The Earl Takes All (10 page)

He eased her gown down, and she stepped out of it.

“I'll leave the remainder to you,” he said.

Disappointment slammed into her. Turning, she saw that he was already at the wardrobe in the process of hanging up the gown. Hanging it up when she would have preferred he discard it on the floor because he was too impatient to unveil the rest of her. How silly she was to think he found her the least bit attractive in her current state. She'd long ago ceased wearing corsets or anything binding, so she had little left to remove except for her chemise and drawers. Her maid had left a nightdress laid out on the foot of the bed. Julia was incredibly tempted not to put it on, to force him to look at her nudity, to acknowledge all the changes in her body.

Knowing what they risked didn't lessen her desire for him. If anything, since his return, she wanted him more than ever. He was more forthcoming with his feelings, his praise. And the way she sometimes caught him looking at her—­as though he were on the verge of ravishing her any minute—­caused her to yearn for him all the more.

So it wasn't her swollen body that had him turning his back on her. It was his desire for her. Taking solace in that, she slipped into her nightdress and spun around to face him. He was still at her wardrobe, standing before it as though striving to make sense of her gowns.

“You might as well undress in here,” she told him as she walked to the dressing table and sat upon the cushioned bench. Reaching up, she began removing pins from her hair.

“I'll do that.”

In the mirror, she saw him step behind her, his jacket, neck cloth, and waistcoat already gone, his cuffs and two buttons on his shirt undone, leaving him looking rather uncivilized. He was much quicker at undressing himself than he was at undressing her. Lowering her hands to her lap, she reminded him, “You've never done this service for me before.”

Within the reflection, his eyes captured and held hers. “I've thought a thousand times of doing it.”

She furrowed her brow. “Why didn't you?”

“I wasn't confident you'd appreciate it.”

“I've never known you to lack in confidence.”

“Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think.”

Sifting his hands through her tresses, he began removing the pins, carefully placing them in the china dish on the dressing table.

“It's odd, isn't it, that after all this time we still discover things about each other,” she said.

Her hair tumbled down and he buried his hands in the abundant strands, gently massaging her scalp. “I suspect an entire lifetime wouldn't be long enough to discover every facet of you.”

“I'm not such a mystery.”

A corner of his mouth hitched up. “You are to a man who wants to know everything.”

“I don't keep secrets.”

His gaze was far too knowing, his expression that of a man who could uncover hidden depths that she hadn't even known she possessed. “Every lady has at least one.”

Swallowing hard, she strove not to look flustered by the accuracy of his statement as that long ago night in the garden with Edward raced through her mind. She'd never given herself leave to examine it fully, fearful of what she might uncover about herself.

Reaching past her, he snatched up her brush and began dragging it through her hair. “A hundred strokes, isn't it?”

“I'll be content with a dozen tonight.”

“I might not be satisfied with less than two hundred.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Not too tired for this. It's rather soothing, actually.”

He took such care, was so gentle. She could fall asleep right there if not for the fact that she didn't want to miss a single moment of his attentions. How could she be so greedy for his touch, his nearness? Perhaps every now and then it was good for them to spend a few months apart.

“You're awfully skilled. When you were a bachelor, did you treat other ladies to your talents with a brush?”

“Bit late to be jealous of them.”

“I'm not. I'm just curious.”

“I've never done this for another lady. I never wanted to.”

Such conviction in his words. She didn't doubt him, she never had. But all these changes in her body seemed to play havoc with her mind, her thoughts. Some days she wept for no reason at all. Some nights she questioned her ability to hold his interest. And other times she was as confident as ever. Although presently she was yearning for an abundance of affection.

She took delight in watching his hand gliding over her hair, observing the concentration on his face as though he were as lost in the sensations as she was. She couldn't recall him ever being so astonishingly absorbed by so simple a task. He had returned to her a man who seemed to take nothing for granted. She appreciated this new aspect to him.

Gathering up her hair, draping it over one shoulder, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, just behind her ear. It seemed he'd also grown rather fond of her neck.

“Don't plait it,” he said in a low voice that sent a shimmer of want through her. He set the brush aside, moved to the sitting area, dropped down into a chair and began tugging off a boot.

The masculinity of the act took her by surprise, as did the realization that she had never actually watched her husband dress or undress. He'd always come to her fully prepared to face the day or to enjoy the night. He took care of his toilette in his bedchamber with the assistance of his valet.

Getting up from the bench, she headed toward the bed, casting furtive glances his way. He was setting the other boot beside the first. She reached the steps she used to clamber into bed. His stockings were joining the boots.

She climbed onto the mattress. He stood, reached up, grabbed the back of his shirt and began dragging it over his head. Little by little his skin came into view. Was there anything more sensual than the unveiling of the male torso—­even one with which she was remarkably familiar? Her mouth went dry.

