The Earl Is Mine

by Kieran Kramer

  Only for a few minutes, he assured Eliza, who yawned and went back to sleep.

  He rushed Pippa out of the house and down to the folly. And there, sitting side by side on the stone wall, they ate pears and drank wine—“It’s not Italy but close,” Pippa said—and watched the sun rise together while Gregory told her the story he’d held secret for so long.

  When it was done, Pippa wiped away tears. “I wish you’d told me,” she said. “All those years, I thought you didn’t like me—”

  “I didn’t,” he admitted with a laugh, and hugged her close. “But that was only because I was angry. And confused. And desperately afraid. Out of everyone in the world, you were the closest to learning the truth. No one else even guessed, except you. Because you knew me better than anyone.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” She sniffled, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit proud.

  He nodded. “Even at age three, you’d poke and prod and demand that I take you out on the moor to find a grass snake because you knew I’d like it. And when we eventually saw one, I did, because of course, we don’t have snakes in Ireland.”

  “No.” Pippa giggled. “I really did that?”

  “Oh, yes,” he murmured back, and they shared a long, delectable kiss.

  If Marbury hadn’t shown up, demanding to know why Pippa was in a night rail and why he hadn’t been invited to drink with Gregory, Dougal, and Oscar above the stables, it would have become far more than a mere kiss.

  Now, in the carriage a few hours later, Eliza’s favorite gown was in Pippa’s bag—a lovely blue silk trimmed with tiny ivory flowers at the bodice and sleeves. Pippa would wear it at her wedding. Her new mother had offered to lend her one of her own Parisian-inspired creations, but Lady Brady was far too petite. Eliza’s gown would do very well, and when Pippa returned from Guernsey, Gregory’s mother would make her a whole new wardrobe.

  She couldn’t wait!

  “We’ll get to Torquay this afternoon,” Gregory said, his arm wrapped tightly around her, his hand caressing her shoulder. “And tomorrow morning, we’re off to Guernsey.”

  “I wish we didn’t have to wait,” Pippa said.

  “For what?” Gregory looked out the window at the passing countryside.

  On the fringes of Dartmoor, the landscape was wild and barren, and as much as Pippa loved it, it was comforting to be inside the cozy space with a strong, virile man by her side.

  Gregory’s carriage was luxurious, the walls lined in blue velvet, the leather seats soft and buttery to the touch. Pippa hadn’t been able to note any of those details the first time she’d landed in the space, bedraggled, exhausted, and soaked through. But now she did notice, and she had something on her mind.

  She glanced sideways at her soon-to-be husband. “I wish we didn’t have to wait for—”

  But she didn’t know how to say it.

  Gregory’s eyes widened, and his hips lifted off the seat a fraction of an inch. “Are you saying—”

  She bit her lip. “I think I’m saying what you’re thinking.”

  He turned and tugged at the tie at her bodice. “Are you saying something like this?”

  She nodded.

  “How about this?”

  He shrugged down her shoulders, exposing the top half of her breasts, two little half-moons of rosy nipple showing.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m saying that.”

  His eyes darkened with desire, and he removed his coat, tossing it on the seat opposite. “Are you certain?”

  She smiled. “So certain. This is where we began, in a way—this very carriage—even though we’ve known each other forever.”

  “Yes,” he said, and pulled his shirt over his head. Tossing it atop his coat, he grinned. “Remember that blanket?”

  “How could I ever forget the blanket?” She grinned back.

  He made a face. “It happened how many days ago?”

  She unlaced her ties all the way. “Only two.”

  “I can’t believe it,” he said.

  “Neither can I. Look at us now.”

  “It was a long time coming.” He folded her in his arms and kissed her like a dying man in the desert who’d come upon an oasis.

  And she kissed him back as if the world were about to end.

  They pulled back, breathing hard.

  “What took us so long?” he asked her.

  She winced. “So many things. Including your warning me away from you. It only made me want you more, you know.”

  “Of course I knew that,” he said. “Which is why I really am as dangerous as the papers say.”

