Her Errant Earl (5 page)

His sultry mouth quirked into a semblance of a smile. He
took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, then lowered it to his chest. “Of
course it is, my dear. Feel me. I’m quite real, I assure you.”

“I didn’t mean that, not exactly.” She searched his eyes but
found them unreadable. “This isn’t some sense of duty or a lark for you, is it?
I don’t think I could bear it if it were.”

His expression tightened, his smile fading. “It isn’t a
lark. I want you.” He guided her hand down over the silky robe to the rigid
outline of his manhood, pressing himself into her.

She was shocked and titillated at the same time. “Good
heavens.”

Another smile claimed his lips. He slid his arms round her
waist and drew her more firmly against his body. “It has been far too long
since I’ve made love to you, wife.”

Victoria lost the ability to speak. Without the proper
layers of clothing, boning and petticoats between them, she could feel the hard
strength and maleness of him in a way she never had before. Their previous
joining had been quick, painful at first but then pleasurable indeed. But she
had been so focused upon the new sensation of him inside her body that she’d
quite missed out on the rest. His body molded to hers was a new and enticing
experience that sent an exquisite ache to her core.

She liked it.

He lowered his mouth to hers, giving her a possessive kiss.
She opened, playing her tongue against his. He tasted of spirits. Her hands
settled on his shoulders, soaking in the heat and strength of him. A spurt of
restlessness kicked up within her stomach, longing settling lower along with a
languorous throbbing.

The kiss deepened. Pembroke cupped her bottom through her
thin wrapper, ensuring their bodies touched in all the right places.

“Finally,” he muttered, tearing his lips from hers. “I don’t
have to wrestle with that evil contraption you call a bustle.”

She laughed despite the heady mix of sensations setting her
at sixes and sevens. “It’s fashion. A must for a gown with a train.”

“To hell with fashion. Have you any idea how many silly
trains I’ve trampled at balls?” He caught the ends of the tie at her waist and
pulled. Her wrapper gaped, revealing nearly all of her breasts. One more tug
and the ends completely fell apart. He ran hot palms over her shoulders,
shucking the garment from her body entirely. “I prefer you naked.”

And naked she was. Victoria fought the urge to cover
herself. She stood very still, watching from beneath lowered lashes as her
husband’s warm gaze ran over her body like drizzled honey. She waited, knowing
she was no beauty, that she was in fact rather small and spindly without all
her trappings. Keats was very adept at showing her to advantage, but now she
had no such assistance. She was sure he must have seen lovelier women, perhaps
even his Italian opera singer. The thought made her stiffen.

“Why the ferocious frown, my dear?” He traced her lips with
a light touch, running his finger down her neck to her breasts. He circled her
nipple in a lazy path that had the bud tightening and her body aching for more.
“You are more beautiful than I recalled.”

He thought her beautiful? Her gaze snapped to his face,
searching his expression for the slightest hint of insincerity. There was none.
His eyes were direct, his expression frank and admiring. No man had ever paid
her a compliment as kind in her life. True, there had been her fair share of
effusive flattery by gentleman who looked at her and saw her father’s fat purse
and not her true self. But this was somehow different. Was it the way he’d said
it, or simply that he
had
said it, that mattered so much? She didn’t
know.

A sudden surge of courage overtook her. She wanted to see
him as well. She made short work of the knot at his waist. His dressing gown
slid to the floor in a soft whisper of sound. He was breathtaking. The knot of
desire building within her grew. He was lean yet muscled from sport, his chest
broad and covered with just the right amount of hair to be considered manly.
But what truly attracted her attention was not the lovely definition of his
taut stomach or the long, strong lines of his legs. No indeed, it was the rigid
arousal jutting proudly from the apex of his thighs.

Good heavens.
She nearly swallowed her tongue. She
certainly hadn’t seen
that
on their wedding night. Blushing furiously,
she forced her gaze back up to his face. The grin on his sensual mouth was
positively wicked. Perhaps she’d wandered into water that was well over her
head. She felt very much as if she were drowning.

