MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3

by Ayers, Kathleen

  Colin’s eyes had gone nearly black, almost feral, as he slowly moved up on all fours. Like a beast about to devour her. Ravish her. A tingle of excitement ran through her.

  Miranda’s eyes lowered, looking at his manhood jutting proudly from a wild thatch of dark blonde hair. Had it always been so large? She’d often felt the hard length of him, pressing against her skirts, and again tonight through the thin protection of the sheet, but how in the world would that fit inside her?

  Colin’s beautiful face looked down at her with concern and something else. Hunger.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve lost your courage?” He followed the track of her eyes.

  “No.” She wasn’t afraid, exactly. At least not of Colin.

  “We can stop now, love.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “I would not wish you to regret the loss of your virginity.” The Irish lilt she so adored rippled against her skin.

  “I will regret nothing.”

  Love for him suffused every nerve in her body. It nourished her as she awoke every day. Made her long to be with him, always.

  I want him. For the first time, Miranda actually understood the meaning of desire. Desire was Colin, the firelight making his skin glow gold as he looked down at her with heat in his dark eyes. She felt the touch of his gaze across her aching breasts down to the center of her, still throbbing from the ministrations of his mouth. Her hand reached out and she touched the length of him, marveling that something so hard could also feel like silk. Her fingers tightened.

  Colin groaned. His eyes fluttered shut for an instant.

  Miranda was not completely innocent of the act between a man and a woman. For one thing, she read quite a lot, even scandalous things that she shouldn’t. Books were marvelous for gaining knowledge about all manner of things. She’d found such a book in her mother’s sitting room, hidden beneath the seat cushion and read the whole of it before Mother returned from paying calls. It had been a very stimulating afternoon.

  She stroked him, back and forth, gratified when his breathing intensified. “Am I doing this right?”

  “You know full well you are.” He moved further over her and her hand fell away. His teeth fell to the ribbon of her chemise, pulling free the knot. Impatient, he tore at the ribbon with one hand.

  “Have a care, Colin.”

  “Take it off, Miranda,” a rough whisper left him, “least I rip it from you.”

  She sat up and pulled the nightgown up and over her shoulders, tossing the discarded bit of cotton to the floor. The cooler air of the room caused goosebumps to bubble over the skin of her breasts and arms. Her nipples pebbled, hardening almost painfully beneath the intensity of his gaze.

  “Magnificent.” Colin’s eyes ran over the length of her. One hand fell to her breast, a finger hovering over the nipple, before leisurely circling the peak. The hand moved, lightly skimming her stomach, before pushing her down on the bed. Possessively he cupped her mound, looming over her like some great golden cat.

  Miranda arched as a light touch glided through her still throbbing flesh.

  Colin leaned down to brush his lips against hers even as his fingers began to tease again.

  She opened her mouth at the pressure of his lips, allowing their tongues to twist about each other. Her hips pushed up against the insistent probing of his fingers.

  Colin seated himself firmly between her thighs, his fingers disappearing as she felt the length of him slide back and forth against the aching folds of her flesh. He reached down between their bodies, took himself in one hand and gently moved himself into her entrance.

  Her hips immediately pushed towards him, seeking to draw him in deeper.

  “Always so impatient,” he whispered. A big hand cupped one buttock. “I’ve no wish to hurt you.”

  “You won’t”. Miranda wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ravish me.”

  Colin thrust forward slowly, as if Miranda were made of the finest china.

  “It doesn’t hurt.” Miranda shifted so that Colin sank deeper into her flesh.

  “Love, wait.” Colin swore under his breath.

  She gasped sharply at the painful burn that heralded the loss of her maidenhead. Though she’d been expecting some pain, the pressure and the sensation of tearing still took her by surprise. Her entire body screamed in response to his invasion.

  Colin didn’t move, and he closed his eyes. “Wait, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, her cheek, the tip of her nose. “Let your body accept mine.”

  “What if it—”

  “It will, my love,” he pressed his lips to hers.

