Enchanting the Earl (The Townsends)

by Lily Maxton

  She placed the candleholder on the washstand before turning toward him. “I think you know what I want,” she replied, sending a shot of heat straight to his groin.

  She stepped straight between his spread legs, and his mouth went dry. Her fingers found his face, tilting his head back gently. “There’s an ache in me, and I’ve tried to stop it myself, but it only grows worse.”

  He imagined her hands, sliding along her own body. His heart nearly stopped.

  But even in the haze of his lust, he knew there was something he was forgetting, some reason why they shouldn’t do this, even if it felt like a feeble reason at the moment. “You know that I—”

  “Won’t marry. Have nothing to offer,” she said, so flippantly he was a little stung. “It’s nothing you haven’t told me before.”

  She slipped her hand inside the open V at the throat of his shirt and touched his bare chest, fingers spread. He felt the contact like a branding iron over his rioting heart. “Did I ask you to marry me?”

  He shook his head wordlessly. “That doesn’t mean it’s right.”

  She paused, staring down at him. “What do you want, Theo?”

  Want and should were two very different things. He should send her back to her room, should protect her, should find a way to forget about her. This intimacy would only make things messier than they needed to be, even if there weren’t any unintended consequences.

  And what if there were unintended consequences? He could do his best to protect against pregnancy, but there was always a risk. She said she wouldn’t marry, but she might change her mind someday. Someday, she might fall in love.

  The thought seared him. Her smiles, for another’s sight. Her laughter, for another’s ears. Her touch, for another’s body. It hurt with a fierce, bitter ache.

  And the gulf between want and should widened.

  And then Annabel’s hand moved, just an inch or so, but enough to blaze heat through him once more. She owned him, with just a press of her fingers.

  “Theo?” she whispered.

  His name on her tongue was like a siren’s call. Her touch a spark to kindling. In her eyes, he saw his own desire reflected back at him, saw a hunger just as strong as his own, saw a need that was impossible to resist, and a greed that matched his, breath for breath, pulse for pulse.

  There was no use fighting a current when the water had already swallowed him. They had tonight. They had now. He wouldn’t think about tomorrow.

  He slid his hands inside her dressing robe and pushed it off, letting the garment slither to the floor. Her lips parted and he waited, taut and hungry and aching; he waited to see what she would do.

  She splayed her fingers across his chest, a gentle pressure that inexorably pushed him down, and down he went, falling back on the soft mattress. She followed him to the bed and reached underneath his shirt, palms skirting his thighs and then his abdomen, tracing the contours of muscle, exploring with a relentless fascination.

  “Do you know what I was thinking when I saw you in the stables? I was thinking that I wanted this”—she slid her hand along his chest—“all of this, for myself. I was thinking I wanted to taste you.”

  She gripped the hem of his shirt. And then she was pushing the garment up, up past his thighs, up past his waist, leaving him bare to her gaze. Cool air touched his skin but did nothing to calm the raging heat inside him.

  He could feel the intensity of her perusal like its own kind of touch. Annabel’s lips curved, and desire flashed through him like lightning. He didn’t know how his body could possibly contain it all without splintering apart. He didn’t know how he could survive this.

  He watched, holding his breath until his lungs burned, as she slowly bent her head and then licked a warm, wet path across his stomach. In response, his cock, which was already stiff, swelled again. He had to bite down hard on the inside of his mouth to stop himself from groaning.

  “I know proper women aren’t supposed to think this way, but I covet your body, Theo Townsend.”

  She kissed the jutting edge of his hip. Traced the line of hair that trailed down his abdomen. Tendrils of loose hair tickled his skin and grazed across his cock, feather light but jolting. “It’s yours,” he somehow managed to gasp.

  And then she took him in hand, fingers wrapping around his throbbing shaft. “Is this mine, too?” she asked mischievously.

  God, she was trying to kill him. But he’d die a happy man. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. He was beyond words that required more than one syllable, beyond anything, probably, except yes and please and more.

