What The Earl Desires (Rakes and Rogues Series)

by Aliyah Burke

  “You are a woman of many talents, Najja.” Colin’s deep voice wrapped around her, warming her like he held her.

  Opening her eyes, she kept her gaze riveted upon her fingers where they sat against the keys, not confident to look at him. “What are you doing here, Lord Clifton?”

  He emitted a low rumble and his arms, clad in crisp white sleeves, settled upon the piano. One on each side of her. He’d boxed her in. She could feel his body heat even through the material of her dress. Her senses swarmed under the onslaught of his masculine scent. She grew wet and fought the urge to shift on the seat.

  “Colin,” he murmured. “My father was Lord Clifton.”

  She ignored that. “Why are you here?”

  She shivered at the teasing swipe of his tongue along the shell of her ear. He lowered his body so he sat on the bench beside her. With two fingers he lifted her head so their eyes could meet. Her breath caught in her throat as his incredibly vibrant green eyes captured hers.

  Neither spoke. A few charged tics of time passed before he moved. Not slow and unhurried, no, he pounced. Struck fast, covering her mouth with his and taking what he wanted. His hands held her head, keeping her still as he ravaged her mouth.

  She couldn’t move, even had she wanted to. Boneless, she sat there and reveled in his touch one more time. His tongue thrust along hers, rubbing and stroking. Making her lightheaded. This was better than a memory any day. The kiss ended and she stared at him, heart pounding hard in her chest. His eyes burned with fervent fire.

  “Do not ever walk away from me again, Najja,” he ordered.

  Realization slapped her in the face. What was she doing? The room could be entered at any time. Moving with swift alacrity she got out of his reach and had the large object between them. He followed her escape, a frown upon his face.

  “Or run.”

  Ignoring the demands her body made in regards to Colin, she met his gaze remaining where she had some distance between them. He looked so handsome, so rakish, so…everything she desired.

  “What do you want?” she asked, grateful her voice didn’t waver.

  His gaze intensified and she knew. He wanted her. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be so.

  “What do you think?” He rose and began circumventing the piano toward her.

  Every fiber in her told her to run and she ignored them. Much like she always did when it came to Colin Faulkner. He was her one weakness. The chink in her otherwise impervious armor.

  “I think you being in here with me, alone, is highly inappropriate.” She focused on her hands briefly before her walls were refortified enough to meet his gaze again.

  He lifted one shoulder in a laconic shrug she took to mean he didn’t care about that. “We need to talk. Sit down so we can talk or you can continue to try and avoid me touching you. But know this. I will catch you and when I do, talking will not be on my mind. I do not give a damn what room this is. I will strip­ your--”

  “Stop,” she interrupted on a beg. Her body responded to the visual he’d given and had done so with powerful waves of lust. To hear him speak those words…almost her undoing.

  He did but his eyes told her he had no wish to. Colin gestured and she walked to a padded bench along the wall. Where she’d sat while Jo was practicing. Perching upon the edge, she forced herself to breathe calmly when Colin sat beside her. His strong thigh pressed intimately against hers.

  She swallowed and ignored the memories of her and him with no clothing barriers between them. The feel of his skin, the smell of it. And how he made her feel. Her palms grew sweaty and she tried to calm down her heart.

  Colin leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. “Why did you not tell me, Najja? I could have hurt you. Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” she said embarrassed to be discussing this. “It was not important to say.” With a burst of nervous energy she walked across the smooth floor to sit back on the bench before the piano. One hand idly moved upon some keys.

  She could feel him behind her even though there was no sound. He didn’t sit, instead he leaned against the sturdy object to her left where they could see one another. Colin put his fisted hands upon the smooth black top. “Are you carrying my child?”

  Had she not been sitting she would have fallen over. Her hands shook and she blinked rapidly a few times. Positioning her second hand on the keys as well she played softly. “No.” That single word birthed pain in her chest. “I am well aware how it would ruin your life if I were. I have no desire to do that.”

