“A healthy child,” he murmured with conviction. Not jewels, not trinkets, not baubles. “That’s what you want for Christmas.”
Her smile would ward off the dark, turn back the cold winds, provide shelter from the rain. “It’s what we agreed to give each other. We may have misjudged, as according to the physician, he won’t arrive until around the first of the year. But it won’t be much longer. I do hope he’ll have your hair.”
“I hope he has yours.” He didn’t think that was unfair to his brother, as he saw Albert every time he looked in the mirror.
“Brown eyes.”
“Blue.”
“Are you going to disagree with me on everything?”
“In truth, Julia, I don’t give a fig what he looks like. As long as he’s strong and healthy.” And a boy. A boy would ensure Julia’s place in Society, ensure she would not be beholden to Edward for any kindnesses.
“It’s silly to worry over the other aspects,” she said, “but it’s fun to speculate. I can see him so clearly in my mind. I suppose it’s a mother’s intuition.”
“I think you’re going to make a wonderful mother.”
“I shall endeavor to be so. It’s a rather daunting task.”
“I have no doubt you will succeed.”
She placed her hand over her heart. “You’ve never been so vocal in your belief in me. Not that I needed the words. You showed me often enough, but still it is nice to hear them.”
He loved Albert, but his brother had always been quieter, less verbose. That she would welcome words that would have been left unsaid pained him, and he didn’t know why. Actions were all well and good, but she deserved the actions and the words. She deserved a good deal more than he could ever give her, than he would ever have the right to give her. It was important not to forget that her enjoying his company was only temporary. He finished off his port, stood. “We should probably retire. It’s been a long day, and I’m quite weary.”
Pushing herself to her feet, she placed her hand on his arm. He fought not to remember where that hand had been earlier, how her fingers had danced over him. It had been a mistake to give in to her pleas, although he was having a difficult time feeling remorse.
They traversed the hallways, ascended the stairs in silence. At her door, he raised her hand, pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Undress me.”
Everything in him froze, tightened. He stared at her inviting smile, her smoldering eyes.
“It’s late,” she added. “I hate to disturb my maid.”
“She’s paid to be disturbed.” His voice sounded scratchy and raw, not at all like his.
She flattened her palm against his chest, and he wondered if she could feel the thundering of his heart. In truth, he wanted nothing as much as he wanted to disrobe her, but that course was fraught with dangers. “I’d rather you do it.”
“I’m not certain that’s wise. I’m on a short leash here, Julia.”
Lowering her hand, she tilted up her chin, a challenging glint darkening the sapphire of her eyes. “I think you’re simply being prudish.”
Prudish? Him? He’d removed clothes from a thousand women. Well, at least a dozen. He didn’t know why his sexual exploits suddenly shamed him, made him wish he’d been a bit more discerning, more deserving of her. As though he could ever deserve her. But he’d be damned if he’d shrink from a challenge, especially one offered by her.
He could be strong, even if it meant being stronger than he’d ever needed to be. He could resist her, could ensure that nothing happened to put her babe at risk. Even as he cursed the vow he’d made to Albert, he reached past her, turned the knob, shoved open the door, grabbed her hand, and drew her into her bedchamber.
The door slamming in their wake should have had Julia wondering if she’d pushed him too far. Instead, as she stood in the center of the room, her back to him, her body thrummed with anticipation.
She felt the tug on the lacings of her gown, then the slow parting of the cloth as he took his sweet time to loosen the bindings. He skimmed one finger across her shoulders and back, lingering on her spine, before trailing it down one side, up the other. He pressed his lips to her nape, and she felt the heated circle of dew formed by his open mouth. Everything within her turned molten. She wanted that dew covering every inch of her body.
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 fo
r 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
Please 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.”
The Earl Takes All Page 12