The Beastly Earl

by Monica Burns

  “I’m uncertain how to broach the subject.”

  “Intrigued is becoming an overused word where you’re concerned, my lady, fascinated seems far more appropriate.”

  The scintillating flash of humor in his eyes unnerved her. She hadn’t expected to find the man devastating to her senses. But then she’d not anticipated feeling anything at all. All she’d ever experienced where men were concerned was either antipathy or friendship. A knot formed in her throat. Perhaps the bargain she’d thought to strike with this man was a foolish one.

  It unnerved her to think he might actually be able to awaken something inside her contrary to established fact. Ophelia quickly dismissed the thought. She was incapable of passion or stirring a similar sensation in a man. George had taught her that. The question was how far she was willing to go to save her childhood home. She’d never been able to bear George touching her, and she wasn’t sure whether she was capable of bartering herself. In the back of her head, a small voice taunted her with the fact that she’d chosen her path the moment her gaze had met the earl’s across the ballroom floor. She drew in a shallow breath.

  “You have something that belongs to me, or rather my family, Lord Thornbury.”

  “Indeed,” he murmured as an odd look crossed his features. “What might that be?

  “My home.”

  “Your home,” he exclaimed softly as puzzlement crossed his face.

  “Marymont. My father lost it in a wager to you several nights ago,” she said as her voice dropped slightly. “I would like it back, and I am willing…I think I have something to offer in exchange.”

  “And the currency you’re referring to?” A glitter of cold calculation darkened his jade eyes as he narrowed his gaze at her.

  “Me.”

  “Ahh, a proposition of the intimate kind.” Boredom settled on his features, but his eyes had hardened with something approaching contempt or pity. She was unable to discern which, and it heightened her sense of desperation.

  “I do not offer myself up lightly, my lord,” she choked out with great effort. “But I believe I am unique enough that I would be unlike other…other women with whom you enter liaisons.”

  “And tell me, what is this unique quality you possess that makes you think I would be willing to trade a valuable piece of property for it,” he murmured with what she was certain was a sneer.

  “I…I am incapable of passion,” she finished her stumbling statement in a rush.

  This time it was the earl’s chance to stumble slightly. The awkwardness of the moment was highlighted by his incredulous expression. As the dance music ended with a resounding flourish he quickly guided her off the dance floor. His sensual mouth a hard, thin line, he firmly, yet discreetly, maneuvered her through the crowd out into a long hallway that ran the length of the ballroom itself.

  Although the corridor wasn’t empty, it was significantly less crowded. To anyone else in the hall, his grip on her elbow no doubt appeared solicitous, but his firm grasp indicated he had no intention of letting her escape. He seemed completely certain as to where he was going, and for the second time in the space of minutes, she was too startled by his behavior to protest. The earl stopped at a door and opened it at the same time he glanced back at a couple who had passed them seconds before.

  Satisfied the pair had not turned their heads, he none too gently pulled Ophelia into a darkened room. Firelight created soft shadows against the walls, and as he closed the door behind them, she heard the key turn in the lock. Trepidation spiraled through her, and she quickly put several feet between them before facing him. As he turned to face her, his gaze narrowed as he held up the key.

  “To ensure we’re not interrupted,” he said tersely.

  For some reason, she had expected him to be surprised, but he actually appeared angry. Arms folded over his chest, he pinned her with his mesmerizing gaze.

  “I said a moment ago I was intrigued and then fascinated, Lady Havenstock. However I am now attempting to determine precisely what you expect to achieve with your confession.” The contempt in his voice sent a chill sliding through her, and Ophelia shook her head.

  “It was not a confession, my lord,” she bit out in a crisp tone as she met his gaze steadily. “It is a fact. I am incapable of inciting passion in a man or feeling it myself.”

  “I see,” he said in a voice devoid of emotion. “Do you seriously expect me to believe not one of your lovers since Havenstock has failed to arouse you?”

  “I’ve not shared a bed with any man other than my husband.”

  “None?” The earl snorted with disbelief. “Forgive me, Lady Havenstock, but I find it difficult to believe you’ve not had at least one lover since you became a widow.”

  “I am not a liar.” Ophelia tilted her chin upward. She resented the insinuation that she was lying. If either of them was deserving of contempt, his disreputable behavior had earned him that distinction.

  “Very well, let us put aside the question of your experience,” he said as he pinned his gaze on her as a collector might when assessing the value of an antique. “Explain why you believe yourself incapable of arousing a man to passion or experiencing pleasure.”

  “Because my husband repeatedly stated I was cold and unfeeling in the performance of my wifely duties,” she said in a tight voice remembering George’s angry denouncements of her inability to arouse a man.

  It had been horrible enough knowing her father had insisted she marry George simply because the viscount had agreed to cover her father’s outstanding debts. But knowing she was incapable of inspiring passion in her husband had made her avoid any liaisons in the ten years since George’s death.

  “Good god,” the earl muttered beneath his breath a frown creasing his forehead as he studied her. Ophelia looked down to fiddle with the ostrich feathers of her fan.

  “I realize my proposition is unusual, but your reputation is such that I thought you might…might find me a challenge,” she choked out as humiliation swept through her. “I have nothing else with which to barter for the return of my home.”

