Romancing the Earl

by Darcy Burke

  “Kersey will likely take the sword to the man heading this Camelot group within the Order. His name is Timothy Foliot and he resides in Glastonbury.” Of course he did. Glastonbury was one of the places most associated with Arthur. In fact, Glastonbury Abbey was one of the many supposed burial sites of Arthur and Guinevere.

  “Do they plan to simply travel to his home and demand he relinquish Dyrnwyn? Kersey had at least five men, and Foliot could have even more.” Cate wished that Grey and Wade were with them to increase their numbers.

  “Septon has a plan that involves the Order. I’m not aware of the specifics. He seemed fairly certain that Kersey would go to Foliot and that he would go alone. It seems Foliot is very particular about who is allowed to visit him.”

  How Cate longed to go! “Does that include a ban on women?”

  “Perhaps, but I don’t think that’s why your father doesn’t want us to go. He sees this as dangerous and I don’t disagree. We should probably remain here.” She sounded disappointed, but she’d made a decision and Cate couldn’t hope to change her mind. Which meant she had to come up with another plan if she wanted to be the one to reclaim the sword.

  She said good night to her mother and considered her options. Her earlier thought jumped back into her head: unless she stole into his room in the middle of the night.

  Perhaps she could convince Elijah to leave with her. If Kersey was traveling alone, maybe they could overtake him. He’d presumably stopped somewhere for the night. She calculated the time in her head and determined they could be as little as four or five hours behind him. If they left after the household was abed and traveled along the river to Chepstow, they could catch up with him before he reached Glastonbury. It seemed their chances for retaking the sword would be far greater if they stopped him from arriving at his destination.

  Cate’s gaze strayed to her armoire, which held the men’s clothing she’d removed earlier. Mother’s maid had offered to take the garments away, but Cate hadn’t been willing to part with the memories they represented. Now she was glad she hadn’t, for they would be most useful.

  She turned to the clock on her mantel. Just past ten. She had at least a few hours to wait.

  Would Elijah go with her or would he agree with her father and Septon that it was too dangerous for her? Could she persuade him to take one last adventure together, knowing it might be their last?

  Emotion burned in Cate’s chest, making the loss of the sword pale in comparison. Maybe it wasn’t the sword that had upset her most. Maybe it was the threat of losing Elijah. Somewhere between realizing her lifelong goal and spending a week with a charismatic earl, her priorities had changed. Not only was she worried she couldn’t return to her life before Elijah—she feared she didn’t want to. And where would that leave her?

  Chapter 20

  Elijah stared at the ceiling of his bedchamber and tapped his foot against the base of the bed. He doubted he’d sleep, but he should at least try. Hell, he was trying, but it was useless. Between his fury at Kersey, his frustration with Septon and Bowen, and his unsatisfied desire for Cate, he had no hope of finding rest.

  He wondered where she was. He had no idea where her chamber might be located, not that he would go to her. The only thing worse than first-naming her to her father would be sneaking into her chamber under his very nose.

  And now he had to journey with both Bowen and Septon. He pounded his fist into the mattress in renewed resentment. Why wouldn’t they just tell him where Kersey was going?

  Because they didn’t want him to resort to violence. He hadn’t voiced his intent, but they’d—accurately—surmised what he planned. There had to be a way he could do what he needed without them interfering.

  The sound of his door latch turning jolted him from the bed. Light from a single candle flickered into the room. He rushed forward as the door closed and swung the intruder around.

  “Cate.” She was garbed in her men’s costume, clearly ready to depart. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  She looked him up and down. “Good, you’re at least partially dressed.” He wore his breeches and a shirt that hung loose around his hips.

  He would argue that being dressed in her presence wasn’t good at all, but they were past such flirtation, if they’d ever even been there at all. Wait, of course they had. They’d flirted with for quite some time before . . . before.

  “Why does it matter?” he asked as she steered back into the chamber.

  “Because we’re leaving.”

  He stopped and turned to face her. “Where are we going?”

  “To get Dyrnwyn back.”

  “I don’t know where it is.” His pulse quickened. “Do you?”

  “Yes. Get dressed.”

  She knew where to go. His shoulders dipped in relief. But it was brief. He looked at her skeptically. “Who else is coming with us?”

  She looked at him as if he were daft. “Who do you think? Did you suppose I would just come into your bedchamber in the middle of the night to fetch you whilst everyone else awaited us downstairs?”

  He fought the urge to smile. How he loved her humor and intellect, even cloaked in sarcasm. Now he fought the urge to kiss her. She smelled of honey and lilac, as if she’d just bathed. The scent was intoxicating and such a welcome distraction from the turmoil of the last hours. It felt so good to let his anger and sadness and fear melt away . . . He blinked. “You can’t come with me.”

  She put her hand on her hip. “Of course I can. We’ve taken every step of this journey together. I don’t mean to let you finish it alone.”

  “It’s too dangerous, Cate. I can’t let you come.”

  Though the candlelight offered meager illumination, he could see the fury kindling in her gaze. “You can’t ‘let’ me come? As it happens, you have no say. If you don’t ‘let’ me come, you don’t go anywhere. Do you know where to find Kersey?”

