The Earl of Kent

by Lauren Smith

  Phillip’s eyes widened and then burned with desire. “There certainly is, but that’s a lesson for another night.”

  “But we don’t have enough nights. Perhaps we ought to double our sessions?” She batted her lashes up at him the way she’d seen Audrey do dozens of times to her husband. Would it work?

  He hesitated as a blush covered his face, making him appear almost boyish. It was utterly charming. She reached for the placket of his trousers.

  “My leg…,” he began again lamely as she started to unfasten his pants.

  “Your leg is fine, my lord,” she promised him when he looked at her. She needed him to understand that more than anything else. His leg would not frighten her away. He was a good man, and he deserved compassion as well as passion.

  “Tell me what to do,” she encouraged. Her body flushed as she unfastened his pants; they hung slightly loose on his lean hips.

  “There are a few ways…” Phillip cleared his throat. “I could lie back on the bed or…”

  “Or?” Ella gazed up at him, fascinated and aroused at whatever made him hesitate.

  “Or you could be on your knees, but that isn’t something a lady should…”

  She placed a finger on his lips. “A lady may do whatever she likes in the bedroom. If I have learned nothing else from my happily married friends, it’s that passion can and should be equal between men and women.”

  His eyes darkened to the color of summer storm clouds as she lowered to her knees. Then she opened his trousers, and he groaned as she put her hands on his hard length. She had to admit she was curious to touch him here, to see up close what she’d only glimpsed afar on marble statues, and never in this erect state. Phillip threw back his head as she curled her fingers around him and slid her hand up and down him. He rocked slightly into her touch.

  “What should I do next?” She paused until she knew she had his attention, and then she added, “Master.” She rather liked the idea that she was a pupil learning from a master seducer. It gave her the freedom to play back, to be a free, wanton woman who finally had the chance to embrace her own desires.

  “Christ,” he hissed, almost begging. “Do whatever you want, put your mouth on it or stroke it. It all feels good.”

  Ella ran her fingertips over the head and then down to the base before she rubbed him several times in concert with his rocking hips, but she was more interested in what he meant by using her mouth.

  “Do I lick you? Or take you inside my mouth?” She’d heard whispers of this but honestly had no specific information as to how to go about it. The last thing she wanted was to do it incorrectly and ruin the moment between them.

  “Either, but inside your mouth is better.” Phillip leaned back against the bed, clutching one of the posts for support. His bad leg trembled a little.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked. “Your leg, I mean?”

  “What?” He looked down at her, clearly startled. “No, not at all.”

  She saw the truth in his eyes. He wasn’t in pain, so she focused back on their pleasure. She leaned in and licked the tip of his shaft, and the curse he muttered made her giggle. She liked having his full attention on her, knowing she was about to return the pleasure he had given her.

  “Bloody hell, Ella. You’re killing me.” Phillip’s eyes were closed now, and there was a look of sweet agony on his face.

  She parted her lips and took him inside, trying to suck on him lightly, still unsure of the technique involved. He put one hand in her hair, coiling his fingers in the strands. She felt more connected to him now than she ever had anyone else in her life. Giving themselves to each other this way was intimate in a way she’d never imagined.

  “You can suck harder if you want,” he whispered hoarsely.

  She obeyed and took him deeper into her mouth and sucked harder. He moved his hips back and forth, thrusting into her mouth and murmuring words of praise and delight. He suddenly stiffened and cried out, his body going rigid. Then she tasted him on her tongue. It was a salty flavor that she found she didn’t mind at all. He sagged back against the side of the bed, now trembling. She rose to her feet and was shocked when he pulled her close and kissed her hard, possessively. His tongue thrust hard and hungry into her, and she melted into him, surrendering herself completely.

  “How was that lesson?” she asked between kisses.

  He tangled his fingers through her loose hair and gave a playful tug. Her hair seemed to fascinate him, and she liked that, knowing there were parts of her that he wanted to touch over and over. She wound an arm around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, taking in his scent, branding it upon her soul.

