Taking the Earl (Heiress Games Book 3)

by Sara Ramsey

  She almost didn’t want to know anymore. But she said, in a low voice, “Tell me the rest. I’ll keep your secrets.”

  He came back to her, sinking on the daybed as though the weight of his memories was now too much to bear. “I scaled the wall of a house and stole a lady’s silver comb and mirror. A footman caught me before I could escape. I was locked up for weeks waiting for a trial. By the time my turn came at the quarter day courts, I was prepared for what would happen. That crime should have resulted in execution. Transportation at the very least. I assumed I would never see any of my family again.”

  He discussed his own execution with all the sang froid of a hardened criminal. But she imagined herself at twelve, and how it would have felt to spend weeks imprisoned — the fear, the loneliness, and likely the disease and hunger. He would have been a child surrounded by adults, some of whom had done very bad things.

  Then she imagined Julia in that position. She couldn’t help the renewed flare of anger that Max’s family had left him to his fate, no matter how distant they were or how precarious their own situations might have been.

  He continued without her prompting this time. “The magistrate was — still is — rather infamous for corruption. If you could pay your way out of a punishment, he’d take the bribe. Or, if you could perform some service that he needed, he might let you go — but always with the knowledge that he could reel you back in later if you disobeyed him.”

  “Did you bribe him?” she asked.

  He shook his head tightly. “The coins I’d gathered with my petty thieving weren’t nearly enough for his fee. But he liked finding younger boys who could read — easier to use them to keep his books, then dispose of them if they learned any secrets he needed to bury. He has a whole network of informants and blackmailers. And the men he used to oversee us were quite creative in their punishments if you disobeyed him.”

  His voice was dry, clinical. He’d pulled away from her, perhaps subconsciously — his body was hunched, minimized, as though he was curling in on himself. As though he was protecting himself from a whip.

  He was a grown man, so strong that she couldn’t imagine anyone but the biggest brute getting the better of him in a fight. But now she wondered why he’d honed his body so well — and what on earth could still make him afraid.

  He spoke of the magistrate in the present tense. Was that the clue to everything?

  “You do realize that he can’t harm you if you’re the earl, right?” she said. “If he’s as corrupt as you say he is, there’s no chance that he would risk drawing attention to himself by attacking you.”

  “Maybe,” Max said dismissively. “I’ve reason to believe he won’t let me go so easily, though.”

  “But you must have escaped him before this if you own a shop.”

  “I don’t own a shop,” he said, sudden and harsh as though he had to rip all her illusions away at once. “Yes, I escaped the magistrate several years ago. But I’m sure he’s always kept an eye on me. If I attacked any of his interests, he’d send thief-takers after me on some trumped-up charge. I’d be hung before you could blink.”

  “Not if you’re the earl,” Lucy said, just as stubborn as he was. “Why can’t you see that?”

  “And why can’t you see that he can hurt you even more easily than he can hurt me?” Max retorted. “Especially if he discovers Julia. It would only take one gossip column to ruin you both, wouldn’t it?”

  She gaped at him. “Is that why you don’t want to stay? Because you think I’ll be hurt?”

  “I don’t just think it,” he said. “I know it. Look at your life, Lucy. You’re safe here. You have unimaginable wealth. You have servants to care for your every need. You have Julia, who obviously loves you. I would only make your life worse.”

  She was so shocked that she had to remind herself to close her jaw. “Then why bother coming here? Why try to claim the earldom if you thought this magistrate would follow you around England like some evil villain from a storybook?”

  She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. He narrowed his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a villain he can be. Have you ever been beaten for spilling ink? Starved if you couldn’t bring back enough coins from a day of thieving? Locked in a coal cellar for days on end until it felt like you’d never escape the darkness? Had someone threaten to track down and execute your family if you didn’t behave?”

  Lucy couldn’t answer that.

  He laughed grimly. “I thought not. I wouldn’t want you or Julia to ever see a tenth of what I grew up with. It’s best if you don’t get attached to me.”

