The Earl of Davenport

by Maggie Dallen

  Her mouth grew dry and talking became impossible as his eyes narrowed on her. She had the horrible sensation again that he was a predator and she his prey. If she told him the truth now, she would forever be at a disadvantage. He would hold all the cards.

  But then, he already did. He held her family’s future in his grip. And on top of that, he was her childhood friend. More than that, he was the first boy she’d had feelings for and, while she’d thought she’d gotten over that silliness, one kiss had told her otherwise.

  What she’d once deemed a childish infatuation turned achingly real whenever she was alone with him. Getting to know him these past two days had only made the feelings grow, but now it didn’t feel nearly as harmless as a simple girlish infatuation. He filled her with emotions she didn’t understand but couldn’t deny. Her body responded to his as if they were made to be together. His kiss had set her aflame with desire but it had also felt like a homecoming.

  But it was more than just childish hero worship and passionate kisses. He challenged her at every turn and when she saw herself through his eyes, she loved what she saw. Being around him made her feel like a better version of herself. The way he looked at her—like she was beautiful, like she was strong and generous. Like she deserved to be seen and recognized.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the full truth of it. She was marrying the man she might very well love. But could he ever feel the same?

  She stood up again, unable to sit still. But when she went to pace the small room, he was there, blocking her way. He took a step closer, not touching her but so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek and the solid heat of his body just inches from hers. “You thought what, my little angel?”

  It was the endearment that did it. So sweet and so tender. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for them if she could be honest. It was a risk, but it was her life at stake. Her life, her future… and her heart.

  “I thought perhaps….” She bit her lip and then tried again. “That is, I had something of an infatuation when I was young and—”

  He took a step closer and she found herself trying to back away but the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed. “Go on,” he said, his voice little more than a growl.

  Her own voice seemed to go up several octaves as nerves made her breathing erratic. “I thought perhaps when you came to propose this morning, that maybe….”

  Oh blast. She sounded silly even to her own ears. Like a little girl with an infatuation, which was exactly what she had been.

  The devil and his bastard bride.

  She flinched at the memory. His eyes flickered with questions and she lost her nerve. She would only be setting herself up for more humiliation if she were to tell him the whole truth. That she’d thought—she’d hoped—that he’d felt the same emotions for her. That he’d been so swept up in his feelings that he’d been compelled to whisk her away and make her his own.

  But that was ridiculous. He’d just wanted her for the scandal she brought.

  Didn’t he?

  Licking her lips again, she saw his gaze move down to focus on her lips.

  “I realize now that it was silly,” she said. “You made your intentions clear in the carriage.”

  His gaze darkened but she couldn’t read the emotions there—they were too muddled to sift through. Conflicting and dark, his eyes gave nothing away. When he reached out to her, she found that she was trembling. “You’d hoped to marry for love, my angel.”

  His words were so soft and she couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement. She nodded as his hand moved to the nape of her neck. With his other hand, he brushed away a tear that had lingered on her cheek. “And now you are stuck with me, is that it?”

  She shook her head quickly. “It is not that, Frederick. It’s just….” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him her deepest hopes but she could try to explain what her life had been. “I’d had a freedom before, that’s all. I’d taken that for granted, I suppose.”

  He leaned in closer and her lips parted in anticipation. In hope. She wanted his kiss again, wanted to lose herself in it and forget her dashed hopes and lost dreams. She had this man—this magnificent, powerful, surprisingly tender man right in front of her. Wasn’t that what mattered?

  “I cannot imagine that sort of freedom,” he said. “I’d like to say that I’m sorry for taking that away from you, but I cannot. You see, I am the selfish one here, after all. Because I know I cannot give you what you want. I cannot give you your freedom back, not now when I have you in my arms.”

  Oh. Oh dear. His words struck her heart. They weren’t words of love but they held a note of desire and possessiveness and… passion.

  Oh my.

  Those words and the emotion behind them made her head spin with delight and terror. She wanted him to say more. To clarify what he was feeling. What he’d been thinking. But she was also terrified that he would say something to crush her and break her heart. For right now, in this moment, she wanted to believe what his voice and his gaze told her. That he was moved by emotion—maybe not love, but something close enough, perhaps.

  He opened his mouth to speak but she was terrified that he would ruin it. That he would break her heart for good. So she stopped him from speaking with a kiss.

  He stilled beneath her. His lips and his hands froze for one moment as her lips pressed against his. Inexperienced as she was, she felt a moment of terror that she was doing it wrong. Perhaps she was making a fool of herself.

  But then he responded with a fiery passion that washed away all of the pain and all of the thoughts. His lips were hard and eager. His hands were firm and tender all at once as they moved over her. His hand on her neck slipped into her hair, holding her to him. His other arm wrapped around her waist and drew her close so she was pressed against him, the length of her body molding to his as though they were one.

