Twilight with the Infamous Earl

by Alexandra Hawkins

  Frost can afford to be, Em. Can you?

  She quashed and banished the traitorous thought. Frost found her amusing and challenging, and there was an attraction between them that neither one of them seemed willing to deny. He might not be in love with her, but he would never hurt her.

  Emily finished plaiting her hair and crawled into bed. She should have been tired, but the evening had left her edgy. Restless. Reclining on top of the thick bedding, she idly stroked her right breast. Her nipples puckered in response. She had never given her body much thought. Bound in stays, undergarments, and layers of fabric, she had never thought to explore the pleasures of a light caress. Or considered what the dampness between her legs might mean.

  Rolling onto her side, she slid off the bed and walked up the mahogany cheval mirror with a brass sconce attached to the spiral reed supports. Emily retrieved the candle from her dressing table and used it to light the two sconces so she could study her reflection. She returned the candle to the dressing table and stepped back.

  How many times had she gazed into this mirror and not truly looked at her own body? She smoothed her nightgown, pressing the billowing fabric into her sides so she could see her waist. On a whim, she pulled the nightgown over her head and dropped it to the floor.

  “Yes, much better,” she murmured, tilting her head from side to side. What did Frost find so fascinating about her body? Her hand cupped her breast, testing the generous flesh. Well, not too much, she silently amended as she turned to the side so she could admire her stomach. She peered at the thick red curls between her legs.

  Is it improper for me to touch myself?

  Her hand slipped lower.

  Frost had shown her things that were forbidden. In many ways, he knew her body better than she did. That seemed wrong. One day, she would marry and her husband would touch her as the earl had. How could she tell him what she liked or didn’t like if she was ignorant of what brought her pleasure?

  Emily was so distracted, she had not realized that she was not alone. Glancing beyond her reflection, she saw Frost standing behind her. She whirled around and placed one arm over her breasts, the other hand over her loins.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Frost calmly shut the door. “Thank God, you never told your parents about the locks. I do not relish climbing through the window.”

  When he turned to lock her door, she crouched down and seized her nightgown from the floor. Emily held it in front of her.

  “You can’t stay,” she whispered. “My family has retired for the evening.”

  “Trust me, I do not wish to disturb their sleep.” He nodded at the mirror. “Charming backside, my lady.”

  Emily glanced back and gasped. She turned around to face the mirror and fell right into his plans. “Why are you here?”

  Frost moved behind her, enfolding her into his embrace. He was aroused, she thought, as he teased by rubbing the front of his trousers against her buttocks.

  She shivered delicately as he lowered his head and kissed her bare shoulder. “Turn around, and I will dress.”

  “What naughty things were you doing in front of the mirror, Emily?”

  “Nothing,” she swiftly denied. She observed him in the mirror while he placed his hand on her hip and pulled her against his front.

  “You can tell me, sweet,” he coaxed.

  “I was curious. I have never looked at myself without my clothes.”

  He stilled. “Never?”

  Emily shook her head. Uncomfortable, standing naked in front of him, she attempted to pull her nightgown over her head.

  Frost plucked the garment from her hands and tossed it away.

  “Give that back.”

  “No.”

  “You are impossible.” She moved to retrieve it, but her midnight visitor had other plans. He spun her around so she faced the mirror again.

  “It is a travesty that you have not gazed upon your delectable body,” he whispered. He untied the ribbon at the base of her plaited hair. He combed his fingers through it until he was satisfied that it hung freely. “Beautiful.”

  “Frost.” His name was a soft sigh on her lips. Emily marveled at the subtle changes in her body as he lightly caressed her. Her breasts tingled and her nipples became more pronounced. He swayed, his hand on her hip encouraging her to move with him. There was a slight pink coloring above her breasts. Shame, she told herself, but her body was not edging away from him. “No.”

  “Yes. You will like this, I promise.” He nuzzled her neck with his lips, and the hidden flesh between her legs contracted. “Bring your hands to your breasts.”

  When she didn’t immediately react to his order, he grabbed her wrists and brought her hands to her breasts.

  “Cup them … feel the weight.” He covered her hands with his. His thumbs caressed her nipples, and she shifted her stance.

  His gaze burned like a blue flame in the candlelight.

  She was very aware of the heat of his body. “Do you like them?”

  “Aye, Emily.” With his arms wrapped around her, he guided her hands over her breasts and down to her belly. “Have you touched your stomach?”

  “Of course.” He must have been observing her measure herself with her hands as she had admired her reflection.

  “And lower … have you dared to touch yourself there?”

  Frost moved her hand lower. With his hands covering hers, she could not pull away. Her hand skimmed over the nest of hair. It felt coarse, and the center of her was already damp. He tilted his head and pressed her fingers into the seam of the soft feminine folds of flesh between her legs.

  What is the source of this wetness?

  “Your body is preparing itself,” he whispered into her ear.

  He showed her how she could stroke and tease herself, and she was astounded by how good it felt.

  Emily pressed her thighs together as she tried to resist the quivering sensation that had her body clenching. “What is my body preparing for?”

  “Me” was his smug reply.

