In the Arms of an Earl (26 page)

Her wink did not seem snide, but Jane couldn’t help but feel a dull ache of jealousy. The way Susanna spoke so freely to Frederick. How her gloved hand touched his arm repeatedly, lingering on his sleeve for longer than was necessary.

“I quite agree with you. It’s been an exhausting day.” He gave a wry smile. “Anyone passing by might forget this house is still in mourning.”

“It is your birthday,” Susanna made the excuse for Alice. “Even Henry would want his baby brother to enjoy his birthday.” She hugged Jane briefly. “Good night, Jane. I will inform Alice I will join you at Lady Brewster’s tomorrow.”

Frederick bade her good night, and took Jane’s limp hand. “I do hope you two become friends. The coming days will be very busy for both of us, and I fear it will prove difficult for you. I know it will be for me.” She didn’t trust herself to speak and could only nod. “I’ll say good night to everyone and meet you upstairs.” He kissed her forehead. “Wait up for me, my darling. I shan’t be but a moment.”

He made his way through the room toward Susanna, who drifted across the floor, reaching for him with both arms.

Jane’s heart seemed to break in half. She made a dignified exit from the ballroom into the empty hall. When she was certain no one was about, she muffled a sob into her hand and rushed upstairs, seeking protection behind the solid mahogany door of her chamber.

****

She dismissed Sarah. The copper bath was filled with steaming, fragrant water, but she only wanted to go to bed. She sank onto the vanity chair and stared at her reflection in the gilded mirror.

“Impostor,” she whispered.

She tugged at the pins in her hair, undoing in seconds what it had taken Sarah an hour to prepare. If only Frederick had remained in his lackluster position as a third son. What a marvelous life they’d have shared in a small house, perhaps close to Rosalind or Amelia. Even a cottage in Weston would have been better than this.

She undressed with difficulty and climbed into bed. It was larger than she was used to, and the mattress unfamiliar. The sheets were soft and a warming pan had been slipped between them, but she took no comfort from it.

A quiet knock on the door announced Frederick’s arrival. “Jane?” His voice was hushed, as if he thought she were asleep.

She hastily rubbed her damp cheeks with a corner of the sheet. “Come in.”

He closed the door behind him. “I didn’t wake you, did I, my love? I hadn’t meant to linger. The party was strictly Alice’s idea. I wasn’t aware she knew when my birthday was.”

“How kind of her to have a party for you.”

“Hmm.” He frowned. “I hardly think celebrating my birthday overrides her mourning my brother. Did she mention anything to you about Henry, or how she is handling her grief?”

Jane stopped herself from gaping at his question. “No, she didn’t. I’m sure she misses him.”
As I would miss you
. The idea of something happening to him was unbearable.

“Well, Susanna cheered her up. She has a warming effect on people.”

She studied him to note any wistfulness or sign of heartbreak. If there was any, he disguised it well. “She’s very beautiful. I think—” Should she mention she’d heard her name before, at Everhill?

“Yes?”

She took a breath. “I think Lucinda told me about her.”

“Oh? What did she say?” He moved casually about the room, stoking the fire, arranging the drapes.

Jane gulped. “I don’t remember very much. Lucinda said she was…an old friend of yours.”

He snorted. “Old friend,” he muttered. He shook his head. “I am surprised she’s returned from the Continent. I hadn’t expected her back for a few more months. I do hope you and she will become fast friends. She’s closer to your age than Alice and seems a little lonely herself.”

She didn’t know how to respond. Had he been in touch with the woman all along? Lucinda had obviously been mistaken in her theory of Frederick’s broken heart and the woman who’d caused it.

“I hope so,” she murmured. He sat on the sofa to tug at his shoes. She threw back the velvet coverlet and padded barefooted to him. “I’ll help you,” she said in a quiet tone so the recent sob wouldn’t return.

“Thank you. I didn’t want to awaken Dixon, though the wretch should have attended me despite the late hour.”

