How to Wed an Earl (19 page)

His fingers gentled, guiding her as she drifted back to earth slowly, feeling his lips nuzzling her breasts. She cupped his head to drag it back up to hers, and blazing onyx eyes met her dazed ones. She pressed against his hand and he groaned, gripping her hip to still her movements. “You will be the death of me, Penelope.”

She smiled and leaned up to whisper in his ear. “I want more.”

He lifted his head. There was a primitive look in his eyes as he stared at her. She pulled him back to her, angling his head for her kiss as she said softly, “Make me yours tonight, Lucas.”

A deep groan tore from his chest as he leaned over her, his big frame shuddering at the contact of their skin, and then his kiss was blatant and carnal, his tongue driving deep, making her open her mouth wider as heat built inside her again. His hands slid down every curve of her body, his touch almost rough with his urgency.

He tore his mouth from hers to follow the path of his hands, and then his lips were at her breasts, making them ache as he sucked first one straining nipple and then the other. She clutched his head against her breast, offering herself to him as her body arched to meet his seeking mouth.

“I love the way you respond to me,” he said, his voice harsh as he slid between her thighs, parting them wide. She felt his hardness against the damp curls at her center and she moaned as he rubbed himself against her most sensitive part. “I love the sounds you make, the way you get so wet … ”

Suddenly, he slid down and his face was just above the place he was rubbing with his body. She could feel his harsh breathing against her. Dear God, what was he doing? She swallowed her embarrassment when she felt his fingers opening her, exposing her most private part to his eager gaze.

“Do you like it when I touch you here, Penelope?”

He slid a finger down her middle. His mouth was so close to her core, she felt his words against it.

She was barely able to answer. “Yes.”

She looked down at him and had to close her eyes against the erotic sight of his dark head hovering there between her legs.

“God, Lucas … ”

He muffled a laugh against the inside of her thigh. “I want to taste you, Penelope. Please, let me taste you.” He put his head back where it was, so close against her moist flesh.

She lifted her hips to meet his mouth, giving herself to him. It was all the permission he required. His fingers opened her and his mouth swooped down, kissing her in the most intimate way imaginable. She could do no more than grip the sheets and enjoy as his tongue tasted her damp folds, finding every secret crevice. She sighed, loving the feel of his lips against her. It was like when he caressed her with his fingers, except better. More intense. And then his tongue found the swollen peak of her sex, and she was lost.

Her fingers clenched in his hair, and she felt his growl of approval as he continued to lash at her in quickening circles and his fingers teased at her wet entrance. She felt the wave ride her again as he worshipped her with his mouth and fingers until she was writhing against him, pressing herself against his wicked mouth, which had become the center of her world. He sucked at a particularly sensitive spot and suddenly she was climaxing again, riding the violent wave as it crashed onto shore.

Her body was still racked with tremors when Lucas kissed his way up her body and she felt him press his heavy, aroused length against the place where his mouth and hands had just been.

He surged into her tight entrance in smooth, short strokes, his passage eased by the damp wetness she rained down on him. When he reached the shield of her virginity, he stopped. “Penelope?”

She opened eyes and shifted her hips, making him groan as he kept himself still. “Do you know what’s going to happen now, sweetheart?”

She smiled. “I’m going to be yours.”

Another groan tore from his chest, and he kissed her, swallowing her cry of pain as he gave one fierce thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, kissing her cheeks, her closed eyes, her temples. “I had to do it, sweetheart. I am so sorry. God, you are so tight.”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

He lifted his head to stare at her. She cupped his cheek in her palm and he turned to kiss it, moving a little as he did so.

“Do that again.”

He grinned. “This?” he swiveled his hips once more.

She cried out. “Yes!”

He growled his answer. “With pleasure.” And he started moving against her, retreating almost all the way out and slowly thrusting back in, giving her body time to adjust to his size.

He kissed her again, his mouth gentle as he rocked against her.

Sliding a hand between them, he started stoking the fire in her until she relaxed, and she pressed against him, her body matching his movements.

“Like that, Lucas. Harder.”