She brought the covers over her as though they could protect her from everything she was feeling. They could not travel where her mind wandered, not without risk to the babe. She was rather certain of that. A few more weeks before she gave birth, a few weeks of healing, and then she could have this in all its glorious splendor. She would lie beneath him, spread her thighs, truly welcome him home.

He lowered his trousers, stepped out of them, tossed them without care onto the pile of clothing that rested on the settee.

Don't stop there, her mind urged, and it was all she could do not to voice the words aloud. What would he think of so brazen a command? He would be appalled by some of the improper places that her imagination took her. A proper countess did not desire a liaison in the garden that went beyond a kiss. A proper countess did not fasten her eyes on a man's firm backside as he crouched to stir the fire, wishing that she were near enough that she could cup his buttocks. She did not entertain thoughts of easing her hands beneath the cloth, setting his throbbing manhood free, pushing him onto his back, lowering her mouth—­

He was striding toward her. Fearful her lustful thoughts were readable on her face, she rolled onto her side, presenting him with her back. So many fantasies rambled through her mind. His objections in the copper tub had been meek at best. Perhaps he would be open to her being a little more adventuresome after the child was born.

The room descended into darkness as he lowered the flame in the lamp. The bed creaked, dipped as his chest met her back. He swept her hair aside and once more his lips made their way to the nape of her neck near her shoulder. One of his hands stroked her side, her hip. Back up. Back down. Lulling her so deeply into the sweet fondling that it took her a while to realize that each caress journeyed a little farther down.

Just above her knee. Her knee. Slightly below it. Her calf. Where the hem of her nightdress had gathered.

This time when his hand came back up, it was beneath the linen, skimming over her knee, along her thigh.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh,” he whispered, his breath wafting along her ear. “I told you that I don't receive pleasure without giving it.”

“But the babe—­”

“I'll be gentle. I'll be so gentle, Jules.” He cupped the apex at her thighs. “I'm only going to give. Slowly, leisurely.” His fingers parted the folds. “Until you sigh with pleasure.”

Sigh? She might very well scream. It had been too long since she'd been touched with such intimacy, such tenderness. His own burgeoning desire pressing against her backside served to increase the power of the sensations rippling through her as his fingers taunted her with the magic they were so skillfully weaving. He took her earlobe between his teeth, and heat swarmed through her.

He somehow managed to work her nightdress down just enough so his hot mouth could travel over her bared shoulder. Her toes curled, uncurled. Her fingers tingled. He had always been gentle with her, respectful, but there was something different tonight, an almost feral need shimmering through him that she could sense at the furthest recesses of her consciousness.

It was like smoke, appearing and disappearing. She couldn't latch onto it, not when most of her awareness was centered on her own body, his hand between her legs, his mouth on her shoulder. It was almost as though he were weaving a web of pleasure between the two points. Only, the sensations spread beyond that to encompass everywhere. So deeply, so powerfully. Until they consumed, overwhelmed. Her back arching, she cried out with the long denied release.

His fingers stilling, he pressed her more closely against him, seemed to wrap himself more securely around her.

Then the unexpected tears came in great gulping sobs she couldn't control.

He pushed up onto an elbow. “Julia?”

Placing trembling fingers over her mouth, shaking her head, she rasped, “I'm sorry. It's just that . . . we haven't been this close in ages.” Not since the physician had confirmed she was with child. He'd been so fearful of hurting her. He'd leashed all his passions, and she had tried to do the same with hers, but they had hovered near the surface, constantly taunting her with want and need.

“It's all right, Jules,” he said, his voice low, comforting as he gently turned her until her face was nestled against his chest, his arms around her, one hand soothingly stroking her spine. “It's all right.”

“I've grown so cumbersome, I was afraid you didn't want me anymore.”

“I've always wanted you.”

The sincerity in his voice caused another hideously wrenching sob to escape. “I'm being so silly. This sudden aching loneliness—­I don't know where it came from.”

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize—­”

She blinked back the tears. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't.” His hold on her tightened. “Ever.”

Swiping at the dampness on her cheeks, she released a strangled bubble of gratitude and dismay. “I have such a time of late controlling these tears.”

“I was afraid I'd hurt you.”

Leaning her head back, she studied his face in the shadows. “It was marvelous. So intense. It took me off guard.” She buried her face back against his chest. “But it felt glorious.” Swallowing, she circled a finger around his nipple. “Was it as nice for you earlier?”

His chortle was short, nearly self-­deprecating. “It very nearly killed me.”

She laughed lightly. “It felt as though I'd died, and then I was more alive than I'd ever been.”

“Considering our reactions, we should probably refrain from pleasuring each other for now.”

Nodding, she snuggled more closely against him. He was right, but she was grateful for tonight. It would see her through the next few weeks until they could make love madly once again.

Chapter 10

P
lease
don't leave me again.

