The Gossip of an Earl (The Widows of the Aristocracy Book 1)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Emelia shook her head. Perhaps she only noticed his presence because she had caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  Several times.

  His usual expression was rather glum, but when he was staring at her, his expression made him appear so much younger. Hopeful, perhaps. Thoughtful.

  Happy.

  She wondered how old he was. Certainly not as old as her father, but certainly not as young as any of the bucks who behaved badly at their men’s clubs and made fools of themselves whilst racing phaetons in the dark. Emelia remembered him saying he had attended Eton with her older brother, so he would have to be close to thirty, she reasoned. I should look him up in the copy of Debrett’s in father’s library, she thought then.

  Emelia shook her head at the thought. His kiss is what had her in this mess. Just because she had agreed to walk with him in the gardens didn’t give the earl the right to steal a kiss!

  But then, she hadn’t exactly pushed him away, either. She hadn’t put voice to a complaint. She hadn’t dissuaded him in the least.

  In fact, she had returned the kiss.

  Kisses.

  Welcomed it.

  Them.

  Reveled in it.

  All of them.

  Her entire body shivered at the memory of that kiss.

  Those kisses.

  Thrilled at the thought that a man as handsome as Felix Turnbridge, Earl of Fennington, might be auditioning her for the role of his countess, Emelia hadn’t even considered the two of them might be discovered behind a hedgerow in the middle of a lip-lock.

  Apparently Mr. Pepperidge was good at hiding behind the other side of the hedgerow, for his note threatening to expose her kiss with the earl arrived at Aimsley House the following morning. At the bottom, a crude map showing the position of the park bench was drawn in ink.

  Emelia would never forget that letter. Never forget that first meeting with the despicable man who introduced himself as Mr. Frederick Pepperidge, editor of The Tattler.

  Never forget the terms of his blackmail.

  His requirement for withholding the damning information about her? Meet with him every Thursday morning at eight o’clock in the park. Meet with him and provide the tidbits of gossip that she had been privy to whilst paying calls on the ladies of the ton during the week prior. The news she might have overheard whilst attending a ball or soirée. It was enough to have her thinking of staying at home, but she knew that would only delay the inevitable. Better to do as the rogue required and get it over with as quickly as possible.

  Mr. Pepperidge shook his head at hearing her query about having completed her obligation to meet with him. “Not quite, my lady,” he replied with a slight grin. “I was merely referring to the promise of better weather.” He paused a moment, pulling a pad and a charcoal pencil from his great coat in order to record her words—or, at least, the gist of them.

  He never actually used her exact words when writing his gossip column on Mayfair parlor talk, she noted. Emelia only knew this because she had been surreptitiously purchasing copies of The Tattler in order to discover how he was printing the news she provided. “One more time we shall meet, Lady Emelia. That will be the eighth time, and then we shall be done with one another,” he added, managing to keep the sound of melancholy from touching his voice.

  Emelia sighed and nodded her head. One more time.

  Chapter 12

  The Morning After

  Rumor has it widows are enjoying an especially busy Season this year! Between balls, soirées, and the theatre, many a widow has been spotted on the arms of some of our most eligible—and not-so-eligible—gentleman. They’re no doubt spending time between the sheets, as well. Naughty, naughty! ~ An article in the April 9, 1818 issue of The Tattler.

  May 7, 1818, very early in the morning

  Jane watched Andrew as he moved to retrieve his clothing, inhaling sharply when she saw how the muscles of his back rippled beneath his skin. When he straightened, she sighed as he turned to her and gave her a wink. Perhaps he thought she would turn away as he pulled on his smalls, but she merely captured her lower lip with a tooth and stared in wonder.

  She had never seen her late husband like this, completely naked in the dim light of morning. He had come to her bed on only a few occasions very early in their marriage, and then only a few times during the subsequent years, always wearing a nightshirt that covered him to his knees, his breath sour from too much alcohol. When he was done, he returned to his bedchamber on the other side of the dressing room. He never slept in her bed but for those few minutes after he had completed his business. She rather doubted Stoneleigh’s body was anything like Andrew’s, though. Despite his age, Andrew was still trim, still possessed of a physique that defied his position as a banker.

