How to Catch an Errant Earl

by Amy Rose Bennett

  “By God,” the earl exclaimed, his eyes popping open. “That was brilliant, Miss Jardine. The pain is all but gone.”

  Arabella couldn’t hide her flush of pleasure as she folded the earl’s forearm across his lean torso and encouraged him to support it at the elbow with his other arm. “My grandfather was a very clever man.”

  “And you’re equally as clever.”

  Buoyed by a sense of profound relief that her treatment had succeeded, as well as being flattered by the earl’s heartfelt compliment, a smile tugged at the corners of Arabella’s mouth. “Thank you, my lord.” She got up from the ottoman and retrieved one of the towels. “I’m going to fashion a sling, as it’s best to keep your arm as immobile as possible,” she explained as she sliced the linen into a triangular piece with her scissors. “You’ll need to wear it for at least a week, perhaps even two, to reduce the risk of another dislocation. Are you able to stand?”

  “Of course.” Lord Langdale rose smoothly and smiled down at Arabella as she positioned the linen to support his arm. “Are you sure you’re not a doctor?”

  Arabella laughed. “I wish I were, but alas, society will not permit it.” She secured the sling with knots behind Lord Langdale’s neck and at his elbow. “I like to do what I can though.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but you do seem rather young to possess such medical skill.” Lord Langdale watched her as she put her scissors away and closed her physician’s bag. “How long did you work alongside your grandfather?”

  “Five years, more or less. From the age of fifteen until I turned eighteen and was sent to Mrs. Rathbone’s young ladies’ academy in London. And then for another two years after I was expelled.” A soft smile curved her mouth as she secured the bag’s buckles. “When my grandfather discovered I’d been stealing his medical texts from his study and reading them, he began inviting me along to his practice to observe. Much to the horror of my aunt Flora. That’s Lilias’s mother. She was the one who insisted I attend the academy to curb my ‘unhealthy interests.’ ”

  When she looked up, Lord Langdale was studying her so intently, she blushed. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of the fact that she was entirely alone with a rakehell. And a half-naked one at that.

  Such a situation was entirely justified when she’d been working on the earl’s shoulder. But not now. She lingered here with this wicked, shirtless, fallen angel of a man, at her own peril. Bertie and Dr. Kerr were probably dealing with the issue of the toppled tree and the damaged conservatory. However, her aunt, Lilias, or even the very proper Mrs. Kerr might walk in at any moment . . . Arabella shivered inwardly. That would surely be a disaster of monumental proportions.

  “I . . . I imagine you’d like something else to wear, my lord. A banyan perhaps? Would that do until Bertie is free to find you other clothes that would suit?” Picking up her bag, she edged toward the door. “And then I’d best check if I’m needed elsewhere . . .”

  “Wait . . .” Lord Langdale snagged his discarded coat from the back of the wing chair. “I have something for you, Miss Jardine. It’s the reason I came here this afternoon.”

  When he withdrew a damp bundle of folded parchment paper sealed with wax, Arabella’s pulse leapt. She dropped her bag. “Is that the letter from Charlie?”

  He smiled as he crossed the carpet with long, sure strides and presented it to her with a neat flourish. “It is indeed.”

  Arabella took it with shaking hands and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you so, so much,” she murmured as warm delight spread through her heart. “This means the world to me. Although, when you mentioned you had a letter for me this morning, I certainly didn’t expect you to deliver it personally. And straightaway.”

  “Call me impetuous, but it seemed the easiest and fastest way to get it to you. In hindsight, it wasn’t such a good idea.” Thunder grumbled in the distance as if it agreed with the earl.

  “No, it wasn’t.” Arabella looked up into Lord Langdale’s face. Lightning flickered through the room, momentarily illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw, the perfectly sculpted bow in his upper lip. The glimmer of his deep green eyes.

  The sweep of his long, sooty lashes when his gaze fell to her lips.

  Arabella’s breath caught, yet her heart raced so wildly, it seemed to drown out the sound of the rain drumming against the library windows. Why was he staring at her like that? Examining her mouth as though . . .

