Good Earl Gone Bad

by Manda Collins

  “But why are you telling me about this now?” she asked, puzzled. “I assume it was something you were not supposed to reveal to me. What has happened now that makes it all right for you to inform me about the investigation?”

  “Someone hurt you,” Jasper said, his jaw clenched in fury. “I have been telling you as little as possible because that is what I am supposed to do for the sake of my position. But if keeping the truth of the matter from you means that you don’t know what is necessary for you to stay safe, then it’s a foolish rule. I don’t want to see one more person hurt by these thieves who are more concerned with their own hides than the safety of innocent strangers.”

  “Oh my dear,” she said, cupping his face in her hand. “I am fine. But I am grateful you’ve told me, because we can work together now.”

  “Now, Hermione,” he warned. “There will be no working together. I told you so that you would stay safe. Which will not happen if you go off trying to solve the thing yourself.”

  “I simply cannot believe Fleetwood lived next door the whole time,” she said, her eyes round with shock. “That cannot be a coincidence.”

  “I doubt it,” Jasper agreed. “And for some reason he wanted the horses back after he sold them.”

  “Hmm,” Hermione said with a frown. “What reason could a man have for wanting to renege on a sale of a coaching pair?”

  “If they were stolen,” Jasper posited, “then maybe there was another buyer who would have paid more.”

  “But unless the money was a goodly sum that wouldn’t be enough to murder over,” Hermione argued.

  “If the horses were stolen, perhaps they were afraid someone would be able to tell,” she continued. “As if there were some distinctive marking or some other identifying characteristic that would make it easy to tell it was the missing horse.”

  “Like what?” Jasper asked, bending down to take off his boots, then climbing up beside her on the bed. “Do either Rosencrantz or Guildenstern have any distinguishing marks? I know there are no blazes or socks…”

  Hermione moved into the circle of his arm and leaned her head back against him. “Other than Rosencrantz’s dislike of having his snout rubbed, I can’t think of any. They are wonderful horses and easy to drive, but I cannot think of anything that particularly distinguishes them from any others. And one can hardly call being adaptable to various harnesses a distinguishing characteristic.”

  She yawned. “Maybe we should sleep on it.”

  “Maybe you should sleep on it,” Jasper corrected, kissing the top of her head.

  Too tired to argue, she closed her eyes. And just before she drifted off, she heard him say, “Don’t scare me like that again. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  * * *

  Hermione came awake some time later with a start, as her mind and body jolted with the memory of being struck upon the head. For a moment, her pulse raced and she felt herself falling to the floor of the stables again, and she cried out in protest.

  “What is it?” Jasper asked.

  And she realized that she’d been asleep in his arms, her head pillowed against his naked chest. “A bad dream,” she said, pulling away to get her breath, and let her nerves settle.

  “You were remembering,” he said softly, stroking a hand over her back.

  “How did you know?” At times it was unsettling how he seemed to know just what she was thinking. For someone who had been forced to fend for herself for so long, it was at once comforting and disturbing.

  “For days after the accident that killed my father,” Jasper said, his hand warm through the fine lawn of her night rail, “every time I tried to sleep I would start awake with the memory of impact, of hurtling through the air. It was as if my mind were trying to rid itself of the recollection, but the only way to do it was to experience it again.”

  “That’s it exactly,” Hermione said, turning to look at him. “I feel it all again, the blinding pain, the sensation of my legs giving out from beneath me, of falling to the floor.”

  Wanting the comfort of his arms around her again, she went to him, tucked her head into the crook of his neck. Had it really been only a few days since they’d shared this bond? This closeness?

  “I am sorry you had to go through that,” he said, his voice rumbling beneath where her ear lay against his chest. She felt him kiss the top of her head.

  Lying there in his arms, feeling his strong body against hers, inhaling his scent that was unique to him, she suddenly wanted to feel more of him.

  She lifted her head and though her heartbeat now quickened for a different reason, she embraced boldness and met his gaze. There was heat there, and affection, and suddenly she knew that if she did not kiss him she would go mad with wanting.

  He watched her through heavy-lidded eyes as she touched her lips to his. Once, twice, before gently opening her mouth over his and darting her tongue out to stroke along the seam of his lips. And suddenly all diffidence was lost as she gave herself up to their shared passion.

  She felt his hands slide up to pull her closer, and she gave a little whimper as his tongue slid over hers and their kiss grew hotter and more intense.

  Her breasts peaked against the hard warmth of his chest, and suddenly she had to be skin to skin. Pulling back, she moved to straddle him, the texture of his breeches slightly rough against the sensitive skin of her thighs.

  “Let me help with that,” Jasper said with a growl that made her center clench. And taking each side of her night rail’s neck in his hands he ripped it down the middle.

  At her astonished gasp, he pushed the gown off her shoulders and moved his mouth close to her ear, whispering, “Gowns can be replaced.”

  And then they were fused together, their mouths eager, their hands exploring, their hearts beating to the same frenzied rhythm.

