The Earl's Secret (7 page)

“Please…”

“What do you want, Jenny?”

“My knees feel… I can't stand up any longer.”

He swept her off her feet and strode with her in his arms to the bedroom. It seemed an endless journey, although it was only twenty-five feet and seconds away. Depositing her tenderly on the bed he stood over her impatiently as she pulled off layers of clothing, her eyes wide and just a little bit fearful even as they sparked with excitement. So many emotions within her, so many within him. But the last thing he wanted to do now was discuss feelings.

“Come,” she whispered, moving over on the bed to make room for him. Her eyes were a vivid emerald, beckoning.

She was so lovely. She didn't have a model's figure. Hers was far better from his perspective. An alluring pair of pert breasts with tiny nipples, a waist that was trim but not starved, hips that rounded to coax a man's palms to them. He wanted to flip her over and study her reverse side, knowing he'd find it as enchanting and erotic and irresistible as this view of her.

She reached toward him, her eyes pleading as if she feared his hesitation was a sign he might bolt. Then he was stripping off his own clothes, tossing them wherever, heeding only the inner voice that
drove him to her alone, for reasons he couldn't understand. He barely had the presence of mind to retrieve his wallet and a crucial item from it before joining her on the bed.

Christopher lowered himself over her, supporting the weight of his torso on his elbows, letting the fullness of his manhood rest against her. Just rest there for the moment…as he enjoyed the anticipation, caressed her smooth shoulders, absorbed the light in her eyes, understood her female cravings—which were demanding but delicate and still wary. She couldn't know after so short a time that he would never do anything to hurt or embarrass her.

She trusted him. How amazing.

All the more so because, he sensed, it hadn't been like this for her with other men. Jennifer was that rare woman who guarded her intimacies, cautiously dispensing them. All the more reason to live up to her trust. He took a moment to open the sealed foil envelope that he'd carried nearly forgotten in his wallet for months.

“Tell me if I do anything you don't want me to do,” he said solemnly after he had taken care of protecting her.

She nodded, her eyes enormous, glistening, fixed steadily on his.

Easing her silky legs apart with his knee, he shifted his body to find her. Gently, he moved himself around the tender lips protecting her feminine center, until he felt her moisten and blossom. Her eyes closed in concentration and her fingers curled into his shoulders as she pressed herself upward to meet him.

Christopher slid within her, telling himself he must hold on, hold on,
hold on
…until the smooth undula
tions of his hips coaxed her to climax. She bit down on her lower lip, shuddered with each slow thrust and, at last, let out a gasp of surprise and delight, her eyes wide. He watched with satisfaction as pleasure washed over her sweet features.

After that he remembered few details. His touches, her responses, all wove a blazing tapestry of passion. He might have shouted out her name before giving himself permission to share her ecstasy, or perhaps that urgent plea had only come from his own fevered mind. He felt her beneath him, buried himself hard and deep within her, and gave himself up to the flames.

J
ennifer woke, her body still tingling delightfully from Christopher's lovemaking. In all her life she had allowed only two men to touch her intimately. Her first experience had been the summer after she had graduated from high school, with a boy she had known since fourth grade. They had lost their virginity together.

Her second lover had been her only serious boyfriend. They had dated in college and after, for a total of three years. Then he had been transferred by his company to Chicago. Eventually the long-distance telephone calls and cuddly e-mails had stopped, and she'd known that it was over. In a way she had been relieved. Eddie was a dreamer, not the sort of young man she could trust her future to.

Jennifer lay on her side, still naked, her bottom tucked into the warm male space between Christo
pher's muscled stomach and his equally hard thighs. He was relaxed now, breathing deeply, hovering in a shallow sleep. She smiled and wiggled herself in deeper, loving the feeling of his chest pressed to her back, his arm draped up and around her shoulders. Tucking her into him. Keeping her there. Never had she felt so safe and cherished.

They lay there for another half hour, until she could wait no longer to get up. Showers had to be taken. They would have to drive back to the hotel. A final morning of sight-seeing remained before she could take her group to Heathrow and bid them farewell. Then she had one more day to herself in London, making arrangements for her next tour.

Christopher stretched and squinted up at her as she extricated herself from his limbs and the warm sheets. “Come back here,” he growled.

She laughed at him. “If I do, I have a feeling you won't let me out of that bed for another hour or more.”

“Bloody well right,” he grumbled. “Come here, woman. I want to—”

“I know what you want, and it will have to wait,” she retorted lightheartedly. “There's breakfast at the hotel. Then I'll be tied up with my clients until I deliver them to the airport around noon.”

“I have to wait
that
long?” he groaned.

“Yup.”

“Bullocks.”

Jennifer grinned and strolled into the bathroom. This was delightful. They had made love most of the night, and Christopher still wanted more of her. She showered quickly, humming happily as the steaming
water splashed over her, then opened the bathroom door to let out the steam.

