The Earl and His Virgin Countess (7 page)

“Shh. Trust me. I can help you.” He nibbled her lower lip.

She was unsure what he meant until his hand eased the sleeve of her gown over her shoulder. His touch fueled the flames already licking her skin.

“Too hot,” she murmured.

“What’s too hot?” His lips made their way down her jawline toward the newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of aftershocks.

“Me—your touch. I can’t breathe.”

“Relax.”

Easy for him to say. She wanted to scream, but instead fell back onto the mass of overstuffed goose-down pillows behind her. With the exception of the thumb on his right hand tracing the underside of her breast, he remained still. As his eyes met hers, the playfulness became a need she didn’t quite understand, but imagined, if he felt a small degree of what she did, he might ignite at any moment.

Gazing up at the ceiling, she concentrated on breathing and remembered what a tutor had once told her; when in bed with her earl, Miranda should focus on something—anything—until he’d finished.
Think of the beauty of the countryside, the motherland, or practice the harpsichord in your head
.

“What are you doing?”

She lifted her head. “Thinking of England.”

“Really?” he asked, appearing amused by her answer.

Nodding, she returned her attention to the ceiling. “My tutor said that when I was in bed with you, I should look at the ceiling and think of distractions. She must have known the fire would consume me otherwise.”

He climbed up over her, obscuring her view of the red canopy. “You are quite priceless. I think your tutor has offered me a challenge.”

“Pardon?” Miranda blinked repeatedly, wishing what he said didn’t sound as scary and utterly amazing.

He fondled her left breast and squeezed. “Whatever I do, I want you to turn your attention toward the ceiling.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Everything in my power to make you look away.”

“But—”

“Oh, I haven’t changed my mind about leaving your maidenhead intact for tonight. I relish the opportunity of claiming that in our marriage bed, but there are other things we can do without taking your virginity.”

Her lips formed the O he’d said he liked so much.

“You’re looking at me.” He pointed up. “I do hope your resolve is stronger than a simple grope of your breast.”

“Challenge accepted.” Steeling herself with a lung-filling breath, she focused her attention on the center of the canopy where the emerald fabric gathered and began to count the puckers.
One, two, three
—his hand squeezed again. She could have sworn she felt the layers of her skirts rising up her legs but he was obviously trying to get her to break her concentration. She would do no such thing. What number had she been on? Right.
Three. Four, five. Six
was a rather large gather in the canopy fabric.
Seven, eight, nine
.

She hissed as he touched the ties of her pantaloons. Between choppy breaths, she tried to focus.
Nine. No, I already did nine. Ten, eleven
—his hand reached in to caress her most intimate parts.

“Andrew!”

“Ceiling, love. Remember, think about God and country.”

“I am quite certain God would consider this a sin.”

“God has far more important things to worry about than what you are doing in this bed right now.” He parted her lower lips and a gasp escaped her upper ones. Dear heaven, she finally understood what the maids giggled about. Pleasure filled her, and dampness pooled between her thighs. “You are so wet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? This is the best gift you can give a man. This is proof you enjoy our intimacy. Shows me you are ready to take my—cock deep in your body.”

She snuck a peek at him, but he wasn’t pay attention to her face. His concentration lay on the area between her legs. “So this feeling deep in my abdomen is normal?”

“Does the feeling make you want more?”

Muscles she had never known she had were coming to life with every touch. “Yes.”

“Do you touch yourself, Miranda, when you think you are alone and no one will catch you?”

Somewhere through the fog of passion, she managed one single word. “Where?”

“Where, she asks.” He sounded so long-suffering, she giggled. “Here or here?”

His thumb rubbed her in just the right spot as another finger entered her. Unable to form words of any sort, she only shook her head.

“Never? Well, that is something I can’t wait to remedy. The thought of you pleasuring yourself makes me want to spill my seed right now.”

“You want me to touch myself.” Coming up on her elbows, she slammed her knees closed and locked his arm in place. There was no way ever she would touch herself like he was, and certainly not with him watching. Her face burned with mortification as she tried to ease away.

