Intentions of the Earl (Scandalous Sisters, Book 1)

by Rose Gordon

  As his lips went back to kissing hers, his hands went to work on the front of her gown. The bodice of her gown was too high for him to be able to free her breasts just by tugging it down. If he did, it would rip. His hands roamed while his brain tried frantically to think of another way to expose her chest to his thirsty eyes. He reached up to her shoulders and found that her sleeves were not very tight. If he were able to slip them over her shoulders and pull them down a bit, he could free her breasts.

  Brooke offered no resistance when Andrew grabbed her sleeves and pulled them down from her shoulders. She gasped when his lips left hers to kiss her cheeks, then her jaw, and finally down her neck and along her collarbone.

  His hands were still working on getting the sleeves down and revealing her breasts, but her shoulders were bare and his lips ached to kiss them—then they did. He gave them slow, gentle, lingering, open-mouthed kisses.

  Brooke let out a soft sigh, her head rolled back, and her eyes closed.

  Andrew worked her gown down far enough that given only a little jerk; her breasts would be bared for him. He moved his lips from her shoulder up to the sweet hollow of her neck. He kissed her there with an open mouth, running his tongue in the depression. When she let out a gasp and arched her back from the sensation, he gave her gown that little jerk it needed.

  Andrew was torn between feeling rather proud of his maneuverings and too lust-fogged to care. His eyes connected with her wonder-filled brown eyes before lowering. His gaze traveled from her eyes to her swollen, ruby lips, then descended further down her body. When his gaze settled on her chest, he blinked.

  Chapter 21

  Brooke had been lost in the moment, so taken with Andrew’s kisses and caresses that she hardly registered he was trying to get her gown down. Not that she was completely unaware, mind you—she did know he had gotten her shoulders bare. Maybe she didn’t know at first, but when he started to kiss her there, she knew.

  When he gave her gown a jerk though, her daze rapidly faded. But to be honest, his confused face complete with blinking eyes brought her all the way to reality.

  Trying her best to suppress a giggle, born equally because of his confusion as much as her own mortification, she said, “I um…ah…as you can see…” She took a breath. How exactly does one say that they bind their breasts?

  Andrew’s face was one of complete bewilderment. “Why on earth did you bind your breasts?” he asked flatly, without regard that he had just asked her a question about a topic no gentleman should speak about with an unmarried lady.

  He was so confused his brow didn’t even arch.

  Absolutely nothing on this Earth would make her tell him the real reason, which was because they were rather small, so small in fact, that even corsets that were meant to push them up did not help. At least if she bound them, she could add as much padding to them as she felt necessary with no chance of it being revealed that she stuffed or just how small they really were. Her mother and sisters knew she stuffed, but she desperately hoped Papa didn’t. She honestly doubted Mama and her sisters knew exactly how much of her bosom consisted of rolled up linen, though.

  “Well, you see, in their natural state, my—” she gestured to her chest, not being as brave as he was to say the word— “do not quite fit this gown appropriately, so I had to bind them to make them fit.” She’d let him draw his own conclusion, and if it were the wrong one—which was likely—that was his own fault.

  Andrew nodded. Then his face took on a bright smile that Brooke would have bet her life meant he assumed the wrong reason for the binding.

  Their eyes locked and Andrew swallowed so loudly that it sounded more like a gulp. Then wordlessly, he ran his hands along the top of her bindings.

  “What are you doing?” she asked shakily.

  “Removing it of course,” he said with a devilish smile.

  He really meant to do it, too! The intense look in his eyes told her so. But now it seemed different and she didn’t want him to. Had she not been wearing it when he tugged her gown down, she may not have cared, but now that her mind was no longer clouded by lust, she was nervous and rather embarrassed. “No,” she said quietly. “I think it would be best if we headed back.”

  Andrew’s face fell, but he nodded and said, “As you wish.”

  Together, they righted their clothes as best they could and packed up the picnic hamper in silence.

  Andrew helped her onto her horse then mounted his own.