  She responded with eagerness if not skill. Her lips clung to his, following his lead. When his tongue probed her mouth she tried to do the same, encouraged by his groan and the way he gripped her tighter as if he would never let her go.

  She couldn’t get close enough. Her touch was greedy as she tried to get her fill. She slid her hands over his hard chest, the flexed muscles of his arms, over his shoulders and neck and into his hair.

  He felt delicious. Like he had been made for her, to be touched by her and to touch her as he was now, with a desperate gentleness. Like she was infinitely tender and unspeakably precious.

  He might not have said the romantic words she’d wanted to hear but his touch more than made up for it. She’d never felt so adored, so cherished.

  When his lips moved to her neck, she gasped for air. This fire within her raged out of control. She’d never known she could feel like this, as though she was consumed by longing, her muscles trembling with need.

  She’d never felt so needy, and it was a desire no one but this man could fulfill.

  “Please,” she whimpered, even though she didn’t know what she was begging for.

  He seemed to know. With an answering groan, he gently guided her onto the bed, moving over her so their bodies were pressed together in the most intimate ways. His hard chest bore down on her breasts, giving her some satisfaction even as the pressure made her ache for more.

  He parted her legs slightly, easing his weight down so he lay between her thighs.

  She cried out at the hard contact, which only intensified the ache. He was hard against her and she found herself arching against him, trying to get closer even through the skirts of her gown.

  “We should wait,” he murmured. “Until we are wed.”

  She shook her head, need winning out over reason. “No waiting.” What difference did one day make when their wedding was so close?

  “Please,” she whispered. “I want this.”

  His groan spoke of his surrender and his kisses turned frantic and wild. She met each one with a passion of her own, reveling in the new feelings and all
owing her mind and body to get lost in sensation.

  She didn’t want to think about the love she would be missing out on. Her fate was sealed. There was no turning back now, even if she wanted to. If he could not return her feelings, she would bear it. She would have to.

  Either way, at least she would have this man as her own. That was worth everything. Even if he never loved her, that wouldn’t stop her from loving him.

  And she did love him. Maybe she always had.

  A joy spread through her, so pure and simple it seemed to come from deep inside of her. A trapped wellspring of emotion that was set free with this new knowledge. She loved this man. She would love him even if it was unrequited.

  His lips moved to her neck, his voice whispering words of need and desire. Not love, no, but for tonight she would accept this gift she’d been given, be grateful for it, and not ask for more.

  Tonight she would give—she’d give this man her body and her heart. Fully and completely. For that was what it meant to love. It meant to give completely with no promise of return.

  She said none of that, but instead told him with her touch that she was his. All of her.

  He seemed to understand, his gaze darkening, his touch softening. His look and touch so tender and sweet, filled with adoration and gratitude.

  Tears were in her eyes as he stripped the last of her garments from her skin, leaving her bare before his fiery gaze.

  “Are you certain?” he asked.

  She nodded, a smile on her lips as she tugged him back down so he covered her once more. “I’ve never been more certain.” And this was true. This intimacy with him... it felt right. It felt good. Wed or not, this was where she was meant to be.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips returning to her skin as he nuzzled her breasts and caressed her, his voice filled with a tender promise. She basked in his attentions, choosing to trust in the emotion in his eyes, in the feeling in his voice.

  His hands moved over her stomach and hips, stroking her thighs until she couldn’t bear it any longer. She whimpered with need and only then did his hand move to the juncture between her thighs to stroke her.

  She cried out, clinging to his shoulders as he murmured soothing words, urging her to trust him.

  “I do,” she whispered, her voice so hoarse and needy she hardly recognized it. “I trust you.”

  He stilled over her before moving back so she could see his eyes. And what she saw there… it was something like wonder. Awe, even. And then his head was dropping back down, his lips claiming hers as he thrust his hard length into her, making her stiffen and cry out.

  He held her tighter, murmuring words of comfort. “I’m sorry, my angel. It won’t hurt for long, I promise.”

  And it didn’t. Soon her body adjusted to his and she could feel herself opening to him. He eased inside of her slowly at first and then when she was comfortable, she started to move along with him, her hips arching up to meet his and to take him in fully.

  Her head dropped back and she gasped for air as he seemed to touch a place inside of her she hadn’t known existed. The intimacy of the act, the feel of his heated skin pressing against hers, of their bodies becoming one—it was overwhelming and all encompassing.

  The ache within her grew, a fire stoked mercilessly by his roving hands and warm, firm lips. Soon the rhythm between them grew quicker and more intense, their breathing labored and rasping in the quiet bedroom as sweet whispers and longing murmurs blended with whimpers, groans, and at last her cry of pleasure as she came apart in his arms.

  She heard his groan as he followed her over the edge into this blissful place where all that mattered was the way his body felt, the way her heart hammered against his, and the way his breath whispered against her as he kissed her neck, her cheek, and then her lips.

  She was in a delightful fog of bliss, vaguely aware of him cleaning her and then himself before slipping back into bed beside her. Between the crying and travel and the emotional upheaval of the day, she couldn’t fight off the exhaustion that had made her eyes impossibly heavy.

