The Earl's Temptation

by Emma V. Leech

  "That's it, mignonne," he whispered against her ear. "That's it." He murmured to her, endearments and sweet words that he never would have believed could pass his lips as she trembled and moaned.

  "I-I can't stand up, any longer ..." she cried, reaching up to hang her arms around his neck.

  With a low chuckle of amusement he picked her up and carried her to a wingback chair by the fireplace. Settling her down, she collapsed, breathing hard and looking at him with anxious blue eyes.

  "Oh, but don't stop," she complained, reaching forward and pulling at his shirt. "I don't want you to stop."

  "I wouldn't dream of it," he said, grinning at her and getting to his knees. "But perhaps you should catch your breath."

  She scowled at him, her sweet face full of consternation. "Are you laughing at me?" she demanded with suspicion.

  "No," he assured her, taking her hand and kissing the palm. "I would never do such a foolish thing."

  "B-but ..."

  "Hush, mignonne," he said, soothing her before she could begin. "I'm going to give you what you want, but there is no need to be in such a rush. I promise you won't miss a thing."

  He took a moment to remove his jacket and waistcoat, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the floor. With care he arranged her on the chair, pulling her hips closer to the edge and pulling her mouth to him for a deep and searching kiss. She twined her arms around his neck, her fingers in his hair, caressing and pulling lightly as his hands cupped and stroked the generous curve of her breasts. His mouth trailed down once again, not wanting to miss an inch of skin. Every part of her merited equal devotion and he was only too happy to worship her with slavish fealty.

  She squirmed beneath him as he dipped his tongue into the shallow round of her belly button, giggling and gasping and making him smile against her skin. The sound of her laughing, the closeness and the trust required for so soft and intimate a moment between them made something bloom in his chest, a feeling of such absolute rightness that he wondered how he could ever have considered seeing her marry another. It was insanity, an idea so utterly foreign to him now that he couldn't conceive of ever having considered it for a moment, let alone going to such lengths to make it happen. What a bloody fool he'd been. She grew still, however, as he eased lower, slower, parting her thighs as her breathing hitched, careful not to abrade her delicate skin with the faint prickle of his stubble.

  He pressed a kiss to the silky flesh that ran beside the dense little nest of golden curls.

  "Is this what you want, ma mie," he said, breathing the words against her swollen flesh, smiling as goosebumps ran over her and set her to trembling for him.

  "Oui, Alex, please, please, s'il te' plaït ..." she pleaded with him, utterly breathless.

  Only too happy to oblige he sought the place where she needed him with a gentle caress of his tongue, rewarded as her hips lifted off the chair and he was forced to hold her still. He grasped her hips firmly with both hands, using his elbows to keep her legs wide as she wriggled and squirmed, overpowered by sensation.

  "Alex, Alex," she murmured his name, half pleading, half demanding, restless and unsure of what it was she was seeking as he brought her closer.

  "Hush," he said gently, stopping to kiss his way along her thigh. "You know where to go, love, I know you do. You found your pleasure all by yourself when you slept beside me at Allaire."

  She gasped and covered her face as she realised he had known all along. "Mon Dieu!" she cried. "You were awake!"

  "Yes, ma mie, I was awake, and in such agony that you cannot comprehend."

  "Oh, I am so embarrassed," she mumbled from behind her hands.

  "Love, I don't see how you can be bearing in mind my current position," he replied, suppressing the urge to chuckle for fear of offending her. "But nonetheless, my point is that you know where I am taking you, so stop trying to grasp at it. We will find it together, you and I." He kissed her curls, smiling at her as she dared to peer at him from between her fingers.

  With a devilish grin he held her gaze and lowered his mouth once more and swept his tongue over her. She arched beneath him with a sound that made his own body tighten in response and made him fear that he would not get through the next moments without losing control. With every ounce of determination he fought to keep his focus on her, putting his own desires to one side as he gave himself over to her complete gratification. Focusing on the source of her pleasure he licked, softly, unwaveringly, building the tension in her body until she was taut, suspended on the edge of a precipice she had only glimpsed at before. And then she fell, over the edge, into a pleasure so deep that the sound of her made him groan against her scorching flesh. He stayed with her, easing her through the peak and on into a subtler, softer swell of contentment as pleasure continued to ripple through her and she quivered beneath his mouth.

