PLAYED BY THE EARL

by Alyson Chase

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

  She rested her cheek on his chest and inhaled deeply.

  Her plans were destroyed. And she didn’t have a clue what to do next.

  Images of her past life, of that night, flashed through her mind, too fast to pin down, making her head ache. She needed to concentrate, find a solution, but her brain did nothing but spin in place.

  She wasn’t going to get what she needed, not until she’d calmed her senses enough to think straight.

  So she might as well have what she wanted.

  And she wanted to forget.

  They pulled up to John’s townhouse, and he handed her down. He drew off her mask and passed it with his to a footman. “Shall I have Mags bring you a tisane? Some willow bark tea?”

  “No.” She preceded him into the house and headed for the stairs, knowing he would follow. “There is nothing Margaret could bring me that I need.”

  “Then what—”

  She took his hand and walked backwards down the hall to his bedroom. “I only need you. Tonight I don’t want games or tricks.” She felt bone tired, and even though she loved playing with John, the games took more energy than she had. Were a merriment she didn’t feel. She opened his door and pulled him through. “I only need you between my thighs, kissing my lips, to make me feel better. Is that agreeable to you?”

  He pulled her to a standstill in the middle of the chamber. He threaded his fingers under her wig and slid it off, kneading her skull as he went. “Any time spent between your thighs is more than agreeable. But are you certain you wouldn’t be better with a back rub and a full-night’s sleep?”

  “Positive.” She ran her hands over his costume, looking for the ties.

  He assisted and drew the draped shirt over his head in one fluid motion.

  Netta bit her lip and pressed her fingers to his hot skin. The more she knew him, the more beautiful he became. She traced the raised ridge of muscles on his chest, his light dusting of hair soft under her fingers. She drew a circle around his nipple and smiled when he sucked in a sharp breath.

  Yes, a night losing herself in John’s arms was just what she needed. She lowered her head and followed the path of her finger with her tongue. Tasting him, feeling him, finding oblivion in his bed.

  Her problems didn’t exist when she and John were together. Their heat formed a bubble, isolating them from the outside world.

  John raised her hand to his mouth, nipping the end of one of her fingers before turning her around and undoing the buttons of her gown. He pushed it over her hips and down her legs. His breath tickled the inside of her thighs, and she inched her feet apart.

  John chuckled. He dipped his hand under the edge of her chemise, skimming his fingers along the crease of her thigh, dancing over her outer lips, but withholding the pressure she needed. “How badly do you want me, poppet? If I press my finger in your body”—he paused, a gossamer’s touch over her opening—“will I find you wet for me?”

  “Getting there.” She waggled her bum. “If you’d stop teasing I’d become so faster.”

  He bit her arse, his arm about her waist the only thing keeping her from falling forwards from the delicious shock of it. He removed his teeth, but a tingle remained on her flesh, his mark lingering.

  “John…” Her fingers tangled in the strings to her stays. She was desperate to be bare before him. Aching to allow him access to every inch of her body.

  He brushed her hands away and removed the garment. Even her thin chemise felt too tight, and quickly that was gone, as well. He smoothed his hands up over the backs of her thighs, over her bottom and around her hips as he stood.

  He pressed against her, the silk of his pantaloons cool against her flushed skin.

  His erection hard against her softness.

  Running his palms up her belly, he cupped her heavy breasts, pulling her back closer to his front. He dropped his head and nibbled on the curve of her neck.

  “What you do to me.” John plumped her breasts up, squeezing. “I can’t decide which bit of you I like best. Your bosom is most definitely in contention for that honor.”

  Netta bit the inside of her cheek. Even at a moment like this he still could make her laugh. Even when there were no games to play, he brought her joy.

  “Most men prefer my bum.” She arched her back, pushing back against his length.

