The Red Hot Earl Page 8

  “That was magnificent.” She snuggled toward him and felt the brush of his sex against her thigh. She felt foolish. He hadn’t participated. “It also wasn’t fair. What about you?”

  He kissed her temple. “This was about you.”

  She shook her head. “I want you to experience what I did.” She rolled to her side. “May I?” She gently touched his cock. It was soft and smooth and incredibly hard. “Show me.”

  He put his hand over hers and curled her fingers around his flesh. Then he guided her to the base. “Up and down,” he rasped. “Slowly at first.”

  At first. She did as he described, gripping him gently as she moved her hand up his shaft. “As you did with me?” At his nod, she continued, setting a modest pace. “Then faster, also as you did with me?” She increased her speed.

  He rolled to his back. “Dear God. Yes.”

  “When do you put this inside me?” Her sex began to pulse again. Was that normal? She wanted to feel that same release he’d given her once more.

  He closed his eyes, his face a mask of need. “After we’re married.”

  Her hand stilled, and his eyes opened. He turned his head to focus on her, his pupils dilated.

  Married? Had she heard him right? “But we aren’t getting married.”

  He blinked, then flicked a glance down at where she still touched him. “I think we must.”

  She withdrew her hand and scooted away from him. “Why?”

  “I should think it’s obvious.”

  Because of what they’d done. And yes, she supposed that would be the normal course of things. “I don’t think it’s obvious, actually. I think that’s what most would expect, but I am not most people. On the contrary, I’ve no wish to marry.”

  Color started to rise in his face, and he twitched twice in quick succession. “Hell.” The word shot from him, and the resulting frown gave her to think he hadn’t meant to say it.

  His “affliction” was surfacing. And it was her fault. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. It’s just…I have enjoyed tonight between us, and I would continue. But I understand if you would rather not.”

  He turned his head, his neck stretching—another twitch. “My honor will not allow me to.”

  She’d said she understood—and she did—however, that didn’t mean she wasn’t disappointed. She slid from the bed. “I’ll go.”

  He sat up. “Bee.”

  “It’s fine.” She summoned a smile. “Thank you. For what you gave me. I’ll treasure tonight always.” Feeling suddenly emotional, she darted from his bedchamber back to the sitting room, where she quickly donned her clothing. The dressing gown in particular was still damp, and she began to shiver as she worked to stuff her feet into her wet slippers.

  Quick, before he comes out and sees that you’re upset!

  Bianca hurried from the sitting room and made her way across the upper floor to her chamber. She moved quickly, praying no one would see her—especially Ash’s mother.

  At last, she reached her room. Once inside, she went to the fire, which was quite low.

  “My lady?” Donnelly’s sleepy voice came from the dressing chamber, and a moment later, she appeared, wiping a hand over her eye. “I’m sorry. I dozed off.”

  “That’s fine.” Bianca preferred to be alone right then anyway.

  “I’ll just stir the fire,” Donnelly said, already applying herself to the task.

  A bigger fire and the warmth it would provide would not come amiss. Bianca was still feeling chilled. And she wasn’t sure it was entirely from her clothing.

  She walked past Donnelly toward the dressing chamber. “I need to change.” A moment later, she was garbed in a fresh night rail. She rushed back to the fireplace and curled herself onto the chair before it.

  Donnelly fetched a blanket from the bed and wrapped it about Bianca. Warmth began to soothe her—at least on the outside. Inside, she still felt cold.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Donnelly asked.

  Bianca tried to smile at her and failed. “No, thank you. Go on back to bed. I went outside to look at the snow, and I just need a few minutes to warm up.”

  Donnelly nodded. “Of course, my lady.” Then she turned and retreated to the dressing room, where her cot was located.

  Gradually, heat pervaded Bianca’s body, but it wasn’t the kind Ash had stoked within her. She tried to identify the reason for the cold, hollow feeling inside her, a feeling that trapped unshed tears at the back of her throat.

  She thought of how generous and kind Ash had been all evening and of how she’d stirred his infirmity. The ache inside her intensified. She hated that she’d caused him to be upset.

  What a tangle. She considered going back to his room to apologize, but reasoned that would only keep the matter festering between them. Wait, would it agitate and disrupt their friendship? She hadn’t considered that. She hadn’t considered anything except embracing the delicious moment that had sprung up between them.

  And if she went back, could that moment continue? Did she want it to?

  Yes.

  Groaning, she knocked her head against the cushion of the high-backed chair. She was a wanton, clearly. She wanted Ash, her oldest and dearest friend, but she didn’t want to marry him. It wasn’t him, it was shackling herself to someone who would control her life. Living with Calder and his dismal behavior was bad enough.

  Then there was the fact that Ash was an earl, and he had to be in London part of the year. She would hate being away from her home. On the other hand, Ash had obviously loved it—and it had changed him for the better. Or so he said. Could she grow to appreciate it too?

  She opened her eyes, startled, and sat up in the chair. Was she considering his proposal?

  She wasn’t entirely rejecting it. She couldn’t. Not when she thought of the way he’d made her feel. For a while, she’d lost control and for someone who liked to manage everything, it had been a surprisingly heady feeling. Because she knew she could trust Ash.

