An Unexpected Earl Page 24

  “I know how you feel about our situation. You were quite clear about it last night, and I respect your decision.” Even if he hated it. He grimly leaned forward, to rest his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands between them. His gaze bore into hers. “But know that I will shamelessly seduce you if given half the chance, and I will revel in the sweetness of you, in every kiss and touch, every soft sigh and moan that falls from your lips.”

  When she swallowed at that wholly wanton declaration, he longed to place his mouth against her throat, to taste the soft undulation beneath his lips.

  “And if that happens, you’ll be in serious trouble.” The warning pulsed between them with a life of its own. “Because if I make love to you a second time, Amelia, I will never let you go. Marriage or not.”

  Through her stunned expression, he couldn’t read the thoughts that were surely swirling through that sharp mind of hers. But he was absolutely serious. If she knew what was good for her, she’d turn tail and run.

  Instead, the minx slowly approached him, one deliberate step at a time. Her eyes never left his, not even when she reached up to untie her cloak and let it fall to the floor.

  His pulse spiked, and as she came closer, he sat back to keep as much distance between them as possible. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” she murmured in a throaty rasp that sent a quiver of desire arcing through him.

  He caught his breath when she reached him. But she didn’t stop even then. With one hand reaching for his shoulder and the other pulling her skirt up her thighs and out of the way, she climbed on top of him, straddling him right there on the settee.

  He didn’t dare put his hands on her. If he did, it wouldn’t be to set her away. “Amelia—”

  “Let me make certain that I have this right,” she murmured. “If we make love a second time, you’ll never let me go?”

  “That’s right,” he forced out through gritted teeth.

  Her hand slipped over the now tense muscle of his shoulder to sift tantalizingly through the short hair at his nape. Each brush of her fingers shot electricity straight down to the tip of his cock.

  She lowered her head until her lips lingered just above his. Her warm breath tickled teasingly over his lips. “Promise?”

  His restraint snapped. With a growl, he rose and kissed her.

  She gave a soft cry of surprise when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down onto him. Fierce and hungry, he kissed her with greedy, openmouthed kisses that stole her breath away and left her melting into his embrace.

  Rasping out her name, he reached for her hair to pull out the pins holding it in place and throw them aside to scatter across the marble floor. He shoved his hands into her golden tresses, letting them tumble down around his own head and shoulders as she leaned over him to match the ferocity of the embrace, kiss for kiss, yearning for yearning.

  Gone was the sweet girl he knew from his youth. Gone, too, was the innocent woman he’d made love to in the tavern. In her place sat a goddess, the most seductive woman he’d ever known. That she was also the woman he loved—had always loved—rocked him to his core.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched herself into him, pressing her breasts flat against his chest. Then she squirmed on his lap, the desire inside her pulsing into him, and a groan tore from him. He wanted nothing more than to devour her.

  “Touch me,” she urged and bit tauntingly at his bottom lip.

  He slipped his hands beneath her skirt and stroked up her inner thighs. The silk of her stockings gave way to bare flesh, and bare flesh gave way to—

  “Yes,” she panted out as his fingers found her. “There…right there.”

  “Jesus,” he bit out as he stroked her. “You’re already slick.”

  To prove it, he slipped a finger inside her warmth. She whimpered with need and clenched around him, her fingertips digging into the tight muscles of his shoulders.

  He wanted to tease her to release. But when she threw back her head and began to thrust her hips against his hand, begging with her body to be satisfied, the time for teasing vanished. He flicked his thumb against her clit, and she jumped from a spasm of pleasure that left her folds quivering around his finger.

  She was ready for him. God knew he was more than ready for her.

  He reached down to open his fall and yanked his shirt out of the way to free his cock. When he teased against her folds with his tip, to slicken it with her dew, her breath came in shallow pants of anticipation that matched his own. He nestled his tip down into her folds to hold himself there and fixed his eyes on hers as his hands encircled her hips. Then with a gentle yank, he pulled her forward and slid deep inside her.

  She gasped at being filled so completely, so suddenly. Then the sound transformed into a throaty moan when he moved her hips to seat her fully over him.

  “Like this,” he murmured as his hands at her hips began to lift and lower her over his cock in long, smooth strokes, guiding her in a wanton rhythm that left him breathless. “Sweet Jesus…just like this.”

  But the beautiful, independent creature in his arms had no patience and began to move against him on her own in jerking little thrusts whose unpracticed eagerness drove him wild. Her thighs shook around him as the tension mounted inside her, her fingers digging harder into his shoulders as she fought for purchase to deepen each delicious rise and fall over him.

  Unable to restrain himself much longer, he leaned back as far as the settee allowed and wiggled his hand down between them to find that sensitive little bud buried in her folds. He rubbed his knuckles against her, and she bucked.

  “Brandon!” Her arms grasped around his neck like iron bands, but she didn’t stop the pumping of her hips over him and bore down tightly around him as she drove them both toward release.

  He stroked her again, and she broke with a loud cry. He followed after, into bliss.

  * * *

  He nuzzled her temple. “That was a pleasant surprise.”

