The Earl's Wager

by Rebecca Thomas

  “Yes. That’s an accurate statement.” Will extended his arm to escort her inside. The warmth of her gloved hand against his forearm sent a frisson of heat through him.

  “I’ll change out of my traveling clothes and meet you in the drawing room.” Georgia ascended the stairs to her room and glanced back over her shoulder when she reached the top.

  What was going on with her? The furrow between her brows and the intelligence shining in her eyes made him believe more was going on inside her brain than she’d have him know. Nevertheless, a few more dances before the house party wouldn’t hurt.

  He paced across the drawing room while he waited and wondered what in her caused that something feeling, but before he could contemplate it further, Georgia appeared.

  Now, she wore a pale-yellow dress with ruffles along the sleeves, but no gloves. She was panting, nearly out of breath. As she got closer, he realized the dress fit her quite nicely, the curves between her breasts and hips accentuated.

  “Did you run the entire way?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Very nearly. I didn’t want you to have to wait long.”

  There was something erotic about a woman out of breath. But it wasn’t just her breathing—her hair was in disarray. Usually pulled back tight, several lose strands curled around her face. And her cheeks were flushed from exertion.

  A pang of something shot through his midsection again.

  This wasn’t good—this wasn’t good at all.

  “So,” Georgia said and clasped her hands together. “I’m pretty sure I know the quadrille, but if we could practice a little more, I’d feel better.”

  “Since we don’t have another couple to practice with us, it will be kind of difficult.”

  Georgia’s eyes fixed on him. “Can’t we just pretend?”

  He blinked. “I suppose so, yes.”

  “From what I remember,” she said as she approached him, “your right arm goes behind my waist.” She maneuvered her body next to his. “My right hand holds your right hand, here.” She placed her hand in his at her waist and looked expectantly at him. “Now, your left hand holds my left, but I can’t remember the steps for certain.”

  The sooner he got this over with, the better. The flesh of their right hands touching skin to skin, without gloves to separate them, burned. He guided her through the dance steps with an imaginary couple moving across the floor with them. As much as he knew he shouldn’t, he wanted to pull her closer to feel the curves of her body against his. His hand itched to press harder against her warm flesh.

  There was something changed about her, and it wasn’t just her hair. It went beyond good posture. The difference was very small. Maybe the way she was holding her chin or the light in her eyes. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but she was acting differently. Instead of wondering, he asked her, “Did everything go according to plan at the dressmaker’s?”

  “Of course. Why would you ask?”

  “You seem changed somehow.” He kept his hand in the appropriate place on her waist but wanted so much to feel more of the curve of her back.

  She stopped. “I haven’t managed to step on your foot, so all is well, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not talking about the dance… You just seem more accepting of your fate, perhaps. Maybe finding a husband isn’t such a bad thing after all?”

  She tipped her head and gave him a curious look. “Maybe you know me better than I realized, my lord. Yes, I’m looking forward to the house party, where I might find a gentleman who will show me how to kiss.”

  “You can’t do that,” he blurted.

  “I most certainly can.” After a curt nod, she stepped out of his arms.

  “It’s unseemly to kiss a man just for the purpose of learning how to kiss. You absolutely cannot do it.”

  “Why?” She placed her fisted hands on her hips. “I need to learn how to dance, how to talk, how to walk with better posture, how to eat… Shouldn’t I learn how to kiss, too?”

  Her logical arguments clouded his judgment, because the way she stated the facts so simply actually made sense. A kiss with her would be sweet and intense and impassioned and, hell, she was making him insane. He shook his head, hoping the fog of confusion might clear.

  She raised a delicate brow. “I’ve asked you to fulfill the task as part of your instruction, but you’ve said no, so I’ll find someone else.”

  “No,” he ground out and reached for her arm. “No, you won’t.” He pulled her toward him, firmer than he’d meant to. “You won’t find someone.”

  He held her close, her body soft and compliant against his.

  She gave him a look that spoke of conviction. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Blast it, woman.” His thoughts jumbled in a war of what was logical and what wasn’t. If she truly was going to accept kissing lessons from some man, then certainly it should be him.

  Her tongue crept out of her mouth and ran across the inner edge of her bottom lip as she stared at him, daring him with a look of defiance. Her body’s heat begged him to give her exactly what she wanted, but in this moment he didn’t want to be gentle about it. “You kiss me, then.”

  All semblance of reason exited his brain, and only the baser needs of his body made any kind of sense. He crushed his lips on hers. At first, she arched back, leaning away, but within seconds, she kissed him back.

  This vixen who claimed to know nothing about kissing was kissing him back. And all he wanted was more. Heat coursed through his entire body, lighting it on fire. His mouth devoured hers, demanding entrance.

  She readily opened her mouth and let his tongue explore. Within moments she flicked her tongue against his, meeting him touch for touch, and he inwardly groaned. Tiny whimpers slipped from her mouth as he ravished her with exquisite gentleness. His hands explored the curves of her bottom and pressed her against his hardness.

  Her hands pulled on the lapels of his waistcoat, coaxing him deeper into the kiss and deeper into his need. A soft mewling sound erupted from her throat.

