Undone by the Earl

by Elizabeth Rue

  He stared down at her, his eyes narrowed with desire.

  She smiled. “You are wearing far too many clothes.”

  He grinned.

  A moment later his boots, stockings, coat, and shirt vanished into the tall grass. As he began to unbutton his trousers, she grasped his hands.

  “I want to,” she said.

  He lay back and she bent over him. She freed the buttons, and then tugged the damp trousers down his strong legs. Finally, he was as naked as she was.

  For a moment she simply stared. He was so handsome, with rumpled sandy hair and a wide smile and a muscular body that she longed to touch more, and to see if he felt as good everywhere as she’d long imagined.

  He did.

  “It’s like soft wool.” Smiling, she gently pressed her hands against his chest, caressing the dark hair. She drew her fingertips along his tight muscles, across his wide shoulders, following the taut curves of his arm, the slight roughness of his elbow, to his broad, strong hand. She caressed his fingers, which seemed to make him breathe especially fast.

  She followed the same path back, stroking up his arm and returning to his chest. Her nails brushed the smooth skin of his nipple and his abdomen tightened, drawing her gaze to the thin trail of hair that led down to where his erection jutted up against him.

  She had felt that part of him before, straining against his breeches, pressing into her, but she’d never set eyes on his or any other man’s until now. Did they all grow so huge when men were aroused?

  He raised himself onto his elbows and watched her study him. She traced gentle circles on his stomach, her hands not quite touching that fascinating, most mysterious part of him.

  How would he react were she to merely brush against it...

  He breathed in sharply, his stomach tightening beneath her fingers.

  Or touch lightly along its length...

  He groaned.

  Or slide her fingers around its width and grasp it, gently, in her hand...

  He growled and drew her hand away.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Or it will all be over too soon.” He dragged her into his arms and rolled her onto her back.

  He lowered himself over her, cupped a breast in one hand, and drew her nipple into his mouth. She gasped as warmth flooded her body, building to an agonizing pressure as he suckled and caressed her. Just when she was certain she couldn’t bear any more, his hand left her breast and glided across her stomach, moving lower. She reached out, staying his hand. His whole body tensed, as if he feared she’d changed her mind.

  Quickly she reassured him that wasn’t the case, as her hands explored every part of him once more. She said with her fingers and mouth and body what she was afraid to speak—that she adored him, that she thought him the most wonderful man in the world, that she felt more passion for him than she’d ever thought possible.

  That she loved him.

  She knew, although he didn’t love her, that he felt a passion for her more powerful than any ordinary lust. Skilled as he was at lovemaking, he still trembled and gasped from her inexperienced caresses, his response making it clear he was close to losing what little control he had left.

  Finally, she allowed him to touch her again, to slide his hand across her stomach and between her thighs. His strong fingers brushed against her most sensitive flesh, caressing her with his fingertips, building the sweet pressure even higher.

  She arched against him and he groaned.

  “Adrian,” she gasped. “Please.”

  His hands left her and he shifted until his erection pressed against her instead. She understood that he was only inches from taking her, from changing everything. But all she wanted was to feel him inside her.

  “Anna,” he whispered, “tell me now if you wish me to stop. I can still—”

  “No.” She spread her legs wider and raised her hips, offering him all of her. He answered by pushing inside her. She gasped from the strangeness of it, and the wonder that he could fit.

  For a moment he didn’t move. His breath was ragged as he held himself over her.

  “Am I hurting you?” he whispered.

  “No. Please, do not stop.” She reached up, pulled his head towards her, and kissed him.

  He slowly began to move, lifting one hand to her hip and guiding her to his rhythm. Soon she matched his movements, her heart racing madly again, her breath shallow and fast.

  The ecstasy he’d created with the gentleness of his fingers he now made her feel with each thrust of his body. She clutched him tighter, pressing her fingertips into the muscles of his back, savoring the delicious weight of him against her, and the fullness of him as he moved within her.

  She breathed in the sweetness of the grass and flowers around them and the musk scent of him as their rhythm quickened and her heart raced ever faster. Each time they drove against each other, even more pleasure wracked her body, bringing her closer and closer to release.

  He whispered her name and thrust hard, this time not retreating but holding her tightly against him. As she heard him moan and felt him shudder, the sound and feel of his pleasure and the wonderful pressure of him against her sent waves of ecstasy through her.

  Soon after, as their breathing began to slow, she fell back against the earth and let her hands drop from him. After a moment she opened her eyes to see him still leaning above her. Sweat glistened on his brow and neck. His lips were parted as he caught his breath, his handsome mouth curled into a smile.

  He kissed her tenderly, lingeringly. Then very gently, he pulled out of her and lay beside her. He slipped his arm around her and cradled her against his chest. With the other hand, he stroked her hair.

  “We shall marry as soon as I can arrange a license,” he said. He pressed his mouth against the top of her head. “We shall tell no one beforehand, so no one can dispute it.” He meant his aunt, of course. And there would almost certainly be others who would try and dissuade him from a match to a woman so beneath him in birth, circumstance, and connections. No matter what, the world would never judge her good enough for him.

