Sapphires Are an Earl's Best Friend

by Shana Galen

  And then he pulled away, and it was his hot, moist mouth on her. His tongue teased and his mouth sucked until she was panting with need. “You are so beautiful,” he said, and she opened her eyes and saw he was looking down at her with wonder.

  “Quiet,” she said, putting a finger to his lips. “Just kiss me.”

  “Ah, but where?” His grin was devilish now, and when she laughed he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I was quite serious,” he said when she didn’t respond after a moment. “Where would you like me to touch you?”

  Was she supposed to tell him? Wasn’t he supposed to do what he liked and wonder later if she’d enjoyed any of it? Besides, a man with the experience and reputation of the Earl of Darlington should know what to do. Of course, he probably thought she had as much, if not more, experience than he. After all, she was the last of The Three Diamonds. The three of them were known for their seduction skills. Not that any of the men who lauded them knew of these skills from personal experience. But everyone knew someone or other who had heard from someone else who had been one of their lovers.

  Lily realized she was going to have to play the part of the courtesan now too, if she did not want to make Darlington suspicious. And suddenly, she felt quite cold. This was the reason, even when she found a man she was attracted to, she did not take him to her bed. She did not want to play a part during such an intimate moment.

  That and the fact that she’d always been in love with Darlington.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to play shy.”

  “No,” she said slowly, thinking carefully before she spoke. Her mind was fuzzy with arousal and desire. “But I do not want to play the courtesan with you, Darlington. I had hoped we were more than that.”

  “Yes,” he said, his look serious. “Then you’d better call me Andrew.” He bent to kiss her breast again, and she felt the heat simmer inside her. “I’d like to hear my name when you scream from pleasure.”

  “Ha!” She laughed at his arrogance, but then one hand slid under her skirts, and she felt his deft touch on her silk-clad calf.

  “Not laughing now, are you?” he asked, stroking up and up until he reached her garter. “I wonder…” His fingers continued their slow journey, higher and higher.

  “You wonder?” she said breathlessly. Her body clenched in anticipation of his touch where she most craved it.

  “If you are one of those forward women.”

  “I think that fact has been well established,” she panted as his fingers made circles on her inner thigh. “And verified, as I am in your room now, doing this.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t make you forward.”

  She laughed again. “Really? Pray tell? What constitutes a forward woman?”

  “One who wears drawers under her gowns.” His hand slid higher, cupping her bare sex. She moaned in response, and her whole body felt a jolt of painful yearning when his hand slid away again. “No. You’re not forward at all. I hardly even think you deserve to be called a Cyprian.”

  She took a shaky breath before she replied. “You are ridiculous. You do know that?”

  “I know your skin is flushed.” He stroked one breast, cupping it. “I know your breathing is rapid.” He placed his hand over her chest, which was rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. “I know you are wet for me.” His hand slid under her gown again, and this time he did not merely cup her. He slid one finger inside her then pulled it out slowly, stroking her as he did so. Lily gripped the bedclothes. She could feel the pressure building. She needed him to touch her again and to continue touching her. She’d felt this sensation before, this need, but the end had not been at all satisfactory. She was not unaware that her body craved a release. She had heard other courtesans discussing it. But she had thought perhaps she was not capable of such a feeling. Now, as he slid two fingers inside her, she groaned and began to hope.

  “I’ve always been curious,” Andrew said, as though what they were doing at the moment was a common occurrence.

  “Have you?” she said between moans. She was writhing against his hand. She tried not to, but her body had its own priorities, and decorum was not one of them.

  “Is that your true hair color?” One finger pulled out and circled a particularly sensitive nub, and Lily gasped and moaned.

  “Yes!”

  He frowned. “Yes that is your true hair color, or yes you like this?”

  “I don’t know.” Her hips were pushing off the bed, rubbing her body against his hand. “Yes to both. I…” And then, quite suddenly, her world exploded with color. She gripped the bedclothes tighter and pulled her whole body inward as pleasure imploded within her. It was over far too soon, but it left her breathless and shaken.

  Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and looked into his face. He was not smiling now. His eyes were dark with intensity. “I must see that again.”

  She blinked at him, puzzled and too overcome to speak. She tried to slow her breathing, to calm her racing heart so she could say… what? Something. Was thank you appropriate?

  “Do you mind if I look?”

  “What?” She pushed up on her elbows, and his eyes widened. “I like that position. Don’t move.” He gathered her sapphire skirts in his hands and tossed them to her waist.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as he moved between her legs.

  “I want to see if you are truly a redhead.”

  She shook her head as he lifted her chemise and tossed that up too. “You are.”

  “I told you.” She tried to push her skirts down, but he stayed her hand.

  “Not so quickly. I told you, I want to see you climax again.”

  Lily shook her head. “I can’t. I mean, what you did… was… sufficient.” How did courtesans talk about these things? She sounded like she was sixteen, which would have been the last time she’d been with a man.

  “Sufficient?” His brow darted up. “Is that supposed to be praise?”

  It was very strange to be arguing with him when she was in this position. “Andrew…”

  “That’s right. You will be screaming that in a moment.” He lowered his head, and she felt his hands caress her thighs again.

