This Earl of Mine

by Kate Bateman

  After this afternoon, they most certainly weren’t strangers. They weren’t precisely friends either, but she wasn’t quite sure how to define their odd relationship. Coconspirators maybe?

  Benedict took her hand, and she tried not to think of what those strong, elegant fingers had been doing to her only hours before.

  The movement of the dance made conversation difficult, but as they dipped and swirled, Georgie came to the startling realization that her seduction had already begun. Every one of his slight, casual touches seemed choreographed to increase her state of tension. The innocuous graze of his fingers at her waist, the subtle brush of his thigh against hers—all achieved despite maintaining a perfectly decorous distance. The man was a menace.

  “Lovely dress,” he murmured politely.

  “Thank you.”

  “I can’t wait to take it off you.”

  She stumbled, but he caught her effortlessly and righted their steps.

  The beast. He loved discomposing her. His piercing gaze seemed to assess her from the inside out, as if he saw into every secret corner of her soul, every womanly, shameful, hot, desirous dream she’d had of him. Georgie wished she’d brought a fan. A dizzying anticipation simmered in her blood. How could anyone miss the heat between them? She felt as if she were glowing with desire, obvious to all, like a beacon, a lighthouse.

  As the dance brought them together again, he murmured, “I’ll send a carriage for you at midnight.” She could only nod, tongue-tied by embarrassment and desire.

  When the dance ended, he returned her to her mother, bowed quite properly, and took his leave with the parting shot, “Thank you, Miss Caversteed. Until we dance again.”

  Mother watched him leave with pursed lips. “Mr. Wylde seems to be showing you marked attention, my love.” She took a sip of ratafia. “There’s no denying he’s a handsome devil, but according to Caroline Cowper, the family’s practically destitute. His father left a passel full of debt. He’s a fortune hunter, you mark my words. Just like all the rest of them. Still, you’re in no danger from him now, are you?” Her silent because of your impetuous marriage was left unsaid.

  Georgie stifled a snort. If only she knew. Benedict Wylde was the most dangerous man she’d ever met. He was like a force of nature, a hurricane, a typhoon.

  Mother looked at her oddly. “Are you quite well, Georgiana?”

  She seized her chance. “Actually, no. I’ve an awful headache. Would you mind if I asked Pieter to drive me home? I’d like to go to bed.”

  Mother sent her a sympathetic look and patted her hand. “You poor lamb. I know just what it is to be the victim of a megrim. Go on, dear. After all, it’s Juliet who needs to be seen, not you.”

  Georgie sighed at her mother’s unintentional slight. “I’ll send the carriage back for you.”

  “Thank you. Oh good! Juliet’s dancing with Ponsonby. He’s third in line to inherit from the Duke of Milford Haven, you know.”

  Georgie left her to it. When Pieter delivered her home, she went straight up to her room and paced nervously, pressing her hands over the fluttering in her belly. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and grimaced; she looked wild, her cheeks a hectic red, her eyes bright and glistening.

  What was she doing? Sleeping with Wylde would undoubtedly change everything between them. It would certainly complicate matters. The thought of making love to him, of giving herself to him fully, was something she both anticipated and dreaded. His very presence made her breathless; he produced a sensation in the region of her stomach that felt like she was taking part in some precarious high-wire balancing act, like that of Madame Saqui at Vauxhall. Like terror, like exhilaration.

  Georgie frowned. Affairs of the heart were far more complex than business deals. Would he lose interest in her once he’d had her? She’d heard that was true with many men. But all adventures involved an element of risk, did they not? What would have happened if Columbus had stayed in Spain, or Marco Polo had never ventured from Italy, too afraid of the unknown to risk setting sail? She was no coward. She wouldn’t back out now. This would be an adventure she chose for herself.

  Mother and Juliet returned just after eleven, but neither came in to check on her, and by the time she slipped down to the kitchen and out the back door, the house was quiet and still. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Pieter’s large frame loomed out of the stables.

  “And where do you think you’re off to, missy?”

