PLAYED BY THE EARL

by Alyson Chase

  She said it as if the East End were one of Dante’s circles of hell, and in some places, Netta supposed it was. She didn’t live there, and was glad for it, but it had seemed a convenient location to tell John. There was no way an earl would enter such a neighborhood. It gave her a level of protection against his curiosity.

  Netta cocked an elbow on the backseat of the landau and tipped her face into the sun. “Wot? You’ve never visited? Afraid of getting your slippers dirty?”

  Lady Mary pressed her lips flat. “Afraid of having my slippers stolen.”

  Netta’s lips twitched. The woman wasn’t wrong. And she was nobody’s fool, a trait Netta admired. She dropped the street accent. “Very wise of you. I suppose I just have one of those faces that look familiar to everyone.”

  Lady Mary tapped the end of her walking stick against the coach’s floor. “No, you don’t. Your face is far from common.”

  Netta chewed her lip. This conversation was heading nowhere good. She cleared her throat. “So, what sort of club do you have?”

  Lady Mary arched an eyebrow but allowed the change in subject. “A gentlewoman’s club.”

  Netta pursed her lips. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “No one has. It’s the first of its kind.” Lady Mary angled the head of her walking stick so the jewels on the nob caught the sun. If Netta wasn’t too much mistaken, she wasn’t the only one who liked to engage in a bit of larceny. That walking stick had been in John’s home not long ago.

  “It’s like a gentleman’s club,” Lady Mary said. “But without the rules. And for women. It’s all the crack. You should visit.”

  “I’m not a gentlewoman.”

  Lady Mary waved a hand. “Tosh. We accept all kinds.”

  “In that case, I will.” A chance to see such an oddity was too good to pass. From the pocket of her pelisse, she slid out her handkerchief-wrapped bundle and pulled back the edges of the cloth. She held the pile of comfits up to Lady Mary. “Would you like another? I really must find out where these are made.”

  Lady Mary huffed as she picked one from the pile. “Why? So you can steal direct from the source?” But she didn’t sound disapproving. A touch of grudging respect might have even been laced in her words.

  Netta merely grinned. The warm sun on her face. A pocketful of sweets. And satin sheets to lay in tonight, hopefully not alone. The day was good.

  “This plot you have with Johnnie.”

  “What about it?” Netta popped another of her sweetly-gotten gains into her mouth.

  “I don’t want to know the details—”

  “Good, because I don’t have any.” Netta frowned. A fact that was becoming more irritating each day.

  Lady Mary held up her hand, palm out. “That’s between you and Johnnie. But…I have concerns.”

  “John knows what he’s doing.” If anyone could take the measure of his cleverness, it should be the older woman. “I wouldn’t worry overmuch.”

  “It’s not him I’m concerned about.” Lady Mary shifted on the seat to more fully face Netta. “Now, I love Johnnie very much. He’s always been sweet to me. It was only with his assistance that I was able to open my club. But he’s not a man whose attention is ever engaged overlong.” She dipped her chin to her chest and peered over her spectacles. “If you take my meaning.”

  Netta paused, mid-suck. All her good humor vanished. She did take Lady Mary’s meaning. It would be a kind warning to a different type of woman, but unnecessary for Netta. She had no illusions about a relationship of any length with the earl.

  A small ache bloomed behind her breast, and she rubbed at it. She swallowed the comfit, the morsel not tasting as good as before. “I assure you no such warning is necessary. I’m not the sort to become attached. Or have romantic illusions.” Even had John been a different type of man, it still could never be. A ship to America had her and her sister’s name on it.

  “Good.” Lady Mary rested back on her seat. “I thought you were a sensible sort of girl, but wanted to make sure. Because as good as Johnnie is to have as a friend, he’s not the sort to make a dependable lover. I’d hate to see you ill-used.”

  Netta forced a smile. “As you say, I’m a sensible sort. And I don’t allow myself to be taken advantage of.” She was the one to take advantage, and then flee before the consequences could catch up to her. It was a pattern that had served her well. One that had protected not only her body but her heart. She knew just how attached she could let herself become before she had to move on.

  She and John had yet to be intimate, not truly. There was no need to worry. There were weeks yet for them to enjoy each other.

  Her stomach cramped. So why was she worried?

  Chapter Thirteen

  She pushed her concerns aside as soon as she returned home. Lady Mary waved her off, after pocketing four more of the comfits, and Netta hopped up the steps to John’s townhouse.

  The footman greeted her with a polite nod and handed her a note.

  It read: Find me.

  Her pulse ticked up. He was up to something. Something delightful and wicked. He made it all too difficult to keep a care. How could she be worried when there were games afoot?

  She refolded the note and hurried to his study. Dark and empty of his scent.

  The library was similarly deserted.

  She tapped the note against her lips. His bedroom? Hers? Those options seemed rather lacking in imagination, but she climbed the steps and made a thorough search. Neither hair nor hide of him did she find, not even when she checked under the beds. “Well, drat.” He wouldn’t be in the servants’ quarters, and she couldn’t imagine John ever stepping foot into the kitchens.

