This Earl Is on Fire

by Vivienne Lorret

  “We left early. Aunt Edith pleaded a headache, though truth be told I was ready to do the same. Either that, or I would have doused Miss Leeds with punch.”

  Vale’s countenance darkened. “Is Miss Leeds still antagonizing you?”

  “Not me,” Ivy said with a glance to Liam. “Miss Pimm.”

  Liam stepped forward. “What happened?”

  Before she could answer, his gaze already veered to the door, and he thought of the quickest path to take to Lord Tarlston’s.

  “Miss Pimm is no longer at the party,” Ivy said, a level of understanding in her pale blue eyes. “As is Miss Leeds’s nature, she made certain that Miss Pimm felt most unwelcome. After their encounter, Aunt Edith and I offered to drive Juliet, Bunny, and Adeline to their homes.”

  “Bunny?” Vale asked while Liam contemplated the door.

  “Oh yes, Lady Boswick insists upon it, just as I have asked her to call me Ivy. Aunt Edith, however, is not as modern. At least, not yet.” Ivy stepped into Liam’s field of vision and lifted her brows in question. “It is a late hour, to be sure, but perhaps you could stay awhile longer and tell me about this rattle. I could certainly use the distraction.”

  Likely Ivy saw that Liam was the one who needed the distraction, or else he might find himself making the wrong choice—leaving directly and seeking out Adeline. It would be improper to call at such a late hour. Therefore, with a nod, he remained in their company and told them of the dig at Caulfield’s country estate.

  For the next hour, however, he was still lost in thought. He might have tried to tell himself that he was debating whether or not to drive to Sudgrave Terrace, but the truth was he’d already made up his mind. He was merely biding his time.

  Even after Mrs. Simmons had made her a glass of warm milk before turning in, Adeline couldn’t sleep. The night had not ended as she’d hoped. Yet another misadventure. So far, the only time she felt as if she’d had a true adventure was when she was with Liam.

  But her journey to London wasn’t really about adventure. She’d wanted to prove herself capable of handling any situation. Tonight, she’d failed. Again.

  She stared at her reflection in the small round mirror above her washstand. There was nothing she could do to alter her limb, but perhaps there was something else she could do to change her outward appearance . . .

  And cutting her hair was the answer.

  Even though it became tangled and caught under her from time to time, it was still a part of her. If it were merely a burden, her decision would have been simple. But how many hours had she brushed it and found comfort in the act? Too many to count. How often did she luxuriate in the feel of the heavy tresses gliding over her bare back after her bath? How many times had she pretended to be Lady Godiva, veiling herself with only her hair? Well . . . only in the privacy of her bedchamber. No one ever knew.

  But the truth was, when she looked in the mirror, she saw a girl. Not a lady. Certainly not the woman she knew herself to be. At two and twenty, she had a mind of her own. She had determination to do whatever it took to prove herself.

  Now, more than ever, she felt a need to see something different. Therefore, it was time to lose these yearling locks of hers and look every bit the woman.

  She let out a breath, picked up a glass of the brandy she’d secreted from Father’s study, took a hefty swallow, and then coughed as it burned all the way down.

  Sweet heavens, how do men tolerate this spirit?

  Once her coughing subsided, she took another swallow and hissed out a breath, wondering if flames would erupt from her throat. But gradually, it warmed her inside. Her breathing came easier, filling her with a modicum of confidence.

  She picked up the razor she’d liberated from Father’s shaving kit. When her hand trembled, she forced herself not to think about it too much.

  Hefting her braid, she held it up above her head, and then . . . sliced through her hair.

  Or she would have, if she’d had the strength. On the first pass, she only freed one-third and ended up sawing through the rest. And when it was done, she looked in the mirror and cried.

  When Liam arrived at Sudgrave Terrace, he went directly to the connecting door from his place to Boswick’s residence. Since Adeline had left the key behind, he used it now.

