MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3

by Ayers, Kathleen

  That was only part of Miranda’s question. “Will you then end your pursuit of Lady Helen?”

  A wry half-smile twisted his lips. “I would not call it pursuit, exactly. More duty, I suppose.”

  She didn’t move, nor flinch at the words that broke her heart. Devastation filled her. She should not have asked a question she didn’t really want an answer for.

  A small snore sounded from the man beneath her.

  Miranda was desolate. Humiliated. Pained. Gently, so as not to wake him, Miranda stood. How peaceful Colin looked as he slept, his face relaxed and open. She supposed he did care for her, as much as he was capable. Perhaps he did not so much leave her as run away from her, away from love and all it entailed. He didn’t want to be loved. Maybe he should marry Lady Helen.

  Miranda supposed she should pity Colin, but instead her heart broke for them both. She made her way carefully from the room, her robe clutched tight about her, forgetting the book she’d meant to retrieve. Nothing would allow her to sleep this night.

  15

  Cambourne House 1830

  “Nonsense, Colin. I insist you stay the night. The street is beginning to flood. You’d be risking your life just stepping off the sidewalk.”

  Colin regarded his benefactor with a smile. Lord Robert Cambourne was a generous host indeed, inviting him to stay the night, especially when the marchioness had made clear her abundant dislike. Even if the marchioness welcomed him with open arms, his lordship’s invitation should be declined. It was akin to putting a fox in charge of a hen house.

  “The roast was excellent tonight, was it not? I think Cook outdid herself.”

  Colin wouldn’t know. With Miranda sitting across from him, every movement she made calculated to drive him mad with lust, he’d barely tasted the food.

  “My lord, I would not wish to impose.” Dear God, he didn’t think he had enough self-control to spend the night under the same roof as Miranda.

  “Colin, your presence is never an imposition.” Lord Cambourne settled into a tobacco- brown leather chair across from Colin with a deep sigh of pleasure. “I do love this chair. It goes back and forth with me from Gray Covington to London. Battered, old, worn.” He gave a bark of laughter. “Much like myself.”

  “My lord—”

  “You will stay.” The older man’s tone brooked no further discussion on the matter.

  Sweet Jesus. How would he ever survive the night with Miranda only a few doors away? Still, he dared not offend Lord Cambourne.

  “Thank you, my lord. I would be delighted.”

  Hopefully, Miranda had retired for the night and need never know Colin was ensconced in a guest room. Miranda was bent on ruination, and Colin steadfastly refused to bed her before they could be formally betrothed. He also wished to be sure he could support a wife, though he would never be able to support Miranda in the extravagant way she lived as the daughter of a Marquess.

  Miranda argued that Colin was being stubborn. Her dowry was ridiculously large. Any other gentleman wouldn’t blink at the thought of all that money. It was normal, ordinary even, to expect a large settlement from a titled young lady.

  Colin didn’t feel right about it. If that meant he wasn’t a gentleman, then he wasn’t. He wanted Miranda for herself. Not for the wealth she would bring to him, nor the connections her family provided. He only wanted her.

  Thankfully, after nearly three months in London, his financial situation had finally improved. Somewhat.

  “Wently tells me that Thrumbadge’s has had to replenish their stock twice and that’s not happened before. I am very proud of you, Colin.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I had no idea that a story I wrote to entertain my uncle in his sickbed would prove to be so popular. Lord Wently has already urged me to write the second book while the demand remains strong.”

  ‘Lord Thurston Begins’, the saga of a young lord lost at sea for ten years, who returns to London to claim his estate and marry the woman he loved, had become the novel of the Season. The book was full of daring and frothy romantic escapades. No one would ever suspect the author to be a gentleman.

  He’d never thought to actually profit from telling a story though he’d long kept a journal. Lord Thurston began as a way to entertain his ailing uncle when the man’s illness left him bedridden. The servants of Estervale would sneak to sit outside of Uncle Gerald’s bedchamber to listen as Colin spun the tale for his uncle. They were his first critics, often adding bits and pieces he would later incorporate into the story.