  “I had a pleasant picnic,” Brooke said after a few minutes, trying to eliminate the uncomfortable silence that was choking them.

  “So did I.”

  The conversation had already run into a dead end. She’d hoped they could use that as a way to talk about ordinary things on the way home, but he'd not taken the bait.

  After a few minutes of riding in silence, Andrew interrupted her thoughts. “How do my kisses rate?”

  Brooke’s head snapped in his direction. “What are you talking about?” she asked tersely, although she had a good idea. She’d seen Gateway and Andrew talking briefly before he came and sat next to her, but she would have never dreamed Gateway would tell Andrew about their conversation. She groaned. Of course he would—that was just Gateway’s personality. He liked to stir up as much turmoil as possible without a second thought to how it would affect anyone else. He was such a jackanapes.

  “I think you do,” Andrew countered, not unkindly.

  “All right, you had your moment of confession earlier, now shall be mine. I assume you spoke to Gateway about our conversation on the lawn. It’s true that I kissed Gateway. I found our time together in the garden disgusting and nothing that I'd wish to repeat, not even in a nightmare, and I told him as much. As for other gentlemen I’ve kissed—” she gave a shrug— “there weren't so many. But there were a few. However, I feel no guilt about it. I know without a doubt that you’ve kissed more females than just me, and I expect no explanation about those kisses, therefore, I shall not give you one.”

  Her words brought him up short. Everyone knew boys past the age of fourteen had kissed a multitude of women, and it was impolite for women, even their wives, to ask them about it. Yet, women were only supposed to kiss their husbands, and maybe their fiancés. Brooke had always found that to be unfair.

  “Is it fair to assume by your reaction to my kisses today that you do not feel an aversion to them?” Andrew asked, raising his brow.

  She flushed. “Why would you ask that when it's so obvious?” she accused in a tight tone.

  “Because I wanted to see your face color.”

  “I shan’t give you that privilege in the future,” she said sternly, hoping it was true.

  Andrew waved his hand dismissively. “How unfortunate for you that you cannot control it.”

  “I can, too. I’ll prove to you I can. Say whatever you wish, and I shall not give you the satisfaction of my face changing.” She was generally good at playing games with her sisters about not talking, laughing, or blinking, so how difficult could this actually be?

  “How about I describe to you in explicit detail what I was going to do to you if you were not wearing that confounded binding,” Andrew teased, his eyes alight with amusement.

  Brooke held her determination. He had not said anything specific, but she had serious doubts that this would end like she’d hoped. His wolfish smile and mischievous eyes only confirmed.

  “Do you remember how I was kissing your shoulders and neck?” When Brooke nodded, his smile became wolfish. “I would have continued to kiss you like that on any part of your body that was bare. Which, had it not been for those confounded bindings, would have been your breasts,” Andrew said in a husky voice. “I do believe, Miss Banks, you just lost.”

  Brooke just stared at him as her skin get hotter and probably colored just as he had predicted. Drat this man. How could he do this to her? His words brought her back to lying beneath him on the blanket as his hands and lips caressed her.

  Brooke sniffe
d and inclined her head. “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she proclaimed. Then she gave Bluebell a slight kick to increase her speed.

  Behind her, Andrew snorted and laughingly said, “No gentleman, indeed.”

  Bluebell trotted toward the house at a moderate pace with Brooke atop, laughing as she thought of Andrew and their picnic together.

  She hadn’t noticed Andrew hadn’t caught up with her yet when not far ahead of her on the path came Liberty careening toward her. Her sister's face was flushed and she was waving her hands wildly. She actually looked as if she were running away from a band of attackers who were bent on burning her at the stake.

  “Liberty, what’s the matter?” Brooke shouted to her sister.

  “Him!” Liberty exclaimed hysterically. “That awful, dratted man is the matter. I swear, Brooke, I cannot abide him a moment longer. We must come up with a plan to send him back to whatever hole he crawled out of.”

