Never Entice an Earl

by Lily Dalton

  She hesitated, but for only a moment, before smoothing her hand over him. At feeling her inexperienced touch, everything hard went harder. She gasped. “It moved.”

  But she smiled, above widened eyes.

  “Yes, it does that,” he answered thickly.

  Swallowing hard, she worked the fastening of his breeches, pulling down the center placket until his stomach and cock were laid bare.

  She whispered, “It’s very…turgid.”

  “What an interesting word to use,” he answered raggedly.

  “And bigger than I expected.”

  “It gets…bigger.”

  “Oh yes?” She met his gaze. “How?”

  “Ah…well…”

  “Like this?” She touched him softly, at the crown, and slowly drew her fingertip down his length.

  “That works remarkably well.”

  “And this.” Her hand closed around him and tested his girth.

  “Yes. Oh, hell. Not too tight—”

  “I’m hurting you?” She froze, her hand still gripped there.

  He covered her hand with his own. “No, that is not the problem at all.”

  “Then show me.”

  Slowly, he guided her hand into a rhythm, which as a student she took to very well, so well—

  “Oh, my,” she breathed.

  He removed her hand and pushed her shoulders…

  “I can’t…let you anymore…I’ll explode.”

  …until she lay on the bed. His heartbeat raced, and everything blurred into a haze of desire. He did not undress her. He could not survive the wait. Pushing her skirts high, he crouched over her and stroked her stomach, the delicate skin at the tops of her stockings, and the place between her thighs, which he found slick and ready. She writhed, luxuriating like a cat at his touch.

  “I can’t wait.” He couldn’t wait.

  “I don’t want you to.”

  Parting her thighs he positioned himself, as she grasped his shoulders tight. “Wait.”

  He laughed, a desperate sound. “I just told you I can’t, Daphne. I want you too much.”

  She grabbed the front of his shirt and, smiling playfully, her eyes glazed with desire, she demanded, “Your secret. I would have it before we go further.”

  His breath rasped in his throat, as her body cradled his sex between her thighs, tormenting him with the promise of splendor.

  “I wish…it could be you…”

  Did she understand? Forever. He wished it could be her.

  She released him, and lay back on the bed, her eyes shining. “Yes. Cormack. Make love to me now, hurry.”

  Gripping her hips, he thrust, entering her body a few inches before she arched and twisted, her head falling back against the coverlet. He tugged her bodice, freeing her other breast, and moved his hand over them both in solemn appreciation.

  “I wish it could be you,” he repeated.

  “Yes,” she whispered, choking on a sob of passion.

  Harder, and more desperate now, he thrust again, breaking the last wall between them.

  Daphne cried his name and held him tightly, wishing she could hold him like this forever, joined with her, not only body but heart and soul. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Her body protested, claiming reckless abuse.

  “Is that it? Are we finished?” she asked softly, dismayed.

  His shoulders, and the muscles of his back, bunched powerfully beneath her palms.

  “Not yet. Just give me a moment…please, to assert some control—oh, hell, I don’t have any, darling, I’m sorry—”

  He moved suddenly, thrusting even deeper inside her body, spreading her, filling her more completely than she had ever imagined possible.

  “I want to see,” she gasped.

  He jerked, but lifted, and she peered between them, at their bodies joined in the moonlight. “I’m yours. Part of me forever, but all of me tonight. And you are mine.”

  “I fear forever,” he said, lowering again to kiss to her temple.

  “No…”

  His hips moved again…and again…taking up a rhythm that both pained and pleased her…. The quiet of the room, broken by their gasps and moans, until there was only…pleasure, which she felt suddenly desperate to intensify, to perfect.

  He guided her into a new and faster tempo. The mattress bounced beneath her hips as he pumped faster and faster, while guiding her hips upward to meet him.

