My Kind of Earl

by Vivienne Lorret

  The friction, grip, and slide of their flesh coming together renewed the incendiary throbbing of her sex. Instantly, she wanted more. Wanted all of him.

  Tightening her legs around his hips, she wiggled, attempting to impale herself.

  A strangled sound left Raven. “Patience. Remember, this is new for both of us. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want this to end quite yet.”

  “But can’t you . . . be patient . . . later?” she panted and gained a growl from him, his hips jerking reflexively.

  He pushed deeper into her shrinking body, his kisses more urgent, his tongue stealing past the seam of her lips. She could feel the trembling of his limbs as he strove to remain gentle, coaxing her body into full acceptance. And she did want him, so much that tears were gathering in her eyes.

  “Relax, my little professor. Yes, darling. A bit more. You feel so . . . Ah.” He stopped on a curse and clenched his teeth as if the sharp burn and sting he caused was shared by both of them. Wedged firmly inside her, he spoke in panting breaths against her temple. “Almost there.”

  Jane’s eyes flew open on a start. “Almost?”

  He didn’t answer her. Perhaps he couldn’t, if the glazed intensity of his gaze told her anything.

  So this time, she soothed him with her fingertips brushing the perspiring locks away from his brow. Her lips explored his throat as he withdrew and took a moment to breathe. But he returned to his quest, eager and ardent, his kisses desperate as if he were suffering an unbearable malady.

  Then he plunged deep—impossibly deep—and held. Jane bit down on her cry, unable to bear him feeling that he’d hurt her after taking such pains to avoid it. But his flesh scalded hers like a branding iron.

  Raven took her mouth in a kiss so primal that, at first, she didn’t know what it meant. This one was not in his lexicon. He’d never kissed her like this before either. But then as his body began to move in those unhindered liquid thrusts, she understood.

  In this moment, he’d truly claimed her. She was irrevocably his.

  And as the thought entered her mind, the ache gave way to the throbbing friction building with every grip, every slide. Yielding fully, she took him inside the clutch of her body, welcoming his invading flesh, loving him all the more.

  “Yes, I’m yours. Only yours,” she said against his lips between soul-claiming kisses.

  Breathing hard, he ripped his mouth away from hers on a possessive growl. Their gazes locked, bodies joined in a perfect rhythmic frenzy. She clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders, hips rising to meet his. And he filled her, over and over again.

  To her amazement, that bundle of nerves started to sizzle and flare to life once again. Waves of tingling sparks gathered tightly in her core until she thought she would die in his arms.

  And quickly, she cried out, splintering apart, her body riding the spasm as a shower of tingling sparks cascaded through her.

  Then Raven made a choked, guttural sound. His hips hitched inside her before he wrenched free, spilling in molten rivulets against her inner thigh.

  * * *

  Hunched over Jane’s warm body, Raven expelled a low oath in the sweetly fragrant curve of her neck. He kissed her there, lingering and panting as his heart rammed against his chest in thick gushes.

  It had never been like that before. He couldn’t even call what they’d done swiving or tupping or any of the other crass words in his vocabulary. It had no name that he’d ever used before. This was something altogether different.

  All he knew was that the instant she’d given him her unconditional love, he’d felt a surge of joy so profound that he couldn’t contain it. He’d had to show her, in the only way he could, that she had utterly claimed him, heart and soul.

  He’d never been lost so completely. Never been so attuned to every quiver and tremor and breath, so much so, that he hadn’t known where he ended and where she began. They were just . . . one.

  Bloody hell.

  Jane lifted her head to press her lips against his shoulder, her fingertips skimming his back in a silken caress. “Is that a good bloody hell, or a bad one?”

  He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud. Though, it wouldn’t surprise him if he hadn’t and Jane had simply developed a method for reading his thoughts. She was far too brilliant and beautiful and soft . . . and yes, she did taste sweet everywhere.

  “Good. Definitely good,” he rasped, near to collapsing from utter bliss.