  She took a breath. They were going around in circles. She was sure that his problems could be solved with an earldom. He was sure that his problems would hurt her too much.

  But that was all on the surface. Below the argument, beneath all their doubts, there was one fact she was certain of.

  “I want to get attached to you,” she said, almost whispering it. “No matter what you did or who might harm you.”

  He closed his eyes. For a moment, the despair on his face was so stark that he looked like one of the mourning angels carved into the Maidenstone mausoleum. “Don’t tempt me, Lucy,” he said, somewhere between an order and a prayer. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

  She put her hands over his. “I know exactly what I’m asking for. You’re intelligent, kind, and you make me laugh. Julia liked you. The servants like you. You did everything you could to survive and protect your family. Why wouldn’t I want you as my partner?”

  She’d said nothing about love. She was aiming for the rational argument that might convince him, not an emotional declaration that could overwhelm him. But rationality couldn’t compete with all his doubts.

  “Those are nice compliments,” he said. “But you forgot the rest of it. I’m a thief. Not a Robin Hood kind of thief — I targeted whatever I could take, whether the victims deserved it or not. They mostly didn’t. I’ve lied, stolen, and manipulated so much that I can barely imagine another kind of life. I’ll never be the man you deserve, Lucy.”

  “That’s only the case if you believe it,” she retorted. “After all, you don’t deserve a woman who speaks her mind too freely, is raising another man’s child out of wedlock, and attempts to manage everything in sight.”

  Max grinned. “When you put it like that, we’re both shockingly undesirable.”

  The joke made her smile, but she suspected that her grin was just as crooked and unhappy as his was. “Briarley contra mundum is your motto now as much as mine. Maybe we’re unsuitable for everyone else. But it could be us against the world if you chose to stay.”

  They both fell silent. Lucy realized she was holding her breath. The grotto was a space of golden light, filtered through vines that cast no shadows at midday. Outside, the garden was turning toward the decay of autumn and the inevitable frost, but the grotto was still full of summer scents and quiet promise.

  He’d said she was like a princess in a fairy tale, destined to stay at Maidenstone. In this light, with the grotto protecting them, it felt like he was right.

  But in the fairy tales, the princesses were cursed. The castles were prisons. The princes were too charming. The love at the end was too convenient, too unlikely to last.

  She didn’t want any of that. She wanted Max. She wanted adventure. She wanted to be the woman she could have been, at least once, before their time ran out.

  “Kiss me, Max,” she whispered. “If you can’t stay forever, at least stay for an hour.”

  He closed his eyes. The span of time while she waited for his answer might have been forever. She looked at his face — at the strong plane of his jaw and the small scars that his awful childhood had earned him. If she was destined to live without him, she would have to find a sculptor to immortalize him. She could turn out every bit as crazy as her ancestors, driven mad by her loss and worshipping a statue of the love who had abandoned her.

  But this wasn’t a fairy tale.
She wasn’t destined to lose him — at least, not yet.

  He opened his eyes. “No matter what happens, I want you to know…I would have chosen forever if I could have.”

  His voice was broken. She heard the end of the story in it. But they weren’t on the last chapter yet. He reached out a hand, touching her cheek.

  He still wore his riding gloves. The feel of leather on her skin added something darkly erotic as his fingers trailed over her jaw. She leaned into his touch — craving the comfort of his hands and the feel of his mouth on hers.

  If they didn’t talk, she could let her dreams live for another few moments. Let the rest of the world sort itself out without them.

  He untied her bonnet. The slow unraveling of satin made her shiver. “I can’t kiss you properly if our hats are in the way,” he said, dropping her bonnet to the stone floor.

  Their eyes met. He didn’t look at her like a man intending to make a conquest. He looked at her as though he couldn’t breathe without her. As though he had to memorize her in case he never saw her again.

  Her heart raced. She knew how kissing worked. She liked kissing. But the excitement, the wonder, the heat of this moment was something else entirely.