  “Havenstock was clearly a fool,” the earl bit out as he slowly closed the distance between them.

  The earl’s gaze was hot as it swept over her in a leisurely fashion. It was as if he were disrobing her in his mind, and the effect it had on her made her senses reel. Her heart racing, she forced herself not to look away from him as approached her. With each step he took toward her, Ophelia experienced the urge to take two back, but she held her ground.

  The man was doing things to her senses that didn’t just alarm her—they made her long to possess the ability to entice and seduce him. The moment the thought flitted through her head, she struggled not to race toward the door. Dear Lord, what was she thinking? The earl halted inches away from her then tipped her chin upward with his finger so she was forced to look at him.

  “Let me be the first to assure you, Ophelia, that you are more than capable of enchanting a man,” he said softly. “I’ve been captivated from the first moment I saw you this evening.”

  Her name rolled off his lips as if it were an invitation to join him in sin. The silky note of seduction in his voice made Ophelia’s heart slam into her breast as he lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers. Fire singed her lips at the light caress, and the air left her lungs. A slight tremor shook through her as he lifted his head to study her face. Gold flecks glittered in his green eyes as the firelight cast half of his profile in relief, while shadows covered the opposite side of his features. The angelic impression she’d had of him earlier returned, but this time it was a dark angel she saw. Ophelia swallowed hard as she met his gaze.

  “Am I to understand that you have decided to accept my proposition, my lord?”

  “Perhaps,” he murmured. “I wonder if you’ve considered the ramifications of your decision.”

  “If you’re suggesting I mean to trick you into returning Marymont to me, I have only my word that I shall honor our bargain
.”

  “It’s not a question as to whether you’ll honor any agreement between us. The question is how quickly you learn.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said as she eyed him warily. “It sounds as though you are proposing an extended arrangement.”

  “Do you think one night is sufficient payment for what must be a valuable piece of property given your willingness to offer yourself up to me so blatantly?”

  The harsh note in his voice made Ophelia drag in a sharp breath. It was precisely what she’d thought. She shook her head as trepidation slid through her followed by a throb of excitement that made her blood race.

  “I did not consider the details of any arrangement we might make.”

  “Then I suggest we come to an agreement on terms that are agreeable to both of us.”

  His voice echoed with a hint of satisfaction that set off an alarm in Ophelia’s mind. The man was clever, and she would need to be equally so if she was to emerge from this bargain with Marymont in her possession.

  “Name your terms,” she said quietly as she met his gaze with a steadiness that made him narrow his eyes at her.

  “In exchange for your home, you will give me one month,” he said as he folded his arms over his chest. “At the end of our month together, your home will be returned to you.”

  “And how do I know you’ll return Marymont to me after I surrender myself to your instruction?” At her question, he grew rigid.

  “Are you suggesting I won’t honor our agreement, my lady?”

  The sharp note in his voice indicated she’d angered him by implying he might fail to respect the bargain they were negotiating. Whether she did or didn’t believe he’d honor any agreement they committed too, it was of no consequence. If she wanted Marymont returned to her, she had little choice but to trust he would uphold his end of the bargain. With a sharp nod, she agreed to his terms.

  “One month.” The moment she replied, the earl’s mouth curled in a wicked smile.

  “Then let us begin,” the earl said smoothly.

  “Here? Now?” she gasped as the distance between them became almost non-existent.

  “I think you will find the threat of discovery heightens the senses and the pleasure.”

  “You cannot possibly be serious.” With a vehement shake of her head, Ophelia took a quick step backward to open up the space between them. He closed it just as quickly.

  “Pleasure always involves the senses, my lady, but there are many forms of pleasure,” he laughed softly. It was a warm whisper across her mouth as he leaned into her. “Anticipation itself can be quite pleasurable.”

  “I don’t understand,” she choked out as his head dipped toward her. Her heart skipped a beat as his mouth bypassed her lips to brush across her cheek.

  “Tonight, when you’re alone in your bedroom, Ophelia, you’re to undress slowly,” he murmured as his teeth lightly nipped at her ear lobe. “I want you to imagine I’m there watching you. When you’re wearing only your chemise, I want you touch your nipples.”

  “Oh dear lord,” she choked out as her gaze locked with his. In a lazy stroke, his finger traced a path along the edge of her bodice. The light touch made Ophelia tremble, and a small smile curved his mouth.

  “When you touch your nipples, I want you to imagine I’m there sucking on them. My tongue swirling on your stiff, rigid peaks.” Barely able to breathe, it was impossible to look away from him. His smile became even more wicked.

  “Please…this is…”

  “You’re experiencing pleasure right now, aren’t you, Ophelia.” The laughter in his voice was mixed with something sinful and tantalizing, and she flicked her tongue out to lick her dry lips.

  “Yes,” she barely breathed the word.

  “Yes, Mathias.”

  “Yes…Mathias.”

  “Good,” he said softly as his mouth lightly touched hers, lingering for brief second. “I want you to experience the ache, the need, the desire for my touch. I want you to imagine my mouth on your skin, licking and sucking on you until you shatter in my arms.”

