A Wicked Earl she can't Resist: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Olivia Bennet

Holburn continued to regard him solemnly. “Not every relationship ends in tragedy you know.”

  Duncan looked away, taking a large sip of his ale. “Let us speak of other things. This topic grows tedious.”

  Holburn sighed, shaking his head but dropped the topic in any case. They began to gossip about the horses that were expected to race at Ascot and which was rumored to be in the best shape.

  “Who shall you bet on?” Holburn asked.

  Duncan made a thoughtful sound, “I have not decided yet. Hercules seems like the general favorite but I fancy Pegasus’ chances.”

  Holburn hummed his agreement. “Personally, I am thinking of putting my money on an outlier. Seabiscuit might surprise you all.”

  Duncan grinned. “Dear old Holburn, always taking huge risks.”

  Holburn leaned closer and looked conspiratorial. “The bigger the risk, the greater the reward.”

  Emily woke up feeling unsettled. Her dreams had been vivid and disturbing and her body was still vibrating in the aftermath. She’d been having a variation of that same dream all week and she did not know what to think or do about it.

  When she closed her eyes, she was back in the brothel, following Fiona down to the parlor. But instead of the disgusting leering men ogling her almost-exposed body, it was the Earl, sprawled on the red velvet couch. He was dressed all in black, his shirt unbuttoned halfway to his waist. He looked her up and down as if she was a commodity.

  Instead of being mortifying however, his eyes on her made her shake with reaction. Her body flushed with heat, her center leaking with wetness. He had a cheroot in his mouth and he blew smoke in her face, his eyes half lidded.

  “Take off your clothes,” he would say, his voice raspy and deep. She would shiver at his words, her hand trailing slowly up her body her eyes never leaving his. His eyes broke their almost magnetic contact to follow the path her hand was taking. His gaze was like a caress on her skin. As if his eyes took control of her hand and moved it.

  Her hand closed around her own breast and she squeezed, a gasp escaping her lips. He widened his legs, sprawling even further as his eyes stared fixedly at her hand, gently caressing her breast. Her own body heated from the touch, every nerve ending sparking with desire.

  “Emily,” his lips would breath and her whole body shuddered in reaction.

  Her hand moved to her other breast, flicking at her nipple so that it hardened to a stone peak of arousal. She whimpered shakily, feeling her knees go weak.

  He leaned forward from his sprawl, shirt falling open even wider, eyes the color of Alpine forget-me-nots intent on her. “Take it all off.”

  She reached behind her and pulled her laces open, not surprised at how easily her clothing loosened. Her dress fell from her shoulders with no further urging from her and she stood before him clad in her see-through shift.

  His hooded eyes darkened to verdigris with hunger, their intensity enough to have her trembling from head to foot. “Off,” he whispered.

  She reached for her shift and flung it off, throwing it to the ground like a dirty rag. She stood before him, wearing not a stitch, while his eyes traversed her body like a caress. Her feet quivered with the need to move toward him, but he had not given his permission.

  She arched her back so that her breasts would stand out, perky and proud. His eyes followed the movement and his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. She moaned wanting his tongue on her body, anywhere and anyhow. She felt hot with the need to have her skin in his vicinity. Just a brush of his hand against her stomach would be enough to have her exploding. She knew it and she suspected he knew it. He was torturing her by withholding his touch.

  He was making her wait.

  Well, she would show him how good she could be. How obedient. She would wait forever if that was what it took. He lifted his hand slowly, and cocked his finger toward her.

  “Come.”

  There did not seem to be any interval between his command and her naked body pressing against his fully-clothed one. His hands ran up and down her body, before stopping to cup her bottom and squeeze. She made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan and he lunged at her neck, biting down playfully.

  She shivered, wrapping her own arms around his neck, and arching her back to give him better access.

  “Such a good girl,” he murmured as he nipped and suckled his way down her collar bone before closing hot lips around her nipple.

  She opened her mouth, threw back her head and cried out with the ecstasy of it. Her center felt hot, empty and hungry, and as wet and slick as a codfish. His fingers trailed along the crack between her cheeks, questing between her legs and she squirmed in his lap, trying to give him more access.

  “Oh yes…” he whispered, sinking his finger into her as far as it could go. She uttered a soft scream, melting into his arms.

  It was at that point that she woke up, always wanting more, although she was not sure of what. Her hand reached between her legs where she was still dripping and she made a pained sound as she pressed in on herself, trying to stop the wanting.

  “What are you doing to me?” she moaned. She wiggled about in the bed but that only seemed to make the feeling worse. Her lips tingled with the remembered desire for the Earl to kiss her.

  “I should leave this place,” she whispered to herself even as she crossed her legs and willed the throbbing between her legs to stop. She knew that there was nowhere really that she could go unless she threw herself on the mercy of Mrs. Harrison again. What a disappointment that would be to the vicar’s wife. Especially after all the effort she went to, to get Emily this job.

