Earl of Oakhurst

by Madeline Martin

  “This?” He scowled at the drink. “It’s a concoction created by Lord Kendal to take the edge off a night of drinking.”

  Penelope’s face went hot in spite of herself. Lord Oakhurst must have gone out after she was in bed. After he’d paused in front of her door. She was not ignorant to the activities of men and where their proclivities lay. Not that any of it should be her concern, she reminded herself. If he found himself in the arms of a doxy or a mistress, it would be of little consequence to her.

  It had to be.

  Except that he had not taken the time to consummate the marriage with her first. She had been burning with desire in that large bed while he had been cavorting.

  “I hope it was enjoyable,” she murmured.

  “It wasna one of my better nights.” He lifted The Times and fixed his attention on the small print.

  Gambling then. Not women. Her shoulders relaxed.

  Silence descended on the room and left Penelope with the feeling that she ought to fill the space with something. Anything.

  She shifted in her chair and glanced at him. He was looking at the paper, distracted, not noticing as she let her gaze wander over his face, his mouth. She pressed her lips together as the fresh wave of memories rolled back along with the familiar, agonizing throb of arousal.

  Abruptly, he set aside the paper and regarded her with raised brows. “I know what ye’re thinking.”

  Penelope’s cheeks blazed. “Do you?” she asked, hoping her expression did not reveal the entirety of her mortified horror.

  “The ball,” he replied.

  The ball? What ball?

  She opened her mouth to speak but closed it with uncertainty.

  “Perhaps ye were thinking of something else then.” He pushed at the stubborn lock at his forehead that curled back into place, thankfully not guessing as to where her thoughts might have strayed.

  “I meant yer parent’s ball,” he continued.

  “Yes.” She touched her brow at her own forgetfulness. Lady Bursbury had planned her ball for the day after their wedding. She’d sworn it had “absolutely nothing” to do with Penelope and Lord Oakhurst’s marriage, but Penelope knew her mother better than to believe such an outlandish claim or such a timely coincidence. “That’s this evening, isn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  A servant entered with a fresh pot of tea and poured them each a cup. The sweet, floral scent pulled her in. She grasped the cup and brought it to her lips. It was just cool enough to prevent her from scalding her tongue: the ideal temperature.

  She sighed softly. “I’ll be ready at half past seven.”

  He drank a sip of tea and held the teacup in his hands after. “I’ll save a dance for ye if ye save one for me.”

  “Misery does love company.” Penelope sipped at her tea again as Lord Oakhurst chuckled into his cup.

  Penelope had always detested dancing. Being so close to another person, sharing the same air, had never held appeal.

  Until now.

  She tried to recall the dance with Lord Oakhurst previously, but the memory blurred with the many other men she’d danced with that night. Tonight, she knew, would be different. She wanted to be close to him, to share the same air, the same space, to breathe him in.

  Frustration tightened through her. This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, one who had fought her way in to establish a foothold in the world of medicine. If she wanted something, she knew well how to get it.

  “Dare I ask what ye’re thinking now?” he asked. His Scottish burr was like a sensual whisper to her senses, caressing her ears and sending prickles of anticipation tingling through her.

  Penelope considered his question. How did one ask for their marriage to be consummated? Surely it would be brazen to speak so plainly, perhaps too bold. Unless, of course, she expressed a desire to follow the general rules of marriage. Yes, that would be the best route to go.

  “What I was thinking was…well, I’m afraid it’s rather pedantic,” she began.

  “Pedantic?” He lifted his teacup to his mouth.

  “Yes.” She folded her hands demurely in her lap and regarded him from across the table. “I should like to have our marriage consummated.”

  The tea MacKenzie had been drinking caught fast in his throat and sputtered from between his lips, staining the white tablecloth.

  He straightened, set his teacup aside and wiped at his mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

  She met his incredulous stare. “I should like to consummate our marriage.”

  He swallowed. “Now?”