  He pinched her nipple and growled. “I am not by nature a jealous man, but now is not the time to speak of other men to me. Besides,” he said, skimming one hand over her abdomen to cup her mons, “there is another part that surpasses both your breasts and arse.” He slid his middle finger between her crease and dipped into her channel.

  She shivered. “Yes, I’m quite fond of that part of my body, too.” Especially when it was in his hands. No man had ever made her feel as much as John. And she was beginning to worry that no other man ever would.

  He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, and her head dropped back on his shoulder. “I meant your mind, Netta. Your devious, determined, sweet little brain.” He added another finger and continued slowly fucking her with his hand. “That’s my favorite bit of all.”

  Pulling from her, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bed. He peeled her slippers and stockings off, then removed his own pants and boots faster than any mid-scene costume change Netta had ever witnessed. He pulled a condom from his bed side table, tossed it on the bed, and crawled over her.

  His knees bracketed her hips, his palms digging into the coverlet on either side of her head. He lowered until his chest brushed her own and dragged his nose along her clavicle. He inhaled deeply, like she was the finest rose in the garden.

  “How did a man ever get so fortunate in the thief who stole his blunt?” He slid one of his knees between her legs, then the other, and knelt before her. With his hands at the back of her thighs, he held her open and stared down at her sex.

  He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “So damn lucky.”

  Netta’s breath caught in her lungs as he scooted down and lowered his head. With his thumbs, he spread her outer lips and feasted upon her.

  Netta gripped the metal lattice headboard and held on for dear life. If she combined every amazing sensation she’d ever felt it still did not equal the miracle of John’s mouth on her quim.

  The liquid sounds were obscene, and she reveled in them, opening her legs wider. Her hips rocked into his face, sweat beading over her skin. John used his lips, teeth, and tongue until she was but a mewling, shaking wreck.

  He pulled away.

  “What? No!” Netta glared at him.

  He tied the condom over his straining length then placed one of her legs over his shoulder. “I am a selfish man. When you climax, I want to be buried inside of you, feel it squeezing my cock. I don’t want to wait a moment more.”

  “Yet you weren’t so impatient as to forego the linen.” But Netta couldn’t be vexed. Not when John was gliding inside of her, stretching her walls inch by heavenly inch. With one last flex of his hips, he filled her fully, and she felt a pinch deep inside her womb.

  His eyes had deepened, glittering so darkly Netta couldn’t look away. Whatever this relationship was between her and John, it had to be more than a causal bit of bed sport. He couldn’t look at her such without feeling the bone-deep longing that held her captive.

  John stroked back, dragging against her nerve endings, and plunged back in. “The more I’m inside you, the harder I find it to pull out before I spend.” He leaned forwards, pressing her leg higher.

  She moaned, and he captured the sound with his mouth. “Christ, how I dream about spilling my seed deep inside of you, feeling your silky channel milk my naked flesh dry.”

  The hair on his chest scraped against her nipples, the sensation so sublime it almost hurt.

  He tugged her hands from the headrest and pressed them into the bed above her head, lacing his finge
rs through hers. “How I’d love to fuck you without consequence, the only concern we’d have was how many times I can bring you to your crisis before we both lose consciousness.”

  She turned her head to the side, unable to look upon him a moment more. She might no longer have the ability to leave the country, but that didn’t mean this relationship of theirs stood a chance of lasting. She still had a sister to rescue through less than legal means. He was still an earl, bound by an aristocrat’s sense of honor.

  Unless…

  He increased his tempo, driving into her hard, making the bed shake.

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  She obeyed. Her breath grew short at the ferocity of his expression. The determined glint in his eye. John might call himself selfish in his desires, but he was making absolutely certain they both went up in flames.

  He devoured her with his gaze. He drank in every gasp as he pounded into her, every arch of her neck as he took her higher. Closer. His eyes dropped to her breasts, bouncing from the force of his assault.

  He closed his eyes and groaned. “Tell me you’re close, sweetheart. I need you to be close.”

