Twilight with the Infamous Earl

by Alexandra Hawkins

  She hissed in surprise when he delicately bit the visible line of her collarbone, but Frost was far from finished. As she arched her back, his mouth moved to her breast. She gasped and longed to push him away as he suckled at her. Instead, she threaded her fingers through his dark hair. Touching him calmed her. He licked her nipple, and she slowly became aware of the dampness between her legs. Her breasts tingled and the sensation was nothing she had ever experienced.

  “You must stop.”

  Frost paused and met her worried gaze. “Why, dear lady?”

  “Something is wrong.”

  Frost grinned at her. “Show me where you ache. Is it here?” He cupped her other breast and lightly squeezed.

  “Yes.”

  His hand moved to her belly. “What about here?”

  Emily nodded. “A bit, and lower,” she admitted, concern warring with shame.

  “Ah,” he said, the intensity in his blue gaze spellbinding. “Guide my hand and show me.”

  Awkwardly, she covered the hand he had resting on her stomach and directed him to the wetness clinging to the hair between her legs. “This is—”

  Not normal, she thought.

  “Desire, Emily.” Beneath her hand, his fingers sought the sensitive flesh protected within her feminine folds. “It is primal, disturbing, chaotic, and most of all, it is pleasure. The sort that shoots you straight into the heavens, shatters you into a million pieces, and then puts you together again. Once you have experienced it, you will never be the same person.”

  She gasped.

  “Your body is aroused and hungers for completion. What you are feeling is healthy and natural. You needn’t fear it,” he whispered seductively. “Stop fighting it. Now close your eyes.”

  Emily knew it was futile to argue with him, so she complied. Perhaps if she could not see him, she could manage the overwhelming feelings his kisses and caresses evoked. She shivered, not understanding how she could be cold when her flesh burned under the scorching heat of his breath.

  “That’s right, love,” he said, approvingly. “Move your leg. Aye, like that. Just concentrate on the pleasure.”

  She smiled as he lightly bit her hipbone. His manhood pressed against her thigh as he positioned himself between her legs. He had promised her that he sought only to please her, but the hard length of masculine flesh reminded her that Frost was denying himself his own release.

  “Touch yourself … here.” He guided her hands to her breasts. “When you are alone, have you ever caressed yourself?”

  “No!”

  He chuckled. “You should. It is no sin to learn how you like to be touched. It would please me, knowing that you were thinking of me when you touched your breasts or rubbed the sweet little nubbin … ah, here.”

  Frost demonstrated with his mouth. Emily sucked in her breath and tried to twist away from the brazen claiming, but he was stronger. He simply grabbed her hips and held her in place.

  How did he expect her to endure?

  Every time she moved, he used each wiggle to deepen his incredibly blatant kisses on the most intimate parts of her body. She had never imagined a man would touch her like this and enjoy it. Frost moaned with undisguised pleasure as he licked and teased the tender flesh and folds.

  Emily tried to remember to breathe. Her hands covered her aching breasts as she felt a flutter within her womb. Frost drank from the heart of her as if her desire flowed as freely as wine. What he was doing to her was shameful. She should tell him to stop. The words were stuck in her throat as he stroked her with his skillful fingers and that nimble tongue.

  Then she suddenly could not think at all.

  The warmth pooling in her loins ignited into flames. Emily cried out, her head whipping from side to side as Frost’s relentless claiming consumed her. Her womb clenched almost painfully, and intuitively she knew this man could ease the exquisite agony. She raised her hips off the bed and wholly gave herself to him.

  The tension that had racked Emily’s entire body gradually waned. She was breathless and weak, even though she had done little but savor the pleasure Frost had wrung from her body.

  “That was just a taste?” she asked in disbelief, her loins still quivering with residual energy from her release.

  Frost wiped his mouth on his sleeve and crawled up to recline next to her. He looked quite pleased with himself. “Aye, it is just the beginning. And I’ve kept my word. I promised pleasure and you’re still a virgin.”

