A Match for the Rebellious Earl

by Lara Temple

  She passed through the gate in the garden wall and the wind welcomed her with a burst of tangy exuberance. She loved the extreme transition between the lush abundance of the garden and the bare clifftops, kissed with hardy clumps of sea pink and nothing beyond but endless shades of blue and cloud.

  At the bottom of the cliff path she removed her shoes while Milly sniffed at a clump of seaweed before prancing off in search of something more rewarding.

  Genny sighed with pleasure as her bare feet settled on the cool, gritty sand. She hitched up her skirts, securing them into a knot about her waist with her hair ribbon, and set out across the sand.

  The first contact with the lapping waves made her whole body curl in shocked resistance, but within moments she was striding happily along that magic line between water and land. By the time she reached the edge of the bay her internal cloud had lifted a little, and she gave a happy sigh and ran her hands through her hair. Whatever pain yet awaited her, it could not take away all pleasure. Even if all else in the world was ill, this was good.

  She gazed out over the gentle waves and gave a slight gasp as she saw an arm rise from the water... Her heart slammed to a halt and then stuttered on.

  Someone was swimming.

  Someone was swimming very well.

  He was far out, but his strokes were long and he was heading directly for the bay. She looked along the horizon for a boat but there was none. She could make out a head now—dark hair—and arms glistening in the rising sun.

  Muscled arms, brown from the sun.

  Kit.

  She realised far too late that at any moment now he would reach the shallows. She’d already seen him shirtless, but he might be rather more than shirtless...

  The thought of Lord Westford rising from the water as naked as Adam...

  She had enough of a challenge with memories of him in a state of partial undress. She did not think surveying him naked was a prescription for battling lust.

  There was no time to reach the cliff path, so she whistled to Milly and climbed over the boulders to where a natural ledge was shaded by the overhanging cliffs. Milly leapt from boulder to boulder, very pleased with this new game, and settled beside her, panting happily as he surveyed the shore below.

  Genny did the same, realising that the shadowed ledge might protect her from being seen, but it did nothing to block her view of the man rising from the water like a god being formed from the foam of the sea.

  Though a divine being would not be wearing breeches.

  Well, she was surely a hypocrite. All this effort not to view him naked and all she could feel was disappointment that he wasn’t. Not that the short, light-coloured breeches hid much. His skin had the warm, honeyed tone of a man accustomed to sun and sky. It was glistening with the water that ran down over his shoulders and chest. He shoved his dark hair back and began drying himself with a length of towelling he’d picked up from a boulder. He stretched, his arms high, his abdomen hollowing and the muscles of his chest gathering.

  The urge to walk over and lean against him, capture the cool dampness of his skin, the hard length of his body against hers...

  Goosebumps spread over her skin as she watched, knowing it was a sore mistake to knowingly add fuel to this fire. She shifted deeper into the shadow and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she risked a peep, and the stab of disappointment at the sight of the now empty shoreline damned her for a besotted fool.

  She began her descent, wondering why climbing down was always so much more treacherous than climbing up. It certainly required more concentration—which was probably why she had no forewarning.

  ‘Genevieve Maitland. I should have known you’d come to plague me here as well.’

  The shock hit her with the force of a gale.

  She might have regained her balance if Milly hadn’t chosen that moment to leap onto Genny’s boulder and shove past her in his attempt to reach the new master, who always scratched precisely the right spot behind his ears. Genny felt her sandy feet slip, and with a cry of warning she went over.

  If Kit meant to catch her, he failed. If he meant to break her fall, then it might be considered a success—though a rather more painful one for him than for her.

  She lay winded for a moment, staring at the sky. She was half on him, half on the sand, his arm tight around her waist. Then the sky was blocked by Milly’s panting grin and waving tail. Kit nudged him aside and raised himself onto his elbow with something between a croak and a grunt, his eyes the shade of deep, unsettled water.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  She shook her head, taking stock of her almost-saviour. To her disappointment he was now wearing a plain linen shirt and buckskins, instead of the wet breeches. His hand was still on her waist, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘I am sorry I fell on you,’ she whispered. Her lungs felt as if they dropped from the cliff and bounced on every boulder along the way.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t do a more elegant job of catching you,’ he replied, brushing sand from his hair. ‘But you know my chivalric skills leave much to be desired.’

  ‘Perhaps you should practise.’

  ‘You would like to attempt that again?’

  ‘I don’t think so. You could practise on Milly. I’ll watch.’

  Milly, hearing his name, shook himself vigorously, spraying them with wet sand.

  Kit cursed. ‘Go away, you canine catapult. You’ve done enough damage.’

  ‘He is usually better behaved,’ Genny said.

  ‘That’s because he spends more than half the day snoring in the sun. I’m also very well behaved when I’m asleep.’

  Genny’s mind went inexorably to the silk-covered, cushion-festooned bed on the Hesperus. She would dearly love to check that assertion for herself. What would Kit look like asleep?

  ‘No retort, Genny?’

  His hand softened on her waist. His gaze moved down the length of her and then, more slowly, back up.

