This Earl Is on Fire

by Vivienne Lorret

  He broke apart from their kiss and reached for something above her head. She didn’t want to stop, so she followed his hips with hers, rocking against him wantonly.

  “Wait, darling,” he rasped, his breath rushing against her lips. “You’re very small and this will help.”

  He placed one of the cylindrical pillows at either end of the chaise beneath her hips and returned to their love play just in time. Her body was trembling again, her arms shaking as she held onto his shoulders. His flesh edged inside her, tugging on that pulse, starting slowly once more in shallow thrusts, until she was writhing beneath him.

  There was no end in sight, and this ache was consuming her. She wanted to feel that euphoria wash over her again, but the need continued to build and build. Would she burst, or would she shatter first?

  And the answer was Yes. Oh, yes. At last, she shattered, bursting out to the heavens on a cry and coming back again. A cool wash of starlight flashed behind her eyes. Every part of her tightened, contracting.

  Liam groaned as she gasped his name, driving deep—deeper than before—and shocking her with a jolt of pain that interrupted the waves of her bliss. He filled her now, stretching her with each thrusting motion. Tearing away from the kiss, sweat glistened on his brow, his hips rocking, pumping faster, heated flesh and wetness urging her body to accept him.

  Pain forgotten, she looked up at him in wonder at this beautiful frenzy they created. His gaze never left hers, his face tight with strain, his neck corded, his shoulders and chest solid, unyielding. And then she watched the moment when his eyes closed and a choked, guttural sound escaped him as he swiftly pulled out of her body, spending his hot seed against her inner thigh.

  She never thought she could know such pleasure. But in the next moment, she realized she was wrong. When he pulled her to him, tucking her into his arms securely, contentedly, that was the greatest pleasure of all.

  “What about now?” she asked on a sigh.

  His fingertips skated over her brow, brushing her hair aside for a series of tender kisses that began at her forehead and ended at her lips. “Do you feel bashful?”

  Fighting a yawn, she shook her head. Even when she’d been shocked by the wicked decadence of his mouth and tongue, she hadn’t wanted to be anywhere else. She wanted to be right here, for as long as she dared.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Where is the goddess? If you let her go, we could end this. Your choice, guvna.”

  Liam awoke with a start, lurching up in bed. Breathing hard and fast, it took him a moment to realize that the attack was merely a dream, a memory, and not happening again.

  The next thing he realized was that Adeline was not next to him where she should have been, snuggling close while emitting heat like an ember.

  The filmy light of dawn crept through his window, revealing a room that was too empty without her. He shivered, wishing to have awoken to the sounds of her sleep talking.

  Yet even knowing that she’d slipped away in the middle of the night, he still found himself grinning and eager to start the day. Today he was a new man. Or perhaps he was the man whom Thayne had accused him of being all along. Either way, he felt good in this skin.

  For the first time, he knew the certainty of love.

  “Love, of all things,” he said with a laugh. He never thought this would happen to him—that his jaded heart would suddenly abandon him, and in its place, he would find a pure, eager heart, ready to begin a new life. And Liam saw no reason to wait a moment longer.

  Slipping into a pair of trousers, he wondered if this was how all would-be bridegrooms felt. If they did not, then they weren’t as certain as he was. Of course, he would have to suppress his utter bliss while he spoke to Adeline’s father. Even for a man as understanding and unconventional as Boswick, he still wouldn’t like knowing what had taken place to cause the necessity of their nuptials. And Liam did not want to disappoint him.

  Not to mention, there would be the matter of convincing Adeline. She was quite proud and stubborn when she wanted to be. He grinned, imagining all the ways he could explain his sudden transformation and realization.

  These thoughts kept him company as he retrieved water from the kitchen below to wash and shave. A quarter hour later, Liam walked outside and made his way next door to request an interview with Boswick.

  Finmore checked his pocket watch but announced Liam all the same.