  What’s more, if she didn’t marry him, she’d never know what happened next. She wasn’t sure she could go a lifetime with that sort of frustration.

  After staring into the fire for she didn’t know how long, Bianca rose from the chair and padded to the bed. Burrowing under the covers, she closed her eyes and tried to make sense of how quickly and drastically her life seemed to have changed. All because she’d found Ash again.

  The boy who’d rescued her. And maybe the only one who ever would.

  * * *

  Ash purposely went down to breakfast later than usual the following morning. Aside from having been up half the night tortured by thoughts of Bianca and the future he now desperately wanted and apparently couldn’t have, he didn’t particularly want to see her or his mother.

  So it was with hope that he entered the breakfast room, only to stop short at seeing both women seated at the table. He took a deep breath and counted to three, but a shudder passed over him nonetheless, twisting his neck and cresting across his shoulders.

  They swung their heads toward him, one with a tense, expectant expression, the other smiling. His mother spoke. “Good morning! I was wondering if you’d perhaps taken ill. You didn’t go out in the snow last night, did you? I know how much you love a snowfall, especially the first one.”

  “I did, in fact.” His gaze connected with Bianca’s, but just for a moment, because he abruptly turned to fetch a plate from the sideboard. A twitch pricked his frame, and he rolled his shoulder.

  The footman was at the sideboard, a mild look of confusion marring his brow. Typically, he would serve Ash’s plate and deliver it to the table. Today, however, Ash shook his head, and the footman retreated.

  After filling his plate, Ash went to sit down. He stared at the food and wondered why he’d taken so much. He wasn’t sure he could eat. Not with his fondest desire sitting across from him.

  “Alas, the snow has stopped,” his mother continued. “But that means Lady Bianca can go t
o her sister’s house today.”

  “We’ll see,” Ash said, picking up his knife to spread jam on his toast. He willed his body to behave, but his head tipped to the side. “The snow does not appear to be melting, and if the temperature doesn’t warm quickly enough, she won’t be able to leave. Not in a carriage, anyway. I suppose she could ride to her sister’s.”

  “Surely it’s too cold for such a journey,” his mother declared. She turned her head to Bianca. “You may have to stay another night.”

  “I won’t mind,” Bianca said.

  Hell. One more night under the same roof with her? Last night had been agonizing enough.

  Ash couldn’t look at her. Instead, he focused on eating his toast, which tasted and crumbled like sand in his mouth.

  His mother pushed back her chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to repair to my sitting room to work on plans for the St. Stephen’s Day party. There are so many lists to make.” She beamed at both of them. “I’m so thrilled to help.”

  Ash was glad to see her so happy. He knew it had been hard for her to leave their home in Hartwell, but she’d insisted on coming here to support him as he learned how to be an earl. This would give her the chance to spend time in Hartwell and see Shield’s End put to good use. “I daresay it will end up benefiting everyone that the duke decided to forgo hosting the party. I can think of no one better to lead the charge.” He smiled at her and forced himself to take another bite of toast.

  “Not me,” his mother said. “Lady Bianca is leading things. I am a happy soldier.” She started to rise, and Ash got to his feet. He was having even more trouble chewing and swallowing this bite of toast. He was also having difficulty avoiding Bianca’s gaze.

  Perhaps he should quit the room too. “Do you need help, Mother?” he asked.

  She waved him back down. “No. Finish your breakfast. I’ll see you later.” With a final cheerful nod toward both of them, she turned and left.

  Ash gave up on the toast and moved on to his eggs. They tasted like…nothing. At least he could swallow them down without much effort.

  Bianca glanced toward the footman, her eyes furtive. After the fourth time, it was evident she was hoping the footman would leave.

  Ash turned toward the retainer. “Would you go and speak with the head groom and ask if he thinks Lady Bianca will be able to travel today?”

  “Yes, my lord.” The footman spun about and departed.

  “Better?” Ash only looked briefly at her before taking another bite of tasteless eggs.

  “I’m sorry I can’t leave,” Bianca blurted.

  “We’ll see if that’s true.”

  “Please don’t be angry with me.”

  Now he pinned her with a direct stare. “I’m not.”

  “Well, I am.”

  He cocked his head—on purpose—and blinked. “You’re angry with me?”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “No! I’m angry with me. I never meant to cause you…distress last night. I feel awful.”

  “You mustn’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Her expression turned dubious, her brows briefly arching. “I’m not sure I agree with you, but I won’t argue.”

  “I’m the one who must apologize,” he said. “I never should have allowed things to progress.”

  “It wasn’t your fault at all. I’m to blame. I’m the one who took my clothes off and tried to seduce you. Then I touched your—”

  “Bee. I’d rather you didn’t talk about it.” Reliving their torrid encounter was bad enough, but hearing her describe it was a torment he wasn’t prepared to endure. A tremor worked through his neck and down his arm.

  Quiet reigned once more. Ash surrendered the eggs and moved on to the kippers. After one bite, he decided he was finished. He looked toward her as she gazed out the window, her face in profile. The gentle slope of her nose and the strong jut of her chin were so distinctive. He could identify her at fifty paces from among a field of women. And the rest would pale in comparison.