His eyes twinkled, and she realized he’d purposely come straight to her rather than undressing in his own room. He stood and unbuttoned his waistcoat. As always, his height was impressive. She slipped his coat from his shoulders and draped it next to her gown on the sofa. His waistcoat was next, and his shirt. He remained still and silent, watching her as she ministered to him.

“You aren’t looking at me,” he said at last.

Her gaze darted up to his face and back to a button she pretended was more stubborn than it really was. “I’m sorry about your birthday, Frederick. I know you probably felt foolish before your friends, when your own wife…”

Unable to maintain her façade, she crumpled against him.

He chuckled softly and embraced her so tightly she almost lost her breath. “I don’t mind about birthdays, my darling.” His voice was muffled through her hair. “The last birthday I cared about was my tenth, when my father gave me the most beautiful matched ponies in England. After that, none of them mattered.” He tugged at a lock of her hair. “Until this birthday, when I received the most wonderful present of all. Tell me yours, and we shall have a grand party for you.”

“I don’t want a party. I don’t want anything at all, just you.”

“Just me, eh? Well, my accountant will be very pleased to know the new Countess of Falconbury will not be putting me in debt all over town. You’re all I ever wanted, Jane. As a wife, as a friend…” He gently stroked her chin and lifted her face. “God willing, as mother to my children.”

His dark eyes were as rich as coffee. She stared at the sweet curve of his lips and ached to kiss him. All thoughts of Susanna vanished.

He was hers now.

His chest was bare. She ran her fingers over his muscular torso, catching and pulling on the thick mat of black hair. He skimmed his lips across her neck, sending tingling shudders coursing through her.

“It would be a shame to let that bathwater go to waste,” he murmured, toying with the ribbon fastening her night rail.

She was glad he hadn’t lit any lamps, as the weak glow from the fire would hide her blush. Had it only been the day before they’d started life as man and wife?

“I can wash your back for you,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. Washing him meant he would be in the tub. He would undress in front of her, and…

“I’d rather wash yours for you.”

The ribbon unfurled in his hand. He trailed his thumb over her throat and collarbone. The light touch didn’t soothe but sparked a sweet, slow flame burning its way to her fingertips.

“I had a bath earlier.”

“Parliament has yet to pass a law dictating how many baths you may have in one day.”

He unbuttoned his breeches, which slid down his muscular legs to the floor. She quickly lifted her gaze to the vicinity of his chest and throat, her heart hammering.

The shyness she’d felt the night before flooded her senses. She wanted to shield her eyes from the splendor of his naked form but couldn’t tear away. The muscles in his right arm flexed as he removed her night rail, his skin tawny gold in the amber glow of the fire.

He got into the bath and held out his arms. Wisps of steam rose from the water, dissipating as she hastily got in, her back against the opposite side. The tub was small enough she had to fold her legs over his. He reached for her.

“Come to me.”

“There’s not enough room.”

Perhaps he would think her blush was merely from the hot bath. The playful grin reappeared on his carved lips.

“That is precisely the point.” He moved toward the middle of the tub and slid her toward him, lifting her squarely onto his lap. She folded her legs around his waist, her breath hitching at the impact of her soft body against his hard one. A tremor ran through his arms as they tightened around her. His lips dragged across her shoulder, and back toward her neck. His kisses were as hot as the water.

Desire rose inside her stronger than the night before. She was no longer anxious, but strangely restless, impatient. She arched against him reflexively. Their lovemaking had been a refuge, a haven for her lonely spirit. The joy and love it created had been almost too much to bear.

As her ardor increased, she slid against him, her breasts pressed into his chest. Her reward was his startled groan, deep and low.

“I’ve thought about you all day.” His kisses created tiny explosions wherever he touched. He sucked her earlobe between his teeth, stirring an awakening deep inside her. “Do you know what torture it was to listen to Buckingham prattle on about taxes while all I could think about was the taste of your lips?” His hand dipped below the water’s surface and settled on her upper thigh.

She’d lost the need for words and closed her eyes while delicious shivers tripped over her skin. Every inch of her body stirred at his touch. Every heartbeat thudded to the rhythm of his.

