The Earl Takes All

by Lorraine Heath

  “She’s gorgeous,” Minerva said.

  “We think so,” Julia admitted. “And Albert is a wonderful father, rocking her in the middle of the night when she awakens.”

  He could feel the gazes of both Ashe and Locke bearing down on him, knew what they were thinking, that they were judging him. He hardly blamed them. Once they’d given adequate attention to Julia and the babe, he suggested they retire to the library for a quick brandy before dinner.

  The library door had barely closed behind them when Ashe said, “You haven’t told her yet.”

  Not a question, a statement. Edward strode to the sideboard, poured brandy into three snifters, turned to hand them each one. “She wanted a perfect Christmas. I didn’t think her knowing she was a widow would accomplish that. I’ll tell her after.”

  “This seems an incredibly unwise course.”

  Not the first one he’d ever traveled. Ignoring the censure and a need to respond, he raised his glass. “To Lady Alberta and Julia’s health.”

  The gentlemen drank, Edward downing far more than either of them. Now he needed to think of another toast, give them reasons to continue drinking so they’d leave off the inquisition.

  “And the kiss?” Ashe asked.

  Edward fought not to reveal his irritation that Ashe was acting as though he were a chaperon. He didn’t want them reading anything into his displeasure other than what it was: annoyance at having all his actions questioned. “A husband kisses his wife when she does something to please him, doesn’t he?”

  “Not always with quite so much enthusiasm,” Locke said. “The two of you generated more heat than the logs burning in the fireplace.”

  “Bugger off, both of you.”

  “You’ve grown to like her,” Ashe said, clearly befuddled.

  “I might appreciate her more than I once did.” No harm in admitting that. They’d always liked her, thought he’d been a fool not to feel the same.

  “The longer you wait—­”

  “Damn you, Ashe, do you not think I’m aware that there will never be a perfect moment to break her heart? The holidays just seemed an unusually cruel time to do so. In the new year. She’ll be fully recovered from the ordeal of childbirth and better able to cope with the grief. I’ll tell her then.”

  Ashe tipped his head in acquiescence, sipped his brandy, his eyes narrowing. “Just see that you do or I shall.”

  “It’s not your place.”

  “As Albert’s friend, I disagree. He wouldn’t want his wife taken advantage of.”

  “How pray tell am I taking advantage of her? I’m not bedding her. An occasional kiss is harmless. From the beginning, I’ve done nothing except strive to protect her. I gain nothing for myself by continuing the ruse.”

  “He does have a point,” Locke said, tapping a finger against his snifter. “He’s truly the Earl of Greyling now. The temporary role is now a permanent one.”

  Edward nodded, met each of their gazes, wanted to confirm the truth of his feelings. “I wish to God she’d had a boy. The title should go to Albert’s son, not his brother, but that little girl has stolen my heart.”

  “She’s the image of her mother,” Locke offered.

  “She is that. Albert would have been pleased.”

  “We need to make a toast to the new Earl of Greyling,” Ashe said, lifting his glass. “Welcome to our ranks, my lord.”

  They all raised their glasses before downing the contents that remained in each one. Edward poured them more.

  “You’ll be a good earl,” Locke said.

  “I shall at least try.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe Julia invited you here and kept it from me.”

  “She feared you’d be melancholy.”

  “But you two shall stop that from happening.”

  “Absolutely. Whatever else are friends for?”

  For holding secrets.

  “Were you really pleased with your surprise?” Julia asked as Albert joined her in the sitting area of her bedchamber.

  Dinner had been a smashing success, with more laughter and joviality than she’d heard in ages. It had lightened her heart to see her husband enjoying himself.

  “You could not have given me anything better,” he said as he sat beside her on the sofa.

  She had already changed into her nightdress, while he was still dressed for the evening. She might have suspected that he and the other gents were going to play billiards if it weren’t for the fact that their company had already retired for the night.

  “I fear my gift to you will pale in comparison.”

  “You’ve already given me the journal, although I decided not to read it until after the holidays. It seemed like peeking into the box otherwise.”

  “You’re deserving of something much more than a journal.”

  Before she could tell him that it was the very best present he could have given her, he slid a leather case out of his inside jacket pocket and set it on her lap. “Shouldn’t this be beneath the tree so that I can open it in the morning?”

  “You might think Father Christmas brought it to you. I’d rather you open it now while it’s only the two of us.”

  Removing the lid revealed a bracelet of linked pewter roses. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

  “Whenever I see roses, I think of you,” he said quietly.

  She smiled at him. “They’re my favorite flower, my favorite fragrance.”

  With one large hand, he cradled her cheek. “They became mine the first time I kissed you.”

  He took her mouth with such tenderness, such gentleness, that she nearly wept. As she was still recovering from childbirth, he had been incredibly patient, marvelously solicitous, not pressuring her, not insisting on exercising his husbandly rights. Not that he would have to insist on anything. If she were completely healed, she would lead him to the bed at this very second.

