The Dark Earl and His Runaway (The Friendship Series Book 5)

by Julia Donner

  When wet, his dark auburn hair looked black. He’d combed it straight back away from his face, exposing the sharp angles of squared jaw and high cheekbones. He wore no jacket, and his damp shirt clung to his skin. His gaze gleamed with a light that made her heart pound and ignited a shivering need. The quill tumbled from her fingers.

  Swallowing, she said, attempting to sound dignified and not out of breath, “How did you get so wet? Caught in the rain?”

  “Took a bath. Didn’t want to come to you with the dirt of the stable.”

  A silly, rebellious seed prompted her to tease, “You must be shocking everyone. You never used to return to the house until nightfall.”

  “There never was a reason before you came. They’ll get used to seeing me during the day.”

  She cast off the urge to practice feminine wiles, something she’d never accomplished nor enjoyed performing. Had he somehow sensed her yearning? No. He wanted the same. His presence was an admission that he’d been thinking about her, what they’d done most of last night and every opportunity in the days before.

  The smile in his eyes softened the taut desire in his face, the silent question. Enchanted, she felt like melting off the chair, pooling into a puddle of ridiculous feminine subservience. Every thought of rebellion, pride, or resistance evaporated with the knowledge of what he meant to do to her and how it would make her feel. He’d changed her into an amazing sexual creature. How was she to get up, meet him halfway with legs that felt limp and yet tingled? He read in her smile that she wanted the same as he did.

  The click of the door lock falling into place raced over her skin. The delicate quiver of anticipation heightened to shivers as she watched him cross the room and come around the side of the desk.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Cia, but are you willing? There are other ways, if you are sore.”

  He was so tall that she faced the buttons on his breeches. Gripped by a boldness she’d never had before the wedding, she took a shaky breath and began to unfasten them near his left hip. “You showed me a few new ones last night.”

  Over her head, he exhaled a groan when her palm rubbed the hardened column pressed along his thigh. She unfastened the last button on his right. He smelled of soap, clean linen and himself. Above her head, his chest rose and fell like bellows. She again marveled that she could inspire lust in any man, but most especially this one. If she could do as Taffy suggested, and meet his every want, perhaps he wouldn’t be drawn back to the beautiful widow.

  His fingers found the lacings on her back, knotting them when he tugged, and he laughed. “Can’t be cutting up all of your frocks. We’ll have to improvise.”

  She clearly remembered how he’d improvised on her the night before and slid her hand inside. He stiffened when her trembling fingers found what had made sitting so uncomfortable today. She leaned forward and used her mouth—silken marble, a very different experience from using her hand. Overhead, she heard his gasp and a muttered curse.

  He grabbed the back of her chair in a white-knuckled grip. She had thought he might pull away but he pressed forward. Encouraged, she tugged material lower. She didn’t know precisely what to do, but his movements proved that he liked what she was doing. That gave her confidence.

  When she used both hands to hold him still, he shuddered. Moments later, he roughly lifted her up. He plunked her bottom on the desk and sank onto the chair, rendering it insignificant with his size. With his face pressed into her bodice, he whispered, “Sorry, I had to stop you.”

  “No, it’s my fault. I did it wrong. You’ll have to teach me.”

  The heat of his muffled laugh penetrated the front of her muslin dress. “You need no lesson, my Cia. You were doing perfectly well. Too well. I didn’t want this over so quickly.”

  She smoothed her hand over his hair now starting to wave as it dried. “I thought that it might be something you would like, since you do something similar to me.”

  His fingers tightened around her waist. “Oh, Cia, what am I going to do? You’re like a meal I can’t stop eating.”

  She rested her hands on his shoulders. Dissatisfied with the barrier of cloth, she began to undo his shirt buttons. “I’m in the same state, but there’s nothing in here on which to...I mean, where do we go? Where do we lie? The chaise is not meant for two.”

