Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance

by Cullen, Sharon

  Nathan rose and helped Claire to stand, his hold on her bruising, informing her that he wasn’t about to forget her behavior during the meal. That was fine with her. After all, she was miffed that he’d told Dieter they were married without informing her first.

  “Let’s get you two settled for the night. We have Compline in a few hours then vigils before sunrise. You are certainly welcome to attend but aren’t expected.” Dieter walked them through the corridors. Occasionally they would pass another monk who would nod at them. Larz padded beside them, his nails clicking on the stone floor.

  “I apologize that you couldn’t room together. Our cells are small.”

  “That’s quite all right,” Nathan said.

  Claire met his gaze then looked away, trying to hide her disappointment. Disconcerted that she was disappointed. They weren’t married and certainly pretending to be married was a sin. Sleeping together in a hospice filled with monks had to be a double sin, if there was such a thing.

  They stopped at a closed door with a cross carved into it. “Your room, Mrs. Blanton.”

  Claire put her hand on the door handle and turned to look at Nathan, who was watching her with smoldering eyes and a slight smile. She suddenly found that she didn’t want to be alone the rest of the night. She wanted to sleep next to Nathan, to feel the heaviness of his arm draped around her, his even breathing, his warmth.

  “Good night, gentlemen.” She opened the door and stepped through before second thoughts took root. She was alone for the first time since she’d been locked in the bedchamber at Marchant’s. And she found she didn’t like it one bit.

  She was … lonely.

  She would have laughed at that if she wasn’t so close to crying. For years she dreamt of being alone, of not having to answer to her husband or her brothers, or anyone for that matter. The thought had been liberating, the idea invigorating.

  And now that it was a reality, she was more sad than anything.

  Really, Claire, you are the ninny, aren’t you?

  She sat on the bed, clutching the edge as she looked around. A lone candle barely shed its meager light into the corners. The small bed took up most of the room, a table and chair the only other furniture. There wasn’t even a wardrobe to put clothes in.

  She shivered in the cold and looked down at the thin mattress and even thinner blanket, wishing with all her heart she could snuggle into Nathan’s warmth.

  Dropping her head into her hands, she heaved a sigh of monumental proportions. “Oh, Claire.” What happened to the independent woman she was to become on this journey? What happened to not needing anyone?

  A lone tear dripped down her cheek and a shuddering sigh erupted from her. She didn’t want another man in her life. She didn’t want someone telling her what to do, where to be, what to say, how to act.

  She wanted to live her own life without interference, and if Nathan Ferguson was one thing, he was an interference.

  He was …

  He was …

  Kind.

  Overbearing.

  Considerate.

  Entirely male.

  Which in her world was not an admirable trait. Except Nathan Ferguson seemed to make it admirable. At times.

  She jumped up and tried to pace but it took only five steps to get from one end of the room to the other and it did nothing to alleviate her frustration.

  She plopped down on the bed again in defeat.

  What was wrong with her? She should be happy that Lord Blythe was in another room. She should be happy that she finally had time to think her own thoughts. To simply be.

  And yet all she could think about was Nathan and how she wanted to be with him.

  Think about your adventure. Think about Gabrielle and your plans to find an Italian lover who won’t make demands on you. Who you can control.

  But the thoughts wouldn’t come because he always intruded. And when she tried to concentrate on that Italian lover, her mind shied away.

  She pounded the mattress and growled in frustration. Nathan Ferguson was not in her plans. Yet he’d so easily inveigled his way into them.

  Ooooh, she despised him!

  No, you don’t. Admit it. You’re in love with him.

  She jumped up again as if she’d been pinched. “No, I don’t. I do not love him. I tolerate him because I have to. But that’s all.” That’s all.

  She looked longingly at the closed door. Complines had started. The comforting sound of the monks’ chanting floated through the air.

  Claire opened the door and poked her head out. The dim hallway was empty, everyone at Compline except for her and Nathan. The door to her right was closed while all the others stood open.

  Go to him.

  She shut the door and backed up until her legs hit the bed and she plopped down on it. Her heart pounded heavily against her ribs and her hands began to sweat in the cold room.

  “I’m not in love with him,” she said into the silent room. “I’m not.”

  Her breathing came in short gasps and she pressed a fist against her chest to stop the panic from overwhelming her.

  She pressed her fingers into her closed eyes, quelling the building tears. Tears never accomplished anything. Tears were a waste of time. She learned that early in her marriage.

  Instead of crying, she took off her shoes and climbed beneath the blanket, shivering in the cold. Although she feared it wasn’t really the cold that bothered her, but rather her thoughts and her ridiculous belief that she was in love with Lord Blythe.

  Of course it was ridiculous. He was a gambler, a drunkard, a rake. He kidnapped her and locked her in a room in a house of ill repute. He stole her money.

  She rolled over and balled the blanket in her fists, but her eyes refused to close and the silence became deafening.