  She smiled wickedly and kissed the head. His hips jerked reflexively, uncontrollably. He would have been embarrassed, if he had the presence of mind to think anything coherent at all. As it was, he was just trying to draw in enough breath to keep his heart from stopping.

  She explored him, tentatively at first, but then more assured—she was paying attention to his reactions—the gasps he couldn’t quite contain, the way he’d jerk toward her like he was her marionette and she had him on strings. It didn’t take her long to learn exactly what to do to elicit those reactions.

  When she finished kissing him and then licked him, from base to tip, he couldn’t lie passively any longer. He grabbed her by the waist and flipped her onto her back. The bed ropes creaked loudly, but he was only paying attention to her. Her hair fanned out around her like a halo, but with that dazed, wicked smile painting her lips and her legs partway spread, he didn’t know what kind of angel she’d be.

  A fallen one, most likely.

  And he would gladly fall with her. He would fall and fall and let the earth swallow him whole if it meant he could feel her body against his.

  He lifted her chemise, grazing soft stockings and then silky skin, watching hungrily as she was revealed to him. He’d seen it before, but he would never get tired of it—the vulnerable hidden skin, the slope of her thighs, the dip of her hips. She had a strong, lithe body, muscular from outdoor activity. He sank his teeth into the curve on the inside of her thigh and he could feel her loud moan in the tremors of her body.

  Her restless, grasping hands found his shirt again. She wrenched it up, wrenched it over his head. Her palms made contact on his newly bare skin, moving from his shoulders to his biceps, down along his chest.

  He realized he was now completely nude and she still had her chemise on, which didn’t seem quite fair. He tugged on the fabric, communicating without words—because at this point he was beyond them; between the silence and the gold candle flame and her scent, all around him, he felt like he was caught in a spell—and she sat up and peeled her chemise over her head, discarding it without any trace of maidenly shyness.

  She lowered back down and he kissed each of her small, high breasts in turn, while his hand slipped between her thighs. She was wet, and hot, and her hips moved impatiently as he stroked her sex.

  He pulled back to look down at her. Her lips were parted, her eyes heavy-lidded, a rosy flush had climbed her chest and throat. Hard desire coursed through him, more potent than anything he’d felt before.

  She caught him watching her and smiled, and it felt like he was trapped in the heat of the sun. She grasped his waist and pulled him closer. But he didn’t need any prodding for that. He lowered himself between her thighs, pushing them apart with his hands to spread them wide enough to accommodate his body.

  And she accepted him, drew him down with her knees and her arms, drew him down into her slick heat. He eased in slowly, slowly, waiting until she opened just a little more, like a flower in the morning, rocking against her, pushing with gentle but insistent force, until all resistance fell away and he was locked so deep in her body that he felt like he was the one who’d been claimed.

  She arched back, revealing the long, pale column of her throat. Her fingernails dug into his hips, urging him to move. So he moved. He moved against her, and with her, as he licked her pale throat and bent his head to kiss her breasts.

  Her nails scratched
lines of pleasure-pain along his back, deep into the straining muscles of his arms. He caught her gasps on his tongue as he kissed her, and their hips collided erratically. He felt her tense, felt her breath catch, felt the slow quake of her muscles clenching around him. He held deep, wanted to hold there forever, wanted to die there, in her arms. His release tingled at the base of his cock.

  At the last possible second he pulled away, gasping, his face sheltered in the crook of her shoulder, and spilled his life onto the bedsheets.

  His feeble sacrifice to the woman who owned him, body and tattered soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Annabel had kissed Theo, a soft good-bye, before she’d checked that the corridor was clear and slipped back to her own room. There had been a strange silence between them in the aftermath of intimacy, though it wasn’t an uncomfortable one, and Theo hadn’t wanted to ruin it by speaking.