  Brooke didn’t need to ask who Liberty was talking about. She knew. She thought there was something a little bizarre about Mr. Grimes, but nothing that would lead to any rational human being having such an adverse reaction to him. “What happened now, Liberty?” she asked as she slowed her horse to a walk.

  Liberty opened her mouth to tell her when Brooke put up a hand and said, “This time, please do not leave any crucial parts out of the story.”

  Her sister’s cheeks turned slightly pinker. “We were playing bowls—you know that game where you roll your wooden ball toward the target, which is called a jack.”

  “I do not think that I need a run-down on how the game is played,” Brooke exclaimed, exacerbated. “Just get on with what happened. I haven’t got all day, and I am not particularly comfortable atop this beast.”

  Her sister nodded. “I wanted to play. When I asked to join, Mr. Grimes seemed to suddenly lose interest.” She gave a little sniff. “I called him back and talked him into playing.”

  Brooke rolled her eyes. This did not have the makings for a good ending. For as much as she suspected Liberty might have formed a tendre for the man, it was probably best those two were kept as far apart as possible.

  “We began to play, and everything was going well until someone suggested we bowl in teams. What I had not realized when I agreed was that I would have to partner Mr. Grimes. I tried to act gracious—even though he was snarling—and took my spot next to him. When his turn came, someone rolled him a bowl from the rack. He made no move to catch it, and it rolled right on my toe.”

  Brooke tried not to laugh at what she knew was probably an accident. “What happened next?”

  “He mumbled an incoherent, and insincere might I add, apology, took his bowl, and sent it toward the green. I was still upset about my toe, which seemed to be of no concern to him, so I might have…well, I may have overreacted a bit in retaliation. But that is no excuse for what he did afterward.”

  Brooke held up her hand again and gave Liberty her piercing stare before demanding, “What exactly did you do?”

  Liberty’s face went redder and she said very quietly, “I may have elbowed him. But not as hard as he would have everyone believe.” The look on her face made it clear she had meant to elbow him, but something had gone terribly wrong. “See, I pretended I needed his help, and when he came up behind me, I brought back my elbow…”

  “What happened after you elbowed him?” Brooke asked, piercing Liberty with her gaze.

  Liberty just stood still and stared over Brooke’s shoulder. Brooke turned her head to see what Liberty was looking at. There, just a few feet away, Andrew was sitting on his horse listening intently to Liberty’s story.

  “Miss Liberty, do you know where you hit the man?” Andrew asked carefully.

  Brooke looked at him with a puzzled look. Why should it matter where the man got hit? The fact remained she’d hit him.

  “I—I don’t know,” Liberty stammered. “In his midsection, I expect.” Her brow furrowed in confusion and her mouth formed a thin line.

  “You don’t know?” echoed Brooke. “He didn’t say?”

  “No, because a gentleman does not discuss body parts in mixed company,” Liberty said weakly, inclining her head just a little, as if to say she was starting to regain some of her dignity.

  Brooke flushed. Liberty’s comment reminded her of her earlier conversation with Andrew about her breasts.

  Andrew coughed. “What happened next, Miss Liberty?”

  “Well, he let out this high-pitched yelp, and then leaned over for a minute before hobbling away. A little later, Papa summoned me and said I must make amends.” Liberty’s tone started to change again from normal to mild hysterics. “I saw Mr. Grimes was in the room, and that beast had the nerve to say, ‘I would prefer that she just stay away from me from this point forward, that’s the best way for her to make amends.’

  “I felt like elbowing him again for that comment.” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “But then Papa said that was not good enough and since we were going to have to be in one another’s company for as long as we are in England, we cannot have a rift or some such nonsense.” Taking a deep breath, she finished her drama. “Papa kept saying how I was to make amends by doing anything Mr. Grimes demanded, and then he left. I was in that room alone with Mr. Grimes for no more than two minutes before he started to unbutton his clothes!

  “Oh, Brooke, I didn’t know what to do and I p-panicked, and I m-may h-have ov-overacted again.”