  “You were right, of course.”

  Lord Cambourne reached over and patted Colin’s arm in affection. “How well I remember seeing you on your visits to Gray Covington, sitting under that giant oak tree. I could spy you from my study as I attended to business. You were always scratching away in that red leather notebook.”

  “A gift from you, as I recall, my lord, one Christmas when you invited me to come to Gray Covington.” That had been a wonderful holiday, the best Colin ever had. Christmas for the Earl of Kilmaire and his family was a much more somber affair. No gifts were exchanged. No sweets or other treats prepared. Christmas at Gray Covington was something else entirely. Even Lady Cambournee took part in the merriment.

  “And the stories you used to tell Miranda! I’ve you to thank for the mornings I spent hunting for leprechauns and wee folk in the gardens. I believe you convinced her a family of fairies made their home in the topiaries. She’s told those stories to Elizabeth, you know. I’m now looking for gnomes down in the basements, a candle clutched in one hand and my youngest daughter in the other.”

  Elizabeth was a beautiful, gap-toothed girl of six who lisped a bit. Colin could not enter the Cambourne House without the youngest daughter of the Marquess of Cambourne tugging on his sleeve. Yesterday Elizabeth informed Colin that a troll lived under her nursemaid’s bed.

  “Your daughters share a vivid imagination. Miranda is spinning her own stories I think.”

  “It’s kind of you, to escort her about. With Sutton’s absence. . .” Lord Cambourne’s words trailed off and his handsome features took on a pinched look. Clearing his throat he continued, “I do appreciate you stepping in.”

  “It’s no trouble at all, my lord. It’s my pleasure.” Lord Cambourne had no idea how much. It was a useful ruse. Pretending to be a somewhat put-upon family friend, it allowed Colin to escort Miranda to the bookstore or the museum. Sometimes they would take walks in the park.

  A small smile tugged at Lord Cambourne’s lips. “Miranda can be challenging. Always chattering on about this and that. I’ve no idea how her mind works; it remains a constant mystery to me. Her current obsession appears to be ancient Egypt and mummies. I’m not sure it’s proper reading for a girl of her station, and Lady Cambourne despairs that Miranda’s interests will put off suitors.” Lord Cambourne shot Colin a rather pointed look and sipped his drink. “Do you think Miranda’s eccentricities would deter the right suitor?”

  “I believe, my lord,” Colin said quietly and firmly, “that the right gentleman will appreciate Lady Miranda and encourage her interests.”

  “Such as escorting her to museums and lectures?” Lord Cambourne’s green eyes sparkled in the dim light of the study.

  He knows.

  “Yes, my lord. A man of honorable intentions who appreciates Lady Miranda for herself.”

  “Very good.” Lord Cambourne nodded. “Very good indeed. I shall welcome this suitor with honorable intentions. I do hope he does not delay, for my daughter grows impatient.”

  Colin took a small sip of the brandy he held and allowed the warmth from both the brandy and Lord Camborne’s approval to sink in. “I feel certain, my lord, that he will make an appearance quite soon.”

  The conversation moved to other things as the storm raged outside, until the hour grew late, the clock striking midnight.

  “Goodness,” Lord Cambourne set aside his glass and shot another look at the storm outside. “I believe I should retire. Bevins
had prepared you a room.” He waved his hand as if anticipating Colin to protest again. “I cannot in good conscience send you out in this weather and well you know it. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  “Thank you, my lord. For everything.”

  “You are most welcome, Colin. Most welcome. And I am incredibly pleased by developments,” he chuckled in a low tone, “since your return to London. In all respects.” He stood a bit unsteadily. “Stay and finish your brandy. One of the footmen will show you up when you’re ready. Perhaps the storm will give you creative inspiration.”

  Colin sat and watched the fire for the longest time, sipping his brandy and listening to the rain dripping down the windows. He thought of the royalty check he’d received from Lord Wently. Of the kindness of Lord Cambourne. Of the gypsy in the woods and how wrong her prediction of Colin’s life had been. But mostly he thought of Miranda.