  Some form of reasoning found its way into his brain, and he severed the connection between their joined mouths.

  His eyes opened. Then hers. Their panting breaths intermingled, their chests rising and falling in a romantic rhythm daring them not to stop.

  “I-I want more,” she murmured.

  Indecision crept into his thoughts. The answer should be so simple, so exact. He shouldn’t be thinking about anything other than telling her no.

  There was a reason young ladies weren’t left unchaperoned. Because of men like him. He’d been entrusted with her charge, to keep her safe, but he’d broken that trust.

  “Kiss me again.” Having no idea how close to the edge he was, how close he was to not sticking with honor and instead doing what he wanted, she pressed her sweet breasts against him. She pulled on his lapels. “Please.”

  “You have no idea what you’re asking.” His arms curved around her, even though he knew he couldn’t devour her as he wanted. “How much more I want to do than kiss you.”

  Her supple lips brushed over his chin, urging him to continue the forbidden intimacy. “You’re my tutor. You’re supposed to teach me.”

  “I can’t do that, and you know it.”

  “Then tell me,” she murmured. “Describe more about what you want to do to me.”

  Although his hands circled her waist to ease her back, still she clung to him, refusing distance between them. “We can’t do this,” he said.

  “We won’t do anything then, just talk to me. You said you wanted to do more than kiss me. What?” she persisted.

  He groaned. “Will you let go of my coat if I tell you?”

  “Yes.” She fixed her eyes on him. Her dark lashes blinked. “I promise.”

  “Come,” he said and took her hand, tugging her to the damask lounge chair near the window. “You sit there.” To put a reasonable distance between them, he placed her on one end and sat on the opposite end.

 
; Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. She’d been thoroughly ravished, and guilt assailed him. “I shouldn’t have done that. I apologize.”

  “I asked you to kiss me.”

  “That wasn’t a proper kiss. I kissed you too hard. I demanded too much.”

  “But I liked it,” she said with confidence.

  “We aren’t married. We shouldn’t be doing that.”

  “But people kiss before they marry. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He attempted to gather his thoughts. “Yes, they kiss before marriage, but something more chaste would be appropriate, not what we did. What I did. We can’t do that again.”

  “I can see you’re upset,” she said, “but I want to know. When you said you wanted to do more than kiss me, what did you mean?”

  Chapter Nine

  Georgia resisted the urge to scoot to Will’s end of the sofa. The heat of his kiss still lingered on her lips, her breasts strained against the fabric of her frock, and she wanted more. She didn’t understand everything her body felt, but just like racing thoroughbreds across the hard-packed earth, it excited her.

  She wanted to feel and experience everything he was willing to show her. But she had to play by Will’s rules. “Tell me what you mean,” she said breathlessly. Although she was pushing him past his limits, she needed to hear that someone wanted her. That she wasn’t just a ward Oliver hoped to marry off, or a female jockey unable to race, or someone with a disparaging accent, or a frustrating student like Will often intimated. She longed to hear from a man that she was worthy of being desired.

  “You understand what I mean—I want to do what any man wants to do with a woman, even if they are as infuriating at you.” He gripped the edge of the damask lounge chair. “You refuse to stand down from the conventions that are set before you, always challenging me, always goading me. I should be angry with you for it, but I can’t seem to stay mad. You are completely wrong for me in every way. But I find, I—”

  “What?” She should be frightened by the heated look in his eye, but she wasn’t. “Why am I wrong for you?”

  “You’re beautiful, to be sure. You’ve lovely, actually, but you aren’t English.” He spoke almost as though he wasn’t talking to her, but rather to the room. He seemed far away in thought. “You’re smart and witty. You can laugh at yourself more than anyone I’ve ever known. I want you in my bed—no doubt, but—”

  “You want me in your bed?” He thought she was intelligent? He liked her. A deep yearning churned deep in her core. “Is that why you kissed me so hard?”

  “I didn’t mean to.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked upward. “I should have…I should have been gentler.”

  “You can kiss me again.” She itched to move closer to him. He was just out of arm’s reach. She tried to process everything he’d said, but with the heat of his kiss still running its course through her body, it was hard to think rationally. “But you said I was wrong for you?”

  “Yes, of course you are.” Pacing across the drawing room to the far wall covered in portraits of the Westwyck family, he continued, “I must marry to further my standing in society. I can’t be shunned again—not like before.”

  “You were shunned? How so?” While Mrs. Marchant had explained some of this to her, she didn’t truly understand. How can a town make you feel like less of a person? First they were talking about kissing, now about being shunned by society—none of it made any sense.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He spun around and strode toward her. Anger laced his words. “If Oliver had any idea what I’ve done…”

  “You didn’t do it alone.” She stood. Everything was starting to make sense to her now, and although it stung to be rejected, she understood Will’s motivation to marry the biddable daughter of an English peer. Just like her, he wanted to be accepted. “But regardless, I’m not right for you. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  In that moment Georgia made a decision—someone like Will would never want to marry an American misfit like her. He was too staid, too proper, too suitable. No matter how much taller she stood or more confident she acted, she’d never be what a titled English gentleman would want. But perhaps Will could provide her the tools she needed to seduce one. “Shouldn’t I have some idea of what will happen on my marriage day?”

