The Earl Takes All

by Lorraine Heath

  “Julia—­”

  She arched a brow. “You know better than to argue with me when my mind is set.”

  He knew nothing at all, except that it was very unwise for her touch him when his mind had careened into lascivious thoughts during his trek in order to keep his legs moving forward. Another swallow of scotch, larger than the one he’d taken before. Steeling himself, he placed his elbows on his upraised knees, allowing his back to curve slightly. “Do your worst.”

  The light tinkling of her laughter echoed through the room as she moved behind him. “I’ve long wanted to do this,” she said as she placed both her hands on either side of his spine.

  What had become of the bloody cloth?

  Then another thought dawned. She’d never done this for his brother. He tossed back what remained of the scotch, clutched the glass in fingers that wanted to reach back and bring her forward, cradle her face, kiss her. Do something to distract himself from the light press of her palms as they glided down his back, up and over his shoulders. God, but it felt marvelous.

  “Whose wagon got stuck in the mud?” she asked.

  How was he supposed to think with her fingers dancing over his skin? “Beckett, I think. Yes, Beckett.”

  Why did his voice sound as though he was strangling? Perhaps because he was having a devil of a time drawing in air.

  “Am I hurting you?” she asked.

  “God, no.”

  “Should I stop?”

  Yes, yes, please in the name of all that is holy . . .

  “No.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Unless you want to.”

  “I don’t. It’s as lovely as I thought it would be, the water and soap creating a slickness as my hands glide over your skin.”

  The glass in his hand was in danger of breaking with the exertion he was placing on it. It was a risk, but he had to ask. “If you wanted to do this before, why didn’t you?”

  “Because I didn’t think you’d approve of my boldness. But then this evening, when I feared something had happened to you, that I might lose you, I realized how silly I’d been.”

  Turning slightly until he could see her, he said, “Julia, I’ve always liked my women bold.”

  Her brow furrowed slightly. “I thought you wanted me prim and proper, a countess above reproach.”

  “I want you to be however you are. You don’t have to pretend with me.” The irony of his words didn’t escape him since he was pretending with her. And he hated it. Hated that he couldn’t yet tell her the truth. Only a few more weeks. He could hold onto the ruse a bit longer, but there was no reason for her to be anyone other than who she was. He didn’t like considering that perhaps his brother had caused her to hold her passions in check. He’d have not done it on purpose, but of all the hellions, Albert had been the most upstanding, avoiding Society’s censure while the others embraced it.

  She scooted around until he could see her more clearly. With the pads of her palms she began creating small circles over his shoulders, carrying them down his arms, back up, her eyes focused on the movements of her hands rather than on his face.

  “I’ve missed the intimacy,” she murmured so low that he nearly didn’t hear her.

  “We agreed that for the sake of the child—­”

  “Yes, I know,” she cut in, lifting her gaze to his, “but that doesn’t extinguish the want, does it.” A statement, not a question.

  He should banish her now, announce that he was ready to dress, but her eyes, her voice, held such raw need, he could no more dismiss her words than he could dismiss her. “No, it doesn’t.”

  His words rang with far too much truth.

  Her hand slowly dipped below the surface of the water, closed around him, her lips curving into a slow, sensual smile, no doubt because she’d discovered him hard and ready. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, stilling her. “Julia—­”

  “Please, let me do this for you,” she rasped with such longing that everything in him tightened with unbearable need.

  “I’m not in the habit of receiving without giving.” Dear God, the words were out before he’d given them any thought. How could he think when she was tempting him so? He could only hope that he hadn’t revealed himself, that she wasn’t going to call him a liar.

  “One of your unspoken rules, no doubt, but rules are meant to be broken. It would give me so much pleasure to break this one.”

  “The pleasure would be all mine, Julia.”

  She shook her head. “No, it wouldn’t. I promise I would take equal delight from watching you. It’s been so, so long. Allow me to grant you release. Please.”

  She would despise him when she learned the truth, but how could he deny her what she so obviously yearned for without causing her to doubt her husband’s attraction for her, his love of her? When weighed against what the future held, all that mattered was this moment, ensuring that she was happy, that she was secure in her belief that her husbands’ regard for her had not changed.

  Slowly, he relaxed his fingers, lifted his hand to her cheek, not caring that water dripped onto her gown. He brought her nearer, settling his mouth over hers. Her lips parted on a quiet sigh, his tongue stroked hers with the same determination that she caressed him. He brought up his other hand, cradling her face, not bothering to keep his passions in check, falling into the depths of sensations that she created so masterfully.

  She was correct. It had been so long, too long. While he wanted her out of the blasted gown, wanted his hands gliding over every inch of her, he kept them where they were—­knowing it was imperative that he lessen her regrets. Oh, but it was difficult when she sighed so softly, when his body was betraying him, when she was so very skilled—­

  He trailed his mouth along her neck, dipped his tongue in the hollow at her throat. “Jules, dear God, Jules.”

  “Shall I stop?” Her voice seemed to come from far away, another world, another sphere.

  “Not unless you want me to die.”

