For Love of the Earl (29 page)

"Please, Alec," she said, her voice thick with desire.
 

Her succulent cheeks came into his hands as she changed positions, and his throbbing shaft rested at her very core, flexing in the heat of her.
 
He couldn't stop himself.
 
He plunged into her from behind, his hands gripping her to go deeper, to fill her more fully.
 
She cried out, and he felt her tight, hot sheath close around him.
 
He went so incredibly deep that he worried he hurt her.
 
But she started to move, her hips slamming against him as if to take him even deeper.
 
He moved with her until her climax gripped him, pulsating in a wave of sheer pleasure as she collapsed into the pillows.

He heard her labored breathing, felt the last of her climax spasm around him, and he gritted his teeth to hold on.
 
He wanted to watch her face when he came inside of her.
 
He pulled out and carefully turned her over.
 
Her skin was flush with want, and her mouth hung open as she tried to draw in air.
 
He stayed that way for a moment, kneeling between her spread legs as he drank in the sight of her.
 
Her slightly rounded stomach, her small, upright breasts, and her silky ivory thighs.
 

He ran his hands down her skin, watching the gooseflesh appear in the wake of his touch.
 
Her legs fell further apart, spreading her center to him.
 
His gaze riveted to the pink flesh of her intimate folds, unable to look away.
 
They pulsed with the remains of her orgasm, and Alec bent, putting his lips to the soft skin.
 

Sarah cried out, her hands gripping the back of his head.
 
He felt her nails find purchase, and he shivered as she drew her fingers along his scalp.
 

"Alec," she hissed, and he heard the utter lust in her voice.

So he slipped his tongue into her.
 
She moaned, a sound so guttural and basic he would have looked up to make sure it was still his wife, but he couldn't have moved then if the fires of Hell burned at his feet.
 
He sipped at her, stroking her with his tongue.
 
He moved back, tracing the folds of her core, moving further still to bite at the delicate crease of her thigh.
 
When his teeth connected with her skin, she reared up off the bed, her hands gripping his head so hard he thought his skull would shatter.
 
But as soon as she sat up, she fell backwards, a weak moan slipping between her lips.
 
When his mouth moved back to her most sensitive nub, he knew he would send her over the edge.
 
Again.
 

Her next moan came from deep in her throat, moving up and outward in an exhale of simple desire, and her hips shuddered against his mouth.
 
He couldn't take more and moved up, coming to rest between her opened legs.
 
The taste of her was still on his lips when he slipped inside of her with ease.
 
The noise she made then was one he would never forget.
 
It was soft, like the caress of a lover, but so distinct his ears rang with the sound of it.
 

He cradled her head in his hands.
 

"Look at me, Sarah," he whispered, and her eyes fluttered open.
 

She reached up and wrapped her small hands around his wrists.

"I love you," he said and began to move within her.
 

He rocked against her, and her eyes closed as he felt her muscles tighten around him.
 
She was small, stretching perfectly around him, and he gritted his teeth, holding onto control for as long as he could, not wanting the moment to end.
 
He ran short kisses along her collarbones and up along the line of her neck, coming to rest in the fragile spot behind her ear.
 
He couldn't seem to stop, so he flicked out his tongue and smiled at the whimper that came from his wife's lips.

"Alec," she said, more breath than actual word, but he knew what she meant.
 
He knew what she felt even as he felt it himself.
 
Knew what she wanted, what she needed even as he knew he needed and wanted it himself.
 
He drove into her, and her legs suddenly wrapped around his waist, pulling him into her.
 

It sent him deliriously close to the edge, and he reigned back, wanting to prolong this, the first of many times he would truly make love to his wife.
 
But the feeling was too intense, too strong, and even he could not control it.

"Sarah," he whispered.
 

"Come with me," she said, and he exploded as the first ripples of her orgasm closed around him.
 

He floated on it, floated on the release that consumed him, and he wasn't even sure if he was conscious enough to make certain he did not crush his wife.
 
He finally rolled off of her, feeling the weight of the moment as he finally surfaced from the desire induced fog that had lain over them.
 

Sarah was in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder as her hand cupped the side of his neck as if holding him closer were possible.
 
He doubted they could have been any closer if they tried, but the feeling of his wife's grip on him left him motionless in her embrace.

"I love you, Alec," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he whispered back.
 

He blinked at the ceiling above them, at the way the morning sun moved across it, pushing ever deeper into the room.
 
Soon they would need to get up, get ready to move again, to board a ship that would take them to Liverpool and hopefully to safety.
 
And once they returned to London, the rest of their lives would begin.
 

"Sarah?" he asked and felt more than heard her response in a quiet hum against his neck.
 

"That day in the park.
 
When you said you would talk to the War Office.
 
That you would arrange everything.
 
That you wouldn't be a burden to me anymore.
 
Do you still mean that?"
 

He didn't know how much her words had affected him until lying there, completely sated from making extraordinary love to his wife, he realized how painful it would be for her to leave him.
 
Physical pain with a realness so sharp it could possibly kill him.
 

Sarah moved against him, coming up on one elbow.
 
The hand that had been holding onto his neck moved lower, playing in the hairs on his chest.
 
Her hair stuck up in odd places, and a very satisfied smile graced her lips.
 

