Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Cullen, Sharon

  Nathan groaned, dipped his head and placed his mouth around her nipple without even removing her chemise. She was so shocked that at first she stiffened in embarrassment. Immediately her chemise became wet. The heat of his mouth scorched her breast, and his tongue … Good Lord. His tongue was like liquid fire, hot and potent and ceaselessly moving over her nipple until it throbbed.

  Claire arched her back and pressed his head to her breast, silently begging him to continue. If he stopped, she would surely expire. She’d never felt this restless, this stricken with lust in her life. Nothing Richard ever did caused her to feel this way.

  A whimper rose up in her and she was powerless to stop its escape. She wasn’t even embarrassed.

  Nathan’s hand kneaded her other breast, then he switched sides and covered her neglected nipple with his mouth. Her body was overrun with so many sensations that she didn’t know which one to concentrate on.

  His words came back to her, causing her body to flush all over. I want to feel your wetness.

  Yes, yes, yes!

  He came up for air, staring down at her soaked chemise then looking up at her. Satisfaction darkened his eyes. “May I undress you?”

  She nodded and before she knew it, her chemise was swept over her head, leaving her wholly naked. He stared down at her, her chemise balled in his hands.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered reverently. “So precious.”

  “Take your clothes off.”

  His head jerked up. His nostrils flared.

  Mortification raced through her. What if she said the wrong thing? What if she was too brazen?

  A slow smile spread across his face as he loosened the buttons on his shirt and shrugged it off. His bare chest, sprinkled with dark hair, fascinated her.

  As if they had a mind of their own, her hands went up and her fingers combed through the hair, finding his nipples and plucking them. His eyes closed and he breathed deep as she played.

  “Your breeches,” she said.

  He fumbled with the fastenings, but eventually got them opened and stood, pushing his breeches down his muscular legs. Immediately his erection sprang forward. Steel tempered, flesh colored, rising from a nest of dark hair.

  For a moment she experienced a burst of trepidation mixed with the fear she always felt when she saw Richard naked.

  There is no room for another.

  She pushed thoughts of Richard away, banishing him to a locked corner of her mind from where she wouldn’t let him out again.

  Nathan lowered himself to his knees, his manhood swaying. “Touch me.”

  She jerked her gaze to his. Her lips parted and she reached for him.

  Nathan groaned and dropped his head back, arching forward into her hand. A sense of control overtook her. She and only she had the power to do this to him. Lightly she stroked, learning that if she concentrated her efforts on the tip, she received more of a reaction. If she ignored the tip, she encountered his frustration.

  She delighted in the frustration, pushing him to his limits, watching the play of emotions cross his face. There were times when he seemed to be in pain and times when he seemed to be in ecstasy.

  With her other hand she cupped his bullocks and he gasped. “Yessss.”

  By using both hands she discovered she could bring him even more joy. She loved watching her fingers rove over the soft head. To her surprise she discovered he wasn’t entirely soft. There were ridges. Dips. She explored them all, giving it her entire concentration.

  He was panting now, his hips pumping with each stroke of her hand. His groans had become almost one continuous sound and she knew, with a woman’s intuition, that all the frustration, all the joy and all the ecstasy were coalescing into the final crescendo.

  She slowed her movements and he growled, that frustration rearing its head again.

  He pulled away from her. “Enough.” His voice was gravelly, harsh.

  She smiled, satisfied and excited at what she’d learned this night. And frustrated for she was completely soaked between her legs and every time she moved, a bolt of shocking need passed through her.

  “Touch me,” she whispered.

  “Where?”

  She took his hand and guided it to the curls between her legs. “Here.”

  Gently he moved his fingers through her hair. She moaned and widened her legs. This was what she wanted, yet it wasn’t enough. Her hips lurched toward his hand but he withdrew and she whimpered.

  This must have been what he felt when she frustrated him.

  “Your turn,” he said and chuckled.

  Claire glared at him but it merely made him smile. His fingers played but never went where she needed them most. He touched, he skimmed, he even blew on her and yet he withheld what she truly wanted.

  He plunged one finger in, then two, moving them in and out, in and out until her body took up its own rhythm. She rode his fingers, her hips coming off the floor then slapping back down. Her head whipped to the side. She raced toward a conclusion she never knew existed, searching for an ending that she just knew in her heart would be earth-shattering.

  “Whoa, love.” He pulled his fingers out and she cried out in frustration.

  Slowly he crawled up her body, inch by inch covering her until his warmth consumed her, heated her.

  “I want to be inside you.” His look was so serious, so loving, that she wanted to start crying again but forced the tears away.

  “I want you inside me.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “More than ever.”

  Slowly he entered her, stretching her until she gasped in pain, but it was a good pain. He filled her until there was no room left and then he filled her some more. For a long moment he lay still, not moving, their breaths filling the silence. And then he moved.

  This was everything she’d hoped it would be and everything it had never been before.

  Nathan looked down at her, his chest glistening in the firelight. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow and his neck muscles stood out while he clenched his teeth. Slowly his eyes drifted closed and he dropped his head as he moved inside her, creating a friction that was wholly unexpected and entirely, tremendously wonderful.