  Georgie clapped her hand over her heart. “Pieter! You scared me half to death!”

  “Thought you were feeling under the weather?”

  Her cheeks heated as she realized there was no explanation she could give except the shameful truth. She set her chin. “If you must know, I’m going to meet Benedict Wylde.”

  She could see Pieter’s scowl, even in the dim light.

  “Well, I know you ain’t eloping,” he said sarcastically. “Because you’ve already married the cove. So what’s to do?”

  Georgie squirmed. Really, this was too humiliating. Pieter was like a father to her. In his eyes, she was still an innocent, headstrong little girl. To confess, quite baldly, why she was going to meet Benedict made her cringe. She squared her shoulders. “The man is my husband. And I have decided to visit him.”

  “At midnight,” Pieter supplied. He suddenly dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck, as if embarrassed himself. “Ah, Georgie. You’re a grown woman now. I know it. And God knows I’ve never been able to talk you out of anything once you’ve set your mind to it. Yer just like yer father in that respect. I just hope you know what you’re doing with him, that’s all.”

  So do I.

  He stepped aside, and she let out a relieved breath. “His carriage should be at the corner,” she said quietly.

  Pieter nodded. “Just make sure you’re back before the household rises.”

  Georgie gave him an impetuous hug, and he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

  “I hope that bastard realizes what he’s got,” he grumbled.

  Mickey’s huge bulk was instantly recognizable atop the plain black carriage that was waiting at the corner. Georgie climbed in, and in her agitated state, the ride to St. James’s seemed to take only moments. She felt daring and adventurous. Glad to be alive. The carriage slowed to make the turn into the stable yard at the rear, but as it drew level with the front of the club, the door opened and a bouncer appeared with a struggling figure caught roughly by his collar. Amid furious shouts and obscenities, the man was forcibly ejected.

  “And stay out,” the manservant called out after him. “The Tricorn don’t welcome those who can’t pay their debts, sir.” The last word was issued with a curl of the lip and a dismissive sneer that made the title an insult.

  The man stumbled down the front steps, reeling drunkenly, and to Georgie’s dismay he staggered heavily against the side of the stationary carriage. She let out a little shriek of alarm as his body hit the side panel with a thud. The man wheeled around, using the carriage door as support, and Georgie gasped as she caught sight of his face.

  Josiah’s cheeks were mottled a furious red, his eyes bleary and unfocused. For one awful moment, he squinted into the carriage and she shrank back against the seat, terrified he’d recognize her. He issued a stream of invectives that shocked even Georgie, then slammed his palm against the wooden side and wheeled away into the night.

  She released a shaky breath. Good God, Josiah had looked awful. Almost demonic. She’d had no idea he frequented the Tricorn Club. And what on earth had he done to get himself expelled so disgracefully? The doorman had said something about not paying his debts. A wave of fury assailed her. She’d just given him five hundred pounds! Had he squandered it all already?

  The carriage entered the stable yard, and Wylde was there, opening the carriage door. Georgie practically fell into his arms. “I just saw my cousin! Your doorman threw him out.”

  Benedict frowned. “Seb must have reached the end of his patience.
He didn’t see you, did he?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  He took her hand and drew her inside. “Then stop worrying about it. Your unpleasant cousin is the very last person I want you to be thinking of tonight.” His smile made her anxiety ebb and her blood heat. “The only person you need to be concentrating on is me.”

  He led her up the stairs and into his apartment; the key turned in the lock with a decisive click. Georgie glanced round, nervous again. This was it. The stage for her willing seduction. Only she had no idea how to begin.

  “Why don’t you take off your cloak?” Benedict suggested. She did so, draping the heavy fabric over the chair and adding her reticule. He was only wearing a shirt and breeches; he looked comfortable and relaxed. He crossed to a sideboard and picked up a cut glass decanter. “Brandy?”

  She nodded. A fortifying shot of liquor sounded just the thing to bolster her confidence. His fingers touched hers as he handed her the tumbler, and she took a tentative sip to quell the quivering that had started in her belly. If they did this, she would be his wife in truth. Their marriage would be consummated. Legal. Binding.