  Emily had not given her virginity a thought when he had put his mouth on her. It was the danger of passion, she supposed. The pleasure given and received was so immense that when a person was ensnared, they would do anything to keep it.

  Though, she thought as she frowned, she had not given him anything. Emily rolled onto her side and glanced at the proof of his desire. “Frost, what about you? You haven’t—”

  She tried to touch the thick bulge at the front of his trousers, but he swiftly moved away from her.

  “Don’t,” he commanded as he sat up on the mattress. “My control is tenuous, Emily, and I am trying to be honorable.”

  “Honorable men do not sneak into a lady’s bedchamber.”

  His lips twitched with humor. “I suppose you are right. However, you can trust me to keep my promises.”

  Emily sat up and grabbed her nightgown, using it to cover herself. “Does it hurt?” She could not keep the worry out of her voice.

  Frost’s harsh expression softened at her question. “Yes, but I will survive. You needn’t fret about me.” He reached for his waistcoat.

  He was leaving.

  She sat in the middle of her bed, feeling drained and uncertain. “You could stay awhile.”

  “I can’t, Emily.” He walked over to her, fastening the buttons on the waistcoat. “If one of the servants caught us, or your family…” He shrugged. “It was reckless of me to come to you like this, but I could not help myself. Even so, I would not see you hurt because of my selfishness.”

  She nibbled her lip. “Are you leaving because we—I mean you—”

  He spared her from asking the uncomfortable question. “No. I want to stay with you. Christ, don’t make it any harder than it is.”

  Emily covered her mouth with her hand as she burst into a fit of giggles. She couldn’t help it.

  Frost’s eyes gleamed as his laughter blended with hers. “Witch,” he said affectionately. He kissed the tip of her nose. “I can assure you, it couldn’t get any harder.”

  He pressed a firm kiss on her mouth and moved away to collect his evening coat. “Put your nightgown on before I change my mind.”

  “Will I—?” It seemed foolish to ask when they might meet again.

  “What?” Frost glanced up. He smoothed the fabric down on his left sleeve.

  “My mother mentioned something about attending the theater this week. Will I … see you there, perhaps?” she asked, praying she didn’t sound dreadfully pathetic.

  “Of course.” He paused and noted her expression. “What? Did you think you’ve seen the last of me? Not a chance.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Frost regretted the necessity of leaving her.

  He congratulated himself on the control he had been able to exert when he had introduced Emily to her first taste of passion. The need to find his release in her sweet, warm body had almost been too much bear. His still-semi-erect cock was proof that her scent was calling to him. It clung to his fingers, coated his face and tongue, and lingered in his nostrils. If gaining her trust had not been so important, he would have proved that he could be a scoundrel and taken her virginity. To hell with his promises. As her body shimmered with the lingering effects of her release, he could have opened his trousers and pressed the head of his cock against the yielding opening of her sheath.

  Emily would not have refused him. He had seen the need in her eyes. As he walked through the front door of his residence, he told himself that he was a good man … an honorable man.

  Frost
glanced up to see Regan standing in the front hall.

  “Why, good evening, brat. What are you—”

  Regan marched up to him and slapped him hard across the face.

  “All of these years,” his sister raged. “How could you?”

  She raised her hand to strike him again, but he captured her wrist. “What is it? What’s happened?” Frost asked, baffled that Regan was so determined to maim him.

  The answer came to him almost immediately.

  His mother had revealed herself to her daughter. He could happily murder the hateful bitch.

  Frost hauled Regan into his arms and hugged her close. She fought him, impotently pounding at his chest. “Listen to me. I can explain.” Then she went limp in his arms and sobbed uncontrollably.

  He glanced up to see Dare standing in the doorway of the library. His brother-in-law’s enigmatic expression revealed how much of a mess he had created for himself. Frost also noticed that the marquess had two glasses of brandy in his hands. If he was a true friend, one of those glasses was for him.

