The Cheer in Charming an Earl (The Naughty Girls) (11 page)

ELINOR HAD never been left utterly alone with a man. Especially not a virile man, a licentious man. Certainly not with an earl determined to bare his innermost secrets to her. It did make her wonder what, exactly, her aunt had intended by drawing Lord de Winter out of doors.

But when Grantham looked at her with soulful eyes and spoke of a holiday tradition that would cheer him, she was powerless to so much as wonder what he meant. Wordlessly, she rose and followed him from the dining room. He didn’t stop to offer his escort or to be a gentleman in any way. Instead she was left to bottle her curiosity and follow him from the dining room, down the hallway, then toward the drawing room.

The entrance to that despicable room called up enough trepidation to stop her.

“Miss Conley?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. One hand extended palm-up in invitation. “Come, please. I want you to see.”

She couldn’t very well resist
that,
could she?

With measured enthusiasm, she reached to brush her fingers against his. Fire raced along her skin like a yuletide log catching flame. “Just come see,” he said, giving her hand a tug. “If you detest it, I won’t ask again.”

She let him draw her inside the room. “Very well, then.”

He stopped at the threshold and turned to face her. Her nose was at his cravat. When she looked up, his cool gray eyes reflected flickers of candlelight.

“Good,” he murmured, and pulled her into his arms. She barely had time to register his embrace before he captured her lips in a kiss that defied even her girlish adulation.
This
was meant to end in rapture.
This
was love, and she’d never felt anything like it before.

She didn’t reach for him, but allowed her fantasy to come alive around her. His full lips molded against hers. The satisfying maleness of him urging her to do more, to allow more, even though she already knew of what lengths he was capable.

And yet…

And yet…

Her aunt had abandoned her. Beneath the layers of clothing required at this frigid time of year, Elinor wore only those accoutrements meant to tempt a man. And Grantham was a man she desired to tempt.

She pushed herself deeper into his embrace without concern for his cravat, or her virtue. She let her hands feel what her soul had longed for, spread her palms over his hard, male chest, savoring the luxury of superfine, and thrust her fingers into the crisp stickiness of his pomaded hair.

“Elinor,” he said, though it sounded more like a groan. “Elinor…”

She cupped his face in her hands and directed his lips back to hers. His lids fell closed and he inhaled sharply, almost as if he were lost in a fantasy of his own.

“Kiss me,” she coaxed against his lips. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Silver eyes opened, sparing one fleeting moment of lucidity. Then they fluttered closed again, and his lips brushed against hers. He moaned softly.
“Elinor.”

“Grantham.” For the last half hour, he’d done little but watch her with those ferrous eyes—oh, and apologize. He’d done plenty of that. Nothing she deserved or wanted to hear, and yet he’d insisted, making her feel worse and worse until she’d almost burst with the truth.

His arms encircled her waist. A thrill shot through her. She hadn’t known their kiss could be more intimate, but pressed against him fully now, she knew why young ladies were not allowed to share liberties with gentlemen, however innocent the small permissions seemed. Grantham was made of steel. With the slightest inclination, he could overpower her. But what was more stimulating, what made her ache with desire until she fairly cried for relief, was the knowledge that he wanted her.

Grantham wanted
her
.

Before she could celebrate too much, her lips met air and she blinked her eyes open. He’d pulled away. Ragged breaths melded between them; she couldn’t tell which was hers and which was his. But she knew the regret lingering in the air was his alone. She could have gone on kissing him forever.

“There will be time for this later,” he said, though his eyes had lost none of their magnetic quality, and the ferocity of his grip hadn’t lessened on her waist. “Though difficult, in conditions such as these, I shall never treat you as anything less than a perfect lady.”

She could have shuddered for her disappointment. “Please, don’t say such things. I am no angel, any more than you are a blackguard. We are merely people.”

He didn’t look the least bit contrite. Rather, his face glowed. “So you will? You’ll marry me?”

She blinked again. Had she misheard him? “You’re asking me to marry you?”

Doubt flashed across his face. “Are you saying no?”

“Of course not!” When he looked mortified, she realized she wasn’t being clear. “I’m
not
saying no. I’m saying yes. Yes, yes, yes! But there is something I must tell you first. Before you ask me again, properly.”

