To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst)

by Frances Fowlkes

  A light breeze stirred through the barn, whisking out the light. Her eyes adjusting to the dimness, Albina blinked and did her best to regain her composure, along with her speech.

  “I had thought… I did not know if you had…” The darkness swallowed her words. She was unfit, unable to speak, afflicted with a numbness of the mind.

  “If I had been dismissed, my lady?”

  Albina nodded, rather dumbly, for her silent admission was unlikely to be seen in the dim lighting. She could barely make out the outline of her arm, let alone his face or his…his naked torso.

  The barn was suddenly very warm. She fanned her face with her hand and concentrated on words.

  Not bodies.

  Or flesh.

  Or Mr. White’s state of undress.

  But words. From her mouth.

  Albina took a deep breath. “I did not know if you had left.”

  He remained silent, the awkward quiet filling her with the certainty she had offended him with her assumption, which was precisely what she had intended not to do. She made to right her wrong when his low voice broke the tension. “Would you have been upset if I had?”

  She let out a breath. Of course she would be upset. “I do not wish to play a role in anyone’s dismissal, Mr. White. Least of all yours.”

  “Because you would no longer have an instructor.”

  “No. Or rather, yes.” Albina bit her lip. She was revealing far too much. She had only just discovered her deep attachment to the man. She needn’t appear overeager or more vulnerable than necessary. His interest in her might not extend beyond kissing or equestrian instruction, and he might very well not reciprocate her feelings.

  Which meant a change in the course of the conversation was in order. “Do you sleep in the barn, Mr. White?”

  He chuckled, his rich laughter filling the dark void. “Only when I must.”

  Rustles met her ears, the likely sounds of his attempts to rekindle the flame and clothe himself. Though, were he unable to find his clothes, she would not be sorry for it. Her only hope was that he was able to start the fire, and quickly, so the view of his naked chest returned.

  Albina flushed. She ought to feel some sort of shame at her forward and brazen thoughts, but the only emotions thrumming through her veins were of an urgent, carnal nature.

  The scrape of a match revealed her prayers, had indeed, been answered. His torso remained bare.

  She sucked in a breath of air.

  “One of the mares is ready to foal,” he continued. “I wanted to be near her on the off chance my assistance was needed.”

  “Of course.” His reasoning was sound, his excuse valid. It did not, however, explain why he was without adequate clothing. And remained as such. Not that he needed to be adequately clothed; she rather liked the view.

  Her gaze must have revealed her curiosity, for he glanced down at his chest. “I’m afraid blood—from the mare stained my last shirt,” he added, having glimpsed what she was certain to be her horrified expression. “I did not think it prudent to ask the earl for another set of clothes, not after yesterday’s…incident.”

  Albina frowned. “You would leave yourself exposed? In the cold?”

  “No,” he said with another chuckle. “I was in the middle of sorting through some discarded linens when you appeared. Though, it appears the pile is woefully lacking since I last plundered it to supplement your attire.”

  “My attire? But I had thought the earl supplied—”

  “I did not wish to bother the man with incidentals. I took from my reserve and those of my staff.”

  His graciousness was unexpected. And incredibly kind. “You did not need to do as much. My riding clothes were sufficient.”

  “You were cold, my lady. Your attire was less than ideal.” He stared at her, his eyes ablaze. “I must confess, however, it is not clothing I want to discuss or give you at present, my lady.”

  Her blood hummed. “No?” she whispered.

  “I fear not.” He took a step toward her and lifted his hand. His fingers brushed across her cheek, searing her skin with their warmth. “I want to give you a kiss.”

  Albina rolled her lips, suddenly conscious of their existence. Of course he wanted to kiss her, why would he not? They were his dues for instruction. That she had yet to receive said instruction was a minor infraction of their agreement…and one he had evidently overlooked.

  Ignoring the tickle of his fingers as they tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, she cleared her throat. “As a prepayment for your services, I presume.”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “No. Not as a payment or as a fulfillment of debt. I wish to kiss you because I desire to do so.”

  Her heart beat loud and fast, deafening the quiet stirrings of the barn. She caught a whiff of leather and lye soap before he lowered his mouth to hers, his arms enveloping her.

  He was surprisingly warm, heat radiating off his chest as he pulled her closer. Her hands settled on his arms, her bare palms against his naked flesh. Her mind was torn, undecided in its concentration, switching between the silken warmth seeping into her hands and the urgent caress of Mr. White’s lips over hers.

  Both areas wrought enormous pleasure, however. She trailed her fingers over his freckle-covered skin, the dusting of hair across his chest intriguing her and luring her exploration. The fine hair was far softer than she had imagined, her fingers entwining themselves in its silken mass.

  Her curiosity either brought him irritation or gratification, for he caught her hand in his, stilling her ministrations and deepening his kiss.

  Her mouth parted on a gasp, allowing his tongue admittance between her lips. She encouraged him, matching the soft velvet of his tongue with her own.

  She pulled her hand from his grasp and ran it over his neck to the back of his head, weaving it through his soft auburn waves. A deep hunger filled her, as though she had not eaten for days, and Mr. White was her choice nourishment. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth and tugged.