  He sat back and surveyed the results of his work with satisfaction. Laid back against the dark green velvet of the chair, she was flushed, her porcelain skin pink with the excesses of pleasure, her eyes dark and hazy. She sighed, her lovely limbs arranged in a posture of utter abandon. A creature of pleasure and sensuality, she put him in mind of tales of succubae. Those female creatures who fed on men's lust and sex, for she looked so completely sated and replete, stretching with the luxurious manner of a spoilt cat.

  He prowled forward, leaning over the chair and suckling at her breast, savouring her deep moan of contentment.

  "Do I take it I met your expectations, love," he murmured as his hands moved restlessly over her heated skin, eager for his own pleasure now, any patience having long since deserted him.

  He was replied with a long, heartfelt sigh. "I-I," she began and then just gave up and smiled at him. "Oui," she said, and then pulled his head down, kissing his mouth and his nose and his eyes, covering his face in hot little kisses and punctuating each one with a breathless, "Oui, oui, oui."

  He pulled her against him, holding her fiercely. "Oh, ma mie, I have never in my life wanted anyone as much as I want you. I need to be inside you or I fear I'll go mad."

  "I'm yours, Alex, I always 'ave been. You only 'ad to take me." She looked up at him and something in her eyes troubled him.

  "What is it?" he asked, "why do you look like that?"

  She blinked and smiled at him, a little too brightly. "Like what, Alex? I am only so 'appy to be with you like this. Nothing else matters, only ..." She hesitated and he frowned, cupping her face with his hands. He didn't want to see that anxiety there, that worry. What was she worried about?

  "Only?" he pressed, needing to reassure her that whatever it was he would make it right.

  "Only ..." she repeated. She took a breath, as though she was trying to muster the courage to go on and said, "Only, must I be one of many? I--I know that you keep many mistresses, but ... but could I be the only one. S'il te' plaït?" she whispered, looking up at him as though she was making some unreasonable demand. "I don't think I could bear it if I had to share you."

  Chapter 29

  "Wherein dreams and reality collide and our heroine chooses between them."

  He stared at her in utter shock, bewildered and uncomprehending. She believed he wanted to take her as his mistress? And not only that, but that she would be one of many? His heart hammered in his chest as he fought to organise his thoughts. After everything he had done to keep her safe, to give her a chance at a better life, she would throw it all away to be ... his mistress? He sat back, away from her and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. He was torn between fury and shock. He could hardly believe that she should value herself so cheaply, after having fought to keep her honour intact for so long and in such appalling circumstances. The knowledge that she loved him enough to give him everything, with so little required in return, made his heart ache. He was overflowing with such love and gratitude that he felt he would burst with it and yet, Goddammit! Why would she not see that it was him who should be grovelling at her feet. It was him who should be begging for scraps from her
table.

  "Alex," she said, her voice trembling. "Please ... don't be angry with me."

  "Angry?" he repeated, dazed. "Angry?" He shook his head, get a bloody grip man. But before he could form an answer, a desperate hammering sounded at the front door.

  They both gasped, shocked by the sound, so late at night, and the fury of the pounding, as though someone wanted to break down the door.

  Alex was on his feet in a moment. The whole bloody household would be woken and curious if that continued, and with Céleste naked in his study.

  "Stay there," he commanded, his voice rather harsher than he'd intended but dammit, was the world determined to drive him to the edge tonight?

  He ran out the room, closing the door firmly behind him and went to find out what manner of insanity awaited behind the front door. Though such a visit, at such a late hour, never boded anything good.

  He wrenched the door open in fury and ground to halt in astonishment to see the trembling figure of his mistress on the door step.

  "Alex," she said, her large brown eyes full of tears. "Please, I had to see you."

