The Earl Who Played With Fire

by Sara Ramsey

  “Yes. But I only intend to take a valise if I must go. Ellie can send the rest of my things along later.”

  He frowned. “You cannot risk corresponding with her, or anyone else, until Thorington loses interest. He won’t be pleased to be left standing at the altar.”

  “Why are you so certain that is what will happen?” she asked, matching his annoyed tone. “You can break the curse. I’m certain of it.”

  He wanted to meet her expectations. Despite her frustration, she looked at him like she expected him to be a hero. Like it was obvious that he would win her if he set his mind to it.

  He couldn’t disappoint her. He couldn’t lose her.

  But he knew the odds were not in his favor. “Ostringer’s warning was clear. You should prepare yourself for the possibility that I will fail. I’ve already planned for a carriage to take you out of London tonight. The driver will leave at any hour you need him to.”

  She sighed. “I never have been good at preparing to lose.”

  “Better to prepare than to be surprised,” he said.

  They lapsed into silence, a dark silence that matched the twilight gathering around the carriage. Ostringer’s was equally dark when they arrived. Alex had sent word ahead, but that didn’t mean the antiquities dealer would deign to see them. He pounded on the door, each bang of his fist matching the cruel thump of his heart. He was going to lose her, and she would lose everything because of him…

  Ostringer pulled the door open, his eyebrows making his scowl even more impressive. “Manners, my lord,” he said. “They will get you so much farther than violence will.”

  “I have what you asked for,” Alex said.

  “So soon? You must be in some rush. It isn’t Miss Etchingham’s wedding that has you hurrying, is it?”

  Prudence was supposed to wait in the carriage, but Alex hadn’t expected her to follow through. He didn’t even bother glaring at her as she joined them. “Please, Mr. Ostringer. If you ever held me in esteem, don’t keep Salford waiting. We haven’t much time.”

  Such a direct appeal to the conscience rarely worked with men like Ostringer. But then, if he had some interest in Prudence’s mother, he might have some residual affection for Prudence as well. He sighed to show that he wasn’t happy about this turn of events, then ushered them inside.

  The only lantern was partially obscured by a safety shield designed to keep it from setting Ostringer’s collections ablaze. The shadows seemed appropriate for what they were exchanging — for whatever dark deed Alex might have to accomplish to change his fate.

  Ostringer shut the door and crossed his arms. “What do you have for me?”

  “I found seven members of the Society of Antiquaries to sponsor you for membership. The vote won’t take place until the next meeting, but you only asked for sponsorship, not membership. Membership I cannot guarantee — you must pass with a vote of four in favor for every one against, so it shall depend on how many men you’ve annoyed over the years versus how many you’ve impressed.”

  The man looked chagrined, but he didn’t argue. He was enough of a gentleman to not blame another when he had made a mistake in setting his terms. “And the object from your collection?”

  Alex had carried in a small box under his left arm. He held it out like an offering of tribute. “I thought of giving you the dagger, but you might not appreciate my humor.”

  “No, that would not do at all,” the collector said, taking the box. “What have you offered instead?”

  “A necklace, rumored to be Roman. The ruby in it alone is worth a fortune. Even if the provenance of the necklace is more recent than Caesar, it is still a stunning piece.”

  Ostringer pulled it out of the box. The jewels sparkled even in the dimmest light. Alex’s heart gave the tiniest twinge.

  “Is this the most valuable object in your collection? I would have thought some of your urns were more impressive.”

  “Perhaps. I can trade, if you’d like. But this was the first major piece I ever acquired, so it means more to me because of it. And I had intended to give it to my bride someday as a wedding gift.”

  Prudence touched his back, just briefly — an improper gesture that Ostringer’s eyes didn’t miss, but that still brought Alex comfort. “I accept it, then. And have you fulfilled my third request?”

  “My mother would like to see you again,” Prudence said. “She invites you to call on her at any time.”