  She nipped at his chin, took his right lobe between her teeth, worried it for a bit before pressing her mouth to his ear. He could feel the heat, the moisture—­

  “I love your hot cock straining against my hand,” she murmured in a low, throaty voice.

  Christ! He nearly reacted, nearly exploded then and there, but he caught himself just in time, recalling Albert’s bad hearing in one ear. Right ear. Deaf ear. She thought he couldn’t hear her words. How was a man not supposed to react to that? He was a bloody saint.

  Hungrily, he took her mouth, craving as much intimacy as he could allow without being eaten by guilt. But it would come later. He knew it would. But for now, for this moment, he was lost in the sensations she brought to life with deft fingers and wicked palms and naughty suggestions. Her other hand journeyed over him as though she were an explorer who had discovered a lost continent and needed to map out every trail, every valley, every rise.

  His body bucked with the force of the orgasm slamming into him. His groan was feral and deep, even as his mouth remained latched onto hers, swallowing her soft moan, her triumphant cry. He very nearly dragged her into the copper tub with him.

  Instead, breathing heavily, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Damn you.”

  Her laughter was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Leaning back, she cradled his face. How could she look so blasted innocent, so sweet, when she uttered such naughty words about his cock? And he had to carry on as though he hadn’t heard them when they were in fact burned into his brain and being repeated like a favorite ditty.

  “I knew it would bring me as much pleasure,” she said.

  She had truly enjoyed it. It was reflected in the scintillating glow of her eyes. “You should be more selfish.”

  Smiling tenderly, she shook her head. “I love you so much.”

  Reality came crashing back with a vengeance that very nea
rly doubled him over. He wasn’t the man she loved. He’d taken advantage of the lies, and all his reasons for doing so seemed to mock him now. “Julia—­”

  Leaning in, she kissed him deeply before pushing herself to her feet. “We’re going to be late for dinner.”

  She strode out, leaving him to sink beneath the water, knowing that one day she would hate him for what had just transpired. What a bastard he was that he couldn’t seem to regret it.

  He’d been intimate with countless women, yet every moment with them paled when compared with what he’d just experienced. Dammit all if with Julia he didn’t want a full and complete coupling, a full and complete surrender. With her, he wanted what he could never have.

  Chapter 9

  “Planning to look smug all night?”

  Sitting beside her husband at the small dining table, Julia couldn’t help the immense sense of satisfaction that continued to roll through her. “I like that after all this time, I’m still able to surprise you.”

  Albert lifted his glass, took a sip of wine. “You did manage to do that.”

  “I enjoyed it immensely.”

  His eyes grew warm. “I suspect I enjoyed it more.”

  Reaching across, she placed her hand over his. “Having lost three babes, I understand the caution and that we must do everything to ensure we don’t lose this one, but I have missed the intimacy, dreadfully.”

  His gaze darted over to a footman before coming back to rest on her. “Perhaps we should discuss this later.”

  She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know. I’m feeling a bit naughty.”

  Intertwining his fingers with hers, he brought her hand up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, holding her gaze. “I rather like when you’re naughty. And while our servants are paid to be discreet, I suspect it’s best not to give them cause for gossip.”

  There was no censure in his voice, but there was wisdom in his words. Even though they were speaking quietly and the wind was howling beyond the windows, discretion was no doubt called for. With a nod, she worked their fingers free and returned her attention to the glazed chicken. “You’ve never called me Jules before.”

  “Pardon?” His brow was furrowed. He looked genuinely perplexed.

  “During . . . your bath, you called me Jules.”

  “I can’t be held accountable for anything I might have said during my . . . bath.”

  “I rather liked it.”

  “My bath?” Now he was teasing her, his eyes glinting with wickedness even though he’d called for them to be discreet.

  She gave him a secretive smile. “Jules. It seems less formal.”

  “It was a rather informal moment.”

  “So it was.”

  The conversation drifted into how she’d spent her day, and she refrained from admitting she’d spent most of it worrying over his return. She told him about her latest watercolor: a rabbit with a walking stick. He didn’t laugh or mock her, but seemed to think it was perfectly normal that she would give her imaginary creatures humanlike qualities.

  “He’s a rather solitary fellow,” she said.

  He didn’t seem surprised. Simply nodded and said, “Locke, then.”

  She was taken aback, then considered the importance of his observation. “Yes, I suppose he is. I hadn’t really thought about it in that way.”

  “All your creatures represent someone.”

  She took another bite of chicken, forced herself to eat peas for the baby’s sake. “Really?”

  He gave her a knowing look. “The badger is Ashe. Determined. Stubborn. The weasel is Edward, always striving to get out of his duties, to get away with something.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, closed it. “That was the first one I did, right after you left. I suppose I was a bit cross with him for taking you away. I should tear that one up.”

  “Nonsense. It would have pleased my brother inordinately to see how you portrayed him.”

  “It just seems rather petty now.”

  “Creativity often mimics life. He’d applaud your efforts.”

  She wasn’t quite certain he’d appreciate them as much as Albert implied. “Which one is you?” she challenged.