  His husky voice rumbled into her as Amelia lay draped across him, her head resting in that wonderful hollow between his neck and shoulder. Languid and satiated, the two of them were still wrapped around each other as they lay together on the settee. That was all they could bring themselves to move after making love—simply lying down right where they were.

  She lazily stroked her hand over his chest, mirroring the gentle caresses he brushed over her back. She would have to leave soon, well before Frederick arrived, and Pearce would have to straighten his clothes to hide all traces of how thoroughly she’d ravished him. But for now, both were happy to remain in each other’s arms.

  “Yes, it was.” She gave a little laugh, unable to believe the joy bubbling inside her. Never had she been this happy! And it was all because of Pearce. “When I came here, it was to give you a scolding for speaking to Freddie without me.”

  “Well then,” he taunted rakishly, earning himself another one of her laughs, “scold me whenever you’d like.” He growled as he nuzzled her neck. “Repeatedly. And often.”

  “I’m serious.” She lifted her head and stared down into his eyes, the hand at his shoulder moving to caress his cheek. “I do trust you now. Completely.”

  He grinned, pleased, and placed a kiss to her shoulder where the neckline of her dress had been pulled down from their lovemaking.

  “And that’s why it hurt when you’d moved forward on the trust without telling me.”

  His smile faded. “I did it to protect you.”

  “I know.” With a small frown, she outlined his lips with her fingertip, already missing his smile. “But if we’re going to be in this together, then I need to know that we’re in this together…completely, without doubt.” She hesitated. “And not just with the trust.”

  His turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

  Nervousness fluttered butterflies in her be
lly, and she couldn’t look in his eyes, fixing her gaze on his chest instead as her hand lowered to rest there. Right over his heart. “After we’d made love the first time, you asked me to marry you.”

  He stiffened and said grimly, “I remember.”

  She pulled in a deep breath of courage and curled her fingers into his waistcoat. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I will marry you.”

  Confusion darkened his handsome features. “You didn’t think anything we could do would make a difference. If you can’t end your marriage, then—”

  She silenced him with a kiss, then whispered against his lips, “Everything’s changed…I think.”

  Sitting up, he took her shoulders and set her away just far enough to search her face for answers. “What happened?”

  “Agnes Sinclair.”

  He blinked. “Lady Agnes?”

  “We had a rather revelatory conversation over tea.”

  “I’m sure you did,” he muttered warily. “I’ve heard how she takes her tea with a splash of whiskey.”

  “Whiskey with a splash of tea, actually,” she corrected at Agnes’s expense. “While we were talking, she reminded me of this.” She reached into the pocket of her pelisse and withdrew the folded sheet of paper. “My marriage settlement.” She held it out to him. “My unsigned settlement.” Then she added breathlessly, hope lacing through her voice, “And what I pray is my escape.”

  His inscrutable expression gave away none of his thoughts as he took the paper from her and read it.

  Silently, he gave it back to her, then stood and moved away toward the tantalus on the side table between the windows. Ostensibly, he wanted a drink, but Amelia suspected unhappily that what he needed was distance from her.

  “It’s not signed.” He gestured at the paper. “That was what allowed Northam to steal your money.”

  Her breath hitched, his words too eerily close to Freddie’s. But when Pearce said them, he gave her hope. “Perhaps not.”

  He glanced up at her as he fastened the fall of his breeches and tucked in his shirttail, but her gaze had shamelessly gone to below his waist, staring longingly there.

  “Or perhaps—” She couldn’t help but lick her suddenly dry lips. “Perhaps we were never legally married in the first place, and this unsigned contract proves it.”

  He froze with his hand down his breeches. Disappointment panged through her that he hadn’t paused like that to wantonly titillate her. But there would be time later for such play. If she had her way, they’d have a lifetime.

  “Explain.” He recovered himself with that brusque order and turned to pour a glass of whiskey. But every inch of him was tensed like a coiled spring.

  “When we married, my twenty-first birthday was still two weeks away. I was still a minor, which meant I needed Freddie’s consent to marry.”

  “But you had it,” he said to the drink tray. “You said Howard agreed to let Northam court you, laid out the terms of the marriage agreement… He supported your marriage.”

  “He did.” Hope spiked her pulse as she admitted, “But never in writing. Or in public.”

  He turned slowly toward her, raising the glass to his mouth but not drinking as he paused, waiting for her to finish.

  She picked up the agreement and pointed to the blank space where her brother’s signature should have gone. “No signed agreement by my guardian, no reading of the banns, no formal announcement of any kind—nothing. As far as the world knows, Freddie knew nothing about the marriage before we eloped. And without my guardian’s consent—”

  “Then your brother can file for an annulment on your behalf.” The glass lowered away, the whiskey completely forgotten.

  “Yes. On grounds of incompetency.” She held her breath, a part of her yet afraid of how he would react to the full ramifications of what that meant. “But it’s going to be a difficult process, with everyone from the Church and the courts attempting to make me change my mind and remain married.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Then they don’t know the fight they have coming if they think they can make you do anything you don’t want to.”

  She warmed at that quiet compliment, but it did little to ease her trepidation.

