The Untouchable Earl

by Amy Sandas

  From behind, her waist appeared impossibly narrow above the generous flare of her buttocks. He brought both hands to rest on her hips and took a moment to press his thumbs into the dimples on each side at the very base of her spine.

  He was impressed by her stillness. Her calm willingness to allow him such liberties.

  To reward her, he leaned forward, just enough so he could press his lips to her shoulder. Touching the tip of his tongue to her skin, he reveled in the sound of her breath catching with pleasure. She tasted salty and sweet. Innocent. Pure.

  A delicate shudder passed through her, and she turned her head toward him. Her lips were parted and swollen, as though she’d been worrying them with her teeth. The thick drift of her lashes was still lowered over her gaze.

  “My lord?” she said in a whispered plea.

  “Do you enjoy the feel of my hands on your body?”

  “Yes.”

  He kept one hand pressed to her lower back as he stepped around to her side, where he could better observe her full reactions. His other hand slid over her hip and across the gentle curve of her belly. Her body quivered.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked as he moved to cup her full breast in his hand.

  “Yes,” she replied in a weakened voice. Her spine softened, and her chin lowered by a fraction. “But I love the way you frighten me.”

  Her confession reached deep inside him and grabbed hold to twist painfully. Avenell reacted to the invasion by squeezing her breast, pinching her hardened nipple between his fingers.

  She arched abruptly, and a silent gasp passed between her lips. Her breasts were as sensitive as he had suspected. The sight of his hands covering her lovely flesh caused a jolt of need to arc painfully through his system.

  Watching her face intently, Avenell shifted his attention to her other breast. Drawing his fingertips in ever-tightening circles toward the peak, he noted the shortening of her breath. When the pad of his thumb first brushed across her nipple, she stiffened, and her teeth closed over her bottom lip.

  Avenell clenched his teeth hard against the urge to take her breast with his mouth.

  What would her reaction be if it was his tongue flicking over that peaked flesh?

  He was determined to find out. But not tonight.

  He released her breast to trail his fingers up to the delicate line of her jaw. Pressing his thumb lightly to her bottom lip, he drew it away from her teeth. Her soft breath puffed between her lips, and her eyelashes fluttered.

  “Eyes closed,” he muttered roughly. He could not withstand the force of her gaze just then.

  Assured she would obey, he continued to explore the sensitivity of her body—touching her breasts, her belly—sliding his fingers along her inner thighs, her buttocks, and the length of her spine. She seemed to receive pleasure from everything he did.

  Her response was torturous and lovely.

  Avenell’s yearning rose inexorably inside him. The rushing of his blood to his groin made him dizzy, and his jaw ached from how tightly he clenched it in his determination to maintain a certain detachment as he learned the subtleties in her response.

  She started to undulate beneath his hands. It began as a gentle arching of her spine, then a small roll of her hips. Her breath was fast and short, and her hands were fisted fiercely at her sides as she moved.

  Sensing the time was right, Avenell skimmed his hand down her belly toward the dark curls at the apex of her thighs.

  With a raw gasp, she stiffened at the first touch.

  He continued until he cupped her secret flesh, then he held still.

  She was hot. Receptive.

  As he felt her begin to relax, he shifted to ease his middle finger along her cleft. The warmth of her body coated his finger, easing its path to the bud that waited for his touch. With delicate focus, Avenell circled the pad of his finger, urging her body to soften, willing her to accept more.

  A beautiful moan slid from her throat, and she started to move against his hand.

  Avenell stared hard at her face, enraptured by the way her pleasure played across her soft features. Her full lips glistened, and her eyes were tightly closed as a furrow creased her brow.

  She was soon writhing.

  He had never been so caught up in a woman’s reaction. He whispered dark, wicked words into the gasping quiet of the room. Demanding her surrender, declaring her his from this point forward.

  He desperately wanted to press his fingers into her virgin body, feel the heat inside her as she drew him in. But he would not introduce even that gentle invasion until she first understood what it was to experience the pleasure he wanted to give her.

  He stroked her sensitive flesh. Teasing, coaxing, awakening her to the sensations he could create.

  She released another heady moan, and her legs trembled. With a gasp, she reached for him, grasping hard at his arm just above his elbow.

  Searing pain shot across his skin. He jerked free of her grip, pulling his hand from her as his breath caught sharply in his throat. He stepped back, regret and self-directed anger coursing through him.

  He had gone too far, too fast. He had lost himself in her expression of pleasure.

  She made a soft sound of protest, and her eyes swept open to look at him. Confusion was already overcrowding the desire in her gaze.

  He knew he must look a beast, standing there practically panting as he struggled to control the rioting in his body. The pleasure and the pain. The need and the fear.

  Avenell turned away before he saw the disgust, the accusation he knew would come to replace her gentle expression. He would not withstand the revulsion. Not from her. Not now.

  “My lord?”

  “Once you have dressed, I will see you home,” he said, hating the strangled sound of his voice.