  She pulled his top hat from his head, sending it to join her bonnet on the floor. His hair was a mess, sticking out in half a dozen directions. She couldn’t help herself — she ran her hands through it, mussing it even more. Then, with her fingers twining behind his neck, she pulled him in.

  When their lips met, everything combusted. She was so hungry for him. The little moans she made as their tongues met weren’t ladylike at all.

  But this wasn’t about ladies and gentlemen. This wasn’t the time for slow, sweet lovemaking, covered up in sheets and blankets like blushing virgins. They both knew she wasn’t one. And anyway, if she was going to lose him, she wouldn’t give him up sooner than necessary by feigning propriety she didn’t feel.

  His hands were suddenly everywhere. One cupped her head, angling her so he could deepen his kiss. His other skimmed over her collarbone, then down, to the buttons that kept her short spencer closed over her dress. He unbuttoned it. She let him pull it off her arms even as she kept kissing him. He loosened the bodice of her dress enough to reach his goal, sliding his hand under the fabric to cup her breast.

  He still wore his gloves. It felt deliciously deviant, but the illicit thrill couldn’t match how his skin would feel. “Take off your gloves,” she whispered, pulling away from his mouth to make her desires known.

  He grinned, slow and hot, with an intent that made her quiver. “Wanting to see how good a thief can be with his finger work?”

  How were his words enough to send her to the brink? Desire unfurled inside her as she thought, unbidden, of all the wonderful things his fingers could do. “You can have anything you can steal from me.”

  His eyes flickered. But if her words had reminded him too much of his past, he didn’t let it stop him. He stripped his gloves off, holding eye contact the entire time. Then he pulled her hands into his and removed her gloves as well. The contrast between her hand and his — one soft and unmarked, the other callused and scarred — was striking.

  He closed his hand over hers. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked, looking down at where their fingers met as though he couldn’t believe what she was offering him.

  She nodded. “Give me an adventure, Max.”

  His hand tightened over hers. But he didn’t argue. They’d already said everything.

  And there was no denying they wanted each other. He kissed her again, slower this time, as though he intended to make the moment last as long as possible. His lips demanded everything, keeping her in the kiss until she felt like she was drowning in it, keeping her so focused on they way their tongues explored each other that she was rendered mindless to everything else.

  It wasn’t until her hair tumbled down her back that she realized he’d stolen all her hairpins.

  “You’re good at this, aren’t you?” she said, shoving a hand through her hair in an attempt to pull it into order.

  “The best,” he said. “At stealing, anyway.”

  “Let’s see what else you can take.”

  She was teasing, but something made him freeze. He looked toward the entrance. The vines weren’t heavy enough to completely hide them from view. “What are the chances that someone will discover us?” he asked.

  “Almost none,” Lucy said. “I’ve instructed the gardeners to encourage guests to stay away from this area — I didn’t want anyone to walk down the path toward Julia’s house.”

  “And the gardeners?”

  “They won’t say anything if they hear us,” she said. She touched his face, directing his gaze back to her. “There’s no danger here. And I can get us back into the house without anyone seeing.”

  Finally, the last of his reserve slipped. He kissed her again. This time, she knew there would be no stopping.

  Their clothing went in waves, falling to the floor as they came up for air between kisses. It felt so daring, so insane, to strip down to nothing with only a few vines and luck to protect them — but for the first time in ages, she felt like she was doing what she was meant to do. Not what she was supposed to do, not what she was trained to do — what she was meant to do.

  She was still wearing her chemise and stockings when Max stopped to look at her. “You’re so beautiful, Lucy. I hope you know that.”

  She was rather too focused on his chest to care what he thought of hers. He was only wearing his riding breeches now, which left little to the imagination. His chest was all rippling muscles and old scars. A trail of hair led down his flat stomach, disappearing under the falls of his breeches. She wanted to kiss every scar and lick her way down his body….

  “Did you hear me?” he said.

