Last Night With the Earl: Includes a Bonus Novella

by Kelly Bowen

  “Close your eyes,” she told him.

  He turned his head to look at her, but she put a hand against his cheek.

  “Close your eyes,” she repeated.

  Slowly, he did as she asked. He knew what she was doing long before he felt the soft linen of his cravat slide over his eyes. “Rose—”

  “It’s your turn,” she whispered, binding the fabric snug.

  She moved, straddling him once again. Her hands slid over his bare chest, urging him back against the pillows, and he obeyed. She bent and kissed him, picking up where he had left off, offering no quarter. Her hair fell over his chest and shoulders, a silken wave that made his skin tighten and surrounded him with her scent. He slid his hands down the length of her back, her skin impossibly smooth beneath his palms.

  He could feel the head of his erection just at the opening of her sex, and now it was he who arched toward her, trying to push himself deep. Except she shifted on her knees, her lips now skimming his throat and nipping at the pulse he could feel hammering there. Eli made a sound of desperation and desire, but Rose ignored him. She slid farther back, his cock gliding through her wet folds as she moved over him, her mouth now exploring the path her fingers had taken. Every stroke, every caress, every kiss was more potent than the last.

  Arousal crackled through him, gathering at the base of his spine. Her teeth grazed one of his nipples, and he groaned, his hips jerking. She paused and then did it again, deliberately and slowly. Eli gasped.

  “You like that,” she murmured.

  “Too much,” he panted.

  Rose made a sound low in her throat and lifted her head, granting him his reprieve. Until she slid lower. Until her tongue traced the ridge of muscle that descended from his hips to his groin. Until her hair slid over his throbbing erection. Until her fingers cupped his balls. Until she took him deep in the velvet softness of her mouth.

  Eli writhed, the blind pleasure of it almost unbearable.

  “Rose,” he managed in a strangled gasp, every muscle in his body straining for control. It was too much and not enough all at once.

  And maybe she heard the desperation in his voice or maybe she too could no longer wait, for she withdrew and positioned her hips over his once again, her body trembling as she held herself above him. He felt her reach between them, felt her grasp the length of his cock, felt her position the head at her entrance.

  And with a savage groan, Eli thrust into her.

  He heard her welcoming gasp, even as his mind went blank, aware only of the tight heat that sheathed his cock. She went still, and Eli clenched his teeth against the almost uncontrollable urge to move. Her hands were at his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscles of his upper arms, holding on to him with a desperate strength. He felt the tremor that coursed through her even as she tilted her hips just enough to allow him to slide even deeper, seating herself fully.

  This time he was unable to stop his hips from tipping back and then thrusting hard.

  He heard her hiss with pleasure. “Again,” she whispered, and he complied.

  She rolled her hips, his cock sliding from her almost to its tip, before sinking all the way back down. Eli nearly came right there, the ecstasy so perfectly devastating. His hands searched for her, finding her hips, and he guided her next movements, leaving them both panting. They moved together then, her undulations meeting each of his driving thrusts. Sweat gathered on his skin, and he could feel his climax gathering like a storm, electricity arcing through his veins.

  He heard Rose gasp just before her hands slipped from his shoulders to the back of his neck. Her hips lost their rhythm beneath his hands as they ground down hard against him. Her head dropped to the side of his neck.

  “Eli,” she groaned. “I need…”

  Eli thrust deep and held himself there. Instantly he felt her body convulse around him. Her fingers twisted almost painfully in his hair, and she cried out, her teeth grazing his shoulder. Deep inside her he could feel the ripples and contractions tighten the walls of her passage, milking him mercilessly and obliterating what remained of his control.

  Eli’s palms slid to her buttocks, bracing her against him as he pumped into her, feeling his own release roaring down on him. His balls tightened, and he drove into her once more before yanking himself from her heat and thrusting against the tautness of her abdomen. His orgasm slammed through him, tearing a shout from his throat and detonating blinding explosions of light behind his eyelids. Wave after wave of euphoria rolled over him, leaving him gasping like a drowning man as his hips slowed their spasms and then finally stopped.

  He lay on his back, trying to catch his breath. The echoes of his release chased themselves through his limbs, leaving him shaky and limp, and unsure when he would be able to move again. Or if he ever wanted to.

  Because the feel of Rose, the heat of her body covering his, her hair spilled across his chest like a silken blanket, seemed like a perfect way to spend the rest of his days.

  She moved before he did, her fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead and then peeling the cravat from his eyes. He thought he might die at the beauty of her. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks reddened from exertion or chafing or both. Her hair was a wild, glorious mess, her eyes lidded with the glow of a woman well pleasured.

  She wiped his seed from between them and let the linen fall to the floor, and when she would have rolled to the side, Eli caught her. “I like you right where you are,” he said, his arms tight around her.

  Rose didn’t answer, only lay back down, tucking her head into the crook of his neck again. Eli reached over with one hand and drew the sheet over their sweat-slicked bodies.

  “Why did you ask me to cover my eyes?” he asked presently.

  One of her fingers traced the skin over his heart. “So you could feel everything the way I felt it when you asked the same of me.”

  “I think I should like to do that again,” he murmured. “It heightens the senses.”

