West End Earl

by Bethany Bennett

“We both know I’m undoing years of habit. My first instinct will probably be to rescue him again. But I can’t do that. I have offered to take over the finances, but I doubt he will cede control. I should warn you, I come with potential scandal. I threatened to declare Eastly incompetent if he made the tenants do without. I hope it won’t come to that.”

  Phee’s gaze searched his face. What she looked for, he didn’t know, but he drank in the sight of her, the feel of her under his fingers. “So Eastly’s options are to liquidate assets, give you the purse strings, or face a massive scandal in court?”

  “It’s about time, don’t you think? I hope he makes the right choice, but I won’t hold his hand through it. I have other priorities now. My allegiance to Eastly overrode my honesty with you, and I promise upon my soul that will never happen again. Can you forgive me, Phee? Will you love me? Because I love you. I choose you. And I’ll keep choosing you every day.” He cradled her cheek, brushing his thumb over her lower lip.

  She said nothing, but after an eternity of heartbeats, Phee leaned into his touch, turning to kiss his palm. The hope inside him transformed into budding desire. When she closed her eyes, the thick fall of her lashes brushed his fingers.

  Gently, giving her time to protest, Cal brought her face closer, until the pillowy softness of her lips opened beneath his mouth.

  A promise, a declaration, a vow of a kiss.

  “I love you too,” she murmured against his lips.

  “Way to make me wait for it, Phee,” he teased. She nipped his bottom lip in reply. What began as a sweet gesture of love and teasing transformed in an instant into something far more carnal.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he managed before diving in for another taste.

  She stilled under his hands, then pulled back. For one awful moment, he feared she’d step away. Instead, a sly smile crept across her face, lighting her eyes and curving those phenomenal lips, gone raspberry pink and shiny from his kiss.

  “How do you feel about sex outdoors?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  He laughed, and there it was. That spark that made Cal truly special. It wasn’t merely his good looks that made her heart stutter. It was him. The quick mind, the jokes waiting on the tip of his tongue, the deep well of kindness Cal guarded with humor lest everyone take advantage of his soft heart.

  “My feelings fall firmly in the pro column. Especially with water nearby, Madame Siren. But first…” He released her to pat beneath his cloak and removed his pocket watch. Carefully unhooking the clasp, Cal removed the watch from his waistcoat, then shook something into his palm that had been threaded on the chain.

  Sparkling, gold, and blinding in the sunlight. “Is that…”

  “Will you marry me, Phee? Be my friend and my lover, and wake up every day beside me for the rest of our lives. Here, London, peaceful, messy—I don’t care as long as you’re beside me. There’s no one for me but you, and I hope you feel the same way.” His eyes were hopeful, full of love for her.

  Phee could only nod through the surprise. The sapphire-and-diamond ring slipped past her knuckle to nest right where it would stay for the rest of her days. Words finally formed. “I have to ask. Why wasn’t this gorgeous ring protected in a box?”

  “And ruin the line of my coat?” he asked with a dramatically appalled gasp.

  Her laughter disappeared under his kiss. Within seconds, Phee’s body went soft and needy. They backed together toward the cliff face, until she was pinned between the unmoving hardness of Cal and the rocks.

  The full press of his body against her made her sigh. Lordy, he felt amazing. One of Cal’s hands skimmed from her waist to grip her thigh, then wrapped her leg around his hip. Impatient, she slid a hand between them and sent a long stroke down the rigid length of his erection, then set to work opening the placket of his breeches.

  The hand at her thigh slipped under her skirt, finding the skin above her garter, and then the swollen ache at her core.

  He grinned against her lips. “Told you a dress makes this easier.” The laughter in his voice felt like coming home. Finally. She’d missed him. Missed feeling connected with him, missed being on his side. Them against the world, unstoppable together.

  Her hand stroked his length as he slid a finger into the slick heat of her. He grunted a curse, but it sounded like praise.

  “I need you inside me,” she said.

  “Not yet.” It would ruin the knees of his breeches, but Cal didn’t seem to care when he knelt before her and kissed his way from her knee to thigh, then higher.