  “I’m more dangerous.”

  “Are you?” His eyes glinted with something dark and delicious.

  She nodded. “Are you ready?”

  And in a matter of three minutes, they were stark naked and Pippa was in his lap, thrilled at the evidence of his arousal below her.

  “What if Oscar hears us?” she whispered.

  “He won’t,” said Gregory.

  “How do you know?”

  He pulled his cravat off the floor and dangled it in front of her. “I can use this again, but on your luscious mouth instead of your taunting eyes,” he said in overly dramatic fashion.

  She giggled. “The cravat certainly has many uses I’d never dreamed of.”

  “Do you trust me?” Gregory asked her, and she nodded. “This could be fun, Lieutenant. You’ve been captured. I’m an enemy captain, and I have to win you over to the bad side.”

  “It will never happen,” she said. “I’m not so weak, but very well. You can try.”

  He was about to put the cravat around her mouth, but she pushed his hand away. “One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “In this scenario, I’m the captain from the good side. And you’re the lowly lieutenant from the bad side. You’ve kidnapped me and can’t believe your luck.”

  He seemed to really contemplate the idea. “All right,” he eventually said.

  “And one more thing,” she added.

  “Yes?”

  “I get a promotion if Oscar doesn’t hear me. I want to be a major now. Or perhaps a general. Yes, I like the sound of that.” She kissed his nose.

  “We’ll see,” said Gregory, grabbing her wrists, putting them above her head, and kissing her neck. “You’re my prisoner,” he murmured, and she shivered.

  A few seconds later, her mouth was tied shut and her hands were slung through the blue velvet loops on the side wall of the carriage. Her legs were spread, and Gregory was between them, kissing her breasts, teasing her lush feminine flesh with his fingers, and finally, grabbing her hips in his hands and pulling her to his mouth. He probed with his tongue, nuzzled with his mouth, and brought her to an explosion of pleasure that she felt she couldn’t contain—but the handy cravat did its work.

  While her hands were finally able to release their viselike grip on the straps and she hung limp from them, Gregory approached her once more. “General.”

  “Hmmm?” she murmured drowsily from behind her enemy lover’s cravat.

  “I’ve defected. I’m going over to your side now.”

  She shook her head.

  He kissed her belly. “This isn’t the way I want to have you. Not the first time.”

  She raised her brows and nodded vigorously.

  “No,” he said firmly. “I have a plan. You’re going to have to wait.” And then he untied the cravat.

  “But—”

  “No buts,” he said.

  “I’ll never be able to ride in this carriage again without—”

  He wouldn’t let her finish. He devoured her mouth, and she sensed the need in him. “Are you sure?” She felt wistful on his behalf. How she longed to make him as needy for her as she’d been for him!

  “Very sure,” he said.

  * * *

  “How much longer?” Pippa asked much later that day.

  They were in Torquay, and they’d just finished a delicious dinner of roasted trout
, small new potatoes, and a light glazed-carrot dish.

  Gregory stood and stretched. “I’m tired,” he said.

  “I hope not too tired,” she said back.

  He put his hands on his hips. “Lady Pippa Harrington, are you going to be this way when we’re married?”

  “Of course.” She stood, too, and looked at him.

  “You’d better be.” He grabbed her around the waist and slung her against him. “You’re a demanding wench.”

  “Are you a pirate now? That would be most amusing. And compelling.”

  He chuckled. “I agree. But no, tonight I’m simply Gregory, the man who loves you.”

  “Oh, that’s very sweet,” she said softly. “I didn’t know you were so romantic.”

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  She put her hands over her eyes.

  “I’ll tell you when you can open them,” he said from farther away.

  She laughed. “I’m nervous.” And she was. She felt a tingling sensation all over her body.

  “Not much longer,” he said.

  “Hurry!” She stretched up on tippy-toe.

  “All right,” he said, “open your eyes.”

  She opened them and saw crab-apple blossoms all over the bed.