  He thought she might have nodded against his shoulder.

  “Though there will come a day when I will watch your beautiful face when you come apart with my name on your lips.”

  Her fingers curled against his skin. “I’d like that too,” she said, and Eli thought she almost sounded inexplicably wistful. He hugged her to him and closed his eyes, feeling her settle against him with a soft sigh.

  He must have dozed because, when he opened his eyes again, the sheet was bunched at his hips and she was no longer beside him. He turned his head in alarm.

  “Don’t move.” Her voice came from out of nowhere.

  His gaze found her where she sat on the edge of the bed, her robe wrapped around her, her sketchbook in her lap.

  “How long have I been sleeping?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “Not long.” She met his gaze in the soft light. “You looked so peaceful. I couldn’t help myself. I’m almost finished.”

  “Finish later,” he said, starting to sit up.

  “No,” she whispered, almost desperately. “It has to be now. Please.”

  Eli stilled and then lowered himself back against the pillows. It was an easy enough thing to grant her.

  “May I continue?”

  He nodded, and the only sound was the scratch of charcoal over the page as the minutes slipped by.

  “Does this bother you?” she asked suddenly.

  “What, waking up to find a woman drawing me naked?” He chuckled. “It would appeal to me a whole lot more if she were naked too.”

  She smiled faintly, but her eyes remained serious.

  “No,” he said. “It doesn’t bother me.” And it didn’t.

  “I know it was hard for you the first time I asked you to do this,” she said. “To make yourself vulnerable like that. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly. For what you did.”

  “I’d do anything for you,” he said, frowning slightly at the same wistful sadness he’d thought he’d heard earlier.

  Rose set
her charcoal aside and dusted her fingers on the edge of the sheet.

  “Can I see it?” he asked.

  She nodded silently and held out the book, and Eli pushed himself to a sitting position, reaching for it. She’d drawn him as he’d slept, one hand over his abdomen, the other flung across the space where she should have been. He was reclining against the pillows, the ridges of his torso shadowed in the play of candlelight. His head was turned slightly, the details of his face so perfectly captured that it was a little like looking in a mirror. Except gone was the haunted darkness that had always stared back at him. Gone was the stoic sadness that Lucy had captured in her portrait. In its place was…peace.

  Eli set the drawing aside on the bedside table.

  She hesitated. “Do you not like it?” she asked.

  “It’s perfect,” he replied. “But it’s missing something.”

  “What?”

  “You.” He rose to his knees and caught the back of her neck with one hand, kissing her deeply. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and dragged her up against him. He settled back against the pillows, pulling her with him. “I don’t want to wake up without you by my side anymore,” he murmured, tucking her against him. “I want you right here.”

  Rose rested her head on his chest again, though she remained strangely silent.

  “Did you know,” he said, “that I heard a rumor yesterday that my prolonged absence was because of a woman? A forbidden love, apparently, and one that ended tragically when she died bearing my child.”

  “That’s an awful rumor.”

  “It is, isn’t it? Luckily, the bulk of the rumors that have reached me have presumed that I have been working for the crown in some regard. Something covert and dangerous that I can’t reveal. Though there was some speculation that it was amnesia that kept me from returning for so long. What with the obvious blow to my head and all.”

  Rose rolled to her side, and Eli let her go. He could feel her eyes on him. “And what did you tell them?”

  “Nothing. Where I was and why I was there is no one’s business but mine.” He propped his head up on his arm.

  “They won’t stop asking anytime soon.”

  “Then perhaps I’ll fall back on the covert option. Or maybe the amnesia.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Hell, perhaps I could be a spy who lost his memory. Who needed the love of a woman to regain himself. That sounds very…dashing and romantic.”

  He saw a smile ghost over her lips before it vanished. “And ridiculous.”

  “Except for the last part.” He paused. “The last part is true.”

  Rose’s eyes dropped from his, and he put a finger under her chin, forcing her head and her gaze back up. He couldn’t read what was in her eyes.

  “I have a gift for you.” He slid from the bed and fetched the box he had brought with him.

  “As I said, Dawes, you would make a lousy thief.” She said it lightly, but there was a strain that made her words sound forced. “Thieves do not bring gifts.”

  Eli put the box on the bed and sat down beside her. “Tonight it was I who was gifted with the most incredible joy and happiness, lessened only by the fact that you were not with me at the time to share it. Tonight I understood that there is no world that I will accept that doesn’t have you by my side. You have stood by me through the very worst, and now you deserve to share the very best. If I live to be a hundred, I cannot ever repay you for the courage you’ve shared with me. But perhaps this might be a humble start.”

  * * *

  Rose knew what was in this box. Once, long ago, she’d had boxes just like this delivered, as had Clara. As had any lady who had ordered a gown from a certain Bond Street modiste.

  “Open it,” Eli urged.

  Slowly Rose undid the ribbon and lifted the lid off the box, then let it drop to the floor. She peeled back layers of delicate paper and lifted the gown, catching her breath as she did. The gown was ice-blue silk, vivid and dazzling. Over the silk was layered a gossamer, ethereal muslin that stirred with even the slightest of movements. Tiny crystals had been embroidered along the edge of the bodice, like the glittering spray from the ocean. It was a gown fit for a princess. It was a gown fit for the finest ballroom or court in England, sewn with exquisite care to impress the most discerning, critical eye.