  Mr. White groaned and pulled his lips away from her mouth to her neck, dusting feather-light kisses over her heated flesh, eliciting the most wonderful of sensations. Tilting her head, she allowed him better access, which he took without any further encouragement. His tongue flicked across her skin as his fingers made quick work of her hastily tied cravat, unknotting the linen and tossing it aside. Her pulse throbbed against his mouth, his teeth nipping her skin and making her pant.

  Reveling in his touch, in every swipe of his tongue and nip of his teeth, she clutched his hair and moaned. How she wanted him to touch her, to abate her hunger and quench her need.

  But instead of satisfaction, the removal of his mouth from her skin brought disappointment.

  “I’m afraid I must alter my earlier statement with an addendum,” he whispered, his lips swollen, his eyes hooded and darkened with a desire equal to her own.

  “An addendum?” she asked, her voice breathy and light.

  He smiled, his gaze falling to her lips. “I want to kiss you, my lady.”

  “A desire I heartily approve, though it does not defer from your original claim.”

  His smile deepened. “While I am thankful for your agreement”—his expression faded into one of serious comportment—“I fear I want much more than a kiss.”

  Still intoxicated from his earlier attentions, Albina blinked. “What is it you desire, Mr. White?”

  “You,” he said without hesitation. “Without reserve, guilt, or shame.”

  None of which she possessed. Which was rather fortunate. At least for him. “I do not—”

  “I wish to take you in the most improper of ways, Albina.”

  Her head swirled, her body warming at the familiar use of her name…and his request. Never had she been so desired. Or in desperate need of his lips to return to their place on her neck. She trembled in his arms.

  “You are cold,” he whispered. He held her tighter and kissed the top of her head.

  “No
.” She pulled back and stared into his eyes. “I am not cold so much as eager.” She lifted her head and sought his lips.

  He crushed her mouth with his, greedily taking what she so readily offered, and she replied in kind, kissing him with vigor, reveling in the pleasure wrought by his tongue. And his hands… He pressed them against her back, the heat of his palms scorching through the thin layers of her waistcoat and lawn shirt. They traveled lower, over her binding, across the small of her back, and to her rear, where he cupped the fullness of her bottom.

  “Edmund,” she purred, surprised by the easy familiarity with which his name rolled off her tongue. She barely recognized her voice, its timbre so raw and warm she would have glanced around the stables for another had she not been certain she had given voice to his name.

  He peered down at her, his gaze one of concern…and trepidation. Goodness. Had she done something wrong? Acted too impatient?

  “Has anyone ever told you how wonderful you smell?” His voice tight, he closed his eyes and swallowed, his chest lifting with a large inhale. “As though you were bathed in a pool of fresh roses and honeysuckle.”

  She lifted her shoulder to her nose in a discreet shrug and smelled nothing but laundered linen…though she smiled all the same. If he could smell her over a barn full of horses, she must be doing something right. “I cannot recall having ever received such a compliment.”

  “Such a blend of fragrance makes it very difficult to quit you.”

  Albina stiffened in his arms, a sudden drop in the temperature having little to do with the chill enveloping her body. “You wish to quit my person.”

  “Oh, no.” Edmund gripped her shoulders. “I would very much like to continue on our current course, but you are an earl’s daughter. A lady.”

  With a glance down at her mussed shirt and fitted breeches, she said, “At present, I don’t believe I am.”

  Touching his forehead to hers, he gave a deep laugh. “You deserve more than a quick a tumble in a bed of hay, regardless of your apparel.”

  “Were I not of noble inclination would you…continue then?” she asked, wanting him to pull her close, to rekindle what they had before honor had taken over…and made him more a gentleman than his surroundings suggested.

  Pulling his head back, he eyed her with speculation.

  “Edmund,” she whispered. “Would you?”

  “Yes.” He licked his lips and glanced away.

  The rank she had intended to prove was the very same that hindered the intimacy she wanted more than a win at Emberton.

  He relinquished his hold on her, his hands falling from her person. “Allow me to ready myself and the horses, and we can begin our lesson.”

  Turning, he reached for the sputtering candle. Her entire body chilled from his departure, the aching need she had in his arms now hollow and intensified, his presence, his embrace essential to sate the hunger he incited.

  Edmund was a gentleman, sparing her impropriety and discouraging debauchery—a sin in which she, as a lady, ought not to engage, let alone contemplate and consider. But contemplate and consider she did, and upon closer inspection, she felt it imperative Edmund continue on his path of seduction. Her curiosity played a role, yes, but more so her heart and its compulsion to be joined with his. He wanted to continue.

  And so did she.

  She reached for him, her hand settling on his forearm. “There is no need to saddle the horses.”

  His eyes flicking upward, he glanced at her hand, questions swirling in their cerulean depths.

  “The only lesson I wish to receive is in the realm of amorous pleasure. Though my experience of such things is limited, I believe horses, saddles, and anything related to equestrianism is not required.”

  Edmund stilled. He took a deep breath and set the candle on the ledge of the stall door. “You do not know of what you speak.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps not. I only know I speak from the heart. Further knowledge is not required.”