  * * *

  “Colin?”

  Miranda was lying next to him in the gardens of Gray Covington, her glorious ebony hair fanning out on the soft summer grass. Clad only in a very thin, very sheer chemise, her generous breasts were barely covered. She beckoned him with a seductive tilt to her lips as her fingers fell to the thin satin ribbon holding the garment together. Green eyes sparkled with promise as the ribbon slowly unfurled and the chemise opened.

  Sun lit her naked body as Colin leaned forward to trail his lips across the top of breasts.

  “Colin.”

  Miranda writhed beneath his touch, her hand reaching up to caress his shoulder. She pressed her lips against his mouth.

  “Colin, wake up.”

  A soft, female body settled next to Colin. Tiny nips at his earlobe and the press of lips against his neck shot sensation down his body to his already throbbing cock.

  “Mmm. You taste good. Not as good as a raisin cake, of course, but altogether quite delicious.”

  Christ. Colin’s eyes shot open.

  Miranda pressed her body against his back, curling her smaller form over his. Her hair trailed in wild disarray tickling his nose as she looked down at him. She was grinning from ear to ear as if she’d accomplished some magnificent feat. Pressing a kiss to his naked shoulder, she peered at him in curiosity, her face bathed with the soft light of the fire. “You haven’t any clothes on, do you?”

  “Not a stitch.”

  Miranda bit her lip. “Don’t gentlemen wear something to bed? I ask because once I saw Bevins late at night sneaking down to the kitchen. He had a nightshirt on and-”

  Colin rolled over on his back and pulled her atop him.

  “I’m not at all interested in what your butler may wear to bed.”

  He positioned her hips so that she straddled him, watching in fascination as the nightgown rode up her thighs. He could feel the warm press of her mound through the sheets and his erection throbbed painfully in response.

  Miranda made a soft sound of pleasure. The long curling strands of her hair floated over his bare chest like a dark cloak.

  “I saw you once,” her gaze ran over his torso, “when you and Sutton swam in the pond at Gray Covington. I do not remember this.” A fingernail grazed his nipple and trailed through the mat of hair on his chest. Miranda’s eyes turned thoughtful. “I don’t suppose I’ve ever seen a man without his shirt.”

  “You shouldn’t be here, Miranda.” Colin was quite sure Lord Cambourne’s approval of their courtship didn’t extend to bedding the man’s daughter beneath his own roof.

  “I wanted to see you. You ignored me all through dinner.” She wiggled atop him again, pushing herself against the thickening of his groin. “And don’t worry. Everyone is asleep. Even Bevins. I locked the door.”

  “You were teasing me, deliberately, all through the meal. The way you licked the pudding off your spoon, for instance.”

  “I wasn’t.” She leaned down and brushed her lips to his. Her breasts hung down, the plush warmth pushing suggestively against his chest. “It was only pudding.”

  The nightgown, some sheer bit of cotton that aroused Colin more than deterred him, gaped open at the neck. Nipples the color of summer cherries pushed impudently against the nearly transparent material, begging for his mouth.

  “I’ve tried to be good, really I have, Colin. I know I’m terribly forward. Wanton, even. I supposed I should be ashamed, but . . .” A soft gasp escaped her as Colin nosed his way inside the gaping neckline and flicked his tongue against one nipple.

  “Oh.” Miranda made a lovely little squeak.

  The problem, Colin thought as he took the cherry red peak in his mouth and his hand cupped her breast, was that Miranda possessed not an ounce of shyness around him. She begged for his touch with every glance and swish of her hips, until Colin thought he would become mindless with lust.

  A tortured gasp parted her lips as he drew her nipple between his teeth. She arched her back, pushing her breast more fully into his mouth as her fingers found their way to the base of Colin’s skull. Her hips rolled back and forth over his rock-hard erection.

  Colin released the nipple, his breathing harsh as he lay his head on her breast. His hands gripped her hips, holding her still. How many men could withstand such an assault?

  “Miranda, leave now, I beg you.”