  “You’re the fox,” he said. “Clever.” He arched a brow. “Quite pretty. Although the color is wrong.”

  “But foxes are red.”

  “Not all of them. Once I saw a black fox out over the moors at Havisham. They’re rare, which suits you even better, for you are a rare find.”

  She felt her cheeks warm. It had been so long since he’d flirted with her. She rather felt like a young girl again, innocent and waiting breathlessly for her first dance. How was she to have known then that her first dance would be with him and would lead her into his arms forever? “I’ve never heard of a black fox.”

  “Then you’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “I rather liked pretending my hair was red.”

  “I like your hair just as it is. It brings out the blue of your eyes.”

  “I always thought it rather boring.”

  “Nothing about you is boring.”

  She angled her head, narrowed her eyes. “Are you courting me, my lord Greyling?”

  He scoffed. “A man does not court his wife.”

  “Then you’re avoiding answering my question. Which of the animals represents you?”

  Taking a deep breath, he tapped his blunt-­tipped finger against the bowl of his wine glass, seemed to consider. “Not the rat. At first I thought he was Edward, rummaging around in the rubbish, but then I caught sight of the weasel with his little beady eyes.”

  “You don’t know which is you,” she announced, somewhat surprised that he couldn’t see it.

  “The horse. Noble. Strong. Can be depended upon. Not much for laughing, but it won’t let you down.”

  “Only yours did tonight.”

  He shook his head. “My fault there. I was riding him too hard, trying to get home. Snow was beginning to cover the ground. I’m lucky he didn’t step into a hole and break a leg.”

  “You probably should have taken shelter somewhere for the night.”

  “I didn’t want you worrying.” He swallowed what remained of his wine as though he wasn’t quite comfortable with that admission. Odd. He’d never had difficulty expressing his feelings, but then the past few weeks he’d been put through an entire gamut of emotions.

  Every time she thought she knew exactly what to expect from him, she discovered she knew nothing at all.

  They finished dinner and retired to the library. As she sat near the fire and read a book, Edward lounged back in a chair opposite hers, his finger tapping his glass of port. She’d seemed surprised that he’d been able to discern whom the animals in her drawings represented. He would have preferred being a squirrel, something lively and fun. Or even a promiscuous rabbit. But then weasels were known for stealing things, and he’d stolen a kiss from her, stolen away her husband. Was stealing these moments with her now.

  He should have made an excuse. He needed to work, go over his ledgers, study his accounts. Instead he was sitting here enjoying the slope of her neck as she bent her head to read, enjoyed the fact that she still wore that damned smug smile.

  As well she should. He didn’t know if he’d ever reacted so viscerally to a woman’s touch. He wanted to blame the intensity of his reaction on his recent abstinence, but he suspected if she got up from that chair, walked over to him and pressed her hand to his cheek, he’d draw her down to his lap and claim her mouth with a feverishness that would send most young ladies scurrying from the room. But she wasn’t one to scurry. She would return it in equal measure.

  Just as she had that night in the garden, just as she did each time they kissed.

  Because she’d believed then and now that he was Albert.

  Were they so alike
in all things that she couldn’t tell them apart? It was what he’d prayed for on the ship the entire time it had traveled over rough seas to return to England. Don’t let her figure out that it’s me, the sneaky bastard who takes what isn’t his. Don’t let her realize that I’m not her husband.

  He’d repeated the mantra a thousand times while he sat in the hold and watched over the simple pine box, kept his brother company. He had expected it to be hard to not give anything away, to pretend to be Albert.

  He hadn’t expected it to be hell.

  She lifted her gaze to his, her brow furrowed as though she’d felt the path of his thoughts. Part of him hoped she’d say, I just realized who you are. Part of him was beginning to hope she never would. How could he destroy such a remarkable woman?

  “The servants were wondering if they should decorate the residence for Christmas.”

  He studied the port remaining in his glass. “Hard to believe it’s that time of year already.”

  “December did seem to arrive with us hardly noticing. I wasn’t certain what to tell them since we’re in mourning.”

  “Have them brighten up the place.”

  She closed her book. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I know you’re probably not feeling very festive.”

  “I had two months of mourning him before I ever arrived here. I shall be jolly for Christmas. What gift would please you?”

  Her lips pursed into a little moue of displeasure. “You know what I want.”

  Damnation. Had they discussed Christmas gifts before Albert departed? How the devil was Edward to deduce what she might have asked for? Had Albert already purchased it? He needed to go through every nook and cranny in the master bedchamber and the library. And if he didn’t find it—­

  He studied her, sitting there, looking at him as though she were confident that he knew exactly what she desired. What would she want? What did any woman want?

  Jewelry.

  Necklace? Ear bobs? Bracelet? All three.

  Rubies. No. Sapphires to match her eyes. No. Onyx. Black pearls. He’d only ever seen them on an island in the South Seas. They were as rare a find as she was. So kind, nurturing, but with a streak of wickedness in her that he would like to explore more fully. But that was an exploration forbidden to him. Instead he would have to be content with memorizing her laugh, her smile, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, darkened with passion, softened when she rubbed her stomach as she was doing now.