  Then he felt the residual slickness against her thigh and cringed.

  “But a bit of bad, as well. Jane,” he said, rising up to look into her eyes and brush the tendrils from her temple, “I nearly spilled inside you because I didn’t want to leave. No, that isn’t cause to grin up at me. That’s a dangerous desire and one I’ve never had to deal with before. Ever. As you might imagine, I wouldn’t risk putting another orphan in the world.”

  She tried to school her features and purse her lips thoughtfully, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. He could see the delight in her eyes as she finger-combed the hair back from his brow.

  “I’m sure I should be alarmed, and perhaps offended, if not by your words then by your serious glower,” she said, smoothing the delicate pad of her thumb over the furrows. “At the moment, however, the anxious portion of my brain is asleep and all I can feel is complete contentment. Well, and a bit of pride. After all, you are the experienced one. Therefore, it would seem that I’m something of a prodigy.”

  Even though he was trying to be serious, she drew a low grunt of amusement from him and he couldn’t resist taking her lips once more.

  She distracted his thoughts with the sinuous slide of her leg against his. All at once, his body felt too heavy to support, urging him to ease against her. Her lips weren’t moving in that soundless murmur, and yet she was still casting spells over him.

  “But when that other part awakens,” he said, needing to get out the words that were crowding his mouth before she hypnotized him, “I don’t want you to regret or to fret that I would leave you to face any unforeseen consequences alone. I would take care of you.”

  It was almost terrifying how quickly the image of having her as his wife, and of their child growing in her body took hold of him. Like a picture waiting on the next page of a book. It seemed so simple, even though it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

  Jane rolled her eyes and rose up to nip his chin with her teeth. “Such a romantic proposal. You’re speaking as though you acted alone in this. I was a full participant, if you’ll recall.”

  “I most certainly recall. In fact, I will be recalling your participation for years to come.” For all the years of my life, he thought.

  “Scoundrel,” she said with warm affection. “Well, I hope it will ease your mind to know that I don’t expect to marry you. This is all quite new to me. I haven’t even had time to consider how we would fit into each other’s lives.”

  Neither had he. So, he should feel relieved. He was completely sated and lying naked with a soft, willing woman who wanted only to research the intricacies of lovemaking.

  Then why did his chest feel tight, as if a book had closed and he never had the chance to turn the page?

  Chapter 28

  Within a matter of seconds, Jane had figured out how they would fit into each other’s lives.

  Perfectly, she thought.

  Of course, she was pragmatic enough to realize that without a bond of marriage between them or even an understanding, theirs was only a moment-by-moment affair. However, she was in love enough to hope for a lifetime with him.

  Her inner scribe dutifully listed all the obstacles in their path in one column and the ideal solutions in the other. All the while, the artist on her portico was painting fireworks and hearts in vivid reds and pinks.

  No matter what path he chose—whether he claimed his birthright or not—he belonged with her. At least, for now.

  After gently cleaning the residual fluids from her body with the handkerchief from his discard
ed coat, he gathered her back into his arms. Then he draped the shawl over her and held her close, skin to skin. These glorious sensations were certainly worth exploring at length.

  They caressed each other in a leisurely manner as if they had all day. But it was nearly time for the servants to wake, and soon Mr. Miggins would be making his usual rounds through the house.

  As if he sensed this too, Raven held her tighter. “Do you know how impossible it will be to leave you?”

  His forehead pressed to hers and his hand rested on her cheek. She turned to kiss his wrist, wanting to tell him that it would be equally as impossible to let him go. Yet, as her mouth parted to speak the words, her lips came in contact with a trio of tiny upraised scars that were usually hidden by his shirt cuffs.

  He immediately tried to pull back, but she stayed him with a light touch. Or rather, he allowed her to stay him. He went completely still while enduring her close examination.

  Unlike the smooth mark on his arm, these were silver-skinned and asymmetrical. They did not resemble burns or even cuts. Here, the flesh appeared torn and jagged, and it turned her stomach to imagine what might have caused them.