  “Oh, God.” It was little more than a breath of sound as fire spread its way through her body. She swayed slightly, and his hands gripped her waist to steady her.

  “I think you are more than capable of passion, Ophelia,” he murmured in a slightly thick voice.

  There was a fire burning in his eyes that warmed her from the inside out as he stepped back from her. A shiver of excitement streaked down her back as his gaze remained locked with hers. She should have been appalled she’d even suggested their bargain to him. But it was the fact he excited her that alarmed her the most.

  Chapter 2

  Lust, unlike anything he’d ever felt before, slammed into Mathias’s chest as he struggled not to pull Ophelia into his arms. Brown eyes, large in her face, shimmered with gold flecks in the firelight. Desire had softened her features, and her full mouth was parted slightly. The tip of her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and Mathias swallowed the dark groan rumbling up in his throat.

  The woman had no idea how tempting she looked at this precise moment. A small shudder rippled through her as he gripped her waist to steady her. He would enjoy making Ophelia see herself as the sensual creature she was. A vivid image of her lying beneath him with her lustrous chestnut hair spilling across her bare shoulders made his cock stir in his trousers.

  In a split instant, his lust vanished as if he’d been doused in icy water. He stiffened and took a quick step back from her. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d just said he wasn’t a liar, and yet here he was pretending to be Charles. Worse, he’d even gone so far as to negotiate terms for her audacious proposition without divulging who he really was.

  Self-loathing twisted his gut into a vicious knot. What in God’s name was he thinking to have let things go this far. The immediate answer that came to mind was a perfunctory one. He was doing what he’d done for years. He was protecting his brother from scandal. Mathias almost snorted with disgust. As the Earl of Thornbury, his brother was a scoundrel when it came to his dalliances, but even Charles would have arched his eyebrows in disapproval at Mathias’s behavior.

  He cleared his throat as he studied the expression of desire on Ophelia’s face. Christ Jesus, he wanted to explore every inch of her right here and now. The images flying through his head made his muscles grow taut with a need he’d not experienced in a long time. It was a tension that would remain unassuaged because the minute he told her the truth she’d flee.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for his brother. Despite the small gap in their ages, they’d both inherited the same dark hair and features of their father. The only difference was the color of their eyes. The fact they were easily mistaken for one another had proven helpful in his efforts to save Charles from female entrapment and a hellish marriage. But for the first time in his life he found himself wishing he really was the Earl of Thornbury. Mathias took two quick steps back from Ophelia.

  “I’m afraid, my lady, we’ve both made a grievous error.” Mathias deliberately kept his voice devoid of emotion as he steadily met her gaze. Confusion swept across her face and his jaw tightened painfully with regret.

  “An error?” She shook her head slightly.

  “Regrettably, I am not the Earl of Thornbury.” The words hung in the air for a long moment as she stared at him in bewilderment.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My brother holds the Thornbury title,” he said quietly. The dazed expression on her face made his gut twist painfully with regret. He was truly a bastard for having toyed with the woman. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

  “You’re not…but you said—”

  “No. You assumed I was the earl,” he grounded out between clenched teeth. Furious with himself for allowing things to become out of hand, his tone was harsher than he meant it to be.

  Slowly, Ophelia’s look of confusion became one of mortified shock and horror. The fact he was responsib
le for her humiliation was not lost on him. His jaw tightened with self-disgust. He’d known Ophelia had mistaken him for Charles when she’d addressed him so formally on the dance floor, but he’d chosen not to correct her.

  Over the years, he’d perfected his role of protecting his brother from women seeking nothing more than a title and access to Charles’s vast holdings. Unlike other titled peers whose fortunes had been decimated over many decades of excessive spending and poor investments, the Thornbury fortune was still intact. The Gilchrist family members possessed innate financial skills, and Mathias and Charles were no different. They’d made the Thornbury finances sound for many years to come.

  It was one of the many reasons women vied for the Countess of Thornbury title. An image of Miriam flitted through his head. When the memory of her betrayal tried to secure a place in his thoughts, he discarded it. Instead, a new image was being seared in his memory as he saw the color drain from Ophelia’s face. Humiliation and shame caused her mouth to work slowly as she tried to speak. Her efforts deepened his self-loathing.

  Even when Ophelia had made her outrageous proposal, he’d failed to have the decency to reveal his true identity. The idea he’d been looking out for Charles’s best interests didn’t excuse his demeaning the woman. Disgusted by his behavior, he tried to form a coherent and sincere apology in his head.

  The problem was he was failing to come up with anything sufficient to make amends for his behavior. Perhaps the situation could be salvaged by returning her home to her without any ties. That might go a long way toward atoning for his sins. Silence stretched out between them as he considered how best to extend his broken olive branch. When she didn’t speak, he cleared his throat.

  “Naturally, I understand you’ll choose not to go forward with our agreement, but I—”

  “Not go—you bastard.” The sharp, brittle words made Mathias tense as he prepared himself for the outrage about to be inflicted on him. Her fury was slowly taking form, and even in her anger she was lovely. “You allowed me to humiliate myself—offer my body in exchange for something you cannot give.”