  She jerked when he reached up and stroked her cheek. Brandy sloshed onto her wrist.

  His mouth curved in an endearingly crooked smile. “Stop thinking, Georgie girl.” He raised her hand and licked the brandy from her skin, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. She shivered in anticipation, but to her surprise, he stepped away and slid open a drawer in his desk.

  “First things first.” He withdrew a sheaf of banknotes and counted out fifty pounds onto the leather. “Here. Take it. I’ll pay back everything, including the five hundred from Newgate, as soon as I can. I won’t sleep with you if I’m taking your money.”

  Georgie’s spirits plummeted. “What? No! You need that money. I know you do.”

  He shook his head. There was a determined glint in his eye that said he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He left the cash on the desk and stepped back to her. “Let’s make one thing perfectly clear.” His gaze held hers, and her knees went weak at the intensity that burned in his eyes. “I am going to sleep with you for no other reason than because I am dying to do so.”

  Georgie bit back a moan. An element of doubt had still persisted at the back of her mind, an ingrained mistrust of his motives that said this was all too good to be true. A man like him couldn’t possibly desire a woman like her. And yet the hoarse yearning in his voice was unmistakable.

  She felt like an ancient explorer, Marco Polo or Vasco da Gama, about to set sail. Unsure of the mysteries and dangers that lay ahead, but certain they were out there, just over the horizon. Tonight, Benedict was her uncharted territory. And she couldn’t wait to uncover his secrets.

  She put down her glass. “All right then, Mr. Wylde. Show me what I’ve been missing.”

  Chapter 30.

  Georgie sucked in a breath as he advanced until only a few inches separated them.

  “To start with, I should remind you that I am not like other men in the ton,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows at that understatement. He was like no man she’d ever met.

  He reached up to her hair, found one of the pins that was keeping it coiled up on top of her head, and tugged it out. “What happened this afternoon was ample demonstration. I’m not one of your courtly lovers, all talk and no action.”

  He tugged another pin, and the weight of her hair uncoiled lopsidedly then fell down her neck. He was so close, she could feel the heat rising from his body, smell the addictive scent of his skin. Two more pins, and the whole lot untwisted. He drew the shining mass over her shoulder, and she shivered as his fingers smoothed its length, tracing to the very end where it finished just above the peak of her breast.

  “Allow me to demonstrate the difference between courtly love and real life.”

  “There’s no need,” she croaked.

  “Oh, I insist.” He ran his fingers down her arm, caught her hand, and raised it to his lips. “A courtly lover might kiss your hand, for example. Like this. Suitably reverent and correct.” He trailed one finger over her collarbone and down the center of her chest. Her ribcage expanded as she took a deep breath, and he paused teasingly at the edge of her bodice, just above the shadowed valley of her breasts. “A courtly lover would say your skin is like petals, or silk, or cream.”

  He traced a maddening pattern back and forth, light as a feather. “A true and proper knight would probably faint if he imagined doing this.” His finger dipped beneath the lace edge of her dress. “He’d liken your nipples to berries, or cherries, or some other such nonsense.”

  Her breasts felt full, aching for his touch. “You wouldn’t say that?” she croaked.

  “No.” He withdrew his finger and stroked his hand down the side of her breast, over her ribs and back up. She gasped as he cupped her in one large, capable hand. The warmth of him spread through her dress and saturated her skin. Her nipple hardened under his palm. His eyes bored into hers.

  “I’d just say that you have skin I want to lick. To bite. I’d just admit that I’m hungry for you. I want to eat you up.”

  Georgie could barely draw a breath. “You do?”

  “Oh yes.” He dropped his hand, and she let out a long exhale and tried to find her equilibrium. Every one of her senses was afire, anticipating his next touch.

  “A courtly lover would offer a chaste peck on the cheek.” He leaned forward and matched action to words. “But that’s rather insipid, don’t you think? Rather uninspiring.” He took her face between his hands, and his thumbs stroked her chin. “I’d rather kiss you here.” The pad of his thumb dragged over her lips. “I dream about your mouth,” he whispered. “It’s perfect.”