Lucas groaned and gave her what they both wanted. She felt his body throb as he thrust deeper, harder into her. She sighed her pleasure against his ear. She pressed herself against him and his thrusts became more urgent as he drove into her in hard, demanding strokes.

They moved in unison as heat flared between them and they were both gasping for breath. He tugged her knees up higher to pound against the very heart of her. She gasped his name as they moved faster and harder, racing for the edge together.

“You’re mine now, nymph,” he said hoarsely as sweat dampened his forehead.

“Yes, I’m yours, Lucas … I’ve always been yours.”

“Mine … mine … ” He said again and again as he thrust powerfully into her, filling her completely.

Suddenly she tightened around him, crying out his name as she convulsed beneath him. He thrust deeply one last time and followed her into oblivion, pouring himself into her. When he finally collapsed against her, she cupped his face in her hands.

“You are mine now, too,” she whispered.

She felt him shudder, then he rolled onto his back and held her tight. She laid in his arms, and waited for his reply, but the silence between them remained unbroken.

“It’s impolite to ignore your sister-in-law, Olivia,” Lucinda Milthorpe, who insisted on being called Aunt Lucy, advised.

Olivia was reading a book, sitting across Penelope in the luxurious Ravenstone town coach as it made its swaying journey toward Oxford Street.

Penelope sighed. It had been her idea to take Olivia on a shopping expedition, hoping they could get to know each other better.

“Lady Olivia isn’t ignoring me, Aunt Lucy,” she retorted. “She is ignoring
both
of us.”

Olivia started. She closed her book with an audible snap. “Forgive me. I didn’t intend to be so rude.”

She met Olivia’s familiar midnight gaze. “I would like to say how welcome you have made me feel during the two days we’ve known each other, Lady Olivia.”

Olivia gave her an uncertain look. “Thank you, Lady Ravenstone.”

“However,” she continued, “as we both know, it would be a complete and utter lie.”

Aunt Lucy released a horrified gasp.

“I … I’m not certain how to behave,” Olivia admitted, following Penelope’s example of bluntness. “I’ve never had a sister before, my lady.”

She smiled. “First of all,” she said gently, so the younger woman would realize she meant no offense, “sisters don’t call each other ‘my lady.’ May I simply call you Olivia?”

Olivia nodded.

“Good. And you should refer to me as Lady Ravenstone.”

“If it pleases you, Lady Ravenstone.”

“I’m joking! Call me Penelope,” she said with a laugh.

Olivia gave a tentative smile. “All right. Penelope.”

“Well!” Aunt Lucy remarked, “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? It’s depressing how polite Society insists on being so formal with their own families. It must have something to do with being in Town.”

The elderly woman shook her head in a severe manner. “I feel I must warn you, Penelope, the London air is not healthy for people. Why, I’ve noticed since Olivia and I returned from Ravenstone — that’s your husband’s principal estate, by the way; it is located in Surrey. Such a grand and marvelous place, so much quieter than my nephew’s townhouse. You remember I told you about my nephew, Lord Westville? Well, there’s always some sort of debauched, manly amusement going on in his house. It will give you the ague — well, since returning from Ravenstone … what was I talking about, dear?”

Penelope gave Olivia a conspiratorial grin. “You were telling us about London.”

Aunt Lucy brightened. “Ah, yes. London. It will give you the ague.”

Olivia smiled apologetically. “Aunt Lucy often suffers from illness.”

“I wouldn’t be plagued with so many illnesses if it weren’t for the unhealthy London air! I believe it’s the thick, impenetrable fog that kills. It will give you — ”

“The ague!” they chorused.

Aunt Lucy blinked. “We’ve stopped. We must have arrived. Let me handle my modiste, dear. She is very exclusive, but a more annoying woman I have never met. She talks incessantly … ”

Aunt Lucy kept up her chatter while a footman helped the ladies alight. She led the way through Oxford Street, complaining about the London air.

“Good Lord,” Penelope whispered to Olivia. “Is she always like this?”

“I’m afraid so.” Olivia shot her another apologetic look. “I’m very glad to have someone else to talk to now.”

“I don’t blame you,” she replied.

“Can we visit a bookshop after the modiste’s? I’m almost finished with my book, and I’d like to purchase another.”

