The Earl Most Likely

by Jane Goodger

  Slowly, she came back to earth, having left to go to heaven and back. When she opened her eyes, he was looking down at her with the oddest expression. Then he blinked, and it was gone, and he was back, grinning down at her.

  “Hello,” he said, and she laughed.

  “I did feel as though I’d left for a time.” She wrapped her arms around him lazily, feeling as if all her energy had been drained away. It was, she realized, a lovely feeling.

  His expression tensed. “I have a male shield. For prevention.”

  “Mmm.” It was all she could bring herself to say; she felt as if she were a human puddle. A warm and satisfied human puddle.

  Closing her eyes, she could feel him rummaging around for something in the side table, then slight movements. She opened her eyes to small slits and saw he was busy putting something on his manhood. When he was finished, he looked back to her and smiled, a smile that quickly faded.

  “I’ve heard this hurts,” he said. “I shouldn’t want to hurt you, but I also do not want to die for not having you.” He let out a small laugh, then shifted so that he was atop her, his groin pressing slightly against hers. His elbows were braced on either side of her, and he bent his head to kiss her, a long, lovely kiss that had Harriet sighing all over again.

  He touched her then, between her legs, and she jerked, for she was quite sensitive now. “My God, you are so wet,” he said on a groan, and then pushed his manhood slightly into her, his entire body trembling like a stallion after a long run. Drawing one nipple into his mouth, he pushed his manhood further inside her, until Harriet felt an unpleasant burning. Not quite pain, but…

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry, love. That’s it, though.” He sounded as if he’d just run up a long flight of stairs.

  “That’s it?”

  Augustus found that particularly amusing. “No, love. No.” And then he began moving, and Harriet watched his face harden, his eyes become drowsy. Harriet raised her hands so that they rested on his shoulders, not knowing what she should be doing. It wasn’t long, though, before that delicious feeling began to seep into her once again, the one that made her want to move, to reach that place where she could find her release. Moving her hips, she discovered, increased the sensation, and so she closed her eyes and simply felt.

  Suddenly, Augustus’ movements quickened, his breathing became harsh, and his body turned to velvet steel, as he thrust again and again inside her. He let out a guttural sound and stilled for a long second, breathing stopped. Then he began laughing, and Harriet wasn’t certain why or if she should join in.

  Letting out a curse beneath his breath, he slowly removed himself from her, then collapsed on the bed, one arm slung over his forehead as he stared at the ceiling. To Harriet, he did not look at all happy.

  “Did I do it incorrectly?” she asked, her voice small.

  He turned his head and studied her for a long moment. “No, love. It was quite nice. Here.” He dipped his free hand beneath her and dragged her up against his side. Having never lain with a man, Harriet was not certain what she should do, so she followed his lead and snuggled up against him. For several long moments, she listened to him breathe and studied the way his hair grew from his muscular chest. Though she was tempted to run her hands through it, for his chest hair was far softer than she would have imagined, she did not. It seemed somehow too intimate to do so.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “Only a little.”

  “Then I am sorry for that little hurt.” He lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “I don’t believe this should be repeated,” he said after a time.

  A wash of humiliation filled Harriet, who suddenly felt the press of tears against her eyes. He must have been terribly disappointed in her. She was too thin, almost boy-like, with her small breasts and narrow hips. She looked nothing like the big-bosomed, curvy women who seemed to garner so much male attention.

  “Very well,” she said, trying to keep her tone cheerful. “I thought it was lovely, at any rate.”

  His silence told her everything she needed to know. He had been disappointed. And now she had thrown away her virtue for a single encounter with a man who cared nothing for her. She was nothing more than a trollop, a fallen woman, she thought miserably.

  “You deserve better than I can give you.”

  What a lot of rot, she thought. “You make it sound as if I have expectations. I assure you, my lord, I do not.”

  In one sudden, almost violent motion, he turned and loomed over her. “When we are together you will not call me ‘my lord.’”

  “But you are my lord, are you not? Telling me to call you Gus, walking about barefoot, does not make you less of an earl. And calling me Catalina does not make me some exotic princess. I am Harriet Anderson, and that is all I shall ever be.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I am so stupid. I actually thought I could pretend to be something I am not. I am not Princess Catalina, the type of woman who can lie with a man and then go on as if it never happened. I wish I were that woman, I truly do. So you are much wiser than I, my lord, for you know the difference. You never fell into this silly dream of mine.”

  He pushed himself away so that he sat at the edge of the bed. “Do not presume to know what dreams I have, Miss Anderson. And do not presume to know why it is impossible for us to ever make love again.”

  “How can I help but presume if you do not tell me,” Harriet said, thoroughly frustrated.

  He stood and walked to a basin and dipped in a cloth, wringing it out before bringing it to her. “For your…” He dropped his eyes to the juncture of her thighs.

  Harriet took the cloth, vaguely realizing the water was warm and that he must have planned ahead, thinking of her comfort. He watched her and Harriet, though deeply embarrassed to have her ablutions witnessed by a man, forged ahead as if it did not bother her. Each time she sneaked a look at him, he was scowling down at her as if he were angry.