  His grin cunning and eyes sharp with a teasing glint, he murmured, “The chair and desk are too fragile, so we must improvise.” His hand glided up her leg and thigh. “Lean back a bit.”

  Her breathing deepened, her body moving with his guidance. She braced her palms on the desk, pushing her hips forward, no longer caring if she looked or acted wanton. Her head felt too heavy to hold upright and fell back. His lips glided up her neck to nip her earlobe and whisper directions. Through half-closed eyes, she saw him stand. She didn’t retreat from the friction of his careful entry. A growling order told her to hold him. She clutched his shirt when he tucked his elbows under her knees and stood. She didn’t want his reticence and care. Desperate whimpers echoed inside her head, begging him for more and to hurry. Then her back encountered the wall, and she slid down until he nudged her womb. His muffled groan made her twist the shirt material in her fists tighter.

  For too long he remained still, allowing her time to adjust. Then his grasp on her bottom began to guide, pushing her higher, sinking them deeper, igniting a frantic urgency. The muscles of his arms and shoulders were too hard to grasp, her fingers too small to hold a grip. She pulled on his shirt collar to urge him on, not knowing what she said, now wild with what she needed. She heard his laughter and praise in her hair. The position, his fierce hold allowed her no control, so she tightened inner muscles. His big body shuddered, and he covered her mouth with his own to muffle their outcries.

  The sound of ragged breathing in the stillness of the room brought her back to reality. She rested her cheek on the heaving rise and fall of his chest. He hadn’t softened inside her. This sometimes happened when the passion of their mating bordered violence. The act of pulling out might be an uncomfortable process. He held her still, waiting for the storm to pass. A fine quiver shivered in his arms, while hers released his shirt and slid down to hang limp and replete.

  She could scarcely think and rocked her forehead over the solid plane of his chest. He carried her back to the desk and bent his knees until she settled on its edge. He hushed her, his lips in her hair, as she stiffened throughout his gentle withdrawal. She twisted to lie on her side across the desk and covered her face with both hands.

  Fingertips lightly caressed her temple. “Oh, Cia, are you crying? Did I hurt you?”

  She took her hands from her face and rolled sideways to sit up. She gave him a shove. “No, you silly man. I’m laughing! We’re demented!”

  Worry dissolved from his face, chased away by a sunshine smile. Then he began to laugh with her. He sat in the chair, his breeches undone and shirt half off. She sprawled across the desk, the crushed material of her frock bunched up across her thighs, and gave in to a bout of helpless laughter.

  After a final, sighing laugh, she tiredly said, “Geoffrey, I don’t think I’m going to tire of providing Stokebrook with an heir any time in the near future.”

  He gave her the beaming smile he never showed the world. “If it’s on your mind as much as it’s on mine, I suspect we’ll be ready for more attempts by tonight.”

  She leaned forward to cup the side of his jaw in her palm, searching his face, and soaked in his joy. “I’ve never heard you laugh like that.”

  With his hair mussed, he answered with a dreamy expression. “Until you, I’ve never had much reason.”

  She held his face in both hands and gave him a tender kiss. A worrisome thought ruined the sleepy afterglow. Was she being too greedy?

  Still disbelieving, unsure of so much happiness, she looked into what she hoped was adoration in his gaze. She still couldn’t believe any man could be in love with her. No one had ever shown any interest, other than a few
requests to dance at local assemblies. Before her sat a peer of the realm, a husband fine and stalwart. She’d never imagined that such bliss was meant for her. How long would his interest last? Until the requisite heirs had been produced? Perhaps that was why she couldn’t get enough of the wild pleasure. The avid way he sought her out might only last until heirs arrived.

  Something about the aftermath of lovemaking brought truths to the surface. An admission she didn’t want to voice came out before she could stifle it. “I wouldn’t want you to get bored with me.”

  She had tried for humor but all she could muster was the hint of a question. She had to know, prepare herself that he would he at some point return to Mrs. Rawlings.

