When to Engage an Earl

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Oh! Eek!” Jane scrambled to get her feet off the floor by wrapping her legs around his waist, thus bringing his cock’s favorite feminine body part hard up against it.

  Hard. Yes. Hard. Very hard. Achingly hard.

  He tried valiantly to stay upright and hold her without thrusting his hips against her soft, wiggling, warm, inviting self.

  He won the thrusting battle, but lost the one with gravity. The cat and rodent came by again, and Jane tried to scramble higher as if he were a tree she was climbing. Over they went onto the bed.

  At least he’d landed on the bottom so he wasn’t crushing her. However, if he didn’t stop her desperate thrashing to get completely off the floor—he would not point out that mice could climb if that truth had not yet presented itself to her—his cock was going to get a very painful introduction to her knee.

  He held her hips tightly against him. “Careful, Jane. Please.”

  That got her to stop. She raised her chest so she could look at him, causing her lovely breasts to dangle, barely covered, just inches from his mouth. The silky length of her hair slid down to curtain him.

  He was lost.

  * * *

  “What?” Jane blinked. Oh, how embarrassing. She wasn’t a skittish person except when things that darted or crawled were involved. Spiders and mice—and, well, she wasn’t hugely fond of snakes, either. She should apologize. Poor Alex. Here she was on top of him in bed....

  And he was staring at her breasts. Rather hungrily, she’d say. His palms were flat on her bottom—she could feel the pressure and heat of them through the thin fabric of her shift—holding her against a hard bulge that felt as if it was getting larger and larger.

  She pressed her hips a little toward him and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath and the small, moaning exhale that followed it.

  So. It was time to decide. Was she going to throw caution to the wind?

  She felt certain a proper English virgin would swoon or cry or demand in no uncertain terms to be released. Her conscience told her she should do exactly that, though she knew just a polite request would get the job done.

  On the other hand, a slightly inebriated spinster bent on seduction would take full advantage of the situation.

  She pressed against the bulge again. This was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

  Alex closed his eyes and pressed back. Now he was panting a little.

  She felt quite powerful. And . . . tingly. His male bit wasn’t the only body part in the room that was swelling.

  But her conscience wasn’t giving up yet. What about your virginity?

  That was easy. Virginity was for young maidens in search of a husband. She was neither young nor husband-hunting.

  And she trusted Alex. She might even love him. She certainly felt things for him that she’d never felt for another man. He was kind and strong and responsible and gentle. If virginity was a gift and not just a mark of inexperience, then she wanted to give hers to him.

  She rubbed gently against him and felt need shoot to her breasts, causing her nipples to tighten.

  But what about pregnancy?

  That thought did give her pause. She didn’t want to follow in Isabelle Dorring’s footsteps.

  But not every marital act results in a child. She’d been around female conversation enough to have learned that.

  No, she wasn’t about to let the fear of something that might happen keep her from her one chance to satisfy this need growing in her. She wanted to discover what it was like between a man and a woman.

  That’s what a brave, independent spinster would do.

  As well as one who was slightly tipsy and very, very aroused.

  One of Alex’s hands left her bottom to touch her hair. “It’s so silky.”

  She’d always thought her hair was one of her best features, but having Alex’s fingers combing through it made her want to purr just like Poppy.

  She did purr when his hand moved from her hair to her breast. Or maybe she moaned.

  “You should stop me, Jane,” he whispered as his finger touched her nipple.

  “N-no.” She pressed her hips against his again.

  A small frown formed between his brows. “I shouldn’t—”

  “You should.” She also wasn’t going to let his male honor keep her from this. She bent her head to kiss him. His cheek, his mouth. She remembered how she’d felt when his tongue had touched hers in the garden, so she traced the seam of his lips—

  He made an odd little sound, something like a growl, and rolled them over so he was now on top. Then his tongue plunged into her, touching, stroking, exploring.