  But she refused to think about that now. She closed her eyes and savored the warmth of him, the softness of his chest hair beneath her cheek, and the gradually slowing rhythm of his heart that echoed her own.

  He likely took her silence as assent, never considering that she would refuse him. To him there was no alternative. He was now bound by honor to marry her. She felt a twinge of guilt at deceiving him. By refusing him, she would be denying him the only noble course of action. Yet she tried to tell herself that if no one knew what had happened, it wasn’t wrong.

  Doubt gnawed at her, but she pushed it away. She couldn’t marry him, not for duty or honor or even for such intense passion as they’d just shared. None of those were enough to claim his fidelity. Her unsuitability as a wife would likely hasten his resentment, but even if he didn’t completely regret the match, he would probably give his heart to another woman someday and when he did, she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear the pain.

  She wouldn’t end up as her mother had, wedded to a man she loved hopelessly, unrequited, while he shared his soul with a beloved mistress. She wouldn’t make herself or her children so miserable.

  Children.

  It was unlikely she would conceive this once, but if she did... If she did she could live like Julia, supported and protected, hidden from respectable society. She wouldn’t be able to see her friends freely. She might not even be able to see Madeline as she pleased. But she knew the risks when she gave into her passion, and hopefully, it wouldn’t come to such dire straits. Yet if it did, she was prepared to endure the consequences. But was it fair to allow a child to bear the shame for her selfishness? She had been selfish, yet she couldn’t summon any real remorse for what she’d done.

  “What are you thinking?” His soft voice startled her. “You look so serious. Do you regret what we have done?” He cupped her cheek with one hand and turned her head gently to look in his eyes. How
she loved his eyes, the always-changing green color, the gold speckles in the irises, the thick, dark lashes. What would it be like to have those eyes look at her with love?

  “No.” She covered his hand with her own, feeling the roughness and strength of his fingers and wishing she could know their touch for years to come, until they were both white-haired and stooped. Until they were too old for a tumble in a field but would look back upon their lives with contentment, their hearts still full of love for one another.

  A lovely, foolish dream.

  She closed her eyes and snuggled closer against him. His pulse had returned to a steady, slow beat beneath her ear. His skin was cool against hers.

  She wouldn’t think of the future but only of this afternoon, until the shadows grew long across the lake and the darkness forced them back to the manor and back to reality.

  Adrian held her. She smelled of lovemaking and grass and earth and the ever-present scent of roses that was uniquely her. He couldn’t stop gazing at her. Her face was so beautiful, every part of it. Her dark lashes resting against her cheeks and now hiding her marvelous sea-blue eyes. Her soft, sweet mouth. The delicate skin of her cheeks, which had grown delightfully flushed with pleasure from his touch but now retained only a pale pink tinge in the afterglow of passion. Her body was equally beautiful, supple and curvy and velvety soft in all the right places.

  He’d been with enough women—not half so many as the past rumors about him suggested—but still, he was experienced enough to know what just happened was extraordinary, and had little to do with the fact he’d been abstinent for so long.

  He traced a finger down the valley of her spine and up again, his other hand still caressing her hair. The prim, frowning Miss Colbrook was banished forever from his mind. Never again would he see her as anything but what she truly was—a woman who awed him with her passion, her resilience, and her intelligence, a woman who made him feel joy he’d never thought possible.

  For years to come, he wanted to find her reading in the window seat, hear the whisper of her shoes across the plush carpets, see her gaze at him challengingly across the broad dining room table, her eyes sparkling. He wanted her in his bed every night, as warm and sweet and eager as she’d been this afternoon.

  How amazing she’d looked when she’d first reclined across the ground, naked and stretching out her long, ivory limbs, smiling up at him—a scene more breathtaking than any he’d imagined. Heat rushed through him at the memory.

  Already he wanted her again.

  And why not, since she would soon be his wife? What was a second dishonor when the first was so irrevocable? Yet as fevered with passion as she’d been only moments before, she now seemed almost sad. Despite her saying she had no regrets, he feared the shock of what they’d done was affecting her. Now wasn’t the time to take her again. Instead, he held her, touching her hair with an almost reverent lightness.

  He did not deserve her. He wasn’t entitled to such happiness, not after the life he’d led, not after all the time he wasted in selfish pursuits, the mistakes he’d made, the pain he’d brought to his family.

  He did not deserve her, but he wouldn’t let her go. He’d decided as much when he took her innocence. He must marry her now, for no argument of birth or fortune could supersede a matter of honor. It was doubly so, for she was a member of his household, living under his protection, and he’d committed the most grievous trespass against her. The only answer was to give her the honor of his name.

  Gently, he smoothed an auburn lock between his fingers. Her eyes remained closed, but she smiled, looking at peace for the moment.

  He imagined holding her like this in the future, her beautiful body grown even more curvaceous, her belly hot beneath his hand, round with his child. His heir.

  His throat and chest tightened as the realization hit him.

  For the first time in his life, after over thirty miserable, selfish years, he was finally in love.

