“Sir… I feel I must tell you—”
The Earl held up a trembling hand as if to forestall Miles’ statement. “I will finish. Lady Rutledge wishes to tell Eleanor that we know about the circumstances surrounding your marriage. Penwick Elsington wrote to me over a year ago when Eleanor first presented him with her scheme. After that, it was simply a matter of our determining who might suit and then making her choice easy. It was at my direction that Elsington added your name to that list of appalling reprobates.”
Miles straightened in his chair, his attention wholly captured. He held the Earl’s gaze with narrowed eyes. A degree of irritation arose at the extent to which the Earl had interfered with both he and Eleanor, although he made certain to conceal any such sentiment from his dry statement. “In view of my circumstances at the time Elsington approached me, I am surprised you didn’t consider me simply one more reprobate. You have been so remarkably thorough that I cannot conceive you were ignorant of the manner in which I lived.”
The Earl returned Miles’ stare with a piercing one of his own, his lips twisted in cynical amusement. The shrewd old gentleman was perfectly capable of interpreting the misleading lack of emotion behind Miles’ flat statement.
“I knew of your circumstances. More to the point, I knew the reason for them.” The Earl of Rutledge laughed dryly. “I felt you demonstrated an affinity for the weaker sex and would deal with Eleanor better than most. Unlike many men, it appears you are not threatened by a strong woman. I also felt you would treat Lady Rutledge with kindness.” The Earl regarded him with knowing eyes. “And then there is your breeding. I thought highly of your father and have met few women more intelligent and charming than your mother—even if she is French. You put me very much in mind of her. Except for the odd outcrop—I cannot like the present Duke—the Everleigh bloodline has bred true. You were an acceptable choice.”
Bloody hell. Just when had the Earl come to know his mother? Miles sat utterly silent and simply stared at the Earl of Rutledge.
The Earl’s lips quirked. “Through the years, I have found Lady Rutledge’s counsel to be wise, but in this instance, I disagree with her. Eleanor would be profoundly hurt by knowledge of my interference and with what she would rightly construe as my management of her. She must always believe you were her choice. I trust you will keep my confidence. I cannot see any benefit in her knowing the truth.”
“You may rely upon it.” He could not conceive how telling Eleanor what he just learned would in any way advance his cause. At some point in the near future, he would go from inconsequential, penniless, younger brother of the Duke of Chelsony to the immensely wealthy and thus vastly influential, Eleventh Earl of Rutledge. It took no imagination whatsoever to picture Eleanor’s reaction when presented with this fait accompli. Bloody, bloody hell! Miles slammed down his disgruntlement, cleared his throat and searched for some response to the Earl’s astounding revelations that did not include extensive profanity. He opened his mouth… and closed it. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
The Earl waived him off with a feeble flip of his hand and leaned back. “Eleanor does not distinguish herself upon first acquaintance; rather she improves upon knowing until you wonder how you ever could have overlooked her. I hope the two of you will come to terms and make this a true marriage. You’ll not find any better than her. She is honest, loyal and of sound disposition and judgment. She has heart and will go the distance. I think she’ll be an excellent mother.”
Dislike of the fact her father felt the need to defend Eleanor to him when Miles considered the woman succeeded on her own merits drove his sincere response. “I am aware of her worth, my lord. She occupies a place in my heart I’d not thought to ever offer a woman. The difficulty lies in convincing Eleanor of that—among certain other obstacles,” he drawled.
Until he’d spoken the words, Miles hadn’t crystallized in his brain the reason behind his campaign to win Eleanor to him, but having said them, he recognized their truth. He loved her. He had been falling in love with her from almost their first meeting.
The Earl grunted. “As I thought.” His canny gaze settled on Miles as if he could read his thoughts. “I will be disappointed if you cannot mend whatever has gone amiss between you and my daughter.”
Miles held her father’s direct gaze without blinking. “So will I, sir. So will I.”
