When a Girl Loves an Earl (Rescued from Ruin Book 5) (26 page)

When he entered, it was as a bull bursting through her dressing room door, his eyes afire. “What is it, lass? Are you ailing? Bloody physicians don’t know a bloody thing.”

She stood with her backside propped against the dressing table, her hands braced on the edge to either side of her hips. “I am well enough, silly goose. I simply have a question or two.”

He halted three feet away, his shoulders squaring, his brow furrowing. “What questions? Why are you not lying in bed where you belong?”

“I shall do that later, provided you join me.”

Blinking, he dropped his eyes to her bosom then raised them to her face as though he’d been caught ogling by an alert chaperone. “I—I am not tired.”

“Mmm. Neither am I.” She smiled. “Now, then, that settles our plans for later. About those questions.”

He was back to frowning. “Viola, I am meeting with Gates and Strudwicke. Can this wait? You are supposed to rest. And take laudanum, if I remember correctly.”

“One of my questions pertains to Mr. Gates.”

“He is my solicitor.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Has he been mooning over you, too? Bloody hell, lass, must you enchant every male within—”

“He mentioned yesterday morning that he’d made progress in the search for your heir.”

Silence.

She waited.

“And?” he said.

“When did you decide you would never have another child, James?”

He froze. He looked as though she’d swung a giant iron pot at his face and connected soundly. “When I saw his grave,” he rasped.

“This is why you did not wish to marry. Why you resisted marrying me. Isn’t it?”

His chest was working as though he’d sprinted across the green. For a long while, he simply gazed at her, his eyes tearing her apart. “Aye.”

“I want children, James.”

More silence.

“Your children, specifically. I was reminded of this yearning early yesterday morning, when I learned Charlotte is with child.”

His eyes lowered to stare at his boots.

“Does this matter to you?”

“Of course it matters.” His voice was sharp, his eyes rising to her, fierce and anguished. “It is why I resisted you. But I made a vow, Viola. To my son.”

“You made a vow to me, too. And yet, without speaking to me about it, you have done all you can to prevent me conceiving a child.” She recalled the strange sheath he had used only once. “Even on our wedding night. The French gift.”

“Letter. French letter.”

“Your son’s death was not your doing.”

“Aye, it was. I should have—”

She continued, needing to say this as clearly as she could before falling apart. “Just as my accident was not your doing.”

“Viola.”

“You are not God, James Kilbrenner. You are not a king. You are not even Lady Wallingham. You are a man.” A tear escaped her hold. “The finest of men. But still, just a man.”

He blinked, his brow furrowing. “I am responsible. You are mine to protect. So was he.”

Frustration burned inside her belly, rising up and nearly choking her. “I want you to ask yourself this question: If it had been me whom you loved in Netherdunnie. If I had been your lass, and you were leaving for England, do you suppose I would have simply accepted it? Or do you suppose I would have followed you?”

His nose flared, his head shaking. “I wouldna ever hae left ye. I couldna.”

She smiled, her eyes filling with tears, distorting the light. “And I would not have
let
you leave me. I would have chased you to England or to the other side of the world. Because when a girl loves a boy as much as I love you, she does not give up. She does not let go. She does not marry another. She does not conceal a man’s son from him until it is too late.”

“Alison paid fer her sins, lass. What has been my punishment?”

She shook her head. “You have punished yourself every day since then. And now, you are punishing me, too.”

The color left his skin. He blinked slowly once. Twice.

She spoke softly, knowing she must say these things and knowing they would hurt him and wanting to stop. But she had no choice. Just as she had refused to let him go, she now refused to let him punish them both forever. “Consider whether you would wish to deny Alison the chance to bear another child. Or me to bear my first.”

Now, his breathing was shallow. Fast. “I—I wouldna.”

“No. You wouldn’t. Because you are a good, honorable man.”

His brow crumpled. “I wish ye tae be happy, lass. That is a’ I ken.”

“Do you want children, James?”

He swallowed. Ran a hand over his lower jaw. “I dinna deserve them.”

“But do you
want
them?”

He stacked his hands atop his head and began pacing. “I dinna want tae fail again. Them or ye.” He stopped and faced her, dropping his arms to his sides. “Ye are tied tae me now. I tried tae let ye gae, lass. I couldna.”

She swallowed, squeezing the edge of the table, trying desperately to keep her muscles from taking her across the floor to him. “I forced your hand.”