  20

  Mr. Sinclair returned to Wareton that evening. Anna found him in the garden after dinner, sprawled on a bench not far from the manor, a drink in one hand. When he caught sight of her, he staggered to his feet, clutching a nearby tree for support.

  “Miss Colbrook,” he said, “you are one of the few people here I am actually glad to see.”

  She sighed. “Mr. Sinclair.”

  “Have a drink with me.” He swung his cup towards her. It was polished silver, the initials AWS carved elaborately into the side.

  Adrian’s baby cup.

  She took it and promptly tipped it over, watching the amber liquid splatter onto the ground.

  “Ah, now why’d you do that?” he slurred, frowning. Then he shrugged. “Adrian’s worse than you, anyway. He’s ordered Smith to keep the best stuff away from me.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I took some anyway.”

  “I wish you were not so foxed.” She handed the cup back to him. “I need to speak with you about something very important.”

  He grinned. “Best that I am foxed, then.” He spun around and flung the cup into the hedgerow behind him. Waving his arm toward the bench, he turned back to face her. “Will you sit?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Well, I shall.” He fell onto the bench and leaned his elbows on his knees, swaying slightly. He grinned foolishly as he looked up at her. “You really are quite lovely. Not my sort, mind you, but I can see why Adrian is so besotted. He could barely keep his eyes off you to cut his steak at dinner. Thought he might accidentally stab himself.”

  Adrian besotted? Over her? She wished it were true.

  “And you have a glow about you this evening, I cannot say I’ve ever seen you look quite so radiant.”

  Dear heavens, did it show on her face, what they’d done?

  “Mr. Sinclair,” she said quickly, “do you ever remember conversations later when you are drunk?”

  He sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Good, then please listen to me.” She moved closer, until she stood almost over him. “You must promise me that you will not confront Sir Neville.”

  He stared up at her, smiled sadly, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, truly, but I cannot. One of these days I shall summon the courage and do what I should have long ago.”

  “Please, I understand that you wish to do the honorable thing, to take responsibility for your mistake, but there must be another way for you to make amends without risking your life.”

  “Ah, Miss Colbrook,” he said, “you make me sound so...noble, so heroic, wishing to finally make amends for my wrongdoing. Hearing you speak with such earnestness, I wish I were the man you describe, I truly do.”

  “But you are.”

  “No, I am not. I am spiteful and malicious and want vengeance on Adrian for the way he’s treated me. If I have to die to punish him, then so be it.”

  “I do not believe you. If you truly wanted to die, you would not practice shooting.”

  “Only to prove Adrian mistaken on that count as well,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” She remembered something that had pricked subtly at the back of her mind for the past few days. The night when Mr. Sinclair had confessed Adrian wasn’t the man responsible for Julia’s ruin, he had admitted doing wrong in the past. But he’d also said something she’d wondered about, that Adrian now assumed the worst, no matter what the truth of the matter might be...

  Good heavens, could it be?

  “Mr. Sinclair, did you compromise Miss Howe?”

  He looked startled, almost sober for a moment.

  “Why, Miss Colbrook,” he said, “you shock me.”

  “Answer me, please.”

  “Why should you doubt it?” His eyes narrowed. “A rakehell like myself? It must be true.”

  His expression was little proof of anything, as his face was so tight with anger and resentment towards his brother. But what if he wasn’t guilty, after all? That would make the situation… More frightening than ever.

  Fr
om what she’d observed, he and Adrian could both likely kill each other—if Sir Neville didn’t kill one of them first—before the truth would come out. Mr. Sinclair would apparently rather die than try to convince Adrian of his innocence. Months of growing resentment had turned Mr. Sinclair’s fury into something exceedingly dangerous. And Adrian’s stubbornness and anger at his brother were hardly less of a peril to them both.

  But if Mr. Sinclair wasn’t to blame, why would Julia accuse him? Unless the villain had refused to care for her? Or perhaps the man had been poor, and Julia believed she’d be better off under the protection of a wealthier gentleman?

  Anna imagined what Adrian’s reaction would be to the idea. She shouldn’t make such an accusation based only on a suspicion. But someone had to do something before disaster struck.

  “I shall help you both,” she muttered, looking down at Mr. Sinclair, “whether you wish it or not.”

  “Help us? Whether we wish it or not?” He belched softly. “Sounds like a very bad idea.”

  Anna had lain awake half the night, dreading what she must do.

  She had to tell Adrian that she wouldn’t marry him.

  His sense of honor would likely make him argue, but in the end, she believed he would be relieved. After a night to consider what had happened, his passion cooled, he’d likely realized what a mistake it would be to marry her. Her reason told her that it would be for the best and that he would agree. At the same time, she hoped desperately that she was wrong.

  The foolish part of her imagined that when he first caught sight of her today, he would smile, draw her into his arms, and act like a man very much in love. She fantasized that having been intimate would cause him to fall madly in love with her, change the rules of society, and bring instant peace to his troubled heart.

  Not surprisingly, in the morning reality was quite different.

  As she stepped into the study, he didn’t even smile, only glanced at her and continued pacing the length of the room, from fireplace to window and back again.

  “Adrian,” she said as she shut the door, “I must speak with you.”