  He’d watched her go, with both a sharp pang of regret and a sharper pang of relief—even ignoring the fact of Robert’s eventual return, he didn’t feel comfortable enough to fall asleep beside her. He didn’t think he ever would. Not when he might wake up screaming. Or lash out to defend himself against enemies who were no longer there.

  Theo had lain awake for the rest of the night. For two days now he’d been without sleep, and only troubled sleep before that. Even suffused in the faint glow of passion, he recognized he was weary. Tired in a bone-deep way. Tired to his soul. But his need to keep Annabel safe pushed him forward like nothing else could.

  He didn’t like this fierce protectiveness that flared up when she was around; he didn’t like that, even with her taste still on his tongue and the memory of her body underneath his hands, he knew the best thing for her, in the end, would be to stay far, far away from him.

  When morning dawned and Theo began to hear movement and activity downstairs, he left Robert in their room and went to Annabel’s door. He would rather take care of everything on his own. Would rather Annabel stay at the inn, that she stay safe, but he also knew she wouldn’t be pleased if he left without telling her.

  As he stood there, only a plank of wood separating them, nervousness washed over him, as unexpected as it was unwanted. The night before felt like a dream. A lovely dream, but one that he couldn’t hold on to, and he would be a fool to try. Nothing had changed between them, really—when the solicitor responded to his enquiry, Theo would still send her away.

  Nothing had changed. And everything had changed.

  He knew the small sounds she made when she climaxed, knew how her body felt, sweet and warm, as she gripped him. He knew, now more than ever, how difficult it would be when the time came to let her go.

  He swallowed and rapped lightly on the door.

  It was only a few seconds before Annabel appeared, fully dressed but hair slightly disheveled. He felt his face heat and cursed himself.

  “I—” His voice cracked, like he was a lad of thirteen instead of a man in his twenties, and he had to clear his throat before he continued. “I’m going to see about passage.”

  Annabel nodded. “I shall go with you.” Aside from the slightest breathlessness to her voice, she was rather more composed than he was. He, quite unfairly, felt a little resentful.

  She followed him into the corridor, and he glanced back at her, softening when he saw worry in the lines of her face, the slight indent her teeth made in her lower lip.

  Even as she wrapped a cloak around herself and pulled up the hood to cover her face, he wanted to grasp her shoulders and tell her that her sister’s situation wasn’t her fault. He wanted to repeat the sentiment until she believed it, no matter how long that took.

  But they didn’t have the time, and the words died on his tongue.

  They went down to the ocean’s edge and looked across the water. A ship was anchored there—small, with two masts. Glittering water tipped with white foam lapped at the hull as the ship slowly rocked.

  “Is that ship sailing soon?” Theo asked a kilted man who was also walking along the pebbled shore.

  “Aye, this morning. The captain is having a last drink, and then I expect it won’t be too long. I think it’s already full, though,” the man commented. “If ye wanted passage, ye might be out of luck.”

  “Do you know where the captain is?” he asked.

  He directed them to a nearby alehouse to speak to the captain. The alehouse, despite being a public building, looked exactly like the nearby resident cottages of the Highlanders. Light gleamed from two small windows set in a stone façade, under a turf roof. Tables sat crammed together, and the floor was dirt instead of wood.

  The captain, who’d already made it through most of the tankard in front of him, still looked clear-eyed when he marked their approach.

  “We’d like to buy two passages on your ship,” Theo said, after he introduced herself.

  “Can’t. Ship is full enough already with all the families that’ve been cleared out.”

  “I find it difficult to believe you can’t find space for two people. They’ll disembark in Ireland,” Annabel cut in. The Captain tried to peer at her face, but she kept her hood pulled down low.

  A sliver of worry worked its way into Theo’s chest. He didn’t want her to draw any unnecessary attention to herself.

  “I said I can’t,” the man growled.

  “How much will change your mind?” Annabel asked, withdrawing a gold guinea.

  He hesitated, eyes flickering to the coin, and then he sighed. “Another couple of those, at least.”