  She flushed and glanced shyly around the room. “Is it done in the light of day?” she asked. “And outside of the bedchamber?”

  “It certainly can be,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry?” She raised her brows in silent question.

  “We can go to the bedchamber if you like.” He adjusted his waistcoat, grateful he’d discarded his jacket. One less bit of clothing to have to remove. It was only morning and Kendal’s hangover cure hadn’t fully done its magic yet, but he could perform. His groin twitched with anticipation. Oh yes, he’d have no problem performing.

  Her rosy cheeks made his imagination go wild. He wanted to bring on more of those blushes, until the fair skin of her neck and chest were pink.

  She bit her lower lip. “I think this evening would be more proper.”

  He balled his hand into a fist under the table and squeezed it to regain control of the smack of lust pummeling his brain. A man should not want his wife this badly.

  “Aye, of course.” He nodded.

  “After the ball,” she added.

  Damn the bloody ball. Never had he hated a social event with such ferocity. He wanted to enjoy the entire night with her, carefully divesting her of her clothing one silky, lacy bit at a time. He wanted to taste and tease her until she was crying out with need. He wanted—

  “I confess,” she whispered. “I wish we were not attending the ball tonight. I am…”

  He remained perfectly still, poised for her last word, waiting to hear exactly what might follow.

  “Curious,” she said quietly.

  Did she mean for her voice to be so low and sensual? It glided over him like a caress. He squeezed his fist again. Good God.

  “Curious?” he repeated.

  “Yes.” Her fingertip gracefully traced the curled handle of the teacup. “After our kiss yesterday, I found myself quite aroused.”

  If MacKenzie had been drinking tea, it would have sprayed over the tablecloth a second time.

  He pushed the cup away, resolved not to have a single sip until their discussion was complete. Hopefully in his bedchamber with her wearing nothing but one of her beautiful blushes.

  The maid entered at that exact moment and the conversation between them dropped away. She placed a small tray of pastries on the table and her gaze fell on the stained tablecloth.

  MacKenzie waved his hand for her to ignore it. She bobbed a quick curtsey, refilled their tea at a painfully slow pace, then finally slipped from the room.

  “Is it terribly wicked to say what I’ve said to you?” Lady Penelope asked. “It is, isn’t it?”

  It was just the right amount of wicked, but he’d never say as much.

  “I’m yer husband, lass.” He settled back into his chair with a feigned ease. “Ye can tell me anything.”

  She nodded and pressed her lips together as though trying to deduce where to start.

  Please continue with talk of arousal. He would make breakfast last a whole bloody day if this was where their talk veered.

  “Will you kiss me again?” she asked.

  God, she was audacious, and he loved it. “Now?” he asked. “In the light of day? And outside the bedchamber?” He winked at her.

  She laughed at that, her eyes shining. Audacious and beautiful. And she wanted him.

  She wanted their naked skin against one another.

  She wanted his touch, his hands, his mouth, on her body.


  She wanted his cock inside of her. And God, did he wish it to be there.

  Of course, she hadn’t said those words exactly, but he was a man, and that was precisely what he’d heard.

  “Now would be amenable.” Her boldness melted to just the right amount of reticence and MacKenzie thought his heart might thump out of his chest. He rose and offered her his hand, as though inviting her for a dance. She put her fingers to his palm and got to her feet.

  Her hand was cool against the heat of his, a wonderful contrast.

  She faced him with shy expectation. He let go of her hand and stroked her cheek before gently cupping her jaw. She swallowed and looked up at him.

  His thumb brushed her bottom lip and her quiet gasp whispered over the digit. He lowered his face toward hers and her lashes swept over her cheeks as she closed her eyes. If their previous kiss had resulted in her arousal, he would ensure this one made the seconds between now and after the ball drag on for all eternity.

  His mouth moved over hers in a tender kiss that she returned with innocent eagerness. She leaned into him, welcoming his kiss. Impatient for it.

  For him.