“Ask again? Do you know how difficult it was to ask this time?”

His grin was contagious. Or mayhap it was her euphoria shining through. She pushed his shoulder playfully and lowered her gaze, hoping he wouldn’t notice the fear in her eyes. “I desire a real proposal, my lord. A lady doesn’t like to be left guessing.”

He kissed her nose. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

If only he weren’t so pleasant! Everything she’d ever wanted was right here, right now, and yet she felt as if it were all happening so fast, she couldn’t keep her bearings. She was elated and terrified all at once. He was asking her to
marry
him but he didn’t even
know
her. She barely knew herself.

Whatever faultless phantasm of a woman he had in his mind, it wasn’t her.

“My lord, about the carriage—”

“The bloody carriage again? Your brother will have a dozen new carriages, Elinor, if you but kiss me before I go mad.”

Turning away from his apology had been easy, when each attempt to beg her pardon was ludicrous. Holding his proposal at arm’s length while she found the strength to tell him the truth was more difficult. Shying away from his kiss, however, was impossible. She gave herself to it, melting into his arms like a crème brûlée—only sweeter. Seven
times
sweeter.

Insistently, his hands pressed her closer until she moaned. The sound of her ecstasy fanned the fire he’d started until its flames licked at her without remorse. Turn down his proposal? When she was desperate to allow him every liberty if it meant he would continue this saccharine, blistering torture forever?

“Ahem,” a pointed male voice announced behind them, breaking through their increasingly feverish lovemaking.

Elinor didn’t need a looking glass to know her hair was in disarray and her gown suffered wrinkles where Grantham had held her tight. Nor need she fear he would do anything but shield her from the unwanted interloper.

True enough, his broad shoulders blocked her from view as he spun and tucked her behind him. The scent of starch permeated his superfine coat like the smell of laundry laid out on a warm summer’s eve.

“Yes, Smithers?” Grantham’s voice reverberated through his chest so that she heard every syllable clearly.

“There is a man to see you, my lord.”

Something about the way he said “man,” rather than “gentleman,” and perhaps the fact that it was late in the evening after Christmas, when no one ought to be calling, caused Elinor to instantly dread the visitor.

Grantham’s hand found hers. He held it against the small of his back as if the two of them were united against this unwanted intruder. “I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“Very good, sir. But I don’t think I can put Miss Conley’s brother off indefinitely. Will a quarter hour suffice?”

Elinor didn’t hear Grantham’s reply for the ringing in her ears.
Gavin!

How?

Grantham spun to face her. “Your brother! But I thought he was in Gloucester!”

“As did I!” She set her hands on his chest only briefly, then hurried past him into the hall. Smithers set off behind her; the proper-sounding clip of footsteps echoing off of the walls couldn’t be Grantham’s.

“Gavin!” she cried as she rounded the hallway into the foyer. Her poor brother had been left standing in the cold entryway, his hat in hand, as if he truly were a servant.

“Elinor!” He took several steps toward her. Then his arms outstretched and he crushed her against him in one of his excellent hugs. “I thought you might be crippled.”

His coat reeked of smelting. No matter how many times she and Georgie tried to wash the scent of iron from the coarse fibers, it stayed. She inhaled deeply and squeezed her eyes against the sting of tears. She wasn’t going to cry! There was nothing to cry about.

But when she opened her mouth to reassure him, a great, wracking sob shook her frame. “I was so scared! It happened so fast. And then there were the h-h-horses, and Mr. J-James, and my
head
—”

He rubbed her back reassuringly and tucked his cheek against her hair. “It’s over now, sweet. Nothing to fear.”

She jumped when Grantham cleared his throat behind her, but her brother’s iron-banded arms didn’t ease. The scrape of his two-day beard across her hair alerted her to the fact that he was looking at the earl now. She tensed. Would he recognize Grantham? If he did, what would he
do
?

What would Grantham do?

The moment stretched on and on. Hiccupping breaths continued to escape her. Gavin soothed her shoulder with one hand, but she didn’t mistake his protective grip on the small of her back. “I know you,” he said to Grantham, curling his fingers into her spine. “You’re Lord Chelford. Your horse threw a shoe.”