  Slowly, she got to her feet, cursing softly and trying to remove the Earl from her thoughts. Someone knocked on her door and she turned to it with relief.

  “Yes? Come in?”

  Mrs. Cooke stuck her head in, smiling at Emily. “I thought I’d come and wake you up since you were a bit late to breakfast. The twins are already trying to destroy the house.”

  Emily smiled, drawing her dressing gown closer, “I’ll be right there. Give me a minute to wash my face.”

  Mrs. Cooke nodded and smiled before withdrawing her head and closing the door behind her. Emily exhaled deeply before turning to the basin and jug. The water in the jug was quite cold having stood overnight. She knew she could get some hot water if she went to the kitchens but she was afraid that whatever she’d been thinking about would show on her face.

  She needed to wash it off thoroughly and what better way to do that than with cold water? She scrubbed her face, her armpits, and between her legs thoroughly before changing into her morning gown. Twisting her brown locks into a knot at the top of her head, she made her way to the dining hall.

  “Good morning, Miss Fletcher,” Lord Essex shouted.

  “Morning, Miss Fletcher!” Lady Anne echoed.

  Lady Nancy simply gave her a hostile glance and went back to reading her book.

  “Good morning all. Did you sleep well?” Emily asked as she took her seat.

  Lady Anne immediately launched into a detailed description of the dream she’d had with Lord Essex interjecting to state that such and such a thing was not possible. That led to them bickering about ownership of the dream and Emily wondered if she should break them up.

  She glanced at Lady Nancy, cocking an eyebrow in her direction but the young lady just huffed and returned to reading.

  “Er, Lady Anne, Lord Essex? Your porridge is getting cold.”

  That had them paying attention to their meal for exactly two minutes before they found something else to bicker about. Emily decided to leave them to it. It was probably their way of communicating.

  She finished her own breakfast and then got to her feet, clapping her hands. “Right, children, schoolroom commences in an hour so get your affairs in order and meet me in the library. We will be studying with music this morning and how it relates to reading, writing, and arithmetic. So come prepared to be creative.”

  Lady Anne and Lord E
ssex looked fascinated while Lady Nancy struggled not to look interested. Emily turned away before allowing a smug smile to grace her features.

  I’ll win Lady Nancy over if it kills me.

  She went to the library, picking out sheet music by Bach and setting it out on the table. She went to the piano and dusted it off, picking out a few notes. She was no expert, but thanks to a passing minstrel she had some knowledge of music. Enough to teach reading and writing through composition, and linking that to the strange relationship music had with mathematics.

  She dared any of her students not to learn something.

  Chapter 11

  Nancy gnawed at her lip, thinking frantically as she watched the new governess smiling with delight at Harry’s composition. It was relatively basic in Nancy’s opinion and really not worth all the trouble she was causing. But she could see how gratified it made her brother, how his chest pumped up with pride.

  She really was doing a good job of winning over everyone in the household. Even Mrs. Cooke liked her and she never usually bothered with the governess.

  She’s only been here a week! How is this possible?

  Nancy was not very good at trusting people, especially those who seemed too good to be true. The twins might not remember much about their mother, but she did.

  She remembered everything.

  And so watching Miss Fletcher charm her family was bad enough, but the way that her father watched the governess was simply one step too far.

  Mary, her lady’s maid, stepped in the room, holding a lovely yellow gown up for her inspection. The mantua maker had just delivered it and was waiting for Nancy’s opinion on the same. Nancy frowned as she looked it over, appreciating that the color would bring out her hazel eyes and go well with her chestnut hair but still frowning with disapproval.

  “I did not ask for any lace at the sash!” she growled, “Why is there lace on it at all? I do not understand why you would even bring this unfinished garment to me,” she screeched at Mary.

  Her lady’s maid blanched, stumbling back in some surprise and inadvertently stepping on the gown. Nancy screamed in anger.

  “Why are you making it dirty now? Do you want to ruin it?”

  The door opened and her father rushed into the room. “Where’s the fire?” he asked, looking around.

  Nancy growled turning away and folding her arms. “Mary is being tiresome again. Go away Father.”

  Instead of leaving, her father took a step closer to her as Mary dashed from the room in tears. He looked at his daughter, eyebrow quirked. “Why must you scare the help?”

  Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “She stepped on my gown!”

  “Is that something worth making her cry for?”

  Nancy just whirled away, hands folded, facing the window. “You don’t understand anything.”

  “Well then, I’m listening. Will you explain to me?”

  “No!”

  “Father! Guess what Miss Fletcher did!” the high-pitched excitement in Anne’s voice had Nancy peeking around to see what had happened just in time to see the three of them stumbling into the room. Miss Fletcher trailing behind the twins, a big smile on her face.

  The smile dropped from her face as she saw the serious expressions they were both wearing. “Oh, uh, are we interrupting? We can leave,” she was already reaching to pull the twins back.