  Three guineas? Theo doubted the short passage was worth more than one, if that. “I find it difficult to believe it costs over three pounds to travel from Scotland to Ireland.”

  “When the ship is already full, it does,” the man said, shrugging.

  Annabel paused with her hand in her reticule. “The passage isn’t for us, but a woman with a small boy.”

  The captain’s gaze traveled from Annabel’s hand, up her arm, to her face. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Why aren’t they here themselves? Are they ill? I can’t take ill passengers aboard my ship. Disease spreads faster than you can blink in close quarters.”

  “No, they’re not ill.”

  Finally, his lips curled. “It’s like that, is it?”

  “Will you take the money or not?” she asked.

  “I’ll take it,” he said. “And for an extra guinea, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  Theo was fighting an escalating desire to thrash the man. Annabel must have sensed his shift in mood because she jumped into the silence quickly. “Four guineas, then. Can I trust you are a man of your word?”

  The captain inclined his head. “Two passages, no questions, and no one will hear a word from me.”

  She stuck out her hand and they shook on it.

  “I’ll save a skiff for them. If they’re not on board in half an hour, I’ll set sail without them.” He swallowed down the rest of the ale and left to prepare his ship for departure.

  Annabel turned to Theo, her smile brilliant enough to make his chest ache. “This is turning out better than I expected.”

  It was true, aside from the greedy captain, they’d been lucky so far. Theo hoped their luck would hold, but he didn’t know if he’d ever been a very lucky man.

  They had almost reached the inn when Theo heard it…a voice, shouting his name. No, two voices. His heart sank.

  He turned, and his mouth dropped open in horror at the sight that greeted him—Georgina and Eleanor riding two Highland horses astride, their half-pinned hair flying out in wild spangles as they plummeted along the main road.

  They looked like complete heathens.

  But his horror at that was quickly supplanted by a new kind of horror as Georgina reined her horse to an abrupt halt less than ten feet from them.

  She took a few quick, shallow breaths before she managed to speak. “He’s coming. The viscount. He’s on his way.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Tell me what
happened,” Theo said as he ushered his sisters up the stairs to their rooms.

  “The viscount returned to Llynmore Castle, not long after dawn,” Georgina said, still breathing a little heavily. “He said he had more questions for Annabel… There was nothing we could do. We had to tell him she was gone.”

  “He was immediately suspicious,” Eleanor said.

  “We told him she went to Fort William. We followed him when he left, to see which way he would go…” Georgina swallowed. “He followed the cart tracks. He was traveling in this direction when we snuck back to the castle.”

  “How did you arrive before he did?”

  “Well,” Georgina said, shifting a bit guiltily. “He was limited to the roads. We took a shortcut.”

  Through bog-infested moors. He grimaced. He’d reprimand them later for putting their lives in danger. Right now, he had to figure out what they needed to do. “How long will it take him to reach Oban?”

  Georgina and Eleanor looked at each other. “Fifteen minutes, perhaps? Twenty?”

  “There might still be time to get them on the ship. We need to move quickly,” Annabel said.

  “And we need someone to watch for Westburgh,” Theo added.

  “I can do that,” Georgina said, her eyes shimmering with excitement. Theo wondered what he’d done to deserve sisters who seemed to have no concept of self-preservation. “Do we need a signal? I know…I’ll make a lapwing’s call if I see him.”

  Theo felt like tearing at his hair. “What does a lapwing sound like?”

  “Theo,” Eleanor said disapprovingly. “We spent weeks traveling through the country, and you don’t know what a lapwing sounds like?”

  “I didn’t realize I’d be tested on the matter,” he returned sarcastically.

  “I’ll demonstrate,” Georgina said. She took a deep breath, and then made a shrill noise that sounded like peeee-wit. “Or sometimes it’s just more of an eeeeee.”

  Theo stared at her. “That sounds alarmingly like a real bird.”

  “It might work,” Annabel said. She glanced at him.