  He slid his hand to the back of her head. Her hair was like the finest silk, smooth against his fingertips. He caught her bottom lip in his mouth and sucked ever so gently.

  A little moan sounded in the back of her throat.

  God.

  His tongue teased lightly against her lips and she opened for him, letting him sweep inside her mouth. She tasted sweet, of tea and the bit of sugar she’d put into it. Her moan was louder this time.

  MacKenzie threaded his fingers into her glossy hair and deepened the kiss. Her hand came to his chest and rested upon him like a brand as her tongue met his. Her curious tongue probed at his before stroking with confidence and desire.

  Desire.

  If he’d meant to encourage her into lust, he was about to burn himself to ash in the effort. His veins were alighting with fire, every part of him completely in tune with her, his skin crackling with awareness. If she weren’t a virgin, he might clear their breakfast from the table with one sweep of his arm and take her right where they’d been having tea only moments before.

  But now was for tantalizing. Enticing.

  His free hand went to her waist as his tongue tangled with hers. Slowly, carefully, he slid his fingers up to her breasts. She pushed into his touch, encouraging him. Her nipples were taut beneath the soft muslin. He brushed his thumb over one and she whimpered with need.

  He loved a woman with sensitive breasts. It allowed him the opportunity to enjoy them, kissing and suckling the pink buds. He longed to do that now.

  Before he realized what he was doing, his mouth was trailing down her slender, graceful neck, licking and nipping a path to her neckline. His tongue edged the fine fabric as his fingers worked at it, tugging it down so the swell of one fair breast came into view.

  He wanted more. Needed more.

  Penelope issued forth a breathy moan that damn near sent him to the wrong side of sanity. He pressed his thumb at the center of her breast and a rosy nipple popped free of its stays. He groaned and closed his mouth around it, flicking his tongue against the hardened little nub.

  Penelope moaned with audible delight. MacKenzie had always loved a woman who let him know she enjoyed his efforts. Penelope was a woman who would let him know with every sigh and moan.

  “Oh.” She clung to the back of his head, locking him against her. “Lord Oakhurst.”

  Lord Oakhurst. It would be almost funny if he weren’t so damn aroused. His cock throbbed, practically aching with need. For her. He needed her. Too much.

  It was time to stop or he might have difficulty doing so.

  He gave her nipple a final, sensual lick, then straightened as he tucked her fine breast back into place. “Call me MacKenzie, lass.”

  Her cheeks were scarlet, and her neck and chest were flushed pink. Exactly as he’d expected. Her lids were heavy, and her eyes sparkled with yearning.

  “MacKenzie?” she said in a breathy voice.

  He had to fight the urge to draw her into his arms again and finish what they’d started.

  “No.” She tilted her head. “That’s our surname. And I’m not one of your university chums. I’m your wife, even if only for convenience.”

  “And curiosity,” he added with a grin.

  Her gaze slid down to where his cock strained against the placket of his breeches. She smiled; a sensual curl of her lips that made him even harder. “James,” she said.

  He’d never liked his English name and had always found it rather off-putting. That is, until she said it. In that seductive purr. James. The way she spoke made him want her lips at his ear, moaning his name.

  With all the control he could muster, he offered a respectful bow and backed away. “I shall leave ye to yer day.” He straightened with a grin. “Until tonight.”

  8

  Drawn out.

  Unending.

  Ceaseless.

  Interminable.

  There were many words that Penelope knew could describe something that felt as if it was dragging on forever, and yet not a one of them truly defined the time that stretched from morning until the evening of the ball. It was as though a lifetime had passed since that kiss.

  That kiss.

  Could something so delightful, so intimate, be referred to simply as a kiss?

  She doubted it. The way he’d eased her breast from her stays and licked her—

  Footsteps sounded behind her. She spun around, aware of how her cheeks blazed. Lord Oakhurst stood there in a black tailcoat with tan pantaloons and a champagne-colored cravat with the gold “W” pin he wore glinting at the silken center.