  When she was finished, she laid the cloth aside and was about to get out of the bed when he placed his hand on the back of her head and brought her to him for a searing, hard kiss. Pressing his forehead against hers, he said, “I want you to know that I have never experienced with any woman what I experienced with you. And that, my darling Miss Anderson, is why this can never happen again.”

  He let go and she flopped, stunned, back onto the pillow. With efficient movements, he got dressed and in a matter of minutes, he was standing fully clothed at the end of the bed. “Do you require assistance getting dressed?” Harriet, still stunned, could only shake her head. “We shall carry on as if this never happened. You will continue to do your job here, I pray.”

  Harriet lifted her chin. “I will.”

  He dipped his head briefly before raising it again. “You do not have to attend the ball if you’d rather not.”

  “Very well.”

  Pressing his lips together, displeased with her answer, he nodded, then walked toward the door.

  “Wait,” she said, panic filling her. He stopped but did not turn around. “Did you mean that it was terrible or lovely?”

  He hesitated only the briefest moment. “Yes.”

  For several long minutes, Harriet sat on the bed and stared at the door, not knowing what to think or to feel. Moments later, she was sobbing into the blanket. What had she done?

  * * * *

  My God, what have I done.

  Making love to Miss Anderson—and he must force himself to think of her only as Miss Anderson—had been transcendent. And frightening. And lovely.

  Augustus had never been one of those poor chaps who fell in love with every woman he slept with. His carnal urges were manageable, and he pitied any man who was a slave to his cock. Now, walking away from that cottage, where Miss Anderson was likely still naked and flushed from their love-making, he could feel himself harden. What would it be like to be with her da
y after day and not touch her?

  What would be the harm?

  Augustus stopped still and hung his head. He’d known men who visited opium dens, who made such excuses to their loved ones. What’s the harm in one more visit? They were the words of weakness, and Augustus had never been a weak man when it came to the fairer sex. To find himself in this position, warring with himself to return to her, was unacceptable.

  She was just a skinny, plain commoner. He would not allow her into his heart, nor into his bed. Harriet Anderson was nothing to him and that’s how it would remain. Damn her and her curling hair and her lovely eyes the color of St. Ives Bay. Damn her ability to make him laugh, to make him hard with need. What sort of a man was he if he couldn’t walk away from a woman who had never attracted a single other man?

  “Bah,” he said, kicking at a bit of sod. He had been laid low by a tin miner’s daughter, a girl who knew better than he, apparently, that they had no future unless it was with her as his mistress. Now that would be lovely. If she were his mistress, he wouldn’t have to resist her or feel guilty leaving her.

  But as a lover, all he felt was guilt. That and a large and growing dose of lust. What had she done to him? She had no skill. She was skinny and pale and…the loveliest woman he’d ever known. And she had sounded hurt when he left. Already he had wounded her, and they had only been together once. What would it be like if they continued with their secret trysts and finally said good-bye after the ball? Yet the thought of not having her again when he’d been lying with her not minutes ago was getting more and more difficult to accept.

  Augustus looked back at the cottage, where smoke still poured merrily from the fire he’d made, and pictured her there regretting with all her being what she had just done. If he was a cad for taking her innocence, he was more of a cad for leaving her there alone. With a violent curse, he began trudging back to the cottage. When he arrived, he opened the door without knocking and stood still.

  My God, she was something to behold. Harriet was still in bed, her hair spilling about her, her eyes moist from tears, her nose a bit red, her lips swollen from his kisses, and he thought her the most glorious thing he had ever beheld. She covered her breasts and stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise. The idea of never making love to her again flew from his mind.

  “Are you sorry about what we’ve done?” he asked, knowing he sounded angry.

  She shook her head slowly. “It was my idea, my lord.” A small smile. “Gus. I am not a child. I knew full well what I was asking. I do not want you to pity me or think for one moment that I am ashamed of what we’ve done. It may be a sin, but it is a sin I gladly committed.”

  Augustus walked to the bed and sat down at the edge, noting with a bit of self-loathing that she moved slightly away from him. “You frightened me.”

  One brow rose, a sign of her skepticism, but she said nothing.

  “I have had lovers but I’ve never felt the things I felt when I was with you. I don’t want this to become complicated. I want to be able to walk away in three weeks and be happy that we shared something. I don’t want you hurt and I don’t want to regret my time with you. I want you to promise me that you will not expect more than what I can give. And I will promise the same.”

  She held out his hand to shake, and he let out a small laugh. “I promise that I will not expect anything from you, Lord Berkley.”

  “I promise I will not expect anything from you, Miss Anderson,” he said solemnly. “You pleased me greatly, you know.”

  She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. “I didn’t cry because of any tender feelings for you, by the way. I felt ill used, not hurt. They were angry tears. I wanted to bash your head in for acting so crassly. It was very good for your health that you returned here to apologize.”

  He jerked back in mock bafflement. “I do not recall apologizing.”