  A euphoric pleasure sluiced down her spine, to center between her legs. She cried out, unable to contain the sudden and unexpected power of her passion. He cursed hoarsely, and whispered her name, and suddenly—

  An explosion of stars, of unimagined pleasure—inside her head—inside her body, so deep she wanted to cry from the beauty of it. She arched, feeling the strong pulse of his sex inside her womb. He stretched out over her, seizing her into his arms, crushing the breath from her, which only made her smile.

  A moment later, and he had pulled the bed linens and coverlet over them.

  “That was…the most marvelous thing I have ever experienced,” he murmured against her neck, before burying his face between her breasts. “I should have been stronger, but I can’t resist you.”

  “I have no regrets. Please, don’t you have them, either.”

  “You might regret this tomorrow.”

  “I don’t see how, when all I can think of is when we can do it again.”

  He laughed, emitting a delightful rumbling sound from deep inside his chest. “You are incorrigible.”

  Suddenly, the sound of dogs barking and men’s voices echoed up through the house. Cormack froze.

  “Who is that?” gasped Daphne, her eyes widening. She clasped the sheet against her breasts.

  “I don’t know,” he growled, raising up.

  Boots thumped on the stairs. Lots of them. From belowstairs, Hugin and Munin howled.

  “I’ve got to hide.” She made as if to leap from the bed.

  The rapid advance of footsteps thudded in the corridor, accompanied by raucous laughter and the emission of a shrill whistle. Jackson.

  He seized her arm and pulled her back. “There’s no time.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  At the very same moment the door flew open, he dragged the sheet over her head and shoved her down. Jackson burst through first, his arms outstretched, trying to hold back the others.

  “Now see here, His Lordship isn’t accepting callers at the moment. Won’t you fine gentlemen return tomorrow?”

  He wore a good-natured smile, but threw a look of utter panic over his shoulder toward Cormack.

  Realizing the identities of the men who pushed aside his manservant, Cormack secured the sheet even more securely over Daphne, and urged her with his open hands against her shoulders to remain concealed.

  “He’ll see us, boy,” announced Rackmorton. At the sound of his voice, Daphne plastered herself against him. “Now run along. Or don’t.” He laughed. “The more the merrier.”

  His glazed eyes fixed on the bed. “My, my, my, what have we here?”

  His Lordship was drunk, as were the other four with him. More than one bottle passed between them.

  Cormack’s muscles tightened, but he enforced an easy calm to his features. “As you can see, Rack, I’m entertaining.”

  Two of the others threw themselves into armchairs before the unlit fireplace. Another adjusted his cravat in the mirror while the fourth threw open the window and unfastened his breeches with the clear intention to urinate.

  “How’d you get so lucky, in all that tangle of a mess?” Rackmorton’s eyebrows went up. “Is it Bunhill?” He moved closer. “Even better, is it both of the Bunhills? If so, I’d be happy to join you.”

  “It is not the Lady Bunhills. I made a new friend.”

  “Do I know her?” His gaze raked over the shape under the sheet and his lips spread into a houndish smile. “Who is it?”

  If it were even possible, Daphne scooted closer, gouging her fingers into his sid
es.

  Along the far wall, Jackson paced, lifting a hand to rub his face, his expression one of thinly veiled fury. Cormack knew he only had to say the word, and his manservant would intervene and assist.

  “A gentleman never tells.”

  “That’s not true. We only say that for appearances.” He grinned. “We tell all the time, at least to each other.”

  “Speak for yourself. I do not.”

  He came another step closer, touching his gloved hand to the bed. Teasingly, he trailed his fingertip over the linen, veering in a sudden movement to graze the bottom of her foot. Daphne jumped, and drew her legs up. His eyes erupted in flames of interest.

  “Don’t do that again,” Cormack warned.

  “No, truly.” His lip drew back in a canine leer. “Let me see her.”

  “No.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”

  “Because we’re bored. Because we happened to be in the area. Because things ended so abruptly, when those roisters broke into the gala.”

  “So they did.”

  Rackmorton dared lean across the bed to prop his elbow on a pillow and rested his head on his palm. “I just wanted to make sure Kincraig and his ridiculous talk didn’t taint your opinion about me and my associates.”

