you think his age isn’t a problem?”

Glancing away, he threaded his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t say it wasn’t a problem—just that you might not consider it so yourself.”

“If I’m not bothered by it, then I don’t see why it should concern
you
.”

“It’s not just his age,” he grumbled. “The two of you wouldn’t suit. He’s too straitlaced. And you’re too . . . too . . . ”

“Wild?” she said archly.

“Of course not,” he snapped. “But you have life and vitality. He would crush it in his attempt to make you respectable.”

“How odd—I thought I was already respectable,” she said, beginning to enjoy his discomfiture.

He let out a low oath. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”

“That I shouldn’t have a life beyond being companion to your mother.”

“Damn it, no!” When she couldn’t resist a laugh, he frowned at her. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I certainly am. So far you haven’t given one sensible reason that I should
not
marry Mr. Fowler.”

His frown deepened to a glower. “You’re considering it?”

“You seem to think I am.”

“Tell me the truth—do you and Mr. Fowler have an understanding?”

“If we do, why do you care?” she countered. If her suspicions were correct and he was actually jealous of the man, she wanted to hear him admit it. And without this nonsense about his concern for her “as a friend.”

But she could tell from the sudden chill in his expression that he was withdrawing. “I wouldn’t want to see you make a mistake.”

“Because you’re so selfless.”

He flinched. “Because he’s wrong for you.”

“So you say.” She turned for the door. “I suppose that means I shouldn’t invite you to the wedding.”

He caught her by the arm and tugged her back around to face him. “Don’t marry Fowler, damn it!”

She thrust her face up to his. “Give me one good reason—one
genuine
reason—why I shouldn’t.”

Something dark and feral flickered in his gaze. Then he said, in a low, guttural voice, “Because I don’t want you to.”

And while she was still reeling from that incredible admission, he brought his mouth down on hers.

Her heart soared as he kissed her in a fever of need that mirrored her own. Even though she knew how mad it was to let this go so far, she couldn’t help but respond. They’d spent the last week dancing around their attraction to each other, trying to shove it into a closet. But it kept creeping out when they least expected it, and she was tired of it.

She wanted him. Some part of him clearly wanted her. And for once, she was going to let herself enjoy being desired by a man.

His kisses were so hot, so deep . . . so lovely that she let them carry her where they would. He took her mouth with what felt like possessiveness, even though she knew he wasn’t the possessive sort. But apparently he could be jealous, which astonished her. She hadn’t thought he cared even that much.

After several long, mesmerizing kisses, he tore his mouth free to growl, “Promise me you won’t marry Fowler.”

She drew back to stare at him, amazed. He was serious. Even after the way she’d let him kiss her, he still thought . . . He really was so oblivious sometimes. She wanted to laugh, but the part of her that ached for him settled for teasing him.

“Convince me not to,” she said.

He dragged in a harsh breath. Then without warning, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her atop the pianoforte so forcefully that her spectacles fell off. Music skittered to the floor but she didn’t even notice, for he was kissing her again, pressing
his body into hers, parting her legs until he was plastered so close against her she could feel his arousal.

A thrill shot through her. She slid her hands inside his coat, wanting to be closer to him, and when the silk of his waistcoat thwarted her, she slipped her hands up beneath it. Feeling his muscles flex and tighten through his shirt, she explored them shamelessly. His mouth grew almost savage.

He kissed gloriously . . . ravenously, as if he couldn’t sate his need. He covered her breasts through her gown, kneading, rubbing, teasing her mercilessly. It wasn’t nearly enough, so when he brought one hand behind her to loosen her gown, she didn’t protest.

He tore his lips free to rake kisses down the arch of her throat. She knew where he was headed. And she couldn’t wait for him to get there.

Just as her gown came free, she lifted her bosom to him. With a groan that showed he knew what she wanted, he dragged the fabric down so he could get to her corset cups and chemise and pull them below her breasts.

“Pierce . . . ” she whispered. “Sweet heaven, Pierce . . . ”

“I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he murmured as he drank in the sight of her bosom bared to him. His dark eyes were alight, hungry. “Every time you drew breath to sing, I wanted to put my mouth right here.” He pressed his lips to the top of one breast. “And here.” He kissed his way down the slope. “And here.”

At last, he closed his mouth over her nipple and sucked.

It was wonderful.
Wonderful.
She clasped his head close,
burying her fingers in his silky hair as he tongued her nipples, first one, then the other, playing with them so deliciously that she thought she might lose her mind. Kenneth had never spent time on her breasts. She’d had no idea they could provide such a feast of sensation.

Drawing back to stare at her, he murmured, “Have I convinced you now?”

“Perhaps a little,” she teased.

A storm spread over his brow as he caught her at the waist and pulled her against him. “If you think I shall stand by and watch while Fowler—”

She began to laugh. She couldn’t help it. “He doesn’t . . . he doesn’t even
want
me . . . you fool,” she managed to gasp between laughs.