“Then pray do so quickly, Lord Miles. My days on this earth are numbered.”
Chapter Seventeen
E
yeing the nightdress laid out for her on the bed, Eleanor turned to her maid with a stern look and a raised eyebrow.
“I know it’s not my place… but… it’s a lovely gown, ma’am. Much nicer than your old ones and as Lord Miles is sharing your…” Sally’s voice trailed off. “I just thought you might…” She sighed and gathered up the transparent confection of a nightdress. “I spoke out of turn, ma’am. I had no right. I’ll lay out one of the others.”
“No. It is very pretty. Leave it, Sally. I’ll wear it.” Perhaps in this way, Miles might be enticed into continuing those activities he had begun in the library. His kisses and physical handling of her person had so engrossed her in sensation that, just as the night before, she’d lost herself. If not for the arrival of the tea tray… She hesitated to speculate on what might have occurred.
Eleanor shrugged out of her robe and Sally flipped the nightdress over her head. The gossamer material settled on her shoulders with a mere wisp of presence. She felt as if she wore air. A glance down confirmed the transparency of the garment. It was an astoundingly bold and provoking article of clothing, and her heart picked up pace at her daring. “Thank you. You may find your bed, Sally. I won’t require you further this evening.”
With a low, “Ma’am,” and a curtsy, her attendant left, and Eleanor settled into bed, sitting propped on pillows against the headboard, her bedcovers pulled to waist high and with an eye to the open door. Thoughts of Miles’ kisses and caresses had kept her in a restless and agitated mood all day. She dropped her gaze and fiddled idly with the coverlet. She wanted to have done with the mystery and find out once and for all what every other married woman knew. Some subtle disturbance made her look up.
Dressed in only a fine lawn nightshirt that fell to his knees, Miles’ tall, broad-shouldered form filled the doorway. He paused to lean one shoulder against the frame and study her. She knew a purely feminine thrill that this virile specimen of masculinity was hers. She’d always been attracted to beautiful animals…and Lord Miles was certainly that. Would he ask for her kisses tonight? She hoped so. She would do her best to convince him she wanted more than kisses. As she watched, his posture became languid, and a half smile tipped his lips.
“You are a picture to warm a man, madam.”
He sauntered toward her, and it took a certain amount of determination not to shrink under the covers, but she was dogged in her resolve to stay the course. He stopped at her side of the bed, and leaning down, with no display of haste or urgency, his forefinger gently traced a line on the skin exposed just above her breasts.
“Fetching nightgown, though I’d vastly prefer you in nothing at all.”
She swallowed audibly. She wanted to rub her breasts to relieve the ache he’d created with his feather-light touches, but his grey eyes held her mesmerized.
“What are you about, Eleanor?”
Unable to maintain the intimate connection, she closed her eyes and forced words through her lips. “I’m trying to convince you I’m willing.”
“Mmm.”
His warm hand gently cupped her breast.
“Oh!” she gasped, and her eyes flew open and held his as he thumbed her nipple with a glancing back-and-forth motion.
“Do you like that?”
“No…I don’t know? Yes…? Yes…but it feels strange.”
The mattress sagged as he sat next to her, never stopping the gentle back and forth of his thumb that seemed to produce such foreign sensations in parts of
her body quite south of her breasts, sensations that prompted a restless movement of her legs. His low chuckle tickled something inside of her.
“What do you know of intimate congress between men and women?” he softly asked. His hand left her breast. He took both of her hands in his and held them as his eyes searched her face with what she could only describe as tender patience.
“I’ve watched a stallion cover a mare.” Heat rose up her neck, and she studied her lap where Miles’ hands held hers.
Miles raised one of her hands, kissed the back of it and returned it to her lap. “When conducted properly, matters between men and women bear only a passing resemblance to the mating of animals.”
“Only a passing resemblance?” She glanced up and was captured by his warm gaze.
“Yes.”
Gathering all her courage, she whispered, “Will you demonstrate the difference?”