  She felt his lips against the top of her head and heard his whisper. “Sleep, my angel.”

  Her lips refused to do much more than turn up in a smile. Because once again she had a secret and it had everything to do with this man.

  She was in love with the Devil of Davenport… whether he liked it or not.

  Chapter Six

  Davenport’s life had turned upside down in one night. One day, maybe. He supposed it had been two days, really. His life had started to fall apart and reform itself from the moment he’d come home from his club to find little Anne Cleveland in his drawing room, pleading the case for his marriage to her sister.

  Lord, how had this happened?

  He stared at her sleeping form, wanting to feel resentment and anger at the situation in which he found himself but unable to stir up anything so dark and dreary. Instead, he found himself smiling. And not a cold, cynical grin the likes of which he’d mastered by the age of twelve. No, this tugging at his lips felt downright jolly. Gleeful.

  Ah hell, he was happy.

  What was happening here? What had this little minx done to him?

  In the wee hours of the morning as the sun began to rise, he started to feel as though he were waking from a delirium. She was beautiful, his young bride-to-be. She was beautiful and kind and his.

  He knew it deep down in his marrow. She was his as he was hers. He couldn’t deny it, even though he pitied her for it. Even though he knew she deserved so much more. So much better.

  His nickname for her was apt—his little angel. And his other nickname was accurate as well. She had the countenance and soul of an angel but with the courage and spirit of a little hellion.

  And she was his.

  That fact struck him anew again and again and each time it seemed as awe-inspiring as the last. What had he done to deserve this?

  Nothing. The answer came plain and simple. He’d done nothing in his life to deserve this enchanting creature. He absolutely did not deserve to see that look in her eyes—the one so gentle and sweet, so trusting and sure.

  Almost as if she loved him. His muscles tensed at the thought and his heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest. She loved him.

  But that couldn’t be. Despite her fond memories from childhood, he knew he hadn’t earned that sort of devotion. If she did, in fact, have feelings for him, she was mistaken. One day she would wake to find the real man she’d married, and not the childhood fantasy she clearly saw now.

  Terror held him in its grip at the thought of seeing that look in her eyes fade over time. Of having to watch as her optimistic gaze dimmed to disappointment when he let her down, as he was sure to do.

  Hadn’t he already? When he’d flaunted her illegitimate status in the carriage, he’d seen the pain he’d caused.

  That was what he did. That had always been his curse, had it not?

  At least, that was what he’d always believed, ever since Robert’s death. He was cursed to hurt those closest to him. But being with Anne changed everything. Last night had been a revelation. He’d gone to apologize and found so much more than just forgiveness.

  She trusted him. Believed in him. And maybe, just maybe, she loved him.

  A new sensation had his body humming with energy as he watched her sleep. He’d embraced his curse long ago, but then he’d never had a reason to fight it. There had never been a reason to change, either his opinion of himself or others’ opinion of him. He’d spent so long proving his parents right, he’d stopped trying to see himself any other way. He’d taken the easy route by giving everyone around him the worst possible version of himself.

  And now for the first time, he saw that for what it was. Cowardice.

  For the first time in so many years, he saw himself clearly. He saw everything clearly—his past, his present, and his future.

  He’d turned himself into the bitter, angry image his parents had cast all
those years ago in their grief. Because of his own guilt, because of his parents’ pain and hurt, and then because it had seemed too hard to fight against the name he’d made for himself.

  It was easier to allow others to think the worst. That way he’d never had expectations to disappoint or hopes to dash. Once everyone knew him as the devil, all of society had been forewarned. There was no chance that he could hurt anyone ever again.

  He stared at Anne with her delicate features soft and relaxed in sleep.

  Until now.

  Anne was a breath of fresh air in his dirty, wicked world. The way she looked at him—as though he were some kind of knight in shining armor. As though he were a hero who was deserving of her.

  It humbled him. It terrified him.

  It made him want to be that man.

  He shook his head as he sipped the glass of whiskey he’d poured for himself when it had become clear that he would never sleep—not with all these revelations jostling through his mind.

  Was it too late for him? Possibly. Would it be difficult? Definitely. But as he watched this woman who’d flipped his image of the world with no more than a smile and a laugh, he knew he had to try.

  He owed it to her. She deserved nothing less.

  By the time she woke the next morning, he’d altered their plans. He watched her wake with fascination. Never before had he seen someone wake with a smile. Then her eyes had blinked open and he watched with even more amazement as she instantly sought him out. Her eyes widened in obvious alarm when she saw that he was not beside her as he had been when she’d fallen asleep so many hours ago.

  He cleared his throat softly and her gaze found him where he stood by the window. Her smile was shy, sweet, and just a little wary as she pulled the cover up and over her breasts, clutching it modestly to her shoulders as if he hadn’t already explored her entire body, leisurely and with great determination.