Never Say Never to an Earl (Heart of Enquiry Book 5)

by Grace Callaway

  His incredulous repetition of her words ramped up her unease. That and the fact that he still had her pinned against the carriage cushions. In truth, she might have been terrified had she not been able to see his aura. Beneath the anger was vivid, pulsing worry.

  He was worried… for her?

  The knots in her chest eased slightly. “I thought that if I spoke to Miss French, I might be able to…”—she warned herself to tread lightly, for the last thing she wished was to let slip her freakish ability—“…figure out the truth and convince my brother to help you. My sister Emma has oft had success interviewing female suspects, so I thought I might give it a go. Ladies have a way of speaking with other ladies, if you know what I mean.”

  “I most assuredly do not know what you mean. Why don’t you explain to me why a well-bred virgin marches into the den of a whore and carries on as if she’s an investigator? While you’re at it, why don’t you clarify why you risked your neck—never mind your reputation—doing the most asinine thing in the history of asinine things?”

  His question ended on a roar, and Polly supposed she really ought to have been frightened. But she wasn’t, not of him, this man who feared for her safety, who’d recoiled at Nicoletta’s false accusations. Despite his domineering stance, waves of agitation poured off him, his heat and spicy male scent flooding her senses, the bleakness in his eyes pulling the truth from her.

  “I went because I misjudged you,” she said quietly. “You were right: I was wrong to assume the worst of what you said that night in the garden, and my behavior toward you since has reflected my unfair prejudice.”

  His brows snapped together. “So you went to Nicoletta’s out of obligation?”

  She could have left it at that. A part of her wanted to. But something in his fierce gaze would not allow anything but the complete truth. Her hand seemed to lift of its own accord. He jerked at her touch, his hard jaw ticking with tension against her gloved palm.

  “No, I went because I believe you,” she said steadily. “I believe that you’re not the type of man who would beat a woman—who would hurt someone less powerful. And after speaking with Miss French, I believe that she is lying, and you were framed, although I don’t know the reasons behind her evil scheme. But I vow I will convince my brother to take on your case.”

  He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. His brows-drawn expression was strangely vulnerable. “You… believe me?”

  “I believe you,” she reaffirmed, “and I’m sorry I misjudged you in the first place.”

  The yearning in his gaze, in his aura, was mesmerizing. A magnetic force seemed to vibrate between them, breath-stealing, irresistible, entraining her heartbeat to its ungoverned pulse. Every part of her felt innervated, thrumming with anticipation.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” he said hoarsely. “This wanting between us.”