  The press of the rock behind her didn’t matter; the bite of the wind on her leg only made the skin under his fingers and mouth tingle more as the nerves came alive.

  He sucked at the pulsing top of her slit, abrading her skin deliciously with his beard, then soothing the sensation with his tongue. Phee’s breathing devolved into short, sharp exhales before turning into a keening cry when he slid a finger into her again. Lordy, she was close.

  “Now, Cal. I want you inside me when I go over the edge.”

  The hot puff of his breath warmed her lips when he rose and kissed her. With eager hands, Cal tugged her bodice down until chilly air and anticipation puckered her nipples. A shiver rippled through Phee’s body right to her toes as Cal hauled her higher against his body and claimed one tight nipple. He settled the wide, blunt head of his cock at her entrance, and they both groaned in relief as their bodies connected.

  Cal’s voice was a low, ragged rumble in her ear. “It feels like it’s been forever since I was inside you.”

  “It has been forever,” she panted.

  Now that he filled her to the hilt, Cal didn’t let go of her, even to thrust. So the movements were tiny, building a pressure between them as he rocked the base of his sex against that nub at the top of her slit. When his teeth tugged the hard point of her nipple, the tension built in that now familiar climb toward climax.

  Control unraveled while everything within Phee tightened. She was aware of only his teeth on her skin, and where their bodies joined.

  Cal groaned his encouragement, leaving her breast only long enough to mutter a guttural “Fuck, Phee” before following her over the edge to bliss in a hot rush.

  She could have stayed there all day, soft-kneed, pressed against the rocky face of a cliff, if not for a cry above them.

  “Miss Hardwick! Miss Hardwick, come quick!” Polly’s voice drifted down to where they stood.

  Cal’s face echoed Phee’s concern at that cry.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Phee said.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “I’ll be up in a moment, Polly! Wait there,” Phee called from the deepening twilight shadows, shaking her skirts into place. She tugged at her bodice while Cal put his clothes to rights.

  “Hurry! Miss Emma is alone with that man, and it doesn’t feel right.” The maid sounded genuinely worried, and by the time they crested the top of the trail to the cliff edge, slightly out of breath, Polly looked to be near tears.

  “Who’s with Emma?” Phee and Cal asked at the same time.

  “An older gent in a carriage came to call. Seemed nice enough, so I let him wait in the parlor. Emma joined him, but something is wrong. I can feel it here.” Polly pressed a fist to her belly.

  An older gentleman? Phee looked at Cal as an awful possibility occurred to her. Without another word, they took off running toward the house. The lawn seemed an endless expanse of green. Phee cut to the right because the kitchen door was closer than the front entrance.

  “Could you have been followed?” Phee whispered to Cal as they slipped into the hall beyond the kitchen.

  “Nelson says the crew hasn’t heard from Milton in weeks. What if I led him right to you?” Cal said.

  Outside the open door to the parlor, they paused, being as quiet as possible.

  Emma’s voice rang clear. “I’m not discussing my late husband with you. Adam spoke of you, and never fondly. Please leave.”
>
  Milton’s reply disappeared amidst a ringing in Phee’s ears. That voice. For a moment she was a child again, helpless against his vile words. Trembling weakened her thighs, then moved through her torso until her stomach threatened to eject everything she’d eaten today.

  Cal wrapped an arm around her waist in a warm, firm line of support. “You don’t have to go in there. I can get Emma out of the room and take care of it.”

  She shook her head. “He’s my dragon to slay, not yours.”

  Reaching for her left hand, Cal kissed the finger where his ring rested. “If you want to go in alone, I’ll be right here waiting. But it might be better if he doesn’t catch sight of you. No matter what, please remember you’re not his ward anymore. You’re a countess—or nearly, anyway. Milton can’t take a blasted thing from you.”

  Phee drew a calming breath, and her head filled with the delicious mix of Cal’s spicy scent mingled with her sandalwood oil. The smell grounded her as Phee wrestled through the awful memories. A tear slipped down her cheek, unchecked.

