The Earl of Benton: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club)

by Madeline Martin

  The idea left her knees weak. As it was, her lips still tingled with the memory of his warm skin under her mouth, the furious tick of his pulse perceptible when they connected, the smoky male scent of him. She'd assumed kissing his neck would be an inconsequential act, especially when weighed against the intimacy of a mouth-to-mouth kiss. Such an idea had been a folly.

  And now she could not stop reliving the act over and over in her mind until a pleasant, pulsing warmth glowed through her. She ran her tongue over her sensitive lips and reveled in the sensation.

  Alistair gave a grunt and immediately cleared his throat. He was watching her, his blue eyes dark and brooding with thoughts she could not fathom. He nodded sharply, perhaps in encouragement, and fixed his focus forward once more.

  They made their way down the stairs, and Emma managed to keep her composure. She'd kept her head lifted high and her breasts pushed forward, allowing as much skin as possible to be bared despite the overwhelming yearning to snatch the nearest curtain and cover herself.

  To make matters worse, she had removed her mother’s bracelet at Alistair’s suggestion. In addition to her body feeling naked, so too did her wrist and therefore her soul.

  Too late did the familiarity of a man’s voice break through Emma's awareness. Not until there was no time to escape, or even time to stop.

  Her uncle stood a stone's throw away. Beneath the borrowed personality, she was not the confident woman she feigned to be, and yet she had far too much to lose to fail.

  There had been instructions for such an event, the ones she'd repeated over and over in her mind. But with the panic blaring so loudly through her, recalling them proved impossible. Instead, she froze, locked into place by her own blasted fear.

  “We meet again, Your Lordship.” Her uncle's eyes glittered like water in the dark, bright with his innate avarice. He gave a deep, sweeping bow, practically groveling. He had not yet bothered to acknowledge Emma.

  She leaned her head slightly forward so her unbound hair fell over part of her face. He’d never seen her with her hair loose. Would the mask and carmine and tawdry gown be adequate to fool him?

  “I appreciate the opportunity to survey the premises.” His gaze drifted in her direction.

  “Your daughter is still missing, I presume?” Alistair asked with an obvious lack of care.

  Her uncle's eyes flicked back to Alistair. Away from Emma. She gave a discreet exhale and cursed the tightness of her gown. Breathing was difficult as it was with her precarious situation.

  “Niece,” her uncle said. “The girl has always been a bit of a bother. Needs a good man to set her straight.”

  Emma clenched her fist at her side. But the flare of anger fizzled when her uncle's stare swept back toward her. Toward her, and over her, before coming to rest on her nearly naked bosom.

  “Might I receive an introduction to your lady?” he asked her breasts.

  Emma had to fight the urge to jerk free the shift tucked in her stays and let the extra flounce of fabric offer her some modesty.

  “An introduction would be pointless.” Alistair's hand curled around Emma's waist and he pulled her against him in a strong, smooth motion. The act was protective. Possessive. “She is mine.”

  Emma put her hand to the broad chest and her heart tripped. His words rumbled against her fingertips and the comfortable smoky, clean scent of him quelled her panic. Safe. He was safe.

  She pressed her body against his. He was solid, the same as he'd been when she’d leapt through the window, and the warmth of him seeped through their clothing. The forgotten instructions rushed forefront to her mind and she flushed with pleasant heat at the realization she ought to kiss his neck.

  “Best of luck in finding your cousin,” Alistair said with more civility than her uncle warranted.

  Emma rose on tiptoe to better reach his neck and pressed her mouth to the heat of his soft skin.

  He gave a low, throaty chuckle. “Soon, lass.”

  His hand came up to gently cradle her chin and their eyes met - hers shaded by the mask, and his that deep, deep blue. His stare sizzled through her and her heart beat harder, if such a thing were possible. He looked at her as if he meant to –

  His head lowered and his mouth grazed hers. Once, in a whisper of a kiss, then again more firmly before the heat of his mouth pressed to hers.

  A whimper escaped Emma to her extreme mortification. In fact, her entire body acted of its own volition. She nestled more snugly to his strong chest, her head tilted further and her mouth opened slightly to accommodate his lips against hers. His tongue swept in and teased against her own.

  Dear Heavens.

  Emma's hand on his chest tightened into a fist. This was too much. Why did it set her pulse alight in a way she had never experienced before? Hot and eager.

  “Very soon,” Alistair said in a deeper voice, the slight burr of his Scots accent more apparent than before. She knew the promise of his words was meant for show, and yet a wicked shiver wound down her spine.

  He regarded Emma's uncle. “Clearly I must be on my way.”

  Her uncle coughed. “Yes, of course. Good day to you, my lord.”

  Alistair kept his hand on Emma's waist, keeping her at his side, and escorted her from the house to the waiting carriage. His valet hopped down from the driver's seat and pulled open the black glossy door in expectation.

  They had made it.

  “One moment,” her uncle's voice came from behind her.

  Every bit of Emma's hope shattered.

  They were caught.

  ***

  Alistair spun and faced Evans, taking care to ensure Emma was sufficiently blocked from her uncle’s line of sight.