I won't. Ever.

What the bloody hell had possessed him to make that promise? It had kept him awake most of the night, with Julia nestled securely, trustingly, against him, while his mind reeled with the ramification of his words. He'd made a vow he could not possibly keep.

Now, he stood at the window, gazing out on the storm that continued to whip snow over the land and very much mimicked his own inner turmoil. Rising earlier, he'd drawn on his trousers and shirt but he was reluctant to go to his bedchamber until she'd awoken. Her shattering from pleasure in his arms had been the most satisfying moment he'd ever experienced. Her passions were so easily ignited, her response so gratifying.

He wanted to feel those muscles closing around him while he was buried deeply within her. Something else that would never happen.

“Considering going out?” she asked, her voice raspy with sleep, causing a tightening in his groin.

Damn, but he wanted to return to that bed. Instead he merely looked over at it, at her, with her hair cascading in a tangled mess around her. “No. Can barely see into the distance at all. I'll work indoors today.”

Pushing herself to a seated position against the pillows, she smiled, and the reason why he had been so quick to vow to never leave her struck him hard. He loved the way the corners of her mouth quirked up, the manner in which her eyes warmed with pleasure. He wished he'd be able to honor every promise he made to her since his return.

He was barely aware of striding toward the bed until he reached it and sat on the edge of the mattress. She smelled of sleep and faintly of sex, a seductive perfume. He combed the dark strands back from her face. “I should brush out your hair.”

“I should let you, but it might lead to other things.”

He pressed a brief kiss to her forehead, her lips. “It no doubt would.”

“We have to behave.”

“Pity.”

She giggled, the echo of a young woman filled with joy. He couldn't recall ever hearing her make such a whimsical sound. “I don't know why I doubted. Being with child has caused havoc with my emotions.”

“Don't doubt.” Cradling her face, he took her mouth as tenderly as he could, holding his own needs in check. Her fingers went up into his hair. It was tempting to just sink onto her.

Instead, he pushed back, stood. “I should probably be about my day. I'll see you at dinner.”

Her look was sly, provocative. “If not before.”

W
hy
were ladies served their breakfast in bed?

Edward had pondered the thought while eating his own breakfast in the smaller dining room and staring at an article in the newspaper that Rigdon had dutifully ironed. The paper was a couple of days old, having arrived with several others the day before. Now, sitting at the desk in the library, staring at the snow that continued to swirl beyond the window, he doubted deliveries of anything would be made today.

He finally had a handle on the land, the tenants, the potential for income. At least for this estate. In the spring, he would need to travel to the other two that were temporarily in his keeping until the heir reached his majority. He wondered if he should invite Julia to accompany him so she could see what her son would inherit. Although his brother had no doubt already shown her. Besides, come spring, she might still be rather cross with him.

Leaning back in the chair, drumming his fingers on the mahogany desk, he knew that all the pleasant moments he had to spend with her would soon be coming to an end. So why the devil was he sitting here going over ledgers, calculating sums, and striving to determine how to make the estate more profitable? He would have ample time to do all that when his days and nights were filled with little save his own company. Odd that he didn't envision himself filling his nights with women and drink.

Spending so much time in her company had ruined him. Only fair, he supposed, that suffering was in his near future. But it wasn't yet time to step out of his brother's shoes. Yes, all this could bloody well wait. For now, he needed to stock up on memories.

And he knew just where to begin, where he would find her.

Only she wasn't in the room where she worked with her watercolors. Not that he blamed her for not seeking solace here when one could barely see the landscape beyond the windows. When was the blasted weather going to quiet and still?

On the other hand, it was perfect weather for sitting before a roaring fire with a bit of warm brandy. Perhaps he would ask her to read aloud from
Madame Bovary
. He smiled with the image of her finding that book in his room—­

His mouth went flat. Surely she wasn't in there now searching for something provocative to read. He had yet to go through his trunk, to go through Albert's. It was not a chore he was welcoming. He kept telling himself that tomorrow he could get to it. So many tomorrows had already passed, and still he hadn't taken care of matters.

No, she wouldn't go there. The residence was so large, she could be in any one of a hundred rooms.

He strode into the hallway. Why did they need a residence this large anyway? As far as he knew, royalty hadn't visited since Elizabeth. Wasn't that what Marsden had mentioned one night? How a previous earl had been one of her favorites? What did it matter now? It didn't. Finding Julia mattered.

“You there!” he called out to a passing footman, who stopped and faced him. “Do you know where I might find Lady Greyling?”

“No, m'lord. I've not seen her today.”

Could she still be abed? Not that he would blame her, when the weather was so dismal. Joining her there, though, could lead to things. It seemed neither of them had much willpower when it came to being pleasured. He waved his hand at the footman. “Carry on.”

