The Earl's Desire

by Alexia Praks

  Christine found that the wardrobe was one big room of its own where his evening outfits were placed in one section, his riding habits next to that, his day outfits in the middle, and his night clothing at the far end.

  “Can you remember it all?” he asked once they had completed the tour. “Though you only need to ask if you don’t know.”

  She smiled uncertainly and slowly walked around, searching and collecting the items that he needed—with his guidance at times. Once done, she stepped back into the bedroom with Merrick behind. Her eyes caught the massive bed in the middle of the room. The mahogany headboard was elegantly designed with gods and fairies. Then she looked to the blankets and found herself staring at the embroidery which featured twin peacocks.

  Her heart beat so fast she thought it would leap out of her chest. Her stomach felt hollow, and she shivered all over.

  “Is everything all right, Chris?” Merrick touched her shoulder.

  She nodded, her lips clamped together. “I’m all right,” she reassured herself more than him, clutching the pile of his clothing tightly to her chest.

  “I’m going to have my bath,” he said.

  When he’d shut the door behind him, she turned back to look at the bed. The room turned uncomfortably silent, though the thumping of her own heartbeat was loud in her ears. She tried not to think of what she had discovered.

  There they were, the twin peacocks, in exactly the same design and colors as those in her dreams. She shut her eyes, and the images came to her in full force.

  The ghostly figure loomed toward her, suffocating her. A large, strong hand seized her arm. When she struggled to break free from the imprisonment, his grip became tighter, tearing at her arms. The ghostly man threw her onto the bed and pulled himself on top of her. His hand slid under her arm and imprisoned her there. His head moved toward her face and continued to move down to her neck. His other hand came down to her breasts. He captured one in his hands and squeezed it.

  “Chris, my robe!”

  Jolted back to reality, she looked around her in confusion, and her hands felt damp. She took a deep breath, rushed into the wardrobe, and looked for the robe. She found some, quickly grabbed one, and hurried back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, rushing into the sitting room, and then she came to a complete halt. “Oh!”

  “What took you so long?” Merrick asked.

  Christine stood rooted to her spot; her eyes were large as she took it all in—the image of the naked earl.

  He came to stand before the hearth with his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind him and the water dripping from his muscular body. His skin was tanned, and his hair was wet, clinging to his handsome face. He looked magnificent, and she found she couldn’t breathe properly. Suddenly, she felt her own body trembling in response.

  She kept staring at him, from his dark head to his face, to his muscular chest and arms, down to his flat stomach, and then she shut her eyes abruptly once she had glimpsed the lower part of his body. She twisted around, blushing.

  “Chris, what the hell are you doing?”

  Her face turned crimson. “Oh, I… umm,” she muttered.

  “What’s the matter? Have you never seen yourself naked before?” he chuckled.

  She widened her eyes as she stared at the floor. Yes, but I’m not as beautiful as you are!

  “Come here, boy, and hand me that robe. I’m getting cold.”

  “Yes,” she said and rushed to him, her eyes still on the floor. She shoved the robe to him without looking up.

  He grabbed it but did not put it on. Instead, he nudged her chin up with his fingers and thumb so she could look at him. “What’s the matter, Chris?”

  “Nothing. Are you finished? Do you want me to throw out the bathwater?” she asked nervously, shivering at the way he was staring at her. She thought there was longing in those eyes, a longing so raw that it broke her heart just looking at them.

  She broke their eye contact, moved back, placed the pile of his clothing on the settee, and moved toward the bath.

  He caught her arm. “The servant can do that. You can help me dress.”

  She nodded. He let go of her arm and put on his robe. Thank God, she thought. She really couldn’t handle any more embarrassment.

  “Get my towel.”

  She grabbed the towel lying on the seat and gave it to him. He took it and started to dry his hair. She watched him, amazed at the ease with which he dried his own hair.

  He stopped and looked at her pointedly. “Come here.”

  She raised her brows and took a step closer. He handed her the towel. “Dry my hair,” he instructed.

  She glanced at the towel in her hands, then tilted her head to look at him. “Right,” she said and shoved the footstool closer to where he stood and climbed up onto it.

