Twilight with the Infamous Earl (16 page)

Until that moment, it had never occurred to Frost that the lady in his arms had the power to break his heart.

Chapter Seventeen

Hours ago, she had gone to bed, heartsick and empty, trying not to believe that Frost was her sister’s seducer. How much had changed since she had awakened to find the infuriating man in her bedchamber. Not only was he demanding that she believe him when he vowed he had nothing to do with Lucy’s ruination, he was asking her to trust him with her body as well.

If he intended to take my virginity, he would have done so.

Although she had limited knowledge of the ways of lovemaking, Emily could sense Frost was holding a part of himself back. He kissed her on the mouth and the breasts, touched her intimately between her legs, and promised her nothing but pleasure. Instead of removing his trousers and shirt, he had remained dressed while she was laid out in her revealing nightgown like a wanton goddess.

“Does touching me hurt you?” she asked, stealing a glance at the blatant display of his manhood. She had never seen him in such a state, and wondered if he was in pain.

“Only if you deny me,” he quipped. “I desire you, Emily. Let me love you.”

It was an odd choice of words for a man who considered himself a Lord of Vice. “Would you like me to remove my nightgown?” she asked, staring at him shyly through a veil of red hair.

“So you intend to add to my torment, eh?”

“What? No,” she insisted, sitting up. Emily stared down at the front of her nightgown. The linen was still damp from his mouth, forming rings around her nipples. “You have asked to touch me. I merely assumed my nightgown was barring your way.”

“The glimpses of your delectable flesh tempt and seduce me,” he said, placing his hands over hers. “I long to touch you without any hindrance, but it is your choice.”

Her choice.

Frost had come to her, knowing he was asking the impossible. He sought her trust and her body, but he was leaving the decision in her hands. It would have been simpler if he had just taken control. By consenting, she was taking on some of the blame.

It was a cunning stratagem.

Coming to a decision, she lifted the hem of the nightgown, revealing her body to him as she pulled the garment over her head. Though she could feel the heat of his gaze, Frost made no attempt to help her.

He was silent as she placed the wadded nightgown on the mattress. After a minute, she began to squirm under his scrutiny. “Well,” she said, raising her hand to cover her breasts.

Frost caught her hands. Her eyes widened as she felt him tremble. “You are exquisite. Perfection.” He kissed her hands. “And I desire you so much I fear I might embarrass myself.”

“How so?”

“Never mind.” He kissed her nose. “It is a torment I happily embrace if it means that I can put my hands on you.”

To prove it, Frost stretched her out onto the bed. He settled down beside her. He ignored the bulge protruding at the front of his trousers. Instead he leaned over and kissed her eyelids. His touch was as light as butterfly wings, and it made her smile.

“Do I get to touch you?” she asked with her eyes closed, even though he had moved down to her cheekbones.

“No.”

Her eyes flew open at the harshness in his voice.

“Don’t ask this of me,” he said curtly. “My need is too great. Just lie back and enjoy the pleasure I can give you.”

“It does not seem very fair,” she muttered.

“You should enjoy watching me suffer,” he replied, nibbling on her neck. “Denial is good for my soul.”

Even so, he did not seem to be suffering the pangs as he freely explored her body. With his mouth and hands, he left no inch of her flesh untouched.

She hissed in surprise when he delicately bit the visible line of her collarbone, but Frost was far from finished. As she arched her back, his mouth moved to her breast. She gasped and longed to push him away as he suckled at her. Instead, she threaded her fingers through his dark hair. Touching him calmed her. He licked her nipple, and she slowly became aware of the dampness between her legs. Her breasts tingled and the sensation was nothing she had ever experienced.

“You must stop.”

Frost paused and met her worried gaze. “Why, dear lady?”

“Something is wrong.”

Frost grinned at her. “Show me where you ache. Is it here?” He cupped her other breast and lightly squeezed.

“Yes.”

His hand moved to her belly. “What about here?”

Emily nodded. “A bit, and lower,” she admitted, concern warring with shame.

“Ah,” he said, the intensity in his blue gaze spellbinding. “Guide my hand and show me.”