  “So beautiful,” Jasper whispered as he kissed and licked his way down to the spot where her neck met her shoulder, scraping his teeth over the prominence of her collarbone.

  Hermione’s hands threaded through his hair as she felt his mouth close around her nipple, and at the suction there, she bit back a cry. Every pull of his lips sent a throb of awareness through the very center of her, and before long, she found herself shifting against him, restless and needing to be touched.

  “Don’t worry, sweet,” Jasper said against her breast, “I’ll take care of you.”

  And she felt his hand slide down to stroke over her where she needed him most. His fingers slid along her wet core, the teasing touch sending every ounce of Hermione’s concentration there where her body strained to meet his hand.

  Her hips bucked when he lightly scraped his teeth over her sensitive nipple, while at the same time his finger stroked into her, where her body craved him.

  When he lifted his head, she almost wept, though her movements below didn’t slow. But he was only moving to offer the same attention to her other breast, and when he connected there, he stroked a second finger inside her.

  “I need more,” she gasped as she continued to move against him. “I need you inside me, Jasper.”

  “Then you shall have me,” he said in a low growl.

  Panting, Hermione moved off him so that he could strip off his breeches and smallclothes, and she stared in the lamplight at his freed erection.

  Unable to stop herself, she reached out to stroke her thumb over the bead of moisture glistening there. And she could tell from the way his breath changed that he liked it.

  But when she enclosed her fist around him, Jasper took her hand by the wrist and gently pulled it away. “I like it very much,” he told her in a strained voice, “but I want to lose myself inside you.”

  And then he was kissing her again, and Hermione felt her world shift as he reversed their positions until her back was against the softness of the sheets.

  Pulling him to her, she gasped with pleasure at the feeling of his skin against hers from head to toe. And when he slid his body down, the friction of it was
almost too much to bear.

  But when she felt him kiss his way down over the slight roundness at her belly, headed lower and lower, she protested. “What are you doing?”

  He looked up at her, and Hermione almost forgot her pique at the sight of him braced over her spread legs. “Do you trust me?” he countered, his blue eyes dark with intent.

  “Yes,” she said, though her heart beat furiously at what he might intend to do. It was one thing for him to touch her there, but …

  “Then let me do this,” he said, lightly kissing her hipbone. “I promise that if you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

  Then her traitorous body clenched at the possibilities of his intent, so Hermione nodded. And when she felt his hot breath against her most sensitive skin, and then the stroke of his tongue, she knew she’d give anything to keep him from stopping.

  Over and over again, he licked and bit and sucked until her hips began to buck, only moving more when he added his fingers into the mix. But when he closed his mouth over her sensitive bud, it was simply too much to bear, and as her body pulsed around his fingers, she floated away in a tide of mindless pleasure until nothing existed but feeling.

  When she came back to herself, Jasper had moved up to brace himself over her, his mouth covering hers. Tasting her own pleasure on his lips was more intoxicating than whisky.

  “I take it you liked it,” he asked with a self-satisfied grin. “I didn’t hear any objections.”

  “You know I did,” she said primly. “Now,” she continued, lifting her knees to come up on either side of his hips, “I want you.”

  “Then,” he said, his eyes dark with desire, “have me.” And in one thrust, he pressed into her, the pleasant stretch of fullness heightened when the pulses of her earlier orgasm reignited.

  Jasper kissed her, and began to move, the friction of every thrust setting off waves of pleasure where they joined. And every time he pulled out, she lifted her hips, and her inner muscles clenched as if trying to hold him inside a moment longer, until they were moving together in a perfectly calibrated dance of desire.

  Every thrust edged her closer to the brink of some unseen precipice, as she strove for something she could not name. All she knew was that if she stopped, she’d die. And when he began to press harder, gripped her hips with his strong hands, to hold her in place, Hermione felt herself begin to splinter. Her body began to pulse around him again, and when he moved his hand between them to stroke his thumb over her there, she cried out. Her hands gripped tightly to his shoulders as she felt herself throb around him and she tumbled over the brink into the abyss.

  Twenty

  “I think,” Jasper said into Hermione’s hair once they had regained their composure, “we are very good at that.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that,” Hermione responded with a laugh. “Having had no other experiences of it, who am I to say that you are a better partner for me than some other man?”

  He tightened his arms around her, possessiveness overtaking him at the thought of any other man taking his wife to bed.

  His wife. The very word brought forth a maelstrom of protective feelings, urged him to cling tight to her lest some other man try to take her away.

  “You’ll never know,” he said when he found his voice, “because you’ll always belong to me. Till death do us part.”

  At the mention of death, he felt her sigh. “Speaking of death,” she said softly, her fingers toying gently with his chest hair, “there is something I’d like to ask.”

  He didn’t like to hear that serious tone in her voice, but Jasper could hardly fault her for it given the events of the past two days. Not only had her father been almost killed, but she, too, had suffered a serious attack.

  “Hermione,” he said, “you need never be afraid to ask me something. Or speak to me on any subject. I realize that your life with your father has been somewhat … difficult at times. But you should never worry about angering me or upsetting me. I will always listen to you with an open mind.”

