Twilight with the Infamous Earl

by Alexandra Hawkins

  “I do not believe that is possible, my lord.”

  “I would trail kisses up your finely formed calves.” His hand slipped under her petticoat and possessively moved up her leg. “The back of your knees. Another spot worthy of my attentions.”

  “You must stop,” she begged. “Someone might come.”

  If he continued, it might well be him. “Silly girl, the doors are locked, and I have the key.”

  Her lips curved into a sly smile. “Do you?”

  Emily opened her hand, revealing the key.

  She had managed to surprise him. “You naughty girl,” he scolded, tickling her just above the knee and making her laugh. “You hoodwinked me.”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding rather pleased with herself.

  Frost found the notion very arousing. His cock always seemed to be aware of the lady. “Keep the key,” he said generously as he found the long slit in her drawers. “Some locks need a delicate touch.”

  “Frost.” She tried to glare at him, but she bit her lip at his touch.

  “You’re wet, Miss Cavell,” he murmured, pleased by the discovery. She might have been vexed, but she still desired him. “Have you thought how it felt when I tasted the honey between your legs?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Liar.” He pressed his fingers against the opening of her sheath. His fingers sank into her. “There is no shame in liking my touch. I enjoyed giving you pleasure. Last night, when I was alone in my bed, I thought of the taste of you on my tongue while I touched myself.”

  “You shouldn’t speak about—”

  “Of what?” He slid a thumb up the damp slit between her legs and rubbed the sensitive nubbin. “Just thinking of you hardens my cock until it bursts with hot seed.”

  “It’s unseemly,” she protested, which ended in a low moan. “I shouldn’t … you shouldn’t be talking to me like this.”

  Frost kept stroking her, sensing the fever was building in her. Slick with her arousal, his fingers slipped deeper. “You should be pleased that you have so much power over me. That I worship you … would kill any man who tried to touch you.”

  Emily’s eyes widened at his declaration. “I don’t—there is no one else I—”

  Before she could cry out, Frost covered his mouth with hers, drinking in her release. Her muffled sob brought him close to spilling his seed. He knew how to extend her pleasure, and his skilled, nimble fingers kneaded and stroked her drenched flesh as the sensitive muscles of her sheath pulsed against his hand.

  With the scent of her release intoxicating him, Frost blindly reached for the buttons of his trousers. He needed to place his cock against her. The feel of her flesh against his would assuage the lust he was feeling. He could take care of himself later. Or maybe he could convince her to watch as he—

  “Lord Chillingsworth, are you in there?”

  Frost and Emily froze at the sound of Lady Gittens’s voice. How had Maryann found him? He placed a finger to his lips as he gently removed his other hand from Emily’s skirt. The poor girl was too embarrassed to protest. Her face was an alarming red, and he worried that she might faint. He helped her sit up and smoothed down her skirt.

  “Persistent chit,” he muttered, sending Emily an apologetic glance. “She must have followed me from the ballroom. This isn’t my faul—”

  Emily jumped up from the sofa and walked to the other side of the room. “You had better go,” she said, her gaze as remote as her voice. “She obviously believes you and she are not—Just go.”

  With the scent of her on his hand, he tugged on his gloves. “Em…”

  “Go,” she fiercely whispered.

  “I need the key.”

  Emily threw it at him. He caught it out of the air and sighed. Maryann had a lot to answer for. Never in his life had he regretted bedding a woman.

  He marched over to Emily and kissed her hard on the mouth.

  “We are not finished,” he said, giving her a light shake to get her to meet his eyes. “I will escort Lady Gittens back to the ballroom so you can slip out unnoticed.”

  “Frost?”

  Emily cast a stony look at the door. “Your Lady Gittens is waiting for you.”

  “She is not my—” He gave up. Emily was in no mood to listen to him. “We will discuss this matter later.”

  He headed for the door.

  “If you find the time, pray give your former mistress my regards,” she said cattily.

