Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Cullen, Sharon

  He glanced over his shoulder. Claire was a few steps behind, her head bent as she watched the ground. Occasionally she would stumble but would right herself before he could catch her, and not once had she complained. A few days ago he would have been shocked at that but not now, since he learned more about her.

  He still seethed inside at the thought of what her bastard husband had done to her. She never mentioned specifics but Nathan had been able to fill in the blanks. Men who struck women weren’t men. Men who struck women were cowards.

  If the bastard were still alive, Nathan would kill him. Then again, if the bastard were still alive, Claire wouldn’t be here now, freezing to death in the Swiss Alps with angry peasants after her.

  He glanced behind him again. This time she made eye contact and smiled. Not the sunny, mischievous smile he’d come to look forward to, but a strained, painful smile.

  His heart was heavy at the thought of their driver. Dead because he was driving nobility. Birth was a gamble, a person’s lot in life, the hand they were dealt. Very few, if any, rose above it. He and Claire had been lucky with the hands they’d been dealt. Those people in that town hadn’t been and they were angry for it. Nathan couldn’t blame them but when they threatened Claire, they’d made an enemy of him.

  He’d never felt such terror before. Not even when his father’s solicitor told him they were penniless, thanks to his father’s neglect. That had been a different sort of fear. This had been bone-deep terror that those men would rip Claire from him.

  He peered through the wall of snow lashing out at him. The wind whipped around him, its fingers biting into his skin. The trees above creaked and groaned, protesting the weight of the snow.

  Claire tugged on the back of his coat. “Did you hear that?”

  Nathan stopped to listen but all he heard was the howling wind and the tap-tap of snowflakes as they hit the frozen trees.

  “That. Listen. I think it’s a dog.”

  Faintly he heard barking but it was impossible to tell from which direction it came. The crowd had whipped up the frenzy of a few dogs but surely they wouldn’t have sent dogs after them in this storm, would they?

  Claire moved closer, her shoulder brushing his arm. Nathan pulled her to him and drew in a deep breath. The frigid air froze his throat. He couldn’t feel his nose, his cheeks hurt and his eyes watered from the cold.

  “Do you hear?”

  He nodded even though she couldn’t see him. The barking had become more frantic, more insistent, yet no closer. He tugged on her hand as a silent command to continue walking. A few moments later he glimpsed the outline of a large structure through the blowing snow.

  He stumbled toward it and pushed the door open.

  For a moment he simply stood there, unbelieving. There were four walls. No snow. No wind. A fireplace with wood stacked neatly next to it. There was a bed and, thank you God, a blanket.

  Claire stepped in.

  When he closed the door, the howling wind instantly lowered to a dull roar. He spied a box of matches next to the wood. His feet were like leaden blocks of ice. His hands and arms moved in jerky motions as he stacked the wood in the fireplace and fumbled with the matches, dropping them because his frozen fingers couldn’t grasp them. They fell, scattering across the floor. Nathan swore and tried to pick one up but it was a futile effort. He couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers, couldn’t move them appropriately to grasp the match.

  With a growl of frustration he sat back on his heels. Claire knelt beside him, cupped his hands in hers and brought them to her lips. She blew warm breath over his fingers. Their gazes locked. More body parts came to life. Parts that had no business coming to life at this moment. Slowly his fingers began to thaw.

  It took a few more minutes before he was able to pinch his fingers together to grasp the match, but he did it and wanted to shout with joy when he did. Amazing what such a little thing—something one took for granted—could mean.

  After several attempts he finally managed to get a small flame to lick the wood, then take hold. He watched the play of light in the fireplace, almost mesmerized by the varied colors as warmth stole into him degree by small degree.

  Claire’s toes and fingers felt as if they were being stuck with thousands of tiny needles. She was hot on one side, cold on the other, and beneath her was most definitely not a feather mattress.

  She peeled her eyes open and gasped. Inches from her face were the biggest, whitest, most deadly set of teeth she’d ever seen. And the breath that came from the panting mouth was atrocious.

  A large, brown eyeball rolled in its socket to look at her. The animal stretched its mouth into a grotesque sort of grin while a big, thick, pink tongue hung from droopy jowls.

  She sat up. The scratchy blanket that had been covering her slipped to her lap, and she looked down in shock to find she was clothed only in her chemise. Even her stays were gone.

  Quickly she gathered the blanket to her chest.

  A dog—for that was who the large teeth and tongue belonged to—was fully stretched out next to her, and the reason she was so warm on one side. He lifted his head, let it drop and beat his tail against the rough wooden floor they were both lying on.

  A large fire burned merrily in the grate. Her clothes were draped across the bed on the other side of the room.

  Her cheeks heated in what had to be a tremendous blush. She remembered feeling so warm after Blythe got the fire going and once she was warm, her eyes grew heavy and she became extremely drowsy. Apparently she lost the fight to sleep, and Blythe had then undressed her and laid her clothes out to dry.

  Where was Blythe, anyway?

  The cottage was small, just the one room, and he was nowhere in it.