It seemed he sensed her sudden worry. He tipped her chin up.
“Don’t fret, my dear. We shall go as slowly as you like.”

It wasn’t precisely the speed of their joining that
concerned her, but rather the mechanics of it. Now she well understood the stab
of pain she’d felt the last time. Would it hurt again?

“You’re worrying your lip.” He cupped her face in his large,
capable hands and delivered a tender kiss to the lip in question. “You mustn’t think
too much. Only feel.”

“Feeling is what lands me in trouble,” she couldn’t resist
pointing out. She certainly felt too much for the debonair man standing nude
before her.

He grinned down at her. “What is life without a spot of
trouble now and again?”

Easy, she supposed, for him to say. He’d never had to move
an ocean away from the world he knew only to be abandoned in a countryside with
only a gaggle of servants for company. But holding on to resentment couldn’t be
beneficial to the tentative truce she’d struck with her husband, and she knew
it. Perhaps he was right after all. Maybe she should trust him.

Could she? Though it was balmy in their chamber from the
warmth of the summer sun, she shivered.

“Cold?” He scooped her up into his arms in one effortless
motion. “I can warm you.”

No one had ever carried her before either. Apparently, it
was to be a night of many firsts. Victoria threw her arms about his neck to
hold on to him as he crossed the chamber to her bed. She took the opportunity
to study his handsome profile. His jaw was strong, stippled with the day’s
growth of dark whiskers. Unlike many English gentlemen, he eschewed a beard and
mustache. She found it enhanced the physical beauty of his face. Mesmerized,
she lifted a hand to again feel the rough texture of his stubble against her
palm. He turned slightly to press a kiss to her inner wrist. A giddy jolt of
pleasure shot through her. Surely he wouldn’t be so tender with her unless his
intentions were honest. Their consummation had not been nearly so prolonged or
personal.

A spurt of hope joined the pleasure. She fervently hoped he
would not make her the fool again.
You mustn’t think too much
, he had
said.
Only feel.

How freeing it would be to do so with him. To trust if she
dared.

He laid her gently upon the bed before joining her, his long
body stretched out alongside hers. He was so near that their bodies were
pressed intimately together for their entire lengths. She was so petite that
her feet only reached his calves. His arousal jutted against the nip of her
waist. Victoria kept her gaze locked on his, almost afraid that if she looked
away, she would become lost in the stormy seas of emotion attempting to carry
her off.

He slid a possessive arm around her, anchoring her to him
even more firmly. “I want you so very much, my darling.” His mouth was close to
hers, his breath warm and intoxicating. The low growl of his deep voice went
directly to her core.

With a moan, she ended the distance between them by kissing
him. She opened to his questing tongue, tasting him, wanting to devour him the
way his kisses threatened to consume her. She threaded her arms round his neck,
fingers sinking into his dark hair. He invaded her senses. She tasted him,
smelled his scent, so deliciously male and his, felt his strong body molded to
hers.

He threw a lean leg over her, pinning her to the bed. She
was at his mercy now, and it sent a decadent sluice of desire over her suddenly
heated skin. Every bit of her had come to life. Her nipples ached for his mouth
and touch, her core for his driving possession inside her. If he wanted her,
she wanted him more, with an intensity that drove her near to madness.

Their kisses ended, allowing William to drag his mouth down
her throat. She tilted her head back against the pillow to allow him better
access. The hot, moist pressure of his lips upon her sensitized skin was enough
to have her squirming for more. He groaned as if he too felt the same
undeniable pull, its wild thrill, sense of overwhelming pleasure. He kissed his
way to her breasts, cupping the tingling mounds in his large hands before
lowering his head to suck a throbbing nipple.

Victoria arched into him, incapable of stopping the moan
that fled her lips. He tortured her flesh, alternately sucking and rolling his
tongue over and around the engorged bud. While he plied an equal seduction on
the other breast, his fingers skipped down over her belly and dipped into the
wet slit of her sex. He teased the oversensitive nub hidden within her folds,
and she jerked into his knowing hand. He continued on, sucking and rubbing her,
sucking and rubbing, until her body was working against him in a primitive
rhythm.