  “This isn’t necessary,” she began, but she had to admit it did feel rather nice. And then one finger brushed over that sensitive place again, and she yelped. She was still tender. Too tender. “No, I—”

  He lowered his mouth.

  “What are you doing?” she all but screamed. Not that she made any effort to stop him. She might be shocked, but she was not a fool.

  He grinned up at her, looking like the debauched rake he was, positioned neatly between her thighs. “I think you know.” He flicked his tongue out, touching her, and she jumped. “Hold still.” His eyes still on her, he did it again. She jumped again.

  “That won’t do.” He placed his hands on her thighs and spread her legs, opening her to him. Lily had never felt so exposed in her life—or so aroused. “You are so beautiful,” he said, looking into her eyes.

  Before she could answer—not that she knew what she would say—he dipped his head again and swirled his tongue around her. She inhaled sharply and clutched the bedclothes. She had heard other courtesans describe orgasm, and she had expected it to feel wonderful.

  But this… this was beyond wonderful. What he was doing to her now was amazing. Her entire body thrummed with pleasure, and the intensity grew as his mouth continued its gentle torture. “Yes,” she moaned, unable to stop herself. “Yes!” Her hips rose off the bed, and her hands clenched tightly as the pleasure crescendoed. “Andrew!”

  As though he’d been waiting for her to say his name, he laved her one last time, and she came apart.

  Lily opened her eyes groggily some time later and stared up at the canopy above the bed. It depicted a hunting scene between a lion and a deer. She could not help but feel sh
e was the deer, and Darlington was the lion. She turned her head and found him lying beside her, propped on one elbow. He was smiling at her, looking quite smug. She supposed she would have to allow him his moment. He had earned it. She closed her eyes again, and he said, “I hope you aren’t falling asleep.”

  Ah, here was where she had to pay for her pleasure. He would definitely expect her to reciprocate. She opened her eyes. “Not at all.” She put an arm about him and pulled him close for a kiss.

  “More?” he said, tone incredulous. “You are insatiable, but unfortunately there is not time.”

  Lily blinked when he pushed back from her. He was accusing her of being insatiable? She was only trying to give him what he wanted. But then why had he pushed her away? Perhaps he didn’t want her.

  “My valet will be here shortly. I don’t want him to find you here.”

  “Oh.” She sat and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “I’ll dress.” She tugged her gown up, and he assisted her. She was not surprised he knew how to dress a woman. He was almost as proficient as her maid.

  “I could send him away,” Darlington said, trailing a finger along her shoulder before pulling her sleeve up. “But then he’d be intrigued and insist on finding out why. The man is more curious than a cat.”

  “I understand.” And she did. She did not want to be found here. She didn’t even know how this had happened. She’d come here to apologize and ended up in Darlington’s bed. And did that really surprise her? Did she really not think something like this would happen if they were alone together? Was that not why she had worn the new blue gown? In the back of her mind, she had hoped this would happen. And she had let it, because in the morning, Darlington would know, and then everything would change.

  Ten

  “My lord,” his father said after Andrew had broken his fast. “I’d like a moment of your time. Your sister is already waiting.”

  Andrew raised his brows, but he nodded when his father indicated the library. He passed one or two of his father’s guests entering the dining room, but most were not yet out of bed. Emma was indeed seated inside, her hands clasped in her lap. Her tense posture made her look nervous, but she loosed her twined fingers when Andrew entered. He grinned at her, trying to put her at ease. No doubt this was something about the house party. The duke intended a ball or some other nonsense.

  “Be seated,” Ravenscroft said. “I will be only a moment.” He stepped outside, and Andrew took a seat in the chair beside Emma. There was a small sitting area across from the desk with a couch and two chairs. Emma had claimed one, and he took the other. He closed his eyes, still weary from the all but sleepless night before. After Lily had left, he had not been able to stop thinking about her. He wasn’t even certain how he’d had the willpower to let her go. When she was near, he could think of little besides touching her, holding her, kissing her. And then when he did have her in his arms, he could not seem to take his fill. He wanted more, drawn to her like a gambler to the faro tables.

  But he’d resisted her.

  Yes, he’d been concerned about his valet. Phibbs was nosy, but Andrew could trust him. He would not have revealed anything to the other servants or to the duke. It had been something he’d seen in Lily’s eyes. She’d seemed resigned, as though she thought she was obligated to pleasure him.

  That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to be another man who expected something from her. If she gave herself to him, he wanted it to be willingly.

  But self-deprivation had not led to a peaceful night. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about all the times he and Lily had been together at a ball or a dinner party or the theater. He’d done nothing but look at Juliette, when the woman he should have been paying attention to had been right beside him. Had he really been so blind? Had he really never noticed how beautiful Lily was—how her eyes glittered emerald when she laughed and turned to mossy green when she was aroused, how delicate her pale skin was and how it flushed slightly when she was uncertain?

  There was so much he’d missed. The small hollow at the base of her throat. The hints of gold in her hair. The way her eyelashes swept across her cheeks when she closed her eyes, and the pale pink of her lips.