Awkwardly, she covered the hand he had resting on her stomach and directed him to the wetness clinging to the hair between her legs. “This is—”

Not normal,
she thought.

“Desire, Emily.” Beneath her hand, his fingers sought the sensitive flesh protected within her feminine folds. “It is primal, disturbing, chaotic, and most of all, it is pleasure. The sort that shoots you straight into the heavens, shatters you into a million pieces, and then puts you together again. Once you have experienced it, you will never be the same person.”

She gasped.

“Your body is aroused and hungers for completion. What you are feeling is healthy and natural. You needn’t fear it,” he whispered seductively. “Stop fighting it. Now close your eyes.”

Emily knew it was futile to argue with him, so she complied. Perhaps if she could not see him, she could manage the overwhelming feelings his kisses and caresses evoked. She shivered, not understanding how she could be cold when her flesh burned under the scorching heat of his breath.

“That’s right, love,” he said, approvingly. “Move your leg. Aye, like that. Just concentrate on the pleasure.”

She smiled as he lightly bit her hipbone. His manhood pressed against her thigh as he positioned himself between her legs. He had promised her that he sought only to please her, but the hard length of masculine flesh reminded her that Frost was denying himself his own release.

“Touch yourself … here.” He guided her hands to her breasts. “When you are alone, have you ever caressed yourself?”

“No!”

He chuckled. “You should. It is no sin to learn how you like to be touched. It would please me, knowing that you were thinking of me when you touched your breasts or rubbed the sweet little nubbin … ah,
here
.”

Frost demonstrated with his mouth. Emily sucked in her breath and tried to twist away from the brazen claiming, but he was stronger. He simply grabbed her hips and held her in place.

How did he expect her to endure?

Every time she moved, he used each wiggle to deepen his incredibly blatant kisses on the most intimate parts of her body. She had never imagined a man would touch her like this and enjoy it. Frost moaned with undisguised pleasure as he licked and teased the tender flesh and folds.

Emily tried to remember to breathe. Her hands covered her aching breasts as she felt a flutter within her womb. Frost drank from the heart of her as if her desire flowed as freely as wine. What he was doing to her was shameful. She should tell him to stop. The words were stuck in her throat as he stroked her with his skillful fingers and that nimble tongue.

Then she suddenly could not think at all.

The warmth pooling in her loins ignited into flames. Emily cried out, her head whipping from side to side as Frost’s relentless claiming consumed her. Her womb clenched almost painfully, and intuitively she knew this man could ease the exquisite agony. She raised her hips off the bed and wholly gave herself to him.

The tension that had racked Emily’s entire body gradually waned. She was breathless and weak, even though she had done little but savor the pleasure Frost had wrung from her body.

“That was just a taste?” she asked in disbelief, her loins still quivering with residual energy from her release.

Frost wiped his mouth on his sleeve and crawled up to recline next to her. He looked quite pleased with himself. “Aye, it is just the beginning. And I’ve kept my word. I promised pleasure and you’re still a virgin.”

Emily had not given her virginity a thought when he had put his mouth on her. It was the danger of passion, she supposed. The pleasure given and received was so immense that when a person was ensnared, they would do anything to keep it.

Though, she thought as she frowned, she had not given him anything. Emily rolled onto her side and glanced at the proof of his desire. “Frost, what about you? You haven’t—”

She tried to touch the thick bulge at the front of his trousers, but he swiftly moved away from her.

“Don’t,” he commanded as he sat up on the mattress. “My control is tenuous, Emily, and I am trying to be honorable.”

“Honorable men do not sneak into a lady’s bedchamber.”

His lips twitched with humor. “I suppose you are right. However, you can trust me to keep my promises.”

Emily sat up and grabbed her nightgown, using it to cover herself. “Does it hurt?” She could not keep the worry out of her voice.

Frost’s harsh expression softened at her question. “Yes, but I will survive. You needn’t fret about me.” He reached for his waistcoat.

He was leaving.

She sat in the middle of her bed, feeling drained and uncertain. “You could stay awhile.”