  A scuffle of feet drifted to her from the hallway and her door creaked open. Claire rolled over in time to see a very large, very familiar shadow scoot in before the door closed again.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Sharing your bed.”

  “You can’t do that.” The words were whispered frantically even as she was scooting over to give him room.

  Suddenly he was there, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. His warmth overpowered any objections she had and she turned into him as his arm came around her.

  “This is wrong,” she said.

  “Don’t worry. Even I’m not so base as to ravish you in a hospice full of monks. I just want to sleep.”

  Her head settled onto his shoulder.

  She found his hand and squeezed it, suppressing a sigh of traitorous contentment. Yes, this was wrong for so many reasons, the least of which was that they were in a religious establishment, but it also felt so right.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “One hundred points. I win.” Claire fanned her cards out on the makeshift gaming table that was really the carriage seat between them, and smiled. They had left the hospice earlier that morning with Brother Dieter’s blessing, his coach and a driver from the hospice.

  Nathan put his cards down with a scowl. “That, my lady, is called sinking, and sinking is frowned upon.”

  “Ah, but you never said that. Therefore I reach one hundred points before you and I win.”

  When Nathan first taught her the very simple rules of piquet, he’d not played to his full potential, allowing her to win a few hands. But to his surprise, Claire caught on quickly, not only to the few rules but to the strategy behind them. He found he actually had to concentrate to beat her. And now she won the game.

  Hell and damnation. How did that happen?

  Claire nearly bounced in her seat. “Let’s play again.”

  He was transfixed by her sunny smile, the mischievous glint in her eyes and the way her hair fell about her shoulders in unruly waves. She was so natural and so beautiful that at times it caught him off guard.

  He wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her. Simply hold her as he’d done the night they stayed at t
he hospice. He’d never held a woman for the sheer joy of feeling her pressed against his body and it made him uneasy that he had now.

  He scooped up the cards and shuffled them. The carriage rocked, the wheels turning inexorably toward Venice. Nathan tried not to think beyond the moment, but it was becoming more and more difficult as Claire worked her way into his system, taking over rational thought. Venice became less about what he could learn of his father’s death and more about saying good-bye to Claire.

  And, damn it, he didn’t want to say good-bye.

  “Teach me how to do that,” she said.

  “Do what?”

  She gestured toward the cards in his hands. “What you did just now.”

  “This?” He shuffled again.

  “Yes. That. How do you do that?”

  He handed her the cards. “It’s called a riffle shuffle. Keep your thumb on the top. Your index and middle fingers form the base to catch the cards.”

  “Like this?”

  “Here.” He adjusted her fingers, conscious of the fact that they were touching without gloves between them. Of course they’d been touching like that almost from the beginning. Why he noticed it now, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the pent-up frustration of the night they spent together and the firm control he’d held over his body, which demanded that he make love to her.

  Or maybe it was the realization that Venice was closer than ever and this would be one of the last times he could touch her.

  Once they reached their destination, outside forces would separate them. He would continue his pursuit for the answers to his father’s death and Claire would continue her pursuit of …

  His simmering anger threatened to erupt whenever he thought of Claire with some nameless, faceless Italian who would do things to her that only Nathan was allowed to do.

  “Move your thumbs slowly up the sides and it will riffle on its own,” he said.

  Brows lowered in concentration, bottom lip caught between her teeth, she tried to riffle. It started out well, but suddenly the cards popped out of her hand and flew into the air to rain down on them.

  Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand, a giggle escaping, then escalating into an all-out belly laugh.

  “Oh my.” Her wide eyes filled with mirth. Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. She laughed so hard she leaned to the side.

  Nathan’s heart did a slow roll and a queer feeling settled in his stomach.

  Claire began gathering the cards, still laughing, while Nathan sat there like a fool, watching her.

  When she straightened, he cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her, drawing her laughter into him.

  He pulled back to look into her gorgeous eyes.

  “What was that for?” she asked a little breathlessly, her gaze searching his face.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Claire stared at him for a moment before she returned to gathering the cards. “It looked so easy when you shuffled them. How many are there supposed to be? I hope we didn’t lose any because I’d really like to play again. Although I think it prudent that you shuffle instead of me.”

  “Claire?”

  She stilled before lifting her head to look at him. She handed him the cards in a not-so-neat pile. He took them and set them aside. “Come here.”

  “Here? I’m right beside you.”

  “I want you closer.”

  “We can’t get any clo—Nathan!”

  He picked her up and sat her on his lap.

  “This is improper.” She smiled, her eyes darkening in a look that he was becoming familiar with and that heated his blood.

  He cupped her face between his hands and kissed her hard. She made a sound of surprise before her arms went around his neck and she kissed him back, just as hard, just as demanding, just as desperately as he. Their teeth clashed, their tongues tangled. They pressed against each other as if they could crawl beneath each other’s skin.

  Nathan’s fingers fumbled with the buttons on the back of her gown, popping them open one by one. Claire worked on his buttons, pulling away just enough to see what she was doing. Their breaths mingled, turning the inside of the carriage sultry with their desire.