  “I cannot.” Her hands fell to his shoulders and she lightly traced his collarbone. A light kiss pressed the corner of his mouth. Then his shoulder. Then the hollow of his neck. She sat back.

  A whoosh of air left his chest at the feel of her flesh rubbing against him through the sheet.

  Cheeky, magnificent woman.

  Miranda watched him, a curious look in her eyes, then she moved again.

  Colin pushed up as she did so, letting her feel the rigid heat of his cock.

  Miranda’s mouth parted in surprise, then her lips curled seductively.

  “Christ, you should leave.”

  Suddenly, she slid down his body, so that her face now hovered just above his stomach.

  His cock twitched beneath the bedclothes. Colin was certain he wouldn’t survive the night.

  Miranda’s eyes widened even more, her gaze glued to the movement beneath the sheet. A fingertip toyed with the edge of the linen.

  “Go on,” he whispered, fascinated by the way the tangled mass of her hair traveled down his torso.

  The sheet pulled away from his stomach until the edge lay just below his navel. Her touch was light as she explored the breadth of his chest, tracing the muscles of his stomach. She pressed her lips to the skin just above the cover of the sheet. Her palms flattened over the mat of hair on his chest as her fingers tickled the lines of his ribs.

  “You resemble one of mother’s statues,” her voice was soft, “except for the hair, of course. I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “You weren’t?” He struggled to keep his voice even as she touched the rim of his navel with her tongue.

  In one fluid move, Colin rolled Miranda over, as the sheet fell from his body.

  “Oh.” She blinked at him. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached up to run her fingers over his arms to his bare hips. “You’re so much better than one of mother’s statues. I find that I am speechless.”

  Smiling, he kissed her skin through the nightgown until he came to her hips. “At last.” He pulled up the edge of her nightgown.

  God, she was lovely. A perfect mound of dark curls nestled between the soft curve of her thighs, begging for his touch. Colin’s fingers danced over the soft down, lightly blowing against the curls and watched as her legs opened like a rose unraveling it’s petals. Her flesh glistened, wet and beautifully pink.

  “Shall I kiss you?” He breathed against the warm, wet softness, eager to have the taste of her on his lips. Colin didn’t wait for her to answer.

  A soft whimper came from her lips as his tongue found its way to her center, sliding between the silken folds.

  “You’re very wet, Miranda.” He inserted a finger while his tongue licked and tasted her.

  “Co
lin,” she whimpered. “This is very wicked.”

  “Mmm,” he growled from deep in his chest. He inserted another finger, feeling the clench of her muscles. His tongue roamed over her, seeking out the tiny nub of flesh that was the source of her pleasure, teasing and coaxing, until it became swollen and engorged.

  Miranda began to pant. Nonsensical words spilled from her lips as the sensations began to build within her. He felt every small tremble. Every soft sigh. He adored the way her body tightened as his ministrations intensified. Her hands fell to his head and shoulders, holding him against her.

  His mouth closed over her, drawing the bit of engorged flesh into his mouth, sucking gently but relentlessly. His fingers moved within her channel, curling back and forth, searching for exactly the right spot.

  Miranda cried out when he succeeded. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she arched against his mouth.

  A deep seductive moan came from her as she bucked against his mouth, the muscles of her body clenching around his fingers as she climaxed.

  He held her firmly against his mouth, his fingers moving out of her body to spread the pink swollen flesh. Taking the tip of his tongue, Colin laved only that sensitive nub, enjoying the way the flesh pulsed.

  Miranda’s hips came off the bed as another orgasm rocked her body. Her legs trembled against his shoulders as each waved ripped through her. He continued to lick and suck until the last tremor subsided and a deep sigh of satisfaction left her lips.

  Mine.

  * * *

  Miranda felt absolutely decadent.

  The things Colin had just done to her with his mouth and tongue were nothing short of wicked.

  Delicious.

  She looked down, pushing back the shyness that suddenly engulfed her at the sight of Colin’s head still between her legs. His chin was settled on one thigh, watching her with a tiny smug lift to his mouth. He was very pleased with himself.

  “I am the most fortunate of men.”