  “Well, good morning to you, Wolford. What a pleasant surprise.” Boswick gestured with an open hand toward his study, and they both walked in together, taking chairs on either side of the desk. “I don’t imagine you’ve had much more sleep than I. In fact, the only reason I am awake is because my eyes just pop open at the same time each morning, no matter how little sleep I’ve had.”

  “No, I haven’t had much sleep either . . .” Liam scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling nervous. “I’ve had much on my mind.”

  “No doubt of it,” Boswick agreed as he poured a cup of tea from the tray sitting on the corner of his desk. “With the burglary and the attack upon your person, I imagine it has been difficult to find much sleep at all. Though you must think of your health. We all worry about you. I’m certain that won’t change once we return to Boswickshire.”

  Liam took the cup, murmuring his thanks. Absently, he took a sip while pondering his next words.

  Guilt was getting the better of him. Boswick had been kind and generous to him. And how had Liam repaid his host? First, by taking his daughter’s innocence and then by planning to take her away from the parents who loved and doted on her.

  Setting the cup down, he stood. “Which brings me to the reason for my visit. You see, I was wondering if, perhaps, you might delay your return for a time. Not long”—he swallowed—“just until I marry your daughter.”

  There. He said it. At least, he thought he did. Yet when he looked at Boswick’s bristly brows drawn together in puzzlement, Liam wasn’t sure.

  “Are you asking to marry Adeline?”

  Liam went over the words he’d said and realized his mistake. “Yes. Forgive me. I’m a little out of sorts, it seems. I am, indeed, asking for your permission to marry Adeline.” However, out of respect, he did not divulge that he would marry Adeline—permission or not.

  Boswick’s brow remained unchanged. “And have you explained your wishes to her? Because it was Adeline who requested that we end our time in London. She made no mention of this at all.”

  “We came to an understanding last night.” Liam cleared his throat when Boswick’s gaze sharpened. “Just after the waltz.”

  The baron’s alteration came swiftly and with a hearty laugh. “Oh ho!” He stood as well and pointed a finger toward the ceiling. “That explains why Adeline was so quiet and withdrawn at the end of the night. Out of sorts. The pair of you certainly are, to be sure.”

  “So I have your permission?” Liam just wanted clarification.

  “Have it? Why, you’ve had it from that very first moment we found you on our doorstep. One look at you with blood splattered all over your fine clothes, and Adeline knew.”

  Perhaps it was just a residual fogginess in his brain, but Liam found this confusing. “Knew what, precisely?”

  “That you were the one for her, of course.” Boswick clapped his hand on Liam’s shoulder and smiled. “In that instant, I knew you would marry.”

  Something inside of Liam went cold. An old specter rose up to haunt him.

  They’d known from the first moment? Impossible. No one could know by looking at a beaten and bloody man on the floor that he was going to marry their daughter. Then perhaps it was because of his fine clothes. Obviously, they’d taken him for a gentleman right away, and one with money to afford such finery.

  Could it all have been a ruse? The kindness, the compassion, the desire to earn his trust? Liam didn’t want to believe it. “You have no qualms over my reputation?”

  Boswick gave him a pat. “That doesn’t matter to us. We know the man you
are.”

  And there it was. They couldn’t have known the man he was when he’d been unconscious.

  Now this fresh, new heart was learning a painful lesson—never trust.

  The Pimms were the most cunning of all schemers. Liam had hardly suspected them. Imagine their satisfaction at having caught the eighth Earl of Wolford in their trap.

  Liam had fallen for it. He’d convinced himself that Adeline loved him. That he’d been welcomed into the family . . .

  “I should be going,” he said, numbly making his way to the door.

  “Stay, Wolford. Break your fast with us. I’m certain Adeline will be downstairs in a minute.”

  Liam offered a bland smile but waved him off. “Thank you. No. I have many matters to see to this morning.” He would need to see his solicitor, Aunt Edith, and Vale. Not only that, but Uncle Albert had requested an early audience with him. He paused to draw a breath that burned in his lungs. “I will return this afternoon with the papers from my solicitor, and then we’ll sign the appropriate contracts.”