  “So…close…” She dug her nails into his hands, spiraling tighter, tighter, until she could hold it in no more.

  She burst into a million tiny shards of pleasure. White spots danced in her vision. Ripples of ecstasy splintered out from her core, shooting to every nerve ending her body contained. She clutched at him, holding his rigid length snug, and let her mind go blank, luxuriating in the bliss.

  “Netta…” John threw his head back and cursed. He jerked within her, his body shuddering until finally he collapsed.

  He lay limp and heavy on her, his heat and weight a welcome comfort. Netta rubbed small circles into his back, letting her mind wander to pleasant fancies that could never be.

  Unless…

  John didn’t behave as she expected. After all, when did he ever do what was customary for an earl? He might help her smuggle her sister from her home. Her belly fluttered. And Netta had lived concealed within London for years; why couldn’t her sister?

  John heaved a sigh, his breath tickling her ear. He rolled to his side, taking her with him so they lay facing each other.

  “Feeling better?”

  She traced a circle on his chest. “Oh, was that all for my benefit? I thank you, yes.”

  He grinned. “I might have received some reward from it, too.” He picked up her hand and kissed the bent bone at her wrist. “How did this happen?”

  “Sudden contact with the floor.” Her voice wobbled. “Some men don’t like to hear the word ‘no’.”

  John stilled. “Who was it?”

  She opened her mouth to tell him everything, but the words clogged in her throat. There were too many what-ifs. What if he contacted her father? What if he went after Sudworth and was hurt himself?

  What if he gave her the four thousand pounds and she never saw him again?

  The fluttering in her stomach hardened to cramps.

  What if his concern disappeared once he learned she could no longer help him recover his deed?

  Before she could fully trust him, she needed to know that he also trusted her judgment. Understood that she knew what was best for her and Eleanor.

  “The name is of no importance.” She snuggled closer. “Aside from my wrist, I wasn’t hurt that night. I got away.” Sudworth had let her get away. He had been happy to wait until the marriage bed to force himself on her. She’d seen the thrill of that power, of owning a woman, excite his every feature.

  His poor wife. The last four years of her life must have been horrible living under that man’s thumb.

  And now he wanted that power over Eleanor.

  A small tremor shook her body. She’d kill him before she let him touch her sister.

  “A broken wrist is enough for the man to taste my blade,” John said, eyes narrowed.

  She smiled wryly and kissed his shoulder. “Your sense of proportion is sadly lacking. A broken bone isn’t a capital offense. That is the least of what a man can do to hurt a woman.”

  His eyes narrowed even further, turning into slits. “Who hurt you? I will make him pay, and enjoy doing it.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’d devise an intricate plot, making it a game.” She rolled onto her back and stared at a gold vine wrapping about the tester.

  He trapped her chin and turned her head to face him. “There are some things I don’t play around with. Seeking vengeance on someone who harmed you would be one of them.”

  Something must be very wrong with her. A man vowing to spill blood on her behalf shouldn’t turn her heart to jelly.

  But it did.

  She squeezed his hand. “Aside from the wrist, no one has hurt me. I have lived a very quiet, peaceful life these last six years.”

  His muscles relaxed a little. “I don’t believe it. You and quiet don’t belong together in the same sentence.”

  She shrugged. “Peaceful then.”

  He rubbed his thumb back and forth on her collarbone. “And have you been lonely in this peaceful life?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “John Chaucer, are you asking me about past lovers?”

  He dragged his finger between her breasts. “I don’t have a right to know but tell me just the same.” He swallowed, looking like the answer meant something more than satisfying idle curiosity.

  “There have been three men,” she said. She took a deep breath, unused to raw honesty. “But when I look at you, I can’t remember any of their faces.”

  His finger paused before resuming its journey. “Four lovers and not yet four and twenty.” He shook his head, looking as sad as a hound dog. “I don’t know what is happening to women nowadays.”