  “I think you passed that lesson, darling. Not that I would mind a repeat, of course.” His smile was an almost silly grin as he stared at her.

  “Why don’t we get into bed and rest?” she suggested. His bad leg was still shaking, and she had a suspicion he was masking his pain now, at least a little.

  “Let me help you undress,” he offered with a wolfish expression that made her skin flush with fresh heat.

  Ella offered her back to him as he unfastened the row of buttons down her back, then untied the laces of her stays. Phillip let each layer of clothing drop to the ground in pools of color. Then she was down to only her stockings and chemise.

  “Your turn,” she insisted.

  There was something thrilling about undressing him and being so bare herself as she slipped the buttons of his waistcoat through the slits and then lifted the shirt over his head. His chest was as exquisite as it had been that first night in his room at the manor house. His chest muscles were strong and the ropes of stomach muscles well defined over his abdomen. She smoothed her palms over his skin, and the base of her belly quivered with excitement. What would it be like to have this man’s body completely focused on her, pinning her to the bed, or up against the wall, claiming her? She’d never been one for fantasies, but Phillip seemed to create them by the thousands whenever he was near.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked, his deep voice sending chills through her.

  “About you… About how strong you are.”

  He stroked her cheek. “I’d never hurt you.” His promise was so tender.

  “I know, but I was thinking…” She paused, her entire body flushing.

  “About?”

  “About how it would feel to have you use that strength on me…in bed…and how I’d like that.” Lord, she was as wicked as any man, wasn’t she? For wanting such things and voicing them aloud to a man she wasn’t even married to. Deep down, she was no different than her wicked brothers, it seemed.

  Phillip raised her chin so their eyes met. She saw dark lust churning in his gaze. “I would like that too. More than you know, darling. But not tonight. You should have a slow seduction—it will make the pleasure of your surrender all the sweeter.”

  Ella trembled at his words and couldn’t stop wanting him to change his mind, but he was right. They had covered quite a bit.

  He continued to remove his clothes with her assistance and finally stood there wearing only his smallclothes and she in hers.

  He nodded at her legs. “Your stockings?” Then he patted the bed. “Up here, darling.”

  She hopped onto the bed and lifted her chemise up to her knees. Her thighs quivered with anticipation, knowing that his hands would be close to her core once again. His fingers untied the blue silk ribbons that held her stockings up and then rolled them down her legs. He kissed each foot as he bared it, and her head spun a little as he rubbed them.

  “After all that dancing, I believe your feet deserve a bit of love.” He chuckled when she moaned in delighted agreement.

  “That feels magnificent. Never stop.”

  Phillip leaned in to steal a slow, open-mouthed kiss before he returned to rubbing her feet.

  “That reminds me, how did you learn to dance like that? It’s certainly not the way most young ladies dance in London.”

  Ella
gripped the wooden post tightly as she tried to focus on his question.

  “My…dance tutor was…Scottish.”

  “Oh?” Phillip sounded genuinely interested, so she continued.

  “His name was Arthur MacTavish. Mother and Charles insisted I be taught the proper dances—cotillions, quadrilles, and the like—but MacTavish added a few secret lessons. He was one of my favorite tutors.”

  Phillip moved his miracle-working hands up her calves, rubbing out small knots in her muscles. She hadn’t danced like that in years.

  “And what sort of dances did MacTavish teach you?”

  “What you saw was the ceilidh. It’s a type of Scottish country dancing.” She giggled as he tickled the backs of her knees.

  “And what about the swords? Is that part of it? I’ve never seen anyone do that before.” He moved to sit beside her on the bed.

  “That was the Gillie Callum, or Scottish sword dance. The man who put the swords down on the floor tonight had to be a Scot. He winked at me, so I believe he recognized my dancing.”

  “I can’t imagine Charles or your mother allowing you to dance about with swords on the floor,” Phillip teased. She laughed, leaning against his bare shoulder.