And he did the same, glancing in one room after another, finding each absent of her. Not even her scent lingered. He was not on the correct trail.

When he reached the foyer, he bounded up the stairs to the wing that contained the family's bedchambers. He rapped on her door. No answer. He shoved it open. Empty.

Back into the hallway. He walked briskly toward the bedchamber at the end that had been designated as his whenever he visited. The door was open. Not a good sign. He'd instructed the servants not to go in there. He'd given no such instruction to Julia.

Crossing the threshold, he came up short at the sight of her sitting on the floor, the lid of a trunk raised, her head bent, a leather journal in her lap.

“I said I would see to his things,” he snapped, immediately regretting the tartness of his tone.

She looked up. “Edward's, yes. But this is yours.” She lifted the book. “All your journal entries begin ‘My Dearest Darling.' You wrote to me every day while you were away. Why didn't you share this with me?”

Because I didn't know it bloody well existed.
“I was saving it to give to you for Christmas.” Liar. God, he wanted to bite off his tongue at her crestfallen expression.

“I've ruined your surprise.”

“Doesn't matter.” He crossed over to her, crouched, placed his elbows on his thighs. “You shouldn't be messing with this. I'll get to it eventually.”

“I know, but you've been so busy, and I knew you hadn't gotten to your things, so I thought to help out.” She placed her hand on his wrist. “I'm in the strangest mood. I feel as though I need to do something, and I'm not sure what. Do you know I actually made my own bed this morning? The poor maid didn't know what to make of me. I tidied the nursery when there was nothing to tidy. I just wanted to do something a bit more productive. And I've only managed to upset you.”

“I'm not upset. I simply don't want you putting yourself out. I suppose we could go through it together.” Although he truly wanted to do it alone. He had no idea what he might find in his brother's trunk. Nothing that would reveal the truth, that was for certain, but still he would be reliving the memories. Best to do those on his own.

Shaking her head, placing her hands to her lower back, she arched. “I'm losing interest. My back has been aching all morning. I must have slept on it wrong.”

“You should be abed, then.”

“I don't feel like lying down. Perhaps I should walk.”

“You are aware there is a storm outside?”

She smiled. “I can walk through the residence. We have an abundance of corridors here that would suffice.”

Reaching around her, he pressed his hands against the small of her back, rubbing gently. She moaned softly. “Oh, that feels good.”

“Let's go to your bedchamber. You can lie on your side and I'll massage your back for a bit.”

“Thought you had business to see to.”

“None of my business is more important than your comfort.”

“You've convinced me.” She nibbled on her lower lip. “May I keep the journal?”

Where was the harm? Obviously, Albert had intended for her to have it, since it was a series of letters to her. “Of course. Now let's get you up.”

As gradually as possible, providing her with all the support he could, he helped her get to her feet. She took a step, released a small cry, bent and slapped a hand on her stomach. “Oh my God.”

“What is it?” he asked, circling an arm around her shoulders, fighting off his alarm that something might be terribly wrong.

“A pain shot through me.” She looked at him, horror in her eyes. “There's . . . something wet trickling down the inside of my legs. Oh, my word—­”

He swept her into his arms. “It's all right. Everything is going to be all right.”

“It's too soon.” Her voice was thick with tears, laced with panic.

“It might not be what we think.” He hoped with everything within him that it wasn't. With long strides, he carried her out of the room, down the hallway, and into her bedchamber. Tenderly, he placed her on the bed. “I'm going to have a look, all right?”

She nodded, but the fear reflected in her eyes was tearing him apart. He didn't have to push her skirts up far before he saw the dampness tinged with blood. Before he could say anything, she cried out, her hands balling around the covers as she squeezed her eyes shut.

He felt helpless and powerless, able to do little more than watch as she struggled through the pain.

When she opened her eyes, tears were welling and she was gasping. “He's coming. The baby's coming. It's too soon. It's far too soon.”

Dropping her head back down onto the pillow, she began to cry in earnest, the tears leaking onto her cheeks.

“Look at me, Julia, look at me.”

She rolled her head from side to side, once again squeezing her eyes shut. “I'm scared, so scared.”

He was terrified as well, but he couldn't let her know it, couldn't let so much as a drop of his terror seep out of him. It would only serve to reaffirm her fears, cause her to panic. “Julia.” He placed his hands on either side of her face. “Look at me, look in my eyes.”

Finally she did, and he had never been more sure of anything than he was of this. “You will not lose this child. And I will not lose you. I won't allow it.”

“You cannot control fate.”

“Fate owes me on this. I will not let anything happen that will cause me to lose either of you.”

Blinking back the tears, she nodded, her mouth going into a firm line signaling that she was as resolute as he. “Yes, all right. But it's not time.”

“Apparently this little one is of the opinion that it is. So let's have a little faith here. Relax. Be strong. Be brave. We have a child to bring into this world.”