  Frost winced, realizing that even sweet Emily had claws when she felt cornered. He glanced back, but she had turned her back on him. Muttering to himself, he jabbed the key into the lock and opened the door. He was through the narrow opening and had the door shut before the startled Maryann could glimpse the lady who had replaced her.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “A moment if you please, Miss Cavell,” Lord Leventhorpe said, catching her as she passed the library.

  Emily curtsied and pasted a smile on her face for the man who had once been betrothed to her sister. “Good evening, my lord. I was not aware that you were in attendance this evening.”

  He bowed over her hand. “I had paid my respects to your parents earlier, but they had lost sight of you in the ballroom.”

  There was a slight censure to his inflection, though she could not understand why he would concern himself about her whereabouts.

  “It is quite the crush,” Emily said, dreading her return to the ballroom.

  Frost had assured her that his relationship with Lady Gittens was over and done with, and she believed him. His expression had grown rather fierce when he heard the woman call out his name. Nevertheless, she had no desire to watch him and his former mistress together, even if he was cutting all ties with her.

  Emily was also uncertain whether she wanted to see Frost. Every time he put his hands on her, he was pulling her deeper into his sensual web. The things he had done to her with his hands and mouth intrigued and frightened her.

  With each encounter, she was finding it more difficult to resist him.

  Lord Leventhorpe placed his hands behind his back as they strolled together. “I am pleased to see you again, Miss Cavell. Or may I call you Emily? After all, we were almost family.”

  “Of course. I would be honored if you called me Emily.”

  He offered her his arm, and she saw no reason to refuse him.

  “Wonderful. Even though Lucy and I never married, I like to think of you as my younger sister. Or is that too forward?”

  Emily thought of Frost pushing her down onto the sofa and slipping his hand under her skirt. “Forward?” she echoed. “Not at all. I know my parents think of you still as a member of our family.”

  “You honor me.” They walked in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “Actually, I was planning to call on you this week. I hope you do not view me as indelicate, but I had a personal favor to ask of you.”

  “Me?” She could not imagine what Lord Leventhorpe might require from her. “How may I be of service?”

  “It’s about Lucy, Miss Cavell—uh, Emily.” A look of discomfort crossed his face. “I realize you were with her at the end.”

  “Yes.”

  “After her death, I assume you went through her belongings. Did you find any letters?”

  Puzzled, she halted and stared at him. “Letters? What sort of letters?”

  “Lucy was a beautiful woman. She was loved by all and had countless friends. I know she kept in touch with many of them when she was not residing in London. I thought you might have found them.”

  “I don’t recall there being any letters, my lord,” she replied with candor. “Why do you ask?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “As the risk of making a fool of myself, I was hoping to read any letters that you might have found. Reading words that were meant for my beloved Lucy would bring me closer to her.”

  Emily had not realized Lord Leventhorpe was still in love with her sister.

  “It doesn’t make you foolish.
I think it is rather sweet,” she said. “If you wish, I could ask my mother about it. Perhaps she tucked them away somewhere.”

  Nodding, he patted her hand. “I would be in your debt, Emily. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, giving him a genuine smile.

  “Are you returning to the ballroom?” At her nod, he continued, “I would be honored if you would be my partner in a dance of your choosing. If you have other plans, you do not have to accept—”

  “Not at all,” she said, relieved that she would not have to enter the ballroom alone. “I would love to dance with you.”

  * * *

  Frost stalked into the ballroom in search of Emily. He had pulled Maryann aside and made it clear one again that their physical relationship had ended. While it had been enjoyable, he had no interest in pursuing her inside or outside the bedchamber. The widow had not taken it well. There had been copious amounts of tears and anger. The definitive parting had ended with a slap, because the furious woman knew another lady held his affections.

  “You are a cold bastard, Chillingsworth. You are incapable of loving anyone,” she had tearfully raged at him.