  Her father gave her an enigmatic glance before turning to the governess with a smile. “Actually, no you’re not interrupting. Come in. Lady Nancy here was just debating the merits of various gowns for Lady Chelsea’s Masquerade Ball. Would you ask the footman to call Mary back?”

  The Duke of Perham was holding a masquerade ball for his daughter’s ten-and-sixth birthday and Duncan was obligated to attend. Not just to chaperone his daughter but also, because the Duke was a colleague and a close acquaintance. However, Holburn had been right and the marriage mart mothers would very likely take this opportunity to market their daughters to him. If he was to suffer through that for an entire evening, he was entitled to want company.

  Misery loves company after all.

  He smiled at Miss Fletcher, imagining her all decked out in finery for the evening. He was a little taken aback by how much he wanted to see her like that. Having her at the ball would provide some relief to him and she would make a perfect chaperone for Nancy in case he decided to leave early.

  “Miss Fletcher?” he smiled at her as she attempted to herd the twins, looking flustered.

  “Yes, My Lord?”

  “Lady Nancy and I will be attending a ball this evening for the lovely Lady Chelsea Huxley. I would like you to accompany us.”

  Miss Fletcher’s jaw dropped. “I…don’t…” she blinked a few times, at a loss for words.

  Nancy whirled around. “No! I don’t want her to come.”

  Duncan turned to her, narrowing his eyes. “That is quite enough rudeness from you for today, My Lady. Now go with your lady’s maid and get ready.” He turned to Miss Fletcher, “Perhaps you can go with her and she will show you how to dress suitably.”

  He favored his daughter with a particularly steely glance so that she would be sure that he was not expecting her to try anything underhanded. Nancy huffed and stalked out of the room. Miss Fletcher hesitated at the door, throwing a doubtful glance at Duncan before following her.

  He sighed, his shoulders dropping.

  This is a good idea.

  Emily didn’t know what games the Earl was playing but she wanted no part of it. Lady Nancy glared daggers at her the entire way to her chambers and then proceeded to ignore her.

  Emily didn’t know what to do and so she stood awkwardly, watching Mary, and another maid running around after Lady Nancy. They transformed her from a sulky child to an elegant creature clad in a black and silver gown. Her chestnut hair was done up in a crown and woven through with fresh flowers.

  She looked quite breathtaking.

  Emily had nothing even close to what she was wearing in her wardrobe. She still only had the three gowns that Mrs. Harrison had acquired for her. Nothing suitable for a ball.

  She breathed in deep and closed her eyes, leaning against the wall.

  “Do you have anything to wear?” Lady Nancy’s voice startled her and her eyes flew open to stare at her charge.

  “If you mean something other than what I am already wearing, the answer is no.”

  “Well, I cannot let you embarrass me like that,” Nancy looked to her lady’s maid as color filled Emily’s cheeks. “Mary, bring the lavender gown. It no longer fits me since I lost weight.”

  Emily’s lips twisted wryly at Lady Nancy’s words. No doubt she meant to be mean which was a bit of an irony since her own father had continuously complained about her rail-thin body as he put it. She kept her own counsel and waited as Mary disappeared, returning with an elaborate lavender gown.

  The color alone took Emily’s breath away, and the design was simply gorgeous to behold. Mrs. Cooke snatched the dress out of her hand with a smile and led her to the smaller dressing room, adjoining Lady Nancy’s chambers.

  She held the dress to Emily’s frame biting her bottom lip as she assessed the fit. Nodding once to herself, she asked Emily to strip her clothes.

  “You may keep your shift on,” she smiled as she put the lavender gown on the table. “I think I have the perfect pin for your hair as well. Lady Sulby left it to me and I am sure she would not mind if I gave it to you to wear tonight.”

  Emily took a deep breath, “I bow to your superior knowledge.”

  Mrs. Cooke beamed at her as she helped her into the dress. It had a low décolletage, with a pleated neckline that culminated in an elaborate bow at her left shoulder. The dress hugged her figure down to her waist before flaring outward extravagantly in pleats that ended in a bow just below her waist at the back. The dress swept the ground in a swish of extravagant fabric.

  After smoothing the dress down, Mrs. Cooke combed her hair into a upsweep before pinning it with an elaborat
e silver pin that shone against her brown tresses.

  Turning her around, Mrs. Cooke stepped back, looking very gratified at her work. She lifted up one finger, “Wait, there is one more thing we need to complete this ensemble.”

  “What’s that?” Emily asked, unable to imagine how her look could possibly get any better.

  “Gloves. White gloves.” Mrs. Cooke hurried off to God-knows-where and returned holding a pair of long, elbow-length white gloves. She held them out so that Emily could slip them on and then stepped back, to get the full effect of the look.

  “Breathtaking,” she whispered, beaming hard.