  With a groan, he shifted, his arms came around her, and she suddenly found herself sprawled across his lap as his tongue lapped at her neck, her collarbone, the dip between her breasts, before trailing over the upper swells. Heat swirled through her, moisture gathered between her thighs. She began fumbling with the buttons on her nightdress. She wanted his mouth over her entire breast, one then the other.

  His hand closed around hers as he raised his head, held her gaze. “I won’t be able to stop.”

  She sank against him. She was still bleeding, hardly a tempting vixen. Scraping her fingers up into his hair, she fought to calm her erratic heart. “I want you so badly. A few more weeks seem an eternity.” She slid her hand down, pressing her fingers just below his jaw where she could feel the thundering of his pulse. “At least let me make your Christmas merry.”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “You know my gentleman’s rule. Besides, when we do finally come together, it will be better for having waited.”

  His glorious mouth returned to hers, a little less gentle than before, with a little more hunger, a little more heat. His hands behaved, daring only to stroke her back, her hips, her spine. But his lips, his tongue, behaved with complete abandon, caressing every inch of her mouth, drawing moans and sighs from her, causing heat to ebb and flow through her until she was mad for him.

  She fought to keep her own hands equally chaste as they roamed over his shoulders, chest, and back, loosening his cravat, setting his buttons free, but never venturing below his waist, never traversing to the heart of his manhood, even though she could feel it pressed against her, straining against his trousers.

  Slowly, so gradually that she was barely aware of it happening, he shifted position until they were stretched out on the sofa, her legs entangled with his, his strong arm cradling her the only thing that kept her from tumbling to the floor.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he erupted in deep, masculine, satisfied laughter. “Why the hell are we cramped together her
e on the sofa when we could be sprawled in the bed?”

  “Because it makes what we’re doing seem more forbidden.”

  Holding her gaze, he danced his fingers slowly along her cheek, her neck. “You like the forbidden.”

  Her cheeks warmed as she recalled all the inappropriate things she’d muttered in his ear, his deaf ear, words no proper lady should ever know, much less speak. Powerfully titillating, they were her little secret. What would his opinion of her be if he knew of them?

  “You never have to hide anything from me, Jules,” he murmured in a low cadence that thrummed through her, made her want to hear him purring unsuitable, suggestive statements. “You can always be yourself with me.”

  Only she couldn’t, not on this matter. Once she spoke the words so he could hear them, there would be no taking them back. What if she offended him, shocked him, caused him to lose all respect for her? What if he didn’t? The allure of whispering wicked things in his ear would dissipate. She liked doing it because she knew she shouldn’t.

  “I am always myself with you,” she assured him, and part of being herself was keeping some delicious secrets.

  She brought his head down until their mouths met, their tongues danced and their moans echoed around them. Until the passion soared and the hunger had them rolling off the sofa and onto the floor. How he managed to do it so he landed first, cushioning her fall, was beyond her.

  She wanted him desperately, now, tonight. Wanted him moving inside her—­

  “Enough!” He scooted away from her until he was sitting with his back against the wall, one leg stretched out before him, the other raised, knee bent. Breathing heavily, he plowed his hand through his hair, tugged on his ear in that endearing way he had, and gazed at her with smoldering eyes that put the heat from the fire to shame. “You are a vixen.”

  With a self-­satisfied laugh, she pushed herself up until her back was against the sofa. She brought her knees up against her chest, tucked the hem of her nightdress beneath her toes. “You want me.”

  “Of course I want you. With every breath I draw.”

  She almost giggled as though she were a young girl. He was disheveled, his shirt hanging half off. She’d done that. Made a mess of him. They’d never gone at it before out of the bed. He was correct. She did like forbidden things.

  “You show remarkable restraint, my lord.” She wanted to go to her hands and knees, crawl toward him like a cat stalking its prey, but until they could bring their passions to complete physical fruition, it seemed cruel to tease him too much.

  “You’ve no idea.”

  She batted her eyelashes coquettishly. “Oh, I think I do.”

  Laughing, he dropped his head back. “You will be the death of me.”

  “They call it the little death, don’t they?” she asked, feigning a shyness she didn’t really feel. Lately she’d been bolder with him than she’d ever been. Perhaps it was giving birth that made her so comfortable with the needs of her body. And his. “That moment when the world falls away.”

  “Is that what it feels like for you?”

  Nodding, she knew she was blushing. She would probably ignite if she ever shared with him the words she dared to utter that he couldn’t hear. “And you?”

  He released a long, slow sigh. “Makes me feel as though I could conquer the world. And it feels bloody marvelous as well.”

  She laughed lightly, and dared to repeat, “Yes, it feels bloody marvelous.”

  Shoving himself to his feet, he reached a hand down to her. “Come, my little vixen. To bed. We have company to entertain tomorrow, a feast to consume, and a day to enjoy.”

  Liking immensely that he considered her a vixen, she slipped her hand in his. “And one less day to mark off until we can be together completely,” she told him as he pulled her up.

  “One less day,” he said, leading her to the bed.

