Enticing the Earl (7 page)

When supper was announced, the earl could tell by
Parker's strained expression not to expect a great deal. And when he saw what was offered, he winced. Carter must not have given the house chef much notice—it was a relatively bare spread. So much for the Sutton reputation for gracious hospitality! But nothing he could do about it now, except, the first chance he got, shake his damned brother by the collar till his bones rattled!

At least it marked the passing of time—this bloody evening seemed to be stretching on forever, when all he wanted was to whisk his woman upstairs and strip her naked and—

He groaned inside and again tried to push back his highly improper and wonderfully pleasurable thoughts.

A footman came and leaned over to speak softly to him.

“Viscount Tweed has arrived, my lord, and wishes a word with you before he comes into the company.”

Now he was in for it. Marcus excused himself to his companion and strode rapidly toward the hall.

In the doorway, the viscount waited, his mud-splashed boots showing how hard he had ridden to get here as fast as he could.

“Is it true, then?” Marcus asked before the new arrival could speak.

Tweed was older than Marcus by a decade, and Tweed's grimly clenched jaw revealed his agitation as he nodded. “It was her, the
Brave Lassie
, true enough. They even found a few planks showing part of the name. And we have the cargo, or at least the most valuable part, looking mostly still intact and apparently undamaged, worth even more now than when it went down eight years ago. We'll get a better look when it arrives at Yarmouth.”

They stared at each other bleakly.

His mind a jumble of conjecture, the earl was silent. But the other man didn't appear to have the patience for him to work out his tangled thoughts.

“So what the bloody hell do we do now?” the viscount demanded.

S
omewhat daunted by the contessa, who was so much
bigger than life that Lauryn wasn't yet sure how to deal with her, Lauryn couldn't help looking away from her supper companion. Glancing discreetly toward the door, she saw the two men talking quietly, and more important, since she was too far away to make out their words, she saw that both frowned.

Why would they be displeased that valuable cargo, once lost, had been reclaimed?

It made no sense.

Of course, it also was not her affair, and she would do well to remember it, Lauryn told herself. Right now, she had enough trouble fending off the cheerfully unrepentant prying of the contessa.

“The magnificent earl is your first patron,
n'est ce pas
?” the other woman asked now, between bites of what appeared to be a particularly delicious gateau, from the way she licked her fingers.

Lauryn was pulled abruptly out from her musings about the mystery ship. “What would make you think that?” she asked, her voice sharp.

The contessa shrugged. “
Comme ça
, you are such
l'enfant, n'est-ce pas
?”

“I hardly think that is the case,” Lauryn said, her tone dry.

“Ah, I can zee that you are past the first blush,” the contessa agreed, reaching for her wineglass and taking a hearty gulp. “But in the milieu of
l'amour
, I am not zo certain,
que'que c'est
?”

Frustrated again, Lauryn glared at her. “I am sure that I understand the world of love, both in the drawing room and in the bedroom,” she said boldly.

Her dark eyes sparkling, the contessa grinned. “We shall zee,
ma petite
. Remember, the earl is a man of experience. He vill know, more than anyone, just how skilled you are, and if you are a voman who is able to hold his attention.”

She looked back at her plate and took a spoonful of a vanilla-flavored ice while Lauryn repressed a shiver of apprehension.

What if she was
not
skilled enough at lovemaking?

She found her appetite for the delicious foods had quite vanished. Was the contessa deliberately trying to make her lose her confidence? She tried to think more hopefully, but it was hard to find her courage with the contessa flashing her jewels and her smile so close by.

Lauryn nibbled at the sweetmeats on her plate and smiled until she knew the corners of her mouth were going to freeze in place. How long until they could leave this dratted assembly? Could she say as much to her host or would he think her unbearably fast? Were courtesans allowed this privilege? It seemed the least they could do, given their purpose.

When the earl returned to the table, however, his expression was preoccupied, and although he spoke politely to her, his thoughts seemed far away. Lauryn was mystified; what had the new arrival had to say that had made such a change in her host?

After trying a few comments about the evening's entertainment and the guests that crowded the big rooms, and getting very disjointed replies, she decided to go to what was perhaps the heart of his abstraction.