  “Very clever, Chris,” he chuckled.

  “Thank you,” she said and started to dry his hair.

  Merrick felt warm sensations rush through his body from head to toe as she gently dried his hair. He shut his eyes and felt quite content. It surprised him because the usual emptiness wasn’t here.

  “There, it’s dried,” she said.

  He walked over to the table, took the brush, and handed it to her. “Brush my hair.”

  She grabbed the brush and started to stroke the strands of his hair through her fingers. It was soft and wavy. She smiled and was puzzled at why she was so happy just touching his hair. Once she’d combed the strands until they were smooth and out of tangles, she jumped down and looked at her handiwork.

  “Bring my clothing and help me dress,” he instructed.

  “Yes,” she said and handed his shirt to him. He untied his robe, took it off, and dropped it onto the carpet around his feet.

  “Huh!” She turned a bright shade of pink and twisted around so that she could not see him.

  He laughed. “Just wait for a few more years, then you’ll look very much like I do. Actually, I’ll have to teach you some sports. How do you feel about boxing, lad? To build up those puny muscles of yours? Now, turn round so you can help me dress.”

  “I am very discreet about my… umm… appearance. I’m not that puny, if you must know. I especially don’t like other people seeing me naked and the other way around. It is said to be shameful to see other people naked,” she mumbled. Yet she knew she liked looking at his naked body. He was so beautiful.

  “Ah, yes. That explains your discomfort earlier. Does it run in your family? I apologize, Chris. However, I am serious about those puny muscles of yours. Far too tiny, I assure you. I don’t remember I was that small when I was fourteen,” he said as he stared at her slim back.

  She turned to him, her eyes twinkling. She wasn’t going to tell him that she was actually eighteen years old and not fourteen as he thought she was.

  Merrick gazed at her long and hard. He suddenly had the urge to kiss her. What the hell! He shook his head at the stupid notion and took a few steps back. “You’re so tiny,” he commented. “And too damn thin for my liking.”

  She glanced down at herself. “We didn’t have enough food, you know.”

  “I know, lad.” He nodded as though he really understood, which he did for he had made it his mission to bring poverty to the foreground in the House of Lords. Then he proceeded to dress himself with Christine’s help.

  He looked so handsome, she thought, in those tight black pantaloons, that dark blue double-breasted coat, and the high-collared white shirt. The women at the dinner party were going to fall head over heels in love with him.

  “Thank you, Chris, for your help,” he said.

  She grinned from ear to ear, her heart blooming with happiness. Then her eyes shifted to his dark blue silk cravat. She wondered how one tied the thing into the perfection he obviously liked.

  As she was contemplating the dilemma, Merrick eyed the light freckle on the bridge of her nose and then glanced at her odd cap. He put his hand on it and was about to take it off when Christin
e shrieked, “Oh no!” clamping both hands on top of it.

  “Why on earth do you still wear that, Chris? It’s old and quite improper for this household.” When she still wouldn’t let go, he seized her arm and pulled her roughly her toward him, his other hand still on the cap. Christine collided against his chest, her face inches from his.

  She gazed at his firm lips, and her insides shuddered with a new, thrilling sensation.

  Merrick had the sudden urge to kiss her again as he stared down at her, lost in the depths of her violet eyes. The moment passed, and he released her, causing Christine to stagger backward. He shook his head to clear the abstraction.

  Christine watched him, smiling shyly. Then hesitantly she took her cap off.

  Merrick saw her hair and chuckled. It was a mess, like a massive used mop on her head. It looked as though she had simply used a pair of scissors and chopped the strands off bit by bit.

  “Are you embarrassed?” he asked, tousling her hair fondly.

  Christine thinned her lips as she nodded.

  Merrick put his arm around her shoulders and patted her head. He said, as he looked down at her and their faces were very close, “Don’t worry. You’ll get a great haircut from an expert, my valet. Speaking of which, he still hasn’t shown his face.”

  As though speaking of the devil, the man appeared at the door. “My lord,” the valet said.