  His conscience warred with him. Should he be here in the dead of night?

  Likely not. Though Liam reasoned that his purpose was purely altruistic—he only wanted to ensure Adeline’s well-being. Besides, Boswick had mentioned on several occasions that Liam was always welcome . . .

  Yet Liam’s conscience knew that even the affable Boswick would frown upon this visit.

  Therefore, he was careful to listen to the sounds of the house to ensure no one was about. All he needed was one look at Adeline, and he would feel reassured.

  Aside from the faint glow of the street lamps shining through the open drapes at the end of the hall, the house was silent and dark. Though having spent much of his time in the dark, Liam was able to maneuver quite easily.

  Even from this distance, he could hear the steady cadence of Boswick’s snores. It was as good as an invitation.

  As he moved down the hall, he noticed another light as well. And it was coming from Adeline’s bedchamber.

  From the other side of the door, he heard a shocked gasp.

  “What have I done?”

  Pain rasped in her voice, hitting him hard with worry and fear. He opened the door, propriety be damned. What he saw halted his steps.

  Adeline stood across the room, her head bent as she stared down at her hands. One clutched an open razor. The other held a long rope of hair. Her hair.

  His eyes darted up to see waves of fawn-colored tresses kissing the tops of her shoulders. But no, not fawn-colored any longer. This color was a shade deeper, a richer brown than before. And without the heavy weight, it curled in loops at each end. Tendrils now framed the face that he knew by heart—the winged brows, the gently sloped nose, the soft divot in her plump bottom lip. The same lip that trembled now.

  Reaching behind him, he closed the door with a soft click. Adeline’s gaze lifted, but she didn’t startle. Her liquid eyes simply held his, beseeching.

  “Shh . . .” he crooned. Then crossing the room to her, he gathered her in his arms, taking care to set the razor on the washstand first.

  “What have I done?” she asked again, pressing her wet face against his coat.

  He shrugged out of the garment, dropping it to the floor without letting her out of his arms. A single instant felt too long. “It looks as if you’ve cut your hair, darling.”

  She nodded and sniffed against his waistcoat, drawing the bundle of her lost tresses between them. “I have. I did this to myself. I am so—”

  “Beautiful,” he said with a certainty that no one could argue against. He always thought so, even before he’d been able to see her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and to her temple. Lifting his hands to smooth the riotous looping tendrils away from her face, he kissed her brow, her damp lashes, the bridge of her nose, the upper crest of her cheek, all the while repeating his declaration.

  Adeline released a stuttered breath and shook her head. “You are being kind, pitying me for my impulsive foolishness.”

  “A harsh mark against my character, to be sure.” Liam continued to press tender kisses to her face, blotting away each tear with his lips. Each salted droplet caused him agony. He couldn’t understand this keen desperation to rid her of these. He’d seen other women cry, though mostly crocodile tears for attention. None had ever been true. And none had ever affected him this way. Her sadness crippled him, and he would do whatever it took to banish it. “You know me better than that. I am more prone to mockery than to pity.”

  “Perhaps, though I have my doubts.” She scoffed quietly but did not retreat from his embrace. In fact, she swayed toward him, her body molding against his. Her arms settled around his waist. The supple yielding pressure of her breasts, the ri
se and fall of her stomach with each breath, brought her closer to him.

  His body responded in kind, obliterating any distance between them. He knew he should step back. He’d come here out of concern for her, not to seduce her. But as he nuzzled the hollow on the underside of her jaw and tasted how warm and sweet her flesh was beneath his lips, he found himself pulling her even closer instead.

  Gliding a hand down her spine, he settled it into the curve of her lower back, lifting her and aligning their hips in one motion. “This is not the hot, insistent weight of pity pressing against your sex.”

  Her eyes widened. “You . . . desire me? Even now, with my hair shorn like a lamb in spring?”

  He chuckled. Her hair was hardly shorn, but even if it were . . . “Long hair, short, or with only whiskers on your scalp, I would still want you.”