  Bam!

  She jumped at the sound of his palm smacking the wood. Jerking her gaze to his, she witnessed raw fury storming there. He certainly could be imposing. Colin took several deep breaths, his nostrils flared and he had a tic in his jaw. However when he spoke his tone was modulated. Cold and authoritative but modulated.

  “Do you really think I give a damn about a title I never expected to have or even wanted?”

  She refused to hold onto any hope. With a calm she didn’t feel, Najja glanced back down at her hands and played some more.

  “I can assure you, I did not think on it at all.”

  He grunted and before she could blink, he’d plucked her from the bench and placed her on the back part lid of the piano, which had been closed earlier. Wedging himself between her legs, he framed her face and plundered her mouth. Taking what he wanted.

  All rational thought fled. The only thing that mattered was Colin’s kisses. So with a soft whimper she surrendered her will and gave herself to this man. A man she’d fallen in love with.

  His fingers massaged her scalp as the kiss intensified. She grew damp with desire and squirmed closer, wrapping her legs around his lean hips, drawing him tight to her. The evidence of his arousal pressed against her core, not even her dress could keep it hidden from her.

  She purred when she felt the touch of his hand glide over her calf, the bracers holding her sais, and on up to the tuck behind her knee. His fingertips and palm were rough and elicited another groan to escape.

  Unable to stop herself, Najja twined her arms around his neck, allowing her fingers to delve into his thick silken hair. He dropped his other hand from her face and slid it up her leg until both his hands were high upon her spread thighs. Beneath the dress.

  Tugging on his hair, she mewled when his seeking digits teased her damp curls. Fingers and tongue invaded her and all she could do was hold on for the ride. In and out they thrust, catapulting her into a tormenting rush of lust and craving.

  He ended the kiss, pulling on her lower lip with his teeth sending a brief spike of pleasure/pain through her. Colin continued to pump his thick fingers within her, making it nigh impossible to concentrate. Her head fell back and he placed nibbling kisses along the column of her throat. She arched her back and pulled on his hair as she crested around his pistoning digits.

  “Mine,” he growled against her cheek. “Look at me, luv.”

  She didn’t have it in her to say a word, much less argue. Heavy as her lids were it took a bit to lift them. He devoured her with his eyes, his verdant gaze shimmering with fiery possession. One so intense it made her toes curl all over again. Then his fingers were gone but before she could utter any disappointment she felt him pierce her. The broad head of his shaft slid into her wet, willing body.

  “Watch me, luv,” he murmured as he filled her completely.

  She did as commanded. “Colin,” she whispered biting back the scream with threatened to leap from her throat.

  He gripped her hips and thrust in and out. The pressure built inside and grew like a fire with dry kindling on it. He felt so good inside her, she never wanted it to end. Their eyes burned into one another, each refusing to look away.

  Sweat dotted his face and she clenched her muscles and watched how his gaze darkened like a stormy sea. She finally broke eye contact and shut hers, her head tilting back as she neared the edge of bliss. He followed, pressing into her more, burying his face in the curve where her shoulder
and neck met. His teeth nipped her lightly before laving the sting away. A grunt and he released within her. She fell after him, holding him as close as possible while stars and light exploded around her.

  He pulled back so they were again eye to eye. With one hand he tenderly brushed some hair back from her face. She felt safe and warm. Colin still connected to her and gazing at her if she meant so much to him.

  “No more running, luv.”

  “I do not run.” She removed her hands from his hair and skimmed over his shoulders and chest.

  “From me you do.”

  She didn’t want to acknowledge he was right. “I have a job to do.”

  A spark of the iron will he possessed flickered in the depths of his green orbs. “Your word, Najja.”

  She couldn’t lie to him. She was here to protect Jo. Being around him distracted her. Najja shook her head in silence.

  Colin flexed his hips, driving himself deeper inside her. “I hear Jo coming, Najja. I will have your word or we will be found like this. Me deep inside you, my hands under your skirt,” he warned.