  “Forgive the intrusion.” The man's dark eyes darted behind Alistair in an attempt to view Emma once more. No doubt to ogle her breasts with the same disgusting blatancy as before. He held up a red purse. “The lady dropped this.”

  Alistair took the purse and found it heavy with a considerable amount of coin. “Your actions today will not be forgotten.”

  The man dropped into an exaggerated bow, oblivious to the true implication in Alistair’s words. Before Evans had time to rise from the ridiculous display of toadying, Alistair guided Emma into the carriage and settled on the same bench beside her. Beast lay on the opposite bench, slumbering peacefully and completely oblivious.

  The charade had gotten Emma free of the manor and could easily stop. Indeed, it should stop. And yet he found his hand lifting to caress her lovely face.

  He shouldn't kiss her again. In truth, he hadn't meant to the first time, but the lure of her beautiful mouth had been so damn irresistible. He couldn't resist now either.

  His mouth lowered to hers, to the softness of her lips. The door snapped closed and sealed them away from the outside world, away from danger. They were safe.

  He should stop.

  She was sweet beneath him, innocent contrary to her tawdry attire. He kissed the fullness of her lower lip first, grazing the slight cleft there with the tip of his tongue before teasing over the seam of her mouth. Where last time she had kept frozen in place, this time she moved with him, albeit with a hesitant tenderness.

  He lifted his hands to her hair and found the locks silky and cool against his palm. He gently pulled the tie of the mask and slipped it from her face. Emma tilted her face up to his and her lips parted.

  A growl of lust rumbled in his chest. He swept his tongue into her mouth and let it sweep against hers. She moaned and grew brazen, returning his affection with tentative strokes of her own tongue. Her fingers had somehow found themselves at the back of his neck and threaded through his hair, pulling him closer to her.

  Alistair's cock raged beneath his kilt, hard with the desire for her to be the strumpet she dressed as. For if she were, he would have the liberty to lift those red skirts and sate the ache of his want.

  A sharp rap came from the side of the carriage. MacKenzie indicating they were safe, another discreet mess
age from their days of whisky smuggling.

  Alistair caught her mouth one last time, savoring the temptation of those lips before pulling away.

  Emma stared up at him with a bewildered, dazed expression. Red smudged over her mouth and chin, evidence of their passionate kiss. The innocence in her eyes conflicted with the sultry smear of red over those incredibly full lips and made him want to draw her against him once more.

  She bit into her bottom lip and slid her attention to where Beast lay in a pile of golden fur on the opposite cushioned bench. The dog’s quiet snore filled the silence between them.

  “Did my uncle realize it was me?” Emma asked.

  “He had no idea,” Alistair answered with confidence.

  “Why did he call to us?” She glanced up and focused on the bag of coins. Her body stiffened visibly.

  He handed it to her and she immediately relaxed. Her fingers curled around the bag as if it were the most precious of gems. She drew her mother’s bracelet from within and secured it expertly around her wrist.

  “Thank you for saving me, and for getting me out of there.” She twisted the bracelet around her arm with her fingertips. “You may leave me at the first stop. I assure you, I will be no more trouble to you.”

  She was wrong though. Attractive women were always trouble. Especially ones who fled their home, had blood on their gown, and had the very mouth of Aphrodite. Oh, aye, Emma Thorne was the embodiment of trouble.

  “You expect me to leave you alone and unattended? In that gown?” His gaze dipped to the swell of her creamy breasts and immediately regretted the action. Dragging his eyes back up to her face was practically impossible.

  It was a worthwhile effort though, for her cheeks stained red, and her lips along with it. “Perhaps you might escort me to a modiste first. I am sure a certain amount of coin can persuade her to relinquish a serviceable gown or two.”

  “That can be arranged.” Alistair lifted his brows. “What do you intend to do after you've been properly clothed?”

  “I expect I will hire a coach.” She twisted her lips in consideration. “I can take the rest of the way to Scotland, where I shall remain hidden until my birthday. Once I am safe, I will secure a private audience with my solicitor and see to it that my uncle is made to answer for his crimes.”

  “Your plan takes funds,” Alistair said. “A lot of funds. More than you have there.”

  She viewed the bag in her hands.

  “It is easy to forget about the cost of things when one has considerable wealth readily available.” Alistair settled into his seat, enjoying the play of their conversation. “It is not much fortune for an heiress.”

  “It's a fortune to servants.”

  “Is that what you wish to be in your month?” he queried. “A servant?”

  “My servants gave me their savings, to escape.” Her voice quavered.

  A dart of guilt needled into his chest. “Then it is certainly a fortune,” he said with reverence. “And I imagine you were honored to receive it.”

  She pursed her mouth and nodded.

  “Do you know the cost of a gown?” he probed. “Do you know the cost of room and board and food?”

  “Not in Scotland, per se, but I'm well aware of the cost of goods in England.”

  She lifted her head. “I went through the steward’s books when he was done with them to ensure there were no discrepancies.”

  Alistair's assessment of the woman sharpened. If she were checking the figures, she was no doubt a clever girl. “And you found your uncle has been stealing?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the proof is not with you, correct?” he asked.

  Her jaw flexed. “That is correct.”