  Miranda took a deep breath and relaxed, allowing her body to stretch and open. Already the pain, so sharp a moment before, began to recede. It was actually a rather wonderful feeling, to be joined. Like puzzle pieces. She tipped her hips up and Colin’s body slid deeper into hers.

  “Christ, Miranda.” Colin sounded pained. He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. Turning her hand, he pressed a kiss to her palm.

  “Mine,” he murmured, nipping her wrist.

  “Yes.” Miranda inhaled sharply as Colin pulled back, only to thrust more firmly inside her, burying himself. He stopped again, waiting.

  “Again.” She pulled her hand from his and placed in on his hip.

  Colin moved back, and thrust into her, pressing the bottom half of her body up to match his movement. Teaching her what to do.

  Honey coiled between her legs, the exquisite need building again with each stroke. Clumsily, she pushed up to meet his rhythm until their bodies moved in unison. Colin thrust again, catching his body against hers.

  “Oh!” A bolt of pleasure shot through her.

  “There?”

  “Yes.” The way Colin moved, twisting himself so that he would briefly tease her still swollen flesh sent a deep throb through her body. Her hunger grew with each stroke until Miranda thought she’d go mad.

  A rough kiss pressed her lips. “Tell me what you want, Miranda.

  “More, Colin,” she panted. “I want more.” Ripples of sensation ran riot over her entire body.

  “Greedy.” His mouth moved to her neck, nipping at the lobe of her ear. Wicked, erotic things whispered from his lips.

  She cried out as his fingers moved between them, touching her with a lingering caress as his movements became more forceful. Miranda heard herself beg. Plead. If only he would give her what she needed.

  “Colin,” she implored. “Please.”

  Miranda climaxed suddenly, almost violently. She threw her head back as the most intense bliss shot through her, sharp and fine, where it bubbled underneath her skin. It was the most glorious feeling, to float on a wave of pleasure with Colin’s body buried within hers. Such pleasure. She wished it would never end.

  Colin thrust once more, burying his face in her neck as he spilled into her, murmuring her name.

  Miranda welcomed his weight as he collapsed against her, her own breathing as ragged as his. She could feel the pulse of his climax still beating inside her, and she smiled, wrapping her arms around him.

  I love you. Her heart beat against his. You belong to me. Always. She pressed a kiss into his hair and stroked his back, slick with sweat. They were part of each other. Mated. More firmly joined together than any ceremony performed by a vicar could make them.

  Colin moved to lay on his side, taking her with him so that he remained inside her. His breathing was still ragged, and his eyelids fluttered down to fan his cheeks, before looking back at her. That smug smile was back, hovering about his lips.

  Miranda grinned at him like an idiot. She was ridiculously happy.

  I am well and truly compromised. Ravished. Ruined. The word had a delightful sound to it. There could not be any objection to Colin’s suit now.

  Mother would be furious.

  A long, elegant finger trailed down the side of her cheek, to rub gently against her bottom lip.

  “You belong to me,” she whispered and placed her hand over his heart.


  The intensity in his gaze took her breath away.

  “Always.”

  16

  Gray Covington 1836

  Oh, my. Miss Lainscott seems to have forgotten to be timid and demure.

  At the urging of her aunt, Lady Dobson, Miss Lainscott was coaxed into being this evening’s entertainment. The piano, one that Miranda’s father once played, seemed to come to life beneath the ministrations of Miss Lainscott. She was known to be skilled at music, but Miranda had no idea she played so well. Or with such unbridled emotion.

  Most young ladies learned to play a piano or some other instrument passably well, even Miranda. Usually these same young ladies were trotted out to showcase their skills in the presence of potential suitors, to mild, polite applause. Blushing, the young ladies would bow and hopefully catch the eye of a young man who admired the musical skills presented.

  In no way did Miss Lainscott’s playing tonight resemble those tepid performances.

  Miss Lainscott’s slight form bent back and forth wildly, as if caught in a torrid embrace with a lover, while her fingers, gloveless, flew over the keys. Lashes flickering against her cheeks, her mouth widened in a beckoning smile as a deep rose suffused her cheeks. Her feet moved in time to the music beneath the bench on which she sat, skirts flipping up to expose trim ankles. The raw sensuality with which Miss Lainscott played completely transformed her. No longer plain and ordinary, she’d transformed into a siren. A seducer of men.