“Is Viscount Tweed not joining the party?” she said as Sutton picked at his plate, eating only lightly of the savories that covered it.

“He has elected to ride to Yarmouth to get the earliest possible look at the cargo recovered from the
Brave Lassie
, so we can see what is true about this news and what may be only rumor.”

“You still doubt that it is really your ship that was found? Or do you question that the cargo did survive?” Trying to understand his strange reaction to the news, she stared at him.

He shrugged. “We wish to be certain, that's all. We are not all as gullible as my stripling of a half brother.” He reached for a piece of lobster tail from his plate.

A man sitting further down the table called out to the earl, giving news about one of his mares who had been bred to Sutton's champion sprinter. “Dropped her foal and a sound little fellow he is!”

A lively discussion about racing ensued, so she did not feel she could pursue the subject further.

When the supper ended, the crowd flowed back toward the big drawing rooms, and she could hear the musicians striking up another tune.

The earl seemed in no hurry to rise, however. Even Carter and the contessa eventually stood to rejoin the others. The younger man grinned.

“Come along, Marcus, you're becoming a laggard in your old age. Someone has to be there to play host,” he pointed out.

“Since you're the one who invited them all, you're just the man to play the part,” the earl answered, his tone composed.

Carter blinked, but kept his easy smile. “Just so.”

The contessa rolled her eyes. “Oh, Marcus, darlink, you are zo practical.” But she followed the younger man, and when the other couple had reached the doorway, the earl turned back to smile at Lauryn.

She met his smile with her own. “Do you not wish to dance again, my lord?”

His eyes had a warmth that sparked an answering glow within her. She realized that dancing was not what was on his mind. Soon he would know—they would both know—if she could live up to the role she had taken on. As she thought this, she swallowed too quickly on the last sip of her wine and almost choked.

He reached over and rubbed her back while she coughed, his hand warm on the smooth silk of her gown. “Are you all right?”

Knowing that she must be as flushed as an overheated pastry chef, Lauryn cursed herself silently and hid her face for a moment behind her napkin.

Nodding until she was able to say, more or less normally, “Yes, thank you,” she tried to ignore the nervous quivers in her stomach. Or perhaps they were not
all
from nervousness as he took her hand and she felt the warmth and strength of his grip.

Around them, the dining room was almost empty. Silver platters clattered now and then as servants cleared away, wiping up crumbs and the occasional spill.

The earl rose, and she followed his example as he ignored the servants and led her into the hall and toward the staircase. Without looking in any way self-conscious, he held her hand, and they proceeded up the flight of stairs to the next landing. Instead of turning toward the big rooms where the party was still underway, as was easily perceived by the music and chatter escaping past the double doors, they continued on up the next flight of steps.

Her stomach knotted even more.

The time of decision was upon her.

This time when they reached the landing, he did not turn toward the guest chamber she had been given. Lauryn had naively expected that he would allow her to go to her own room to change into a nightgown and wait for her to prepare herself for bed. But apparently that was not how it worked.

She wished she knew more just how it did work!

Was she supposed to be overcome with anticipation of the big moment, moaning with passion before they even reached his bedchamber? She glanced doubtfully up at him from the corner of her eye. Somehow she could not quite bring herself to put on such a charade, nor could she see the earl believing that sort of obsequious display. He was too discerning to be taken in by such tomfoolery, and besides—what had the contessa said—he disliked above all things being lied to.

She shivered despite herself.

Sutton looked down at her. “Are you chilled, my dear?”

“No, no,” she said quickly.

“Because I will see to it soon that you are warm,” he promised, with a half smile showing on his lips.

A small shiver went through her again, of a quite different nature, and her own lips parted.

And thinking what he might mean by that, she found that they approached what must be his chamber. The earl pushed open the door and paused to allow her to walk through the doorway.