  Oh! She welcomed it. She welcomed it all—the invasion of his tongue, the weight of his body pushing her into the mattress, his scent, his heat. Somewhat to her surprise, she didn’t feel at all subjugated or powerless. On the contrary, she felt quite powerful.

  No, she felt desperate. She wanted—needed—more. She needed to feel his skin against hers and his hands—his lips—everywhere.

  His mouth finally left hers to trail kisses over her cheek and down her jaw to a spot under her ear.

  “Alex.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Aren’t you hot?”

  He lifted his head. “Hot?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t seem to be getting her point. “You have too many clothes on.”

  “Oh. Yes. You’re right.” He gave her a slightly lopsided grin and lifted himself off her, making short work of shedding his clothes. By the time she’d removed her shift, shoes, and stockings, he’d got out of his coat and waistcoat and was unwinding his cravat.

  Mmm. She wanted to help—

  No! Help him get dressed. That’s what you should do. Push him out the door and lock it behind him!

  That was her conscience again, reduced to a tiny shocked voice leaping about deep in the back of her mind.

  Well, she knew it must be shocked, but the wine had nicely muffled the priggish old biddy so the words came more as an annoying whine, easily swatted away.

  She was fearless, independent, a spinster with very demanding needs.

  She put her hands on his, stopping him before he could pull off his shirt. “Let me.”

  He smiled, heat flaring in his eyes. “Just don’t take too long, Jane. I can’t wait.”

  She couldn’t wait, either. Perhaps now she understood Randolph’s visits to Mrs. Conklin.

  It’s not the same at all, her conscience shouted, trying to be heard through the lovely wine-glow and hot desire befogging her brain. You’re risking something Randolph never did.

  She’d already looked at the odds of pregnancy and decided to roll the dice.

  That’s not all. You’re risking your reputation.

  She didn’t care about her reputation.

  And perhaps your heart.

  That made her pause, but for only a moment before need silenced her annoying conscience for good.

  It was too late to turn back. Her fingers had pulled Alex’s shirttail from his pantaloons. All she could hear now was his sharp intake of breath—or perhaps that was hers—as she slid her hands up over his hard, muscled belly.

  “I saw you at the lake, you know.” She’d wanted to touch him then.

  “D-did you?” His hands gripped her hips as if he needed to hold on to something or he’d collapse.

  She smiled, loving the surge of desire and power she felt. She leaned forward to plant a kiss on his chest.

  He growled and jerked his shirt from her, pulling it over his head and tossing it off to the side.

  Perhaps quick was better.

  Lud, he was beautiful. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him, pressing her naked breasts against his naked chest and her naked hips against his—pantaloons.

  That would never do.

  His hands had slid down her back to her bottom. It felt so good not to have her annoying shift in the way.

  She should return the favor. She leaned back to reach his fall’s button
s. Ah. His male bit was making quite a bulge in the fabric. It must be very eager to be freed. She cupped her hand over it—and felt it twitch into her palm.

  Alex shuddered. “Jane, you’re killing me.”

  She giggled. “Oh, I don’t want to do that. I’m expecting you to show me any manner of carnal delights, my lord.”

  “I’ll do my best, my lady.” He kissed her again, his tongue stroking hers while his hands slid up her sides to her breasts, turning her nipples—and another nub lower on her person—into hard, aching points. She was quite breathless when his mouth moved on to explore her jaw. She wanted to melt into him and have him melt into her.

  Which brought her back to his pantaloons. She dodged his kisses to free his buttons and—

  “Oh.” His male bit sprang out to greet her.

  She’d thought it had looked sizeable when she’d seen it at the lake, but then it had been dangly and relaxed. Now it was hard and straight, eager to be about its business.

  She giggled.

  Alex sounded slightly offended. “Why are you giggl—oh!”

  He moaned as she wrapped her hands around the warm, thick, ungainly organ. Poor thing. It was rather ugly. But apparently very sensitive. She stroked it, and Alex moaned again, gripping her waist and then pushing her away so she had to let go of him.