  She abruptly stood, and Ash quickly got to his feet. “I think it’s time for our snowball fight.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  She laughed gaily. “Come on.” She gave him a tart, teasing look, and he was helpless to resist her allure. “I think you will feel better if you can throw a snowball at me. Or ten.”

  He would feel better if he could marry her. If he could claim to the world that she belonged to him—that he loved her beyond measure.

  He loved her?

  Of course. That was what the empty ache in his chest signified—the loss of something he’d only just realized he wanted more than anything. A countess was necessary, but Bianca was absolutely vital. He couldn’t imagine anyone else sharing his life or his bed.

  Suddenly, the idea of throwing snowballs—maybe not at her—sounded exactly perfect.

  Chapter 8

  Despite her tall boots, heavy cloak, and extra-thick gloves, Bianca was quite wet. Making and throwing snowballs would do that, she supposed. Still, she wouldn’t trade it. Seeing Ash laugh was worth any price. Being the one to provoke that laughter was a gift.

  She’d seen the disappointment and sadness in the rigidity of his body the moment he’d walked into the breakfast room. Knowing she was the cause of his upset had nearly torn her in two.

  Then, when she’d apologized and tried to take responsibility, he’d been an utter gentleman. He was, she realized, without compare.

  She looked askance at where he was building his snowman. They were having a contest to see whose would be taller without falling over—he’d promised not to go higher than her head to keep things fair.

  Only he wasn’t there.

  Too late, she heard the soft squish of snow behind her. Just before the coldness seeped down the back of her cloak.

  Gasping, she spun about, her jaw gaping. His eyes danced as he shrugged. She promptly burst out laughing.

  He joined in, and a good minute passed before she could speak. “I deserved that.” She’d crept up on him earlier and pressed a small snowball on the back of his neck. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “You absolutely did,” he said.

  She realized she still held snow in her hand. She’d scooped it up to add to her sculpture. Curling her hand around the cold mass, she started to throw—

  Only to have him launch toward her. She tried to back out of his reach, but her foot slipped in the snow, and there was nothing she could do to keep from going down. Her legs slid out from beneath her, and she fell back into the soft snow.

  Ash’s eyes widened, and then the heavens made things right, and he slipped too.

  His arms windmilled, and he fell forward, managing to pivot so that he landed beside her. Unfortunately, he got a face full of snow.

  He lifted his head and turned it toward her. Snow clung to his brow, his nose, his chin making him into a living snowman. Bianca dissolved into laughter once again.

  He grinned. “Do I look absurd?”

  Bianca caught her breath. “You look like my brother if his outside matched his inside.” She immediately grimaced. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s not as if I will tell him. Your secret—all your secrets—are safe with me.”

  She wasn’t sure she had any secrets. Except for last night. And he knew about that one. What he didn’t know was how deep her regret went or how conflicted she felt, especially in this moment.

  She enjoyed being with him. He made her feel cared for and respected. If she was going to wed, he was the type of husband she would want.

  Propping herself on her elbow, she turned to her side. She was immediately sorry as the cold wet saturated the clothing covering her hip. There was no help for it now. She was going to need a bath no matter what.

  She watched as he wiped the snow from his face. “Is your offer from last night still available?”

  His hand froze, then jolted—a tremor, she believed. He finished clearing the snow
away and pierced her with the warm chocolate of his eyes. “It will be until you decide to marry someone else.”

  Her breath tripped in her chest. “I wouldn’t. It isn’t that I don’t want to marry you.” On the contrary…she might. “It’s that I don’t want to marry anyone.”

  “Then we may both die unwed.” He said it in a wry way, but it was an incredibly sad thought.

  “Well, that’s depressing.”

  He laughed softly as he turned to his side to face her. “It’s the truth. Sometimes the truth isn’t what we want, but it’s what we must live with.”

  She thought of his infirmity and the pain it had brought him—and how he learned to cope and survive. Admiration crested within her. “You’re an extraordinary man. That’s why I want you to know it isn’t you.”

  He nodded. “I understand.” He lifted his voice to a higher pitch, mimicking her. “If I were to wed, I would wed you!” He lowered his tone once more. “Is that the right of it?”

  He grinned, and she scooped up another bit of snow and tossed it at his chest. His eyes widened, then narrowed. His jaw clenched just before he launched forward and pushed her to her back once more.

  Grabbing her hands, he held them above her head. She gasped again, but it had nothing to do with the cold at her back and everything to do with the way he straddled her.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re diabolical?” he asked.

  “My siblings, I’m sure.” Heat and joy rushed through her, along with a jolting heat given the way he held her arms and the manner in which their pelvises touched. Why was she declining his marriage proposal? “It’s not just that I don’t wish to marry. If I were to marry you, I’d have to live in London, and I don’t want to. I like it here. No, I love it here.” Especially here. With him.

  “We’re back to that?” He lifted a shoulder, and she wasn’t sure if it was a twitch or not. No, she knew—this one was on purpose. “Only part of the year, or you can stay here year-round. Though I would miss you dreadfully.”