  That need started to build again. Her body moved toward it of its own volition, in counterpoint to Nathan but complementing it. Something built inside her until she felt ready to explode.

  “Nathan?”

  “Let it go, love. Feel it overtake you.”

  She put her trust in him and stopped holding back. The result was mind-blowing, exquisite, as if she could not only see every color in the rainbow but touch each of the colors too. She screamed, her body clenching down on Nathan, her toes curling, her fingers trying to find purchase on the rough wood beneath her.

  Nathan continued to move, drawing out the sensation. He pumped faster, his hips slapping into hers until he surged forward one last time and gasped. Warmth invaded her, washed through her, and she held him until his spasms passed and he collapsed on top of her.

  Nathan rolled over and dragged Claire into his side. She snuggled against him, resting her head on his shoulder with a sigh of contentment. He smiled and pulled the blanket around them even though the small cabin was heated with the fire and their arduous lovemaking.

  In the past, bed-sport had been fun, something to whittle away the time. Over the years it’d also become rote and the edge had worn off until he performed merely because it was expected of him.

  With Claire it was different. With Claire he cared, which was dangerous. His heart was involved this time. He’d always thought he would live his life alone, amassing more wealth with his gambling and the investments he’d recently started making. The gambling, the drinking, the women, it’d all been enough.

  It’s still enough. This is what you know. This is who you are.

  Claire was a lovely distraction—a simple interlude in his complicated life. She was a beautiful spitfire who matched his wits and tested his patience. But that was all she wa
s.

  Nathan had never wanted to settle down, never wanted to fall into the trap his mother had planted for his father. There were times, after his father’s death, when Nathan wondered if the late earl’s restlessness was less an ache for adventure and more a need to escape the tedious balls and overwhelming demands of his mother.

  It wasn’t until Nathan inherited the title—and his mother’s unquenchable hunger to travel in the higher circles—that Nathan understood what his father had lived with all those years.

  Hell, he would have escaped to other places as well.

  No, marriage wasn’t for him.

  Her breath evened out and her body was heavy against his, indicating she’d fallen asleep. Nathan closed his eyes in relief, for he didn’t want to face reality just yet. He wanted to remain in this bubble they’d created, away from life and its demands. Storms didn’t last forever and soon they would be on their way to the hospice. Before he knew it, they would be in Venice and he would have a choice to make—let her walk away and find the lover she set out to find, or …

  His mind went blank on the or. Or what? Propose to her? Ask her to enter into marriage when he knew how horrible her last one had been?

  No.

  And she would say no as well.

  This was a pleasant interlude, but nothing more.

  The dog nudged his arm and whined, then sat on his haunches and panted hot, putrid breath in Nathan’s face. The poor thing had huffed his displeasure when Nathan and Claire began making love and turned his back on them, promptly falling asleep. Now, apparently, he was finished with being ignored. Carefully Nathan disentangled himself from Claire, covering her delectable body with the rough blanket so he could dress and let the dog out.

  He sat an arm’s length away from her near the fire, but with an unobstructed view of her, needing this distance because his mind was muddled.

  A gambler like himself and a woman such as Claire did not suit, and that was that. Instead of thinking such strange thoughts, he needed to concentrate on why he was here. More important, he needed to think about necessities. Such as food.

  They hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. He was hungry already and suspected that if Claire wasn’t, she would be soon.

  Even though it was technically spring, Mother Nature was fickle and decided spring would arrive much later, which meant any food source was scarce. There was always game about. He could try to catch a squirrel or a rabbit. If it got to that point, he’d venture out and try to find something to eat. In the meantime he’d bring in snow and melt it so they wouldn’t dehydrate.

  Satisfied with his plan, he reached for his coat and pulled out his letters.

  Of its own will, his gaze moved back to Claire.

  She slept peacefully, the creases in her brow absent for the first time in a long while. He hoped he banished the horrible memories of Richard and gave her some sort of peace. If that was all he could leave her with, then he would be happy.

  She snored softly, her hand flung out beside her head, all that red hair spread beneath her, the golds and bronzes highlighted by the play of fire. He wanted to touch that hair, to run his fingers through it again, to fist it in his hand and plunge into her again and again until she knew without a doubt that Nathan Ferguson was making love to her.

  Yet wasn’t that what Richard had done for all those years? Only not so kindly.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Claire sat up, dragging the blanket with her to cover her breasts. Even from this distance Nathan could see the marks he left on her perfect skin. Raw, red marks caused by his beard stubble. He would have felt guilty if he didn’t remember the way she clutched his head to her bosom and wouldn’t let go, or her moans of pleasure when he licked her nipples.

  She looked at the letters in his hand, then at him. “Tell me about them.”

  He pushed his wayward thoughts away, his cock stiff and aching even though he’d made love to her not even an hour ago.

  “They’re a mystery,” he said, clutching at the bit of sanity she handed him. “I received the first one a few weeks before I left for France.”