  More of a promise perhaps.

  Jo’s voice filtered through the door and Najja knew she had only a few seconds before this would be witnessed. “Move.”

  His eyes glinted dangerously. “Like this?” He stroked deeply within her, touching places only he’d been and sending more tingles all over her body.

  Fighting her own reaction she shoved against his solid torso. It was hopeless.

  “Think of what Jo’s friend will say when she leaves about her companion.”

  The implication slammed into her of what this situation would do to Jo and her emergence into Society. Slowly, ice encased her heart at the notion Colin would threaten that.

  “Fine,” she bit off, her voice frosty.

  His calculating smile cut deep but as he withdrew and fixed his own attire, she slid emotionless from the piano and returned to the bench. She couldn’t even dredge up anger at him for there was only pain. Pain he would stoop to such measures. Composing her features, she began to play and the door opened.

  Colin knew he’d screwed up. Knew it. But he would do it all over again with no hesitation. Najja had become his obsession. No, more than that, she was his. And the thought of another sampling what she’d given him made all rational thought vanish in a heartbeat of time.

  He glanced up from Najja’s dark head to Jo’s mixture of browns, reds, and copper from where he stood by the piano. The same place he’d taken Najja. He hardened at the fresh and vivid memory of being buried inside her.

  Jo’s voice snapped him back to the moment at hand. A rakish grin on his face, he stared at the two younger women across the top of the piano. Clara hardly met his gaze before she ducked her head, cheeks aflame and gave him a curtsey.

  Without hesitation he replied, “I stopped in to speak with Miss Najja about something after I saw your father.”

  Jo raised a brow at him but didn’t question him further. “Wonderful. Najja, I came to ask you if you would go outside with us. To the backyard.”

  “Of course,” Najja said rising from the bench. “Lord Clifton.” She gave him a nod and headed for the door.

  “I will see you tomorrow then, Miss Najja.”

  He knew his comment got to her, she stutter stepped before regaining her composure. His breath caught when she cast a glance back at him. There was a warning glint in her eyes before it melted away. She didn’t appreciate his high handed tactics and he knew she was angry. Yet, Najja also would never do anything to jeopardize Jo’s reputation.

  “Very well, my lord,” she responded in a soft tone. Then she left Clara and Jo on her heels. A satisfied smirk on his face he made his own way to the door and left with a farewell to the butler and a jaunty whistle on his lips.

  “Home,” he said to his coachman, climbing into the waiting convenience. It still amazed him to see his family crest emblazoned on the side. His crest now.

  The movement of the carriage had him stretching out and resting his head back. He closed his eyes and spent the ride home reliving his time with Najja in the music room. At his townhome he tugged on his gloves and ignored the rod in his pants as he got out and headed up the cleared path to the door.

  “Welcome home, my lord,” Archer said, retrieving his gloves, coat, and hat.

  “Thank you, Archer. I will be in my study.”

  “Very good, my lord.” The man disappeared silently.

  Striding into the room, he went straight to the side table and poured himself a drink. He drained it in one quick swallow then poured another and carried it with him to the large desk. Another pile of notes sat there on the glossed surface.

  “More notes, damn. Will this ever end?”

  He sat with a groan and plunked the drink down, the amber liquid sloshed up the sides. The first note in his hand he frowned and read it. Hell no!

  “Archer!” he bellowed.

  “My lord?”

  “Get my carriage. I have to go out again.”

  “Right away, my lord.” The man retreated.

  Colin flipped through the pile and his irritation grew so he just grabbed them all and strode out to the front door. Archer waited with his great coat draped over one arm and top hat with gloves in the other. His butler helped him into his clothes and he shoved the vowels in one pocket.

  When his carriage arrived he gave directions to the driver and easily got seated inside. No snow currently fell but that had not stopped the frigid temperatures. In fact, he couldn’t recall a year that had been so cold in a long time.