  "Lydia!" he replied in shock. "What on earth?" He grasped her arm and pulled her into the house. Unwilling as he was to have her here, worse would be having her discovered on his doorstep at this hour, causing a scene. With an anxious glance to assure himself that the study door was still closed, he led her quickly to the drawing room, closing that door also. "What is this about? Is something wrong?"

  To his astonishment she threw herself upon him, weeping copious tears. As most men, Alex did not like women crying over him, they were to be avoided at all costs, and yet he wasn't a monster. If the woman was in trouble he would help her if he could.

  "What is it?" he asked, trying to keep his tone gentle and patient with difficulty when his emotions had already been run ragged over the past hours.

  "I can't be without you, Alex," she wept, burying her face against his chest. "I can't, I can't bear it."

  Alex frowned. This was not at all like Lydia. She had never, in all their time together professed anything but an appreciation of his wealth and his skills in the bedroom. It was why the relationship had lasted so long. She was never inclined to jealousy unless she suspected one of his other light o' loves had a stronger grip on his purse. His heart had never been something she'd sought. He held her by her wrists and pushed her a little away from him. Something here did not ring true.

  "You seemed little moved when I explained the situation to you before," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "In fact I had heard rumour my position was already filled."

  She pouted and pulled at her wrists, forcing him to release her or leave bruises upon her flesh.

  "Oh," she said, putting her hands to her bosom. "A woman has to find her place in the world, my Lord. Who else will pay my bills?" she wailed, loud enough to be heard upstairs. "But you alone are in my heart. Please, darling, say you won't give me up. Come back to me and let it be like it was before."

  "Keep your voice down, dammit," he said, turning away from her. Nothing about this made the least bit of sense to him. "I left you enough money to keep you financially secure for some considerable time, with or without any other contributions."

  She shrugged, and the soft look in her eyes was unconvincing. "I told you, Alex, it isn't the money. I love you."

  He looked at her, staring into those dark eyes, and knew she was lying. Before he could accuse her or try and comprehend her motivation she darted past him and flung open the door, heading out into the hallway.

  "Oh, Alex, yes, I'm so relieved nothing will change if you take another mistress!" she crowed, her words loud and only too clear. "I was worried one of us would go, and to reward you I will arrange for your other ladies to visit me. You liked that didn't you? All of us together for your pleasure?" He ran to her and grasped her arm, sickened as he realised just what she was playing at.

  "Shut your mouth, you little bitch!" he swore, dragging her to the front door. "I know who did this, and why dammit. Sindalton put you up to it didn't he? He's your new paramour and he paid you to come and cause trouble for me."

  "Put me outside that door and you'll know what trouble is," she said, her voice low and spiteful. "And yes, it was his Grace, and I was only too happy to comply. How dare you throw me over for that little nobody! They say you found her in the gutter."

  Alex raised his hand, never before in his life had he wanted to strike a woman but in this moment it took a great deal of will power to turn away from her. He tried to marshal his thoughts. There was no possible way she could know the circumstances in which he had found Céleste. She was just mud-slinging, to see what stuck. He looked up and to his horror saw Lawrence, Henri, and his aunts standing on the upstairs landing, their faces full of shock.

  "What do you want?" he demanded of her, turning his back on them. "Name your price and then get out of my house."

  She looked up at him, her beautiful face unbearably placid. "Another five thousand pounds," she said, glancing up at the faces on the landing as Lawrence tried to herd the women back to their rooms.

  He gritted his teeth. "And if I don't I suppose you'll spread your vitriol in everyone's ear about an innocent girl who's done nothing to you."

  "Oh but she did do something to me," she said with a pout. "She took you away, but yes, of course you are quite correct."

  Alex cursed her and gritted his teeth, the money hungry bitch. "Very well. You'll have it first thing tomorrow, but hear this, once this is in your filthy hands, that's an end to it. Try this again and I'll destroy you beyond anything you can imagine, and don't think you can beat me in this, Madame. The word of an earl will always weigh heavier than that of a whore, no matter his reputation."