“Relax sweetheart.” He kissed the outside of her knee. “And, yes, I most definitely want you to touch yourself.”

“Why?”

Resting his cheek against her knee, he grinned. “I want you to be able to tell me everything you enjoy. But how can you tell me if you haven’t had the experience? If you have never yourself found out.”

“And you want to watch me while I do it…?” she asked, the last part of her sentence so quiet, she wondered if he’d heard.

“Why are you whispering? It’s only us.” Equally quiet, he answered, “Hell, yes.”

“Down there?”

“Right here.” Adding some pressure to her clit, he rubbed the sensitive nub until her eyesight blurred and she barely caught the moan that tried to escape. “Maybe here.”

“You can’t mean you want me to touch…well…inside?”

His gaze met hers, slightly glazed over and filled with a strange hunger. And, if she were the betting sort, she might wager her own were showing a mixture of confusion, shock and embarrassment.

“Why not? It’s your body. Who has more right to touch it than you?”

“I didn’t think anyone should be touching it. Well, maybe a doctor, if necessary, but he would never look. You look and touch, and I—”

“Do you dislike this?” He moved the digit in and out, each time, the waves of pleasure grew, making her weep.

She tried deny it felt good, but she lived by the rule of honestly, so she shook her head.

“Anything I do that you dislike, I need you to tell me. Do you understand? If it hurts, scares you, or if the sensations become too much, I can’t know what you are feeling if you don’t tell me. Do you understand?”

She nodded and figured what she didn’t understand would make more sense later. “What you were doing...is that normal for couples to do?”

“I can’t speak for other men, but I quite enjoy touching you, feeling your juices cover my skin, and hearing those lovely little meowing sounds you make like a cat that got the cream.”

“Would you wish me to touch you this way, too?”

“Not tonight, but, yes. I am sure I will live in torment until our wedding night, thinking of you running your hands over me—intimately.”

She mused at the oddity of them lying on this bed, his hand up her skirts and between her legs. Odd, but not wrong. And more than she’d imagined. Other than Aunt Maggie, everyone had led her to believe, when they were in bed together, the man would stick his
member
in her while she lay quietly and thought of other things. So far, she’d thought of nothing other than what he’d done to her.

“You are very sure we will suit?”

“Have I not convinced you yet?”

She couldn’t answer that, nor was she particularly certain he required one from her. As shocked as she had been at his boldness while touching her, his next move left her speechless.

“Look to the ceiling and try and focus.”

Managing to count to twenty-three, she thought herself quite improved in her ability to stay on task counting the pleats. That was, until Andrew pulled her knickers clear down to her ankles. He gently stripped them over her sore ankle.

“You are supposed to be concentrating on the ceiling.” Although his reprimand sounded stern, it hinted of laughter.

“But you removed my drawers.”

“Yes, I did, and, if that shocked you, what I plan next may send you into a fit of vapors. The ceiling, if you please.”

Uncertain didn’t begin to describe the feelings coursing through her right then…a sense of adventure, the forbidden, and, she figured, a sense of arousal. Leaning back, she looked at him again but he responded with a raise of a lordly eyebrow. So she was resigned to following his orders.

Until, that was, his tongue lapped between the folds of her most intimate place. She bolted upright and sputtered, unable to utter a single coherent word.

“Be mindful of your ankle.”

“My ankle?”

“Yes, this dainty thing connected to an alluring-as-hell leg.”

Alluring leg?
“You just licked me—down there—and all you can worry about is my blessed ankle?”

“I plan to do it again, too.”

“But why would you want to? People don’t do that, do they? That can’t be permitted; it’s not right. You can’t possible enjoy…that.”

He appeared quite put out, lying between her legs, resting his chin on his fist. “Which of those questions would you like me to answer first?” Not waiting for her to respond, he said, “I need for you to listen because this is very important. When we are married, we can do anything we want in our bed. Providing it’s together and, above all, consensual. Do you understand?”