  “No, certainly not. But MacTavish said I was quick-footed enough, and I wanted the challenge, so he taught me in secret. MacTavish said the sword dance was an old war dance in the ancient clan days of the Scots. They used to have Highland games where the clans would compete, and many battles were prevented by allowing the clansmen to show their strength, stamina, and abilities when doing the Scottish sword dance. Now ladies learn as a way to show off their light-footed strength.”

  “So no battles will ever be fought if we have you dance over swords. That’s an excellent thing to know.” He kissed her temple, and she shoved him playfully so he fell back on the bed. She leaned over him, covering his face with kisses, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her. She exhaled against his lips as she flicked her tongue against his. After their kissing finally paused, she lay back on the bed, her legs still tangled with his. She ran a hand over his bad leg, wanting to explore him more now that he’d relaxed. But he jerked at her touch, every muscle in his body going rigid beneath her.

  “Did that hurt?” She studied the scars on his shin.

  “No… I don’t know why I tense up. I suppose I’m so used to pain that I’ve come to expect it at every turn.” His tone seemed filled with regret and frustration. Ella rubbed her cheek on his chest and kissed his skin gently, reassuring him before she sat up enough to more clearly examine his left leg.

  It was not shriveled or damaged, except for the scars. The muscles were perhaps smaller than his right, but that was no doubt from uneven use. He favored his good leg, making it work harder.

  “MacTavish used to have a doctor come and rub my legs the way you did tonight. I was so young and weak when I started my lessons. But by the end I was strong. Incredibly strong. Have you tried that? Someone rubbing your leg?”

  Phillip shook his head. “The pain was so bad for so long, I would not let anyone near it. The doctors instead prescribed laudanum, but I was afraid to become too reliant on it, so I didn’t use it very long.”

  Ella understood that and was proud of how he’d braved the pain rather than rely on medicine. But he was still hurt enough that he didn’t trust anyone near his leg, and that too she understood. When an animal was wounded, it would shy away from any touch, fearing only pain would follow.

  I want him to trust me and trust that I won’t hurt him.

  “Would you let me try?” She stroked her fingertips over his knee. “I would stop the moment it hurt.”

  He was quiet a long moment, the doubt it conveyed filling her heart with sorrow.

  Finally, he blew out a breath as though trying to relax. “Very well.”

  She moved down his body and began to rub her palms over his thigh first, squeezing the tight muscles. “Tell me the moment it hurts.”

  He winced a few times but didn’t ask her to stop. She tried to remember all the ways the doctor had rubbed her legs. The way he had used his thumbs to dig into spots around the inside and outside of her legs, around the knee and along the shin and calf. Phillip fisted his hands in the bedclothes but still remained quiet as she worked down toward his shin. She was careful at first to avoid the knot of scars, but after he relaxed, she rubbed tentatively along the ridge of his shinbone and then along the dark-pink ragged line of scars. He hissed suddenly.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “It doesn’t hurt, but it is tight.”

  “Relax into the touch. Scars can be made smaller with time if you rub them.”

  “Oh?” He seemed interested in that.

  “Oh yes.” She lifted her right arm and showed him a faint white line down the inside of her forearm. “I got this while playing outside. I climbed a tree, and when Charles found me, I was so afraid of how mad he would be at me for climbing so high that I fell. My nurse at the time showed me how to take a salve and rub it into the wound. She told me that even after it was a scar, to keep rubbing. She was right. The scar was thick and hard like yours for a time, but look at it now.”

  He held her hand as he ran his fingers over the faded line. Then he looked up at her.

  “You are…” He shook his head.

  “What?” She was half excited, half afraid to hear what he might say next.

  “You are magnificent.”

  He cupped her face and brushed his thumbs over her lips.

  “Stop trying to distract me.” She kissed him back before ministering to his leg again. She worked on his scars for at least half an hour, and when she was finished, she glanced over her shoulder at him and her heart stilled.