  His boyish grin told he’d heard something altogether different, and proved it when he replied, “Then we shall have to become creative, as we have this morning. Think on it. ”

  His grin widened at the blush that stung her cheeks. “That isn’t what I meant!”

  “I expect you to explain in detail the reason for that blush. In explicit detail, Lady Bainbridge.”

  She placed a palm against her heated cheek. “Oh, I don’t think I could say such things out loud.”

  “You had no difficulty a few minutes ago.”

  She looked away from the teasing glint. She’d said something while in the throes? What had she said? No, she didn’t want to know.

  He adjusted her skirt and stood to fasten buttons. “If you’d rather be last in the line for confession, I don’t mind. We’ll start with mine.”

  She hid a smile as he lifted her off the desk, gently transferring her to the tufted seat. He pressed a kiss on her still warm cheek and one on top of her head before leaving. When the door lock clicked open, she tried not to look, to give him the satisfaction of seeing her greedy ogling, but she weakened and snatched a peek. He was as impressive from the back as he was from the front. Over his shoulder, he winked at her before he went out the door.

  As soon as she heard his tread fade, she allowed herself a chortle of satisfaction. Reaching high, she stretched like the satisfied cat she was, and tucked her hands under her head, tilting back to smile at the ceiling. Then she remembered the pearls. She couldn’t wait for her birthday tomorrow. She’d make him clasp them in place and wear nothing but the single strand when she asked for the present she’d prefer to have.

  A tap on the door sounded not long after Bainbridge left. Leticia was still drawing cartoon pictures, putting off work for the pleasanter pastime of daydreaming. Grinning, she sang out a call to enter.

  Taffy peered around the half-opened door. “Holcombe’s left for an appointment in the village.”

  Leticia jumped up from the chair and winced from the twinge from muscles she’d never used—at least not in that position or for that duration and vigor. “How long has he been gone?”

  “The carriage is pulling away now. I’ll stand watch.”

  She headed for the door while making a quick inventory of her dress fastenings. “You’ve so much to do, Taffy.”

  “I would rather you not be found rooting through the snake’s papers.”

  “He knows Bainbridge well enough to never harm me.”

  “I doubt the man would, but I prefer that you are spared from an uncomfortable encounter. Remarks have the power to hurt as deeply as a strike from a fist.”

  Holcombe’s office took up a large room at the far end of a newer wing that housed the library. The door to the office usually stood open. Today, it was closed.

  Taffy’s noisy ring of keys had a match for the lock. “I will stand by the south windows. There is a fine view of the main road. We should be grateful Stokebrook was erected with strategic views in mind.”

  Leticia sped to the massive desk, where none of the usual office detritus had been left on the shining surface. On a whim, she withdrew the string of keys much smaller than Taffy’s clanking ring. One of the keys on her own ring unlocked the drawers. She doubted Holcombe knew about the key ring she’d found in the former Lady Bainbridge’s bedchamber.

  The side drawers contained the usual supplies. In a long upper drawer, she found a ledger. Hoisting it out and up on the desk, she opened and turned the crackling pages. Occasional glances at the clock warned her that she was taking too much time deciphering the numbers. She excelled at literature but was not proficient in math and the sciences. Even so, she saw how he covered the gaps in the accounts. The alterations to Stokebrook’s actual income meant that Holcombe had squirreled away a small fortune. That was what was apparent. Much more had been taken, she felt sure. The easiest way to hide the theft was to simply not enter the income into the ledgers. She felt sure that was how it had been accomplished, which meant there could be outstanding debts not indicated in the ledger amounting to crippling sums.

  What if Holcombe had squandered the money he’d stolen? Her quarterly income while at Charhill came from a percentage of her investment in the funds. She did a crude estimation and realized that now that they were married, Bainbridge could liquidate that to cover Stokebrook’s losses.

  She folded the ledger, put it away, and locked everything, leaving the desk as she found it. On the way out of the room, a flashing glint caught her attention—a reflection off the glass doors of a rosewood corner cabinet. Its v-shaped back fit snugly against the wall. Documents and papers filled the shelves behind the glass. On the bottom shelf, a stack of envelopes had slid to one side. Intuition whispered to investigate.