  “What do you mean? You want to be ruined?”

  “I didn’t say anything of ruination, only that I don’t want to be completely naïve.” If she was to marry an old man who likely would never make her heart race like Will did, she may as well know some physical pleasures before she was committed and bound to marriage. “I want to know something of what goes on…and you can teach me.”

  “Of course I can. Didn’t I just prove that? Good God. I ravished you.” Some of the anger left his voice, frustration replacing it.

  A sigh of contentment involuntarily left her lips. A sense of power filled her, because she now had some small bit of knowledge about the kissing and what went on between men and women who physically wanted each other. “I’m glad to know what being ravished means.”

  “You say the most inappropriate things, Miss Duvall,” he blurted out. His hands fisted, then straightened. “But dammit if there isn’t a small part of me that is envious.”

  “I have a good excuse. I’m an American.” Which meant, she reminded herself, she was completely wrong for him.

  She strolled toward him with purpose; she’d never felt so bold before—before he’d kissed her. And she’d know more. She’d know what if felt like to feel desire. It was doubtful she’d ever feel true passion with an elderly husband, but she would certainly feel it with Will. “I told Eloise not to disturb us, and I locked the door. We’re completely alone. I’d like to hear some of the details of what you’d do to me in your bed.”

  He rounded the edge of the sofa, putting distance between them again. “I have a mind to give you exactly what you’re asking for.”

  His words excited and frightened her at the same time. If she moved forward with this new plan, she’d need to gather her courage. “But I thought you said… Are you thinking of ruining me, then?”

  His face reddened, and he approached her. “I wouldn’t do any such thing, because I’m a gentleman, but I’m not above teaching you a few things.”

  Her heartbeat increased. This is what she wanted. Being with Will this way was more thrilling than anything she’d ever done, even crossing the finish line with Perseus. The tension between them, the longing that she couldn’t articulate, whatever it was, she wanted it. And she was certain she was close to getting it. She licked her bottom lip and stood within an inch of him. “Teach me, then.”

  “I’ve a mind to…” His eyebrows pinched inward as his eyes darkened. “I’ve a mind to untie the ribbons that hold your dress up.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I’ve a mind to pull the dress down from your shoulders so I can see you free from the confines of your shift.”

  Her breathing came faster.

  “I’ve dreamed of it. Sliding the straps of your chemise down so I might see your breasts spill out.” His breath tickled her ear, but she didn’t move. Her skin tingled, and the air around them grew thick and hot.

  “Would you like that, Miss Duvall?” He pulled back and arched one brow.

  Yes. This is what she wanted. She nodded furiously and without hesitation. She wanted to feel desire. Maybe everything she’d thought and planned about marriage was all wrong.

  “Perhaps you should do the untying of the ribbons then.” His voice cracked.

  Her hands shook, but she did as he asked. She pulled one ribbon, then the next, loosening the stays that kept the bodice of her dress tight. Breathing was easier without the fabric pulling against her skin. She looked up at him expectantly, wondering what he’d say next, but he was focused on the newly exposed skin at the top of her breasts.

  Finally, his stare swept along her neck and up, so hot her skin sizzled because of the intimate visual caress. His eyes
met hers, and he said, “Pull your bodice down, so I can see you.”

  Georgia had a sudden case of nerves. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t play this game. But she wasn’t a gently bred Englishwoman, she was an American. She wasn’t a member of the ton, nor had she ever aspired to be, and didn’t have to follow England’s rules. “This goes beyond kissing lessons, my lord.”

  “Then we can stop immediately.” His fingers smoothed one of her errant curls away from her nape.

  “I-I don’t want to stop.” With shaking hands, she reached for the lace edge of her dress.

  “You don’t have to do this, Georgia,” Will murmured, his hand caressing the skin along her collarbone.

  She lifted her chin. “I want to.” She pushed the fabric away from her shoulder. One breast fell free. Her gaze down, she declined to look at him. Heat scorched her face.

  “The other side as well,” he urged, his voice sounding hoarse.

  This was merely a lesson in what goes on between a man and woman in the privacy of their bedroom, she told herself. She was gaining knowledge and experiencing a touch of passion.

  Following his direction, she pushed the fabric from her other shoulder as well. Maybe she should feel some sense of shame, but she didn’t. The cool air rushed against her nipples, causing them to stand out, and she sucked in a breath and willed her gaze to look up at him.

  His green eyes appeared darker. He swallowed. “You’re beautiful.”

  She lifted her chin in defiance and asked, “Now what?”

  “Touch yourself.”

  More heat flushed over her skin. “T-touch myself how?”

  He licked his lips. “Squeeze your nipples. Roll them between your fingertips and tell me how it feels.”

  “But I’d rather have you touch me,” she replied, unabashed. “I ache for a man’s touch, not my own.”

  A ragged breath escaped his mouth. “I have a mind to do more than touch your breasts.”