  “Shut up, Max,” she said, pushing him down onto the daybed so she could do exactly what she wanted with him.

  He laughed, low and throaty. His laugh turned into a groan when she licked one of his nipples. “Beautiful, direct, daring,” he said, each word drawn out on a gasp as she turned her attention from pleasure to torture. “You’re incredible, Lucy. Remember that.”

  She didn’t respond. She pressed a kiss on the scar closest to his heart.

  She almost said the words that her lips wanted to say. She almost, almost told him that she loved him.

  She couldn’t, though. She used her body to tell him instead. She slid her hands over him, finding the buttons of his breeches and freeing him from the fabric. He groaned as she took his manhood in her hand. He was already so hard; he wouldn’t need any help getting ready for her.

  She straddled him, kneeling above him without putting her weight on his thighs. She wanted so badly to make this good for him — to give him so much pleasure that he couldn’t dream of leaving her. She reached between them to guide his cock….

  He grabbed her wrist. “I haven’t given you nearly enough pleasure yet,” he grated out.

  She pulled his hand to her breast instead. “You’ve given me far more than you know. This is the first time I’ve been able to do exactly what I want. Let me enjoy the ride?”

  He groaned again, dropping his head back on the daybed. “I knew you’d be the death of me someday.”

  He sounded like he didn’t mind at all if she killed him. She smiled, trying to keep all thoughts of the future out of her head so that she could enjoy this moment, this man. The shadows were still there, but it was easy to ignore them when his hands came up to her hips. He skimmed them up under her chemise, shoving the material higher. “If you’re going to ride me, I want to watch you enjoy it,” he said.

  He was looking at her sex. She was self-conscious, suddenly, thinking of the marks on her stomach — souvenirs from her pregnancy.

  But whatever he saw didn’t stop him from wanting to please her — and God, did he please her. He slid his fingers under her and stroked her in a leisurely manner that somehow felt merciless — merciless b
ecause all she wanted was more, and he somehow knew exactly how to make her tremble without letting her come.

  “Max,” she said, her voice breathless. “No more games. I need….”

  She couldn’t complete the thought. His fingers moved faster, more intently, as he rubbed against her most sensitive nub. She arched up and he slid two fingers inside her, burying them as his thumb continued to torment her. She writhed on his hand, driven beyond the point of need, beyond the point of caring what they were doing or whether he was leaving or who might catch them. She touched her breasts, trying to add enough sensation to send herself over the edge when he was clearly holding her back. All she wanted was for him to go faster, deeper, his fingers curling up inside her against a spot she’d never realized was so sensitive….

  The rush of pleasure shocked her, coming over her so fast that she almost thought she’d blacked out. Everything coalesced at the point where his fingers touched her. She clenched around him, senseless yet incredibly sensitive, not wanting to let him go as her orgasm rocked her.

  As the waves subsided, she collapsed on him. He grunted as she sat on his legs. But when she finally opened her eyes to look at him, his smile was supremely satisfied. “Did my finger work pass muster?” he asked.

  She grinned, flirting rather than thanking him. “Good enough for the moment. But you didn’t steal anything. I’d gladly give whatever you think you took.”

  He lifted his other hand and she saw one of her garters wrapped around his fist. “Then I think I’ll be keeping this,” he said.

  She laughed, leaning down to kiss him. He met her halfway. She was still coming down from the aftershocks, but she wanted him so badly — but not badly enough to forget that time was passing around them, and that the end was coming.

  So when he whispered, “Ride me, princess,” the dirty command thrilled her. She took him inside her easily — she was so wet from what his fingers and words had done to her that he slipped into her without any pain, just a delicious feeling of fullness. She’d never been on top before — Chapman’s few attempts with her had been mostly quick, unexciting, and entirely determined by his pleasure. But she discovered that this position let her take her time. She controlled the tempo, the angle. Max urged her on, his hands roving over her breasts and occasionally dropping to her hips, but she reveled in the feeling that she could bring them both to pleasure.