  “Will she have more than five words to say to me, or did you have to force her to see me again?”

  For the first time in all of Alex’s dealings with him, Ostringer sounded uncertain. It was a weakness he normally would have exploited, but Prudence didn’t make any attempt to win a better deal. “She doesn’t know that you requested an audience as part of a deal with Salford. And she seemed…pleased. Perhaps too experienced to be truly swept away by the thought, but certainly able to consider the possibilities.”

  That statement unlocked the last of Ostringer’s reserve. “Very well. Salford, I didn’t expect you to get this far — perhaps there is hope for you after all.”

  “What is the cure?” Alex asked.

  “The paper that was given to me had a few lines in an ancient dialect of Greek. The dagger itself is obviously from a far older Egyptian line, but I suspect the Ptolemy dynasty had it for a time — they must have written down what they had heard about its origins. The paper, of course, was a copy of a copy of a copy, so it’s possible some of it was lost through the centuries.”

  If this was any other object, any other night, Alex could have discussed its provenance for hours. But he was out of time. “What did the paper say?”

  Ostringer gestured toward his office. “I can retrieve it for you in a moment, but it sounds so simple as to be unbelievable. Translated, it says that he who wishes to break the djinn’s power must relinquish his original wish with all his heart, all his body, and all his soul. He who is no longer tempted by the power of the djinn is freed of its influence — and frees the djinn to return to its own plane of existence.”

  “That cannot be the cure,” Alex said flatly. “There has to be more to it than that.”

  Ostringer shook his head. “I vow that is what the paper said. It also said this was part of the djinn’s punishment — for denying the pharaoh’s power, it was imprisoned until it found the person who would deny its power instead. I doubt the priest expected that it would take three thousand years, but then, ancient pagans weren’t the most merciful people to walk the earth.”

  Prudence touched Alex’s back again. “You can do this.”

  He could. He wanted her more than anything, more than his studies, more than life itself. If it was a matter of relinquishing his original wish, he should have no trouble.

  But if that was true, why hadn’t the curse already broken itself?

  * * *

  Prudence’s heart swelled as Alex took her back to Ellie’s house. He had done it. They had done it. The cure to the curse didn’t require some object they would never find, as he had suspected. He wouldn’t have to make any of the evil sacrifices she had imagined. Alex’s heart was noble enough, and his love for her strong enough, that the solution to their problems was within their grasp.

  He sat next to her in the carriage, not across from her, with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. It was an easy, comfortable gesture, fitting for the life they might have together. She stroked his knee, already daydreaming. The yes she had always wanted to give him was waiting in her mouth, confident, eager, ready.

  He kissed her hair. But he didn’t say anything.

  The silence stretched until the carriage reached Ellie’s house. Her enthusiasm was undimmed; he seemed unsure, but she was sure enough for both of them. And even if he was concerned, it wasn’t stopping him. “Shall I escort you upstairs?” he asked.

  It was a bold, shameless proposition. She nodded her agreement. In any other house, even his own house, she would have had to deny him. But Ellie’s staff w
as entirely discreet. The marchioness was no longer particularly scandalous, but she demanded servants who wouldn’t spread rumors about her. They wouldn’t say anything about Prudence’s guest. And if Ellie caught them together, she would ask a hundred questions in the morning, but she wouldn’t force them to marry.

  Not that it would matter — by morning, they would be ready to be married anyway.

  Alex helped her out of the carriage, then murmured an order to his coachman to return to Salford House without him. It was still bold of him. Folkestone House overlooked Portman Square, one of the most exclusive addresses in London. Any number of Ellie’s neighbors might have seen them.

  Again, Prudence didn’t care for appearances. They made no attempt to find their hostess, no request of the servants to send up tea or refreshments or anything else. She guided him straight to her bedchamber as though it was theirs — as though they already belonged to each other in name as well as deed.