He laughed, the sound dark. “Nae. Wallingham gave me a way oot. I think he knew I wouldna take it, but I could hae. I wanted ye sae damn badly. An’ I took what I wanted. Soiled ye wi’ my great, muckle hands. Even though ye deserved better.”

“There is no one better,” she said, her voice growing thin through a tight throat. “Do you want to have a child with me, James? I should like an answer, please.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly before they landed upon her with a fierce green fire. “Aye,” he gritted. “Wee little lassies. With black hair and eyes full of stars shinin’ fer me alone.”

She could wait no longer. She ran to him. Leapt upon him, her arms grasping at his neck. He wrapped her up, lifted her, taking care to cradle her head gently. “I love you so much,” she gasped into his neck. “So much.”

“I love you more,” he said, his voice rumbling through her blood and bones.

“Not possible,” she whispered.

*~*~*

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“True love is a foolish notion. However, if it will persuade the intractable to at last see reason, then by all means, let foolishness reign supreme.”
—The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lord Tannenbrook during a discussion of Lady Tannenbrook’s much improved embroidery skills.

He’d meant to resist her. Meant to keep his hands from stroking that beautiful skin, cupping that curvaceous backside. Meant to give himself time to absorb the new shape of his heart, a shape molded by Viola’s dainty, determined hands.

But as usual, his wee bonnie lass—and his lust—had other ideas. She washed over him with gale force, clinging and making the sweetest hitching sounds as she ran kisses along the underside of his jaw.

“Kiss me,” she demanded through gritted teeth.

He buried his face in her neck and gripped her tighter against him, his cock surging against his will. “I dinna wish tae hurt ye—”

“You won’t. Now, please, James. I need you. Your tongue. And your fingers. And your—”

Chuckling and shaking his head, he marveled at the tiny woman who managed to turn him inside out. “Weel-a-weel, lass.” He lifted her into his arms. Carried her into her bedchamber, setting her down beside the green bed. He grunted at the sight of it. “We must change this room. It doesna suit ye.”

“We will discuss décor another time, James Kilbrenner. For now, I wish to feel your hands upon me.”

He gritted his teeth against the surge of heat generated by her sweet demands. “I am tryin’ tae—” He stopped, struggling for better control. “I am trying to slow down, Viola. If you continue to push me, I cannot be as gentle as you need.”

She grasped his hand, cupping it to the right side of her face, leaving the injured side exposed. “I am ugly, aren’t I?”

“Bloody hell.”

“Can you love me like this? I am almost as hideous as one of my embroidered reticules.”

He shouted his laughter, the sounds ringing out before he could contain them. It was a kind of release. But then, his lass had always been able to make him smile. From the very first.

“Will your flesh harden?” she queried. “I do not wish us to have awkwardness between—”

He answered her question with the simple expedient of grasping her hand and bringing it to the front of his trousers, right over his astoundingly appreciative cock.

“Oh,” she breathed. “That is lovely.”

His breathing quickened at the feel of her fingers caressing him. “That’s one way tae put it, I suppose.”

Not one to exercise patience when there was an alternative, Viola sat on the bed and began lifting her skirts, a tempting, mischievous smile playing about her lips. Her ivory legs, inch by inch, revealed themselves. Then, he was looking at the sweet object of his obsession, cloaked in a tuft of glossy, damp, black silk.

“Ah, God, lass.”

She simply refused to let him delay, pushing him past all his boundaries, making him want her light too much to dwell in the dark.

He slid his palms up her thighs then back down, hooking behind her knees, pulling her hips toward him, stepping between her legs. Her scent was lush and rich and dark. Peonies and woman. His Viola.

Her head tipped back on her lovely neck. He used one of his hands to grip her there, his thumb moving across her jaw to the side of her lips he could caress without causing her pain. Her tongue darted out. Her mouth sucked him in.

He groaned, the heat and scent of her rushing through his blood like a brushfire. “Take me out,” he commanded.

She smiled around his thumb and went to work on his fall. Those dainty fingers with the torn nails ripped at his buttons. Then the greedy little things clasped him at the root, squeezing firmly. He gasped and groaned at the pressure. The pleasure. “Ah, God.”

Her tongue circled his thumb, her mouth suckling as her hands stroked his cock to even greater hardness. He hadn’t thought it possible.