  He pushed her gown off her shoulders and untied her stays, yanking on the strings until her breasts were exposed, the nipples pointing upward as if begging for his touch. He rubbed the back of his hands across them. Claire’s head fell back and she moaned, arching her back. Nathan licked one, then the other.

  Claire buried her fingers in his hair and tugged. She moved until she straddled his thighs, her gown hiked up to reveal the creamy suppleness of her thighs. Nathan ran his hand up and down her leg, his fingers brushing the dark curls hidden beneath her drawers.

  She rocked, each motion bringing forth a harsh pant. Nathan put one hand on the small of her back to keep her from falling and slid a finger of his other hand into her drawers, finding that they were wet with her desire. He bit back a groan and forced himself to keep still else he would grind his aching staff against her.

  He ran his finger over her slit. She cried out, stilling before resuming her rocking motion. He put his finger against her nub and watched, fascinated as she rubbed against the pad of his finger. Her hands clutched his shoulders and he found he was panting with her, his cock straining against the confines of his breeches. He feared that if he moved at all, he would embarrass himself by coming right then and there.

  Small mewling noises escaped her. She looked at him but her eyes were glazed and focused inward.

  “Come for me, love.”

  She cried out, rocking harder, grinding her nub onto his finger. He slid another one in and she groaned.

  “You can do it,” he whispered.

  Her hips jerked faster. Her hands clutched his shoulders harder. She opened her mouth and a low scream emerged. Nathan surged forward and swallowed her scream with his kiss.

  For long moments she remained still, gasping for breath until she slowly lowered her head. “Oh my word. Oh my word.”

  Nathan smiled even though his cock hurt so badly he was certain his bollocks were blue.

  She slumped forward, resting her head on his shoulder as she waited for her breathing to even out. Eventually she lifted her head. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She slid to the side and slumped on the seat next to him. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  Her hand brushed his aching cock. Nathan captured her fingers and brought them to his lips.

  “You need release too,” she whispered.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You are not.” She wiggled her hand from his and pressed it against his engorged erection.

  Against his will he moaned. He’d been content to let her find her release. Well, not content, but accepting. Until she touched him. He widened his legs as she explored the length and breadth of him.

  His hips pushed upward, searching for more.

  Claire undid his breeches and pulled him out, cradling his cock in her hands. He looked down, deciding it was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, her pale hands against the angry red of his cock. His veins were bulging, his head pulsing. A bead of semen covered the tip. Claire ran her thumb across it, smearing it, causing him to groan and his cock to jump. He was so hard his skin was stretched taut.

  Her thumb lazily swiped back and forth. Nathan laid his head back, unable to take his eyes off her fingers. Slowly she danced them down his cock, then back up.

  “Show me what to do,” she said.

  He licked his lips, finding it difficult to speak. “You’re doing just fine.”

  “I want to learn. Teach me.”

  He took her hand and showed her how to circle his cock and rub it up and down. Just like in piquet, she caught on quickly. On her own she figured out to vary her rhythm. Fast one moment. Slow the next. Barely touching, then pressing down.

  Nathan rolled his head to the side, groaning with each thrust, h
ips pumping in rhythm. The fact that she was avidly watching was more erotic than anything he’d ever experienced before. Her curiosity, her naiveté was his undoing.

  “Claire. Stop.”

  Her fingers moved faster until his hips were coming off the seat and he was pumping into her hand. His groans escalated.

  He shouted, clutching the seat on either side of him as he lost all control. His semen shot up into the air so hard he saw spots before his eyes. His climax seemed never ending and he swore his heart stopped beating for long moments.

  He was amazed that the coach continued on, that the driver hadn’t heard them and stopped to see what was amiss. Then again, he was relieved the coach carried on for he didn’t feel he was able to move.

  Claire looked up at him with a wicked smile. Nathan was too depleted to do anything but smile back. For long moments they sat side by side, partially undressed, the smell of their lovemaking permeating the coach.

  Eventually Claire moved and Nathan cleaned himself up using his handkerchief and buttoned his breeches. Claire turned and brushed her hair over her shoulder so Nathan could button her gown. He felt a pang of remorse, not because they’d just made love in a moving coach, but because he wanted more afternoons like this. He wanted to button her gowns for the rest of their lives after he made clandestine love to her in various places.

  But the fact was they were closer than ever to Venice. And to parting.

  Silence fell between them. Not the comforting sort they experienced in the cabin. Claire moved to the other side of the coach and looked out the window, her fingers twisting the folds of her gown. Nathan picked up the cards that had fallen on the floor during their lovemaking and shuffled them for something to do with his hands.

  Finally she drew in a deep breath and looked at him. “We must stop this.”

  “Stop what? Playing piquet?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. We can’t continue this …”

  “This what?”

  “Whatever happened between us, it can’t happen again.”

  For the first time, his hands fumbled the cards and one fell to the ground. They both ignored it while he continued to shuffle. “Why?”