  He was on her as soon as the door closed. Her skill at kissing had grown, and she was better able to breathe as their kiss deepened, but this one was something else — like all the other kisses until now had been restrained in a way she’d never realized. He was fully with her, fully entwined with her, with his hands unraveling her hair and his mouth unraveling her control.

  She wanted him. More, she wanted him to know it. She ran her fingers down his chest and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. Their kiss went shallow again, turning into fast, stolen sips as their hands made quick work of each other’s clothes. Her pelisse, then her dress, pooled around her feet. His cravat and coat joined them, along with two pairs of gloves, a hat, a cap, a petticoat, a shirt, her slippers…

  He had to stop to pull off his boots, a task he had some difficulty doing for himself, but he was too impatient to try for elegance in the attempt. And then he was kissing her again, roving his hands over her body, unhooking her stays, taking a moment to tease the cleft of her derriere, to skim over the curve of her backside before tracing back up her spine.

  She wanted to do the same to him, tease him the way he was teasing her, but there was time enough for that. There was time enough for everything. She focused on their kiss instead, the way he tasted, how her head had turned light and her heart had begun to beat too fast. She stroked her thumb across his cheekbone, loving the contrast of stubbled evening beard and smooth skin.

  He pushed her chemise off her shoulders. His eyes, when she looked up, were dark and intense with need…and something else, that look she’d always thought was love. “Let me give you everything,” he said as the linen slid slowly down her body. “Let me prove you’re mine. Let me break the curse for you.”

  Yes. She didn’t say it, though — she dropped her hands to his waist instead, attacking the buttons that were the only barrier remaining between them. When he was free, she slid her hands around his waist, pushing his trousers down, feeling the indentations above his buttocks, then his firm, muscled flesh.

  He kissed her again, and it was different again — different when all she felt was skin and heat, when his need for her pressed insistently against her belly and her need for him turned her breasts into hardened peaks. She tilted her head back, wanting him to keep kissing her, wanting him to keep up the delicious torment of his large hands running over her.

  He picked her up, suddenly, and carried her to the bed. He didn’t bother to pull the covers back. As he laid her on the coverlet, the embroidery teased her. But it was nothing compared to his mouth.

  “I could worship your breasts,” he whispered against her skin. “I could spend hours just looking at them, imagining what I would do to them. And yet more hours touching them…”

  His hands caressed her. His touch was light at first, as though still in his dream, but it soon turned insistent, conquering. He found just the right pressure, enough to have her arching against him, but not enough to turn her need into a frenzy.

  “And then I would take them into my mouth,” he said. “Until you begged for more and I knew you wanted me.”

  “I want you,” she said, looking into his eyes. “You know that.”

  “It’s not enough. Not until you think you’ll die from it. Then you’ll know how I felt, these years when I’ve dreamed of you.”

  He sucked her into his mouth. His tongue swirled around her nipple. His fingers kept teasing the other breast, kept stroking, while his mouth took its time turning pleasure into torture. She dug into his hair, pressing him against her, wanting more…but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her away.

  “This is my dream,” he said, pinning her hand to the mattress. “Stay still and let me worship you.”

  The idea of it, of not moving, of not acting, of letting him touch her however he wished, suddenly made her tremble. She wasn’t sure she could do it. She wanted him so badly already.

  “I don’t need you to worship me,” she said. “Please, let me…”

  “No.”

  He was always saying no to her, but this time she didn’t mind. He stopped talking, giving all his attention to her skin, making her shudder as she realized that he wasn’t going to stop. He was taking his time, indulging himself — indulging her. His touches were slow, sure, heavy enough to erase her doubts but paced in a way that kept her far from sated.

  But it wasn’t until his hand dipped down to the juncture of her thighs that she knew he would eventually be able to make her beg. She squirmed under him, trying to get him to move faster, trying to urge him on, but he kept the speed he wanted — slow, stubborn torment.