  The truth of those words filled him with a modicum of panic. He knew he wasn’t only speaking of filling her body with his flesh, but something more. Something deeper. And in that moment, the certainty of him wanting her—all of her—tunneled through him.

  Warned of the dangerous ground shifting beneath his feet, he set her down and released her. The moment he did, however, she wavered, teetering to the side. Automatically, he reached out for her.

  He’d forgotten about her leg.

  Adeline stumbled away from him on a strained gasp. She covered her mouth with her empty hand, her face pale, her eyes haunted, bleak. “And lame too? How that part of me must inflame your passion.”

  Actually, it never entered his mind. Not even from the first moment that she’d told him. “You have never once seemed in want of wholeness or support.” She was complete in every way imaginable.

  “W-what did you say?” Adeline’s voice trembled.

  Had he spoken aloud? Damn it all. Those words—like the others he’d just spoken—were too true. He should never have said them. Should never have revealed so much.

  His heart pounded in his chest, fierce and raw. Seeing the distress on her features stirred a terrifying helplessness in him. He would do anything to banish her insecurities, to prove that she was everything a man could desire and more. But her tears were causing his undoing.

  Behind him, the door beckoned. Yet, how he could leave her like this? Especially when he wanted to be the one who stripped away her sadness?

  “I said ‘Lift your nightdress and I will tell you.’ ” He employed the practiced tone of seduction, wanting to return to where he felt more secure. When he earned a choked laugh from her, he finally felt some relief.

  She looked askance at him. “Showing you my limb is not an adventure I care to have.”

  The distraction was working, for both of them. His own panic subsided as he settled back into a more familiar skin. “You’ve never thought about it? Not even once?”

  “Baring myself to you? Of course not.” Her blush deepened as she focused on the hair in her grasp.

  “Come now, Adeline. I know better. You purr whenever my mouth touches you. Hell, even when you watch me eat, your gaze reveals that you are imagining all the wicked things I could do to you. Every inch of you.” He was stalking her now, circling her as if this were a naughty game of blindman’s bluff. “Surely in these fantasies, you are not fully clothed.”

  Her lips parted, not on a gasp but on a series of rapid breaths that caused her breasts to rise and fall beneath the ruffled layers of white silk. Pressing her lips together, she kept her gaze averted. “Nor am I fully undressed.”

  Damn! He nearly tripped. Her soft admission brought him to full, instant arousal. He expected her to deny dreaming of him, to taunt him in return. Now the hard length of him strained against the fall of his trousers.

  Stepping behind her, he made the necessary adjustment. Thankfully, she did not follow his movement but remained still while he resumed his pacing.

  Once he stopped in front of her, he held her gaze as he took the bundle of hair from her grasp and set it down on the foot of the bed. “Hmm . . . Then what are you wearing in these wicked thoughts of yours? A pair of stockings and your chemise?”

  “Surely not.” Adeline laughed softly.

  The lush, decadent sound shuddered through him. He grinned, liking this game. Making another pass around her, closer, he trailed his fingers along her throat, around to the nape of her neck, taking pleasure in the quickening of her breath.

  “Just stockings, then? With pink ribbons tied above your knees. My, my, Miss Pimm”—he stopped behind her and whispered into her ear—“naughty, indeed.”

  “Perhaps I am demurely covered from my neck to the floor in my nightdress.”

  Standing behind her, he gently grasped her chin, drawing her face to the side to press a kiss to her cheek. His fingertips trailed down her chin, to the hollow at the base of her throat, and paused at the ribbon that tied the collar of her nightdress closed. Then brushing small, nipping kisses along her jaw and down her neck, he tugged on the ribbon. “And does it slip off one shoulder . . . like this?”

  She gasped, lips parting. “Perhaps.”