  Hell and the bloody devil. “You’re a menace of a female.”

  “Thank you. Now get dressed.” She went to the window and lifted the curtain to peer out into the night. “We need to borrow horses from the neighbor down the road. I don’t want to chance waking the stable lad. He’ll tell my parents, and I want at least a few hours’ lead time.”

  “You’ve thought this through quite thoroughly.” He couldn’t keep from admiring her. It seemed he’d done that from the moment they’d met. She might be exasperating and infuriatingly tenacious, but he actually loved that about her.

  Loved?

  How could he know what that felt like? Because he did. He’d figured it out earlier when he’d thought about what he’d lost to Kersey. He’d never be able to tell Matthew what he’d just realized—that he’d loved him.

  But with Cate it was different. She wasn’t family, they didn’t have a shared history—she was just someone who’d stumbled into his mundane life, bringing color and vivacity and . . . love.

  She turned from the window and frowned. “Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

  He had to touch her, hold her, make love to her one more time. He quickly went and locked the door. “Come here.”

  She moved toward him, a perplexed look wrinkling her brow. “What is it?”

  He took her hand and pulled her against him. “I decided one night wasn’t enough.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise and it was the last thing he saw before he kissed her. Their mouths connected with heat and passion. It was as if the last day hadn’t happened. They were back in their little room in the farmhouse.

  He molded his hands to her backside as he pressed her against him. She twined her hands around his neck and her hat fell to the carpet behind her, loosening her hair so that it tumbled past her shoulders. Her fingers crept up into his nape and pulled at his hair.

  He lifted her and coaxed her legs around his waist. She locked her ankles, bringing her hips flush against his so that his cock rested perfectly against her sex. He thrust his hips, taunting them both, and she moaned.
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br />   “Too many damn clothes,” he muttered into her mouth.

  She pulled one arm from his neck and tried to wriggle out of her coat.

  He tossed her onto the bed and she let out an arousing little squeal. “Kneel up.”

  She did as he bade, quickly removing her boots with his assistance. He set about stripping away her coat, waistcoat, and cravat.

  There was something inexplicably enticing about her wearing men’s clothing. “I am profoundly grateful you are a woman, but I must admit I enjoy seeing you in this costume.” He whipped the cravat from her neck and dropped it on the bed. The shirt fell open, exposing the creamy flesh of her neck.

  “What makes it so alluring?” She fingered the collar. “Is it the shirt?” Her hand fell to the breeches and she unfastened one of the buttons. “Or is it these?”

  His mouth had gone dry. “All of it. Rather, none of it. I prefer to rip every garment from you so that I might enjoy your naked flesh.”

  She unfastened another button. “What’s stopping you?”

  “The fact that you have to put it all on again. For that reason alone, I will use caution.” He exhaled, but it did nothing to calm his raging lust. He found the hem of the shirt and whisked it up over her head. She wore a garment that covered her breasts—a sort of modified chemise with a drawstring at the bottom. He reached for the string and pulled it, freeing her breasts.

  She slipped her arms through the straps and he helped to lift it over her head. “Thank you for being careful. Rhona spent an hour making that.”

  He scarcely heard what she said because he was too busy staring at the dusky hue of her nipples. Bending forward, he sucked one deep into his mouth, using his tongue and teeth to tease her. She gasped as she wound her fingers into his hair and held him against her. “Elijah, please.”

  She pulled at his shirt and tugged it over his head, forcing him to pull away from her for a brief moment. Her hands splayed over his shoulders, clutching at him as he went back to his feast. He cupped her, holding her to his mouth. He unbuttoned the rest of her fall and pushed the breeches down. She wore nothing beneath them and his fingers skimmed over her bare hip.

  “Off,” he groaned, coming up to take her mouth in another fierce kiss.

  She worked to pull the breeches from her legs and kick them aside. He barely gave her time to readjust on the bed before he pushed her back into the pillow. Still kissing her, he brushed his hand between her thighs and pushed them wide. She complied, opening herself to his touch. He found her slick folds and stroked her, concentrating pressure on her clitoris.

  She deepened the kiss, curling her hand around his nape and driving her tongue into his mouth. He responded by thrusting his finger into her. Her fingers bit into his neck.

  She put her other hand on his backside and pressed him down. He moved his hand and rocked into her, sliding his cock over her entrance. She fumbled with the buttons of his fall. “Off,” she said, repeating his command.

  He sat back and unbuttoned his breeches. She followed suit, sitting, and as he drew the garment off, she turned him and pushed him back as he’d done to her. “My turn,” she said.

  She kissed him, thoroughly but briefly, before trailing her mouth down to his chest. She used her tongue to blaze a path of need straight to his groin. Her dark hair cascaded over him as she moved down. He wrapped his hand into the thick strands and held it aside so he could watch her.

  She threw him a wicked smile just before her lips closed over his cock.

  “God, Cate.” He thrust up into her mouth. She licked and sucked, using her hands and tongue to drive him to the brink. Then she left him—but only for a moment. Soon she was straddling him.

  “Is this all right?” she asked tentatively. She dragged herself over his moist cock and white lights danced before his eyes.