  Lady Dobson, thin lips curled in disapproval, regarded her niece with something akin to distaste. Angrily fluttering her fan from one boney wrist, she narrowed her eyes at Miss Lainscott, no doubt already thinking how best to punish the girl.

  Miranda really could not wait for Lady Dobson to depart the premises.

  On the other side of the room, Lady Cottingham and her daughter stood guard over the Dowager, monopolizing her attention. Lady Helen wore a gown of pale lilac adorned with ornately tied bows around the skirt. In her hair she wore an enormous feather suffused with jewel tones. The feather wafted gracefully about her cheek as she spoke to Grandmother.

  It looked suspiciously like a peacock feather. She should tell Zander to check tails of all of the peacocks that made Gray Covington their home.

  Lady Helen appeared to be discussing something of great importance with Grandmother, although it did not appear that the Dowager felt the same. Grandmother’s eyes held a faraway look as if she wished she were somewhere else. She turned slightly trying to catch Miranda’s attention over Lady Helen’s shoulder, possibly to beg rescue from the ladies Cottingham.

  Miranda ignored the plea in her grandmother’s eyes.

  Mrs. Cottingham and her daughter seemed unaware of the Dowager’s lack of interest. Lady Helen in particular seemed very agitated, even moving her perfectly gloved hands in order to make some point. Birds, probably. The action caused the feather she wore to become unmoored. It was tilting, the nib began to point up as the plume turned to caress Lady Helen’s neck.

  It would be kind of Miranda to inform Lady Helen that her headdress was coming undone. The girl looked ridiculous with her hair adornment listing across her face.

  Just then, Lady Helen stopped speaking, her mouth curling into a seductive smile as her attention was taken by the Earl of Kilmaire making his way around the room.

  Miranda’s thought to inform Lady Helen of her mounting disaster with the feather was immediately discarded. She was not feeling especially kind towards Lady Helen this evening.

  Lord Ridley and Lord Hamill were circling around Miranda like sharks smelling blood in the water. Each man constantly espoused their individual virtues while she nodded and pretended to carefully consider their suit. Lady Helen stalked Colin about Gray Covington as if he were a rare species of bird, even going so far as to boldly brush her breasts against him repeatedly at the breakfast table yesterday morning. The only person whose company Miranda enjoyed was that of Miss Lainscott.

  Every bit of this nightmare was Grandmother’s fault.

  Miranda’s eyes rested on Colin as he wandered about the room, greeting first her brother, then Alex. Again, he wore not a bit of color, his formal attire all black except for the snowy white shirt and neckcloth he wore. The scar flashed across his cheek, peeking through the waves of his honey-colored hair. She watched as he dangled a glass of wine carelessly from one hand, laughing at something Alex said to him. He hated wine.

  She looked away, not wishing to be caught ogling the Earl of Kilmaire.

  After telling Colin the whole of her scandal and the death of Archie Runyon, Miranda felt immeasurably better. The burden of carrying the tale of that day within her took a toll Miranda hadn’t acknowledged until she was free of it. She’d never discussed that day with anyone. Not her brother, nor Alex. Not even Arabella, her dearest friend.

  A wave of sadness washed through her. Colin had always been at the very center of her world. First, during her childhood at Gray Covington, then later, as the young woman she’d once been. His rejection pained her. Was he incapable of love? Did he only seduce her for sport? Last night, as they sat together in the library, Miranda had allowed herself to hope, only to have that hope thrown back in her face. The worst part was, she didn’t know why.

  I may never understand. Perhaps I am better off not knowing.

  Her eyes followed Colin’s form as he made his way through the room. Miranda inhaled, imagining she smelled cheroot and whiskey, two things she would always associate with the Earl of Kilmaire. The physical attraction between them had not dimmed with the passing of years. Even being in the same room with him caused a prickling of sexual awareness that frightened her. As it had in the library.

  She’d been avoiding him ever since.