  No. A man like Lord Langdale might deign to flirt with her, but he couldn’t possibly be interested in kissing someone like her. Not plain, practical, bespectacled Arabella Jardine with all of her peculiar tendencies and unladylike ways.

  Arabella swallowed in an attempt to loosen her tongue. There must be something she could say to dispel the strange electric tension crackling between them. “However, I’m very glad you did take the trouble to deliver it,” she said at last, pushing her glasses farther up her nose. “And so very grateful. It’s been such a long time since I had any news from my friends. And I . . . I really can’t thank you enough.” Oh, dear God. A blush scalded Arabella’s cheeks. She sounded like a daft, babbling idiot. How many times had she thanked the earl now? She didn’t want to know.

  Laughter danced in Lord Langdale’s eyes, curse him. He knew she was flustered, and he found it amusing. “You’re very welcome, Miss Jardine,” he said. His decidedly distracting dimple flashed as his mouth curved in a slow, lazy smile. “But it is I who should be thanking you after all you’ve done for me.”

  “’Twas no trouble at all.” Arabella bent down to push her letter into her bag, but to her dismay, found she was all thumbs when she tried to undo one of the buckles. When she eventually straightened, she feared her entire face was as red as a beet. “I really should go.”

  “Yes . . . only . . . if you’ll indulge me, there’s just one more thing.” Arabella’s breath caught as Lord Langdale’s right hand slowly rose to her face. With gentle fingers he adjusted her glasses upon her nose. “They were crooked,” he murmured as his fingertips feathered across her hot cheek.

  Oh. Confusion reigned. Why was he doing this? Flirting with her as though he wanted to seduce her? Indeed, the earl was so close, she could feel the heat of his body, penetrating her cold, damp clothes. His masculine scent drifted around her—warm and musky yet clean like the rain—and she couldn’t move away. Didn’t want to move away. Burning curiosity and a strange yearning—a secret stirring deep inside her—impelled her to stay, even though a rational part of her brain told her no good could come of this. That she must go. At once.

  Clearing her throat, she summoned her voice. “Thank you.”

  Lord Langdale’s gaze captured hers. Held. “It was my pleasure.” He dropped his hand but didn’t move away. “I must warn you, Miss Jardine,” he said in a voice that was almost a purr. “I’m a man prone to acting on impulse, and I’m sorely tempted to kiss you right now.”

  “You are?” she whispered. Incredulity stole her breath.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  His green eyes grew darker. “Because we’re here. And alone. And you have the prettiest mouth.” He reached up and ran his thumb over her bottom lip, making her shiver. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about kissing you all afternoon.” He leaned closer, and his breath coasted along her ear. “Can’t you feel it? This irresistible urge, this magnetic pull between us? This overwhelming compulsion? Aren’t you curious to know what it would feel like to have my lips upon yours? Teasing you? Tasting you?”

  Arabella closed her eyes and placed her hand against the hot, hard wall of his chest. She could feel the strong, slow thud of his heart. “We shouldn’t . . .” she breathed. But oh, she so wanted to. Because she could feel that pull too. The sharp tug of doing something rash and forbidden.

  Aside from her night of indiscretion three years ago—and her inconsequential acts of rebellion like sneaking away from her fam
ily in a crowd—Arabella never did anything wrong. Never strayed from the narrow, boring path of decorum. But here was Lord Langdale, the most handsome man she’d ever seen—offering to kiss her. He was a beautiful devil, temptation personified, and heaven help her, it seemed she couldn’t resist his invitation to sin.

  “I’ve often found that it’s the things we shouldn’t do that give us the most pleasure,” he murmured against her cheek. “Just one kiss is all I ask for, Miss Jardine. No one will ever know.”

  How clever and cruel of him to use reason to undermine her defenses. Aunt Flora was indisposed, Lilias was attending to her, Bertie and Dr. Kerr were dealing with the fallen tree, and Mrs. Kerr, well, she barely noted her existence anyway.

  Yes, no one will ever know . . .