She nodded because what should she to say to that? He seemed quite certain it was permissible, and, as she assumed he had more experience in such matters, she couldn’t argue without facts. She would have to ask Aunt Sarah in the morning. But, somehow, asking her aunt seemed a little too wicked, even for Sarah.

“Next, although I can’t speak for others, as I don’t discuss my sexual appetite, I am certain that the men of my acquaintance do this, if not regularly, on occasion.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Not the marquis or the duke. Not men of such….”

“Yes, them, especially them. Now, your last two questions can be answered together. I very much would like to do this to you. I want to hear you moan with pleasure, taste your arousal, and feel your orgasm. If you would only lie back again and let me have my wicked way with you the only way I can tonight.”

“But….”

“Trust me, when I am done with you, there will be no doubt how well we will suit.”

Though still uncertain, she did as she was told and kept her eyes open. His hands wrapped under her thighs and eased them apart. Uncertain what to do, she intertwined her fingers on her tummy and squeezed.

The first breath of air touched her like the hint of a summer breeze, warm and hinting at rain to come. He kissed her inner thigh, and it took everything she possessed not to jump. The tiny kisses he’d made on her shoulder and neck, that she had so loved earlier, trailed to her apex. He gripped her legs and blew again. Her legs shook, whether from her desire or expectation, or perhaps fear of the unknown, she was unsure.

As he ran his tongue along the sensitive nub he had rubbed earlier, the initial shock wore off and warmth filled her. The shaking increased, but now she understood, and she wanted more. She was unable to control her moan, and he chuckled, a low male, satisfied laugh that vibrated against her and took her breath away. He circled and added pressure with his tongue. When he dove inside her, she lifted her hips, wanting him deeper within her. Her fingers wrapped into his soft hair, pressing him against her, demanding more, desperate for him to make good on his promise.

“God, yes,” he murmured, as if her response spurred him on. Testing it, she repeated the process and was rewarded with a moan from him.

His ministrations increased until stars formed before her eyes. The muscles deep in her abdomen tightened, tension built within her, and she tried to pull away, but placing a hand on her belly, he held her still. Suddenly weightless, she would have floated to the ceiling if not for the firm hold he had on her, or perhaps the death grip she had on the bed. Then her limbs seized, her eyelids lowered, and she began to tremble. Only as the tremors eased and she returned to a more natural state did he pull away. He stroked her thighs, helping to calm her before easing her dress down her legs.

When she opened her eyes, he lay beside her, staring at her with an odd light in his eyes. “So, will we suit?”

Unable to face him, she draped an arm over her face and said, “Holy hell, we will suit.”

Andrew stood in the entry hall of Miranda’s aunt’s townhome. Though it was not in the fashionable part of London, no one would think less of the living quarters where she resided. Yet, to say her Aunt Sarah had been put out by his appearance would have been an understatement. He, of course, still needed to put together who had knowledge about the betrothal agreement. He damned well needed to get to the bottom of what was going on. Heads would be rolling.

Not that it mattered. The evening before had proven to both he and Miranda that marriage would be the most prudent course of action.

For the first time in his life, he understood chivalry. He might have had a full-blown cockstand for much of the night, but he had done nothing about it. As his future countess slept the sleep of the sated, he’d laid next to her, watching and marveling at the turn his life had taken in a few short hours. He had instructed that his carriage, empty at the time, sit in front of her house early in the morning, then be taken away shortly afterward—a ruse to make any early bird believe he had simply come calling and taken Miranda for a ride, once a believable amount of time had passed.

He and Miranda had then arrived at her home at a decent hour that would make any neighbors believe she had left for a morning stroll with a suitor. Returning to her steps in the arms of her betrothed might have raised an eyebrow, or, in the case of Sarah, two, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no way she could maneuver the steps on her own.

Left to cool his heels in the front hall since arriving over a half hour earlier, he wondered how long Sarah would allow her spite to overrule her good breeding, and how much his virginal lady had told her.