“I can’t, Emily.” He walked over to her, fastening the buttons on the waistcoat. “If one of the servants caught us, or your family…” He shrugged. “It was reckless of me to come to you like this, but I could not help myself. Even so, I would not see you hurt because of my selfishness.”

She nibbled her lip. “Are you leaving because we—I mean you—”

He spared her from asking the uncomfortable question. “No. I want to stay with you. Christ, don’t make it any harder than it is.”

Emily covered her mouth with her hand as she burst into a fit of giggles. She couldn’t help it.

Frost’s eyes gleamed as his laughter blended with hers. “Witch,” he said affectionately. He kissed the tip of her nose. “I can assure you,
it
couldn’t get any harder.”

He pressed a firm kiss on her mouth and moved away to collect his evening coat. “Put your nightgown on before I change my mind.”

“Will I—?” It seemed foolish to ask when they might meet again.

“What?” Frost glanced up. He smoothed the fabric down on his left sleeve.

“My mother mentioned something about attending the theater this week. Will I … see you there, perhaps?” she asked, praying she didn’t sound dreadfully pathetic.

“Of course.” He paused and noted her expression. “What? Did you think you’ve seen the last of me? Not a chance.”

Chapter Eighteen

Frost regretted the necessity of leaving her.

He congratulated himself on the control he had been able to exert when he had introduced Emily to her first taste of passion. The need to find his release in her sweet, warm body had almost been too much bear. His still-semi-erect cock was proof that her scent was calling to him. It clung to his fingers, coated his face and tongue, and lingered in his nostrils. If gaining her trust had not been so important, he would have proved that he could be a scoundrel and taken her virginity. To hell with his promises. As her body shimmered with the lingering effects of her release, he could have opened his trousers and pressed the head of his cock against the yielding opening of her sheath.

Emily would not have refused him. He had seen the need in her eyes. As he walked through the front door of his residence, he told himself that he was a good man … an honorable man.

Frost glanced up to see Regan standing in the front hall.

“Why, good evening, brat. What are you—”

Regan marched up to him and slapped him hard across the face.

“All of these years,” his sister raged. “How could you?”

She raised her hand to strike him again, but he captured her wrist. “What is it? What’s happened?” Frost asked, baffled that Regan was so determined to maim him.

The answer came to him almost immediately.

His mother had revealed herself to her daughter. He could happily murder the hateful bitch.

Frost hauled Regan into his arms and hugged her close. She fought him, impotently pounding at his chest. “Listen to me. I can explain.” Then she went limp in his arms and sobbed uncontrollably.

He glanced up to see Dare standing in the doorway of the library. His brother-in-law’s enigmatic expression revealed how much of a mess he had created for himself. Frost also noticed that the marquess had two glasses of brandy in his hands. If he was a true friend, one of those glasses was for him.

He would definitely need one after he had soothed his sister’s feelings.

“Whoreson,” she mumbled against the front of Frost’s coat.

Frost thought the charge was fitting.

*   *   *

Fifteen minutes later, a calmer Regan sat in one of the chairs in his library. After her angry outburst, she had gone upstairs to wash her face. Frost was relieved to see upon her return that she was no longer crying. Regan was not the sort of lady who cried to manipulate those around her to get her way. When she cried, it was sincere, messy, and violent.

She broke his heart.

Dare had not pressed him for answers while they had waited for Regan. Frost was also grateful that his friend had not punched him for making his wife cry.

“You shouldn’t have kept this from me,” she lashed out at him.

“Obviously, I disagreed,” he drily replied. “The lady abandoned us. I saw no reason to involve you.”

“Involve me?” Regan looked as stunned as he had been when he had discovered that their mother still lived. She took a sip of the brandy her husband had pressed into her hand, even though she thought the stuff was vile. It proved how rattled she was by the news. “Frost, this is our mother. How long have you known the truth?”

Frost hesitated. His gaze shifted to Dare, and the man had the audacity to shrug. It was his friend’s way of telling him that he was leaving the decision up to him.

There was no reason not to tell her the truth. “I learned of our mother’s miraculous resurrection a year before I sent you away to Miss Swann’s Academy.”