  The dying rays of the sun illuminated the window, the hazy London sky burnished brick orange. She walked to the casement and pressed her palms against the warm glass, watching the last sliver of the sun dip below the earth.

  A flicker of brightly colored fabric disappeared into the garden gazebo.

  “Checkmate.” She spun, her skirts whirling, and darted from the room and down the stairs. She found the door onto the back gardens and pressed it open.

  Even in the center of London, the high walls covered in thick vines created a quiet oasis. A lark called to its mate; crickets greeted each other. And the soft tapping of a heeled boot on a wooden floor met her ear.

  She ignored the winding gravel path and crossed over the lawn, hopping over a low hedge to drive her quarry to ground. His face was hidden in shadow, but the crossed legs clad in cream-colored pantaloons identified the man well enough.

  “I found you.” Her voice sounded breathless with excitement. She tried to rally indifference back into her words. “If this was to be a game, it wasn’t difficult. And I won,” she felt the need to point out.

  He chuckled, the sound low and rich. It sent shivers skittering down her spine. “Finding me within the confines of one townhouse was not the game.” He uncurled into standing. “I needed you in the proper location to begin the fun.” Reaching forward, he stroked her cheek with the knuckle of his index finger. “And you won’t win. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Such arrogance shows you haven’t played with the right partner.” She lifted her chin.

  “I haven’t played with anyone like you, of that I’m certain.” He circled behind her. “Are you sure you want to dance, poppet? You have the option of going upstairs, changing for dinner, and ignoring the attraction between us.”

  “Sounds dull. Second option?”

  He pulled the pins from her hair, flicking them to the gazebo floor one by one. “Second option involves you naked and moaning. Interested?”

  Her nipples tingled. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. The degree of your pleasure only depends on your brazenness.”

  She turned and planted her palms on his chest. She ran them up and down his waistcoat. “Then there’s no limit at all.”

  His lips curl
ed. “I love your assurance. It makes things that much easier for me.” He ran his knuckle over her breast, making the tingles gathered there shoot down to her core. “Take off your clothes.”

  Netta’s breath caught. “Here?”

  He shifted his hand, running his finger along the edge of her bodice, his bare skin finally touching hers. “Why not? You’ve shown a decided lack of concern in letting the servants see you in a state of dishabille. Besides, night is falling and this garden is private. Who’s to see?”

  Netta bit the inside of her cheek. She was bold, but this might exceed even her audacity. Tall rose bushes circled the gazebo, providing a modicum of privacy, but there were definite gaps.

  John dipped his finger into her décolletage, sliding it up and down.

  Netta swallowed. On the other hand, it was a warm evening and she wouldn’t get many more opportunities to be tupped in a garden by a man who was becoming more enthralling by the moment. She gave him her back. “Unbutton me.”

  He chuckled and leaned in close. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint,” he whispered in her ear. He made quick work of her gown and within moments Netta was pulling it free from her legs. With a deep breath, she untied the laces of her stays and slid it off her body.

  John’s gaze locked on her bosom. She smiled to herself as she reached down and hooked her fingers under the hem of her chemise. She inched it up, the fabric dragging over her hips, catching on her breasts before sliding up and over her head. She stood before him in only her stockings and slippers.

  A breeze caressed her bare skin, hardening her nipples to aching points. Or maybe it was John’s expression that affected her so. His eyes had gone hooded, his nostrils flaring. He looked at her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen.

  That kind of appreciation had an effect on a woman.

  She raised bent arms, her palms to the sky. “Now what?”

  “Now we play.” He reached forwards, his destination obvious, and she brushed his hand away before he could touch her breast.

  She wagged her finger. “Terms first. Then touching.” Much, much touching, she hoped. Never before had she been without clothes out-of-doors, and her skin thrilled from the freedom. It loved every brush of air against it and wanted more. Wanted John’s hands caressing every inch.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course. I propose another game of kissing. The first person to touch the other with anything other than his or her lips, loses.”

  “That’s it?”

  He rocked his weight onto the balls of his feet. “I prefer simple contests.”

  She flicked a glance down to his falls. “And we are kissing each other…”

  “On the mouth, you filthy wanton.” He advanced a step.

  “Then why am I naked?”

  He grinned. “It will save time after you lose.”

  “I won’t lose.” She shifted, her thighs rubbing together. Wetness gathered at her lower lips and she didn’t think a few kisses would alleviate her need. “What will my prize be?”

  “If I touch you first and you win, which you won’t,” he quickly added. “I give you an orgasm. If I win—”

  “I give you one?” She had to win. There was no way she was leaving this gazebo without satisfaction.

  He swung his head side to side. “You still get your climax. Only when I win, it happens when I’m buried deep inside of you.”

  Her mouth went dry. Now this was a dilemma. She loved winning.

  But she wanted to lose very badly.

  “Deal?” he asked.

  She stepped toe-to-toe with him. “Deal.” She lifted her face.

  He would have to kiss her first. Without the use of her hands, she couldn’t yank him down to her as she’d like.

  He made the most of his power. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lowered his head. He paused, his breath fluttering over her lips, his eyes glittering as bright as sapphires in the light from the gas lamp by the side door.