  Slowly, painfully, she managed to push herself to her feet. Bereft of her warmth, the dog whined, rolled to his stomach and laid his massive brown and white head on equally massive paws to watch her, brows quirking one way then the other as he followed her hobbling progress across the small room.

  She hissed in a painful breath as feeling slowly returned to her feet. The tips of her fingers were whiter than the snow blowing outside but at least she was feeling them again. That was good. She’d heard of people who lost fingers and toes in blizzards such as this.

  The door burst open. Wickedly cold wind blew snow in, swirling it around the cabin. Claire dragged the blanket over her shoulders as Nathan stepped in, looking down as he stomped the snow off his shoes, his arms loaded with large sticks.

  The dog’s tail thumped.

  Nathan closed the door, fighting the wind by putting his shoulder to the door and using his body to push it. He turned, spied Claire and froze.

  Her toes curled into the cold floor and she clutched the blanket tighter around her, embarrassingly aware of how little she wore. Wholly conscience that Blythe was the one who undressed her.

  The dog let out a sharp bark and wagged his tail.

  Broken from his paralysis, Blythe moved to the fireplace, dropped the wood beside it and brushed the snow and dirt off his hands.

  He tilted his head toward the dog. “He found me while I was gathering wood earlier. I couldn’t leave him out in the cold.”

  “I wonder if he was the one we heard barking.” She shifted, her toes cold.

  “Come closer to the fire, Claire. You need to keep warm. How do your toes and fingers feel?”

  “They hurt,” she admitted.

  “That’s a good sign.”

  She moved closer, drawn to the heat of the fire, and sat on the floor next to Blythe. A week ago she would have never guessed that she would be trapped in a cabin with him in the middle of a blizzard, wearing very few clothes. A week ago she would have been appalled.

  Nathan tipped his head toward the corner. “I went back to the coach and retrieved our luggage. I couldn’t lug your trunk around so I took the liberty of bringing a few of your clothes.”

  “Thank you.” It barely even registered that he’d gone through her underclo
thes. This adventure had become so much bigger than propriety and rules.

  She huddled into her blanket and let the silence wrap around them save for the crackling fire, the snoring dog and the wind still howling outside. Nathan settled beside her. Shoulder to shoulder they stared into the fire. There was a difference to this silence, as if they’d reached a different level to their friendship.

  She didn’t have many friends because Richard rarely allowed it. There was her sister-in-law, Emmaline, but even she knew less about her than Nathan did. There was Gabrielle, who suspected what Claire’s life had been like but to whom Claire had never had the courage to admit anything. That was it. That was the extent of her friends.

  “Thank you,” she whispered into the silence.

  Nathan looked at her in surprise. “For what?”

  “For saving me.” For being my friend.

  He turned his gaze back to the fire. “I endangered your life instead of saving it.”

  “If you hadn’t driven the coach, that crowd would have killed us.”

  He shook his head and Claire surprised herself by freeing her hand from the blanket and placing a finger over his warm, soft lips. “Shhh. No more. You were wonderful.”

  She drew her hand away but not before his heat singed her fingers. Claire suspected this tingling had little to do with frostbite.

  “Claire.” He looked down on her, their lips barely a breath apart. This close she could see the stubble along his jaw, the gold flecks in his brown eyes.

  His gaze dropped to her lips and a small huff escaped him. “This isn’t good.”

  No, it wasn’t.

  She didn’t want Nathan Ferguson as a lover because he frightened her. She feared he would ask more of her, more than she could give, more than she had in her. He would be a demanding lover and she wasn’t certain she was equipped for that.

  “What the hell,” he muttered before lowering his lips to hers.

  He put his hands on her arms and pulled her closer until her body was flush with his, her breasts pressed against his powerful chest.

  No, this wasn’t good. But it felt good.

  The kiss was everything she suspected it could be. Harsh, demanding, coaxing. Gentle at times, rough at times. Their previous kisses were nothing but a prelude to this. Child’s play compared to what she was experiencing now.

  His tongue prodded the seam of her lips and she opened up to his command because she could do nothing less. He swept in, exploring, tasting.

  His arm went around her back, cradling her to him, anchoring her in place. She was glad of the support because suddenly her world was spinning out of control and she had nothing to hold on to except Nathan.

  He broke away to trail kisses across her cheek, nipping at her earlobe before venturing to her throat. Delicious shivers raced across her skin. Her head fell back, too heavy to keep upright.

  Nathan gave no quarter. His hot lips touched her neck, her shoulder, the sensitive area in between.

  “Claire.”

  She had to swallow in order to speak. “Yes?”

  “We need to stop.”

  “Stop. Yes.” No!

  “This is improper,” he said between kisses.

  She tried to smile but his lips seemed to melt her. “Improper, my lord? You? Never.”

  He pressed his forehead against hers and chuckled, then breathed deep. “You are exquisite. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “No.” Richard told her she was frigid and ugly on more than one occasion. She was almost positive that exquisite never left his lips. At least not in reference to her.

  “Then many a man was a fool.”

  His free hand drifted down, parted the blanket and settled hotly, heavily on her breast. She closed her eyes, fighting undesirable memories.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered in her ear, his breath so warm it caused her skin to gooseflesh.