  “Is that what prompted you to travel to France?”

  “Yes,” he said, toying with the edges of the folded letters. “I told you that my father left us penniless.”

  She scooted until she was sitting cross-legged, her knees poking out of the blanket.

  “He was an adventurer, always searching for the one priceless artifact no one else had been able to find. For the last several years of his life his obsession had been the Baldavino Vase.”

  “I’ve heard of it. It’s extremely ancient and has a varied history.”

  “It’s gone through many owners. Has been broken, put back together, broken again and fixed again. Decades ago it disappeared and many a historian has looked for it. Just before he left for Italy, Father was convinced he knew where it was and was doubly convinced he would bring it back to England and present it to the king.”

  “And did he find it?”

  His lips twisted into a rueful smile. “I don’t know. He died on his way home. In the Swiss Alps. During a snowstorm.”

  Those green eyes softened in sympathy. “Oh, Nathan.”

  “It’s been many years ago. No need to feel sorry for me.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you, but I do feel for you. I lost my parents at a young age, so I know what it’s like. But to lose your father so tragically then discover he’s left you destitute had to have been horrible.”

  Horrible didn’t describe it. Furious. Helpless. Terrified. Those were the words he would have used. And frustrated at his mother who refused to believe her husband would have done such a thing, as she proceeded to live her life of luxury. It had been up to Nathan to make things right, she’d told him. And so he did. Never mind that she despised his methods even though they allowed her to purchase her gowns and throw her balls.

  His methods had also lost her a few friends. His mother had been furious, demanding that he stop his “wild behavior” immediately.

  He hadn’t because he couldn’t. And she didn’t talk to him for years, earning her friends back, but not her son.

  He opened his gaming hell and told himself he didn’t care.

  “How did your father die?” Claire asked, gently pulling him from his memories.

  “It was a storm, much like this one. His party decided to forge on. They took a different pass than we did, a much smaller one where the roads were narrower. In good weather it was difficult to get a carriage through and they were traveling a few weeks before winter, when the pass should have been closed. They were on foot. My father took a wrong step and fell to his death. His companions couldn’t even recover his body, he fell so far and the way down was so treacherous. Or so they said.”

  “You don’t believe them?”

  He hesitated, looking at the letters in his hand. “I did until a few weeks ago when a mysterious missive arrived at my home.” He reached across the expanse he’d created to hand her the first letter.

  Claire leaned forward, clutching the blanket to her, and took the letter from him. Firelight glinted off her alabaster shoulders as she read. Her brows puckered in concentration and she bit the corner of her lip, something he’d seen her do numerous times and which never failed to cause a visceral reaction inside of him.

  “This says your father may not have died the way you believed.”

  “Yes.”

  The dog scratched at the door and Nathan stood to let him in. Snow swirled in, the wind not as high-pitched as before but still deadly. Nathan slammed the door closed and made his way back to the fire. He sat next to her, knowing he was tempting fate, testing his limits. He had to force himself to keep his hands where they were instead of where he wanted them to be, which was all over Claire.

  She was entirely delectable, entirely gorgeous draped only in the blanket.

  She handed back the letter. “Did you meet the letter writer in Paris as the missive says to do?”
<
br />   “I went to the appropriate place at the appropriate time but something happened to frighten him away. He left another letter in his wake.”

  He handed her the second one, watching as her eyes devoured the page, moving from left to right, her brows scrunched. Again she sucked her lip between her teeth.

  “So this is why you want to travel to Venice.”

  He took the letter from her, folded them together and set them aside. “I need answers. I need to know.”

  “What if this person is a fraud? What if this is all for naught?”

  “I’ve thought of that. All I know is that I need to go. I need to know.” At least his mission would not have been wasted. He’d met Claire. Made love to Claire.

  She pulled her knees to her chin, wrapped the blanket around them and rested her cheek there, staring at him. “Is that where you went when you locked me in Gaudet’s house?”

  “I thought it best you didn’t accompany me. I had no idea what I was walking into.”

  Claire watched him, contemplating him with no expression other than interest.

  “So what do you hope to gain from this?” she asked, apparently deciding not to expand on the conversation regarding Gaudet.

  “The truth. For me if for nothing else. His death still left us penniless. I still would have had to take up gambling to save the family, but the truth would be nice.”

  “What does your mother think?”

  He barked out a humorless laugh, causing the dog to lift his head and prick his ears. “She doesn’t know and I probably won’t tell her. We don’t communicate often, which is far more than we did before. She doesn’t approve of me.”

  “But you saved her from ruin.”

  “I ruined her with my reputation. Or so she likes to tell me.”

  Claire fell silent for a bit, staring into the fire with her chin on her knees. With the blanket around her, covering her in the most important places but not fully, she appeared much younger than what she was. And so beautiful that his heart ached. He wanted to ask her if she was still in pursuit of her Italian lover but feared the answer.

  She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes softened. Her lips glistened in the reflection of the fire. She touched his cheek, her fingers trailing down to his neck as her gaze followed the movement of her hand.