  He exerted the slightest pressure to tug her forward, and when his lips met hers, she couldn’t prevent the little moan that escaped her. So sweet. So lush. So right. He angled his mouth and pushed deep, his tongue stroking hers, and she closed her eyes and let herself dissolve. Heat rose, and urgency, and she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, anchoring herself to him, a port in a storm.

  She was hungry for him too. For taste, for sensation.

  He caught her lower lip in his teeth—an erotic tug that sent a corresponding tug straight to her belly—then released it and kissed her again, full and commanding.

  When he pulled back, his eyes were glittering, and Georgie sucked in a breath.

  “Do you want a courtly lover, Mrs. Wylde? Or do you want me?”

  “You,” she gasped. “I want you.”

  “Turn around.”

  She did as he ordered, and he made quick work of the row of tiny buttons down her back. Her dress pooled at her feet, and he caught her shoulders and turned her back around. Georgie watched, mesmerized, as he untied the front lacing of her short stays and drew them off her. She was left in her stockings, shoes, and shift.

  He took her hand and led her through into his bedroom, but she barely had time to register a huge four-poster bed and tones of deep burgundy before he took her mouth again. Her head spun, her blood pounded in her ears, and the next thing she knew, the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she was falling backward onto the mattress. Wylde followed her down. She gave a little squeak of surprise, and he pulled away, supporting himself on his hands, his hair tousled and his lips glistening.

  The lower half of her legs were still off the bed. He pushed himself upright and stood looking down at her with a hungry expression.

  “I want to see all of you, Georgie. Take off your shift.”

  Shaking with anticipation, Georgie gathered her courage and caught the hem in her hands. She lifted it, shifting her hips, and felt a cool rush of air as she exposed her stomach and breasts to the night air. He sucked in a breath as she tugged the cotton garment over her head. The movement snagged the chain around her neck, and with a sinking feeling, she remembered her wedding band. The metal dropped back against her chest as she tossed the chemise aside and faced him in jus
t her shoes, stockings, and garters. A hint of uncertainty plagued her. Benedict had had numerous lovers, women far more beautiful than herself. Would he find her lacking? Would he be disappointed?

  “Georgie,” he breathed softly, and the reverence in his voice, the look of sheer yearning on his face, put paid to her fears.

  He reached out and snagged the wedding band and raised his brows. “Nice to see you wearing this.” He smiled. “Couldn’t bear to take it off?”

  She squirmed a little at how tellingly close to the truth that was. He lifted the chain over her head, careful not to let it tangle in her hair. She thought he’d put it aside, but instead, he rolled the ring between thumb and forefinger, then trailed the warm metal down the slope of her breast. She sucked in a gasp as he placed it over her nipple, encircling the tight peak within the golden hoop.

  His lips quirked in amusement. “A courtly lover would never do this.” He bent and placed his lips over the ring; cool metal, hot mouth, and her body went up in flames. His tongue pushed through the central hole, and desire speared through her like a scalding tide.

  “Benedict!”

  Her skin flashed hot, then cold. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, pulling him closer as he let the band drop away and took even more of her into his mouth. He licked and sucked and bit. Her eyes widened. Oh, God.

  “You taste so good.”

  The vibration of his low groan rippled through her body. She closed her eyes, drowning in sensation. He shifted, pressing his nose and forehead to the soft skin of her stomach, breathing her in, and she fell back against the covers. She twisted, trying to urge him lower, to put his hands between her legs where he’d been before. Now that she knew what he could give her, she wanted it with a shocking, blinding intensity. She wanted that glittering peak again.

  But Benedict seemed in no hurry to oblige. In fact, he drew back again, and she bit back a moan of frustration. He lifted first one foot, then the other, and rid her of her shoes; they hit the rug in a succession of quiet thuds. Then he slid his hand up her shin until he reached the ribbon tie of her garter. With the slightest pressure, he urged her to bend her knee and open her body to him.