  “Relics from my old life in the workhouse,” he said remotely.

  She kissed him there again and lingered over each of the three until she felt him relax. “Is this what you didn’t want to talk about that day we met your friend, Mr. Rollins? That cupboard he mentioned?”

  “Aye. It isn’t a pretty story.”

  “But it’s still part of you and I’d like to know it. That is . . . whenever you want to tell me.”

  His heavy breath rushed across her cheek. “I don’t ever talk about it. But I don’t mind telling you, if that’s what you want.”

  She waited quietly, expectantly.

  Then he nodded. “Bill-Jack and me both had our time in that cupboard. In fact, every time we’d tried to run away, we’d end up getting caught by Mr. Devons or one of the older boys who worked for him. Usually, he’d keep us in there for an hour or two. After all, he needed us to be able to work. The old devil was a greedy prig and mean as hellfire. He liked to toss in a bone after he shackled one of us, signaling the rats to come through a hole in the wall. And in the dark, I’d listen to them gnawing it. Feel their feet crawling on me as I tried to kick them off.”

  Feeling him shudder from the memory, she held him tighter, smoothing her hands over his shoulders and nape, pressing her lips to his throat.

  “The last time,” he swallowed, “lasted two days. The old devil had gotten himself killed and the workhouse closed for a spell. But the thing was, the bastard forgot to throw a bone into the cupboard that time. I was fifteen, but scrawny and thin-skinned so the shackles cut through as I struggled to escape. I don’t know if it was the scent of blood that lured them out. All I know is that I turned into their next meal. They started at the wrist, but there are other scars on my legs. And I don’t know how long it took of my kicking and fighting before I’d killed them all.”

  Jane was trying to absorb this without bursting into tears and sobbing against him. Squeezing her eyes shut, she held him tighter and kissed the place above his heart, her own breaking. In response, he stroked her back and pressed his lips to her temple.

  “And it was Mr. Rollins who’d found you?”

  “No, it was Devons’s widow,” he said. “She took me into her home, tended my wounds for weeks and fed me as much as I could eat until my cheeks were fat and my belly soft. Then, she told me I’d never have to go back to the workhouse again and that I could live with her.”

  “You must have been so grateful.” Jane expelled a sigh, her own relief blanketing the sadness over what he’d endured.

  “Aye, and I wanted to please her. So, when she told me that I’d be sleeping in her bedchamber from that point on, I never thought twice about it.”

  Jane frowned. “Well, that’s peculiar. Was her house quite small and you had no other room in which to sleep?”

  “If I recall, her house had five bedchambers, well turned-out.”

  “And yet she . . .” Jane looked at his arched brow and at the hint of mirth lingering in his eyes as he watched her puzzle this together. “Do you actually mean to tell me that she seduced you?”

  “I wouldn’t’ve called it that at the time. Young men at that age are gluttons for pleasure. I readily accepted my new role.”

  She was appalled. To her, Mrs. Devons wasn’t any better than her husband had been. The only difference was a more comfortable cupboard and the rat was female.

  “Did you love her?”

  He thought for a moment. “No. But for a time I was intensely enthralled by her, not to mention indebted. I was elevated to—what I thought was—a fancy middle-class world, where there was always food enough to eat, clean clothes, and an abundance of . . . enjoyable activities.”

  At the sound of his chuckle, she began to ease apart from him. But he pulled her back, securing her in a possessive grip.

  “There was nothing between Mrs. Devons and I.”

  “Mrs. Devons and me,” she muttered crossly.

  And he had the nerve to grin. “There was nothing between us beyond the physical, so stop your frowning, my little jealous professor.” He kissed her furrowed brow. “By the time I’d reached my eighteenth year and my body had grown from nourishment and vigorous exercise”—he paused to wink—“my features had lost their boyish softness. Her interest waned. By my twentieth year, my only use to her was in servicing her friends whose husbands were otherwise occupied with mistresses.”