  He smiled. ‘I seem to find you in a some very...interesting circumstances, Genevieve Maitland. I wonder why that is.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered foolishly.

  ‘Hmmm... You’re covered in sand,’ he said, and brushed at the fabric of her dress. She could feel the grains of sand shiver off...thought she could even hear the scrape of tiny crystals against cotton. She felt a slight pinch at her waist as he raised a piece of dark green seaweed and flicked it onto the sand.

  ‘I think that it is best these skirts earn their keep now,’ he continued, his voice pitched somewhere below the waves.

  There was another, more definite tug. The knotted ribbon slithered free with a hiss of friction as he pulled it away. Then he slowly lowered the ribbon so that it spooled into a damp coil on her abdomen. She watched as if it was a venomous snake rather than a strip of cloth. It felt far heavier than it ought, and suddenly it was hard to breathe again.

  His hand slipped over the warm curve of her hip, raising her a little to release her bunched skirts. For a moment his fingers sank into the warm fullness of her flesh as he gathered the hem of her gown. Then he drew it down her legs with excruciating slowness.

  She could feel everything: the weight of the fabric shifting against her, the way it sent sand cascading off her bare skin... And then his fingers slipped under the softness of her inner knee and stopped.

  Her whole body clenched. Her toes pressed into the sand. It was the same thing all over again—her body taking control, shunting her to the baggage train and riding into battle, drums beating.

  A sound between a moan and a mewl formed deep inside her. She tried to stifle it, but he heard, tightening his fingers, his own breath hitching. Then his hand skimmed upwards, his palm riding up her thigh, tightening on the damp fabric even as he bent over her.

  His mouth settled on hers and she sighed, half in relie
f that it was finally happening, and half in anticipation. His lips were cool, as she’d known they would be, and she couldn’t resist the urge to test her other hypothesis by gently tasting the curve of his lower lip.

  Yes, sea salt and the ineffable, addictive flavour of Kit Carrington.

  She pulled his lower lip between hers, tasting it, laving it with her tongue and slipping past it. The tip of her tongue encountered his and a jolt of lightning coursed through her. Without thinking she wove her fingers through his hair, pulling him towards her. She wanted that dance again; she wanted him to make good on his wish to taste every inch of her. She wanted to do the same.

  A raw, feral growl swept through him and his body covered her, pressing her into the sand, his chest heavy against her breasts, his leg sliding up between hers to press against that agonising heat. She abandoned all control of the embrace, meeting the demand of his kiss with more of her own. She wanted more.

  So, apparently, did he. His mouth became almost savage in its intensity as it plundered hers. This wasn’t careful, civilised Kit. His raw exploration of her mouth and body was nothing like his previous kisses. He dragged up her skirts with no finesse this time, his hand curving around her thigh and raising it to cradle the hard pressure of his hip. Without thinking she hooked her leg about his, her hips rising against the pressure of his erection.

  God, she loved that groan, coming from that same deep well as all this heat inside her. She rose again, reaching for it.

  His teeth nipped and licked her lower lip, sparking fire wheels of pleasure as his hand eased the bodice from her breast, his palm, rough with sand, brushing against the sensitised peak. The combination was more of a shock than her tumble off the boulder. Her whole body arched towards him with a cry of need, her nails pressing into his back...

  She had no idea what might have happened if Milly hadn’t returned and tried to join this new game. With a happy bark he sank down on his front paws and stuck his muzzle into the fray, panting in pleasure and expectation.

  They pulled apart and Kit let loose a curse she hadn’t heard since Spain as he rolled off her and into a sitting position, hooking his arms about his knees. She rose rather more slowly, brushing sand from her hands and wondering how she kept making the same mistakes over and over.

  ‘I keep forgetting how dangerous you are, Genny,’ he said to the cliffs, and she almost laughed at the absurdity of that.

  ‘I’m not dangerous.’

  If anyone is dangerous it is you, Kit Carrington. Not merely dangerous—utterly, catastrophically, calamitous.

  * * *

  ‘I’m not dangerous.’

  The fates were clearly toying with him. Dropping the half-dressed object of his erotic dreams on top of him was an act of Greek retribution. Having her then proclaim herself ‘not dangerous’ was a double affront.

  God, help him, he was in trouble.

  ‘That wasn’t wise,’ he said, trying for cool common sense. ‘Anyone on the cliff might have seen us. I know I said you could indulge your impulses, but doing so on an open beach is...risky.’

  ‘You kissed me first this time,’ she replied primly as she rose and headed towards the cliff path.

  He shoved himself to his feet and followed, feeling like a reprimanded schoolboy. ‘I might have kissed you first, but you kissed me into oblivion.’

  ‘I did no such thing. I wouldn’t know how.’

  ‘Coyness doesn’t suit you, Genny. I don’t know where or from whom you learnt to kiss like that, but I take my hat off to them.’

  It was a petty thing to say, but it was out of him before he could stop it.

  ‘You may do so next time you look in the mirror, then,’ she said tartly as she extracted her shoes from behind a stone.

  He stared down at her in shock. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You are an intelligent man. Sometimes. I am certain you can decipher the puzzle.’