  “It’s exceptional.” He almost couldn’t speak. He gripped her hips and worked her over him, rising up into her and creating a friction that made her moan low in her throat.

  He found her channel again and stroked his fingers into her, opening her. She widened her legs over him and pressed down. Grasping his cock, he positioned himself. “Lift up.”

  She braced her hands on his chest and lifted. He slid into her, meaning to go slow, but she slammed down on him, taking him fully inside of her.

  Her fingers dug into his chest as she ground down against him. He clasped her hips again and pulled her up, showing her how to move. She rocked forward again, taking him deep, then rose, then fell once more.

  He skimmed his hand up her ribcage and found her breast, cupping the mound and then pulling on the nipple. Her movements grew faster and he urged her forward so he could take her breast in his mouth. He leaned up and suckled her. She rode faster, and he felt his orgasm building already. No, he wasn’t ready. He needed her to come and then he’d turn her over . . .

  She quickened the pace, rising off of him and sliding down again with increasing speed and intensity. He’d watched her ride a horse, knew her muscles could do exactly what they needed to do to bring herself to come.

  But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t help. He fell back on the bed and brought his hand down between them. He found her clitoris and stroked her hard. Her muscles clenched and he knew she was lost. She clamped down on him, squeezing as she cried out.

  “Cate, you have to—” But it was too late. She was too tight, felt too damned good. He thrust up into her and came. He knew he had to pull her away, to get out . . . but he couldn’t do anything but pump into her again and again. And she didn’t stop. She rode him over and over, her hips finally slowing as she fell forward over his chest.

  He caught her and turned, withdrawing from her quickly. Not that it mattered. The damage could already be done. And shit, then where would they be?

  Married?

  He could think of worse predicaments. Particularly since he was in love with her.

  Would she consider it? She’d been clear about not needing or even wanting to marry. She cherished her independence above all else. He couldn’t see her succumbing to the constraints of becoming his countess. Her love for antiquities was far more than a mere hobby, and he didn’t think he could compete with it.

  Hell, it was an entirely moot consideration. After he killed her cousin, she wasn’t going to want anything to do with him.

  He pushed up and went to tidy himself before getting dressed. Once he had his breeches on, he turned to see her sitting up and brushing her hair back over her shoulder. She was magnificent in the candlelight—her skin glowing like polished bronze, her dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

  “Do you need help getting dressed?” he asked.

  She looked at him intently as if she might say something more meaningful than whether or not she could tie a cravat—clearly she could—but in the end she only reached for her breeches.

  He turned from her, not to give her privacy, but to save himself from seeing what he’d never see again. He dressed quickly and went to the armoire to collect his pistols along with the bag of powder and ammunition. “We’re going to need more weapons.”

  “I have my pistol.” She pulled on her waistcoat. “And I can nick another from my father’s library. Kersey will supposedly be traveling alone, but we should be well armed in any case.”

  “How do you know he’s alone?”

  “Septon said the person he’s going to prefers it that way.”

  Elijah set his hat on his head. “So much the better for us.”

  “Precisely.” She looked up at him, a bead of uncertainty in her gaze. “Before . . . Why wasn’t one night enough?”

  Because you’re an incomparable woman and I love you like I’ve never loved anyone before. The words scorched his tongue, but how could he say them when there was no future between them?

  “You spend days campaigning for me to take you to bed, and you want to question why?” He arched a brow at her. “I’m a man. You came into my room in the middle of the night. It was an opportunity I
couldn’t ignore.” How callous that sounded. Yet how accurate. Men were beasts.

  Little lines of disappointment gathered between her brows and he felt like more than a beast. She stepped toward him. “Does that mean that after today we are well and truly finished?”

  “I don’t know how we would continue. I can’t very well take you as my mistress.”

  “No, I suppose not, at least not in the traditional sense.” She avoided looking at him, averting her gaze to the floor. “I can’t see myself living in some house in London waiting on you.”

  He envisioned one of those exotic birds again, but this one was caged and longed to be free. “No, I can’t see you doing that either.” He touched her jaw. “Cate, we both knew how this would end—with each of us going our separate ways.”

  She clapped her hat on her head and started for the door. “We should go. Everyone should be asleep, but be as quiet as possible.” Her tone was short, clipped, verging on irritated.

  That was for the best. Leaving her would be much easier if he thought she didn’t like him anymore.

  The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon as they crossed the bridge from Chepstow into England. After borrowing horses from a neighbor—Cate had paid the stable lad not to tell anyone until morning—they’d picked their way along the Wye River in the dark. The moon had guided them for a short time before setting and then they’d slowed until the predawn light had offered enough illumination to continue at a decent pace.

  All during the journey, they’d kept their conversation to necessity. There was no more discussion of the future—or lack thereof—or of the past, which was heavy in Cate’s mind. She’d been surprised when he’d taken her to bed again, but elated. Being with him had fulfilled her in more ways than she’d imagined. It had been more than a physical act—at least to her. It seemed that to him, she was precisely what she’d offered: a shag without any burden attached. And she couldn’t go back now and say she wanted more.

  Though it had been on the tip of her tongue.