“I wish I could extend my trip, but my flight leaves tomorrow afternoon,” she called out to him.

“Double bullocks.”

“But there's no reason you can't come to visit me,” she said, swishing peppermint mouthwash. “I was serious about your coming to Baltimore. You could stay at my place. It would be great fun!”

She listened for his answer, expecting an enthusiastic
Yes!
But not a sound came from the other room. Jennifer frowned into the mirror.

“Chris, have you fallen asleep again?”

“No.”

She didn't like the tightness of his tone. Turning away from her reflection, she wrapped the towel more tightly around her torso and walked back into the bedroom. “What's wrong?”

Christopher had pulled the sheet to his waist and was sitting up in bed, frowning at her. “I believe we're on two different wavelengths.”

An ominous chill rippled through her. “Oh? Tell me your wavelength, I'll tell you mine.”

“I already know yours,” he said in a controlled voice. “Last night…wasn't just
last night
to you. It was supposed to be the beginning of something, right?” His eyes were an intense, demanding azure.

“Maybe,” she said cautiously. “I wouldn't have slept with you if I didn't think you were very special…if I didn't like you an awful lot.”

“I
like
you too, Jennifer,” he said guardedly. His unemotional tone said it all. How could she have been so naive? She had to turn away from him so he wouldn't see the look of disappointment on her face.

“What you're saying is,” she whispered hoarsely, “for you this was a one-night stand.”

“Not precisely.” Still that careful formation of words, as if he feared she'd become hysterical if he slipped up. “I had hoped to make love to you again, later today and tonight.”

“But after that?” She risked a quick glance his way.

He winced. “What am I supposed to say, Jennifer? You know the reality of our lives as well as I do. You live and work with your mother in America. My home is here.”

She desperately wanted to run from the flat—clothed or not. Run from the overwhelming shame of having given herself to a man who took her so casually.

“I have a daughter,” he continued. “I have obligations to her, to her school and to my properties on this side of the ocean. I'm no more free to pluck up my roots and move to another continent than you are. So what's the use of pretending we might have a future?”

“I see,” she breathed. It took all of her strength to get out those two little words.

But he was only half-right. It wasn't geography that ultimately kept them apart. It was her own deeply embedded fears.

She reminded herself of all the nefarious ways her father had ruined his wife's and daughter's lives. He had squandered their livelihood on horses, women and expensive clothing. And here was aristocratic Christopher Smythe, ten times more fascinating and seductive than her father ever had been.

“Of course you're right,” she murmured. “I just thought…never mind.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I thought you understood. What happened between us was purely physical. Great chemistry, but no more than a—”

“A fling. A brief affair,” she supplied for him and looked up to meet his eyes. “Right?”

“Yes.” His gaze was steady, strong and determined. He obviously hadn't fallen for her as she had for him.

Holding back tears with enormous effort, Jennifer scooped her clothing from the chair and ducked back into the bathroom. Somehow she would have to make it through the next two days. Once she was back in Baltimore, she would find the strength to forget the earl of Winchester. It would take time and a truckload of distractions…but she would do it.

 

Christopher felt like hell as he lay in the bed, listening to the dull roar of Jennifer's hair dryer. No. Worse than that. It seemed to him that he'd been allowed a glimpse of heaven before it was snatched from him. He had reacted in the only way he could—he'd pretended he didn't care. And he'd hurt her feelings.

Foolish woman. A single night of intimacy, and she was bubbling on about transatlantic visits! What on earth was she thinking?

Yet the urge to stay with her was almost overwhelming that morning as he watched her leave, suitcase in hand. He simply didn't know how to handle such foreign emotions or how to salvage her injured feelings. He would have liked for them to part as friends.

Christopher spent the entire morning trying to puzzle out a way to patch things up between them, but came up empty-handed. He ended up back at her hotel, and waited there for her, hoping she'd return after delivering her charges to Heathrow. It was almost 1:00 p.m. when he spotted her.

“I think we should talk,” he said, intercepting her halfway across the elegant lobby.

She didn't seem surprised to see him but slanted him a wary look. “A room has become available. I'm going to take my things upstairs. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

Impatiently he waited for her, pacing the rich crimson carpeting, skirting potted palms and statuary. At last she stepped off the elevator, her posture perfect, her walk deliberate and confident, even though her pretty eyes were tinged with pink.

“Are you all right?” he asked, gently guiding her to a small divan flanked by two enormous ferns.

“Of course,” she said briskly. “I just have a lot to do before I leave tomorrow. My next trip is only a month away. A West End theater tour. I have reservations to make for the plays, restaurants to book…” She was stringing words together so fast he had trouble understanding her. Her eyes were too bright. Her face too taut. “After that, there's the South American trip…unbelievably exciting…drifting down the Amazon. And the Alaskan cruise! We're looking into an Asian adventure, too, and—”

“Stop it, Jenny.”