Elinor buried her face in her brother’s coat.
Please, please, please don’t let them realize the truth.

Grantham stepped closer. “When? I’m not aware of it.” He sounded genuinely confused.

Elinor couldn’t look. She bit her lip and sent another prayer up as her brother held her tighter still. “Some months ago. A white gelding with a light step. In Gloucester, near Hempsted.”

She waited breathlessly for Grantham’s reply. Though she couldn’t see him, she imagined he’d cocked his head to one side. “It seems the sort of thing I ought to remember, but poor Ned is always throwing shoes. At any rate, yes, I am Lord Chelford. And you are?”

“Mr. Gavin Conley,” she started to answer for her brother, but he shushed her and pulled her about so that she tucked into the crook of his arm. She was halfway to being shoved behind him, as Grantham had done, only this time, she didn’t
want
to be protected. Not from her beloved.

“I can speak for myself,” Gavin said. “I’m Elinor’s brother. Her very incensed brother.”

“Oh?” Grantham’s nervous laughter did nothing to reassure her. “There is no need to be agitated. Miss Conley has been in good hands.”

“
Your
hands,” her brother corrected.

Elinor flushed so hotly, she couldn’t bear to look at either man. She was mortified.

“Well, yes, I might have kissed her. I have a kissing ball.” Grantham explained this as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world and her brother shouldn’t bother to question it. “It’s still Christmastide, when these types of things are permitted. So you see, there is nothing amiss here.”

Gavin fairly growled. He spun Elinor off so that she was forced to twirl away behind him. He advanced on Grantham, who made a heroic effort to appear unperturbed.

“My sister has no experience with kissing balls! You, sir, have no right to
look
at her, let alone
touch
her.” He seized Grantham by his cravat and held him up so only the toes of his shoes scraped the floor. Elinor raced to interfere, but her ineffectual tugging on her brother’s arm gave her no hope of saving Grantham before Gavin strangled him.

“Gavin, stop!” she cried.

“When I heard her carriage had crashed into the home of a libertine,” Gavin grated, “I wept for her innocence. But I calmed myself with the notion that an earl would never disgrace himself by taking advantage of a girl still in pinafores. You, sir, are no gentleman. I demand pistols.”

“Stop this!” Elinor cried again, doubling her efforts to save Grantham. She didn’t have time to be miffed at her brother’s admission that he still thought her a little girl.

Grantham’s hands fought Gavin’s, but he, too, was unable to budge the much larger man.

“Let him go!” she begged Gavin. “He did no wrong!”

“I told myself that,” Gavin said through clenched teeth, “as I rode hell-for-leather through the night. But I’m no nitwit. The man’s done more than kiss you. I can see it in his lustful,” he leaned forward so that he and Grantham were nose to nose, “beady,” he cinched Grantham’s cravat tighter, “ugly eyes. You
blackguard
.”

She beat against her brother’s enormous bicep. “Don’t kill him! I’m not in pinafores! We’re to be
married
.”

Gavin eased his hold enough for Grantham’s heels to touch the floor. The earl sucked in a great wheezing breath. Then he clasped his hands over Gavin’s grip and continued to pry at the strong fingers shunting his windpipe. Her merciless brother didn’t release his cravat. “Over my corpse.”

She laughed self-consciously. “You have no choice. You just said you believe he’s had his way with me.”

“
Don’t
say those words.”

She wanted to disappear for her embarrassment, but she daren’t look away. Finally, her brother relented. He flung the wheezing earl away like a bag of refuse and turned to her. “I want to know everything.”

Elinor flinched. No, that wouldn’t do, not at all. She drew a breath and resisted sneaking a peek at Grantham. “Lord Chelford has been unfailingly polite. Why, Aunt Millie and I shared a delightful dinner with him at his table not a few hours since.”

Gavin made a show of searching the room for Aunt Millie. “Is that intended to relieve my mind? Your absentee chaperone?”

“She’s, ah, taking air.” Elinor smiled brightly. He
would
have arrived just when their aunt was proving to be especially scandalous.