  She laughed, sounding unconcerned and amused, but he could see his words had struck home from the fury in her eyes.

  "As you wish, my love, but there will be two other small services before this matter is ... put to bed." She moved closer to him and he took a step away. She laughed again. "Oh but, Alex, all I want is a kiss goodbye."

  He looked at her in disgust, the thought of touching her now made his stomach turn.

  "I wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole, Madame," he replied, investing his words with every ounce of vitriol he could summon, which from the look on her face was plenty. He hadn't needed to actually strike her.

  "Do it, or I'll ruin her," she spat back at him. "I won't stop until everyone knows she's a whore. She'll never be able to show her face again."

  He grasped her by the arm, holding tight enough to leave a mark. "Why?" he demanded. "Did Sindalton ask for this too?"

  "Oh, no," she said, her voice low and seductive once again. "This is entirely my own piece of work. He merely wanted to illustrate to the chit what kind of man you really were to clear the path for him, everything else is my doing, my revenge for the way you tossed me aside like you'd done with me."

  "Tossed you aside?" he growled, furious beyond all reason and wanting nothing more than to throttle the damn woman. "You've never had any desires further than a claim to my money and I gave you more than enough to show my appreciation. You'll get nothing more."

  She shrugged and smiled at him. "Very well, then, I'll tear her reputation to pieces like a cat toying with a mouse, just a little bit at a time, until she's destroyed even if you destroy me in turn."

  "Fine," he bit out, towing her back to the drawing room. "Have it your own way."

  "Oh, no," she hissed, digging in her heels. "Right here, right now, or no deal."

  With fury simmering in his veins he grabbed her and pressed his mouth against hers, shuddering as her arms wrapped around him and she pressed her body close to his. He submitted as she forced her tongue into his mouth and then pushed her away from him in disgust, spitting the foul taste of her onto the floor.

  "Now get out," he said, his voice dangerously low.

  "No, I don't think so," she said softly, as if nothing had happened between them. "The last
thing you will do for me is to send for your carriage and escort me home. I had mine leave me at the corner to save you from scandal of seeing it outside your door at this hour, assuming you would want to play nicely. I knew you would. If you do this, you will never hear from me again, and I will leave your pretty little comtesse alone for good."

  "Your word, Madame," he bit out, wondering when this bloody nightmare would be over.

  She nodded and held her hand out. "You have my word, Alex."

  "Don't call me that," he said, refusing to even touch her hand. "You will address me as your Lordship."

  She gave a deep curtsey, her eyes full of mockery. "Of course, my Lord."

  He turned to see the servants had come out to see what the commotion was. "Get to bed, the lot of you," he hissed, sending everyone scurrying, but pointed at one of the men. "Not you. Get the carriage brought around immediately." He turned back to Lydia. "You will wait in the drawing room," he instructed before barking at one of the footmen to fetch his coat.

  With desperation he glanced at the study door. He needed desperately to see Céleste, to explain what had happened and that he would never want or need a mistress once she was his wife. But he didn't dare. There were too many people awake and he didn't want to risk drawing attention to her while that bitch was in the house.

  Resigning himself to the inevitable he walked Mrs Morris to the carriage and escorted her home.

  ***

  Céleste shivered and clutched Alex's jacket closer around her. She could still smell the scent of him, lingering upon the fine wool weave. It held a subtle mixture of expensive cologne, and something indefinable but unquestionably masculine, and purely him. She inhaled, allowing misery to overtake her. In all her life she felt she had never been more miserable in this moment. Even when the bastard Pelletier had her she'd been too consumed with fear and anger at her situation to feel such a profound sense of loss. Had she really hoped for too much? She had accepted she would never be wife to him. Some penniless foreign countess was hardly a brilliant match for the Earl of Falmouth, but she had hoped that he held sufficient regard for her that to be his only mistress, at least for a little while, wouldn't be so much to hope for. But Mrs Morris had ended that dream.