  “Confound it.” She stamped her foot. She should have stamped his foot. “Stop dawdling and—”

  He covered her mouth with his, cutting off her demand.

  His kiss was dark, dirty, and impressive considering it was without the use of his hands. Even with just his lips, his tongue, he controlled her movements. With just the slightest pressure, she knew when to angle her head. When to widen her mouth and allow him full access.

  Her skin heated and her head went light. The slick glide of his tongue over hers made her whimper. The scrape of his teeth made her moan. And when finally he lifted his head, she couldn’t hold back her breathy sigh.

  She had never been kissed so well.

  He brought his head low again, and she rolled up on her toes, eager for the next one.

  He held back. “You lose,” he said.

  Netta drew her eyebrows together. “What?”

  He ran his fingers up her arms until they reached her hands. Which were gripping his shoulders like he was the last pound cake in the bakeshop.

  “Oh.” She didn’t remember raising her hands, but now that they were there she smoothed them along the firm muscles of his chest. “How did that happen?”

  “It’s a mystery.” Grabbing her hips, John spun her around and placed her palms on the gazebo railing. He nudged her feet wide with his boot then curled his body over her back. “I told you I’d win. When it comes to getting what I want, I won’t play for seconds.”

  She was wedged between two hard places. The edge of the wood railing bit into her skin from the front and John’s rigid length pressed into her lower back. It was a perfect predicament to be in. Her heart beat a rough tattoo in her chest.

  “Never let it be said that I can’t accept defeat without grace.” She arched her back, pressing more firmly against him.

  He chuckled, the husky sound making her muscles go weak. “You have many fine traits, poppet, but being easy in your losses I fear is not one of them.” Trailing his fingers around her hip, he skimmed over her thatch of curls and found her clit.

  Her body jerked as his thumb swept a slow circle around the nub. She should argue the point. She was certain she was a fine loser. She just didn’t have much experience at it. But his hand was doing unspeakable things to her body and the desire to debate the point melted into a different type of longing.

  “I’ve dreamed of this moment for a long time.” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and tugged. “Sliding inside of you. Feeling all of your curves pressed up tight against me. Do you want that, too?”

  “Yesss.”

  “Are you wet and ready for me?” His touch was butterfly-soft as he drew his finger down her cleft and eased it inside her channel. He groaned. “Fuck me, you are ready.” He plunged in and out until she wanted to scream. It felt so good, he felt so good, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

  He grabbed her hair with his other hand and pulled her head back. “Say it. Say you’re ready. Say you want me.”

  Was that even in doubt? “I want you. Now. Immediately.” If that wasn’t clear enough, she reached back to grip his neck, to pull him as close as possible.

  He pushed her hand back to the railing.

  “You’re going to need to hold on, darling. This is going to be a wild ride.” His hands fumbled against her backside, and the fabric of his falls brushed against her. Gripping her hips, he tugged her back an inch until she felt the smooth head of him against her entrance.

  Her toes curled in her slippers as she waited. One second. Two.

  He drove into her, and she cried out. The pressure was intense, the feeling of fullness overwhelming. “Oh God. I can’t…It won’t…”

  John cupped her breast with one hand as he bit her shoulder. He stroked her clit with his other until her body turned to soft clay. “You can. It will.” And so saying, he thrust hard, taking those last inches and the last rational thought from her mind.

  ***

  Netta shuddered beneath him. Around h
im. And he’d never felt anything so good as this woman’s sex clutching tight about his cock.

  He stood pressed against her arse, unmoving, reveling in the luxuriousness of the sensation. And to think, the game had only just begun.

  He flexed his hips, withdrawing a couple of inches before his body demanded he press back home. His kept his thrusts shallow, leisurely, setting a pace just this side of frustrating.

  Netta didn’t agree with his assessment. “Faster,” she demanded.

  “No.” He slid his hands up her waist to cup her breasts. Jesus, her breasts could make a grown man weep. They overflowed his hands, their warm weight soft against his palms. He flicked his thumbs over her nipples and groaned when her core quavered.

  She pushed back against him, using the rail as leverage. “Harder.”

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, he held her still. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply. “Quiet. Tonight I set the pace. Besides,” he said, and traced the curve of her neck with his tongue, “you should keep your voice down. You never know who might wander past.”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. “As you said, this is a private garden.” She gave her body a delightful little shimmy. “Now no more excuses. You did promise me a climax. Get to work.”

  John threw his head back and laughed, the sound surprising even himself. Buried ballocks deep in a woman wasn’t a time for humor. Except, with Netta, apparently it was.

  He glanced at the closed side door. “As you wish.” He gripped her hips, slid back until just his crown remained inside her, then hammered deep.

  She moaned, the sound loud in the deepening night.

  He skimmed his hand down her spine and thrust again. “What would happen if someone did see us like this? You naked, bent before me, arse pressing back, desperate for my cock.” He watched as his Thomas eased from her cunny, glistening and dark in the low light. He palmed said arse and pressed his thumb between her cheeks, his touch whispering over her tight rosette.

  “Oh God!”

  “Shhh.” He rocked back into her, every nerve ending on his length lighting up like fireworks over Vauxhall Gardens. “We wouldn’t want anyone to hear.”