“You’re wrong. You may not want him, but he definitely wants you. It was you he wanted to hear sing. It was you he was looking down at when he spoke so feelingly of love.”

“Think, Pierce,” she said as she stroked his hair. “Who was sitting right next to me on that bench?”

He blinked. “Mother?” Shock filled his face. “Oh, God.”

“He’s nearly her age. He always asks her to play when he comes here, and he always worries about her.
She’s
the one he’s sweet on.”

With his hands still on her waist, Pierce glanced away, a frown knitting his brow. “But he’s an estate manager and she’s—”

“A countess, yes. Why do you think he keeps his feelings so close to his chest? I don’t even know if she returns them. But I suspect that won’t stop him from wanting her.”

“Wait a minute.” Pierce swung his narrowing gaze to her. “You knew all along he felt that way.”

She caught her breath. Uh-oh. She’d been found out. “I might have . . . guessed, yes.”

“Yet you let me go on and on about his wanting to marry you.” He scowled. “I never took you for a coquette.”

“That’s because I’ve never been one before.” She felt giddy. Who could have dreamed it would be so delightful to tease a man? “I never took you for the jealous sort.”

“I’m not.” At her raised eyebrow, he admitted sullenly, “Or at least I haven’t been until now.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Never?”

“Never. There was no need.” He drew himself up. “I’m considered something of a catch.”

“I am well aware of that,” she said dryly. “You forget that I’ve read all about you in the papers.”

That seemed to bring him up short. “I’m not as bad as they make me out to be.”

“Says the man who already has me half naked in a drawing room.”

His gaze drifted down to her breasts and grew heated once more. “Do you mind?” He reached for her hem with both hands and began dragging her gown up her legs.

Her silly pulse jumped. “No.” She shivered as his fingers passed her garters to brush naked flesh. “I should. But I don’t.”

“I did warn you that if you gave me an inch . . . ”

“Yes, you did,” she rasped, looping her arms about his neck. “So now you may take a mile or two if you like.”

That was all the encouragement he seemed to need to slide his hands up her thighs until he found the damp, aching center of her. He rubbed her there, his thumb working magic on the very sensitive spot Kenneth had always ignored.

But when he slipped two fingers inside her, she gasped, taken by surprise.

“God, dearling,” he choked out, “you’re so warm and tight.”

“It’s been a long time,” she admitted.

Her eyes slid closed as he fondled her with a fervor she’d never known from her late husband. Oh, what an amazing feeling . . . She’d had no idea.

Pierce bent to whisper hoarsely in her ear, “I want to see you come. I want to see you break apart in my hands, right here in this drawing room. And then I want to take you upstairs to my bed and have my wicked way with you.”

“What if I . . . don’t wish to go?” she asked, though she did. Rather fervently.

“Then I’ll have to convince you, won’t I?” he said, his breath coming heavier now.

So was hers. She couldn’t find it, couldn’t catch it. A slow heat was building between her legs that made her squirm and ache, made her press herself harder against his hand.

He responded by increasing the pressure of his caresses, quickening the rhythm until she was writhing atop the pianoforte, shamelessly riding his hand. It began like ripples on water, sensation building on sensation until suddenly it erupted like the hot springs at Bath. She gripped him to her with a little cry that he silenced with his mouth.

It was like nothing she’d ever known. Was that what he’d meant by wanting to see her “break apart”? Because if so, he’d gotten his wish. She felt broken open, exposed to him in the most intimate way a woman could be.

His mouth on hers was intense, eager, even as her own desire ebbed a little. He tore his lips free to murmur, “Come to my bed, Camilla. I can’t bear it anymore. And I want privacy for all the things I want to do to you. With you.”

“All right,” she whispered, still insensible of anything but how perfect it felt to be in his arms.

He tugged her off the pianoforte and began to help her repair her clothes. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, preparing to go to his bed, but she was tired of fighting her own urges, tired of being near him yet not
with
him.

It didn’t even matter anymore that they would only be lovers. If she could have him for a brief while . . . “Do I look presentable enough?” she asked as she tucked a strand of hair back into her coiffure.

He bent to pick up her spectacles, which had landed on the floor. “I doubt we’ll come across anyone this late,” he murmured as he settled them on her nose. “Besides, I’m just going to tear your clothes off as soon as we’re in the room.”

The excitement that bolted through her leveled all her doubts. She’d never had a man desire her so fiercely—it was incredibly enticing.

They headed for the door and were a short distance from it when it opened.

To her horror, a small voice said, “You didn’t put me to bed, Mama, and then I got up to use the chamber pot and Maisie was asleep and you were gone and . . . ”

Jasper trailed off as he saw Pierce. “Oh no,” he whispered, his eyes wide. “I woke up the great earl.”