  Waiting for the banns to be read, signing contracts, and negotiating dowries. Soon Adeline and he would marry in typical London fashion. It surprised him that only minutes ago, he’d been prepared to dash out the doors in search of a special license.

  Adeline struggled to rouse from bed that morning. Her limbs were loose and languorous, but her breasts were tender. And when she shifted beneath the coverlet, she realized that other parts of her were tender as well, sore in an unfamiliar way. She blushed, thinking about the cause. Then she smiled, blissful, dreamy. And his name left her lips on a sigh.

  As much as she would love to lie abed all morning, recounting every moment of last night, the sounds of servants in the hallway forced her to hurry.

  Rising, she moved to the washstand and poured cool water into the basin. Using the flannel, she gently cleansed her sore flesh before drying off and slipping into a fresh chemise.

  No sooner had she donned a green striped day dress than Mother rushed into her room and didn’t stop—practically bowling her over—until she embraced Adeline.

  “My dear, my dear! I am thrilled by the news!” Bunny Pimm was grinning like a madwoman, clapping, hugging Adeline tightly, and then gazing brightly, expectantly. “When you were so quiet last night, your father and I didn’t know what to think. All we knew was that you would come to us in time. Ah, but Wolford has beaten you to it! Can you believe he was here at dawn?”

  A fresh rush of heat flooded Adeline’s cheeks. “Liam—Wolford was here?”

  “And your father said his manner was perplexing at first but all became clear soon enough.”

  “Wolford spoke with Father?” Slowly, the warmth began to seep out of her as a sense of foreboding filled her. Liam had come here at dawn to speak with Father. Normally, this wouldn’t have alerted her suspicions. After all, more than anyone else, Liam knew that Pimms were early risers and were not formal about calling hours. Yet after last night . . .

  She shook her head. Surely, he wouldn’t have suddenly been stricken with the need to propose. Liam wasn’t the kind of man to change his mind about the life he wanted for himself. So then, was this alteration the result of his conscience getting the better of him? Was he worried about the stain upon his family name at the risk of an illegitimate birth? Yet she knew he’d taken special care against the possibility.

  Besides, they’d been perfectly clear with each other. She was returning to Boswickshire tomorrow, and he would marry some young debutante in thirty years. Last night was simply a farewell.

  There had to be another reason he’d come to see Father at dawn, and Mother was emitting so much joy that it hurt to look at her. At least, Adeline hoped there was another reason.

  “Of course he did.” Mother laughed and tucked a curl behind Adeline’s ear. “No matter how capable and independent a young woman might be, it is only right to ask her father for permission to wed her.”

  Adeline swallowed, wondering if her complexion was turning as green as her dress. “Is Wolford still here?”

  “Your father tried to keep him so that we may all sit in the breakfast room as a family, but Wolford mentioned a need to see his solicitor, arranging contracts and such. The banns will have to be read, of course.”

  “Oh,” Adeline said on a breath. She remembered how he’d described London weddings with contracts and negotiations and how those were not the marriages of two souls bonded for all eternity. It was an agreement. Nothing more.

  Obviously, he’d only decided to marry her because of what they’d done. He felt obligated. Yet he already knew she didn’t want to be a burden. So then, what would make him think that she would be willing to be his obligation?

  He’d never told her that he loved her. He’d made no promises. Nor had she expected them. She knew very well that he did not want to marry.

  Surely, he didn’t think her capable of trapping him? Adeline would never twist what they shared into a manipulation. But there was only one way to prove that to him—by leaving.

  Mother opened the portmanteau on the floor. “I’ll ask Hester to unpack your things, since we will be staying in London until the banns are read.”

  “We are still leaving on the morrow,” Adeline said quickly. When her declaration received a startled and puzzled look, she offered an excuse. “Wolford knows that I would prefer to await our . . . nuptials in Boswickshire. I have grown tired of London.”