  She poked his stomach. “We’re taking what we want.” She poked again. “And you’re a fine one to talk. Colleen told me about the Venus club you belong to. How many women have you led from the path of righteousness at that particular den of iniquity?” And what would she have to do to get an invitation to the place?

  He rolled on top of her. “Too many to count, I’m certain.” He kissed her eyes, her nose. “But for the life of me I can’t remember any of their faces, either.”

  He settled so naturally into the cradle of her thighs it was like he was meant to be there. “John?” she asked between kisses. “Colleen also mentioned some work you do? For the government?” He would tell her about that mystery, and she would know. Know that he trusted her, even with his secrets.

  And that she could trust him with hers.

  “Hmm?” He licked up her neck. “She must mean my work in Parliament.” He skimmed a hand down her abdomen and zeroed in on her clit.

  Her body responded even as her mind recognized it for the distraction tactic it was.

  She didn’t know to what Colleen was referring, but it wasn’t to his duties in the House of Lords. The back of her throat burned. He still wanted walls between them? Didn’t want complete honesty? So be it. She would be more than happy to accommodate his wishes. She would find a way out of the box she was in all on her own. She’d save herself, the way she’d always done.

  If she could only figure out how.

  “I am an earl, you know.” John nipped at her bottom lip. “And I don’t think I’ve once heard you address me as ‘my lord.’” He tsked. “I propose a new game.”

  “What’s that?” She infused her voice with a levity she didn’t feel. If all John had to offer was his body, she’d take it. She had nowhere else to be that night and no idea what she would do on the morrow. She had become an expert at living in the moment.

  He flipped her to her stomach. “It’s a little one I like to call Master and Servant.” He rested his large palm on her arse. “And I do believe my servant has been a very naughty girl.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Netta took the waxed bag from the clerk, thanking him. She strode outside the confectionary shop, a
djusting the brim of her bonnet to shade her face from the morning sun, and popped one of the Pomfret cakes into her mouth.

  It’s tang of spicy goodness did little to lift her mood. She sighed. It was a sad day when her favorite treats didn’t make her happy.

  “Why don’t we cut across the park?” John strolled up beside her, ignoring her start. He tipped the brim of his top hat up with the silver nob of his walking stick. “It will shorten our journey and get us away from the clatter of carriages.”

  “You followed me again.” She shouldn’t be surprised. After his discovery of her acting career, he’d either accompanied her, followed her, or had Wilberforce do so each night she went to work. But today was Sunday and the show was an early one. She’d thought she’d slid out of his home unnoticed.

  John rooted through the small bag in her hand and came out with a plump licorice button. “Did you take my pouch of coin again?”

  “Did you leave it behind the stack of chemistry books on your desk for me to find again?” Dear, sweet, infuriating man. Giving her that small thrill of pilfering, even though they both knew he left it for her intentionally. Why couldn’t he also give her his trust?

  She swallowed past the burn in the back of her throat. Damnation. If she couldn’t go forward with his scheme, and she didn’t tell him the truth about herself, she was going to have to leave. Her options were disappearing faster than the confections from her bag.

  She chewed another, her jaws aching with how hard she ground them together. She was going to miss the man. How had she let that happen?

  “You were very quiet at breakfast.” He took her arm and guided her around a trio of slobbering dogs, tugging at their leads. “Do you still feel indisposed from last night?”

  The concern in his voice almost undid her. He might not trust her, but he did care. Would it be so unwise to tell him everything? Lay all her fears and worry bare? He would be a fool to help her remove her sister from home, but she couldn’t imagine he’d actually impede her actions. She sucked on her bottom lip. Probably.

  “I’m fine.” She walked closer to him, enjoying the feel of his sleeve brushing against her shoulder. Even that small connection was enough to settle her nerves. Last night she’d let emotion get in the way of common sense. John wasn’t required to bare his own soul in order for her to do the same. Some things weren’t on a quid pro quo basis.