  He ran his hands over his face, shaking his head and sighing. “Albina, I am—”

  “A groom and I lady, yes, I know.”

  “As a groom, I am a man without title or fortune. You must understand that should we pursue this course—”

  “I understand what my body desires, Edmund. I also understand your honor and your position, which is why I have no qualms in invoking the rights owed my rank.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Albina,” he started, but she cut him off with a look she had been taught and practiced since childhood—the look of superior indifference.

  “While I remain your master, you are obliged to fulfill my needs. And at the moment, I need you to teach me a lesson in seduction.”

  …

  Edmund’s mouth went dry. He’d had women ask him for a multitude of services, from retrieving a package off an upper shelf to helping them train for the bloody Emberton Derby. But not once had they ever asked for a favor of an intimate nature.

  His amorous pursuits may be extensive, but never had a woman asked him to fill her needs or instruct her in the art of seduction. He had always been the pursuer, the seeker, the leader.

  But Lady Albina Beauchamp stood in front of him, basked in a pool of moonlight, her lips plump and full from his kisses, her clothes rumpled, her eyes filled with the same hunger warming his insides and battering his integrity. He was beyond flattered, humbled a woman of her rank would consider him as a contender for her maidenhead. In a bloody damn barn.

  He was not a gentleman. And for the first time, he was glad for it. The woman who stirred his blood, who consumed his thoughts, and who made him reconsider his great-uncle’s offer for the viscountcy did not want a viscount.

  She wanted a groom. More importantly, she wanted him.

  Edmund placed a hand on the one she had lighted upon his arm. “You want me to instruct you. In the ways of a man and woman.”

  “I want you to fill the ache”—her fingers tightened around his arm—“in whatever manner necessary.”

  No further encouragement was required. She needed him as he did her. And that was enough.

  Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her close, his lips closing over hers. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his arms. Her fervent kisses fueled him like no other’s, inciting a passion he yearned to sate with her body sheathing his.

  With practiced skill, he moved his fingers, deft and sure, in their mission of relieving Albina of her waistcoat. He slipped the buttons through the frayed holes and shimmied the thin silk off her shoulders and down her arms.

  She neither protested nor hindered his progress, encouraging him instead with persistent nips and subtle moans. Edmund let out a low groan and slid his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her flat abdomen to the bottom of the binding holding her curves in place. With a quick tug, he loosened the end of the binding, the restrictive linen falling limp in his hands. He pulled it off and brushed his fingers against the bottom of her breasts.

  As his thumb trailed across the erect peak of her nipple, she shivered. Hard with want, he tore his lips from hers and lowered them to where his thumb had been only seconds before. She arched into him, her fingers weaving through his hair.

  “Edmund,” she whispered. She dug her nails into his scalp and tugged.

  He smiled and lifted his gaze to her hazel-colored eyes. “Yes?”

  “Whatever it is you are doing, please don’t stop.”

  “Is that a command?” He cupped the full swell of her breast. “Or a request?”

  Her eyes fluttered closed. “Both.”

  The flutter of her pulse brought a rush of excitement through his already aroused body when he pressed his lips against her neck.

  He paused only to lift off her shirt, revealing her bare chest to his appreciative gaze. Her arms wrapped around herself, her skin flushing pink. She glanced away. “One cannot stare without expressing his thoughts.”

  “He can when words alone cannot describe your beauty
, Albina. I would say you are beautiful. But it seems too trite a word to encompass what stands before me.” He had beheld buxom maids and curvaceous widows, but all paled in comparison to Albina’s perfect form. Her creamy, alabaster skin glowed in the moonlight as though she were not of this world, but an ethereal deity gifted to him from heaven.

  His compliment may have eased her embarrassment, but his bold stare did not, because her flush deepened, her arm unmoving in its place across her sumptuously round breasts.

  To ease her discomfort, he clasped her left hand and brought it to his chest. Her fingers splayed, her warm palm pressed against his skin. He glanced down at her fingers, watching as they curled and unfurled, exploring his flesh. He reveled in the heat they evoked, the desire they stoked, like a fan to the fire, his hunger for her his mind’s preoccupation.

  She dropped her protective arm and clutched his shoulders, leaning forward to dust his chest with her mouth. Startled by her unexpected boldness, he flinched.

  Embarrassment was clear on her face as she pulled back. “I thought to, well, I…” She blushed and cast her gaze to the straw-covered floor. “Do I not affect the same pleasures as your mouth does on my flesh?”

  He trailed his fingers across her jaw, his mouth twitching. “I daresay you affect me more.”

  A provocative grin on her face, she bit her lip, feeding the monster that raged inside him, the one he wished to unleash upon her and claim her for his. But the complications that would arise should the earl discover their affection—vanished with a dip of her head and her tongue flicking across his chest. She lifted her head, a smile lighting her face, and he had enough wits about him to take advantage of the brief pause. Sliding his hands down her narrow waist to the top of her cotton breeches, he unbuttoned the front fall, exposing her bare skin and the dark triangle of curls surrounding her maidenhead.

  Edmund bit the inside of his cheek to distract from the intense throbbing of his lower half. She was a goddess. He, her devout follower. And his body full well knew it.