She gazed innocently up at him. “Stop what?”

“You're babbling. You know that I don't care where you're taking your next batch of customers. I suspect that isn't uppermost in your mind, either.”

She lowered her eyes for a moment, then brought them quickly back to his. “My business is important to me,” she murmured.

“I wouldn't suggest otherwise. I just think you're avoiding the issue at hand.”

“Which is?”

“Us.”

“I thought you said this morning that there was no
us.
” Her green eyes snapped with challenge.

“There isn't. But I don't think you believe it.”

“Oh?” She looked adorably smug. “Now you can read my mind?”

He sighed. Nothing he could say here and at this moment would make her see how impossible it would be. What she needed was a demonstration.

“Come with me this afternoon,” he said impulsively. “There is a polo match, with a cocktail party afterward. I think you'll enjoy yourself.”

He was lying, of course. She'd have a terrible time. Even he found this particular clique of moneyed snobs detestable. But he had reasons for remaining within their social circle, and now they might prove useful to him in another way. If he and Jennifer couldn't part as friends, there was one other way he could make her feel better.

“Are you playing in the match?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes. And in the shape I'm in today, I'll probably end up bleeding all over the field.”

Her eyes flashed. “Good, then I
will
enjoy myself.”

 

Jennifer's breezy declaration that she would delight in his injuries might have made him laugh at another
time. But he sensed that she actually meant it. In a way that was good. Hate was a far easier emotion on the soul than love. After a disastrous love affair, it could even be healing.

But knowing that she was cheering for the other team and hoping for his demise worked miracles on Christopher's aggressiveness on the field. He rode the Number 3, field captain's position on his four-man team that day, and he had never played better. Time and again he tore after the ball, his horse's sharp hooves digging up chunks of turf, his mallet swinging wildly as he leaned precariously out from his saddle. He scored five goals that afternoon, against some of his toughest opponents.

After the match he handed over Prince's Pride to the stable lad who had driven three of his horses from Donan earlier that day. Christopher strode across the field to where Jennifer was standing alone. He was muddy, muscle sore and exhausted—but triumphant and basically uninjured.

He had cleaned up today, making nearly ten thousand pounds. But every one of the checks would be made out to St. James or one of his other charities. And every penny of the cash would find its way into the school's building fund—along with his matching contribution.

“You didn't give the other side much of a chance,” she complained. “Seven to two.”

“We were handicapped by three goals, so we had to win by a good margin.” He smiled wearily at her. Despite her determination to dislike him, and his determination to help in the effort, there was a flash of admiration in her eyes before she turned away.

“We'll drive to the house for the party. It's about
a mile away. The players will wash up there. I have a change of clothes in the car.”

She nodded. “Tell me about your daughter.”

The question was unexpected and put him instantly on guard. “What do you want to know?” he asked stiffly.

“Where is she? Does she live with her mother?”

He had never spoken about this part of his life with anyone. But it seemed harmless enough in this case. Tomorrow Jennifer would fly out of his life, glad to be rid of him.

“Lisa attends St. James School for Girls, near Donan. She will spend most of the year there. For holidays and the summer, she will be at home with her mother.”

Jennifer frowned at the horse trailers and cars driving off the field ahead of them as Christopher spread a towel over the upholstery of his car seat to protect it from his muddy clothing. “Then you never get to see her?”

“I see her when I am at the school. I'm on the board of regents and stop by often. I'm also a frequent guest at her mother's house when Lisa is there. She's a great little girl.”

Climbing into the passenger seat, Jennifer studied his shadowed expression, puzzled by what he was telling her. It didn't make sense. The man clearly loved his daughter, yet she never lived with him? Halfway to the estate where the party was to be held, the truth dawned on her.

She turned in the Jaguar's seat to face Christopher. “She doesn't know. Oh God, Chris, she doesn't know you're her father!”

He glared straight ahead through the windshield,
his jaw clamped shut, his foot pressing down too heavily on the accelerator.

“Why haven't you told her?”

“It's out of my hands,” he snapped. “Now if you please, let's change the subject. This doesn't concern you.”

It shouldn't,
she thought. Whether or not Christopher had any claim on his daughter's time or love shouldn't have an impact on her in the least. But it did. She felt his pain, like needle-sharp jabs to her heart, as he sat silently driving much too fast.

“I don't understand,” she whispered. “Have you done something to lose your right to be her father?”

He looked angry, then less so…but still undecided. “I thought the arrangement best for her at the time. She was so little, and her mother wanted her to have a normal family. She had married another man before Lisa was born. He knows about the affair, about Lisa being mine. But Sir Isaac's a gentleman. He didn't make a fuss. Sandra promised to tell Lisa about me as soon as she was old enough to understand.”