  He came to her and held her hands. “I used to hand you bags of crab apples to throw at the enemy. But tonight, we’re moving to the next step, crab-apple blossoms, and they’re used only to celebrate two people together … two people in love.”

  Tears blurred her vision and she gave a happy little hiccup.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her.

  She nodded and sniffed. “I love them. I love you.”

  He gave a low laugh. “I love you, too, and I’m glad you’re happy.”

  He undressed her before the fire, and then he lifted her in his arms, carried her to the bed, and lowered her to the fresh-smelling sheets that had been dried in sea breezes.

  He took a handful of blossoms and gently showered them over her breasts. And then he stood back and undressed himself, shimmying out of his breeches last. Not once did he take his eyes off hers, but when he was naked, he raked her entire body with a bold, appreciative gaze that was also humble—which made her love him all the more.

  “Are you glad you have me this way?” she whispered.

  He only nodded, but she saw his throat work.

  Seeing him emotional made her throat tighten, too, and her eyes sting.

  She held out her arms, and slowly he crawled onto the bed and lay beside her. For the next few blissful moments, they whispered words of love to each other, caressing each other’s bodies, almost reverently.

  But Pippa didn’t want to wait too long. She knew her man was ready, and that he needed her, so after a few more minutes, she rolled on top of him and lay where she knew their bodies would meet. He taught her to spread her legs over him, but he wouldn’t let her sink down on top of him. He tantalized her, even teased her—but then he rolled on top of her and took control.

  She wanted him desperately and begged him to make her his. And after suckling both her breasts and driving her mad with longing, he spread her legs with his own and, with a few quiet, comforting words and a long, passionate kiss, sank deep into her while she rose to meet him.

  “Oh,” she said, the pain sharp but the word full of wonder. There was ecstasy in her brief agony, and soon the pleasure outweighed the discomfort, and she was lifting her hips and arching into him, wanting completion—

  Wanting him.

  “Forever,” Gregory said against her ear. And when she was lifted high, buoyed by love, he came with her, and they were fused as a single being, all boundaries gone.

  The world below them was good. And it was wide. And it was waiting for them to explore it together.

  Epilogue

  The Paris sun labored to find its way through the thick clouds swollen with rain that threatened the celebration taking place in the courtyard behind Lord and Lady Westdale’s town house on the Rue de Jarente. No measure of gray in the sky could darken the spirits of the family and friends gathered there, though. Excited chatter and laughter bounced off the cobbled pavement, curled around the black wrought-iron railing that stood sentry about the new Lady Westdale’s prized roses, and floated out onto the street, where two gentlemen stood listening.

  Lord Marbury took Mr. Dawson’s arm and ushered him up the steps. “Careful now, Roger.” His voice was gentle, but he could do that because no one else was listening. “We’re here for quite an important occasion, you know.”

  They’d arrived just that morning to attend the christening of tiny Albert Michael Sherwood, Lord Sherwood. The little honorary baron was second in line to become the Marquess of Brady. Standing before the massive oak door bearing the Brady crest, Marbury watched Dawson run a finger over the elaborate etching.

  “Why, this looks just like the wax seals on Pippa’s letters to me,” he marveled.

  “That’s right,” Marbury said. “We’re at Gregory and Pippa’s home now.”

  Not that he called them that—but Mr. Dawson did. He was family, of sorts.

  Marbury felt a twinge of envy—all right, he felt a cartload of envy. He also felt guilty about it because he was envying such a nice old man, one who’d gone just a little bit mad and come back from the edge better than ever.

  Because now Mr. Dawson was interesting. Occasionally, when his mind wandered, he’d curse and drink too much—just like Marbury. Before his mental lapse, he’d been rather bland. But the folly he’d designed with Gregory and Marbury was the most ironic masterpiece of a folly England had ever seen, and Lord and Lady Thurston couldn’t keep people away from it.

  Nobody cared about their dog cottage. It was a shame, as Marbury had won that commission.

