Enticing the Earl

by Nicole Byrd

  Alone in the carriage, Lauryn had no one to ask, but she wondered where they were as the coachman clucked to the team and the carriage lurched into motion once more. They pulled through and up the drive.

  When they stopped again, and the earl came to help her down, she looked at him in inquiry.

  “This is one of my hunting lodges,” he told her. “Very private, very quiet. We are only a short distance from the coast and Skegness, where I will make inquiries about the cargo, but I thought you might like the—ah—intimacy of the setting, as opposed to a busy hotel in a port town.”

  Looking around at the lovely little house, Lauryn thought that it was quite charming. A woman in a white cap and a maid and manservant had come out to make their bows to the earl and his guest.

  “My housekeeper, Mrs. Piggott, who will take good care of you, Mrs. Smith.” The older lady beamed and made a deep curtsy.

  Sutton added to the servant, “A simple meal when you can, and warm water for my guest and for me to wash, if you please.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the housekeeper told him. “And we have the beds aired and your room turned out for you, just as you like.”

  Lauryn realized that the staff had had advance notice, so this journey was not as spur-of-the-moment as it had seemed. The lodge was well maintained, with climbing roses growing up the outside wall. The inside hallway smelled of lemon wax, and the polished floor reflected their passage.

  The housekeeper, a smiling woman of mature years, her hair gray beneath her white cap, led Lauryn up to her bedchamber. This room had pink flowered hangings and was just as clean smelling and airy as the downstairs.

  “If you need anything at all, Mrs. Smith, just pull the bell rope for the maid.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Piggott. I’m sure I will enjoy my stay here,” Lauryn told her.

  She went into her room and took off her hat, washing off some of the dust of the journey before going back down to rejoin the earl in the small dining room. The servants were already laying what seemed to be a very ample meal.

  The earl was standing before a small fire in the hearth at the end of the room. She joined him there. “I have an appointment tomorrow morning with the Harbor Master,” he told her. “Tweed will likely have already seen him, but I wish to hear the report with my own ears.”

  “Do you not trust the viscount?” she asked, keeping her voice low, even though the servants were unlikely to know to whom she referred.

  He gave her a twisted grin. “Oh, I trust him, mostly. But it’s always just as well to double-check.”

  Not sure what that meant, she simply nodded. He looked past her toward the table and said, “I believe we may sit down now, if you are ready?”

  She took her place at the table, and when one of the servants had seated her, the earl sat down at the head of the table, and a manservant offered them ham and roast beef and other foodstuffs.

  For a few minutes they ate, without trying to keep up a conversation, and the silence was soothing after the clamor of the crowded table back at the earl’s estate. Lauryn wondered what Carter and the contessa and the others would think of their absence, but found that she didn’t really care.

  After the dessert had been served, the earl dismissed the servants. “I will call you when we wish the table cleared,” he said.

  While he ate an apple dumpling, Lauryn toyed with a plate of berries and cream, thinking about the ship and its mysterious cargo. But as one appetite was sated, she grew more conscious of the call of another, and the presence of the man sitting so close became more and more imperative.

  Neither of them had changed for dinner. The earl, in his riding clothes, the navy jacket that showed off his broad shoulders, the tight-fitting buckskin breeches that emphasized his powerful thighs—nothing could have showed him to better advantage. She discovered that she was thinking most unladylike thoughts, and looking down, saw that she was licking her spoon with long slow motions even though it was quite empty.

  The earl watched her with an unreadable expression.

  “I have had the feeling…” he began, his tone abrupt.

  “Yes?” she said, when he paused, her voice a bit breathless.

  “That is,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I feel that you have been—that you have perhaps felt the need to hold back. And I thought that if we had a greater privacy, with fewer people around us who knew who we were, you might feel freer to enjoy our coming together and to express your own feelings.”

  Not sure that she wanted to confess everything that had been holding her back, she simply muttered, “I see.”

  He waited a moment for her to comment, but she could not think what to say, and she did not meet his eyes. She thought he might have frowned.

  “Would you like anything else?” he asked politely, nodding toward the table.

  Oh, yes, but not from the table, she thought, but she didn’t have the nerve to say her thought aloud. How can I say that I crave your body, your attention, when I cannot be honest about my emotions? And you are entirely too perceptive about my responses! Had he always been this penetrating in his insights? For a man who was so forceful in most of his dealings, so commanding in his public persona, it was surprising to find that he could also be so sensitive to others and read her so well.

  Lauryn remembered the contessa’s warning that it was a risk to lie to the earl. She thought that he would surely detect a falsehood. She didn’t think she would dare try—well, no more than she already had.

  It might be best if she ended this whole arrangement. He was not a cruel man; she did not think he would try to hold her to their agreement if she wished to leave. Yet the thought of walking away made her ache with need for him. The only direction she wished to go was toward his arms—

  As if guessing her thoughts, the earl was rising from the table. “Shall we retire? I will have the table cleared away, then the servants will leave us.”

  She looked up at him in surprise, and he explained, “The housekeeper and footman have cottages on the grounds, and the maids and other servants live in the village, a mile down the road.”