  Their brief conversation was as unexpected as it was reassuring. Such a gentleman, she thought as she watched him pull on his breeches. A sense of disappointment settled over her when a shirt suddenly covered his torso, hiding the sprinkling of graying crisp curls and sculpted muscles she had felt beneath her fingertips the night before.

  She hadn’t even expected to wake up to find him still in her bed—didn’t all men leave their lovers’ beds whilst it was still dark?

  Apparently not.

  Which had to explain what possessed her to do what she did. There had been that moment right after she had awakened, when she had climbed atop him. Before she quite realized what she was doing. Before reason had a chance to still her attempt at seduction.

  What must he have thought to awaken with me atop him like that? she wondered.

  Well, he did seem rather pleased, actually. Even assured her he rather liked her as wanton.

  A wanton.

  Never in her life could she have been accused of being a wanton!

  When Andrew bid her a good day and promised to take her for a ride the following afternoon, Jane could hardly believe the sense of excitement she felt. She watched as he made his way to the door, watched with a wan smile as he opened it a crack to dare a glance into the hall, and then sighed when he hurried out. She waited for the latch to click before settling back into the mattress, a huge smile spreading over her face. She had half a mind to put on a dressing gown and hurry to one of the back windows to watch as Andrew made his way out of the gardens and into the alley behind the townhouse.

  That is, until she realized how chilly the bedchamber was just then. Odd, given how warm she had felt only moments ago. Her maid would come in and build a fire in an hour or two, though. Until then, she would simply stay in bed and replay the events of the night over and over in her head, her lips displaying a smile she couldn’t possibly hide.

  Four hours later, she awoke with a start.

  “What a relief, milady,” Nicole, her lady’s maid, said brightly when Jane sat up straight and stared around the room. “I don’t recall you ever sleeping in this late, but then, I suppose you were at the ball until nearly sunrise. I didn’t even hear you come in.” This last was said with a hint of a question, suggesting Nicole didn’t know what time her mistress had returned to the townhouse. It was also confirmation that Jane’s arrival with Andrew Burroughs hadn’t caused a stir amongst the servants upstairs.

  “I had a wonderful time and simply couldn’t go to sleep until nearly dawn,” Jane admitted as she dared a glance at the mantle clock. Eleven o’ clock? Faith! It was a wonder Nicole hadn’t summoned a physician!

  “Oh, I’m so happy to hear you say it, the ball being your first in so long, milady,” Nicole said as she gathered up the ball gown and petticoats Jane had worn the night before. “I see you were able to undress yourself without any help.”

  Jane wasn’t about to admit she’d had plenty of help. Why, Andrew’s deft fingers had undone the buttons down the back of her gown while he kissed her senseless. The ties of her corset were no match for those same fingers, although how he had managed to get his lips between her breasts while doing so was a testamen
t to the man’s skills as a lady’s maid. The ties holding up her petticoats had been undone at some point when his lips were trailing along one of her ribs, and, well, since she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing drawers —even if Queen Charlotte had apparently taken to wearing them—she had been left barely able to stand on her own in her chemise, stockings and dance slippers.

  She hadn’t allowed him to remove the chemise. At least, not at first—not until she had been allowed to undo the buttons of his topcoat and waistcoat. While he removed the garments, she struggled with the fastenings of his breeches, well aware of his hardening manhood behind the placket. She had just about succeeded in her task when his hands had gently taken hers and moved them to his chest.

  “Not just yet,” Andrew had whispered as he suddenly lifted her into his arms and placed her on the bed. The linens had been turned down, the crisp white fabric a sharp contrast to the deep blue velvet counterpane folded down at the foot of the mattress. Once Andrew had her settled and her shoes removed, he turned and sat on the edge to remove his own dance shoes and stockings. “I have been wishing for this night for a very long time,” he murmured quietly.