  Scraping together the last remnants of her self-control, Arabella parted her lips and her chest rose as she drew breath to bid Lord Langdale a firm adieu, to tell him goodbye. But instead, she curled her hand around his naked bicep, and all that escaped her was an incoherent whimper of surrender.

  In the very next instant, Lord Langdale’s mouth found hers.

  The warm velvet press of his lips was such a novel sensation, Arabella instantly froze, stunned into immobility. Not because she’d been taken by surprise. He couldn’t have made his intentions any clearer. No, she stayed perfectly still, not breathing, not moving a muscle, simply because she’d never been kissed before and had no idea of the mechanics involved. What to do. How to respond.

  Clearly not put off by her inexperience, Lord Langdale drew back, then brushed his lips over hers again, a coaxing, gentle nudge. Then once again he applied that wonderfully lush yet firm pressure that was clearly an invitation to something more. Something deeper and sensual and irresistibly decadent. Something she’d never known she’d wanted until right now.

  Pushing her up against a glass-fronted bookcase, he held her there with his hard, lean body, kissing her softly, patiently showing her what to do. His injured arm in its sling pressed against her torso while his free hand cupped her face, tilting it upward, angling it just so. When she at last moved her lips beneath his, following his lead and mimicking his actions, he gave a soft groan of appreciation.

  And then she felt his thumb gently dragging on her lower lip, encouraging her to open her mouth. To yield. As soon as she did, his wicked tongue pushed inside, and she gasped at how shockingly intimate the incursion felt. But she didn’t pull away. She let him slide deeper, to taste her. To explore her mouth with slow, silken, deliberate strokes.

  Her knees trembling, her heart pounding, she curled her arms about Lord Langdale’s neck lest she fall. Her fingers threaded through the damp, silky curls at his nape, and she summoned the courage to slip her tongue into his mouth to taste him back. The earl groaned again and his hand slid behind her head, spearing into the tangled mass of heavy, damp curls. His kisses became hungrier, harder as she gained confidence and kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, if not skill.

  She’d never known the act of kissing could be so wonderful. So all-consuming, like being caught up in a powerful yet utterly pleasurable storm. A strange liquid warmth that could only be desire licked through her body, gathering low in her belly and feeding a growing restlessness deep inside her. She did indeed want something else. Something more. And she sensed Lord Langdale was the only one who could give it to her.

  He shifted his position slightly, his large hand skimming over her shoulder and bare arm before settling on her torso, spanning her rib cage. His thumb caressed the underside of her breast, and she gasped with surprise as much as pleasure. When she didn’t pull away, he stroked her again, and his hot mouth brushed across her jaw.

  “This is madness.” The gust of his warm breath, his lust-roughened voice against the shell of her ear, made her shiver. “You were right, we shouldn’t be doing this. And I lied . . . one kiss isn’t nearly enough.”

  “No . . .” Neither of them moved. Lord Langdale’s hand crept higher and cupped her entire breast, and she instinctively pushed her tight, aching nipple into his palm. “No, it isn’t enough,” she conceded. “But we should stop. Before things go too far.”

  “Yes . . .” Still he lingered, his hand on her breast, and so did she.

  This couldn’t be real; she must be dreaming. Arabella Jardine was in the arms of a sinfully handsome rakehell. An aroused rakehell. She could feel the insistent jut of his manhood against the softness of her belly. By rights, she should push him away, rebuke him, rush from the room, before things really did go too far.

  Before they were caught.

  But she didn’t. It seemed she was gripped by madness too. And confusion. “I still don’t understand.” Drawing back a little, she sought Lord Langdale’s lust-glazed gaze. “How could someone like you want someone like me?” She really wanted to know before she ended this entirely ill-advised yet completely enthralling encounter.

  He couldn’t want her. Not really.

  Perhaps he’d sustained a blow to the head. Now that would make sense.

  “Because . . .” began the earl unsteadily, “there’s just something about you. I can’t explain it.” He nuzzled her earlobe, then tugged on it with his teeth. “And God help me, you taste so very good. Feel so very good.” He gave her breast another gentle squeeze. “Just one more kiss and then we’ll stop,” he rasped against her hair, his tone rough yet somehow soft as velvet. “I promise.”

