Enchanting the Earl (The Townsends)

by Lily Maxton

  Annabel’s head tipped back and she moaned, a sound of reckless abandon and want and need. Theo took her breast into his warm, wet mouth, lavishing his tongue across the point as her hands tangled in his thick hair. A sharp, pleasant ache traveled from her nipples straight down to the spot between her legs.

  He pulled her close to kiss her, and her sensitive breasts scratching the coarse fabric of his shirt felt like an exquisite torture. Her own curious hands grew restless, and she tugged at his shirt until she could slip them underneath. He sucked in a breath as she smoothed her palms along his hard stomach, tangled her fingers in the hair that dusted his abdomen.

  He stopped her wanderings when she tried to move down to his trousers and explore the hard ridge that was clearly visible through the cloth.

  Disappointment pooled in her stomach, and she frowned down at their interlaced hands. “Are we done?”

  “Do you wish to be done?”

  Her head jerked—no. No, she didn’t wish that, at all.

  He smiled slightly. “Good. There’s another kind of kissing I’d like to practice, if you’re amenable to it.”

  At the moment, with her skin still humming from his gentle caresses, she would be willing to practice anything with him, but she wasn’t quite sure what he meant by another kind of kissing.

  He pulled up her chemise to conceal her breasts, and then stepped back and lowered himself to the bed, drawing her down with him.

  He pushed himself back until he was at the top of the bed, and then reclined. “Climb over me,” he commanded. “And put your hands on the headboard. Your knees on either side of my head.”

  Her lips parted, even as her inner muscles throbbed.

  “But that would…” Leave her completely exposed to him. She suddenly had an inkling of what he’d meant by a different kind of kissing. Her breath caught in her throat, even as anticipation filled her stomach.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the fearless Annabel Lockhart is scared of this?”

  She wasn’t scared of the act; she was scared of how much she wanted it, and how much she wanted it with him. But she’d never been one to back away when she was curious.

  She crawled over his prone body, stifling a gasp when his hands landed on her buttocks and guided her up farther, until her knees rested next to his head. She felt a trickle of wetness between her legs and was suddenly self-conscious.

  Maybe she should have blown out the candles. She didn’t think his vantage point beneath her chemise and spread thighs left anything to the imagination.

  “Annabel.” A command. A firm pressure on her buttocks. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the headboard, spreading her legs even more to support her weight. She felt the softest touch of his fingers on her folds, stroking. “You’re so beautiful. I need to taste you. I want your scent on my tongue.”

  Her face flamed as she tried to imagine what exactly he was seeing. She didn’t know if she liked being so vulnerable to him. She was almost relieved when he stopped stroking her and pressed down on her hips instead, urging her to lower herself.

  When she felt the first delicate touch of his lips on the folds of her sex, she trembled and gasped. When he licked her, her legs nearly gave out. She braced her weight on the headboard, shaking.

  “Do you like this?” he whispered, his breath hot, hot on her skin.

  Like it? She felt like she was going to fly apart into a million glorious pieces. Like was not strong enough a word.

  “Should I stop?”

  If he stopped, she’d slap him. “No,” she said, her voice guttural. “Don’t stop.”

  He pressed an open-mouth kiss to her sex, and another, and then once more, while she gripped the headboard so hard that her hands hurt. If she didn’t hold on, she feared she might topple over. She felt about as stable as a feather, like she might be knocked down by a gust of wind.

  “What is this?” he murmured, parting her folds with his fingers. “I think I’ve discovered something…interesting.” His tongue pressed down on a hidden spot and she arched her back wildly, too much sensation running through her, so potent it was painful. “Did I hurt you?” he whispered, his breath soothing her tender flesh.

  “Ah,” she said, barely able to form coherent thoughts. “It’s a bit sensitive there.”

  When he touched her again, it was with the softest of flicks, followed by an even softer kiss. She sucked in a deep, sobbing breath as her hands trembled on the headboard, her thighs quaking around her lover’s head. His movements were slow, and gentle, and deliberate—a slowly escalating campaign of pleasure, a campaign he intended to win.

  It was too much. Too much to withstand. And then he gave her more. He breached her opening with one finger, and then another, until she was spread tight and throbbing around his fingers. She felt him both inside her body and outside of it, felt a chaotic pleasure she hadn’t realized was possible. His tongue returned to that little nub, gave it another gentle flick, and another, and another.

  She was sweating. She could feel the damp on her temples. She couldn’t stop trembling, uncontrollably, and strange sounds were coming from her mouth—groans and whimpers and little shrieks. She rocked her hips against him, making love to his mouth, untethered, unashamed, her movements growing more and more erratic until his hand curled into her hip to hold her steady and he pressed the flat of his tongue against her.

  The hard press of his tongue set off a spark that traveled through every vein in her body, but that pooled with feverish intensity between her legs, tingling at her breasts, quickening her heart. And then it surged, her back arcing as it took her over completely, and she held herself above him, held herself still, as she reached deep, deep into the well of pleasure to a depth she’d never known. Her cry of release shattered the air.