  “Bed,” he panted. “We have to go to bed now, or I’m going to pick you up and have you against the bedpost.”

  That sounded surprisingly appealing, but probably not a good idea for a first time.

  He scooped her up and deposited her on the mattress. She sprawled there, quite naked and feeling very wanton as she watched him pull off the rest of his clothing.

  He was beautiful. She’d seen his body at the lake, but that had been at a distance. Up close . . . He was so different from her—all hard planes and muscles—

  And enormous male bit.

  A proper virgin might be alarmed, but this tipsy spinster was entranced. Eager. Her feminine bit ached—throbbed—to welcome him inside.

  “Should you snuff the candles?” she asked, pulling back the coverlet as he joined her on the bed.

  He stretched out beside her and leaned up on one elbow. “No. I want to see you, Jane, every lovely inch of you. I want to watch your skin flush, watch you open for me, hear you moan and beg me to come into you.”

  “Ha! I don’t beg.” And I’m already flushed and damp and needy.

  His grin was extremely cocky. “We shall see, won’t we?” And then he grazed her lips with his before turning his attention elsewhere.

  He stroked the side of one breast. “Remember when you tried to hide under that ridiculous shawl at Chanton Manor?”

  “Um.” Remember? She couldn’t think of anything but the exquisite sensations his fingers were evoking. Her nipples tightened even more, and, as if connected by an invisible string, the nub between her legs throbbed. She wanted him there. Her feminine bit was wet, almost crying for him to visit, to slide deep—

  “I’ve dreamed of you in that dress. And every time I do, I wake up hot and hard. It’s very uncomfortable, Jane.”

  “Uh.” She was uncomfortable. She arched up to encourage him to use his mouth and tongue for something other than talking. “Please, Alex.”

  He chuckled—and she felt the small stir of air on her aching nipple. “Are you begging already, then?”

  She suddenly had no interest in making this a struggle for dominance. “Yes, I’m begging. I need you, Alex. Now.”

  His gaze sharpened and his face suddenly looked very stark and hungry. “I need you, too, Jane.”

  And then his mouth moved back to her breast, but this time close to her nipple. His tongue traced a wet circle round it.

  “Alex!”

  “Trust me.”

  She did trust him, but she still laced her fingers through his hair and tried to tug him—

  Oh! The tip of his tongue flicked over one hard nub while his fingers tweaked the other.

  Her hips lurched up off the bed. “Oh, Alex. Oh, Alex.” It was a moan.

  Or a prayer.

  “Shh.” His clever mouth played first with one nipple and then the other as his hand slid down over her belly, down to rest on the thatch of hair above her legs. The pressure was a relief, grounding her, keeping her from flying apart—

  And then one long finger slipped down to lie, warm and still, above the aching, throbbing nub hidden in her folds.

  So close—but not close enough.

  If he wouldn’t come to her, she’d come to him.

  She tried to tilt her hips, but his hand kept her still.

  She was panting and, well, mewling. “Alex.”

  “So demanding.” He laughed, but the sound was short and breathless, so she forgave him. “Impatient.”

  “Alex!”

  “If you insist.” His finger brushed the sensitive nub, starting a promise of intense pleasure vibrating, and then slipped just inside her. “Zeus, Jane.” He was panting too. “You are so wet. So ready.”

  Yes, she was ready. She was wildly, desperately, completely ready.

  His finger stroked lightly over her, teasing little brushes that drew her tighter and tighter and tighter until she felt she would break.

  And then she did break. She moaned and whimpered as waves of exquisite pleasure rolled through her.

  But she needed something else, something to anchor her—

  Alex lifted himself over her, supporting his body on his arms so he only touched her at one point—her entrance. If she hadn’t still been so drugged by her release, she might have tilted her hips to take him in.

  She was glad she hadn’t. He finally moved, causing new ripples of delight as he slowly pushed into her. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation of being stretched, filled—

  “Oh!” She tensed, feeling a dull pain as something deep inside her gave way.