  “Never mind, Paris, I am all done. I had help from this brat,” Merrick said, slapping Christine on the shoulder.

  The elderly servant nodded his snow-white head as he glanced at Christine. She clamped her lip and nodded back at the valet in acknowledgement.

  “Chris needs a haircut, Paris,” Merrick continued, his voice rather loud. “Take the brat away and give him a new hairstyle so he can go into society.” He shoved her toward Paris. Christine stumbled across the floor. Merrick caught her arm and pulled her upright. “Can you not balance right, lad? I definitely need to teach you boxing.”

  “Isn’t it time for you to go?” she said.

  “Indeed, it’s rather late,” he agreed and then put on the leather Hessian boots. Once done, he stood up, and Paris helped him put on his high-waisted double-breasted overcoat.

  Christine silently walked with him to the front door to see him off.

  “Have a good evening, my lord,” she said, giving him a cute smile.

  Merrick waved at her as he strode toward the curricle. Christine grinned, watching him as he smoothly climbed onto the vehicle and then expertly drove the carriage away.

  FOUR

  “Such bad timing it is, my lord, what with Bonaparte taking over Austria and our economy in the gutter with the ongoing war.” Mr. Wilkinson, a short, stout gentleman with a red plump face, scooped a spoonful of bisque. “It seems there is no hope for our country, though I pray for our good king for he is willing to stand and wage war with that power fanatic of a lunatic Napoleon.”

  Merrick watched as his host ate the thick, rich soup. He drank the remaining champagne, and a footman promptly appeared behind him and refilled his glass. Merrick picked up his spoon and said, “I do have faith in our military, Mr. Wilkinson. I do have faith in Sir Arthur Wellesley, and I do have faith that Bonaparte will be brought down to his knees sooner or later.” Then he proceeded to eat his soup.

  “How do you find the soup, my lord?” Mrs. Wilkinson, a generously plump, moonfaced woman with dark hair, asked.

  “Very good.” Merrick finished the last spoonful. A footman behind him took his plate away and placed another in front of him. It was broiled salmon. He picked up his fork and tried the pink flesh. “Mm, very nice,” he said, nodding to his host and hostess. They smiled back at him gratefully.

  Merrick looked down the table at the other thirteen people attending the dinner party. There were the Honorable Adam Wilson; his wife, the Honorable Mrs. Wilson; their son, Henry; and daughter, Jane. On the far side of the table were Sir and Lady Williams; Mr. and Mrs. McNaught; and Reverend Bernard Thompson, his wife, Mrs. Thompson, and their daughter, Melissa.

  “My lord, I’ve heard that you are having a country house party this summer. Is that true?” Jane asked.

  The rumor, Merrick thought, had traveled fast. He said, looking at the young woman, “Indeed, my dear.”

  Jane’s green eyes shone as she gazed at him with adoration.

  “Goodness, my lord, I do hope you won't forget your own neighbors?” Mrs. Wilkinson said, waving her fork about before her.

  “No, not at all. You and your husband will no doubt be the first on my list of guests.” Merrick smiled at the woman.

  “That is excellent to hear, my lord,” she said.

  The talk shifted to various other topics then, mostly about politics and the Peninsular War. The next course was the entrée, of which there was a choice of curried eggs, sweetbreads, and mushrooms and vol-au-vent à la financière. After that there was a choice of game, from which Merrick chose partridge, and lastly, he had strawberries in jelly pudding. The women then departed, leaving the men in the dining room to enjoy their port and cigars.

  “I’ve heard that you attended quite a number of balls in London during the season last year, my lord, and that the Duke of Lynwood did also—is that true?” Sir Williams asked from the far side of the table as he poured himself yet another glass of port. “I myself couldn’t attend because of problems with my estate.”

  Merrick twirled his wineglass in one hand and nodded in acknowledgment.

  “You see, it might be just a rumor, but I was wondering if it’s true that you are looking for a wife?” Sir Williams asked further.

  Merrick raised his brows at the elderly gentleman. “Where on earth did you hear that, Sir William?”

  “Err… rumors, I suppose,” the man muttered, reddening.

