First Earl I See Tonight--A Debutante Diaries Novel

by Anna Bennett

  The hell of it was, it felt new to him, too.

  “I’ll have to return to my bedchamber soon,” she said. “But we have a little more time. Teach me something new.”

  Shit. “Very well, siren. Tonight’s lesson shall be all about … letting go.”

  * * *

  Fiona drank in the sight of Gray’s bare torso, mesmerized by the way the firelight danced on his skin. She should have asked him to take off his shirt before she’d begun sketching so that she could capture the sinewy muscles of his shoulders and the contours of his chest and abdomen on paper. But she doubted she’d ever be able to do them justice.

  He moved with the confidence and power of an athlete, and she supposed that the many hours he’d spent repairing the roof, mending fences, and working in the fields had given him a physique far superior to the average earl’s.

  And yet it wasn’t his good looks that had drawn Fiona to him so much as his manner. She’d never met anyone who sparked with such intensity, such drive and determination. It might have frightened her if she didn’t know that the source of that flame was a deep and abiding loyalty to his grandmother.

  No, Gray didn’t frighten her … but he did perplex her. She speared her fingers through the curls at his nape as he drew circles on the inside of her thigh, easing his way closer and closer to her entrance. His gaze lingered on her mouth, breasts, and hips, and she basked in the knowledge that he wanted her. Or, at the very least, desired her.

  “What, precisely, does this lesson entail?” She sighed softly as he nuzzled the underside of one breast. “Must I jot down some notes?” she teased. “Memorize a series of steps?”

  “It’s not that sort of lesson,” he said, his words brimming with promise. “All you must do is relax and tell me what feels good.”

  “I feel certain I can do that.”

  “Excellent.” A warm, strong hand glided over her hip, cupped her bottom, and squeezed—as though he were claiming her as his own.

  “Mmm,” she murmured. “Very nice.”

  With a growl, he took her nipple in his mouth and drew it into a tight bud. She arched her back and moaned as desire, raw and hot, spiraled inside her. He tugged on the nightgown still bunched at her waist and slid the soft fabric between her thighs. With slow, steady strokes, he caressed her, stoking her desire. The sensation was lovely, like a feather tantalizing and teasing … but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more pressure, more friction, just more.

  As if he knew, Gray pushed aside the nightgown and found her entrance with his fingers. He lifted his gaze to hers, a question in his eyes.

  “Yes.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him with everything she felt—affection, lust, and something else, which she didn’t dare name. He slid a finger inside her, filling her and thrusting in a rhythm that resonated through her body like an echo—except instead of fading away, it grew stronger. More intense. More demanding.

  He whispered in her ear. “Move your hips, siren. Take what you want.”

  Letting passion guide her, she threw one leg over his and moved with him.

  He groaned as he slid another finger inside her. “You feel so … damned … good.”

  Gray seemed to be everywhere. His warm lips trailed kisses down her neck. His hard chest pressed against her sensitive breasts. His sure fingers stroked her inside and out. Grasping his shoulders, she angled her hips to take him deeper. And the echo became a roar. Starting in her core and radiating through her limbs till she was shimmering. Floating. Free.

  She gasped at the raw power of it, cried out in awe. All the while, Gray held her. “Yes, Fiona. So beautiful. So perfect.”

  And she believed him. He’d uttered the words so fervently that it was impossible to doubt them—or him. She wrapped up the warm, precious sentiment and tucked it into her heart for safekeeping. Snuggling closer, she savored the comforting weight of his arm slung around her waist.

  When at last she was capable of moving, she caressed his jaw and brushed a kiss across his lips. “That was a very good lesson. Extremely enlightening.” More soberly, she added, “I shall never forget it.”

  He laced his fingers through hers and planted a reverent kiss on the back of her hand. “Nor shall I.”

  She curled against his warm body, savoring the intimacy of his skin next to hers. If she succeeded in convincing him to marry her, perhaps every night would feel like this. But it was almost too much to wish for. She’d convinced herself that she’d be content to marry without love. Now … well, she wasn’t so sure.