He kissed her deeply, absorbing her soul into his for one breath-holding second when his hand slipped beneath her. Gasping his name, she tightened her arms around him, unable to control her wild reaction to his touch. He pressed her against the hard ridge of his arousal. Where he moved slowly to a soundless rhythm, she counteracted with an ungainly thrust until he broke the kiss and lifted her slightly off his lap.

A moan of protest escaped her as the throbbing ache continued, even without the tantalizing pressure of his fingertips.

“Shh…” he murmured softly.

She waited, breathless, for what seemed an interminable moment until he lowered her, sweetly and slowly, onto him.

His deep sigh echoed hers. They stayed still, relishing the act of consummating their love. Finally, she could bear it no more.

“Frederick—please—”

She pressed her mouth to his. Water sloshed out of the tub and onto the carpet when he stood. A shiver raced through her when cool air hit her wet skin, but her torso and arms warmed from his heated body. Their lips still fastened together, he strode to the bed, carrying her as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow.

She matched kiss for kiss, rising to meet each stroke that turned from tender to torment in seconds. Their coupling was demanding, insatiable. She wanted to whisper sweet words into his ear but forgot them all. She could only gasp his name between breaths and stare into his eyes, which wore a fierce look of desire.

The water droplets clinging to their skin mixed with the moisture their intimacy created. He pushed the quilt away and rose up onto his elbows so he could look down at her.

“No,” she murmured, trying to pull him close and hide herself against his chest.

“I want to look at you. My God, you are so beautiful.”

“The…the quilt…” She fumbled for it, and with a resigned sigh, he pulled it back over them. His movements had slowed; the fire storm died down. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

A soft laugh puffed from his tightened lips. “Don’t be. This is only our second time.”

“Actually, our fourth.”

“Yes, well…” He grimaced comically and rolled on his side, taking her with him. “I love to look at you, sweetheart.” His hand slid from her waist up to her breast. “You are so perfectly made for me.”

His palm rubbed over her nipple, and she bit her lip against a most unladylike moan of appreciation.

“I have no curves.”

He traced the contours of her breast, skimmed her ribs and down to her thigh. “I beg to differ with you, Mrs. Blakeney.”

His voice had deepened. Her heart began thudding again, and she wondered if he could feel the vibrations. She stroked his cheek with every part of her hand, turning her fingers over to feel the scratchy texture of his whiskers that would be a dark shadow in the morning.

“Do I…does it…is it better for you than last night?” She immediately pressed her face into his neck, tasting salty bathwater on his skin.

“Is what better?”

He teased her; he knew what she meant. She boldly slid her hand down his body and reached between them. He caught his breath, as if unsure of what she was doing. She circled the stiff muscular base with her finger and thumb. The rest of him was inside her, arousing a deliciously slow burning fire. “This.”

He gulped for air. “It feels like I’m tightly wrapped in a soft blanket made of heated silk.”

A sudden movement of his body sent her on her back again, and he hovered over her, their bodies touching only where they were still connected. She felt he was slipping out and clenched her muscles to keep him there. His eyes shot open, and he gaped at her in surprise.

“Don’t do that again, or this will be over too quickly.”

She laughed despite the rising blush that warmed her chest. “Do what?”

Her body reacted in a natural way to his tentative thrust, and he sank heavily onto her, shaking his head and murmuring into her ear, “You are toying with me, countess.”

The rough hairs on his thighs rasped her sensitive skin. Her muscles tightened and released around him, repeating until he held his breath, poised above her. His thrusts ceased. Neither of them moved. Only the exquisite force of her innermost muscles brought them both to the edge of completion.

She lost count of how many kisses he’d bestowed on her in the last moments. In the dark heat of their bed, she lay on his chest, cradled by his injured arm while he stroked the damp hair from her face. He whispered sweet promises and tender words of love, his voice blending with the melodious throbbing of his heart against her cheek. She almost laughed at her error in judgment. Susanna was merely a friend. A good friend. Dear Lucinda had made an error in judgment, or perhaps had heard the story wrong.