  The cabinet’s doors weren’t locked. She knelt and twisted her head sideways. The various papers and dated documents weren’t recent. Reaching in to the back, she withdrew the letters. All were addressed to the Earl of Bainbridge, seals unbroken, save one. She pressed her fingertips against the unsealed envelope, a single sheet. The missive inside might be brief enough to scan, although, the writing could have been crossed and re-crossed as a savings. Except for the opened one, the ink had faded on the others, revealing that the letters were not recently written or had sat in sunlight for a long time. Perhaps they were meant for Bainbridge’s father. The salient fact was that with the exception of one, the letters had never been opened. Would Holcombe notice they’d been taken?

  Unable to resist and against her better judgment, she tucked them into her pocket, closed the glass door, and left the office. Taffy turned when the door thumped shut. She stood in the murky light seeping through the tall windows. The rain had moved off, leaving a sky darkened by rolling clouds.

  “That didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” Taffy said.

  Leticia joined her at the window. “The man is over-confident. Blatantly so, and we were right. He’s stealing from the estate and I’m certain has been doing so for years. The ledger I found has one year of entries, but the beginning tallies show no balance forward from the previous year.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Think about how to smother a snake in his lair. I don’t want him to bolt before we discover what he’s done with that money.”

  Her birthday came and went before she could think of a plan. Something vaguely sinister lurked under Holcombe’s affected humility, and he knew how to use its power. She disliked feeling intimidated, had suffered crawling skin as she read through and signed the generous settlements Bainbridge had requested. Holcombe purposely held his sneer until she looked up from the documents, erasing the smirk at the last possible moment so that she would see its shadow. Her suppressed anger got the best of her better judgment, and she made an oblique remark about an interest in reviewing the accounts. She later chastised herself for cowardice. Why was she so forceful about some things and not others? Holcombe needed to be uprooted and cast into the flames. It was time to reveal her concerns with Bainbridge and bring the thieving Holcombe to task.

  Chapter 21

  Bainbridge dreaded the weekly visits with Holcombe, a man his father had hired, but the reports had to be heard, the information discussed. He’d never fully trusted the man and had put off replacing the positi
on, avoiding the tiresome difficulty of locating and interviewing candidates. For years, he let the matter slide. He sensed Leticia’s dislike of his steward and estate manager and that had been the defining final straw.

  He crossed the library without looking around. The layer upon layer of tomes shelved up to the ceiling had always felt oppressive. Too much of everything and all in one place.

  The office door stood open. When he entered, it took a moment to comprehend what had happened. Papers had been strewn across the floor. At first, he supposed a window had been left ajar and wind had brushed the usual stack of documents onto the floor. Holcombe never allowed a dust mote to land in his vicinity. His absence and the cluttered was disorienting.

  “Bainbridge, if you would spare a few moments, we have a serious matter to discuss.”

  He turned to the sound of Leticia’s voice. She paused in the doorway. Her attention shifted from him to scan the room.

  She inhaled a deep sigh and slowly released it. “Ah, I see that I was careless during my investigation. He’s absconded . I must have left something out of place.”

  “Perhaps it’s for the best. I had planned to give him his notice.”

  She came deeper into the room and started to gather up the papers. “So you knew about the stealing.’

  “Stealing?”

  Rising up, she dropped the documents she’d collected on the desk. “Then you didn’t. He’s been pilfering from the estate. Probably has been doing so for years.”

  “As competent and smart as you are, I shouldn’t be surprised that you asked to see the accounts.”

  “Oh, I didn’t ask. I did it when he was out of the office. He rather frightened me.”

  “Then I wished you would have said so. Knowing that, I shall have to take him to task for inspiring that.”

  “Not so easily done now that he’s escaped. Clumsy of me to give him reason.”

  “He’ll be found and caught. Never doubt it.”