  “’Tis true, isn’t it?” Mr. McNaught said, eyeing Merrick. “You do need an heir to your vast wealth. It simply wouldn’t do that you do not think about your estate. There is your cousin, Sir Allan, but then…” Mr. McNaught couldn’t finish his sentence.

  Merrick knew what Mr. McNaught was thinking. He himself had heard of the rumor many times that his cousin, Allan Hasting, was in fact a bastard child of his dead uncle Timothy Hasting. If this was so, then Merrick had no heir presumptive, and if he had no son, then after his death his title and estate would revert back to the crown. That, Merrick thought, he did not want for both the Huntingdon and Hasting Estates had been in his family for generations, and there was no way he wanted to destroy his ancestors’ legacy.

  Merrick rested his head back and said, “How unfortunate it is that my father, bless his soul, did not produce more sons.” He felt a shot of pain as this reminded him of his own son, Frederic Hasting, who’d died only two years ago. He put the thought of his beloved son aside and said, “Yes. To the point, Mr. McNaught, I am intending to find myself a wife.” There, he thought, he had said it. He had in fact shouted to the world and knew soon the whole of London would know and all society’s mamas would parade their wonderful daughters in front of him to choose as his wife.

  “And who is the lucky lady?” the blond-haired young man seated two seats from him asked, his eyes sharp.

  Merrick glanced at Henry Wilson. He didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes. “Haven’t found one yet,” he stated flatly, rubbing his finger on the rim of the wineglass. A low, humming sound vibrated in the room.

  “Ah, then I wonder who will be the lucky lady,” Henry said as he placed his hands behind his head and laid back against the seat in a lazy posture.

  Merrick was irritated. Why did they have to ask about his affairs? It was none of their business anyway. But then again, this was the local society—the social whirl where all that happened to him would be gossiped about faster than the wind. They considered him the catch of the season. But at least, he reasoned, he was not the hottest topic on the gossip line. That apparently was his friend and business partner.

  Maximilian Devilyn was a hell of a rake, changing
his mistress every three months—Merrick had heard even the womanizers Prince George IV and Prince Frederick were ashamed they couldn’t keep up with him. The way the man was living was the way to an early grave. He knew his friend had a past that haunted him, as he had himself, but Merrick wasn’t slowly killing himself because of it. Though he must admit sometimes the pain was truly unbearable.

  “I believe it’s time we joined the ladies in the drawing room,” Mr. Wilkinson said and stood up. Everybody rose and walked to the door except for Merrick.

  “My lord?” the host said.

  “Indeed, Mr. Wilkinson,” Merrick said. He stood, pushed his chair, drank the rest of the port, dumped the wineglass on the table, and headed toward the door.

  * * *

  He shut his bedroom door behind him and turned to see violet eyes watching him. Merrick felt his heart do a somersault as he watched Christine smiling at him.

  “Welcome home, my lord. Did you enjoy the dinner party?” she asked as she helped him off with his coat.

  He said as sat down on the side of the bed, “What are you doing here? How was your evening?”

  She reached out and started to undo his cravat. It wasn’t easy at all. She said, “Good. Mrs. Ross is ever so kind to me, and so is everybody else in the Hall. I’m here to say good night.” And still, she thought, I can’t undo the cravat from his neck.

  Merrick felt Christine tugging the neck scarf tighter around his neck. He grabbed her wrists to make her stop suffocating him. Christine was too consumed with her work to notice. He frowned and gave her a little jerk to get her attention. As he did so, her face flew forward and her soft lips bumped his.

  That caught her attention then, and she didn’t seem to be able to move as she gazed into his eyes, their faces very close and her lips touching his.

  Merrick was in a trance. He could feel her soft lips against his, and against his better judgment, he wanted to kiss them and even stroke his tongue against them.

  He snapped back to reality and drew her away, his heart thumping loudly in his own ears.

  Christine shyly touched her lips with her fingers, her eyes downcast. “I… I shall get your night outfit, my lord.” That said, she dashed off toward the wardrobe to do some searching while he undid his own cravat. A moment later, she said, “Is this the right one?” She came back and showed him the navy banyan.