  She found it odd that he sounded a little saddened by the prospect. Keeping her observations to herself, she clambered beneath the blankets and was soon nestled in his arms. She wanted nothing to ruin what had been a most wonderful Christmas Eve.

  “You gentlemen are absolutely no good at this game,” Julia announced, crossing her arms over her chest, mimicking a pout that as it turned out wasn’t as much of a mimic as it should have been. She was striving not to be cross, because they weren’t taking the activity seriously.

  After a Christmas feast filled with much talk and laughter, rather than letting the gentlemen retreat to the smoking room for port and a cigars, she insisted they join her and Minerva in the parlor for a few games.

  Presently they were all sitting in a circle. The object was not to smile. Generally, people had a very difficult time not twitching their lips or even chortling when they knew they weren’t supposed to. But not these gents. So far, she and Minerva had alternated losing rounds while the men just sat there stoically, their mouths not even quivering with the need to lift up.

  To make matters worse, staring at Albert’s beautiful mouth, waiting for him to smile, only made her recall how heated his kisses had been last night, which in turn made her want to get up, settle on his lap, and latch her mouth onto his until he carried her from the room.

  “Actually, we’re very good at it,” he said now, his face set in a smug expression that she thought her kiss would utterly destroy. “We’ve yet to smile.”

  “But you’re supposed to!” she screeched in frustration.

  “Except you told us not to.”

  Minerva started laughing, and Julia glared at her. “Help me out here.”

  “Perhaps we should give charades a go.”

  “We don’t have an even number for charades.” She flung her hand toward the viscount. “If Locksley would only marry—­”

  He made a choking cough that strongly resembled a strangle. “Now you sound like my father.”

  “Has he been after you to marry?” Minerva asked.

  “Relentlessly. I was hoping that here, at least, I might find some respite from the constant nagging.”

  “Only marriage will accomplish that,” Julia assured him. “Minerva and I shall make it our mission this Season to find you a woman to love.”

  “Oh, I’d never marry a woman I could love. If I learned anything at all from my father it is that along that path lies madness.”

  Julia shuddered at the words. “Only if she dies young.”

  “Which always is a possibility.”

  “That’s a morbid way to go through life. No wonder you’re atrocious at this game.”

  “As Grey pointed out, we’ve been winning.”

  At a loss for any other words she released a deep breath of frustration.

  “You have to understand, Julia, we didn’t play parlor games on Christmas,” Albert said kindly.

  In the past, it had been only her, Albert, and Edward here for the holiday, which was the reason she’d invited his friends. There was no hope for it. This year would be different from years past. She just hadn’t wanted the difference to be melancholy. “What did you do?”

  He shrugged. “Ran wild mostly. No parlor games, no tree, no evergreen boughs or ribbons, no feast. No Father Christmas. For us it was a day like any other.”

  “Carolers from the village certainly never ventured to Havisham,” Ashebury said.

  “That makes me sad.” She shifted her gaze to her husband. “You knew it would. I suppose that’s why you never told me about it before.”

  “You shouldn’t be sad. We weren’t.”

  “But you must have had memories of Christmas with your parents.”

  “We did. They were magical, special. Marsden offered us nothing to replace them. In a way that was a gift.”

  She looked at Locksley. “So you were grown before you experienced a Christmas celebration?”

  Appearing uncomfortable, he sh
ifted in his chair. “This is actually my first opportunity to partake in the traditions of the season, and to be quite honest, I’m not particularly fond of the parlor games.”

  She fluttered her hand in the air. “Off with you all! Go have your port and cigars, while Minerva and I—­”

  “Join us,” Albert said, standing and extending his hand. “It’s Christmas; let’s start a new tradition.”

  As hostess, she needed to ensure her guests were comfortable. She glanced over at Minerva. “Are you willing?”

  “Absolutely. Rather than parlor games, in the future might I suggest poker?”

  Ashe was suddenly at her side, helping her to her feet. “Only if you won’t cheat.”

  “My dear husband, I wouldn’t dare consider it—­unless something I wanted was at stake.”

  Laughing, he began escorting his wife from the room. Locksley followed.

  Julia placed her hand in Albert’s and he drew her up until she was in the circle of his arms, his mouth moving insistently over hers. Winding her arms around his shoulders, she returned his kiss with equal fervor.

  A clearing of a throat had them jumping apart as though they were young lovers caught doing something they shouldn’t. Ashe stood in the doorway, eyebrow arched. “Joining us?”

  “You’re irritating, Ashe,” Albert said as he offered her his arm before leading her from the room.

  “Trust me, I could be more so.” He spun on his heel and headed to his wife, who was waiting for him.

  “What did he mean by that?” Julia asked, sensing a tension in her husband that hadn’t been there before.

  “As the highest in rank and the eldest, he’s always felt he had the right to boss us around, so he’s just being Ashe.”

  “But you’re glad he’s here.”

  “Very glad he’s here. You’ve given me a wonderful gift today.”

  When they reached the smoking room, they discovered Locksley handing out the glasses of port he’d poured while waiting for them. He raised his glass. “To new Christmas memories.”