  He’d combed his hair neatly back with that one stubborn curl at his brow. The strangest urge to run her fingers through his hair to brush it back nearly overcame her.

  It was then she realized Lord Oakhurst was staring at her.

  No, not Lord Oakhurst.

  James.

  The very thought of his name sent a small shiver down her spine.

  “Ye look…stunning.” He closed the distance between them, his moss-green eyes deepening in such a way, it made her blood go hot and her thoughts turn wicked.

  His chin was smooth again, having evidently been scraped free of all bristles for the ball.

  The way it had been when they’d kissed the first time. Not like that morning, when the prickle of his whiskers had rasped against her chin…and her breast.

  Oh, heavens.

  She looked down at her gown, desperate to break eye contact, lest he see directly into her salacious thoughts.

  Her mother had ordered the white silk gown specifically for the “winter ball” she was hosting. A thin netting of tissue lay over the gown like a veil and sparkled with dozens of tiny gemstones. Similar gemstones were clustered around a small bunch of curling white feathers that had been fastened into her hair at the nape of her neck, nestled within pinned curls.

  Did all husbands compliment their wives so? Penelope knew her father often flattered Lady Bursbury. But husbands who were simply acquired through marriage as an act of convenience, surely, they did not.

  It seemed…unnecessary.

  “You look quite handsome.” She spoke not to repay the compliment out of politeness, but in truth. He did look handsome.

  In fact, he piqued her carnal curiosity all the more. She wondered at what he looked like beneath the broad-shouldered tailcoat and pressed shirt, beneath his pantaloons.

  She glanced around the room. “Will your grandmother be joining us?”

  “She’s already at Bursbury Place, assisting Lady Bursbury with the supervision of any final necessary preparations.” He offered her his arm and the woodsy scent of him embraced her awareness and made her skin hum. “Shall we?”

  Penelope rested her hand in the warm crook of his arm and allowed him to lead her into the carriage. This marked the first time in her adul
t life she had been enclosed in the quiet intimacy of a carriage alone with a man who was not her father. And not just any man, but the one she planned to have intercourse with upon their return to Oakhurst Place. The man who had left her body burning with the advanced stages of arousal for the duration of a night and a day.

  He allowed her to climb into the carriage first and then sat on the seat across from her. Lights from outside flickered over his face as they made the journey to her former home.

  Silence descended between them, tense and thick. Not with discomfort, but with lust.

  The corners of his lips quirked upward. “Ye’re staring, Lady Oakhurst.”

  “So are you, Lord Oakhurst,” she replied.

  “I want to kiss ye.” He lifted his chin, regal and debonair as he made the sinful statement with tantalizing nonchalance.

  “Here?” she asked, far more tempted than she cared to admit.

  He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and for one heart-fluttering moment, she thought he might make good on his wish. Instead his fingers grazed against hers where they rested on her knee.

  Arousal hummed in her veins like liquid fire.

  “Tonight, after the ball,” he promised with the burr of his Scottish accent. He brushed her hand with his. “Then here.” His fingertips whispered over her knee and teased an inch up her thigh. “And here.”

  Penelope’s mouth went dry even as other areas of her body became, well…rather wet.

  The carriage rolled to a stop. He straightened as smoothly as he’d leaned forward and the door snapped open. Icy air swept into the carriage, but even the frigid temperature was not enough to cool her cheeks.

  They climbed out and James offered her his arm. This time, taking it held an intimacy, a crackling connection between them as she sensed the strength of his forearm beneath his sleeve. They walked in together, Penelope’s cheeks aflame with lust, and immediately became the center of attention as the caller announced them by their newly married titles of the Earl and Countess of Oakhurst.

  Penelope endured the press of all those stares with a pleasant smile expertly applied to her lips. James settled his free hand over her arm. To most in the room, it might look like a show of possession, but she caught sight of the glance he gave her. Understanding.