  She raised her brows. So they would be quite alone in this small, elegant house. He had meant what he said about providing privacy. Yet, how lovely it would be not to have so many people around them.

  He did not bother with sitting alone at the dinner table, having, as he told Lauryn, no interest in any solitary absorption in his port. Or perhaps he was more interested in other—not solitary—pursuits, Lauryn thought, taking out her fan to cover her grin.

  While the dining room was given over to the servants, she and the earl ascended the stairs. The maids had left ewers of warm water in the bedrooms.

  “Since we have sent the maids away, before I leave you,” Sutton told her, “allow me to undo the buttons, so you can easily get out of your traveling costume.”

  “That would be helpful,” Lauryn agreed. She slipped off her cape and turned so that he could reach the line of buttons that stretched down her back. She tried not to think about the feel of his strong fingers—later, she would enjoy his touch, very soon, very soon—no need to get goose bumps already!

  Did he know that she was reacting to his nearness? As he unfastened the pesky buttons, he leaned closer to kiss her neck very lightly. Yes, he could tell, how could he not? She sighed in pleasure as she pushed down the skirt and tossed the bodice aside, allowing them to fall unnoticed to the floor.

  “Now I will unlace your corset and make myself scarce, or your bathing water will grow cold,” he pointed out, although his hands seemed to want to linger. Since she enjoyed having them explore their way over her body, she had no complaint. They continued to stroke her skin, smoothing her as if she were a cat, and if she were feline, she would purr with contentment, Lauryn thought, and stretch and ripple her muscles just as cats were wont to do.

  Not having so supple a body, she had to contend herself with a telling glance and a smile. Still he ran his hands over her shoulders, lightly ma
ssaging muscles sore from the ride, then abruptly reached down to pull her shift over her head. She threw her arms about his neck while he bent, putting his mouth to her neck and allowing his lips to linger, as if tasting her skin.

  She felt a shiver of response. But after a long delightful moment, he raised his head again.

  “But as I said, your bathwater will grow cold.”

  “I suppose so,” she said, hearing the huskiness in her voice and knowing how reluctant she was to let him leave her side.

  “Of course”—he glanced back—they had shut the bedroom door behind them, and surely the servants had left by now, as ordered—“perhaps I can render you some small assistance?”

  While she shivered again in delicious anticipation, Lauryn was still not totally sure what he intended. But if the earl had a hand in it, she was sure it would be pleasurable. So with his assistance, she pushed off the rest of her clothing as quickly as possible, and he lifted her easily into his arms, with three easy strides carrying her to the dressing table where the china bowl and ewer of warm water, the lavender-scented soap, and bathing sponge had been set out for her use.

  He draped a large linen towel over the stool and lowered her carefully down, then, grinning, shed his own clothes.

  Watching him with appreciation, she did what she could to help, pushing his jacket back off his shoulders and tugging at the tight-fitting riding boots when they proved hard to remove.

  “Boxel warned me of dire consequences when I told him he would be left behind,” the earl confided. “But this shooting box is so small, I told him I would make do with the footman to help me, if I needed aid. My poor valet may never recover from the slight, of course.”

  She grinned.

  When he, too, was naked, he turned to the large silver ewer and poured warm water into the clean china bowl, taking her sponge and dipping it into the water.

  “Now, where do you prefer to start?” he asked, his tone polite.

  “I suppose one should start at the top and work one’s way down?” she suggested, just as gravely.

  “A logical progression,” he agreed. He brushed her face very gently with the soft sponge, the warm water teasing her cheeks, dripping a little as it ran down her neck, tickling as it continued over her naked breasts…

  He leaned to kiss away one of the drops. “I fear I have not yet perfected my technique,” he noted.

  Lauryn tried not to giggle, wishing he would put his whole mouth there, but then again, this was too exciting, waiting to see what he would do next. “Then continue, my lord,” she commanded. “I have never been bathed by anyone so high born or so exquisitely male.”

  “Yes, my dear,” he agreed meekly. He picked up the scented soap and worked up a slight lather, rubbing the soapy bubbles over her neck and chest with his bare hands, easing down over her breasts and under her arms till she giggled, then back down her breasts till she gasped from an entirely different sensation.

  “Do you think we have covered this ground sufficiently?” he murmured into her ear.

  “Perhaps,” she whispered back. “We can’t be too careful.” He nibbled on one earlobe, then wrung out the sponge and dipped it again into the warm water and followed the path of his soapy hands. The touch of the soft, warm sponge was incredibly provocative when he held it against her skin—and when he followed its sleek touch with kisses pressed against her damp flesh, she gasped again and raised her body to push more closely against him.

  He repeated the process, warm water, soap, damp sponge, kisses, his lips and his tongue against her skin, her breasts, the tender and so sensitive nipples—she might be the cleanest lady in the kingdom, Lauryn thought, and certainly the most distracted! The delightful waves of sensation ran over her skin and through her whole body—she felt overcome with rippling tides of pleasure that only made her ache for more.