  Just one more kiss . . . Yes, she could agree to that. Because she knew she’d never have this chance again.

  Arabella turned her head seeking Lord Langdale’s mouth, and he claimed her again without hesitation. He kissed her slowly, deeply, his tongue caressing hers in long, languorous strokes, exploring her mouth with a thoroughness that made her head spin.

  She reached out and splayed her hand against Lord Langdale’s muscular chest where his heart now raced in a thunderous gallop beneath her palm. The pulsing ache in her lower belly had intensified, and without thinking, she pushed herself against his lean hips. She wanted to be closer to that intriguing male hardness more than she wanted air to breathe—

  “Arabella Mary Jardine! What, in the name of God, do you think you are doing?”

  * * *

  * * *

  Oh, hell, bloody hell.

  Gabriel ripped his mouth from Arabella’s and when he turned his head, he cursed again.

  Devil take me. Two middle-aged women and Arabella’s cousin, Lilias, all stood in the library doorway staring at him and Arabella with wide-eyed, openmouthed horror.

  Immediately releasing Arabella, he took a step back, then realized he really shouldn’t have when one of the older women—a thin, waspish-eyed matron with graying fair hair—shrieked. Her gaze was fixated on the front of his buckskin breeches where his raging cockstand was clear to see.

  Damn it. He moved closer to Arabella again.

  “Ladies, I’m so terribly sorry to have startled you—”

  “Startled?” cried the ashen-haired matron. “I’m more than startled, young man. I’m absolutely horrified and disgusted. In all my forty-nine years, I’ve never encountered such a flagrant spectacle. Such appalling indecency. You haven’t just compromised my niece. You’ve corrupted her.” She turned her ire-filled gaze on Arabella, who stood pressed against him, trembling. “Arabella. Step away from that man this instant.”

  “Aunt Flora, this gentleman is the Earl of Langdale. He was delivering a letter sent by a mutual friend, Lady Charlotte—”

  “The purpose of his visit is immaterial, and I don’t care if he’s the king of Persia. And as far as I can see”—her gaze flitted to Gabriel’s shirtless torso before returning to Arabella—“he’s definitely not a gentleman. And you, my lass, are no lady.”

  Gabriel curled his hand around Arabella’s upper arm, staying her—for his own sake as much as hers. Aside from her cruel words, there was something about th
e manner in which Aunt Flora was looking at her niece that he didn’t like—the woman’s hostility was a force to be reckoned with. The way her frost-blue eyes had narrowed when she’d transferred her gaze to Arabella, it was clear she thought her niece a detestable creature too.

  “I’m so sorry about all this, Lord Langdale.” Arabella’s voice was low, her tone defeated. Mortification weighed every word and every gesture as she tried to free herself and push past him. “I really should go.”

  “No. No you don’t need to go. Because I . . .” Gabriel swallowed, his throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara. “I will do the honorable—”

  She shook her head. “No. You don’t need to do anything. I haven’t a reputation to save to begin with so there’s little point—”

  “Wait. What were you going to say, Lord Langdale? Before my niece so rudely interrupted you?” Aunt Flora’s eyes were suddenly alive with razor-sharp interest.

  Gabriel frowned down at the young woman trapped between him and the bookcase. Was he really going to do this? Offer for Arabella’s hand to save her from certain ruin? It was his fault entirely that he’d landed her in proverbial hot water, all because he lost control, acted impulsively, and taken what he’d wanted, just like he always did. But for once in his life he would behave as a gentleman ought to.

  Drawing a steadying breath, he caught Arabella’s gaze. “Miss Jardine, there’s only one course of action to take here. You’ve been well and truly compromised and therefore, I am obliged to offer for your hand.”

  “No.” Arabella shook her head. Her mouth was a hard, flat line. “No, you don’t need to do that. I don’t want—”

  “Arabella Jardine, don’t be ridiculous—” her aunt began, but Arabella would hear none of it.

  “Aunt Flora, I refuse to marry Lord Langdale over something as trivial as . . . as a kiss.”

  Gabriel settled a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Jardine, we both know it was more than that.”