  “Not in so many words,” she said primly, as if she were not sitting naked in his bed with razor burns on her lovely cheeks. “But I definitely heard an apologetic tone in your voice. I forgive you.”

  He gave her a small bow. “I am grateful. Here, let me help you dress and we can discuss how this arrangement shall work.”

  They decided to meet in the cottage four days a week, at precisely two in the afternoon. If it was raining, Augustus would assume she would be unable to travel to his estate. They would continue their liaison until the day of the ball, and then they would part friends, grateful to each other and the memories they’d made together. When they said good-bye, there would be no tears, no angry words, no embarrassing emotion.

  Though Harriet told herself it was a fine arrangement, she knew already that she would be left with a broken heart.

  * * * *

  Harriet arrived home to find the household full of activity in preparation for going to London. Her mother still had hopes of being swept up into the social entertainments that had become so commonplace in November. Though there was no official “little season,” the months of October and November were filled with so many entertainments, it often rivaled the true social season. The Andersons were arriving a bit late, something Harriet’s mother said would add mystique to Clara’s sudden appearance. The truth was, outfitting Clara and renting a townhouse in an exclusive neighborhood were extremely expensive. They planned to stay until after the first of the year, something Harriet hadn’t realized. Apparently, the estate manager of the townhouse said he would charge them for a full two months whether they lived in the house or not, and Harriet’s father said he’d be damned if he was going to pay for something and not use it. This meant Harriet, along with a handful of servants, would be alone in the St. Ives house for more than two months.

  “I begged Mother to allow you to come,” Clara said as she watched Jeanine, their maid, finish up packing. “I shall be miserable without you. I fear Mother will only be disappointed. Again.” She lowered her voice so that Hedra would not overhear. “When will she end this?”

  “When a duke begs to marry you.”

  Clara laughed. “You and I both know that is not going to happen. Dressing a pig in a gown does not make the pig less of a pig.”

  “You are not a pig, Clara. You are a lovely girl any man would be lucky to call his bride.”

  Clara waved a hand at her. “You know very well what I mean. It doesn’t matter how many times you or I try to explain to her that no member of the peerage will marry the daughter of a tin miner—”

  “Tin miner owner,” Harriet pointed out, as Mother so often did.

  Clara stuck out her tongue and wrinkled her nose. “I just go along,” she said on a sigh. “Eventually, she’ll let me come home and just live, won’t she?”

  Harriet frowned at her sister. “You do want to marry, don’t you?”

  Clara suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Of course I do,” she said softly. “I want to marry and have a half dozen children running about. I just don’t want to marry any of the men Mother wants for me. They’re all so…”

  “Priggish?”

  “Yes! Except for Lord Berkley, and honestly, he seemed to have more interest in you than me. I think he was simply being ornery to annoy Mother. Even if he were interested in me, I have no interest in him. Live in that awful castle? Although it does have a lovely garden.”

  “You should marry a gardener,” Harriet said, laughing. “To think you would consider marrying a man simply because he has a lovely garden.”

  Clara shrugged. “Why else would I marry a man?”

  The two sisters dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Why else, indeed?”

  Clara’s window was open and a light breeze filtered in, causing her sister’s correspondence to flutter where it sat on her small desk.

  “Shall I shut the window, miss?” Jeanine asked.

  “It’s dreadfully hot, so no. Harriet, go get that ugly rock you use as a paperweight.”

/>   Putting her hands on her hips, Harriet said with mock affront, “I’ll have you know it’s a lovely paperweight and quite useful.”

  “It’s a rock.”

  “A lovely blue rock and I shan’t let you use it, even if all your papers fly about the room.” She let out a laugh when she noted her sister’s expression. “Fine. It’s an ugly rock, but it serves its purpose. I relate to it.”

  Clara instantly frowned and got up to give Harriet a quick hug. “That’s a terrible thing to say. You are not ugly. And neither is your rock. It’s the loveliest rock in all of Cornwall.”

  The sisters laughed and after Clara had regained control, she grew serious. “I do feel awfully guilty leaving you behind. I want you to know I believe it is horrible of Mother and Father to do so. I cannot imagine how it must make you feel. No doubt like an ugly rock.”

  Harriet gave her sister a hug. “Can I be honest with you? I’m glad, truly. The thought of going to balls or the opera or anywhere I am expected to talk to others is enough to make me cry. I will be perfectly content to stay here and visit with my friends and go for my walks. If Mother insisted I travel with you at this very moment, I fear I would beg to stay.”

  “Even so, it is still wrong.”

  “Yes, it is,” Harriet said evenly. “Just as it is wrong for our parents to drag you everywhere in hopes of attracting a high born husband. You can feel sorry for me if you’d like, but I feel sorry for you.”

  Clara let out a light laugh. “I have thought many times that I would gladly switch places with you. You are so lucky to stay home. But I’ll muddle through it—I always do.”

  “Who knows? Perhaps Mother’s persistence will pay off and some prince or duke will take one look at you and fall to your feet and beg you to marry him.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Fall to his feet because he’s too old and doddering to remain upright. Can I tell you something?”