"If you were to repeat what it was that you just did to me, my lord, I shan't mean a single word of it."
 

A smile came unbidden to his lips.
 
Whether it was at her words or at the sight of her, so well loved, he could not be sure.
 

"Is that a challenge, lady wife?"
 

Her smile deepened even as an edge of playful lust came to it, and he suddenly realized his wife was playing at seduction.
 

"That depends, my lord."

"Depends on what?"
 

"On whether or not you are up to such a feat.
 
I have heard gentlemen of the peerage can be such dandies."
 

Alec moved so quickly, he saw the look of surprise flash in her eyes before she could cover it with a lazy gaze down the length of his body.
 
He pinned her beneath him, settling between her now spread legs.
 

"Oh, I do believe I am up for that challenge.
 
Let's pray that you can survive the outcome."
 

Sarah's laugh cascaded through the room, and Alec waited a moment, soaking in the pleasure the simple sound of her laugh gave him, before he kissed her again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Alec entered the common room of their suite in The Owl and Fork Inn to find his father seated at the table by the bank of windows along the far wall, the
Times
spread out in front of him.
 
The sun was to his back, casting the older man in shadow, and Alec moved forward with an unfamiliar touch of trepidation.
 
A serving cart sat next to the table, and Alec's stomach grumbled at the sight of it.
 

The Duke of Lofton looked up, a smile coming to his features, a face so familiar to Alec.

"Good morning, my boy.
 
Why, you do not look any worse for the wear, do you?" his father said, as he stood and came toward him.
 

Alec wasn't sure what his father would do.
 
The man had not been demonstrably affectionate since Alec had surrendered his last pair of knee pants to his nanny.
 
It wasn't that Richard was not affectionate at all.
 
He had just respected the wishes of his growing sons to be men in all ways, including signs of affection.
 
But then, in the middle of a suite in The Owl and Fork in the port of Dover, Richard Lofton embraced his son.
 

And Alec hugged his father back.

He felt the surge of love in his father's arms, the same arms that had held him when he realized he had not killed Nathan, the same arms that had held him whenever a nightmare had threatened his sleep, the same arms that now told him his father had been worried about him.

"I'm all right, Father," he said then, his voice muffled as his face connected with the top of his father's shoulder.
 

Richard did not loosen his grip for a moment, and Alec could not say more.

"You'll have some breakfast then," Richard said, letting Alec go with a thump on the back.
 
He moved away toward the table and with a flourish of his hand indicated the spread laid out.
 
"There are eggs and kippers and more eggs..." his voice trailed off.

Alec took one of the chairs and reached for the tea pot.
 

"I would love some eggs and well, eggs."
 

Richard resumed his seat.

"Where is Nathan?"
 

"
Reconnaissance mission," Richard said, reaching for a plate of eggs to hand to Alec.
 
"Thatcher and Lady Cavanaugh are still unaccounted for."

Alec looked up from piling eggs onto his plate.
 

"Unaccounted for?"
 

"Yes."
 
Richard picked up his tea cup.
 
"They were to follow your captors after the exchange took place.
 
The War Office needs to know if they are in allegiance with the French or if they were simply acting as paid liaisons.
 
Thatcher was hired to do just that with the assistance of Lady Cavanaugh.
 
They followed the men through the wharf last night, but Nathan lost track of them.
 
He's gone down to the docks this morning to see if he can learn anything new."
 

Alec swallowed a bit of egg.

"Captain Teyssier, the Frenchman in charge on the ship where Nathan rescued us.
 
He came into possession of Thatcher's hat.
 
I do not know where or by what means he secured it, but something most certainly happened to Thatcher last evening."
 

Richard looked concerned.
 

"Do you think he's been captured, too?
 
I grow tired of all of these rescue missions."
 

Alec chuckled.

"No, Father, I do not believe he has been captured.
 
The French captain said he fled with a rather remarkable lady."

"I have heard Lady Cavanaugh called many things, but remarkable has never been one of them," Richard said.
 

Alec helped himself to some toast.
 
Thinking he may not get a chance to be alone with his father in the near future if they were all to be soon aboard a vessel bound for Liverpool, Alec quickly changed the subject.

"Father, can you tell me about my mother?
 
Can you tell me about Emily?"
 

Richard's face was blank.
 
Alec could not see a single emotion come across it.

"What has brought this on?" Richard finally said, leaning back in his chair, his face contracting into a look of concern, an emotion that Alec could see clearly and feel just as clearly.
 

"It was just-"
 

He didn't know what he had planned to say, but sitting there, staring at his father, all of the thoughts in his head simply vanished.
 

"I didn't mean to kill her," he finally said, and the words shocked even him as they sounded harsh and bald in the silence of the room.

"What makes you think you killed her?" his father asked, his tone impassive.

"It's my fault she's dead.
 
If she hadn't given birth to me-"

"She would have died just as easily by the common sniffles."
 

Alec stopped talking, his tongue growing large in his mouth.
 
He swallowed.

"I beg your pardon?"
 

Richard took a sip of his tea and set his cup down in its saucer.
 

"Emily Higgins was a frail girl.
 
I can remember how small her wrists were.
 
Reminded me over much of a bird, and I thought any single pebble from a careless child's slingshot could fell her.
 
But she surprised both of us when she gave birth to you."