  The words had made her heart soar just then. Soar and ache and beat so fast she thought she might faint. “It is good of you to say so, but certainly not necessary. I’ve been long out of the school room,” she hedged, moving her hands to barely touch the fine lawn of his shirt. When he suddenly stilled his movements, she drew back, thinking she shouldn’t have touched him. But one of his hands captured hers and brought it to his lips.

  “They are not just words, Jane. I have wanted you ever since those afternoons I took you for rides in Hyde Park,” he whispered, his lips suddenly covering hers. “And every day since,” he murmured when he finished the kiss.

  The admission had her breath catching, a tear threatening to spill from the corner of one eye. “I wish you could have had me,” she whispered when he finally pulled away to remove his shirt.

  Blinking when she realized Nicole was staring at her, Jane turned her attention to the maid. “I can undo my own buttons when the situation requires it. I certainly wasn’t going to awaken you given how late I arrived,” she added with a shake of her head. She allowed a sigh when she realized Nicole must have been regarding her for some time.

  “It was awfully considerate of you, milady.”

  Jane allowed a shrug, her mind once again remembering her words to Andrew, remembering how they had been tentative and yet sure. Their behavior with one another had been the same, as if they were poised on the brink of something important and weren’t quite sure whether to take the plunge.

  It was then Jane realized just how aroused her body had become. How ripe and ready she was for whatever Andrew had in mind for them that night. Part of her thought he would merely play lady’s maid and then take his leave once she was sleeping—he had initially said he wanted to see her safely home. The other part thrilled at the idea that he had far more in mind. Kissing and touching and lovemaking, the likes of which she had never before experienced.

  He had already accomplished the kissing.

  His initial touches had been cautious, careful and light, his fingertips sending skitters of pleasure darting beneath her skin. Her light gasps and frequent sighs spurred him on until she was suddenly aware he was completely naked, naked and pressed against the side of her entire body, one elbow supporting him as he gently pulled the bow of one garter tie and then slowly pushed the silk stocking down her leg. When it was just about beyond his reach, Jane had bent her knee and watched as he pulled it completely from her foot. He had done the same with her other stocking, the light touch of his finger between her stocking and leg sending skitters of pleasure up and down her thigh.

  “Oh, here they are!” Nicole announced with what sounded like a good deal of relief, briefly disappearing from Jane’s view as she leaned down.

  Pulled from her reverie, Jane frowned. “What are you talking about?” she asked in confusion.

  When Nicole reappeared, the silk stockings dribbling from her fingers, one of Jane’s legs jerked with the memory of how they had been removed.

  “Your stockings, milady.” She blinked and then angled her head. “Why, you must have had a wonderful time at the ball.”

  Jane stared at the maid, wondering what had her maid coming to that conclusion. “It was rather enjoyable,” she hedged, now wondering at the maid’s odd expression.

  Truth be told, the ball had been a glittering but rather dull affair. Up until Andrew Burroughs had appeared and asked for a dance, the highlights of the evening had been the three instances that she witnessed the same young man take his leave of the ballroom in favor of the gardens with three different young ladies on his arm.

  Then Andrew Burroughs had appeared and swept her into the waltz, and then into her carriage, and then into her bed. She could feel her face flush with the memory of the evening’s events. She almost forgot they had spent a few minutes in the study, as well.

  “Well, it’s certainly brought color to your cheeks again, milady,” Nicole commented. “Now, I’ll just put these away and draw your bath,” she added as she made her way into the dressing room.

  Jane swallowed, wondering how long she would be able to keep the evidence of her carnal activities from her maid.

  The thought of carnal activities had her remembering the moment when she realized Andrew had every intention of spending the entire night with her.

  Once he had divested her of her stockings, his large hands had moved beneath her bottom and lifted it slightly. The palms of his hands slid along her thighs, lifting and spreading them wide and then pulling her knees to the sides of his torso.