  “It’s the color you were wearing the first time I kissed you,” he said.

  Rose’s heart stuttered.

  “Invite me out to dinner, Rose.”

  “Dinner?” A dark dread instantly ignited. This was why she had kept her distance from Eli. This was why she should have kept her distance tonight. Because he shouldn’t be bringing her gifts like this, believing that there would be a future for them.

  “I never thought you’d ask. You need to work on the charm, but I’d love to, thank you.”

  “Eli, I can’t—”

  “Back out of a promise. You’ve already taught me how this conversation ends. And because of that, you should know that you can’t win.”

  Rose shook her head. “That was different—”

  “I want you to meet him.” Eli’s voice was thick with emotion, all traces of teasing gone.

  “Who?”

  “Linfield.” He reached out to stroke her hair. “I want you to see that everything was not for nothing.”

  Her heart cracked.

  “The duke and duchess have invited me for dinner. I want you to come with me. I want you beside me.”

  Rose wanted to crawl into a hole. He had no idea what he was asking her to do. She wanted to turn away so that he could not see the irrational trepidation and weakness that were crowding through her. “Eli—”

  “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, sharp anxiety overwhelming her. And with it the old shame and embarrassment that were never far behind.

  I cannot ever repay you for the courage you’ve shared with me.

  Eli Dawes was wrong. She hadn’t shared her courage; she had just helped him find the courage he had always had.

  Because Rose didn’t have any courage of her own.

  If she had courage, she wouldn’t be nauseated at the thought of facing throngs of London society. If she had courage, her heart would not be racing at the thought of encountering every judgmental stare and critical, disparaging whisper. If she had courage, the thought of another rat carcass being delivered, or another amputated rodent tail being shoved into the back of her gown, would not leave her shaky and sweating and gasping for breath.

  Whatever this weakness was that she suffered, it was, without question, absolutely and wholly devoid of courage.

  She opened her eyes and let the dress fall back into the box, hating herself.

  Hating her weakness.

  “Rose? Is something wrong?”

  Everything was wrong.

  “Of course not.” She tried to offer him a reassuring smile.

  “Is it the dress? Do you not like it?”

  She hated the confusion in his voice most of all.

  “The dress is beautiful,” she managed. Because it was. “It’s not the dress.”

  “Honestly, I was trying to do a better job of asking a lady to dinner than I did the last time.”

  When he had accompanied her to the Silver Swan. When he had trusted her and done as she’d asked, even though he had wanted to refuse. Even though he’d had every reason to refuse.

  “I owe you a dinner, Rose. Please say yes.”

  He was still wrong, she realized. He owed her nothing. It was she who owed him this. She who owed him her trust.

  It was she who owed it to him to at least try.

  Rose would be gone the day after tomorrow, their paths diverging as they must. She would retreat back to her life in Dover and the quiet safety it provided, while Eli would go on to claim his place in the tumult and glitter of society and politics. Somewhere Rose could never go. Something she could never do.

  But she could go to a private dinner
with him. As he had once done. As a friend would do.

  This invitation wasn’t to the assembly rooms at Almack’s or the season’s opening ball. There would be no swarms of London elite, honing their tongues with the sport of gossip. It would not be an ocean of people angling to see and be seen, making sure that the stage upon which they stood presented them in the best light, even at the expense of others.

  It would be a small, private dinner with a duke and his family. A family who owed Eli the life of their son.

  Rose took a few deep breaths, letting that knowledge slow her heart. “You did have clothes on the last time you asked me to dinner.”

  “I’ll put on my shirt if my nudity offends you, but then I might accuse you of sounding like a ninety-year-old nun.” His words were teasing again, but his eyes were still searching hers.

  “Dinner sounds lovely.” She lifted her chin and forced herself to say the words. “It would be my honor.”

  “Will you wear this dress?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you, Rose. For this. For everything.”

  “I’m the one who is supposed to be thanking you.” Rose swallowed with difficulty and reached to pick up the blue silk. “I’ll try it on.”

  “Not right now you won’t.” Eli snatched the box away and set it aside. “It will fit. The modiste already had your measurements in her records.” He rolled onto the bed, catching her lips with his, his fingers working at the sash of her robe. “Right now I’ve got a much better idea.”

  He was distracting her, she knew, even if he didn’t.

  And because she was weak and desperately in love, she let him.

  Chapter 19

  The Duke of Stannis’s London home blazed with light.

  In the encroaching twilight, it spilled out of every window and onto the zealously manicured gardens that surrounded the grand building. Lanterns had been lit along the edge of the large circular driveway at the front of the house, their light reflected off the gleaming row of carriages that were lined up, disgorging their passengers in a steady stream.

  Women in brilliantly hued evening gowns, on the arms of men dressed in dark splendor, milled in the gardens. Their chatter and laughter drifted back on the breeze, interspersed with the classical sounds of a pianoforte being played somewhere in the house. The entire atmosphere was one of festive elegance.