  Life with Uncle Milton had been a torture by a thousand verbal cuts. Phee clenched her fists, wishing she could physically fight through the words filling her head.

  Stupid girl.

  Ugly little rat.

  Who would want you? I’ll have to pay someone to take you off my hands.

  Saying such things to a child was unconscionable. Milton was rotten to the core—like a piece of fruit you bit into, then spit out before your tongue registered what your teeth had already discovered.

  Turning to bury her nose in Cal’s shoulder, Phee breathed in his calming presence as he held her, offering silent support as she struggled. The memories began to repeat, and Phee ground her teeth, answering each lie with truth.

  Stupid girl.

  No, I’m smart and loved.

  Ugly little rat.

  No, I’m valuable and not vulnerable.

  I survived. I thrived.

  Clenching her hand until the new ring dug into her palm, Phee focused on that pinch. The unfamiliar band of gold represented one irrefutable fact. Phee had won. In the end, she was happy and healthy, while Milton chased financial phantoms to save his own hide or feed his greed.

  These days, Phee looked in the mirror and loved who she’d become. She was an East End scrapper engaged to a West End earl, with a life ahead of her filled to the brim with laughter, friendship, and love.

  “Doing a little better?” Cal whispered.

  She nodded.

  “Are you going in, or am I?” he asked.

  Logic clawed to the surface and Phee sighed. What she wouldn’t give to rub her happiness in Milton’s face. To show him that no matter how hard he’d tried to destroy her, she’d won. But letting Milton know she’d survived would only cause problems. He could dispute the validity of her upcoming marriage. He could cause issues with her inheritance in court or challenge the legitimacy of Emma’s baby. Everything would fall apart if Milton knew Ophelia was alive.

  Phee squeezed Cal’s hand. “I’ll go to my room. Please get rid of him.”

  She’d crept past the door to the parlor when they heard it. Raised voices and Emma’s cry of “Don’t touch me!” were cause enough for alarm. But then Emma made a sound that sent both Phee and Cal running for the door. Self-preservation be damned—Emma was in trouble.

  They barged into the room in time to see Uncle Milton slump against the heavy wood writing desk. A trail of blood smeared in his wake as he listed to the side. Emma stood frozen with one hand over her mouth, stifling her cries, and the other hand still outstretched.

  No doubt it had been self-defense, but Emma had pushed him. Thankfully, Cal’s sister appeared unharmed, although pale.

  In a daze, Phee walked toward the man softening on the floor as if his bones had turned to jelly. Years of knowing exactly what his hands could do kept her from getting too close. Phee crouched just out of arm’s reach and cocked her head to meet his hazy stare.

  There. A brief flash of recognition.

  “Ophelia…” His lips formed the name on his last exhale. The chest under his fashionable caped greatcoat stopped moving. One moment passed, then another. With shaking fingers, Phee reached out and closed his eyelids. He’d known at the end, but the victory felt hollow.

  Phee rose and turned to see Cal with his arms around his sister. “I didn’t mean to,” Emma repeated every few seconds.

  “I know. You defended yourself. Nothing more.” Cal ran a soothing hand over her hair as Emma clutched his coat lapels with bone-white fingers.

  “He was furious that we’d removed him from the accounts, and the life insurance paid to me instead of him. Kept saying I had no right to it. When he grabbed my arm, I jerked away. Then he came after me again. All I did was push him.”

  Those last words rang through Phee with a familiar clarity. The child within her, who carried the scars from Adam’s accident, heard and recognized the pain in Emma’s words. Phee hadn’t meant to land a lethal blow when she’d pushed her brother in that rowboat all those years ago. Adam had tripped, then toppled overboard and met a rock. Milton had stumbled into the corner of a piece of furniture that weighed more than the average man. Neither Phee nor Emma had had any way of knowing what would happen. Yet they’d each been left with the same awful result.

  An odd warmth seeped into Phee’s limbs, sending a shiver skittering over her skin as she connected and compared events, analyzing them in a new way. Phee wrapped her arms around her friends, tucking her face in the crook of Emma’s neck, which was damp from a river of tears. “Emma, it was an accident.”