  He would definitely need one after he had soothed his sister’s feelings.

  “Whoreson,” she mumbled against the front of Frost’s coat.

  Frost thought the charge was fitting.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, a calmer Regan sat in one of the chairs in his library. After her angry outburst, she had gone upstairs to wash her face. Frost was relieved to see upon her return that she was no longer crying. Regan was not the sort of lady who cried to manipulate those around her to get her way. When she cried, it was sincere, messy, and violent.

  She broke his heart.

  Dare had not pressed him for answers while they had waited for Regan. Frost was also grateful that his friend had not punched him for making his wife cry.

  “You shouldn’t have kept this from me,” she lashed out at him.

  “Obviously, I disagreed,” he drily replied. “The lady abandoned us. I saw no reason to involve you.”

  “Involve me?” Regan looked as stunned as he had been when he had discovered that their mother still lived. She took a sip of the brandy her husband had pressed into her hand, even though she thought the stuff was vile. It proved how rattled she was by the news. “Frost, this is our mother. How long have you known the truth?”

  Frost hesitated. His gaze shifted to Dare, and the man had the audacity to shrug. It was his friend’s way of telling him that he was leaving the decision up to him.

  There was no reason not to tell her the truth. “I learned of our mother’s miraculous resurrection a year before I sent you away to Miss Swann’s Academy.”

  He tensed when his sister’s lip trembled, but she managed to hold on to her composure.

  “When you sent me away, I thought you didn’t want me underfoot, disrupting your life,” she said wearily.

  Her admission was a kick to his heart. Although he refused to admit it, he had regretted sending her away. At the time, he had thought he had been doing the right thing. Her infatuation with Dare had given him the perfect excuse to take action.

  Frost scrubbed his face and thought of Emily, warm and asleep in her bed. At the moment, he would gladly toss his good intentions aside for another hour in her arms. However, that would have only put off the inevitable. Regan was feeling betrayed, and he had his mother to thank for this mess. “Utter nonsense. It killed me to send you away.”

  “Then why…” Her voice trailed off. “You sent me away so she couldn’t find me.”

  “Our mother abandons us to run off with her married lover, and I’m the cold, soulless blackguard,” he complained to Dare. “Let’s forget the fact that I was young and had no idea how to look after a young girl properly.”

  “Frost, I know you did your best.” Her face crumpled. “It was just a shock to see her sitting in my drawing room as if nothing had happened. After all of these years, she seemed so happy to see me. She wanted to meet Dare and Bishop. Then she began telling me that you have been keeping us apart for years. I was so confused when she finally left.”

  “Did she ask you for money?”

  Startled, she gasped. “What are you talking about?”

  “Money,” he said succinctly. “It is all our mother has ever wanted. I have been sending payments to her man of affairs for years. The only reason she approached you was to punish me for not giving her more.”

  “You’ve been paying her to stay away.”

  “It seemed like a reasonable condition to our original arrangement. You were so young when our father died, and then our mother disappeared. I was relieved when I heard that she had drowned. Her death gave you a chance to grieve and move on. Did she tell you that she approached me years ago, only to be turned away?”

  Her silence confirmed his suspicions.

  “She failed to mention that she came to me because she was lacking in funds. Her current lover had abandoned her, and she needed money to ensnare another poor fool.”

  “You make her sound like—”

  “What? A whore?” he sneered. “I have more respect for a prostitute. Our mother accepted my terms and turned her back on you without shedding a single tear of regret. You might want to remember that the next time you allow her near your son.”

  Leaning against the edge of Frost’s desk, Dare stirred from his stance. “I believe you, Frost.”

  “Thank you,” he huffed. Frost had dealt with enough people who had challenged his intentions this evening.

  Regan had a miserable look on her face. He wanted to throttle their mother for upsetting Regan. She had won the battle, but he was not finished with the woman.