  He had drifted off to sleep. The hard lines of anxiety on his face had softened, and for once he looked restful. She pressed a kiss to his lips before she carefully moved his bedclothes out from under him and then blew out the lamps and curled up in bed beside him, pulling the coverlet over them. He moved, wrapping his arm around her and drawing her into his embrace. She nearly moaned in pure exhausted bliss. Perhaps he would let her heal not just his body but also his heart.

  And maybe, just maybe he will heal mine.

  Audrey St. Laurent’s coach stopped in front of the Pembroke estate. The hour was late, but a groom met their driver, and a pair of footmen appeared to assist her and Jonathan out of the coach and to collect their valises. The butler met them at the door.

  “Welcome, Mr. St. Laurent and Mrs. St. Laurent.”

  Jonathan brushed snow off his shoulders before removing his greatcoat. “We apologize for the late arrival.”

  “Her ladyship is still awake in hopes of seeing you tonight. She’s in the drawing room.” The butler collected Jonathan’s hat and coat and Audrey’s cloak.

  Audrey brightened at the thought of seeing Gillian once again. She had missed her best friend. Ever since her former lady’s maid had married James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke, she had been keeping herself busy running the estate. It had been at least a month since Audrey had seen her. Far too long for best friends.

  Audrey thanked the butler and rushed along to the drawing room. Gillian was reading a book by the fire and turned when she heard the door open.

  “Thank heavens you’ve arrived. I was worried the snow might’ve kept you away.” Gillian hastened to embrace her, and Audrey laughed.

  “Would I let a little thing like snow stop me? Goodness, that’s what husbands are for.”

  “What are husbands for?” Jonathan asked dubiously as he joined them in the room.

  “Ouch!” She smacked his shoulder as he pinched her bottom from behind. “Husbands are for digging out coaches from the snow so their wives don’t miss out on essential social occasions. Jonathan, you clearly need a reminder of your duties and responsibilities.” She was unable to resist teasing him at times like this. It was, other than sharing his bed, one of her favorite pastimes.

  “Ah… So that’s my
function, is it?” Jonathan’s mischievous green eyes burned with lust. “Then I shall endeavor to remind you of your duties, wife.”

  “Goodness,” Gillie muttered. “You two haven’t changed a bit.”

  “I suppose we haven’t,” Audrey admitted. “Husband, should we grow old and grumpy to better fit the world’s expectations?”

  “Certainly not,” Jonathan replied with adorable smugness. “I plan to stay randy as a buck when it comes to you, my love. Where is James?”

  “Playing billiards with a few other gentlemen.”

  “Then I think I’ll join them.” Jonathan bowed and made his exit.

  Now alone, Audrey grew serious. “Now, Gillie, we have a situation. I fear I need your help.”

  “Oh? And what is the scheme this time? The Society doesn’t meet until next month when Emily and Godric return from their holiday in Inverness.”

  “Oh, it’s not that.” Audrey blushed. “It’s just that…I did something rather reckless.”

  “You? Reckless?” Gillian widened her eyes in theatrical shock.

  “Oh, hush. I truly need help. I convinced Ella Humphrey to come here with Jonathan and me in our coach.”

  “Oh, and where is she?” Gillie asked hopefully.

  “Er… That’s the problem. I may have taken her to Lord Kent’s house and left her there.”

  “What? How do you accidentally leave someone behind?”

  Biting her lip, Audrey waited for her friend’s displeasure. “I fear it was no accident.” It had seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time, but as she and Jonathan had come the rest of the way, she’d started to worry that her plans to bring Ella and Kent together might have gone a bit too far. Jonathan had certainly been startled when she’d instructed the coach driver to leave, and he’d tried to stop the driver until she’d insisted that he should trust her. Now she no longer trusted herself.

  “Oh, Audrey. Why? You know how reclusive Kent is now. He might be very angry at having to deal with an unexpected guest.”

  “But he didn’t used to be reclusive. Remember how much of a delightful scoundrel he was?”