As an Earl Desires (19 page)

She selected an ivory gown with a long, flowing
train trimmed with tiny red roses. The square neck revealed the
barest hint of cleavage, to entice him, and she placed a drop of
perfume between her breasts. Her coiffure was topped with a
heron's feather aigrette and one red rose. She wore dainty
earrings and a simple necklace. She considered not wearing gloves,
but since she didn't know exactly what he had in mind, she
couldn't dismiss the possibility that he was in fact taking
her to a ball.

Still she'd hoped for a special evening that
included only the two of them. A final night together, as
he'd said, to remember.

Although she'd begun to wonder if she'd
ever be ready. Frannie had been unusually clumsy this evening,
having to start over on her hair several times until she'd
finally managed to get it to stay up. Camilla had almost lost
patience, but she'd bitten back unkind remarks because
she'd not wanted anything to ruin the evening, and usually
Frannie was so adept at getting her
ready. She
hoped Frannie was not about to take ill.

“You look so lovely, my lady,” Frannie
said, as she adjusted the train.

“Thank you, Frannie.”

“The earl will be most pleased.”

She couldn't very well admit that she hoped
so. Whatever would her lady's maid think of her then, when
word had undoubtedly already spread that she was to marry a duke.
But still she did hope that the earl would be pleased.

As she left her room, she couldn't quite
believe how much she was looking forward to the evening. She and
Arch had done numerous things together, but it had never been with
this expectation: that what they were doing was for each other, and
each other alone.

She walked down the grand, marble, sweeping
staircase, more pleased than she could show that he was waiting for
her. Apparently, he, too, had gone to great pains to dress as
though he was going to attend a royal ball. He was wearing a black,
swallow-tailed coat over a dark burgundy waistcoat and white shirt.
His silver-colored cravat set it all off perfectly. As he stood
there smiling at her, she knew beyond any doubt that he was the
most handsome she'd ever known, the most regal earl. At that
moment, she thought he could pass for a king.

As she neared, he held his gloved hand out to her,
and she placed hers within his.

“You're so beautiful,” he said
quietly. “And for tonight you will be mine.”

“Where are we going?” she asked,
surprised to find that she sounded so breathless. But he had that
power. To steal her breath and just as quickly to return it.

He carried her hand to his lips, and even through
the glove, she could feel the warmth of his kiss against her
fingers as he held her gaze, and promised, “Not
far.”

He wrapped his arm around hers, and she felt as
though she were a vine, clinging for support.

“Will it go to your head if I tell you that
you're handsome?” she asked.

His grin somehow deepened, making him
better-looking than she thought possible. “Then we're a
matched couple.”

Not so matched
, she
thought wildly, for tonight was only pretense. Fundamentally, they
each lacked what the other needed, but she didn't want to
reflect on that, not now, not this moment, not with him when he was
striving so hard to give her something special because she
couldn't give him forever.

He escorted her down the long length of the wide
hallway. A footman standing at attention outside the ballroom
opened the door.

She glanced at Archie. “The
ballroom?”

“I told you to dress as though you were going
to a ball.”

He led her inside and it was as she'd never
seen it. Lit only with candles, strategically placed to throw light
and shadows around the room, to create an intimacy in a place that
had been designed to appear expansive. Even the mirrored walls
seemed to have shrunk down to nothing.

Then suddenly music began to play, and she squinted
into the shadows. “Is that an orchestra?”

“Yes, I want to dance with you tonight the
way I've never been able to dance with you before: as though
I adore you. I want no barriers tonight, no false appearances, no
pretenses that you aren't the woman I want in my
arms.”

“Arch, we can't carry on blatantly in
here. Whatever will the servants think?”

“They're not stupid, Camilla. I suspect
they already know. Tonight is ours and ours alone.”

He led her to a table. Small, round. From the
garden, she suspected, although she couldn't be certain as it
was covered with a white cloth. Orchid blossoms adorned the center,
simply lying there without a vase, no stems, and in the middle sat
a flickering candle. A footman pulled out a chair, and she sat.
Then Arch sat beside her. Not across the long length of a table or
even a short distance away. But right beside her, so he could
hold her hand, and she wondered how in the
world he expected her to eat.

As though reading her mind, he released her hand
and began to tug off his gloves. “Shall we prepare to
eat?”

She removed her gloves and set them on the edge of
the table.

“I have an idea,” he said, leaning
toward her. “Let's be bold tonight and not put our
gloves back on. Let's dance with bare hands.”

Knowing how warm his hands could be, she found
herself nodding at his scandalous notion. Who was to see? Who was
to know? It would be their secret.

The food and wine were served as they'd been
for the dinners they'd had when their guests were here.

“How did you arrange all this?” she
asked, absolutely amazed.

“Lillian helped me. She's picked up a
few of your tricks.”

“I can't believe you managed to keep
all of this a secret. I didn't even see the orchestra
arrive.”

“Frannie? helped there,” he said with a
grin.

“Frannie? Whatever did she…” Her
voice trailed off as she recalled all the difficulty her maid had
preparing her hair. She narrowed her eyes. “How did she help
you?”

“I told her to keep you occupied for three
hours while I arranged things.”

“She kept messing up my hair.”

His grin shifted into something of promise.
“Which I intend to do as well a bit later.”

And she could hardly wait, but wait she would,
although the anticipation was more than she could bear. It was
incredible really, to have already spent so many nights in his arms
and so look forward to spending another. She didn't want to
remember that it would be the last, but she did want to remember it
for always.

