by Gina Lamm
“Perhaps this?” He dipped his finger just inside her entrance, and she gasped, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body was throbbing with want now. Her nipples ached, they were so hard, and her knees trembled with the effort of keeping still.
“Or maybe this?” The heel of his hand pressed down on her clit, and she couldn’t stifle the long, low moan that came from the depths of her in response. She bit her lip, hard, trying to keep her hips from grinding against the delicious pressure of his touch. His forefinger was moving now, pressing inward, then withdrawing, never going deep enough—just a tease, really.
“Yes, more.” Not knowing what else to do, Ella raised her arms and gripped his shoulders. She wanted to touch him, to drag his essence into her and not let go. He was playing her body like an instrument—one that was so simple for him to master. She ached to make him feel the same, but her brain was so fogged with lust she couldn’t function.
“Perhaps this will be enough to satisfy you.” Never breaking the rhythm of his palm on her clit, he added a second finger inside her.
“Ah,” she moaned as the delicious stretch registered. His fingers were moving deeper now, aided by the rush of moisture from her body. The soft, wet sound of his rhythmic manipulation of her only made her want more.
Her eyes flew open as she realized his fingers weren’t enough anymore. She’d show him what she wanted. But was she brave enough?
Reaching out with a trembling hand, she started at his hip, trying to focus through the delicious sensation his hand was giving her. His skin was so warm, taut—a delicious feeling that she could relish for days, if she’d had the time. But as her lower belly tightened, she realized that time was a luxury she didn’t have. He was going to bring her to orgasm soon, and she wouldn’t be able to stop it. If she wanted to come with him inside her, she’d have to work fast.
Marshalling her courage, she let her hand drift lower, across the crinkly mat of hair at the base of his belly, and then her nervous fingers closed around the base of him.
“Oh God, Ella,” Patrick moaned, his rhythm faltering as her palm circled his erection.
Ella smiled. Finally she was making him as crazy as he was making her. Emboldened by her success, she carefully stroked up and down his length, making sure to rub her fingers across the heavy drop of crystalline fluid at the slit. Smoothing the wetness over the silky, plumlike head of him, she stroked down to his base and then back up.
“I want you inside me,” she breathed as she looked into his wide, lust-filled eyes. “Please, I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Pressing a third finger inside her, Patrick smiled as she gasped in pleasure.
“You don’t have to wait a moment longer.”
She released him as he came to his knees and maneuvered himself atop her. Ella’s legs were spread wide, her body open to receive him. With one last glance at his thick erection, Ella let herself drown in the delicious want he’d stirred in her belly.
This would be amazing, because this was Patrick, and he would never hurt her.
“Ella,” he said only a second before bending his head and kissing her deeply. She wound her arms around his back and reveled in the feel of his tongue exploring her mouth, her back arching to bring her aching nipples closer to his chest. And then his blunt head was pressing against her wetness, and she gasped into his mouth as he slid home.
There was no pain, only an incredible stretching, tight feeling as her body burned around him. For just a moment, they lay there, holding each other tight as Ella’s body became more used to the deep feeling of Patrick’s sweet invasion. Though she hated to break their kiss, she did, just so she could bury her face against his chest and breathe him in.
The moment was so perfect that she didn’t want it to end.
But then Patrick began to move inside her, and it only got better.
Slowly at first, he slid out, then even deeper inside her, brushing against her throbbing clit with each thrust. Ella moaned in pleasure as he quickened his pace, the beautiful muscles of his arms straining as he held his weight suspended above her. She let her hands wander over his body wherever they wanted—over those delicious biceps, across the span of his pecs, down to his defined abdominals, then her nails curving into his pistoning buttocks. More. Deeper, harder, faster. The words tumbled through her head, but she couldn’t voice them, just low moans and pants of pleasure as he quickened his pace within her.
“Ella, I cannot wait much longer,” he said, his voice a husky growl as his eyes glittered at her. Shifting his weight to one elbow, Patrick reached between them and found her throbbing, aching nub. With a gentle finger, he rubbed circles around it, quickening his pace to match the thrust of his hips.
The delicious ache in Ella’s lower belly tightened, circling faster as he manipulated her, thrusts and fingers and body straining all for that same peak. Her pants became moans, became screams as she shattered, her body clenching at his, her hands clutching at his shoulders, trying so hard to bring all of him inside her, deep as he could.
With a growl of possession, Patrick thrust deeper than ever, shuddering as he poured himself into her. Ella’s gasping breaths echoed the deep jerks of his body inside hers.
Then, the room was silent, only their pounding hearts and heavy breathing mingling with the crackle of the fire in the hearth.
His sweat-dampened body atop hers, Ella held him tight.
She’d never imagined she could feel like this about anyone. It was too much. She could never have expected it.
With a smile on her face and the thought that everything was different now, Ella fell asleep, still cradling Patrick deep inside her body.
* * *
Patrick was shattered. Utterly and completely. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to withdraw from the sweetness of Ella’s body and stretch out beside her, tucking her close to him before unconsciousness claimed him.
But when he woke, several hours later, pleasure was a distant memory.