  She braced herself against the headboard weakly, gasping, struggling just to remain upright. She should say something. She felt like she should say something in the silence that followed, but she couldn’t find words.

  He gave her one last gentle kiss and withdrew his fingers.

  His hands gripped her hips again, loosely this time, without demands, and she slumped against his chest, struggling to control her harsh breathing. Even when her breathing subsided, she was strangely lulled by the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beats of his heart against her face. She almost wanted to fall asleep like this, cradled in his arms, and not wake till morning.

  That harrowing thought, the intimacy that would accompany such an action, brought a surge of energy to her lethargic limbs. She rolled off him and stared at the ceiling. But she still couldn’t work up the energy to get out of bed. “I never imagined.”

  He laughed, sounding a little breathless himself. “Nor did I,” he said. “I could feel your body clench around my fingers when you found your pleasure…I could see it.” He sounded amazed, like her body was some sort of mysterious mechanism and the things it was capable of were wondrous.

  Somehow, her face turned even hotter than before, but she turned to peer at him. Even through her embarrassment, his words didn’t sound quite right. “You mean you haven’t…”

  He shook his head.

  “But how did you know to do that?”

  “Men will discuss any number of lewd things with each other, particularly in the army. I overheard more than one conversation I wished I hadn’t and saw more than a few bawdy illustrations. I may be a virgin, but I’m not innocent.”

  She pushed up on her elbows. “A virgin!” she exclaimed.

  “Does that bother you?”

  It would be rather hypocritical if it did. She chewed on her lower lip. “No,” she said, unconvincingly.

  “Annabel.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Six and twenty.”

  “You’re younger than I am.” It wasn’t welcome news. If she hadn’t already felt like a lonely, covetous spinster, she was starting to feel like one now.

  “By a mere three years,” he pointed out calm
ly.

  “Surely you had opportunities.”

  “A few. But…” He rubbed his hands over his face. “This is going to sound ridiculous.”

  “What?”

  “My parents,” he said. “They were very much in love. And I think I always remembered it. And I think that was what I hoped for, even if I didn’t realize it.”

  She was going to ask him why he’d given in to temptation now, at least partially, but the question froze on her tongue. She already knew why, didn’t she? She remembered his flat, matter-of-fact words: I don’t have anything to offer you, or any woman.

  He might have envisioned himself marrying once, but he didn’t anymore. This…what had just happened between them…must be his surrender to the inevitable. He didn’t see himself falling in love, so he might as well take part in the things he’d denied himself. He might as well practice, and she was available.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked quickly. It was very, very stupid to be upset by this realization. She hadn’t asked him for anything. She hadn’t expected anything.

  And that brought her to a very good question—why exactly was she upset in the first place? She was lying in bed next to a man her body positively thrilled to and she was about to waste an opportunity she would probably never have again. She could separate her mind from her body long enough to enjoy this, and to ease her curiosity. She could have a passion-filled night before she fully succumbed to spinsterhood.

  She deserved this, didn’t she, after she’d been alone for so long?

  If Theo didn’t have any trouble separating his mind from his body, then she wouldn’t, either.

  With new, reckless determination, she reached for the falls of his trousers. But he grabbed her wrist before she could unfasten them. “Annabel…are you all right?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Did I please you?”

  She nodded again and mustered a smile. “So much so that I think we should continue. I’m curious about a good number of things, you see…” She unfastened the left side of his falls. “I should like, very much, to explore you.”

  She heard his breath catch; desire, which had never fully left his eyes, kindled to a bright flame, but he was still watching her closely. “Are you certain?”

  “I may be a virgin, but I’m not innocent,” she said, echoing his words.

  Something in his face changed. He’d been lying on his back, looking at her, now he sat up swiftly. “If you weren’t a virgin, I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t judge you,” he said solemnly.

  “Very well.” She wasn’t certain why it mattered. They were already in bed together, and had already done some rather scandalous things.

  “You can trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” she said.

  “I don’t think that you do.”

  She frowned at him, a sudden thrill of foreboding dancing along her spine. “Theo…what exactly are we speaking of?”

  “Don’t hide things from me,” he said, with a vehemence that caught her off guard.

  Her mouth went dry, and she had to lick her lips before she spoke. “It would help if you told me what you suspect.”

  He studied her face with dark, dark eyes, and then suddenly exhaled. “Sometimes,” he said softly, ruefully, “I want to break you open and examine your heart.”

  The heart in question was beating too fast, thudding against her ribcage.

  “I want to look inside your restless, clever, maddening mind.”

  The clever mind in question was stumbling and staggering along, trying to fathom what he was saying.

  “I want to plunge my hands inside you, and know what you fear and what you desire, what you lust for and what you love.”

  Annabel struggled to breathe. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying. “Those are rather futile wishes for someone you’ll never see again in another week or so.”

  He laughed harshly. “Yes, you’re right. Quite futile.”