  “Just what did you do?”

  “I grabbed the nearest book and threw it at him,” she cried, burying her head in her hands. “That man wants my virtue!” Liberty sobbed hysterically, her body shaking uncontrollably. Her lower lip quivered as she tried to firmly declare, “I shall not give it!” She swiped at the tears that had snaked down her cheeks. “Please, Brooke, hide me and go talk to Papa. Tell him that…that...creature wants to take away from me the only thing I truly own.” She fell to the ground and curled up into a small ball.

  Brooke looked to Andrew, hoping that he would help her down from her mount without her having to ask.

  As if he read her thoughts, he was down and helping her down as quickly as he could, then led the horses back to the stables while Brooke comforted her sister.

  “Liberty,” Brooke said softly, “have you told me everything?”

  When Liberty’s wet eyes, spilling with tears, met Brooke’s, she knew Liberty had not left any details out this time

  Why did she always miss these situations between Liberty and Mr. Grimes? More importantly, what was she going to do now?

  Chapter 22

  In the blue salon, Mr. Paul Grimes was lying unconscious on a settee, dreaming of what his life might have been like had he decided to join the military rather than the ministry.

  He dreamed of horses, swords, guns, and the smell of gunpowder. Oh, that smell seemed so sweet right now. He’d trade almost everything he had to be in the military and be smelling gunpowder. He took another deep whiff, trying to sniff up as much as he could before he woke up to his hellish reality.

  “That’s it, take another deep breath,” he heard a familiar voice coax.

  Who was he to argue? He inhaled as deeply as he could, then coughed. That was not the smell of gunpowder. It was some nasty smell that he recognized as smelling salts. His eyes snapped open. He was expecting to see Mrs. Baker, an older woman from his church who carried around those nasty salts with her everywhere, but instead he was greeted by John and Carolina Banks.

  Carolina was sitting right next to him on the settee holding a bag of salts; her husband was sitting in a chair right next to her. His face looked worried, as if he’d been given bad news about someone and he was about to be the one to tell them.

  “Mr. Grimes,” John said solemnly.

  “Please, call me Paul.”

  “Paul,” John started again. “Do you know why you were unconscious?”

  Unconscious, thought Paul. He knew he was sleeping, but not unconscious. “I was unaware t
hat I was unconscious,” he replied and tried to force himself to sit up, but his head throbbed when he moved so he lay back down as quickly as he could.

  With his hand, he reached up to rub his face and felt a huge bump the size of an egg on his forehead. Then it all came back to him. The game of bowls, getting hit in the unmentionables, John seeking him out after the baron told him what happened, the Banks family meeting, and him and Liberty being alone for a few minutes.

  That last event is what led to his current headache. He had been so angry at her he felt like he was choking. That’s when the devil in disguise, also known as Liberty, threw a heavy tome at his head. Once again, her aim had been right on and he now sported the bump to prove it.

  “On second thought, I do know why I was unconscious,” he corrected.

  Mrs. Banks looked relieved that he had figured it out. Clearly she had no idea that it could have been caused by Liberty.

  John, on the other hand, looked almost sick. He measured his words carefully before he finally spoke. “How did it come to pass?”

  “A flying book,” Paul bit off.

  Mrs. Banks let out a little peal of laughter. “A flying book?” she asked, her lips curving up.

  “Yes, a flying book,” Paul confirmed flatly.

  Carolina must have really thought he was delusional because she pressed him, “How did this book take flight? Did it have wings?” She giggled again at her own joke until John placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Paul had had enough. At present, Carolina was quickly becoming just as irritating to him as Liberty was. “Actually, the book did not have a pair of wings. It did not need them. It would seem that your demon…er…I mean daughter, gave the book enough of a heave that wings weren’t necessary to carry the book all the way across the room to meet its target: my forehead.”

  Carolina gasped. “I am so sorry. I’m also sorry for my jest, and I am even sorrier for my daughter’s actions. I shall speak to her immediately.”