  “I can’t do it alone.” She picked up the paper and tried to keep her hands from shaking as she refolded it and slipped it back into her pocket. “I have no money to hire lawyers, no status or standing to persuade the courts and Church to my side—” She cut herself off to take a deep breath as he slowly returned to her, still having no idea of what he thought about any of this. “And even if the annulment is granted, it’s unlikely I’ll ever see a single penny of my fortune returned to me.”

  He stopped in front of her but said nothing, taking a large swallow of whiskey.

  She shook her head. “My first fight in this battle might very well be with Freddie. He has to agree, publicly, that he never gave consent, or the annulment won’t happen.” She paused. “It will also mean scandal, no matter how much we try to keep the details private. For everyone involved.”

  Worry tightened her belly. What she was asking would risk not only her own reputation and Freddie’s but also Pearce’s. Everything he’d worked so hard to achieve—his military rank, his respect as a peer, his fortune—all of it might be jeopardized if he chose to remain at her side for this fight. A fight that might take years to win, if at all. And where would he be then, tied to a woman who might be too old to give him an heir, the subject of scandalous gossip, a good chunk of his fortune gone to pay lawyers…

  Judging from the grim way he looked down at her, he realized all that, too.

  “Well then.” He held the glass out to her, giving her the last of his drink. “It’s a good thing you’re not going through this alone.”

  Relief poured through her, and she blinked, hard, to clear her eyes of the tears that instantly blurred his handsome face. “You truly meant it, then?” she pressed breathlessly. “What you said earlier, that you have no intention of letting me go?”

  He leaned down, placing his hands on the edge of the settee cushion on both sides of her and bringing his face level with hers. He reached to touch the little locket she wore around her neck. As his fingers caressed it, his eyes locked with hers. “I’ve got you back now, Amelia. Wild horses couldn’t drag you away from me.”

  She fought back a smile as she teased, “What about tame ones?”

  “Not those either. Or ponies, donkeys, jackasses…” He arched a brow. “Your brother.”

  “Pearce,” she scolded, but any ferocity was lost beneath her soft laugh.

  “Neither will our past, your husband, or society. Understand?”

  “Then…” She inhaled a deep breath and reached to slip her hand behind his neck to tug him closer. “Will you marry me, Brandon Pearce? Do you promise to love and honor me, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health…in law courts or taverns?” He laughed, but the seriousness of the moment made her tremble as she laid her hand against his chest to feel the pulse of his strong heartbeat. “For as long as we both shall live?”

  “I do.” He leaned in to kiss her. “I very much do.”

  Twenty-two

  Pearce glanced out the carriage window at the dark city. “Where exactly are we going?”

  “To a special club meeting. That’s all I can tell you for now,” Howard answered, pleased at the idea of mystery.

  But Pearce wasn’t pleased at all with the secrecy. The only consolation he had was that Merritt and his men were following behind, unseen in the darkness. In case anything went wrong.

  “There are no clubs in this area.” Not here. They’d long ago left those behind in the west, but they hadn’t yet reached the Tower Hamlets, where less exclusive entertainments dominated. They were currently rolling through Walbrook, where the streets were unlit, the old buildings shuttered for the night, and no one w
as out in the cold drizzle.

  “Not the usual clubs, no.” Howard tugged at his white gloves. Just like Pearce, he was dressed in all white beneath his overcoat. “But this one is very private and incredibly exclusive.”

  “So is Brooks’s,” Pearce grumbled, “but I don’t have to dress up like a ghost and prowl Cheapside in the dead of night to attend it.”

  “Far better than Brooks’s. None of that St James’s Street pretense. At this club, we take our traditions very seriously.”

  Hence the white clothes, Pearce was certain.

  “But we also do whatever we like.” He chuckled in private amusement. “It’s our motto, you might say. I’ll introduce you to the other men in the trust, of course. But I think you’ll also have a good time tonight, if you let yourself.”

  Howard rapped his cane against the ceiling to signal to the jarvey to stop.

  “You’ll like our little club, Sandhurst, I’m certain.” He bounded down to the street and tossed up a coin to the driver, leaving Pearce to climb out more cautiously. “You might want to consider joining.”

  Oh, he seriously doubted that. Especially when the hackney drove away, leaving them standing in the middle of a deserted street framed by buildings that had seen better days a hundred years ago but now lay derelict, dark, and silent.

  “This way.” Howard gestured toward the end of the street, in the direction of an abandoned church. He led Pearce through the rusty gate of the churchyard, down an overgrown path, and to the front door of the old stone building.

  Pearce glanced around. No one else was in sight. An uneasy tingle started down his spine. “Where are we?”

  “At the entrance to hell.” With a grin, Howard pounded his fist against the door.

  The heavy wooden door swung open with a spine-jarring creak, and a wave of cold, musty air engulfed them. A man in a friar’s robe with the hood drawn low over his face stepped into the doorway and silently held up a hand, barring their way.

  “The pale breast of Venus,” Howard gave the password quietly, and the monk stepped aside. As they passed into the church, the monk gestured with his hand in mock blessing—an inversion of the sign of the cross.