Beauty and the Earl

by Patricia Grasso

  Miles looked around and saw her, still fully clothed, sleeping on the chaise. He saw the czar’s miniature clutched in her hand and felt his heart wrench. Lifting it out of her hand, he placed it on a nearby table.

  “Miles?” She sounded more asleep than awake.

  He knelt beside the chaise. “I am sorry, Princess.”

  “You were right. The czar never loved me.”

  “No, Princess, I was wrong. Your father loves you, but his position prevented him from acting upon his love.”

  “Do you truly think so?”

  “How could he not love a daughter as sweet as you?”

  His mouth covered hers in a slow, healing kiss. That melted into another. And then another.

  “Come, Princess.” Miles stood and offered her his hand. “I will help you to bed.”

  Amber placed her hand in his and rose from the chaise.

  Miles unfastened the buttons on her gown and pushed it off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. He pressed his lips on the delicate nape of her neck and pulled the pins from her hair. A curtain of pale hair cascaded to her waist.

  Turning her around, Miles scooped her into his arms and carried her across the chamber to the bed. He undressed her slowly—chemise, shoes, stockings, garters.

  Amber reached to unfasten his robe, but he stayed her hand.

  “I want to pleasure you,” Miles said, his voice husky.

  Joining her on the bed, Miles kissed each foot in turn and ran his tongue up the sensitive insides of her thighs. He tongued her navel and continued burning a path to her breasts, pausing to lick each nipple into arousal.

  Her breath came in shallow gasps. She held him tightly against her breast, savoring the feeling of his lips. His lips drifted lower to her belly and beyond. He pressed his face against the moist softness between her thighs.

  Miles flicked his tongue up and down in a relentless but gentle assault on her womanhood. He nipped her tiny nub while his fingers squeezed and taunted her aroused nipples into tight buds.

  Surrendering herself, Amber melted against his tongue. She cried out as waves of throbbing pleasure washed over her.

  When her spasms ended, Miles lay beside her and pulled her against his body. He placed a finger across her lips when she would have spoken. “For tonight, I only want to hold you.”

  * * *

  Awakening alone the next morning, Amber wondered if she had dreamed the earl comforting her in the night. She rolled over, saw the indentation in the pillow, and slid her hand across it. There was nothing as intimate as pillows with indentations where a couple had lain together.

  Filled with optimism, Amber began her morning ablutions. After changing into a white morning gown with petal pink embroidery at neckline and hem, she looked out the window at a sunny morning—she hoped a harbinger of a bright future.

  Why did the idea of caring for her disturb the earl? He seemed to care for her at certain moments and then would distance himself. He had hurt her feelings the previous evening and then tried to make amends. She needed to be patient with him. If only she knew an experienced woman who could counsel her. She didn’t think the earl’s sister would be a good choice, nor could she ask one of the servants. She would need to follow her instincts, but their whole relationship confused her.

  Amber walked downstairs to the dining room. The earl wasn’t there.

  “Good morning, Your Highness,” Pebbles greeted her.

  “Good morning, Just-Pebbles.” Amber managed a smile for the majordomo, though her spirits had slipped a notch. “I will serve myself this morning.”

  Crossing to the sideboard, Amber selected a slice of ham and two baked eggs. Then she sat at the table, and the majordomo served her a cup of coffee along with the Times.

  “This newspaper is dated yesterday.”

  “His Lordship has it delivered from London,” Pebbles explained.

  “Where is His Lordship?”

  “He rode out earlier to inspect drainage problems on the estate.”

  Amber felt relieved that the earl was attending to business instead of avoiding her. She glanced at the portrait of the earl’s late wife and then looked toward the sideboard. Only the majordomo was in the dining room.

  Amber beckoned to him. “Just-Pebbles, I know I am breaching proper etiquette, but would you please sit here with me?”

  The majordomo appeared surprised, but did as she requested.

  Amber chewed on her bottom lip for a moment while she summoned her courage. “Why does His Lordship have the late countess’s portrait in every chamber?”

  “I have known His Lordship since his boyhood,” the majodomo said. “Before his marriage, the earl was quite the lady’s man who, I daresay, believed he would never fall in love. Then he met Lady Brenna.

  “Once the earl recovered from his near-fatal injury, he ordered portraits of his late wife brought from his London town mansion. I think he feels guilty to be alive while she lies in an early grave. Also, the burn scars on his face prevented his emotional recovery. Had he never been injured, the earl would have resumed living before now. Please, Your Highness, be patient with His Lordship. He is a good man.”

  “Yes, His Lordship is a good man.” Amber smiled at the majordomo. “Thank you for your insights, Just-Pebbles.”

  “You are welcome, Your Highness.” Pebbles returned to his station near the sideboard.

  Amber turned her attention to the Times and read while she ate. The society gossip column on page three caught her eye.

  …and the latest on the Kazanov princes. Prince Rudolf and Princess Samantha attended the opera with the princess’s sister and her husband, the Earl and Countess of Winchester . . . . Prince Viktor and Princess Adele were seen enjoying a heated discussion in Hyde Park . . . . Prince Stepan supped privately with a certain opera singer, London’s latest rage, also rumored to be a certain duke’s by-blow . . . . Prince Mikhail and his young daughter inspected ponies at Smithfield in the company of the aforementioned opera singer’s sister . . . . Hmmmm.