“With great pleasure.” He stood and pulled back the bed covers, exposing her entirely. “While that is an eminently provocative garment which I will undoubtedly enjoy many times in the future, for tonight, let’s have you out of it.” At her squeak, he flashed a teasing glance her way. “One of the differences between animals and men and women is there is an abundance of touching and kissing best done when both parties are bare. I believe you like my kisses?”
She nodded silently.
He ran a palm up her calf, over her thigh, and up her abdomen, lifting her gown as he did. “Lift your arms, sweetheart.” Her flimsy wisp of nothingness floated up and over her head to be discarded thoughtlessly on the floor along with his nightshirt.
As in the bath, Eleanor devoured the muscled body bared to her, distracted from her own modesty by the enthralling sight of sculptured muscles, sinew, bone, and hair—the whirls of glossy brown on his chest that led to a single line trailing down his abdomen to his…yes…that. Miles surely had to be an exceptionally beautiful male, for if all men looked as he did, women would never leave their beds. Even his male part had a fearsome sort of beauty, standing proud and upright.
He spoke as he motioned to her to move over in the bed. “I will do only those things that you like. I simply ask that you open yourself to what will certainly seem, in the beginning, uncomfortable and strange; give your mind and body a chance to appreciate and respond to my touch.”
“May I touch you, also?” Her hands itched to explore him. He grinned in such a playful manner, her feelings of uncertainty and awkwardness shrank, replaced by a growing sense of emboldenment and anticipation.
“I encourage your participation.”
He crawled toward her and lay down at her side supported on his left arm, their bodies touching all along her length, his leg between hers. Without thought—she wouldn’t allow her mind to remind herself she wore no clothes—she moved into him and slipped her right arm around his shoulders, marveling in his hard-bunched muscle so different from her soft length. Her other arm wrapped his neck as she gazed into gray eyes that seemed lit from within with a feral intensity at odds with his calm manner.
His head descended. The warm press of his lips in a litany of kisses and the tender stroking of his hand up and down her body began her journey into thoughtless, mindless pleasure. Miles composed a melody of physical delight that demanded a four-part chorus of response from parts of her that Eleanor had given little thought. Her body sang. A fever-flushed her, and she reveled in a physical euphoria she’d never considered possible.
Lances of intense pleasure streaked through her as his lips pulled her tightly ruched nipples into his hot mouth to suckle and lave first one and then the other until she whimpered and writhed as if in pain. Miles paused and lifted his head casting a silent question at her.
“I’m fine…oh, please…don't you dare stop,” she gasped.
With a low chuckle, he resumed. His long-fingered hand found its way between her legs to her female parts, now plump and slippery with the dew of her body, and teased with light strokes inciting the conflagration of erotic sensation within her to burn ever hotter. A broad finger made the beginnings of a foray into her opening while the pad of his thumb found a place at the apex of her sex and circled with the lightest of touches. The converging sensations drove her to arch her back and push her hips into his hand, lodging his finger deeper within her. It wasn’t enough. She pleaded, “Please…please, Miles…I need…I need…I don’t know, but do something.” Her head thrashed back and forth in desperation for surcease, for some ultimate culmination to the barrage of exquisite sensation driving her mindless.
He moved between her legs and pulled one of her knees up to his waist. He reached down and centered himself at her opening. The broad head of his organ stretched her open, and he paused with only the tip lodged within her.
“Eleanor…sweetheart, look at me.” His voice sounded breathless and forced.
She reluctantly opened her eyes and tried to concentrate on something other than the physical imperative that rampaged unchecked through her.
“There is no way I can change the first time for you. It may hurt, but any pain will pass.” His eyes conveyed such concern that she found herself consoling him for the discomfort he warned she might suffer.
“Please, Miles. I’ll survive. Just do it!”