Heart beating fast, she stepped over the threshold. His bedroom was large and sumptiously appointed, just what one would expect for the master of the house. Full of furnishings of polished dark wood and deep blues and reds, it seemed very masculine. Candles had been lit, and the room overall offered a welcoming aspect. She glanced around, noting the large fireplace with a fire leaping behind the gleaming brass fireguard—no, she was in no danger of feeling chilly here—and the fur rug spread out before it. Two large chairs sat before the hearth, as well, and a desk and chair and chests and other furniture occupied other corners of the room.

And the bed—the bed was large, too, with deep blue hangings pulled back to show the high mattress arrayed with smooth linens and other coverings. Afraid that her face was flushing, Lauryn looked swiftly away again.

She felt his fingers at the base of her neck and jumped.

“Are you a little—apprehensive—perhaps, my dear Mrs. Smith?”

His voice was as smooth as much rubbed leather. She tried to pull herself together. She was supposed to be a courtesan, someone who did this by trade, she reminded herself hastily. She must not act like a green girl. She had asked to be here, remember!

“No, no,” she replied. “That is, I am honored to be your–your amour, your grace, that is, my lord.”

“You honor me a bit too highly,” he said, his voice amused, “but, yes, we will agree that we are mutually honored to be here together.”

His fingers moved, and she realized he was once again—as he had the first time they had met, when she had petitioned him for a position as his lover—undoing her buttons.

Why did she need a lady's maid, she thought, when she could have an earl to help her out of her clothes? She felt a little dizzy.

She must have swayed slightly because he paused. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“Yes, of course, your—my lord,” she said quickly. “I just—you are—you have a powerful effect on me.”

“That's good, I hope,” he said, his tone hard to read.

“Of course it is,” she told him. How could she explain that the heat in his fingertips burned her skin and seemed to sizzle its way through her, blazing inside her like lightning in a summer storm? She could not remember feeling this way even with her husband, but perhaps she had only forgotten, it had been so long since Robert had—since the early days of their passion…

No, no, she could not think about Robert just now—it sent flashes of disloyalty through her and turned the lovely feelings of passion that had begun to rise inside her into sour notes of betrayal, instead.

She tried not to think of anything at all, only to feel. The earl's fingers on her back, the rustle as her gown at last fell away, slipping past her corset and petticoat as the earl helped push it to the floor. The petticoat followed almost at once.

“Why do women wear these confounded things, anyhow?” he muttered into her ear, half laughing, half swearing as he unlaced the corset with an amazingly rapid touch.

“To look good for our menfolk, of course,” she replied without even thinking, not trying to stoke his vanity, only murmuring the absolute truth. Though, also, she could not imagine getting into a ball gown without first donning the proper undergarments—one would look like a lumpy sack of potatoes.

“I will tell you a great secret, my dear,” he whispered into her ear, the slight breath making goose bumps rise on her skin. “Men would prefer that you wear nothing at all!”

She laughed a trifle hysterically, imagining a line of naked women doing a reel on the ball room floor, to the delight of their still clothed partners, then decided fair was fair, when he leaned over to kiss her—even though she was eager for the kiss, she slid out from beneath his touch.

“In due time, my lord,” she told him, her tone demure. “It is your turn to be—ah—denuded.”

She smiled up at him as she gave her attention to his carefully tied neckcloth, pulling it out of its twist and then unwinding it gingerly, then more rapidly as he cocked his brows at her in whimsical acceptance.

“You could be a trifle faster,” he suggested. “You'll note that I, at least, wasted no time in my disrobing of your lovely body.”

“True, I will try to hurry the process,” she agreed. When she tossed the neckcloth aside, she pulled off his evening coat and took off his waistcoat, then lifted his shirt for him to peel off. The pantaloons made her pause, and she saw him smile.

“At any rate, I have us more or less equal, dress wise,” she pointed out. She was down to a loose and almost transparent shift and drawers and stockings, and he was close to an equal layer of undress. And she wasn't at all sure about attacking those pantaloons, or what she would find beneath; her husband had rarely worn full evening dress.

At least he was naked above the waist, and at last she could touch those well-shaped arms and chest—she had longed to reach out and caress such amazingly sculpted limbs. She ran her hands over his upper arms and felt the hardness of his muscle beneath the skin. She skimmed his shoulders and down to his chest, and he made a small groan, deep in his throat.