  He stopped and waited until she relaxed. Then he slid farther in, closer to her womb. A second wave of pleasure built as he moved in and out and in, but this was different from the first. It was calmer. Deeper.

  I love him.

  He pushed all the way to her heart and held there, his body heavy on hers as he spilled his seed in her.

  Stunned, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.

  Oh God, I love him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jane woke, disoriented. The room was beginning to lighten, but full dawn was still an hour or so away. This wasn’t her room in the Spinster House, and—

  Lud, I’m naked! And sore between my—

  The events of the last few hours came rushing back.

  Alex had loved her twice during the night.

  Mmm. She closed her eyes, remembering that second time. It had been almost leisurely. She’d been asleep, deep in some very, er, exciting dream of Alex and had come gradually awake to the sensation of a hand on her breast. When he’d seen her eyes open, he’d kissed her, slowly, thoroughly while his hand stroked down her body and the tip of one finger slipped inside her.

  And found she was already wet.

  He’d smiled at that, and then had shifted, raising her leg and coming into her in one smooth, deliberate, unhurried motion.

  The moment his body had been fully sheathed in hers, they had climaxed, together.

  God, Jane, I love you, he’d whispered, and then he’d slipped out and fallen back asleep, his arm round her waist.

  And I love you, she’d answered, but she didn’t know if he’d heard her.

  She stared up at the ceiling, still lost in shadows. The first time she might have been able to blame on the wine, but not the second.

  Oh, God, she did love Alex.

  She turned her head to gaze at him. He looked so young and approachable in sleep, his long lashes fanning out on his cheeks, his mouth soft. A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. She wanted to reach over and push it back off his face, but she didn’t.

  He’ll ask me to mar
ry him.

  When he woke, he would ask—or perhaps he assumed by her actions that she’d already answered yes.

  He wanted to marry; he’d been shopping for a wife. He needed an heir. And an honorable man did not consort with a virgin—nor did a well-bred virgin go to bed with a man—without marriage being understood. It was simply not done. Even Isabelle Dorring, if the story was to be believed, thought she’d be marrying her duke.

  And he loves me.

  She looked back at the ceiling.

  And I love him, but is that enough to give up my independence?

  She’d wanted for years to be on her own and had schemed and plotted to win the Spinster House tenancy once it became available. She couldn’t throw it all away after two splendid tuppings.

  She frowned. No, she wouldn’t belittle what they’d done. Perhaps men could brush off sexual encounters—Randolph had visited Mrs. Conklin regularly for years— but she couldn’t. What she’d done with Alex had been far more than sport.

  Lud, what if I’m carrying his child?

  She blinked up at the ceiling, a confusing broth of terror and anticipation bubbling in her gut.

  If she was increasing, she’d have to marry him. She couldn’t bring a bastard into the world. That would be too cruel to the child, even more so if it was a boy and Alex’s heir....

  Oh, God, Alex is an earl! If I marry him, I’ll be a countess.

  She felt as if an elephant had suddenly plopped its hindquarters on her chest.

  If she married Alex, she’d have to leave everything behind—the village, her office, the lending library, the people she’d known all her life, Randolph. She’d have to move to his house—well, houses, she presumed. She’d have to take charge of his households. She’d have to get to know his staff, his tenants. She’d have to go to London and mingle with the ton.

  And he lived next door to his sister. Jane would be swept up into his sister’s busy—and busybodying—life. She—

  She pushed the elephant firmly off her chest. She was getting ahead of herself, likely still too affected by what had happened in this bed to think clearly. It had been quite a shock to her system. Well, it wouldn’t be surprising if the female body was designed to crave marriage once it engaged in procreative activities . . . unless, like Mrs. Conklin, one had chosen or been compelled to earn one’s bread on one’s back. The natural scientists would probably have some explanation for the phenomenon based on physiology.