  Cormack remained silent, prepared to intervene if His Lordship made the slightest move to touch Daphne again.

  “Bastard.” Rackmorton rolled his eyes. “He completely ruined the moment. Whenever new members are inducted, it’s important to instill an air of pomp and mystery…it’s just always been done that way. You understand the importance of tradition.”

  “Of course.”

  “But we are here now. As a show of goodwill, without even wearing our masks. Not all of us, of course, but I feared if we all barged in, we might come off as…intrusive.” He crossed his booted feet near the end of the bed, looking like a contented houseguest. “I just wanted you to know, the invitation still stands and we’d be honored if you joined us.”

  “Point taken.” He’d had quite enough. Now it was time for them all to leave. “Thank you for stopping by, but I hope you can understand that at this particular moment I’d rather be finishing what I started…when you weren’t here.”

  Rackmorton’s gaze again dropped to the form beneath the sheet. “I can imagine that you would.” He chuckled, low in his throat. “We shall leave you to your endeavors, then.”

  The others assembled near the door.

  Cormack watched in relief as Rackmorton eased up from the mattress—only to swing his open hand round to clamp onto Daphne’s behind.

  Underneath the sheet, she squealed and bored her head and hands into his chest. Cormack’s hand shot to Rackmorton’s wrist, exerting such crushing force the man bellowed in pain.

  “Ow!”

  “Mine,” Cormack uttered, clenching him a degree tighter before shoving his hand away. “Don’t trespass again.”

  Rackmorton rolled from the mattress, his face red and rubbing his wrist. “Bloody hell, you take your women seriously. All in jest, and among good friends. By the way, I saw you that night, at the Blue Swan, when you ran out into the lane. As my carriage traveled past. I know…who you are, and what you’ve been looking for here in London. And I can tell you it’s Kincraig. After tonight, we just can’t protect him any longer. Consider it a gift, offered in anticipation that you will join us.”

  He straightened his coat, ran his fingers through his hair, and spun on his heel at the door, where the others stood silent and watching. “We’ll talk again soon.”

  Cormack held Daphne still until they disappeared into the corridor. Jackson followed them. “I am so sorry. They were in the house before I realized.”

  “Lock the door after them, and let the dogs out from where I shut them up.”

  “Yes, my lord.” He pulled the doors closed behind him. Cormack slipped from the bed, and latched them in the event anyone decided to make a sudden return. Going back, he found Daphne at the center of the mattress, with the sheets held high as her face, which was white with shock.

  “I think I’d like to go home now.”

  *

  Once they were dressed, Cormack insisted on summoning the cook from her sleep.

  “Isn’t it a little late for that?” Daphne asked from the far side of the drawing room. She now wore a green-and-silver-threaded shawl around her shoulders to cover her ruined gown. Cormack had told her he’d purchased the luxurious fringed item days before as a gift for his mother, but that he believed it should serve a more necessary purpose now.

  He responded in a hushed voice, “She doesn’t have to know we did not just arrive.”

  He paced, clearly impatient to see her delivered home. She, too, wanted nothing more than to return to the comfort and security of her grandfather’s house. The incident with Rackmorton had almost scared the life from her. And yet, she wasn’t ready to be separated from Cormack.

  “What will you do about Mr. Kincraig?”

  “I don’t know yet. Go talk to him tomorrow, I suppose, and just ask him outright.”

  He’d told her everything. About Laura and Michael, and the Invisibilis and his reason for coming to London.

  “Promise me you won’t kill him. He is the family’s only hope for an heir.”

  “I’m not going to kill anyone,” he answered quietly. But she supposed if he intended to, he wouldn’t tell her. “I just need to know the truth, then I can decide what must be done.”

  “When will I see you again?” she asked in a rush, suddenly fearing that he would tell her never. That her relation to Kincraig made any further relationship between them impossible. That the love affair between them was over before it had even begun.