  Jane thought she was appalled before. But this? “She sold you to her friends?”

  “I didn’t see it that way. I was given a choice. I could either make my own way, or stay in a life I’d grown accustomed to. Or should I say, to which I’d grown accustomed?” he teased, nuzzling her nose as his fingertips stroked lightly through her hair.

  She didn’t feel like correcting his grammar this time.

  “I chose to stay,” he emphasized.

  “Oh? And have the women at Moll Dawson’s chosen to stay as well?”

  He stiffened marginally, his jaw tight. “As a matter of fact, yes. The two women you saw me with that night chose to work at Moll’s in order to save the money to open a dressmaker shop. Venetia is a widow who lost her home and all her belongings when her husband died and his relatives swooped in to devour the carcass. And Hester has a son being raised by a parish vicar and his wife, and she’s working to make a home for him. They both tried to earn enough money as respectable seamstresses, but they were starving and living in a rathole. So they chose to work for Moll. For many it is a choice of survival.”

  “I understand that,” she said crossly. “There are few options for women outside of society and within it as well. It isn’t uncommon to be sold into marriage for the sake of wealth, but that doesn’t make it right. And I absolutely abhor the idea of you being used for someone else’s pleasure, or used at all.”

  She wrapped her arms tightly around him, trying not to think of all the other women who’d been the recipient of his kisses and caresses. All the women who knew what it was like to feel his body move within them.

  Those gray eyes searched hers for an interminable, probing moment. Then, gradually, a soft smile curved his lips before he brushed them across hers. “Such a fearsome little warrior. Who knew you possessed such a primitive side to your nature?”

  Her eyes narrowed and she wiggled beneath him, attempting to slide away. “If a man had done the same to me, or I to him, wouldn’t you feel a little . . . primitive?”

  “I would hunt him down and gut him,” he said on a series of tender kisses as he pulled her closer.

  “Do you still see Mrs. Devons?”

  He shook his head. “Our acquaintance, such as it was, came to an abrupt end, around three years ago when we bid our farewells. She left on the ferry for a continental tour. And before I left the wharf, I was attacked by two men and left for dead.”

  Shifti
ng her attention and concern to the more deadly crime against him, she touched the puckered scar between his ribs. She’d discovered this during these explorations, and looked at him inquiringly. “A projectile from a firearm?”

  He nodded. “Pistol.”

  Lifting herself up on her elbow, she pressed her lips there and lingered. “Did they try to rob you?”

  His hand cruised lightly down her back and along her arms as if he couldn’t get enough of touching her. “No. The odd thing was, their only intent was to kill me. They’d said as much, wanting to make sure the deed was done.”

  She turned to look down at him, feeling her brow crease with worry. “But why you?”

  “Couldn’t say.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug as if it were just a matter of happenstance. As he continued, he skillfully threaded his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp and the back of her nape. “That was the day Reed Sterling found me. Without hesitation, he brought me back to his gaming hell, fetched a physician and gave me a place to live. It was the first time I had honest employment, with a salary enough to buy a ramshackle row house of my own, along with enough left over to visit a brothel . . .”

  She gasped and swatted him. “Is that truly all that matters to you?”

  “You didn’t let me finish.” He laughed softly and shifted suddenly to capture her hands and playfully anchor them to either side of her head as he moved over her. “I was going to add that it also gave me the chance to meet a curious little bluestocking who turned my comfortable world on its head. I’ll never be the same again.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I mean it, Jane,” he said, his gaze unguarded now as he softly smoothed the curls away from her forehead, tracing her hairline in a simple, untutored caress. “In my whole life, I’ve never felt this content before. I never even imagined that someone like you existed in the world. You’re so smart and caring and pretty. Your lips move in this amazing way when you’re thinking. And sometimes you’re absentminded and far too curious for your own good. But there isn’t a single thing I’d ever change. My only wish is that I’d found you sooner.”