  ‘You expect me to believe you have never kissed anyone before...before me?’

  She shrugged and began pulling on her stockings but he was too shocked to appreciate the show.

  ‘You had never kissed anyone before that night in the garden?’

  ‘No,’ she replied baldly, cheeks flaming.

  He stood silent for a moment, too stunned to move. Somehow he’d assumed...

  He had no idea why. Genny’s age...her competence and cool responses both to his and Julian’s flirtations...and then that utterly, inexplicably explosive conflagration just now...

  He’d expected... He didn’t know what he’d expected.

  ‘You’re looking at me as if I’ve grown two spare heads at least,’ she snapped as she straightened and headed up the path.

  ‘I was only... You were...’ He cleared his throat and followed, searching for solid ground in this sudden marsh and finding not an inch of it.

  He couldn’t possibly have misread her enthusiasm after that hesitant beginning in the garden. Unfortunately, he remembered every second of it. And now in the bay... She’d opened to him, her body arching against his with that deep, almost lost moan he could still feel singing through him, twisting him into knots of frustrated lust.

  He’d presumed...

  Taking that presumption out of the equation, his behaviour had not merely been ungentlemanly, it had been wrong.

  The realisation doused the remaining embers of the firestorm. He’d never, ever taken something from a woman—not even a kiss—without the rules being absolutely clear.

  ‘I never should have—’ he began, but she cut him off impatiently.

  ‘Please. We have already held this conversation, if I recall correctly. Let us not make a drama of it. I daresay it was high time I finally kissed someone.’

  It was a welcome splash of cold water and he tried to feel grateful for it—but mostly he was still trying to assimilate the revelation.

  ‘All those years surrounded by soldiers...how did you manage to avoid being kissed...?’

  God, he should keep his mouth shut before she pushed him off the cliff path. But she smiled over her shoulder, surprising him.

  ‘I never said I hadn’t been kissed. Only that I had never kissed anyone back. There is a difference.’

  He definitely should not have this conversation while his cock was still cocked. A mix of physical jealousy and protective instincts rose like a snarl through him, and he had to stop himself from demanding name, rank and regiment. A choking suspicion reared its head, and though he knew he should keep quiet the words kept coming.

  ‘They didn’t...harm you?’

  ‘Goodness, no, of course not. I think they were mostly curious. Except for the last one. He was drunk and mistook me for Serena, because I’d borrowed her cloak. I mostly found it annoying and rather unpleasant, and couldn’t in the least understand why Serena made such a great deal of it. No doubt I was too young to appreciate it—or perhaps they just weren’t very skilled. Perhaps both. And since I’ve come to the Hall there hasn’t been anyone even to be curious about.’

  They passed through the gate to the gardens, where the wind dropped and the air was full of the scent of roses. He knew he should not keep prodding this open wound, but he touched her arm, stopping her.

  ‘But...what of Julian? I thought you two had almost been betrothed?’

  ‘Yes, but that does not mean I wished him to kiss me.’

  ‘That does not make any sense. Why would you consider marrying him if you didn’t wish for any...intimacy?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was important. Many women marry without wishing for intimacy. And still many more do wish for it, but don’t receive it. It strikes me that it is a seriously problematic area in relations between men and women.’

  Kit was saved from stepping into the quagmire attendant on that philosophical observation by a burst of frenetic barking from Milly, who had stopped
by the fountain, his front paws braced on the rim as he addressed the lily pads with full-throated woofs.

  ‘What do you see, Milly?’ Genny asked, scanning the water. ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘What is it?’ Kit fully expected to see a kitten flailing in the pond, at the very least, but there seemed to be nothing there but sedate lilies.

  ‘He’s fallen into the water.’

  ‘He...?’

  ‘If I could only reach...’ She tugged a branch from a shrub beside the fountain and sank to her knees on the rim, bending over the water.

  He caught her waist as she teetered, pulling her back. ‘Careful! What the devil is in there?’

  She settled back with a frustrated cry. ‘A bee. My arm is too short. Here—you try.’

  ‘A bee?’

  ‘A bee. He is drowning.’

  Now he could see it. Floating in an indentation on the calm surface, wings outspread, was a bee. Kit’s nerves, strained to snapping, gave way to amusement, but one look at Genny convinced him that laughter was not politic at the moment.

  ‘It’s probably already drowned, love.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t. He was moving, and he tried to climb onto that lily before he floated farther away.’

  She began unlacing her sand-speckled shoes.

  ‘You cannot mean to go in after it?’

  ‘If you cannot reach him, then of course. Bees are important.’

  He sighed and took the branch, leaning out over the water. His size was a distinct advantage for bee-rescuing, and he soon managed to scoop a leaf under the prone bee and draw it towards the shore.

  ‘Put him amongst those flowers by the wall. He can dry himself there in safety.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Kit did as he was told. ‘When I suggested you find other strays to tend to, I didn’t think you would start with Apidae. I wouldn’t be doing this for a wasp, you know.’ He laid the branch between the flowers, with the bee clinging to the side of the leaf, its rump and wings glistening. ‘There. Let’s hope he dries before the birds find him.’