They hardly spoke as they ate, neither did they
rush. They simply watched one another, sipping their wine, eating
their pheasant. She remembered how he'd told her that he
wanted a woman with whom he could be comfortable with silence. She
hadn't realized then what he'd been referring to. But
this was it, where nothing needed to be said in order for all to be
understood.

When the last of the meal had been served and
dishes carried away, he picked up an orchid blossom, leaned toward
her, and tucked it into her bodice, between her breasts, a bit of
silliness that made her laugh, made him smile. Then he stood and
helped her to her feet.

“May I have the honor of this dance?”
he asked.

“The honor is mine, my lord, to be asked by
you.”

He led her onto the shadowy floor. The orchestra
had been playing softly while they were dining, and now the tune
shifted into a waltz, and she realized that he'd left nothing
to chance tonight. Everything was magic. A few months ago,
he'd never even been to London, and now he had the ability to
orchestrate the most romantic night of her life.

Her bare hand rested in his, and she wondered why
people had ever decided that gloves were needed. The warmth of his
touch was intoxicating. They danced more closely than was
proper—had they been in a room filled with guests. But as it
was only the two of them, they danced as they wanted.

Grandly, he swept her over the ballroom without
worry of bumping into anyone else. This room, this night, this
waltz was theirs and theirs alone.

He didn't carry her as far with the next
dance, and the one that followed found them doing little more than
standing within the candlelight, gazing into each other's
eyes. Then he drew her close, dipped his head, and kissed her, a
kiss filled with promise, a kiss that would lead to farewell.

She didn't want it to end with good-bye, but
she shoved the thought aside because they would
never again have a night like this, and she
didn't want it marred with sadness. It had no choice except
to end as it would…but until it did end, she was his, and he
was hers.

He slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her,
cradling her against his chest. The music continued to play, the
lonely strains following them across the ballroom as though to
entice them into staying, but his kiss had effectively enticed her
into wanting to leave.

The footman opened the door, and Arch carried her
through. There would be no secrets in this household now, she
thought, as he strode down the hallway and up the stairs that led
into his wing of the house. And she no longer cared. Let the
servants know. Let all of England know.

Tonight she was where she wanted to be. That she
couldn't remain there was a worry for another day.

A footman opened the door to Arch's
bedchamber and closed it once they'd entered. Flickering
candles, the scent of orchids, and a turned-down bed greeted her.
Her heart tightened as she realized he'd gone to such great
lengths, down to the tiniest detail.

All for her. All for her. She'd always
enjoyed being waited on, but this was too much, too much from him,
and not enough from her. This was
their
last night. A night for
them both
to
remember.
She'd not have him looking back
on it and seeing all he'd given to her and not realizing
she'd given to him as well.

He set her feet on the floor, and still there was
nothing said between them, nothing needed. They undressed each
other, him standing naked and proud before her long before her
clothes were all removed. She had more layers, more items. But
eventually all the clothes were gone and there was nothing between
them. And he'd done as he'd promised, released her hair
until it had tumbled into a mess around her.

She came into his arms as though she alone belonged
there, planted her mouth against his, and initiated the kiss before
he had a chance. She heard a muffled growl, and his chest vibrated
against her breasts. She scraped her fingers along his scalp, up
into his hair, and his arms tightened around her.

He angled his mouth for a better fit and began
walking her backward toward the bed. But the bed wasn't yet
where she wanted to be. She offered resistance, and he stopped. She
nipped his chin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I have plans of my own for the night,”
she said in a sultry voice that almost didn't sound like
her.

She trailed her mouth along his throat, bringing
her hands down to his shoulders. He skimmed his fingers over her
back.

“What plans?”

“Something I don't think you'd
ever suggest for fear I'd not enjoy it.” She slid down
his body until she was kneeling before him. She glanced up at him,
could see the need, the desire, the fire burning in his eyes.

She pressed her lips against the moistness. He
spasmed and thrust his hands into her hair, his fingers pushing
against her scalp.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Arch heard the words pounding in his blood, watched
as with the sweetest smile, she pleasured him. He dropped his head
back as his body tensed, and sensations of gratification speared
him. He'd planned every moment of this night, but he'd
not planned for this. He didn't know if it was her words or
her actions that drove him to his knees, but suddenly he was there,
taking her into his arms, struggling to get to his feet, and
getting her into the bed.

He slashed his mouth across hers. It was torment
not to be inside her. He slid his hand between their bodies,
between her thighs, only to discover that she was indeed ready for
him: hot, moist, and willing. He pushed inside her and she raised
her hips, allowing him to go deeper.

It was always like this. The rhythm they set
required no instruction. It simply…
was
. Sliding, stroking, kissing. He could see her
face in the can
dlelight, and the wonder of her
expression always amazed him, as though each time, whatever
sensations he brought to life surprised her. It was no different
for him. He felt more with her. The pleasure was harsher, more
intense, as though his nerve endings were laid bare to her
touch.

She had a power over him that no lady had ever had.
He reveled in it, wallowed in it, wanted it to last
forever…but that was impossible. He couldn't scale
another mountain if he never came down from the first. He thought
he would never grow tired of scaling new heights with her wrapped
around him, her body pulsing with his, tightening,
coiling…

She was gasping, shrieking, calling out his name,
her fingers digging into him. When the pleasure reached the
ultimate pinnacle, sent him soaring over, spilling his hot seed
into her, his body shuddering with the force of it, he was vaguely
aware of her clinging to him, tremors cascading through her
body.

Breathing heavily, he lifted himself slightly and
gazed down on her. “Are you all right?”

A glorious smile spread across her face as she
nodded, reached up and skimmed her fingers along his face. “I
wasn't certain I'd survive.”