  Frost did not argue with the woman. Maryann was angry, but he had not whispered pretty lies into her ear to get her into bed. She had entered their relationship with her eyes wide open, proclaiming that she was an enlightened woman who understood their arrangement was purely physical.

  The spitting, embittered woman who had hurled curses at his head when she had taken her leave had fooled herself into believing that she loved him.

  Frost regretted hurting her. He had liked her, enjoyed her company for a brief time, but only his cock had been truly engaged in their relationship.

  He wondered if he could convince Emily to return downstairs to that small anteroom that connected to the library. He wanted to see her laughing up at him as he pressed her into the sofa and kissed her until she was breathless. After Maryann’s unwelcome appearance, he doubted it, but he would settle for teasing her until she blushed.

  The heat in the ballroom had increased during his absence. If not for Emily, he would have departed hours earlier. Frost casually walked the boundary of the large room in the hope of catching a glimpse of the lady. It wasn’t until he reached the area that had been put aside for dancing that he noticed her. She had partnered with Lord Fothergill.

  Didn’t she have any sense? What was she doing dancing with that bounder? The man was also a terrible shot. Years ago, he had fought an infamous duel with Lord Quinton over a mistress. Quinton had lost part of his left ear because of the man’s unsteady hand.

  Frost took a step forward when Emily smiled at Fothergill.

  “I recognize that particular look in your eye, and I wouldn’t recommend it,” Sin said, crossing his arms.

  Together they observed Emily and Fothergill maneuver the lively steps of a country dance.

  “I wasn’t going to hurt him,” Frost protested. Much. He shrugged. “At least, I would have allowed him to limp away.”

  “Fothergill isn’t the only gent you have to worry about,” his friend said, sounding as if he was struggling not to laugh. “During your absence from the ballroom, Miss Cavell has had a flock of suitors vying for a dance.”

  His vision dimmed as his eyes narrowed on the dancing couple. It took him a minute to recognize the emotion that was making his head pound. Jealousy. He was rarely inflicted with the sentiment, and he disliked it. He had teased Emily about her reaction toward his former mistress, and now he felt as if he owed her an apology.

  Well, until she slipped away to flirt with other gentlemen.

  “Who?”

  Sin gave him an assessing glance, probably debating on whether he should give him the names. “Lord Leventhorpe, Lord Golland, Hunter’s cousin—and if you ask, he will gladly throttle the gent for you—two young gentlemen who look young enough to make me feel old, and now Fothergill.”

  “Who were the lads?” Though Frost suspected he knew who had been sniffing around Emily.

  “It was the twins. You know the ones. I don’t recall their names,” he said carelessly. “Frost, I am not the only one who has noticed that you have been behaving rather oddly. You seem distracted, easily provoked, and your interest in Miss Cavell is concerning your sister.”

  “Regan should pay more attention to the viper she has allowed into her life,” Frost said, still unhappy with his mother’s bid to reenter their lives. “As for Miss Cavell, the lady is no one’s business but mine.”

  His friend did not immediately reply. Finally, he said, “She is unlike your usual conquests.”

  “You must be referring to her virginity,” Frost said, amused that Sin would attempt to lecture him.

  Before his marriage to Juliana, the marquess had carnal appetites that rivaled his own. And the man’s fondness and clever uses for pearl necklaces were well known in certain circles. Frost would wager that several of the pearl necklaces he had noticed around the necks of many ladies this evening had been treasured keepsakes from Sin’s wilder days.

  “Don’t fret about Miss Cavell.” The dance with Fothergill had ended, and he was eager to approach her before she returned to her family. “She enjoys my company, and you know better than to suggest that I would hurt a lady.”

  He ruthlessly squelched any guilt he might have been feeling for Lady Gittens. The widow had known what she had been taking on when she had approached Frost. It was not his fault the lady had allowed her feelings to cloud over her sound judgment.