  He loved that she didn’t shy away. Loved that she leaned back against him. Loved that her skin responded to his touch with an eruption of fine gooseflesh.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, that sweet pear-scented place on her throat . . . “And in this fantasy, does my mouth press here? And here?”

  Her answer was more moan than word, making his abdomen tighten. He drew closer. His hands roamed down to her hips. Threading her fingers over his, she followed his progress as he pulled the curve of her buttocks back against him.

  Pleasure spiked through him and drugged him simultaneously. He felt dizzy with it. On a groan, his mouth descended to her shoulder, his gaze straying to the rounded flesh that hinted at the perfection of her breasts. How many nights had he recalled the delicious memory of her fluffing his pillow? Of that supple unrestrained weight?

  Up until this point, his behavior had been practically chaste. He’d done nothing more than kiss her. Surely, he deserved a reward.

  As if reading his desires, Adeline guided his hands upward over the valley of her abdomen. In the warm recess beneath her breasts, she hesitated. But the moment his mouth opened against her neck, she lay her head back on his shoulder and slid his hands over her supple flesh.

  Instantly, her nipples pebbled against his palms. Arching her back, her taut buttocks nearly unmanned him with the glorious pressure of her untutored thrust. He groaned, loving her response.

  Then with a single tug of her nightdress, he took her bare flesh in his hands.

  Her skin was soft as petals, their pleasing weight warm, full, and yielding in his grasp. At their crests, a treasure awaited his attention. Those pink circles were so pale and perfect that they held a silvery sheen in the lamplight, like small coins from an undiscovered land.

  “I’ve thought of this too,” she admitted on a rasp as he grazed the ruched peaks. “I try not to, but the more I try, the more it happens. All day long. Each and every night . . .”

  “Tell me no more,” he pleaded, his erection threatening to rend the fabric of his trousers. His sac tightened, thoughts of seduction filling his head. He knew hundreds of ways to touch her, to coax her further, to encourage this event onward without a moment’s hesitation. He could take her, fulfill this driving need . . . “We should not do this. There would be consequences, Adeline.”

  “I know you would not marry me,” she said, turning her head to press her lips against his throat. “But since I am not marrying either, then I would not be ruined for my husband. So there is nothing to stop us.”

  It was the word ruined that finally jarred him enough to lift his mouth away from her skin. He lowered his hands from her breasts, then straightened. In that instant, his body revolted in a jerk, unwilling to leave her.

  Forcing himself, he staggered back, his breath labored and burning through his lungs. Carefully, he lifted her nightdress in place, making sure to t
ie the ribbon at her throat before he moved to stand before her.

  “You are two and twenty. So young. So passionate. Not jaded by the world. You will marry someday. I know it with a certainty that I cannot explain. And I . . .” Unable to help himself, he reached up and brushed the newly cropped tendrils away from her cheek. “I could not in good conscience repay the family who saved my life with your ruination.”

  She turned to press her lips to his palm. “No one but us would know.”

  “A statement which only proves your naivety.” Her family was from the country, he reminded himself. They were good, kind people who had taken him in, sacrificing so much for a stranger. And this was how Liam would repay them?

  No. He could not, or rather, should not. The fact that he could imagine himself taking Adeline—laying waste to that fragile barrier between them and making her irrevocably his—caused panic to rise up once more.

  So, before she could tempt him further, he turned on his heel and left the room without another word.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In the morning, Mother decided they should take a drive in the park. It was the perfect day for it, with few carriages about at this early hour. Of course, Adeline would have rather walked, but felt that she’d put her mother through enough with the shock of her shorter hair.

  The missing weight of her usual braid kept her reaching back to check on her chignon. That was when she remembered that Hester had been able to accomplish a new stylish twist on her crown. Adeline thought it made her look taller, older, and more refined. So then, why was she still so uncertain of herself inside?

  Adeline wasn’t sure, but she felt it had something to with Liam and how he’d left her last night. Especially when she’d given him every opportunity to stay.