  But a canine spa couldn’t compare to a folly that brought visitors from all over the world to see the stairs that went nowhere—Westdale’s contribution—and the heart-shaped window that faced the setting sun—Mr. Dawson’s idea. Marbury had provided a lot of harping criticism, but only to Gregory, not to Mr. Dawson, of course.

  The front door of the house opened, and a butler stood with a lithe girl with blond curls and huge blue eyes peering around from behind him.

  “Oh, I just knew it would be you!” She beamed at them. “Pippa asked me to wait in the front hall after the note came with your arrival time.”

  Marbury returned her grin. “Why, Lady Cynthia, how did you become even more lovely and delightful since I saw you last at your brother’s post–wedding feast?” He bowed over her outstretched hand.

  “Gregory told me you’d speak that way again.” She giggled.

  “What way?”

  She giggled again. “Like a charmer, the kind you can’t trust—but that in your case, you can’t help yourself. He said you’re very trustworthy.”

  “I am that,” he said with pride, and pulled Mr. Dawson over the threshold.

  Cynthia ushered them into the hall, where their hats and coats were taken, all the while chattering away. “Isn’t this so exciting? I’ve never been to Paris. And everyone’s here. Baby Albert is adorable! Pippa doesn’t want you to miss a thing, so I’m to take you right out to the garden.” She paused, waiting for a response, it seemed. But before Marbury could open his mouth to give one, she sped ahead. “So sorry you had to miss the christening. It was delightful. And now we’re on to the party. Pippa has made the most wonderful sugar sculpture, a landscape of the moor that has sugar-spun grasses and shrubs and mosses and even a marzipan mother goose with her babies.” She took Mr. Dawson’s arm and squeezed it. “She says you love geese, too!”

  The girl’s a natural monopolizer of conversation, Marbury thought, admiring her, almost as good as I am. He felt a great compulsion to go buy her a giant platter of French pastries as a kind gesture, or even put her in his will, and was appalled at the avuncular turn his thoughts were taking.

  They were on the steps leading to the courtyard. The garden beds w
ere in full bloom, and heady scents from lavender to rosemary captivated Marbury’s senses. He didn’t like to admit his fondness for flowers, so he maintained his prevailing new expression, which he’d softened from jaded to mildly interested. Tables and chairs draped in white linen trimmed with lace were scattered beneath sweet chestnut trees. Their branches would provide shelter from the midday sun, should this corner of Paris be fortunate enough to get some. Otherwise, they were merely hazardous to anyone wearing false hair, such as himself.

  As Lady Cynthia had promised, everyone was indeed here.

  At one table sat Lord and Lady Brady, heads close together and hands clasped. They were deep in conversation and seemingly oblivious to the proceedings.

  Why, they still appear to be lovers with eyes for no one else, Marbury thought, and saw Dawson notice, too, his lips curved in the sweet smile that their friend Pippa so loved. Perhaps the old man was thinking back to romantic moments with his own missus. Marbury hoped he was—and felt not a single twinge of longing to marry himself.

  “Gregory, Pippa, do come see Lord Marbury and Mr. Dawson,” called Cynthia, pulling Mr. Dawson by the hand toward the largest group gathered in a corner. A Titian-haired young woman—Pippa herself—broke away and hurried toward them, a small bundle swathed in white cotton embroidered with tiny blue ducklings in her arms. Several other members of the group followed, laughing and chatting, behind her.

  “Mr. Dawson and Marbury, how wonderful to see you!” Pippa was even lovelier now that motherhood had worked its magic, a soft light shining from her eyes. “Gregory, my love, come quickly! Our most important guests have arrived!”

  Marbury’s chest swelled. He was important?

  She held the bundle out, pulling a corner open to more fully expose the face of her little son. “Isn’t he handsome?”

  Her smile was one of pure joy, and Dawson’s eyes shone with unshed tears. Marbury’s did, too, as a matter of fact, but he cursed them silently and urged their instant remission. When that didn’t happen, he pretended to sneeze and made quick work of the silly things with his handkerchief.

  He was still stuck on being important. Enough with babies and their utter gorgeousness.