  “But he’s dead,” Emma sniffled.

  Phee spared a glance at the body on the floor. “Yes, and good riddance. Listen, this was an accident. But I know that’s not much comfort right now. I’ve been where you are.” This, Phee’s deepest secret, could irrevocably change how they saw her. But her experience might help Emma weather the situation.

  Phee tightened her hug around them both, then released them and stepped back. “I understand how you’re feeling. Adam drowned in an accident. I’d been throwing a fit, and he’d played the jester, trying to make me laugh, as brothers do.” She and Emma exchanged a look at Cal’s expense, but Phee’s smile was short-lived. “I shoved him. Only a little, but he wasn’t expecting it. Adam fell overboard. A boulder under the water did the rest. I’ve spent years carrying guilt over killing my brother.” Emma reached out her hand, and Phee took it gratefully. “I don’t tell you this to minimize what you’re feeling or distract you from what happened. But I hope you understand I don’t blame you. This was an accident. If you need to talk, I’m here. We’ve supported each other through a lot so far. Perhaps we can help each other through this too.”

  No, the guilt wouldn’t magically disappear. Grief over Adam would always be there in some form. Grief was what the living carried to honor their ghosts. But maybe walking with someone else through the same trauma would help Phee to work through her own. Then perhaps she could remember Adam and all he’d meant to her without guilt discoloring the memories.

  Phee wiped her eyes dry and glanced at Cal. He wasn’t staring at her in horror or disgust. Instead, he watched her with compassion and love.

  Drying her face on the shoulder of Cal’s coat, Emma said, “What do we do with him? The body, I mean?”

  All three of them eyed the man on the floor.

  Cal spoke first. “We could call the authorities. It was an accident, after all.”

  “The whole point of us living here is to escape notice,” Phee said. “Can we move him? Make it look like the fall happened elsewhere.”

  Cal rubbed a palm over his face, but she spied a smile brewing. “Maybe somewhere that will show his true character to the world?”

  Emma raised her chin and glared at Milton. “People should know how vile he was. He made Phee’s life hell as a child and tried to kill her as an adult. Plus, he just tried to attack a pregnant woman.”

  “So we m
ove him?” Cal asked. Phee and Emma nodded. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll send Milton’s staff on to the village, then get my coach.” Cal slipped out the door, closing it securely with a click of the latch.

  “Not my fault?” Emma asked in a shaky voice.

  “Not your fault,” Phee answered firmly, reminding them both as she squeezed Emma’s hand.

  A few minutes later Cal returned. “Milton’s staff are heading to the posting house for the night. Either they’ll hear word through the village in the morning, or we will have to be convincing actors and claim he left at some point. Let’s get him into my carriage. I’m driving.”

  The sun had set, but the stars weren’t out yet to guide their way. Under the cover of encroaching darkness, they shuffled Milton’s body onto a velvet bench seat, talking a bit too loudly about him finding a bed at the inn, in case Polly lingered nearby.

  “He never could hold his brandy,” Phee declared to any servants who might be listening.

  Emma shoved a newspaper under Milton’s head. “Blood stains something awful, and Milton is not worth ruining this carriage.”

  The whole rig rocked as Cal climbed onto the driver’s seat.

  With the heart of the village only a mile off, this shouldn’t take long. But as they wove through the streets, Emma and Phee exchanged a look.

  “Do you know where he’s going?” Emma asked. Phee shook her head.

  After several minutes, the carriage rolled to a stop, and Cal opened the door.

  * * *

  It wasn’t a stretch to find the right place to dump a body. One only needed to know what to look for to find the local house of ill repute. And when in doubt, ask someone on the street. The village was small, but with a busy port, it was sure to have accommodations for men who’d been at sea for God only knew how long.

  Cal would never forget that scene in the parlor. Poor Emma. Poor Phee. Another thing to tie the women together. God willing, the future would give them happier opportunities to bond. He loved that they were friends now, since soon they’d be sisters by marriage.