  Their gazes held as a heartbeat ticked by. Then another. The world outside faded to the primitive drumming in her ears, and her chin dipped in a nearly imperceptible nod. After that, she didn’t know who made the first move, but the last thing she saw was smoldering blue before their mouths met in a crushing kiss.

  ~~~

  There would be consequences, but he was too far gone to give a damn. Had been from the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. A part of him had always known the risk she posed, but he’d never been good at denying what he wanted. And, by Jove, he wanted her.

  I believe you.

  The words hit his bloodstream like an aphrodisiac. Roaring need met with the heady relief that she was safe, and it was a combustible combination. Hunger roared through him, the rush as strong as that of the black devil, the bastard stirring but remaining asleep.

  The need he was feeling was all for Polly. All because of her.

  Pressing her into the corner of the carriage, he feasted on her mouth, her sweetness a drug and he an addict who’d been craving it since his last taste. He licked into her honeyed cove, coaxing her to kiss him back, and when her tongue brushed against his, that shy swipe travelled all the way to his groin. His bollocks swelled with pent-up seed. His cock was harder than a fire iron—Christ, from just a kiss.

  But kissing with her was different than with other women. It wasn’t just a prelude to fucking. It was… more. Her wanton innocence was, for him, the essence of pleasure. The way she received his questing tongue as if it were the sweetest treat—as if she would accept anything he gave her.

  As if she could want all of him, everything that he was.

  Ravenous, he left her mouth for her earlobe, tugging the plumpness between his lips. Her breath hitched, and he did it again, flicking wetly, suckling the soft lobe until she squirmed with ardent insistence against him, her little gloved hands pawing at his shoulders. He nuzzled her throat, her apple blossom scent making his mouth water. Speaking of ripe, delicious fruit…

  He nimbly searched out buttons and laces, loosening and undoing them until he could tug down the bodice of her gown and petticoat. His nostrils flared at the sight of what he’d revealed. Although he’d seen his fair share of racy boudoir wear, her modest white unmentionables were the most erotic garments he’d ever seen on a woman. Nearly transparent, her fine linen shift was cut low, draping over the lush upper mounds of her breasts, the lower half hidden in the pleated cups of her corset.

  He traced a fingertip over her kiss-reddened lips, her delicate chin, down the silken arch of her throat. As his touch wandered lower, over the deep, linen-covered crevice between her heaving tits, he marveled, “How beautiful you are.”

  “I’m not beautiful.” Her denial was immediate, no trace of coyness in her clear eyes.

  He would show her how wrong she was. He traced the delicate slope of her collarbone, her skin softer than swan’s-down beneath his fingertips.

  “Beautiful,” he repeated.

  “I’m not—”

  She broke off with a gasp when he hooked his index finger beneath the neckline of her shift, dipping into the cup of her corset. He found the taut bud of her nipple, slowly flicking the velvety tip back and forth. He held her gaze, hunger surging in him as her aquamarine eyes grew unfocused, a soft whimper leaving her.

  “Satisfy my curiosity, kitten: are your nipples a shy pink to match your creamy skin,” he murmured, “or a naughty coral like your incomparable mouth? I’ve always wondered.”

  Rosy color climbed her cheeks—God, he’d never found blushing to be such a charming habit until her. “You’ve wondered about the color… of my…”

  When she trailed off with mute embarrassment, he gave a soft laugh. “I suppose I’ll have to find out for myself.”

  Given that her chemise was trapped in place by her corset, his only recourse was to pull down the quilted cup. There wasn’t a lot of give, just enough for her linen-covered nipple to peep over the rim of stiffened fabric. Even so, the sight of that plump, erect bud made his gut seize with want.

  “Coral,” he said huskily. “I should have known.”

  He bent his head to sample the inviting morsel.

  ~~~

  Polly jolted with shock as Revelstoke’s lips closed around her nipple. Her hands shot to his head, intending to halt the scandalous caress, but she felt the curl of his tongue, the decadent lapping through the linen, and instead of pushing him away, her fingers threaded through the rough silk of his hair, gripping tightly as a moan rustled from her throat.

  In a swift movement, he lay her fully across the bench, kneeling beside her on the carriage floor. She had the dissonant thought that his position couldn’t be comfortable, but then he bent over her again, and the hot, wet suction of his mouth drained her of all thought. She became a creature of sensation, writhing as he licked and suckled, going from breast to breast.

  “You have the loveliest breasts. See how pretty your nipples are?” He blew softly on the damp linen, and she shivered at the exquisite sensation and wicked words, the vibrant desire in his eyes. “Like the ripest cherries, so red and plump, they m
ake me want to eat you all up…”

  She moaned helplessly as he made good on his words, lavishing her breasts with kisses. Never had she imagined such decadent pleasure, his clever mouth wreaking havoc on one breast, his long, agile fingers at the other. The heat and friction twined in a blazing trail from her breasts to her sex. She squeezed her thighs together in an effort to relieve the throbbing between them. Her respiration grew fitful, the constriction of her stays growing tighter, the stimulation too much to bear.

  “Revelstoke,” she pleaded.

  His head lifted, his gaze searing down into hers. “Sinjin, love. Say my name.”

  “Sinjin…” Despite what they were doing, the intimacy of those two syllables quivered through her. Wetting her lips, she said, “Sinjin, please stop. I can’t stand it anymore.”

  His beautiful mouth twitched, his gaze dancing with the devil’s merriment. Before she could question his amusement, he kissed her again until her mind emptied, her senses overwhelmed by his virile skill.