Her impatient and rash surge upward coincided with his drive forward, and she cried out at an unexpectedly sharp slice of pain. His groin collided with hers and stopped with him lodged fully within her as hurt radiated from her most tender parts. She felt rendered in half from within, stretched impossibly, and with whimpers of objection, she tried to shift her hips while her hands pushed futilely against his body, attempting to dislodge the implement of her physical distress. Her thrashing was futile. The heavy weight of his hips flattened her, immobile, into the mattress.
“Dash it, Eleanor!” Miles swore a soft oath as he held motionless within her, impervious to her actions. His breath punched in and out of his chest, and the well-muscled arms that supported his upper body trembled as if they had palsy. “In this one regard, trust me to lead. You have caused yourself far more hurt than necessary.” He continued to remain unmoving and watched her intently. “Still yourself. The hurt will pass.”
Her hands paused their futile clawing, and Eleanor held his gaze for many long moments, her breath coming in pants until gradually, the distressing pain muted. She became more or less accustomed to the entirely alien feeling of Miles inside her. Finally, she relaxed under him, and a long sigh escaped her.
“Is it bearable now?” Miles raised his eyebrows in question.
She responded with a slight nod. “In the future, I shall be more sympathetic to the maiden mares.”
A grin flashed across his face. “It gets better, I promise.” With a soft groan, he began to move in and out of her in long, slow, gentle strokes, accompanied by hushed words of encouragement and praise. Every entry and exit glided his thick organ along that portion of her he had earlier stimulated with his thumb.
Initially, she tensed, expecting more pain, but there was only soreness and a strange feeling of fullness gradually replaced by the same growing, exquisite tension he had built in her before. She hadn’t been prepared for the intimacy of this act, but now she reveled in his weight, the press of his heavy body on hers. She wrapped herself in the smell and feel of him and leaped with abandon into the morass of the unfamiliar, swirling sensations that bombarded her. Seemingly endless minutes passed, and an urgency within her coiled tighter and tighter as ecstasy compounded ecstasy. Her eyes flew open in surprise and met his. “Oh!”
He watched her, his face a study in leashed ferocity, but his slow, gentle stroke never varied.
The amount of pleasure she could endure reached culmination and her body exploded in a pinnacle of the senses that clouded her vision with red spots. She screamed her ecstasy into the night and shook with each convulsive clench of her sex around the still-thrusting male organ within her. Miles’ hips stuttered, slammed into her and held. He gave a forceful gru
nt, and his arms collapsed. His considerable weight draped her and again pinned her to the featherbed. She could not have moved had she wanted to. Happily, she didn’t want to.
As her body floated in a bliss-filled state of tranquility, her emotions erupted in a riot of joy. A grin of pure elation stretched her mouth, and she laughed out loud. “Why did no one ever tell me?”
Miles raised his head, observed her delighted countenance and fell back onto her once more. His muffled voice emerged from the pillows beside her ear. “I shall count my job well done.”
Her delighted laughter followed his comment, and after a time of wondrous amazement, she sobered. “I doubt many virgins have had such an ultimately agreeable dénouement. Thank you for your care of me. I suppose I have Dorchance and Norwalk to thank...” Her voice trailed off at the end.
Miles rolled off her and lay on his back, eyes closed with one arm behind his head. The other drew her close to his side. “Pray tell, who are they? I have no memory of any woman but you.”
As they had on most mornings for the past few years, Miles’ eyes came open on this gray dawn to the view of a warm, naked female nestled on his chest. He lay there quiescent, a mixture of wonder and apprehension muddling his sensibilities. For him, their lovemaking last night had been transcendental, without match, unprecedented. The irony that both his awe and his apprehension derived from the same source did not elude him.
Beyond the pure physical pleasure of amorous congress with a woman who was his—and the pleasure had been significant, to be repeated at the earliest opportunity—when he’d retrieved his scattered wits, a feeling of profound caring and responsibility settled on him. He wished to cherish and protect the independent and forthright spirit that Providence had thrown in his path, to stand between her and all harm for the rest of his days—and there was the wonder of it.
A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1) Page 17