  Mother studied her carefully, then stepped closer to press her hand to Adeline’s forehead. “Are you unwell, my dear? You look so pale all of the sudden.”

  Adeline needed to clear up this matter with Liam immediately before he did something he would regret. And Mother’s concern was just the opportunity she needed. “Perhaps I need to lie down for a minute or two longer. Tell Father that I’ll be down to the breakfast room in a few minutes.”

  The moment her mother left, guilt churned in Adeline’s stomach. She didn’t want to deceive her parents. They deserved more from her. But she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life being her husband’s biggest regret either.

  Adeline went to the desk to draft a note to Liam. Abruptly, she recalled her previous note—the one that she’d left on the console in the hallway next door. Perhaps if she merely added a line or two to that, it would explain everything.

  Especially why she was not going to marry him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Wolford, what brings you here this morning?” Vale asked after Liam cleared his throat from the study doorway. The duke was on his knees, tinkering with the gears and the pendulum. “Ivy was feeling a little peaked, and so I thought I could cheer her by finishing the automatic cradle.”

  “Uncle Albert asked me to meet him here this morning to look over his latest acquisitions, but according to your butler, he left a short while ago. So I thought I’d stop in here and tell you my news.” Liam took a deep breath, ignoring the sting of betrayal he now felt. “Miss Pimm and I are to be wed.”

  Vale frowned and stood, dusting his hands together. “And yet this announcement comes from a rather severe-looking countenance. Shouldn’t you be elated?”

  An hour ago, perhaps. But he’d been proven a fool. “When you first knew you were marrying Ivy, I don’t recall your being happy about it. In fact, you were downright terror-stricken.”

  “For good reason. My Marriage Formula was on the line, if you’ll recall.” Vale shrugged and laughed to himself, as if that were his favorite memory. “Everything I’d worked to achieve, all of my longstanding beliefs—they all meant nothing. Not if I couldn’t have Ivy.”

  Liam wanted that luxury of having his longstanding beliefs—that no debutante was trustworthy—disproven in the face of an honest love. And for a brief time, he thought he’d had that, so he knew what he was missing.

  For now, he’d rather not think about it. Distracting himself, he picked up a figurine on the desk. “What is this?”

  “A gift from Albert for allowing him t
o stay while his own house is unavailable. Apparently, this was found in a tomb of the first pharaoh to build a great pyramid.”

  “Khufu’s tomb?” Liam shook his head. Poor Albert. He’d been swindled again. “Did he say from whom he purchased this?”

  Vale lifted his brows. “No. He said he unearthed this himself.”

  “That isn’t possible,” Liam said, walking over to Vale to show him the reasons. “This pottery is too new, likely forged within the past year. Here, you can see that the patina has been fabricated. And if you draw in the odor, there are remnants of a distinctive mossy creosote, likely used to make it appear ancient.”

  Vale took the figure in hand and scratched his thumbnail over the surface to confirm Liam’s suspicions. “Such a pity. I’d actually held out some hope that it was genuine.” He clucked his tongue. “Albert has been obsessed with artifacts for such a long time that one would expect him to know the difference.”

  “True,” Liam agreed. “Though it surprised me to learn that he knows of the symposium I’m giving to the Royal Society. He said that Edith had mentioned it to him.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Edith. After all, she was the one who asked us to conceal what we could about the bust to keep both Albert and Gemma from embarrassment.”

  “Those were my thoughts as well, nonetheless . . .” Liam shrugged.

  “Come to think of it,” Vale continued, “he recently asked me if I’d ever seen the head of Aphrodite in your collection. I evaded the question, mentioning something in regard to the head of one goddess being equal another.”

  Goddess . . . The mention abruptly brought back the memory of Liam’s dream this morning. Where is the goddess? If you let her go, we could end this.

  An inexplicable chill stole over him.

  “When Albert visited me last week, he never once mentioned Aphrodite.”