  The earl put both his hands to hold her by the waist, then he took the soap and repeated the exercise on her thighs and calves, which created more elegant torture. Lauryn tried to sit still on the delicate stool, tried not to moan deep in her throat, barely holding herself still as he laved her with the warm sponge. His hands were so strong and felt so delightful as they grasped her legs, holding them, lifting them as he wielded the sponge, running his hands along their length.

  “No one will hear, sweetling,” he reminded her. “You may make any noise you wish!”

  She nodded, almost beyond words already, reveling in the sensations that he flooded her with, over and over.

  And next he stretched her feet and massaged her toes as he washed them—it was total hedonism, she thought, sighing. It was so relaxing that she thought she might fall off the damned stool—at least until he ran the sponge, still warm and soft, lightly between her legs.

  This time she did jump. His eyes were wicked in their inner laughter.

  “Did I startle you, my dear Mrs. Smith?”

  She found she was breathing quickly. “I think I deserve equal time, my lord.”

  “If you wish.”

  Despite her rapidly rising desire, she reached for the sponge and, pushing the stool away, dropped to her knees and pushed him back so that he sat easily on the rug, as well. Now she could dip the sponge into the basin and try her hand at washing his incredibly muscled and well-made body.

  It was as if she had at last taken a long-desired toy down from a shelf. She could run her hands along his solidly built shoulders and down his strong arms, enjoying the feel of the finely made male animal. She dipped the sponge into the water and scrubbed his arms and chest, rinsed and then reached farther down for his hard stomach and firm thighs, hearing him gasp as she reached closer and closer to the dark curling hair—and as for the rest—she smiled and allowed her fingers to wander teasingly close, then retreat, from the potency where her final delight awaited.

  She grasped his firm shaft, touching it and marveling at the firmness, running the sponge lightly over it, then stroking it lightly, then more firmly with both her hands until he groaned.

  But she had not the patience to make him wait with the same infinite care as he had tantalized her. No, her hunger was too overpowering…she leaned closer to feel the slight scratchy touch of his chin, to kiss his lips, and allowed him to pull her into his arms, not caring how or in what manner they came together, as long as this fever was soothed.

  “I want you!” she muttered, without trying to disguise her hunger.

  He did not seem to be shocked. He pulled her down with him, stretched her body out on the thick rug, and, holding her lightly, arms out from her body, kissed her open lips, his own mouth firm and as hungry as her own, his tongue probing.

  From her mouth, he lowered himself far enough to kiss her breasts, and she groaned with pleasure, gripping his dark hair with both her hands and pulling him even closer.

  Moaning again, she arched against him, and when he pushed himself inside her, she allowed herself to fall at once into his rhythm. Already, they seemed to know how to fit their bodies together, how to reach for the best positions. He knew to touch her there, and there, where the most delicate spots sent exquisite circles of pleasure flowing up through her whole body while she exclaimed with soft sounds of pleasure.

  And as he rose and fell above her, she moved with him, meeting him as he pushed, pulling back as he did, and when he moved faster and faster, his breath coming quickly, she was ready with him, till he pulled her so close that their low sounds of passion mingled, and she felt his heartbeat thunder against her own and his hips spasm as she pushed with all her might, delighting in his strength and his passion.

  Then when they reached the height of passion together, he wrapped his arms about her and held her tightly, and only later did Lauryn realize that he had effectively prevented her usual retirement from the bedroom. Tonight it was her bedroom and not even her bed. The floor was hard beneath the rug, but she felt too limp and replete to consider complaining, and it was too easy to lie inside his arms to contemplate withdrawal.

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nbsp; And her usual ration of guilt—well, it hovered outside the circle of the earl’s embrace, waiting to descend upon her. Just for a few moments, she shut her eyes and enjoyed the illusion of closeness that this posture allowed her, as if Sutton might care for her, as if they might really share feelings, emotions, love—if she dared say the name.

  And it did not occur to her to open her eyes and observe the expression upon the earl’s face. Perhaps she was afraid to.

  Only after she felt his heartbeat slow to normal, and she could feel him lift his head to gaze at her face, did she school her features into a civil banality that she hoped gave nothing away. Then, only, did she open her eyes.

  But the earl was frowning, and she felt her heart drop. Had she still not pleased him?

  “What is his name?” he demanded.

  Seven

  “What?” Lauryn stared at him.

  “You still do not give yourself to me, your whole self,” the earl told her, his tone accusing. “Who is the other man you think of, Mrs. Smith, when we lie together?”

  She could not think what to answer. They lay so close, and yet there seemed to be an immense chasm separating them. She felt as if a cold wind swept through the room, howling through the gulf between them, and she shivered.

  Feeling suddenly abashed to be lying here naked, she sat up. For an instant, she thought he would reach to pull her back—he half extended his hand—but he lowered his arm instead. She turned and reached for a blanket lying across the end of the bed and wrapped it around her.

  His lips were pressed together in a tight line. “I am being nonsensical.” He stood up in one economical movement, ignoring his nakedness and walking across to a table on the far wall where a silver tray held a carafe of wine and several glasses. He poured two goblets of wine and offered her one.