  At the first stop he alighted and glanced up at the sign hanging over the modesties’ shop. Adjusting his hat, he opened the door and stepped through. Three females were in there and he barely glanced in their direction.

  “A word,” he said to Madame LeBeouff when she approached him.

  “Of course, Lord Clifton. I am honored to have you in my shop,” she touted, her thick accent grating on his last nerve. “This way please.” She snapped her fingers at another young girl who without saying a word, nodded and curtsied before heading back to the clientele.

  He never asked how she knew who he was, he supposed it was in the papers about his longer than fashionable hair, the earring, and all that. Right there along with how much he was worth.

  In the backroom with the door closed, he withdrew the notes from her shop.

  “I had believed this to be solved, Madame LeBeouff. These women have no right to charge on my family name. My solicitor explained that to you and yet now I see new notes.”

  Her eyes widened and they glanced around the small room.

  “They said--”

  “Does not matter. You were told by my man that no more credit existed for these women.” He placed all the notes on her desk. “I will not pay them.”

  Her pale expression grew mottled with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Those notes are worth hundreds of pounds.”

  He had no sympathy. “Then I suggest you collect from them. Good day.” Colin left and continued on to the next stop. And the next.

  His mood sour, he finally left the carriage for the last time before his home. Inside he tossed his outer coat to Archer and paused when his butler called his name. Spinning on his heel, he faced a man who’d quickly proven how valuable he was.

  “Yes, Archer, what is it?”

  “A message came for you, sir. The deliverer is…waiting for your reply.”

  He frowned. “How long has he been here?”

  “Three hours, my lord. He is in the kitchen. We gave him some food.”

  Colin didn’t mind that, he just wasn’t in the mood to deal with more crap. Things were easier in the country.

  “On my desk?” he asked, squeezing his eyes closed briefly.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Have something warm sent to me.” He changed his trajectory and entered his study. In the middle of his work area sat a new stack of envelopes. Topping that sat another, one which looked
like it had travelled far. Seated he opened it and pulled out the paper. The first time he read it, he frowned. The second, he swore.

  There have been some attacks. Should we hold the next shipment?

  There was no signature but there didn’t need to be. He knew who sent it. Mitch Kerry. The man who he’d left in charge to run things.

  More attacks.

  Colin muttered under his breath as he headed out of the room, a specific destination in mind. The kitchen. He pushed into the warm room and ignored the looks from his staff. He spied the person who didn’t belong and moved to his side. It was a young boy. A dirty boy.

  “You brought this?”

  “Aye, my lord.” The boy spoke yet refused to lift his gaze.

  “Look at me.”

  The dirt-smudged face rose and Colin bit back a curse. The boy had a large bruise on one side of his face, even the dirt couldn’t disguise. Keeping his raging emotions in check, Colin crouched before him.

  “What happened?”

  “Some men tried to get me message. They did not.” There was pride in that statement.

  “I know. What is your name?”

  “Pug.”

  One eyebrow rose and past the boy he saw Archer shrug as well. “Pug?” The boy nodded and Colin pushed to his feet again. “Mrs. Bunch get Pug a bath, all he can eat, and a bed.”

  “A bath?!” Pug gasped grabbing his sleeve. “I--”

  Pug clamped his mouth shut at the look Colin leveled at him. “You will not give Mrs. Bunch any problems.”

  Pug shook his head in defeat. Colin gave him a sharp nod and spun on his heels. Out in the entryway he saw a footman. “Have Salvage readied for me.”

  “Right away, my lord.” The man disappeared.

  Not much later he had mounted his gelding and was on his way back to the country and Falcon House. Two days later he walked through his front door and had Abel send for Mitch. Then he took a hot bath and dressed in clean attire. By the time he had finished with that food had been prepared for him.

  It was late when Mitch arrived and later still when the man left. Colin felt better about the situation and had told Mitch to do whatever necessary to protect the men and the shipments. If it took hiring more men, fine. Just stay safe and he’d be back as soon as he could.