  She slipped one of her hands free and reached behind to grab the rigid flesh beneath the front of his trousers. “What’s this?” she asked.

  “My cock,” he said hoarsely; the teasing quality to his voice had disappeared. Her hand and buttocks rubbed against him, and he moaned in need, abruptly pulling her closer. “Christ, Emily. I need you. I told myself to stay away. I am not the man for you. It’s madness.”

  Emily shifted, moving within his embrace until she faced him. “Would it help if I touched you?”

  If she could ease his torment with a touch or a kiss, she could grant him this mercy. He had already given her so much pleasure, and her breasts tightened with anticipation as she reached for his cravat.

  Frost squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, there was an intensity she did not understand. “My control is hanging by a thread, Emily. Be certain.”

  Emily was not certain of anything. However, she was curious about his body as he had been about hers. “Let me untie this,” she murmured, concentrating on the intricate knot. A few minutes later, she tugged on the long length of cloth and dropped it on the floor.

  Frost gave her a hard bruising kiss on the mouth.

  Without another word, he began to undress. He peeled off his coat, while she helpfully unbuttoned his waistcoat. Both garments fell away. Next, his shirt. He pulled it over his head, revealing the hard, muscled planes of his chest.

  Like a kitten, she rubbed her face against the dark hairs on his chest, and he groaned. She put her mouth on him and tasted the saltiness of his skin.

  “You are killing me, love,” he said, cupping her face and slowly kissing her.

  When Frost touched her, she forgot to be embarrassed by her nakedness. His hand cupped her buttock and ground her pelvis against him.

  “Tell me to stop, Emily.”

  Frost’s hands were trembling, and it made her feel powerful. She shook her head. Her fingers reached for the side bu
ttons on his trousers.

  “No. Allow me.” With his gaze locked on her face, he stepped out of his shoes and nudged them aside. Then he unfastened his trousers.

  Emily’s gaze lowered as his manhood was revealed. Darker than the rest of him, the long, thick flesh jutted out at her. He bent forward, concealing his manhood from her view as he shoved his trousers down his long hairy legs. His stockings were removed, and he was fully naked.

  “You are beautiful,” she whispered, admiring him as if he were a statue in the British Museum.

  He looked as hard as marble, she thought, her gaze shifting back to the enthralling flesh between his legs. “May I touch you?”

  Frost gritted his teeth. “Please.” He took her hand and demonstrated how she could encircle the astonishingly heated flesh. “Squeeze.”

  His groan had her springing back. “Did I hurt you?”

  Frost shook his head. “No. Do it again,” he invited, pulling her toward the bed. He reclined against the mattress, and she joined him. Her fingers closed around his thick arousal, and she squeezed him again.

  He groaned; the sound made her nipples ache. Below his manhood, she wondered about the hanging flesh at its base. “What is this?”

  Before she could squeeze him there, Frost captured her hand and gave a dry chuckle. “It’s very sensitive there. Be gentle. You may pet, but no squeezing.”

  He leaned back and allowed her to explore him as he had her. His body was so different from hers. Varied textures, muscle, the coarseness of the hair that covered his body. She assumed he tasted unlike her, and she leaned forward to put her mouth on his arousal.

  “No.” Instead he rolled her onto her back. “Another time. Too close. I have something else in mind.” Frost moved between her legs, and she felt his manhood graze her inner thigh. He cupped the flesh between his legs, his expression one of pain.

  Emily flinched at the first blunted touch of his manhood as he pressed against her damp feminine folds.

  He reached down between them, and his fingers stroked her flesh before he parted her. “Breathe, Emily,” he whispered into her ear.

  His manhood slid deeper.

  She tensed as he guided the head of his arousal, nudging until it found the source of her wetness. Frost gently tested the opening, bathing his rigid flesh and retreating.

  “Christ, Emily, I need…” He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  The pressure between her legs increased. It didn’t hurt, but the fullness and sheer size of him overwhelmed her. His hips moved against hers. A slow dance, reminding her of a different kind of waltz. A carnal one.

  Emily parted her thighs as she relaxed, savoring the feel of him, but the shifting movement had her sheath taking more of him. His arousal, slick from her wetness, pushed deeper still, and she arched against him—then stiffened, the shock evident on her face when the fragile barrier that had been preventing him entrance gave way and he filled her completely.

  “Frost?” She dug her nails into his upper arms.

  He made soothing noises in an effort to calm her. “Does it hurt?” he murmured, kissing her slack mouth as she struggled to adjust to his invasion.

  “Not precisely.” The realization of what they had done was finally washing away the need she had for this man. “And my virginity?”

  She already knew the answer, but she wanted him to confirm her suspicions.

  “Gone,” he said bluntly. He kissed her cheek. “I never intended to take it this far. I’m so damn sorry, Em.”

  “So what does that make me?” Emily whispered.

  “Mine,” he replied, just before he began to move within her.

  * * *

  He should have felt regret at a moment of carelessness, but he was honest enough with himself to accept that it was exactly what he had wanted from the beginning.

  Frost had set out to seduce her, and the needs of his body had outweighed his common sense—and control.

  He had taken her maidenhead.

  Not intentionally. He could almost view it as fate.