  She blinked as he pushed himself from the bed, stared at some point past him as he bent down to retrieve his cane. He shut the door behind him a little too forcefully, and she jumped, staring at it, and wondering what in the world had just happened between them.

  Chapter Twenty

  Annabel barely slept, and when she woke into the pink dawn, her mind was racing, and Theo’s scent still clung to her sheets. Bergamot and rain. Strong and male. She couldn’t shake the memories of the night before—not the sensual, forbidden ones, nor the ones that came after.

  She felt as though she was on the edge of a precipice, staring down at a vast abyss. Theo had admitted…God, she didn’t know what he’d admitted—that he wanted to know everything about her? That even so, his desires didn’t matter?

  No one had ever said anything like that to her before. His words had been blunt, almost shockingly so. Theo might not be a poet, but his words held such raw honesty that she’d been enthralled. It felt like he already had his hands inside her, and he was playing her heart like drum.

  It terrified her. It terrified her that he might want her in a way that was more than physical and it terrified her that he might deny that want. It terrified her that he might have guessed her secret and it terrified her that he desired her trust.

  For so long, she hadn’t relied on anyone but herself.

  For so long, she’d been the only one she could rely on.

  What would it feel like to put her faith in someone else, if only this once? What would it feel like to place some of her burden on Theo’s strong shoulders?

  She found herself leaving her room on shaking legs and heading down the hall. She wasn’t the sort to hide from her fears, no matter how fierce they were.

  …

  Theo was startled when a knock sounded at his door. He was awake, in the process of strapping on his leg. Before he had time to ask for a moment to collect himself, Annabel burst in, in a flurry of white. He nearly dropped the leg and then tried to cover it, halting when she spoke.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And I’ve already seen it.”

  His stomach jumped. “When did you see it?”

  She was wringing her hands, and Theo had a feeling she wasn’t giving much attention to their conversation, but thinking of something else. “I may have glanced when we were in the stables. You’re a beautiful man… I probably shouldn’t have peeked, but I’m not entirely sorry that I did. And that leg is a miraculous contraption; there’s no need to hide it from me.”

  A hard lump formed in his throat. Her words, spoken so carelessly, as though it was no matter for concern, threatened to hollow him out completely. It felt like she’d turned his world on its side without any intention of doing so.

  She blushed and shook her head. “But that’s not what I wished to discuss.”

  He looked up at her. She remained just inside the doorway, awash in pale light, and he abruptly wished she was closer. He tried to shake off his thoughts. Tried to shake off the fast-pooling lust in his abdomen.

  What had happened the night before was—he wasn’t going to say it was a mistake, because he’d wanted it too much—but he didn’t think it was something that should be repeated.

  All things looked different by the light of day. At night, in the grip of desire, he might be able to pretend he was just a man, but when dawn spread, its brightness was harsh and unforgiving, and he could only look at himself as he truly was: terrified to let the wall down inside him because he didn’t think he could survive without it; he woke from nightmares that plagued him more with each passing day; he was on edge, too often, more often. Time was not healing him; distance was not making him better.

  And Annabel, more than anyone, made him feel like his hard-earned control was slipping. It was a dangerous thing. If he lost that control, of himself, of his emotions, he didn’t know what would be left afterward.

  He would not make Annabel a fit husband. But he couldn’t ask her to be his mistress, either—she’d had enough of
being asked to wait in the shadows until she was of use—he wouldn’t do that to her.

  Which left them…nowhere. With nothing except the present and this tentative give and take that could not possibly last.

  And even that felt like more than he deserved.

  He cleared his throat, realizing he’d been silent for too long. Realized he’d been watching her for too long. “What is it?”

  “If I tell you something, in confidence, do you promise not to tell anyone else?”

  “I promise,” he said, his heart thumping loudly. It was hypocritical, to want her trust this much, but want it he did.

  “And do you promise not to do anything, unless I tell you that you may?”

  He frowned. What did she assume would happen? Did he think she would throw her out when she told him about the child? He’d already promised he would find accommodations for her and her aunt—Mary certainly didn’t change that. Maybe she thought he’d try to hurt Mary’s father, which was a much more pleasing idea. “You have my word.”

  She nodded and took a deep, halting breath. “My sister’s name is Fiona McKendrick.”

  He stared at her blankly. Was that supposed to mean something to him? “You didn’t tell me that you had a sister.”

  “I do,” she said. “A younger sister. She’s been staying here, out of sight, with her four-year-old daughter, Mary.”

  Theo had no idea what was going on. “Mary’s not yours?” he blurted out, feeling a strange tangle of relief that she hadn’t been abandoned by some scoundrel mixed with a dose of frustrating confusion.

  “Mine?” she stared at him. “You’ve seen Mary? That’s what you were speaking of last night?”

  Her voice was getting a little shrill. He wasn’t sure what to say to defuse the situation, so he simply nodded.

  “Good God, Theo,” she snapped. “You could have just asked.”