  Against her lips, he murmured, “You don’t want me to stop, kitten. Because if I did, you wouldn’t get to see what comes next.”

  “What comes next?” The words popped out before she could stop them.

  His sensual smile stole her breath. He dropped kisses on the corner of her mouth, the surging slope of one breast, her bound, fully-clothed waist. As his head descended farther and farther, she heard the rustling of her skirts and petticoats, felt a startling waft of air against her stockinged legs…

  “What are you doing?” she gasped, levering herself up on her elbows.

  “Answering your question of what comes next.” He continued to sweep her skirts up, bunching them at her waist. His large hands landed above her garters, on her bare and trembling thighs. “In a nutshell, my sweet? You do.”

  When she tried to close her legs, he held them spread. He stared intently at her most private place while she squirmed with mortification.

  “Look at you, by Jove,” he murmured.

  Steeped in shame, she squeezed her eyes shut.

  “You’re a work of art.”

  She peeped at him. Was he... making fun of her? “That’s not amusing.”

  “Who’s laughing? You’re a bloody masterpiece.”

  Reverence threaded his tone and, she saw with astonishment, his aura.

  “Gorgeous tits, legs, not to mention the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” His sincerity was as jarring as his wicked turn of phrase. “It’s a good thing I don’t have time to get you fully naked: I might expire on the spot. We’ll have to build up to it—give my heart time to adjust. Now let’s see if your pussy feels as nice as it looks…”

  She shuddered as he brushed a finger through the silky thatch that guarded her feminine secrets. When he nudged against her damp folds, a strangled sound rose up her throat. Then he was stroking her… there… a wicked and thorough exploration that reduced her breath to choppy pants. He delved higher, touching that hidden peak that sent sparks up her spine. He stroked, circling and circling, and the sparks blurred into a fiery streak. Suddenly, she caught fire: bliss exploded through her, forcing his name from her lips.

  “Christ, that looked sweet,” he said thickly. “Was it good then, kitten?”

  Good? It was even better than their last kiss, beyond anything she could have imagined. Before she could gather her wits to answer, moisture trickled from her core, dampness slickening his fingers, which continued to leisurely stroke her. Mortified, she tried to clamp her legs together again.

  “No, don’t hide. I love how wet you’re getting for me,” he rasped.

  Flushing, she whispered, “You… do?”

  “Bloody hell, yes. It tells me you like what I’m doing, so I’m going to do more. Let me, sweeting. Let me kiss it better…”

  Kiss? Surely he didn’t mean to—

  Shocked, she felt his hot, strong licking at her center. Her hands went to push his head away… but instead her fingers curled in his dark hair. His kiss was relentless, undeniable, searching out all her secrets. When his lips closed over the sensitive peak of her sex, a sob caught in her throat. He suckled with tender insistence at the same time that his finger circled the entrance to her body. She felt a foreign stretch, then a stunning fullness that eased the aching inside her. Her hips lifted for his decadent kiss, for the plunging necessity of his touch…

  “That’s it, sweeting,” he growled. “Come again for me. Coat my tongue with your honey.”

  At his command, a deep wave of ecstasy rolled over her. Smaller tides followed in its wake, and he buoyed her through the aftermath with murmured praise, languid strokes of his tongue. As she floated, he came up, kissing her softly. The wicked, forbidden taste of herself on his lips made her stiffen.

  He pulled his head back; to her relief, there was no sign of disgust this time. Arousal dilated his eyes, colored the high crests of his cheekbones. Against her bare thigh, she could feel the hot, heavy bar of his arousal straining against his trousers. His aura roiled with need, and yet it was contained by steely restraint.

  The intensity of his gaze made her heart pound, reality returning in a rush.

  Dear God, what have I done… again?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sinjin knew the instant that Polly recovered from the climax he’d given her. She pushed at him, and he let her go, grimacing as, in her efforts to scramble away, she joggled his throbbing erection.