  Jasper wasn’t sure what sort of household Upperton had run, but he hadn’t been long acquainted with the man before he realized that he would not be an easy man to live with. The irregular hours he must necessarily keep thanks to his gambling, coupled with his personality, would have made life troublesome for a daughter like Hermione. Who longed for nothing more than to be taken seriously.

  “I am so grateful for that, Jasper,” she responded. “Especially since, as you say, life with my father has been unpredictable. And though I know you have assured me that you are not the same sort of gamester as he is, I cannot help but admit that I do feel some degree of trepidation at the fact that I’ve married a man whose favorite pastime is gaming.”

  It was hardly a surprise she felt this way considering her father had just been attacked outside a gaming club—not to mention that the only reason they were here together now was because of her father’s habit. But he wasn’t ready to admit that the card game he’d played Upperton for her hand had been a mistake. Anything but, when he considered just how right it felt to hold her against him now.

  “What can I do to alleviate some of that worry?” he asked her, knowing that by asking the question he was opening himself up to the possibility that she would ask him to give it up. The one thing he’d always been good at.

  Her hand on his chest slowed, as if she were concentrating. “I do believe you when you say that you are not as desperate for games of chance as my father is,” she said softly. “And that you are not so much doing it out of a sense of need as for entertainment…”

  “But?”

  “But,” she said carefully, “I wonder if maybe you are not as aware of your reasons for doing it as you might think. What I mean is, what if you are so keen to play games of chance because you need them just as much as Papa, but you do not realize it?”

  “Are you asking me if I can stop, Hermione?” Jasper asked, just as carefully.

  It had been a long time since he’d allowed anyone to dictate his behavior for him. His mother had tried all those years ago when he reached his majority, but once he’d finally told her that he was taking over the running of the estates without her input, it had become easier and easier to tell her no.

  But a wife was a different matter.

  Yes, the law said that he could do whatever he liked without considering her feelings, but he wasn’t such a boor that he’d ride roughshod over Hermione’s wishes just so that he could pursue his own pleasure. But the idea of leaving behind his time at the tables was jarring.

  “I suppose I am,” she said at last, a note of apology in her voice. “Or perhaps I want to know why you do it, so that I might understand better. Because as you’ve said, I’ve spent my life so far with my father’s predilections and look what has happened because of that. I lose my horses, and Papa is lying injured.”

  “And you are now married to a man you would never have considered otherwise,” he said tightly. “Let’s not forget that.”

  Perhaps he was more uneasy about their reasons for marrying than he’d thought.

  But Hermione looked up at him, smiling sweetly. “That is the only thing that’s happened as a result of Papa’s gaming that can be accounted a success, as far as I’m concerned.”

  And to his surprise he saw that she did sincerely mean it. Unable to stop himself, he kissed her. “That’s quite the nicest thing you’ve ever told me,” he said with an answering smile.

  “But,” he continued, “I’m not sure that knowing my reasons for gambling will give you any more reason to trust me and my gambling habit than you do your father’s.”

  She wasn’t going to let the matter drop, however. He saw that in the set of her mouth.

  “At least give me a chance,” she said. “Let me know this part of you.”

  “Only if you will tell me what it is about driving that you are so desperately attached to,” he returned. “For I find it just as frightening to think of you speeding along the road at
breakneck speeds as you find the notion of me in gaming hells at all hours of the night.”

  She nodded. “I can agree to that.”

  * * *

  Hermione sat up so that her back was against the pillows, beside Jasper.

  He seemed unfazed by her demand to know his reasons for gambling. But she also knew that he was quite good at hiding his emotions when he wished to. He was a very good card player, after all.

  “There’s not all that much to tell,” he said after a moment of thought. “What is it you wish to know, exactly?”

  “Why do you feel the need to do it?” she asked. “Why cards instead of some other hobby? Like fencing or riding or hunting? What is it about cards that draws you—besides your superhuman ability to calculate odds. For I can only imagine that would become boring after a bit.”

  Jasper sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Well, I suppose I prefer cards because it’s what I’m best at. And I discovered that at school, when I was desperately in need of something to make me stand out from the other chaps.”

  “At Eton, you mean?” Hermione asked, curious about what he’d have been like at that age. “That’s where you met Freddy and Trent and Jonathan Craven, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Jasper agreed. “But before I met them at Eton, I was on my own. And I do not like to admit it, but twelve-year-old Jasper was not quite the strong, handsome fellow you see before you today.”

  “I’m sure you were sweet,” she responded with a grin. She could just imagine his dark curls all mussed from roughhousing and his cheeks flushed from running.

  “Too sweet,” Jasper said with a frown. “And I’d just lost my father so that meant I’d just come into the earldom. Which did not make the other boys bow to me in condescension. If anything, they saw it as a reason to treat me even more badly than they’d done before.”

  He did not go into detail about just how the older, stronger boys had asserted their dominance over him. There were some things that a man didn’t talk about. And those first few months at Eton were among them.

  “Oh dear,” she said, taking his hand in hers and gripping it. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”