“Ye are a miracle, lass,” he panted, feeling as though his head was going to burst into a thousand tiny bits if he did not sink inside her soon. He pulled his thumb from her mouth, grinning at her little grunt of annoyance.

Then, he moved it down to the sweet center of her, where honey had pooled to beckon him with its sleek invitation. He stroked the way she liked, soft and slow in subtle circles around her firm little nub. Her entire body jerked. She threw her head back and moaned his name.

He grinned wider, feeling her soften and swell, watching her hips writhe against his hand. “That’s right, my bonnie Viola.
James.
An’ no other will ever see ye like this. Now, lie back and take this filthy Scot inside ye.”

She did lie back, but she took umbrage at the latter part of his demand. “You are not filthy. You are wondrous.”

“If ye could see what is in my heid right now, lass, ye wouldna say such a thing.”

“Oh. That sort of filthy. The sort I enjoy immensely.”

He tucked the head of his cock against her lush core, throbbing and pulsing with the lust that had only grown as they’d learned and explored one another. He’d been waiting for it to diminish, but it hadn’t. Just one more thing about Viola he’d been unable to predict. He sank inside her tight heat, keeping the circling pressure upon that tiny nub, swollen and glistening. She took him more easily now, with none of the discomfort of the first few times, but her sheath was still tight as a fist. It clenched and milked him as her head rolled back and forth, her arms stretched out to her sides, gripping handfuls of green twill.

He fell forward, bracing himself over her as he pumped his hips against hers. Savoring every inch of their union, he gave her long, slow strokes of his cock, pleasuring his wife for the sheer joy of seeing the shiver in her skin, hearing the choking cries from her throat, feeling the grinding of her hips between the coverlet and him.

Tiny warning ripples seized around him as her moaning, gasping cries increased, he let her have more of his fire, slamming her harder, changing the direction of his thumb. Suddenly, she tightened and squeezed upon him, sobbing and undulating with explosive ecstasy. Her beauty shook him. Forced his own crisis to crouch tightly in his lower spine. His ballocks and cock were painfully weighted and heavy with need. He lowered his head to nuzzle her bare throat, suckling a bit of her flesh into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth while increasing his tempo. He wanted to expand her pleasure. He wanted to draw this out so that he would never have to leave her intoxicating heat.

Then, he felt her hands upon his face. Stroking his lips tenderly. Running her fingers over his brow in soothing little passes. “You don’t have to release inside me, you know,” she whispered. “We have time. Take what you need, my love. Whatever that may be.”

Her heat caressed him. Her love shone up at him. Her hands held him steady.

And everything he’d been afraid to envision with her—kissing her beneath a summer moon, lying with her in a cool, dark bed when her head pained her, listening to her laugh at Miss Starling’s preposterous tales, and yes, watching her belly swell with their child—all coalesced inside him. The vision grew and glowed until there was no more room for the darkness that had kept it contained. It was a miracle. It was unstoppable.

Finally, he stopped fighting and let it take him.

And released everything he had—his joy, his love, his essence—inside his beautiful wife while she whispered her pleasure and her love in his ear.

Afterward, they lay together for a long while. He’d removed his coat and cravat and waistcoat. Tossed aside his boots. Settled on the bed to draw her into the curve of his body. She was holding his hand and kissing each finger, one by one.

“Are you certain, James?” she said.

“Aye.”

He watched her lips curve in a smile. “I found what you made for me. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Frowning, he recalled placing the sculpture on her dressing table. “I intended to give it to you yesterday. Before … before the storm.”

“My favorite part is the hand.”

He grunted. “Daft woman. I made it to resemble mud.”

“I know. But I don’t know why.”

“Because that is what I am.”

“And you see me as a butterfly?”

“Aye.” He nuzzled her temple, savoring the warmth of her. “I never knew how dark and cold it could be in the mud until a wee, bright butterfly landed upon me and refused to depart.”

“I love you, James.” Her voice was distorted by tears, but he judged them to be happy ones.

“And I love you, lass. Now, I must ask one small favor.”

Again, she kissed his hand. “What is it?”

“I am in need of a handkerchief. But it is a very particular one. Ye see, I was a great, muckle fool and tossed it away when I should have kept it tucked right next to my heart. It has a wee purple fish in one corner. Have ye seen it, by chance?”

She turned her head to gaze up at him. “Oh, James. It is not very handsome, you know.”

He leaned down to kiss her gently. “I know, lass. But no other will ever do.”

*~*~*