  “N-No.” This was what she wanted. This was the reason she was traveling to Venice in search of a lover. She wanted to know if she truly could make love to a man without disgusting him.

  So far she was fairly certain that Nathan wasn’t disgusted.

  Gently his fingers explored her breast, so faint was his touch that they were like butterfly wings against her sensitive skin. She’d never been touched in such a way before—so reverently. As if every movement was a prayer in her honor.

  It brought tears to her eyes. Tears she couldn’t blink away fast enough.

  Nathan’s head came up and his hand jerked away from her. “Claire?”

  She guided his hand back to her breast. “They’re tears of joy. Trust me.”

  He let it sit there, unmoving while he studied her face. She stared back, for once not hiding her thoughts from him, letting the tears fall down her cheeks.

  His fingers plucked her erect nipple. She jumped and gasped at the pleasure the small pain brought her. She never knew pleasure and pain could be combined like that. Such a wonderful feeling.

  He leaned forward, slowly lowering her to the ground, and peeled the blanket from her. She lay there, exposed to his hungry gaze, embarrassed but also curious.

  He touched her nipple, causing her to bite back a groan, then her stomach, making the muscles contract, then her thigh, her knee. Each touch was featherlight, a slight caress that raced through her. His hand came back up to cup her cheek as he kissed her again, a gentle press of lips that became increasingly more insistent.

  She was wet between her legs, a phenomenon she’d rarely experienced before. A restlessness took up residence inside her, wanting her to race toward a conclusion she wasn’t entirely sure of. Instead she took her cues from Nathan and forced patience upon herself.

  He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. “Are you certain about this, love?”

  “Yes.” More certain than she’d been about anything in her life. Even her need to escape to France.

  He brushed her hair back. “If you need me to stop, tell me and I will.”

  “I won’t. Need you to stop, that is.”

  His expression was so serious, his brows dipping low over those chocolate eyes. “I don’t want regrets.”

  “No regrets. You have my word.”

  He didn’t look convinced but she didn’t know how to persuade him other than to kiss him again. So she did, raising her head and pressing her lips to his. She’d initiated a kiss only once in her life and had been soundly slapped for it. The humiliation was enough to never do it again. Until now.

  “You undo me, my love.”

  Her heart smiled at his words. Never before had she felt so precious, so special. Cosseted, yes. Stifled, yes. But never special. Tentatively she touched his hair, the dark strands warmed by the fire. She hooked her hand around his neck and held it there against his skin.

  “I want you,” he whispered. “I want to be inside you, to feel you surround me.”

  Her cheeks heated in another blush. No one had ever spoken to her in such a way. Richard had been crude and disgusting. There’d never been reverence in his voice as there was in Nathan’s. And while it embarrassed her, it also made her clench in a need so fierce that it stole her breath.

  “I want to feel your wetness,” he said against her ear, causing her to shiver. “I want to spill my seed inside you.”

  She moaned, his words too much. “I want those things too.”

  He shook his head. “You must say it. How am I to know unless you say it?”

  Her eyes flew open to find him looking down on her. “Make love to me.” It was the best she could do.

  “Not good enough, Claire.”

  She wanted to weep in frustration. Her body was a tight ball of inflamed desire and this man wanted her to talk? She could barely think. “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  She was so wet between her legs that she felt it on her thighs.

  He lowered himself until he was lying on top of her. She stilled. Unwanted memories surfaced, beating a panicked tattoo against
her rib cage and stealing her breath.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Look at me, Claire.”

  Slowly her gaze moved to Nathan’s. Her breath came in quick pants. Not of the need she’d felt before but of panic. Of feeling a man on top of her once again.

  “Who do you see?” he asked.

  “You.”

  “Say my name.”

  “Blythe.”

  “My given name.”

  “Nathan.”

  “Again.”

  “Nathan.”

  “Again.”

  “Nathaniel Ferguson, Lord Blythe.”

  “Remember that. There is no room for another.”

  Tears filled her eyes. Dratted tears. He pushed them away with the pads of his thumbs.

  “Now I will tell you what I’m going to do so there are no surprises,” he said. “Shall I begin?”

  She nodded, letting loose another round of tears though inside she was no longer crying.

  Nathan pressed his cheek to hers so his lips were close to her ear. His breath made her shiver and that ball of need coiled once again.

  “I am going to touch your breasts,” he whispered in a soft, seductive voice. “I will more than likely take your breasts in my mouth and suck on them until your nipples stand erect and beg for more.”

  Already they were standing at attention, hurting for his touch. The fine fabric of her chemise abraded them until they were so sensitive she could barely take it anymore.

  “Please,” she said, unable to find a word adequate enough to express her yearning.

  “Please what? Tell me what you want?”

  Her breath shuddered out of her. She wouldn’t get what she wanted unless she spoke the words. So many years of etiquette drilled into her head by her governesses held her back. Ladies did not mention certain body parts.

  “Say it, Claire.”

  And yet, what was this journey all about? It was about Claire Hartford breaking away from society, finding herself, becoming the person she wanted to become rather than the person others wanted her to be. And, by God, if she wanted to talk about her body then she would talk about her body.

  “Kiss my breast.”