  But she was certain of one thing. If she had to marry someone—and she did—she desperately wanted it to be Gray.

  She nuzzled her cheek against his chest and traced a circle around his flat nipple. “I want to please you,” she said. “As you pleased me.”

  His heartbeat tripped beneath her cheek, but when he spoke his voice was full of regret. “I am more tempted than you know. But it wouldn’t be wise. You must return to your bedchamber before your sister misses you.”

  Fiona was not giving up so easily. She traced the top edge of his trousers with her fingertips. “Just a half hour more?”

  He sat up abruptly—as though he didn’t trust himself to remain there a second longer—and she instantly felt the loss of warmth. Of him.

  “I have already taken more liberties than I should have.”

  “You did not take anything,” she countered. “I freely gave myself.”

  He scooped his shirt off the floor and stuffed an arm into the sleeve. “True. But you are still hoping that I’ll marry you.”

  Fiona slipped her nightgown over her head and stood toe to toe with him. “Perhaps. But this is not a scheme to coerce you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t believe it is your intent to ensnare me. But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

  His words cut to the core. She was not trying to manipulate him into doing her bidding. What she had in mind was more akin to … seduction. Blast it all, the line was admittedly murky. But she couldn’t let him shut her out completely. Grasping at a thread of hope, she waved a hand at her sketchbook. “I … I haven’t finished drawing you yet.”

  He arched a brow as he shoved his shirttail into his trousers. “That’s because we squandered our time on … other things.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Shall we meet again tomorrow night?”

  “I don’t think so.” He wriggled his shoulders into his jacket, retrieved her robe, and handed it to her. “Give me some time. I shall think of a more suitable place for sketching.”

  “You don’t want to be alone with me.”

  “It’s not a matter of wanting, Fiona. Trust me.”

  “I do.” She picked up her sketchbook and tucked her pencil behind an ear. “I wish you trusted me half as much as I trust you.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “If you expect too much from me, you are destined to be disappointed. I guarantee it.”

  Perhaps she would, but what choice did she have? She needed her dowry to pay off the blackmailer, and she’d come too far to turn back now. “I would rather make the mistake of expecting too much from you than expecting too little.”

  “Go to your bed and sleep well,” he said simply. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  She would not let him discourage her—not after what they’d just shared. She shot him a serene smile before padding across the library toward the door. Her hand on the knob, she paused and faced him. “Six days,” she said. “That’s all the time I have left. I will marry someone before then, and I hope that someone is you.”

  Chapter 15

  On Secret Assignations

  Miss Haywinkle was inordinately fond of reminding her pupils that rules formed the very fabric of a civilized society. She asserted we should be grateful for the myriad strictures that governed our behavior, as they were designed to protect young ladies. She never elaborated on what, precisely, the rules were designed to protect us from, but our vivid adolescent imagin
ations filled in the blanks. Indeed, she insisted, rules of polite behavior were for our own good.

  But I am not so certain.

  A midnight rendezvous with a gentleman is, of course, strictly forbidden by the rules. I suppose Miss H. would have said that such a meeting could only result in a proper miss’s ruin. A young woman might well suffer the loss of her innocence, and if the gentleman did not agree to marry her afterward, alas, all was lost.

  But the headmistress should have also instructed us that some experiences, no matter how illicit, are well worth the risk.

  Miss H. said the rules were intended to keep us safe.

  But perhaps they were intended to keep us in the dark.

  Fiona slept late the next morning and woke only when Mary burst into her room and drew the curtains wide, spilling sunlight across the bed. “Miss Lily sent me to see if you’d taken ill,” the maid informed her. “She said she doesn’t want to share a bedchamber with you if you’ve contracted the plague.”

  Fiona buried her head under the pillow. “Her show of sisterly concern is touching.”

  “If you want to know the truth, I think she misses you. Everyone is in the drawing room, making plans for the afternoon. I’ll help you dress so that you may join them.”

  “Would it be terribly rude of me to stay in bed all day?”