  “You have a bit of coin, a small bit at that, a determined uncle you have no proof against, and a flimsy plan reliant on not being found,” he offered.

  She sat upright and her brow set in a stubborn furrow. “I assure you, I can care for myself.”

  “As a gentleman, I cannot allow a lady to remain on her own.”

  “A gentleman?” She scoffed. “With red about your lips from having kissed me.”

  “I kept you from being discovered.” He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth. Red smeared across the white linen. But then lust always was a vivid color. “Come with me to Lochslin Castle in Fearn. You may stay there as long as you wish and I can guarantee you safe passage to and from my home.”

  She eyed him warily. “Why are you going Scotland?”

  Alistair suppressed an eye roll of irritation. “My mother,” he replied and kept the bit about the whisky to himself. He was certain Miss Emma Thorne would not much care for his dealings in whisky smuggling.

  Chapter 6

  Emma had every intention of caring for herself, and she most certainly did not fancy the assistance of a misbegotten rogue. Especially when his efforts previously had incorporated a good deal of kissing.

  She pressed her lips together against the pleasant warmth of the memory hovering there. The kissing was not quite so terrible if she were being honest. Not that she would admit as much to him.

  As he appeared disinclined to elaborate further on his visit with his mother in Scotland, Emma contented herself with staring out the window where the trees of a rugged countryside flew by. Beast had wriggled closer to her at some point, and the heavy heat of his body pushed against her shins. She leaned against the cushioned bench of the coach and relaxed for the first time since she'd been forced to flee her own home. Within minutes, the flickering trees and comfort of Beast at her feet left her thoughts languid and she found herself lulled into a dreamless sleep.

  It was still light when she woke, though there had been some change in the landscape where the dense forests had given way to countryside of rolling green hills and stretches of luminous blue sky overhead. The kind of day she'd always enjoyed for riding, particularly in the country when she could do so without a chaperone.

  She shot a glimpse at Alistair and not only found him awake, but observing her with a quiet expression on his handsome face. He lifted his brow, as if anticipating she would challenge him in some manner.

  “Will we be stopping soon?” she asked.

  “Aye, to change the horses a second time.” He leaned back in his seat as though he had not a care in the world. “I want to ensure we get a good distance from Bedfordshire before we can attempt a more relaxed pace.”

  “A second time? Have I been asleep so long?”

  “I am sure you were exhausted in light of your circumstances.” He gave a respectful pause. “You are angelic when you sleep.”

  The embarrassment which might have plagued Emma at the idea of having slept in front of Alistair dissipated under the irritation of his praise. Of course, yet another dandy attempting to ply her with petty compliments. The way they all did.

  Yes, she had slimmed down from the plumpness of her youth, and her teeth had finally straightened themselves out with age. She'd regarded herself objectively in the mirror on many countless occasions, desperate to see the homely girl of her youth gone and a beautiful woman in her place. And yet all she saw was the unfashionable curviness of her body that would never lose its softness and the ridiculousness of her lips.

  Fish lips, they'd been called.

  She pursed them together at the memory. Blast the shallowness of society and their lying compliments in an appeal to her for her wealth.

  “I didn't watch you the whole time you slept, I assure you,” Alistair said.

  Emma eyed him with skepticism.

  “You needn't be angry.” He reached beside him and lifted a pile of pale blue fabric. “I did, however, procure a new gown for you while we were changing horses, as well as a new shift and petticoat. While I prefer the red gown on you, I imagine you'd much sooner be in garments more…of your own taste.”

  The angry sting of long-ago wounds fell away as her hands closed around the soft fabric. Well, fairly soft. The cotton was not of the finest qual
ity, but it would be far more serviceable than what she currently wore.

  She considered Alistair. Clearly he had gone out of his way to ensure her comfort, even after she had admonished him for his kisses when he'd saved her. “Thank you.”

  “It was MacKenzie.” He put the ankle of his right leg over the knee of his left in a relaxed pose. “Do you require assistance?”

  The warmth of his goodwill bled away with the forwardness of his offer. She opened her mouth to protest and stopped short. Without a maid to aid her, she would have no other choice. It was either have Alistair aid her once more, or stroll about dressed in the red gown and hope she might be fortunate enough to procure a lady's maid at whatever small village they stayed.

  Emma had grown used to the gown’s squeezing pressure around her ribs, but facing the possibility of not having to endure it further left the tightness unbearable.

  “Will you close your eyes?” she asked.

  He inclined his head graciously. “Of course.”

  She sighed and shifted in her seat to give him access to the back of the gown. The tension around her ribs was the most agonizing burning pain any frock had ever given her. She was grateful to not have noticed it as much thus far, and even more grateful at the idea of having it removed. The gentle pressure of Alistair's fingers worked at the first button until it popped free. It was a slow, painful process of liberating her lungs to the point where she could draw a true and deep inhale. The gown sagged off her waist and finally she was free.

  “Are your eyes closed?” she asked.

  “They are,” he confirmed.

  Quick as a switch, she pushed the red silk down her hips and stepped out of it, taking care to ensure she did not tread on Beast in the process. For his part, Beast was snoring soundly where he lay, oblivious to all going on around him.