  When the length of his velvet-on-steel shaft suddenly pressed against her quim, she understood the meaning of his words about wishing to have her. It was quite apparent he was about to get his wish. And I, mine, she remembered thinking as her arms moved to wrap around his neck.

  He barely moved his hips as his lips came down onto hers, his manhood sliding along her suddenly honeyed folds, his taut sac following to press harder. The sensation was so unexpected, she had to inhale and break the kiss, which only sent his lips trailing down her cheek to her jaw and then to her neck and collarbones.

  When his tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat, she was aware of how his hips had lifted, and the tip of his manhood suddenly delved an inch or two inside her. The slow movement of his hips had him retreating and advancing just a bit deeper each time until he was finally buried as far as he could be.

  The exquisite torture had her writhing beneath him, her chest rising with his slow thrusts until she whimpered for something more. Relations with her husband had never been like this, never been slow and sensuous, warm and wet, intimate and exciting.

  She would have been quite satisfied had he simply allowed his release and left her body—who was she to expect there could be more? So much more?

  So when his lips suddenly moved to one of her nipples, she gasped as a sharp shiver of pleasure had her arching her back. His lips on her other nipple had her reacting the same. But it was when one of his hands slid down the front of her body that she realized he was quite skilled in the art of lovemaking.

  One of his fingers—or perhaps it was his thumb—pressed against the aching bud between her swollen folds and set off a series of sharp but pleasurable waves in her lower body. At the same time, he drove himself into her several times, his thrusts seemingly tied to the waves of pleasure she was experiencing so that when one crested and stayed suspended, she held her breath and reveled as he once again drew his thumb over her womanhood and sent the wave of pure pleasure crashing, the sensation so powerful, she was quite sure she saw stars and bright lights and flashes of lightening behind her eyelids. The sound of his gentle curse filled the room as her lower body seemed suddenly awash in warmth.

  Her hands, until then simply hanging onto the sides of his body for dear life, slid down the length of his
torso, rounding his buttocks before coming to rest on the back of his thighs. His seemed to shudder at her touch, his breaths hard and sounding loud in her ear. His body suddenly slackened over hers, and his head fell onto the pillow next to her head.

  “I love you, Jane,” he whispered, his breaths sending a wash of warmth across her shoulder.

  Jane stilled herself, stunned at the simple words she had never before heard from a man’s lips.

  It had been nearly eighteen years since Andrew Burroughs had courted her! How could he admit such a thing now? Hadn’t she changed since those days they spent riding in the park? Hadn’t he changed since those days? Or had their time in bed sent his brain into a tailspin, forcing him to say words he couldn’t possibly mean?

  “Do not think too much just now, my love,” he murmured, as if he could read her thoughts.

  She stilled herself and turned her head slightly. The simple movement sent a wave of pleasure through her body again, as if the first wave had been too much and some pleasure had been left in reserve.

  “I don’t know that I am capable of rational thought at the moment,” she murmured with a sudden grin.

  He returned the grin before moving to kiss her earlobe. “It’s the irrational thoughts you should avoid right now,” he countered, the words sounding loud and breathy in her ear. “I want you, Jane. I always have,” he whispered. With that, his body seemed to relax onto hers, his breathing finally evening out after a moment or two.

  Although he was a tall man, Jane found Andrew wasn’t particularly heavy, at least not so heavy the mattress couldn’t support the both of them. She could breathe just fine, and she rather liked how his body seemed much like a heavy quilt in winter, draped over her body and acting as a cocoon of comfort. His even breathing told her he had fallen asleep, a situation she found rather endearing just then.

  I want you. I always have.

  Such welcome words! she thought in her drowsy stupor.

  In moments, Jane, too was asleep.

  They hadn’t stayed asleep for long, though. It was as if their bodies were well aware of one another, their arousals timed so they awoke and made quiet love several more times throughout the night. One time had been almost frantic, as if they both craved a quick and intense release, while another was achingly slow and yet so satisfying, they had sighed in unison after the pleasure subsided.