  Amber had not known Viktor and Mikhail had married. Nor would she have imagined her cousins becoming entrenched in London society. She decided to read the newspaper every morning. If Fedor arrived in England, the reporter would certainly remark upon his arrival.

  After breakfast, Amber wandered outside. She tended the rosebush, all the while wondering if the earl had returned from his business.

  Miles was still missing at lunch.

  Amber went upstairs to rest, wondering what was delaying him. As she passed the second floor, she stopped to stare down the corridor leading to the mansion’s east wing, burned in the fire. Perhaps if she sneaked into that wing and found the cause of the fire, the earl could lay his wife to rest, leaving a piece of his heart for her.

  Amber looked around to make certain no servants were loitering in the vicinity. With determination etched across her delicate features, she started down the corridor slowly. Very slowly. Filled with trepidation, she forced herself to move forward. With each step, the oppressive darkness pressed heavily against her, surrounding her like a tangible thing.

  Were ghosts lurking in the east wing? Were monsters hiding in the dark? No matter. She would brave anything to bring the earl closer. Her future depended on her courage to face what she feared most, the darkness.

  Passing a soot-coated window, Amber spied the earl riding up the stately brick drive. She would need to postpone her investigation lest he discover she was disobeying his command to stay away from the east wing. Retracing her steps, she hurried to her bedchamber where she remained until the evening meal.

  When she walked into the dining room for dinner, Amber felt her heart sink to her stomach. The earl had deserted her again.

  Pebbles rushed forward. “Your Highness, allow me to escort you to the table,” Pebbles said, rushing forward. “His Lordship sends his regrets. The estate ledgers need his attention.”

  So do I. She managed a smile for the majordomo. “Did the drainage pr
oblem require his attention all day?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “You will deliver a tray to His Lordship?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Amber sat at the table for more than an hour as she had done the previous evening. Deeming enough time had passed, she left the dining room and walked upstairs.

  Amber paused outside the library to compose her rioting nerves. She needed to assume a casual attitude lest she frighten him with her eagerness.

  After taking a fortifying breath, Amber stepped inside the library. The earl looked up and then stood as she walked toward him.

  “I do hope the drainage problem is not too severe,” she said, a smile pasted on her face, gesturing him to sit.

  “Nothing that cannot be corrected,” Miles said, sitting down again.

  “I instructed Just-Pebbles to prepare you a tray. He will be along shortly.”

  “Thank you for thinking of me.”

  Amber hesitated, searching for something to say. “If you do not mind, I would like to borrow a book.”

  “Help yourself.”

  Amber crossed the library, feeling his gaze on her the whole way. She browsed the bookshelves without actually reading the titles and searched her mind for a reason to delay leaving. Finding none, she grabbed one of the volumes, cast the earl a blushing smile, and went to her bedchamber.

  The earl is not avoiding me, she told herself, tossing the book on the bedside table. Tomorrow the drainage problem will be solved, and he will spend time with me. At least take his meals with me.

  Much later, Amber awakened when Miles climbed into bed and drew her against his body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips and her body to his. She felt him lift her nightshift over her head, and then his hands were caressing her breasts, teasing her nipples.

  “I want you,” he whispered against her lips.

  “And I want you,” she said on a sigh.

  Amber spread her legs as he moved over her. His body joined hers, and together they found a shared paradise.

  Awakening alone in the morning, Amber wondered again if she had dreamed the earl in bed with her. Their lovemaking had seemed real, but that day proved to be a replica of the previous one.

  And so did the day after that.

  Ignored by day and possessed by night, Amber felt her irritation growing with each passing moment. She knew one thing for certain. She had no wish for a phantom lover. She refused to marry and live alone.

  After breakfasting and lunching alone for the fourth day, Amber decided she would not dine alone again. There was little chance for a married life together if the earl refused to take his meals with her.

  Amber walked into the dining room that evening and looked at the majordomo. His face was red with embarrassment. Apparently, the earl had given his man another poor excuse for not dining with her, but this time she was ready.

  “Is the earl tied to his desk this evening?”

  “I’m afraid so, Your Highness.”

  “My poor lord is forced to eat a lonely dinner every evening,” Amber said, feigning concern. “Fill two plates with whatever Cook has prepared and serve us in His Lordship’s study.”

  “With pleasure, Your Highness.”

  Amber led the way into the library and watched the earl stand when she entered. Surprise registered on his face when he spied the majordomo, tray in hand, following in her wake.

  “I have become as weary of dining alone as you must be,” Amber said, reaching his desk. “Just-Pebbles will serve us here. I am positive you can spare me thirty minutes of your time.”

  Miles acquiesced with a nod of his head. He cleared his desk of papers so the majordomo could set the tray down.

  Amber sat in the chair on the other side of the desk, gave him her sunshine smile, and looked at the roasted beef. “I believe Cook has outdone herself tonight.”

  “That will be all,” Miles instructed his man.