  “It’s not that I don’t believe what you are telling me is true.”

  Frost winced, trying not to be hurt by the lingering doubt he heard in her voice. “Feel free to visit my solicitor if you need proof,” he said, sounding as if he didn’t care one way or the other.

  “Your word is good enough for us,” Dare said. “Once Regan calms down, she’ll realize that you were just trying to protect her.”

  His friend’s words eased the tension in Frost’s gut. “You sound certain.”

  “I am.” Dare grinned. “If you recall, you even tried to protect her from me.”

  Frost snorted. “And don’t think I don’t often regret it, gent.”

  Regan shot up from her chair and dashed straight into his arms. He hesitated, and then wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t doubt you. I just think your anger has colored your opinion of our mother. There is a possibility that she regrets the decisions she has made.”

  Doubtful.

  “I won’t stop you from seeing her.” Frost ignored Dare’s soft choke of laughter. No one controlled Regan. Especially not the men in her life. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  She nodded, her cheek pressed against his chest. “I know. I love you, Frost.”

  He rubbed the top of her head with his chin. “I love you, too, brat.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next afternoon, one of Frost’s servants delivered a bouquet of chrysanthemums to the Cavell residence. The footman handed Lord Chillingsworth’s card to the butler, and said the flowers were for Miss Cavell.

  “How odd,” her mother said when she had come to admire the flowers. “All the blooms are red.”

  “What is wrong with red?” Emily demanded. Frost had sent her flowers. She was pleased by his thoughtfulness.

  “Nothing. It is a lovely color,” her mother said, plucking one of the blooms from the vase and reinserting it until she was satisfied with the arrangement. “One expects some variety, that’s all.”

  “Red hair.”

  Emily glanced over at her father, who was occupied with his paper. “Were you speaking to us, Father?”

  Her sixty-year-old father peered over the top of his paper. “This man who sent you the flowers. It is to pay homage to your hair.” He set down his paper. “By the by, who is this gentleman?”

  Her sister sat at one of th
e tables near the windows writing a letter. “Lord Chillingsworth. He is Emily’s suitor.”

  “He is not my suitor,” Emily weakly protested. She could not imagine Frost courting anyone. “He is a friend. Do you recall me mentioning Lady Regan? Well, she has married and is currently Lady Pashley. Lord Chillingsworth is her brother.”

  “I will admit that he did seem much taken with our Emily,” her mother said. She adjusted another bloom. “Do you know what he’s worth?”

  Emily glowered at her mother. “No. And it would be rude to inquire.”

  “I would ask his sister.” This from Judith. “It isn’t rude when you ask a friend.”

  “If this gentleman has taken a keen interest in you, Em, it would prudent to make a few inquiries about him,” her father said, coming to his feet. “I won’t have a fortune hunter chasing after my daughter.”

  “Lord Chillingsworth is not a fortune hunter.” Emily followed her father out into the hall. “If he attends the theater, I will introduce him to you. You will see for yourself.”

  Her father halted and studied her face. “You like him.”

  Emily’s face warmed under her father’s perusal. “He is tolerable company.”

  Frost would have been amused by her bland description of their friendship. Last evening, Frost had lain between her bare legs and used his tongue in a manner that would likely cause her to blush every time she thought of it for the next twenty years.

  Her father’s smile faded. “Enjoy yourself, Em, but there is no reason to be hasty. Your sister—” He tilted his head to see if his wife was listening. Satisfied that she wasn’t, he continued. “Lucy wasn’t as sensible as you. Maybe if she had taken her time, not rushed into marriage with Leventhorpe, she would still be with us.”

  “Oh, Father,” Emily whispered, impulsively embracing him. She was not the only one still grieving for her sister.

  He patted her on the shoulder and stepped back. “Don’t let your mother rush you into marriage. I want you to be happy.”

  Emily cleared her throat. “You have nothing to worry about. Lord Chillingsworth is just a friend.”