  Emily was not crying or cursing him. She was probably bewildered at how quickly her innocence was lost and whether she was somehow different now that it was gone.

  Frost withdrew his cock from her snug sheath, and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “It gets better,” he promised, thrusting deep. He repeated the action. Again and again. Until his back was slick with perspiration.

  Afterward there would be time for sweet words and comfort, apologies, and possibly regret, though he doubted he was capable of that particular emotion when it came to her virginity.

  He had never been interested in bedding a virgin, in being any lady’s first lover.

  Yet almost from the beginning, he had wanted to be Emily’s first lover.

  The realization snapped the final thread of his restraint. He groaned in despair as he blindly thrust against her, the release he could no longer hold back flooding into Emily.

  She clutched him tightly as he shuddered helplessly in her arms, giving in what had begun as an act of taking.

  Emily was his, he thought with fierce satisfaction.

  As the heat of passion waned, he realized that such a claiming was not one-sided.

  Whether she was prepared to accept it, he belonged to her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Emily could do little more than hold Frost as he buried his face against the side of her neck and shuddered. The heat rolling off his body suffused her as she felt the hot pulses of his seed fill her. Her body fluttered in response, reminding her of the stronger sensations he had created within her using his mouth and fingers. She felt little discomfort, but the growing awareness of what they had done brought a sharp pain to her heart.

  Frost appeared to be equally nonplussed by their lovemaking. “Christ!” he said, lifting his head and meeting her overly bright gaze. “Emily … I—”

  “Could you please—” Emily began, unable to vocalize her desire for him to get off her. She pushed at his chest. “I need—I cannot breathe.”

  And I need for you to go away.

  Frost was still aroused, the thick, rigid length stretching her and making her all too aware of him. He stared down at her with an enigmatic expression on his face. On a muttered oath, he carefully withdrew from her. In a belated gesture of modesty, he grabbed the edge of the sheet to pull it over them, but Emily abruptly sat up. She offered him a generous view of her back as she allowed her legs to dangle over the side of the mattress.

  She shut her eyes when he tentatively touched her on the back.

  “Forgive me.” Frost slipped his arms around her as he pulled her closer, until her backside was pressed against his manhood. His chin lightly rested against the dip between her neck and shoulder. “There is a reason why I do not involve myself with innocents, but all my good intentions seem to vanish whenever you are within reach. I hurt you. It could not be helped, but it is the only part of this night that I regret.”

  Emily stared off in the distance, trying to put words to her feelings. How could she feel joy and sadness at once? It would have been simpler if she could blame Frost for stealing her innocence. However, she had enjoyed his kisses and slow, teasing caresses. It had hurt when he had breached her maidenhead, but there were aspects of his lovemaking that she had enjoyed.

  Holding him while he found completion within her had been an intoxicating experience filling her with a decidedly feminine power she had been unaware that she could possess.

  “You are too quiet.” He nipped her shoulder with his teeth. “That worries me.”

  Emily wrinkled her nose at his attempt at humor. “I was thinking that for a ruined lady, I don’t feel much different.”

  She was a bit sore, but refrained from mentioning that particular detail to him.

  “What’s this?” He shifted her in his embrace. “You’re not ruined.”

  “Of course I am,” Emily said, the exasperation in her voice giving it a slight edge. “The path
of a lady’s ruination is at the hands of a scoundrel.” She frowned and glanced below his waist. “Well, not precisely your hands. It was your—”

  “Enough,” Frost said, cutting her off. “Let me be clear. You are not a ruined lady because you surrendered your maidenhead. In the first place, no one evens knows we have become lovers. And second, I have no desire to share the delightful news in the Morning Post.”

  Her lower lip jutted out mutinously when he refused to take her seriously. “And what would be that good news, Lord Chillingsworth?”

  Frost groaned. “This is about Lucy again, is it not?” When her lips parted, he immediately assumed that old doubts about his connection to her sister had resurfaced, and the leash on his temper snapped. “Have I mentioned how damn infuriating it is to be accused of seducing your sister, when the only Miss Cavell I have bedded is you!”

  “I believe you,” she said, sounding equally exasperated. That seemed to mollify him. “And I wasn’t accusing you. Though there was little doubt in my mind that Lucy had a lover that was someone other than Lord Leventhorpe.”

  Frost stroked her jawline. “You might never learn the gent’s name. Your sister had a look about her that caught a man’s eye. However, you are allowing your guilt to blind you to a few undeniable facts. Lucy was not a paragon. Like you, she was spirited. She was also a vain and needy woman who tried to manipulate those around her to assuage her selfish whims.”

  She did not like anyone speaking ill of her sister. “Oh, really? And how were you immune to her charms?”

  “Contrary to the rumors”—he laughed—“and my eagerness to lay claim to your delectable body this evening, I do not bed every wench who flirts with me.”

  Emily gasped when Frost suddenly pushed her onto her back and pinned her to the mattress with his body.

  “I never flirted with you!”

  “It would be ungentlemanly to call you a liar.” He kissed her left breast. “Granted, you had good reason to resist me. Just as I tried not to fall prey to your innocent wiles.”

  Frost was being outrageous. “Let me up.”