  His fingers traced a path through the thatch of curls that covered her sex, then down to the channel that ached to be filled by him. He didn’t stop kissing her breasts, didn’t stop his worship, but it was secondary for her now, an assault that was meant to keep her off balance, unable to resist his real intentions. One of his fingers dipped into her, then slid back out, tracing her own moisture up to the small, hidden peak that would soon drive her wild.

  He stroked her, slowly, relentlessly, until the worship turned to torture, until her need turned into something mindless, ravenous. Her whole body was hot. Her mouth felt empty, unloved, wanting to say yes to a question he hadn’t asked, wanting even more to kiss him again, to take him into her. Her sheath was even emptier, clenching on air. And still he stroked, no urgency, just focus.

  “Alex,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He didn’t stop, but he didn’t give her what she wanted. “Tell me what you need.”

  She didn’t understand what he was after. But for once in her life, she didn’t care to analyze it. “I need you inside of me. I’ll die if you leave me now.”

  He stopped. Just for a moment, but it was enough to make her moan, as though her whole world had crumbled away. “You won’t die,” he said, moving up her body to kiss her again.

  It was a vow-sealing kiss, the kiss she would have wanted at their wedding but wouldn’t be able to have in public. “You won’t die,” he murmured again as he broke away from her. He was covering her fully now, his cock already at her entrance, his hands planted on either side of her shoulders, his eyes looking down into hers with the kind of promise she’d always wanted from him. “I love you, Prudence. I love you more than anything. And I renounce everything else — with all my heart, all my body, and all my soul.”

  Yes. “I love you, too,” she said. “Above everything else.”

  He plunged into her, hard enough to rock her back into the bed, hard enough to tell her that his control had finally slipped. She dug her fingers into his shoulders. He was far gone enough that he didn’t try to keep her still. He pulled back and she met his next thrust, no longer able to stay still beneath him. They pulled apart and came together, again, and again, until she couldn’t wait any longer, until she buried her face in his neck to muffle the cries she couldn’t swallow.

  When she finally came apart, he was only moments behind her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond knowing that he had come with her, that he had spent h
imself inside her.

  Yes.

  He slumped against her. His breath was hot and ragged, still mindless. She kissed his shoulder, stroked his back, and waited.

  And waited.

  He finally moved, flipping onto his back next to her. She came up onto an elbow, curling around him. “We did it,” she said, trailing her fingers over the planes of his chest.

  Alex opened his eyes, but he looked up at the ceiling, not at her. “I wish I could be as sure as you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  His arm came around her shoulder, but he still didn’t look at her. “How do we know I broke it? I don’t feel any different than I did this morning.”

  Her dream, so close to being a reality, began to shatter. It was a slow shattering, like a flaw that had been hidden in crystal, only later turning into a crack, then a spiderweb of cracks, then a disintegration.

  “You said you wanted me,” she said, grasping onto the words that had seemed to buy their life together. “You said you love me.”

  “I do. I do love you. I do want you.”

  “But you’re doubting.” Her voice turned flat, hollowed out because the only emotion she could have filled it with was anger, and she was trying so hard to stay calm. “Why are you doubting?”

  “I don’t doubt you,” he said. He finally looked at her. The intensity in his eyes was more chilling than reassuring. “I doubt Ostringer. The cure couldn’t be this easy, or it would have already happened. I was ready to renounce everything but you months ago. Years ago.”

  “Were you?” She pulled away from him, rolling out of bed and grabbing her chemise from the floor. She covered her breasts with it, too upset to bother putting it on. “I know I would give up everything for you.”

  “Really?” he asked. Somehow it didn’t seem like a question.

  “You know it’s true,” she said. “I’m the one of us whose feelings aren’t in doubt.”

  Alex snorted as he pulled on his trousers. “Remind me again what you said when I asked you to wait for me.”

  She pressed her hand against her mouth. Whatever yes that waited for him had fled, leaving a bitter taste that was a precursor to tears. “That was different,” she said.