  Shoving her skirts into place, she blurted, “I have to get back to the Hunt Academy. Before anyone realizes that I’m gone—”

  “We’ll send a message, let them know you’re fine.”

  Which was more than he could say about his own damned state. In the past, he’d never made love to a woman without finding release himself; what would be the point of that? With Polly, however, he’d done so not once but twice, and, as frustrated as his physical state was, he also felt a bone-deep sense of satisfaction.

  She was his. Her sweet honey on his fingers and lips proved it.

  “But how will we explain—” she began.

  “We’ll go speak to you brother straightaway.”

  She blinked at him. “Speak to Ambrose? About… what?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to offer for you,” he heard himself say.

  Of the two of them, he didn’t know who was more shocked by his words. As she continued to stare at him, slack-jawed and definitely not overjoyed, his satisfaction fizzled. Reality reared its ugly head, bringing agitation in its tow. How the hell was he going to handle marriage?

  You have no choice. You compromised her. You have to marry her now.

  Even in the face of panic, he couldn’t wholly regret what had happened. I believe you. Sweeter words he’d never heard, and her passion had exceeded his wildest imaginings. God, the fire in her. In this, at least, they were well matched. As for the rest… his heart thudded. He’d have to figure out some way to hide his devils from her. To make sure that his future wife never saw him as he truly was… for the rest of their married lives.

  Cold sweat broke out beneath his cravat. “Wife” and “marriage” were two words he’d believed would never enter his personal vocabulary, and Polly’s continued, wordless scrutiny wasn’t helping his jangled nerves. Why was she staring at him as if he’d proposed that they take a short stroll off Westminster Bridge together? Why wasn’t she gratefully accepting his offer as any other miss in her shoes would have done?

  “It isn’t necessary,” she said firmly.

  If her silence had irked him, then her words furthered the trend. “Like hell it isn’t. I’ve compromised you.”

  “Nothing unalterable happened. Technically speaking, I’m still, um… untouched.”

  The slight hitch in her sentence betrayed her uncertainty about the status of her virginity—and well it should, he thought on a surge of indignation.

  “My fingers are still wet with your dew. I can bloody taste you,” he pointed out ruthlessly. “Are you saying you don’t f
eel my touch inside you?”

  Her cheeks rosy, she said, “What happened was a mistake. We got carried away, but we can just put it behind us. No one has to know.”

  “I don’t give a damn what anyone else knows. I know. And if you think I’m the sort of man who would shirk his obligation—”

  “That’s just it,” she burst out. “I don’t want to be married out of obligation—out of some misplaced sense of honor. You don’t want to marry me, and don’t try to tell me otherwise because I can see it in your aur—eyes, I mean.” Her gaze flashed, her bosom heaving. “Which is just as well because I don’t want to marry you either.”

  His palm itched for his calming locket, which of course he didn’t have because he’d given it to her. Yet another thing she’d tried to refuse from him. Goddamnit, he was worried enough about his potential shortcomings as a husband. He didn’t need the added burden of having to convince her of the sodding obvious: wedlock was no longer a choice.

  “It doesn’t bloody matter what either of us wants because I compromised you. You may not take stock in my honor, but I do. I seduced you in a carriage in the middle of the day, by God, and I’m going to do what is right!”

  He hadn’t meant to shout, but his intentions seemed to have little impact on his behavior where the infuriating chit was concerned. She sat there, blinking at him, and he wanted to punch the wall in frustration. God, what would it take to convince her that, right or wrong, she belonged to him now?

  Because, he fumed, she bloody did.

  “I do take stock in your honor as a gentleman,” she said quietly. “That’s not the issue.”

  He released a breath, one that he hadn’t known he was holding. He didn’t know why her faith in him should matter, but it did. “Then what is?” he pressed.

  “I don’t want you to marry me just because you have to.”

  “That’s not the only reason.” As the words left him, he realized they were true. He reached for her gloved hand, saw how small and fragile it was. Bringing it to his lips, he murmured, “You can’t deny the attraction between us. The pleasure you’ve felt in my arms.”