  “I’m afraid you’d be the subject of gossip.” Mary held a gown in each hand. “Which one?”

  “The sprigged muslin, please.” She sat up and stretched.

  The maid gasped. “Your hair, Miss Fiona! What happened to your braid?”

  Fiona patted her head and felt a bird’s nest of curls. “It seems my ribbon’s gone missing. Thank heaven you’re here to make me presentable.”

  The maid clucked her tongue. “The state you’re in? We’ll be lucky to have you downstairs before dinner.”

  With Mary’s help, it actually took Fiona less than a half hour to wash, dress, and style her hair into a pretty twist. She was looking forward to seeing Gray again, but by the time she breezed into the drawing room only the women remained.

  Gray’s grandmother sat on the settee, flanked by Mama and Lady Callahan. Lily and Sophie were standing beside the pianoforte, paging through sheet music. “Good morning, everyone,” Fiona said with a smile.

  “There you are, my dear!” Mama exclaimed. “You just missed the gentlemen. They’re all preparing to go hunting for the afternoon.”

  “Apparently, shooting arrows at archery targets yesterday did not satisfy their primitive urge to slay innocent creatures,” Lily said dryly. She slid onto the pianoforte bench and played a few bars of a ballad.

  “Men will be men,” Lady Callahan said, ever philosophical.

  “Well then,” Fiona said, “we shall have to find something equally exciting to occupy us.”

  Sophie winced. “Mama suggested I accompany Lily at the pianoforte.”

  “But it’s a beautiful day,” Fiona said. “I think we should venture outside.”

  “Where on earth would we go?” Mama asked—as if they were stranded in the middle of a strange and foreign land.

  “We could take a jaunt to the nearby village. Perhaps see some of the local sights and do a bit of shopping?”

  “Shopping? Here?” Mama said, aghast. “Whatever would we buy—goats?” She chuckled at the thought.

  “A trip to the village is a capital idea,” the dowager countess announced. If she took offense at Mama’s words, she showed no sign of it. “The baker makes the best gingerbread cakes in the county, and the millinery shop sells lovely bonnets—the simple yet elegant sort one rarely sees in town.”

  Lily was already putting away the sheet music. “Sounds like the perfect outing to me. I’m going to fetch a shawl. Mama, shall I retrieve yours as well?”

  “I don’t know.” She wrung her hands. “I think I’d prefer to remain here. I’m sure the village is very quaint, but I’ve no need for bread or bonnets. Besides, my gout has been acting up lately.”

  “Oh dear,” Lady Callahan said, obviously torn. “I think I must stay here to keep my friend company.”

  “Do not fret,” the countess said. “We shall return with enough gingerbread cakes for both of you and the gentlemen. Gray can eat a dozen at one sitting.” Winking at Fiona, Lily, and Sophie, she said, “I’ll send for the coach and we’ll leave in a quarter of an hour.”

  Buoyed at the prospect of exploring the village, Fiona almost forgot her disappointment over not seeing Gray. But he’d said he’d arrange another time and place for her to sketch him—and she knew he’d be true to his word.

  Fiona, Lily, and Sophie darted upstairs to gather their reticules, shawls, and gloves. They were heading back to meet the countess when Fiona realized she’d left her bonnet on the bed. “I’ve forgotten something. I’ll meet you in the foyer in two minutes,” she said, turning around.

  “Hurry,” Lily said. “I don’t think it’s good form to keep a countess waiting.”

  Fiona retrieved her bonnet in a trice, and when she arrived at the foyer the butler told her the other ladies awaited her in the coach.

  “Thank you,” she said, a little breathless. He was about to open the front door for her when a male voice sounded behind her.

  “Miss Hartley, do you have a moment?”

  She turned to find Mr. Kirby dressed in his hunting jacket, looking very dashing—and did her best to hide her disappointment. “Good morning, Mr. Kirby,” she said politely. “I’m afraid I am already late in joining the rest of my party. We’re heading to the village.”