  She knew they couldn’t last forever, but still, she wasn’t ready to say good-bye. The end of summer would come quickly enough, and she suspected he would then return to his home in the country, and she would in turn go to Camellia House in nearby Lacenfleet to stay with Sophia and Claxton, where she would spoil her sister and assist with preparations for the baby’s arrival.

  “Whenever you wish,” he answered steadily, his gaze touching upon her hair and her mouth. “Wherever you wish. I am yours to summon.”

  The promise in his eyes thrilled her and gave her assurances that he would seek to resolve things with Kincraig in a civilized manner, as gentlemen did even under the most difficult of circumstances.

  A small woman with wiry red hair entered the room, bleary eyed and stuffing her curls into a lace cap. She gave a little curtsey to her employer. “I am here, my lord. I hear there is a young lady requiring chaperonage?”

  Cormack provided Mrs. Green with a brief explanation of the excitement at Vauxhall that had separated Miss Bevington from her family, and the situation with the roads.

  “That, my lord, is what you call a riot, and not the first to have taken place on those grounds. My dear girl, you must have been terrified. It’s why I won’t spend my shilling to go there. Why, I can have a slice of ham and a jig right here in the kitchen, without all that other trouble, though I do like a display of fireworks from time to time.”

  “The fireworks. We didn’t even get to see them tonight, I’m afraid.”

  Though the passion that had taken place between herself and Cormack had been much more fiery and explosive than any display of fireworks she had ever seen.

  “Thank heavens for honorable men like His Lordship, who will risk his own life to see a young lady of quality to safety.”

  Cormack’s jaw tightened at that pronouncement. “Shall we be off, then?”

  The three of them walked along the footpath toward Hamilton Place, with Mrs. Green chattering cheerfully between them. It was then that an unexpected sadness came over her, one she couldn’t even explain. Making love with Cormack had been just as wonderful as she’d dreamed, even more so. Perhaps if they’d had more time after to simply hold each other, and talk, before Rackmorton a
nd his cohorts had interrupted them. Her heart felt…slightly dissatisfied. Incomplete.

  Daphne looked over Mrs. Green’s head, to find Cormack staring at her. He winked at her, and offered a reassuring smile, as if he understood just how she felt.

  When they arrived, several carriages crowded the curbstones in front of Wolverton’s house. Among them was the one that had delivered her and her mother and sister to Vauxhall earlier that evening, the one belonging to Kincraig. His was not at all as fine as Wolverton’s town coach, which, despite the earl’s offer to make use of it for the night, he had obstinately refused.

  The door swung open. Her heart leapt with joy when her mother’s face appeared, and Mr. Birch’s beside her. He climbed out, and assisted her mother and sister down. She hadn’t yet stepped foot on the pavement to cross the road before her mother and sister were tearing down the walk, their rumpled gowns pale streams of color in the night, crying out relieved greetings, then enveloping her into their arms and leading her to the house.

  Daphne explained, “One of the horses went lame, so we’ve walked just this last bit.”

  It wasn’t a lie, and for that she felt relieved.

  “As you can see, we have only just arrived ourselves,” announced Clarissa. “What a miserable night this has turned out to be.”

  Lady Margaretta leaned close, squeezing Daphne around the shoulders. “My dear, I know that you saw Mr. Birch and I—”

  “I’m not traumatized, Mother, I just didn’t want to intrude.”

  “You’re very certain?”

  “I am.”

  Clarissa winked at her. “Well, I for one am utterly traumatized.”

  Mr. Birch, oblivious to the true nature of their conversation, followed behind. “But we are all safe, and that’s all that matters.”

  The three ladies burst into giggles.

  Her grandfather waited at the door in his bath chair, his valet, O’Connell, standing at his side. A backward glance over her shoulder found Cormack slowly following them, his face drawn, and, it seemed, several shades paler.

  Oddly, Kincraig greeted Cormack with a hearty “Well, hello there. Shouldn’t we come up with some sort of a secret greeting, or even a handshake?”

  To Daphne’s relief, Cormack only said, “May I pay a call on you tomorrow? I’d like to talk to you a bit about what happened tonight.”