  What he and Emily had was a different sort of friendship. Frost mentally shied away from defining it, but he could not think of another woman who baffled, infuriated, and drove him mad with lust all at once. She intrigued him so much he had been willing to break his rule about dallying with virgins.

  “I know you wouldn’t physically harm a woman, Frost,” Sin said quietly. “Even so, there are other ways to hurt a lady like Miss Cavell. You are being selfish, and you know it.”

  He was being selfish.

  Admittedly, he was flirting with danger by pursuing Emily Cavell. Her sister had uttered his name on her deathbed, which still troubled him. Lucy had been one of the few ladies he’d had no interest in bedding. It was just his rotten luck the lady was bedeviling him in death. Emily had assured him that she believed his avowals of innocence. Or at least she had until she had seen him with Maryann. Had her doubts returned? The notion that her trust might be conditional annoyed him, but he only had himself to blame.

  Frost sensed the moment Emily had noticed him. She had been thanking that damn bounder Fothergill, and suddenly her gaze met his. Had she been aware of him all along? He wondered if she would stay or try to run from him again.

  “Stay out of my business, Sin,” he said lazily. “Our history and my love for you will not prevent me from breaking your nose.”

  “Stubborn arse,” Sin muttered under his breath.

  “Always.”

  Frost had lost interest in their conversation. He walked away to see if he could coax Emily into dancing with him.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Emily was stunned when Frost casually sauntered up to her and bowed. She assumed he preferred to be discreet about their friendship, since there would be speculation about his intentions.

  “Miss Cavell.” He bowed low, lifting his gaze and captivating her with his turquoise-blue gaze. “You have collected a few admirers in my absence.”

  “Lord Chillingsworth,” she replied, with a curtsy. “I see you have lost yours.”

  God willing, if there were other former lovers of his in the ballroom, they would have the good sense to keep their distance.

  The orchestra played a waltz. Without asking, he swept her up into his arms and they began to dance. She had never danced with him, and yet they moved together as if they had waltzed countless times.

  “You needn’t worry about Lady Gittens,” he said, moving with enviable grace. “Any hope of reconciliation has been dowsed, and
the lady has departed on her own terms.”

  “So she slapped you.”

  “Hard enough to rattle my teeth,” he conceded, revealing white perfect teeth. “Though I could scarcely complain.”

  “Indeed,” Emily said, relishing his embrace as they danced. She felt the curious stares of various members of the ton. “We are being observed.”

  His eyebrow arched in feigned astonishment. “Does it bother you to be seen with me?”

  Emily took a few seconds to think about it. “No. What about you?”

  “Let them watch.” He lowered his voice for her ears alone. “There is always speculation when I ask a lady to dance. After a while, it becomes tiresome, so I try to avoid it.”

  “And yet, here you are with me,” she said, feeling ridiculously pleased that he would favor her with an unexpected boon.

  No wonder his actions were fodder for the gossips.

  “You will be the talk of the ball, my darling Emily,” he teased. “Think how pleased your mother will be to have her drawing room filled to the rafters with gentleman callers.”

  The waltz ended too soon for Emily. She curtsied, and Frost bowed. Before she could escape, he took her by the hand and wrapped her fingers around his arm. “You cannot escape me so easily.”

  * * *

  Frost had danced with her three times that evening. The knowledge that he had done something he normally avoided kept her spirits buoyant for the rest of the ball, and her good mood continued on the drive home. She had kissed her parents, ignoring their not-so-subtle curiosity about Lord Chillingsworth, and rushed upstairs to bed. When she fell asleep, she hoped that she would dream of him.

  A few of the wives who were married to Frost’s friends were not as charitable. Lord Sinclair’s wife, Juliana, pointed out to Frost when they joined the couple that one dance would generate talk about his attentiveness toward Emily—three was flirting with scandal. He laughed and brushed aside the lady’s concerns. No one could tell this man whom he could dance with or how many times.

  Emily had never met anyone who seemed so indifferent to polite society’s opinions and rules.