Ella was curled against him like a sleeping kitten, her hands tucked beneath her chin and her delicious bottom against his thigh. He looked down at her in the dimness of the firelight and wondered what the hell he’d been thinking the night before.
He’d spilled his seed inside her. He’d taken her as if she were naught but a common doxy, and had not even had the presence of mind to attempt to prevent a pregnancy. She had a home to go to, one she longed to see more than he could fathom. He could not marry her and keep her from that, but how could he let her go?
Staring up at the ceiling, Patrick looked within himself. Quite frankly, he did not like what he saw there.
He’d been selfish, a bounder, never considering what Ella might take from their exchange. Would she demand marriage? She was well within her rights to. But she had not been a virgin. There had been no maidenhead to bar his entry to her body. A flash of jealousy had scorched him, but it had dissipated quickly in the pleasure of the moment. No matter what had gone on before, Ella was his alone last night.
But what now?
“What do I do?”
His whispered question went unanswered, as he’d expected. As a gentleman, he should offer to make an honest woman of her. But would she feel obligated to wed him to satisfy his honor? Could she ever be happy here, kept apart from her friends and her occupation?
With his brain a tumble of fevered worries, Patrick found himself unable to sleep. And in any case, he reasoned as he carefully slipped from the bed, it would not do to have Mrs. Templeton find them in bed together.
Then she’d have no choice but to marry him.
After gathering his discarded clothing, Patrick quietly pulled on his breeches and shirt. With a last glance at the still-slumbering Ella, Patrick left the room and headed straight for the guest bedchamber he’d been occupying ever since he’d brought Ella to Meadowfair Manor.
As he walked as q
uietly as he could, Patrick reaffirmed his decision. He’d leave in the morning, just as planned. Nothing had really changed. It would be best for him and Ella to have some time apart. They had been too much in each other’s company since they’d met. This madness, this passion and longing she stirred in him caused him to do things he would otherwise never consider. He was a gentleman, and that code was all he had. Without his breeding, his manners, his comportment, who was Patrick Meadowfair? Patrick did not know, and he did not care to find out. He was an earl, and he would do the Meadowfairs proud—starting with clearing his name regarding Amelia’s most recent escapade.
He’d lit several candles and begun to pack for his and Iain’s journey to London—living without a valet had been quite different over the past few weeks—when a knock came at the door.
“Yes?”
The hinges squeaked softly as the door swung open. Ella’s face looked pale in the flickering light of the candle she carried, framed as it was by her tousled black hair.
“I woke up and you were gone. Is everything okay?” She slipped into the room, wearing his white nightshirt.
He looked down into the case he was packing, trying to gather his words. He must treat this situation delicately or risk hurting her again.
Egads, he was a damned blackguard.
“I did not wish to wake you. I needed to pack for the journey, you see.”
He glanced back at her. Her knuckles had gone white on the candlestick’s small handle. “You’re still going?”
“Of course,” he said, carefully folding a pair of breeches and tucking them inside the case. “Amelia is still missing, and I cannot ask my cousin to continue to search while I stay here and do nothing.”
“And you still don’t want me to go.”
It was not a question, and he knew it, but he answered her anyway.
“I believe it would be best, under the circumstances, if you and I were to enjoy some time apart.”
She set the candlestick down on a side table with a heavy thunk. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He was making a right bungle of this. He must tread carefully now. Setting the stack of fine lawn shirts aside, Patrick turned to her. “Ella, please, calm yourself. I—”
“Calm myself? After everything that happened between us tonight, you’re just pretending that I don’t mean anything to you? That’s bullshit, Patrick!” Her cheeks were stained pink with temper, and her voice was approaching a yell.
“Please, Ella,” he said, palms out in a supplicating gesture. “I assure you, this is in your best interests. What happened between us tonight was a mistake brought on by too much closeness, and I—”
“Mistake?” she echoed, her jaw dropping in shock. “You think that sleeping with me was a mistake?”
“Perhaps that was not the best choice of words,” he said quickly. “I only meant that perhaps we had not thought through the possible consequ—”
“You aristocratic bastard!” Ella had dropped any pretense of lowering her voice and was now in a full-fledged temper. “How dare you? I don’t just do that with anybody—it has to be special! I thought you understood that, and I—”
“Am I perhaps interrupting something?”
Patrick had never been so happy to see his cousin in his life. “Iain!”
Ella’s mouth thinned into a line, and she crossed her arms and glared at Iain as he slipped into the room. Iain gave a cheery smile first to a grateful Patrick and then to a glowering Ella.
“Sorry to bother you, Coz, but as I was making my way to my bedchamber, I heard angry voices. Am I perhaps interfering in a lover’s tiff?”
Though his fingers itched to close around Iain’s throat, Patrick smiled tightly. “Just a difference of opinion.”
“I see.”
And Patrick was afraid that Iain did see, much more than Patrick wished for his cousin to.
“Do not worry, I shall be ready to ride at dawn.” Patrick nodded to his half-packed case.
“Do you know, I don’t think you will,” Iain said, looking down at Ella. She’d stopped even paying Iain the slightest bit of attention and had resumed her death stare at Patrick.