  “Yes, my lord.” Pebbles grinned, indicating his awareness that the princess had outsmarted his master.

  “Thirty minutes,” Miles called before the majordomo disappeared out the door.

  They ate in silence. Amber could not think of a single topic to discuss, the tone of his voice saying “thirty minutes” having stolen all coherent thoughts.

  “Are you enjoying Studies in Aristocratic Finances in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries?”

  Amber stared at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Are you enjoying the book you borrowed?” Miles repeated. “You know, Studies in Aristocratic Finances in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries.”

  Amber felt the blood rushing to her face. She did not want him to ask questions about a book that had served as a pretext to see him. “I am finding the subject difficult to understand,” she hedged, setting her napkin on the desk. “The topic is rather dry.”

  The earl would not allow her to retreat gracefully. “Why haven’t you returned it and chosen another?”

  “I did not want to disturb you.”

  “You disturbed me tonight.”

  Amber stood to leave. “I grew tired of living alone.”

  “Are you feeling neglected?” Miles relaxed back in his chair and studied her for a long moment. “I come to you every night.”

  “You come inside me, not to me,” Amber snapped, surprising him and herself. “I am not merely a body to be used as a receptacle for your seed and will not tolerate disrespect.”

  “I said you could never replace my wife,” Miles countered, rising from his chair. “The reality of that does indeed make you a body to nurture my heir.”

  Amber stepped back as if she had been struck, her complexion paling to a deathly white. The space between them loomed larger than his desk. “You are no better than my uncle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Amber showed him her back and walked away.

  “If you don’t like this arrangement, Your Highness, find another gentleman in London,” Miles called. “Better still, return to Russia.”

  Amber stopped short. The reality of Count Gromeko mating her with his stud came rushing back to her. No matter how contemptibly the earl behaved, what awaited her in Russia was worse.

  “You are right,” Amber amended herself, without turning to face him. “We made a bargain. I gain the protection of your name, and you gain an heir. I apologize for interrupting and promise not to do so again.”

  “Stop,” Miles ordered when she started for the door.

  Amber saw him crossing the library toward her. Would he refuse to accept her apology? Would he return her to her cousin? What would she do if that happened? Uncle Fedor was no fool and had probably guessed her destination.

  “Why do you accept harsh treatment from me?” Miles demanded, towering over her. “I want to know the reason you left Russia.”

  Overwhelmed by the fear of Fedor in London, Amber could not face another moment keeping her secret hidden inside. She hung her head, covered her face with her hands, and began to weep.

  And then she felt the earl wrapping his arms around her. He guided her to the settee in front of the hearth.

  “Tell me what frightens you,” Miles said, sitting beside her.

  “I overheard a conversation between Uncle Fedor and Count Gromeko,” Amber began, looking at him with violet eyes swimming with tears. “Gromeko is a slave dealer and purchased me from my uncle. He owns a male slave with the same coloring as I, which is highly prized in the eastern markets. He bought me to mate with this stud. When sold, our children would bring him and my uncle great wealth.”

  “Good God, nobody owns slaves.”

  “Nobody in England owns slaves,” Amber corrected him. “The world is not England. Uncle Fedor is a smart man and most likely guessed my destination. He and Gromeko will be searching for me.”

  “I will protect you with my life,” Miles promised her. “They will need to kill me before getting their hands on you.”

  Am
ber touched his masked cheek. “Do you understand the reason I need a husband?”

  Miles turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. “I understand everything.”

  Chapter 8

  There are worse things in life than being scarred by fire. Miles realized how foolishly he had lived for the past four years. The death of his wife was a heart wrenching loss, but many men lost their wives in a variety of ways from childbirth to illness to accident. The princess had faced the prospect of a lifetime of sexual slavery, a future so horrifyingly repugnant, his mind almost failed to grasp its reality.

  He had made love to the princess and taken her virginity. She belonged to him, and he would kill the man who tried to steal her away.

  Amber was more than a beautiful woman. Brave and nurturing, she deserved the happiness she had never known.

  God had taken his wife and his face. In return, He had sent him an angel. Salvation had appeared in the form of a Russian princess.

  “Come,” Miles held his hand out to her.

  They left the library and walked upstairs to her bedchamber. He unfastened her gown and reached for the sheerer-than-gossamer nightgown lying across the bed.

  “You do not need to baby me.”

  “I want to baby you.

  Amber let her gown drop to the floor. She stood in front of him, clad only in her lacy chemise, silk stockings, garters, and shoes. Reaching out, she stayed the hand that held her nightgown.

  He met her gaze. “You don’t need to do this tonight.”

  “I want to do this.”

  Amber pressed herself against his body, entwining her arms around his neck. She drew his head down, her lips capturing his in a smoldering kiss. Her gesture surprised Miles. She wanted him. There was no mistaking the passion in her kiss.

  Amber lifted her lips from his and stepped back a pace. Holding his gaze captive to hers, she slipped the straps of her chemise off her shoulders, letting the garment pool at her feet. And then she stood only in her silk stockings, garters, and shoes.

  The princess could not possibly know how arousing she looked. When she caressed the bulge in his breeches, he snaked his hands out and yanked her against him, where she belonged.