“That sounds divine,” she agreed. “I should like to buy books for my stepfamily. My siblings love to read, too.”

“We shall go to Hatchard’s,” Olivia decided. “They have a little of everything in there.”

Penelope noticed how the elegant London shoppers were giving them a wide berth.

“What is wrong with everyone?” she asked Olivia.

Olivia looked around them with a solemn expression. “They recognize Aunt Lucy. Everyone knows she is playing chaperon to Raving Ravenstone’s sister.”

“Don’t ever call yourself that again.”

“Everyone else does,” Olivia sadly pointed out.

“Not everyone,” she insisted when she noticed a familiar face. “I see my friend, Mari, exiting the milliner’s. Let me introduce you to her.”

“But, Aunt Lucy — ”

“Won’t notice if we’re gone for a few seconds,” she assured her sister-in-law. “She is too busy yammering about the dangers of the London air.”

She dragged Olivia with her as they hurried to Mari’s side. After the introductions were made, it was decided that Mari would join them at the modiste’s, as Penelope was not an expert when it came to fashion and she trusted Mari’s opinion.

Once inside, Penelope was thankful for Mari’s presence, for Aunt Lucy had complained of a headache and ensconced herself on a sofa in the shop’s corner. There were fabrics of every imaginable make, colorfully laid out on every available space of the shop, fashion plates suggesting ensembles were artfully arranged in strategic spots, and a very haughty modiste, Madame Claude, suggested styles of which Penelope had never heard. The only thing she couldn’t find in the shop was the sign indicating how much the services were.

“How do I know which ones are costly?” she mumbled.

Mari laughed. “All of them are costly. Don’t look so concerned. Ravenstone will expect his wife to be dressed in the height of fashion.”

“We can probably make these clothes ourselves,” she said, feeling uneasy.

“Don’t even think of it,” Mari warned. “You’re a countess now, Polly. You have to look the part. Enjoy yourself. Here,” Mari pointed at a fashion plate, “this mint evening dress will look lovely on you. I adore the paisley pattern trim. It’s like the one we saw in that magazine.”

“Ah,
mademoiselle
appreciates exquisite design,” Madame Claude approved while she openly scrutinized Penelope’s features. “Lady Ravenstone, you are to make your debut tonight?”

She nodded. “Lady Olivia, too. She is to attend her first ball at the Uffingtons’.”

“If it pleases, I should like to present to you a gown I have designed.” Madame Claude proceeded to whisper, “Your ladyship shall be the only one allowed to see it, for I have been waiting for the right person to wear my creation. The gown has a …
comment dites-vous
— otherworldly quality. If you will follow me?”

She glanced at Mari, who nodded. “I would be honored, Madame Claude.”

“
Non,
the honor is mine, my lady. Please,” Madame Claude gestured to a room hidden from view of the main shop floor by a pair of ruby-colored, velvet drapes. “Come with me to my workshop.”

After the private consultation, Penelope felt prepared for the evening’s festivities. She also insisted that Mari order a gown for herself, an invitation her friend gleefully accepted.

By the end of their shopping expedition, even Olivia was joining them in teasing Aunt Lucy, who enjoyed having an audience and seized the opportunity to complain about the thickening London fog.

• • •

Lucas looked up from documents piled up on his desk when he heard the big commotion out in the hall. Penelope, Olivia and Anthony’s Aunt Lucy must have finally returned from their shopping expedition. Lucas was more than a little curious about the result of Penelope’s idea to spend time with his little sister.

Olivia was a quiet sort, the kind of person who took a while to get comfortable around new people. It would take some time for her to get used to having an older sister like Penelope, who took things in stride and assumed the same unaffected, casual air with everyone, whether they were a footman or an earl.

In the two short days since she first stepped foot in his townhouse, his bride had managed to learn all the servants’ names, and they were bending over backward to do her every bidding. Even Finchley, his very proper butler, could not resist her charming ways.

The minute Penelope learned Finchley used to be a furniture maker’s apprentice, she’d asked if he could make a writing desk for her instead of hiring one of the well-known furniture makers who enjoyed the patronage of the
ton
. She said she planned to put it in the drawing room, where everyone could admire it.