He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone bone-dry.
“I think I shall leave you and ride into Town on my own tomorrow.”
“What? No! I cannot ask—”
“You did not ask. I am telling you, I shall go alone.”
Patrick gritted his teeth as Iain stepped closer.
He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “Tend to your business here, man. Do not lose yourself over pride.”
As Iain left the room, Patrick stared after him. The Scottish bastard. He should mind his own affairs.
“Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me,” Ella said, a large dose of bitterness in her words. “So sorry. I’ll do what I can to stay away from you, so you can’t make any more ‘mistakes.’”
The door slammed behind her, leaving Patrick alone.
Damn, what a mess he’d made of things. He glared at the half-packed case on his bed. At least he could work toward mending things with Ella on the morrow.
If there was anything to be mended. At this point? He was unsure.
Twenty-Two
Ella was livid with Patrick. In fact, even the thought of his stupid face made her hands ball up into fists, which was kind of awkward since she was trying to pin her hair up just then. She made do with glaring at her reflection, a mouthful of hairpins making her look like she had an impressive set of fangs.
“Shtupid earl,” she said, stabbing herself in the skull with a pin. “Shtupid, handshome ashole.”
There. It was off her neck at least. Removing the extra pins from between her lips, Ella stared in the mirror.
Mrs. Templeton had brought her two more dresses—from where, Ella had no clue, but they both fit her pretty well, even if this pale green one was a little tight in the chest. Ella tried to move the bodice around a little. It seemed like an awful lot of boob on display for a regular day dress, but Mrs. Templeton had assured Ella it was fine.
“He doesn’t deserve to see these.” She wasn’t talking to herself, she reasoned. Elspeth was there, sunning herself on the windowsill, her golden eyes blinking slowly in the sunlight.
Turning to the cat, Ella propped her hands on her hips. “He was a jerk last night, you know. I didn’t ask for him to come in here, but he did. I didn’t ask him to sleep with me—well, until he was actually acting like he wanted to sleep with me. And then he just expects to leave me here like nothing happened? I mean, what an ass. Am I right?”
Elspeth yawned.
“Stupid cat,” Ella muttered as she grabbed the lacy shawl Mrs. Templeton had laid on the back of a chair. “You’re about as much help as Aquaman in the desert.”
As she made her way down the stairs, Ella pulled the shawl closed over her chest. With a side-eyed glare at the scowling former earl’s portrait, Ella knotted it. For some reason, donning her armor made her feel more secure, like she had the upper hand. He might want to see her cleavage, but there’d be no boobs until she got some respect.
Ella halfway grinned. She felt kind of like Lysistrata—she’d been reading a lot of Greek plays recently.
But when she entered the breakfast room, her half smile instantly vaporized. Patrick was already there, a plate full of bacon, kippers, eggs, and toast in front of him. He laid his newspaper beside his plate, standing when she entered the room.
She ignored him, and once she’d filled her own plate from the sideboard and sat down, he sank back into his chair.
“Ella—”
“Save it.” She stabbed a fluffy bit of egg with her fork. “Not interested.”
Chewing mechanically, she looked everywhere but at him—at least, not directly at him. She had a pretty decent view of him reflected on the back of
the silver tea service. He was staring at her, not saying anything, a thin line between his brows as if he were confused or angry, or maybe both.
Well, welcome to her freaking world.
“Do you know what really pisses me off?” She blew her vow of silence all to hell as she turned and pointed at him with her fork, but she didn’t give a good damn. “It’s your whole ‘gentleman’ spiel. You act like there’s no way you’d do anything dishonorable, like following the rules of society and your rank and whatever means the world to you, but then you can just have a one-night stand with me and pretend it never happened. I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?”
“Ella,” he said, straightening the newspaper beside his plate, “I never intended for last night to happen.”
“Well, it did. And personally, I liked it. More than liked it. It was…” She stopped and looked down at her plate, well aware of how hot her cheeks had become. Oh well. She was definitely screwed either way. “It was incredible. I don’t know how you could decide you were just going to leave me here alone if it felt anything like that for you.”
His chair legs scraped against the floor as he stood. She looked up and up, until she could see his eyes. He was angry—well, more than angry. Livid was probably a better word. His beautiful green eyes were aflame beneath narrowed brows as he rounded the table to stand beside her.
“I didn’t want to leave you alone, Ella.” His hand circled her wrist, and he pulled her to her feet. “I needed to.”
“Needed to?” She barked an incredulous laugh, hoping he couldn’t hear the nervous tremor in it. He was still holding her wrist tightly, high between them, but it wasn’t painful. In fact, his touch was burning her bare skin. She wanted more of that touch, high on her arm, beneath the armor of her delicate lace shawl, all over her body. But he couldn’t know. She needed to keep the upper hand here.
If she’d ever actually had it, which she doubted.
“Yes, needed to. I have duties, Ella—to the earldom, to my family name. I am not free, as you are at home; I cannot travel and do as I wish. My life is laid out for me, the path made clear since I was just a boy. My father—” He dropped her wrist, and the loss of contact was almost painful. But she stood her ground as he continued.