She was utterly helpless to everything but the fiery desire
he stoked and brought to life within her. Her breath tore from her in fast
gasps, mewling cries of passion caught in her throat. Surely, she managed to
think through the murk of her wanton mind, this was heaven on earth. Nothing
could ever again feel so incredible. She felt as if she were about to burst.

And then she did, shaking against him, her eyes closed
tightly to savor the amazing sensations rocketing through her. There were no
words for it, save—

“Pure bliss,” she murmured, aware that he’d addled her so
much with his lovemaking that she was becoming nonsensical, speaking her
private thoughts aloud.

“I agree.” Her husband kissed the inner curve of her breast,
then raked his teeth delicately over her nipple once more. His finger traveled
lower, sinking inside her.

Her breath escaped from her lungs. Just when she’d thought
there couldn’t be something better, now
this
. She wanted, no needed, to
feel complete. Her core still ached with wanting more. In and out, his finger
pushed, delving inside her so deeply that she feared she’d burst again.

“Are you ready for me?”

She nodded, eyes still closed.

“Look at me, Victoria.”

Startled by his use of her name, she obeyed, blinking to
find his handsome face still perilously near to her bare breasts. Her nipples
were pink, glistening with the wetness of his kiss. She glanced lower, gaze
zinging to where his hand pressed between her thighs. Embarrassment hit her.
She turned her head away, staring instead at the drawn drapes over her window.

It was the window where she’d held a constant vigil in the
early days of her abandonment, hoping to see him return. She’d never told
anyone, not even Keats or Maggie in one of the many rambling letters she’d
sent, bemoaning her loneliness.

Suddenly, it all seemed too much, the mingle of pleasure
he’d given her with the awful hurt and fear he inspired. She stiffened,
uncertainty reeling her in. But the passion remained, soothing her traitorous
body into wanting him, regardless of the past. Confusing her.

“Don’t pull away from me,” he ordered. His tone was firm,
allowing no opposition, marking him for the aristocrat he was. “I can bring you
pleasure like you’ve never imagined.”

It didn’t escape her notice that he spoke of pleasure and
not of love. Had she expected him to fall at her feet like a lovelorn suitor?
The same man who had coldly told her he had no need or want of a wife? Perhaps
her heart was too fragile to allow him this breathtaking intimacy.

He nudged her legs apart and came over her completely, his
manhood resting heavily against her, his knees at either side of her hips. She
didn’t want to see him, for if she did, she would give in. She laid very still,
eyes fixed on the drapes.

“Look at me,” he insisted again. “Damn it, Victoria. I’ll
not force my own wife.”

It wouldn’t require force, and she knew it. There was a note
of frustration in his voice, perhaps even hurt. He didn’t understand her, it
seemed, any more than she understood him. Or herself, for that matter. Her
resolve wavered. His body was a welcome weight upon hers, and she wanted him to
finish what they’d begun. She turned back to him, afraid that she truly did
love him after all.

It was a crippling realization.

His stare skewered her, hot and laden with promise. “Do you
want me or not, my dear?” As he posed the question, he once again teased the
bud of her sex, applying just the right amount of pressure to send more
pleasure washing over her.

“If you promise to stay,” she blurted. She was very much
aware that asking something so monumental of her husband at a time such as this
was unfair. She also knew that she had absolutely no right to make any demands
upon him whatsoever, wife or no. Even if he agreed now, he could rescind his
promise later should it suit him. She was allowing him to see past her brazen
façade, and she wasn’t sure she ought to.

He stilled, stopping the ministrations that had her wild for
him. “Pardon?”

Had he not heard her or did he simply want to humiliate her
by requiring her to repeat her request? She faltered, caught in his gaze, not
knowing what to do. Finally, she decided to stay the course. “Will you stay
here with me?”

William stared, his expression as impenetrable as his eyes.
“Is that what you want of me?”

His hand was still between her thighs. Her heart beat fast.
“Of course.” It was, wasn’t it? Yes, it had to be. The last few days had done
much damage to her defenses, and she didn’t think she could survive yet another
abandonment unscathed.