  “I understand,” he said smoothly. “And I shall soon be leaving with the gentlemen. Perhaps we could speak when we both return? There’s a matter I wished to discuss.”

  “Certainly.” She swallowed, wondering if he suspected that she’d been with the earl last night. But perhaps she was jumping to conclusions. Mr. Kirby had seemed rather interested in Lily during the archery competition yesterday; maybe he wished to know if her affections were already engaged. Surely that was it. “I will look for you upon my return so that we may resume our conversation.”

  “Excellent.” He flashed a winning smile and tipped his hat to her. “Enjoy your outing.”

  * * *

  Fiona was enchanted by the village. Everywhere their group went, the townspeople asked after the earl, eager to hear of his progress at the Fortress. All were delighted to know that he was entertaining, even on a small scale. And more than a few of the older folk raised their eyebrows upon meeting Fiona, Lily, and Sophie. They clearly hoped the earl was courting one of them and thinking of settling down. Maybe even producing an heir.

  The villagers obviously adored the countess as well. The baker insisted on giving her several pies to take home—in addition to the gingerbread cakes—and refused to take the money she offered. All three girls bought bonnets and ribbons at the milliner’s, delighting the owner. Fiona was surprised to find a darling little shop where she could purchase some new pencils and sketch paper.

  “I hope we’ll have room for all our purchases,” Fiona teased. “Perhaps we should begin loading them.”

  “Sophie and I want to take a quick look at the produce cart across the way,” Lily said. “We’re going to pick up a few items for a picnic tomorrow. Shall we meet you back at the coach?”

  “Yes, go on,” the countess urged. “Fiona, you may stay with me, and we shall nestle ourselves in the coach where we can sneak a cake before anyone is the wiser.”

  Fiona helped the older woman into the cab, placed a light blanket across her lap, and sat on the bench opposite her. “I’m so glad you came with us,” Fiona said. “I hope all the walking hasn’t overtaxed you.”

  The countess smoothed a silver strand behind her ear, where it glistened in stark contrast to her otherwise dark hair. “Not at all. I enjoy being around young people—especially friends of my grandson’s.”

  Fiona’s cheeks warmed. “’Tis a shame the gentlemen had other plans today. I’m sure you w
ould have liked for Lord Ravenport to join us.”

  “Actually, I’m glad to have the chance to speak with you privately.”

  Fiona’s belly somersaulted. “You are?”

  “Mmm.” The countess reached into a basket on the seat beside her and withdrew a delectable-looking cake, which she handed to Fiona. She helped herself to another, closing her eyes as she savored the first bite.

  Fiona tasted the aromatic gingerbread, letting the frosting and spices mix on her tongue. Heavenly.

  “My grandson has endured much over the last twenty years,” the countess continued. “More than any young man should have to.”

  “I am sorry,” Fiona said, sincere. “He told me a little of the Fortress’s history and how it fell into disrepair.”

  “Did he tell you about his parents?”

  “Only that his father did not take his duties seriously, and that his mother preferred to live in town.”

  The countess’s eyes clouded over. “Yes. There is more, of course. There’s always more to a person’s story.”

  Fiona swallowed her last bite and perched on the edge of her seat as she waited for the countess to reveal a tidbit of Gray’s past—anything that might help her unlock the secrets guarding his heart. “What happened to the former earl and his wife?” Fiona recalled thinking it strange that no portraits of Gray’s parents graced the walls, but perhaps he wished to protect them from damage during the renovations.

  “That is Gray’s story to tell,” the countess said. “Be patient with him, and I’m certain he will in due time.”

  “He is a very private person,” Fiona said dryly, thinking she’d just uttered the understatement of the century.

  “He has good cause to be wary of others, but if you can manage to wriggle past all his defenses, you will earn his devotion … and more.”

  The problem was that his defenses were the equivalent of towering walls, alligator-infested moats, and a spiked portcullis. “I wish I were half as confident as you.”

  “He already likes you; anyone could see that. And it’s not so difficult to gain his trust. Confide in him. Tell him your greatest fears … and perhaps he’ll tell you his.”