  Should he remedy his inattentiveness now? He wanted her too much to let her go. Granted, wooing her might take time. He did not think she had quite forgiven him for having her kidnapped. He would have to make that up to her. What had he been thinking? He’d no excuse other than he’d still been in the throes of grief over his mother’s death and his father’s abhorrent behavior immediately following it. Lily had every right to be angry with him. She’d been doing only as she always did—courting a wealthy, powerful man. And yet she’d admitted to having been in love with him.

  How had he never seen it? How had he resisted kissing her for so long?

  The door opened, and his father entered again. Andrew stood, taking a step back when his father moved aside to admit someone else.

  Lily.

  “What is she doing here?” he said, his voice more gruff than he’d intended.

  She didn’t answer, but her eyes met his, and he couldn’t quite read the expression in them. Regret? Apology? She looked beautiful in a pale green morning dress with a white gauzy overlay. Dark green ribbons tied in bows dangled at her elbows, just above the exposed skin of her forearms, and another ribbon graced the modest neckline. But Andrew could well imagine the swells of her breasts beneath that ribbon. She’d had her hair styled simply, pulled back by another dark green ribbon, the auburn curls trailing smoothly down her back.

  “Darlington, I must insist on civility toward Miss Dawson,” the duke said. Andrew shut his mouth, but he clenched his fists. He did not like where this was headed.

  “You know my son,” the duke said, all but dismissing him. “But have you met my daughter? Emma, this is Miss Dawson. Miss Dawson, my daughter.” Lily curtsied, and Andrew expected her to admit she’d met Emma before, but she remained silent.

  Andrew’s unease grew.

  “You may be seated,” the duke said. Emma and Andrew resumed their seats, and the duke sat beside Lily on the couch. Did he know? Andrew wondered. Had someone seen her entering or leaving his room? If that was the case, why was Emma here? And why were his father and Lily sitting together as though a united front? Andrew glanced at Emma, but she was already looking at him. She seemed to know what this was about.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Miss Dawson,” Emma said. She looked at their father. “We met only informally when Miss Dawson first arrived.”

  “I see.” The duke, never one to sit for long, rose and moved to stand before the fireplace.

  “Thank you, Lady Emma. We haven’t seen much of you these past few days.”

  “And you won’t, either,” Andrew muttered.

  “Lady Emma is busy with her studies,” the duke said. He cleared his throat. “We could exchange pleasantries all morning, but as to the reason I called all of us together. Emma. Andrew.” He nodded at each in turn. “I want you to meet your new mother.”

  The room blurred, and Andrew felt as though he was stuck on a runaway carousel. From far away he heard Emma say, “Congratulations. When is the happy day?”

  “We have not set a date yet,” the duke answered. His father sounded as if he was in a tunnel. Andrew shook his head to clear it, but even as it cleared, he shook it again. He did not—would not—believe what he was hearing.

  “Darlington?” his father said, voice stern and full of warning. But Andrew stared at Lily. She didn’t look back. She was looking at the duke, and she was smiling as any prospective bride would.

  “I do not believe this,” Andrew said. Lily still didn’t glance at him. She seemed quite absorbed by the rug. “You cannot possibly think to marry her.”

  “That is exactly what I have in mind,” the duke said. “I see no reason why I should not.”

 
“She’s a bloody courtesan! She is paid to pleasure men!” Andrew yelled then turned hastily to his sister. “My apologies.”

  “Don’t mind me.” Emma’s eyes were wide.

  “I mind.” The duke glared at his son. “Emma, leave.” Emma made no move to rise.

  “How can you do this to my mother?” Andrew demanded.

  “How can I do this to your mother? As though she was a saint who deserves my sacrifice! As though she never—” He broke off. “You did not know her as well as I, Darlington, and so I will forgive you. But she is dead, and I deserve happiness. Lily makes me happy.” The duke put his hand on Lily’s shoulder, and Andrew flinched. Seeing his father touch her made him furious. He could not allow himself to think of the duke touching her anywhere else—touching her for the rest of the old man’s life. For much of the rest of Andrew’s life. His father was correct on one account. The duke was not doing anything to his late wife. The duke was taking Lily away from Andrew.

  At some point, Lily had become his. Perhaps he’d always considered her his.

  Andrew looked at Lily, who was carefully avoiding his gaze. “Lily, do you have nothing to say?” he asked.

  She looked up at him, her expression calm. How could she be so calm? How could she have come to him last night when she knew she belonged to another? To his own father!

  “I think His Grace said all there is to say.” Her gaze remained on him. She did not look worried in the least. In fact, her eyes seemed to challenge him to reveal their secret. What would she do then? Did she want him to say something? Did she want a way out?

  He was not going to give it to her. If this was what she wanted, then she could rot in the pit of her own making. He was going to pack his things, return to London, and wait for his father’s death. That would be the moment he’d have his revenge. He would return to Ravenscroft Castle when it was his and summarily evict her.

  Andrew rose, aware he was being rude. “Then I wish you every happiness. Good-bye.” He strode for the door, threw it open, and walked into the saloon, heading for the staircase to his room.