  After her discussion with Colin the night before, Miranda had gone down to breakfast in a rather poor mood. Lady Helen’s behavior that morning, practically throwing herself on Colin’s plate like a serving of kippers, only increased Miranda’s annoyance. She declined to join the other guests for a picnic near the ruins of the ancient Cambourne keep, insisting she needed to pay a call on the vicar’s wife, who was ailing.

  Over her grandmother’s objections, she’d taken a basket of freshly baked bread and some cheese to Vicar Paulson’s wife. The simple task of visiting Mrs. Paulson and catching up on the village gossip had done Miranda a world of good. And Mrs. Paulson as well. The poor woman had been laid up for several weeks with a broken ankle after tripping over her dog.

  Upon her return, citing exhaustion, Miranda took a tray in her room and did not go down for dinner, only joining the party to hear Miss Lainscott’s performance.

  A crescendo of music echoed through the room as Miss Lainscott launched into another piece on the piano, a rather erotic and sensual sounding piece.

  Lady Dobson snapped her fan loudly, clearly announcing her irritation to the room.

  Lord and Lady Payne sat near Lady Dobson and her annoyed fan. Miranda had known the Earl of Payne for many years, as their land bordered Gray Covington to the east. Their daughter, Lady Barbara, had been a childhood friend of Miranda’s, though Miranda was several years older.

  Lady Barbara’s copper hair caught the light as she leaned in to say something to her mother, her profile delicate and refined. Lady Barbara was slender, athletic and renowned for her horsemanship. Everything Miranda was not. Miranda was far from athletic, except for her excellent marksmanship, and she didn’t think that actually counted. She was also not “willowy” a description one often heard in conjunction with Lady Barbara.

  She would at least be a better choice for Colin than Lady Helen.

  Lord Payne was notoriously protective of his daughter ever since his son and heir, Lord Benjamin, disappeared in the wilds of America. Miranda’s father and Lord Payne had often shared a bottle of scotch together, each mourning the loss of their sons.

  Except Sutton came home, and Benjamin has not.

  Miss Lainscott’s passion appeared to have dissipated.
She bent low over the piano, slender fingers caressing each key with infinite sadness. The melody slowed, becoming cheerless and forlorn. A thin sheen of sweat coated Miss Lainscott’s forehead and cheeks.

  Miranda turned and caught sight of Welles, leaning against the wall, his form nearly hidden in the shadows lingering in the corner of the conservatory. He watched Miss Lainscott with a bemused look on his face.

  Lady Dobson suddenly stood, the veins in her neck sticking out like the strings of a violin. Approaching the piano and her niece, she leaned her skeletal form forward, shaking her head in admonishment. The angry vibration of Lady Dobson’s chastisement could be heard, if not the actual words she used.

  Miss Lainscott’s fingers left the piano rather abruptly. Her mouth opened as if she would challenge her aunt, but she quickly looked down, and nodded obediently to Lady Dobson.

  A light airy tune soon filled the room as Lady Dobson made her way back to her seat, smiling like a crocodile who had just taken a bite out of an especially tasty water buffalo. She made a great show of smoothing her skirts before laying the fan in her lap.

  “Lady Miranda.” Lady Helen, unfortunate peacock feather still untethered, perched herself next to Miranda. “I’m so sorry you missed our outing to the ruins. Your cook prepared a most marvelous picnic.” The feather dipped until it dangled near her chin.

  “Unfortunately, I needed to pay a call on the wife of our vicar. She’s been ill. I wished to assure myself that she was on the mend.”

  Lady Helen waved her hand, dismissing Miranda’s words, not at all interested in Miranda’s visit with the vicar’s wife. “Lord Kilmaire escorted me, of course. I was so grateful for his assistance as the ground was strewn with stone. Why, I nearly stepped into a hole, but luckily Lord Kilmaire caught me.”

  Miranda could just imagine. Lady Helen blithely sailing about the ruins, probably in a pair of slippers more suited for dancing than for climbing. Tripping gracefully to allow Colin to catch her in his arms.

  Ugh.

  “How fortunate for you that Lord Kilmaire was in attendance.”