  He clenched his teeth as he strode swiftly to the adjacent room, seeking the farthest shadows, craving distance and solitude as he focused on settling the painful fire that spread across his nerves.

  He knew his retreat had likely upset her, but it was better she understood the truth from the beginning.

  He was broken in a real and vital way, and nothing would change that.

  Sixteen

  Lily sat in the darkness of the gently rocking carriage. She was shocked, confused, and growing increasingly frustrated as the earl continued to hold his silence.

  He sat stiff and rigid, his only movement the subtle manipulation of a small snuffbox with his deft fingers. He barely seemed aware of the object in his hand, his actions apparently originating more from habit than any particular intention.

  At least she was regaining some of her composure. Trying to dress herself with shaking hands and wobbly knees had been difficult. But not as difficult as trying to understand what had happened—what had gone wrong.

  He had created so many wonderful sensations with the sweep of his hands over her skin…and the slide of his fingers between her legs…only to bring it all to a sudden, heart-wrenching halt. He had left her standing there in the middle of the private sitting room. Naked and shaking from head to toe, on the verge of some inexplicable revelation. She was sure of it. She had been close to something astounding when he had pulled away from her.

  She did not know why he had stopped touching her, and she suspected an explanation would not be forthcoming.

  After leaving her shaking and stunned, the earl had not returned to her side until she was completely dressed. Without a word, he had assisted her with her cloak, bringing the hood up to shield her face. They had left the brothel as they had arrived, having stayed for barely more than a couple of hours.

  The carriage made a wide turn, and she was reminded that the drive to Angelique’s town house was not a long one. Lord Harte was obviously not inclined to provide any sort of explanation for his abrupt behavior. Of course, she knew it had to do with the fac
t that she had broken her promise when she touched him. But it seemed far more complex than she could decipher.

  Lily was not one to force conversation or to pry into another person’s thoughts, but she was never going to learn how to be his mistress if she could not bring herself to be bold.

  Shifting in her seat, she clasped her hands together in her lap and stared across the carriage to his shadowed form. Taking a swift breath, she broke the silence. “My lord, have I displeased you tonight?”

  He did not move or make any sound to indicate that he had heard her. She struggled to decide between settling back in silence or clearing her throat to try to gain his attention. Then she heard him exhale heavily, as though he had been holding his breath.

  “No, you did not.”

  His words did not reassure her. There was too much rigidity in his tone, too much conflict. “Tonight was a test of sorts,” he added after a moment.

  Lily lifted her chin. “You were testing me?”

  Her tone was made sharp by her injured pride and her confusion. She wished he would be more forthcoming with what he wanted from her. She hated feeling as though she had somehow let him down.

  “You were not the one being tested.”

  The tenor of his voice was strained, as though it had been difficult for him to say the words.

  “I do not understand,” she murmured. Her internal frustration warred with a sudden urge to comfort him.

  “I know. I am sorry for that.”

  He was not going to say more. Her stomach tightened, and she fell back into silence. There was so much to learn about the man who held himself detached even as he explored her body with such gentle intimacy. So much he was unwilling to reveal.

  She could feel his resistance. And it made her ache.

  After another lull, he spoke again. His words were a rough murmur. “All I can do is ask you to trust me.”

  Lily took a long breath. “I trust you, my lord.”

  He stared at her. His attention was harsh and direct, allowing no retreat from his gaze.

  “You understand there will be pain…the first time?”

  Her heart skipped a few beats, and she had to swallow hard before she could answer. He still intended to become her lover. She had not realized how fearful she was that he had changed his mind until she received confirmation to the contrary. Her body ignited swiftly with renewed anticipation.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Do you know what happens between a man and a woman?”

  Lily blushed as she thought of the scenes explicitly described in her novels. “Yes,” she answered, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

  He nodded, then leaned forward. She braced for his touch. But he was only reaching to unlatch the door. She hadn’t even noticed the carriage had come to a stop.

  “I will let you know when I plan to come for you again,” he stated.

  Lily nodded. She should have known not to expect sweet words of tenderness. Though she was disappointed when he did not even offer his hand as she moved to exit the vehicle, she said nothing.

  Accepting the groom’s assistance, she stepped to the ground. It was difficult not to look back, but she managed it. With her head high and her hands trembling beneath the fall of her cloak, she walked to the gate and slipped into Angelique’s garden.

  She wasn’t sure she breathed again until she had closed her bedroom door behind her. Then she fell onto her bed with a heavy sigh.

  Her night with the earl had been more amazing than she ever could have anticipated. Never would she have been able to imagine the things he had made her feel. Not only the physical pleasure, but also the aching stab of frustration once she had realized he was not going to allow her to touch him. He had stayed completely clothed, entirely unmoved, while she had been reduced to a trembling wanton.

  The enigma he presented was all the more difficult to unravel because the mystery was deeply intertwined with his sensuality. There was darkness associated with his desire. Behind the forbidding gaze resided his passion—and he was fiercely determined to keep it confined.

  It had been glorious to experience her body’s awakening under his careful ministrations, but before she had reached the veiled heights of what could be discovered under a lover’s caress, he had abandoned her. Abruptly and intentionally.

  Because she had broken her promise to remain still and, in her mindless desire, had touched him.

  It worried her and confused her.

  He had given her the pleasure of his hands on her body but refused the same for himself.

  He had said tonight had been a test. She hoped it would not need to be repeated.

  She longed to explore his body the way he had hers. The thought of discovering every crest and angle of his masculine strength with the slide of her fingertips made her ache with renewed longing.

  Surely, at their next meeting, he would allow her the pleasure of a simple touch.

  * * *

  Lily spent the next four days pondering the details of her first experience as a mistress. Four days of waiting and wondering when he would pass another message while her patience steadily wore thin.

  She began to feel desperate with the anticipation of seeing him again. Even if it had to be in silent acknowledgment or in a too-brief glimpse across a ballroom. Even if he did not touch her again. Even if she had to find a way to contact him herself.

  Unfortunately, he had not given her any way to reach him. And he had not implied in any way that he would want her to.

  These concerns occupied most of her attention as she accompanied Angelique on a brief shopping excursion. The dowager countess had used the last of the rose and juniper perfume she always wore and needed to purchase another bottle.

  The shop where she procured the precious scent was tucked along a narrow alley that extended off the southern end of Bond Street. The curved little lane was rather dank, with piles of refuse gathering in corners. Lily tensed at the sight of what possibly could have been a small cat or a large rat skittering between doorways up ahead.

  Angelique, however, glided along as though they were strolling through St. James’s Park, the opera glasses she carried with her everywhere lifted to give her a better view of the path before them. She was chatting away about the first time she had discovered the little scent shop and how she had managed to convince the proprietor to create a scent all for her.

  Lily smiled at the old lady’s declarations. Though the story could be true, it was just as likely to be another of her great-aunt’s grand fabrications. The lady told so many fantastical tales, it was difficult to ascertain when anything she said had any bit of truth.

  Their destination was nestled between a musty old antique book shop and the offices of someone whose sign boasted services to assist in personal legal matters. Certainly, it was not the most fashionable part of the shopping district.

  They entered the tiny shop, and the silence that greeted them suggested that they were the only patrons. In fact, the atmosphere was so oddly serene, Lily wondered if anyone had been in the place for quite some time. It felt as though the air, heady with an array of mixed scents, had not been stirred in ages.

  Still, the shop was enchanting. Everywhere she looked there was something unusual catching her eye. Tables and cabinets of various shapes and sizes held an infinite array of scented delights. There were slim bottles made of crystal embedded with colored glass, hand-painted porcelain jars, larger decanters of polished silver, and everything in between.

  And as the gentle afternoon sunlight streamed into the shop, it reflected and refracted between the crystal and glass, creating a hazy miasma of rainbow-colored light.

  “Hello,” Angelique crooned. She swept confidently forward, sashaying past a glass-topped display containing a crowded jumble of perfume bottles.

  Lily followed behind at a much slower
and more careful pace. Even a small bump against one of the spindle-legged tables could send a wave of crystal and porcelain crashing to the floor.

  “Hell-llo?” Angelique called out again from somewhere up ahead.

  Lily reined in her fascination and stepped around a display of large wooden bowls containing collections of dried flowers. The deep red of her aunt’s gown became muted to a darker shade by the dim shadows at the back of the store.

  Then she heard the wavering voice of a very old man finally reply, “My lovely Lady of the Garden, how I cherish these rare visits.”

  A small man dressed in deep forest green with a shock of white hair came scuttling from a back room to grasp both of Angelique’s hands and bring them to his lips, one at a time.

  Lily hid her smile and turned away.

  Lady of the Garden?

  She resisted a small giggle.

  Intentionally diverting her focus from the disturbingly flirtatious reunion at the back of the store, Lily wandered toward a shelf containing scents to sample.

  She reached first for one labeled The Glory of Gardenia and quickly set it down after a brief sniff. The flowery scent was fiercely overwhelming. She continued down the row, trying several more: one scented with orange blossoms and juniper, one laced with lavender, one that contained an interesting blend of rose and mint, and one that was crisp with the scent of lemon and some exotic spice.

  As she perused the scents, she did not realize that someone else had entered the little shop until she felt a presence come up behind her. The sudden awareness of another person startled her into fumbling dangerously with the slim glass bottle stopper she was holding.

  The stopper tumbled from her fingers. Lily gasped in dismay and tensed for the inevitable sound of shattering glass. At the last moment, a man swooped in, catching the stopper before it hit the floor.

  Lily’s breath expelled from her body as she looked down to see Lord Harte crouched elegantly beside her, looking up at her from beneath the shadow of his brow.

  Her heart gave a wild flip as he straightened again to his full height. She had been foolish to think her reaction to him would ever ease. His effect on her seemed only to intensify with each encounter.