As an Earl Desires (24 page)

 

It was a night of celebration. Tables surrounded
Archie's house—the one where his mother had lived. Now
she was living with Nancy and Owen, so her older son and his wife
could have some time alone.

Camilla was more than ready for that time alone.
But first there had been well wishes from everyone in the town,
shaking hands, offering them the best.

Winston had been the first in line, taking her in
his arms, bending her back, and planting a kiss on her mouth.
She'd actually laughed when at last he'd straightened
her.

“I suppose your mouth does that whenever you
cross paths with a pretty girl,” she'd admonished.

“No. Only when my brother marries a woman of
whom I heartily approve.” He'd kissed her lightly on
the cheek. “Make him happy.”

“I will,” she'd promised.
“And I'll begin searching for a wife for
you.”

He'd looked horrified. “No thanks.
Marriage isn't for me.”

Nancy's daughters had given their Auntie
Camilla a kiss. Camilla had loved the new title: auntie. She
wondered why she'd ever set her sights on the title of
duchess. It seemed so unimportant somehow.

She'd danced with Archie, Rhys, Winston, and
two dozen other men. She'd laughed, been toasted, and watched
as her husband had looked upon her as though no other woman
existed.

And when she thought her feet wouldn't be
able to endure another round of dancing, Archie lifted her into his
arms. “Let's take the merriment inside, shall
we?” he whispered.

Although she heard the shouts and cheers from those
who had yet to leave, she merely nestled her head into the crook of
his shoulder and wound her arms around his neck as he carried her
into the house and up the stairs to the room they would share from
this night forth.

Someone had turned down the blankets—his
mother she suspected—and left the light in a lamp
burning.

“Shall I try to find Frannie?” he asked
as he set her on her feet.

“No.” Frannie had come with her, as had
Lillian, and though neither could earn what they had when they
worked for a countess, it seemed each felt being with her made up
the difference. She couldn't have been more glad because she
hadn't been sure how she'd make it without them.
“You can undress me.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I don't
know if I can wait that long. To have you near this entire
month while preparations were going on for the
wedding and
not
have you in my bed
nearly drove me mad.”

Before she could reply that it had been the same
for her, near madness, his mouth was on hers, cutting off anything
she might have wanted to say…and nothing she had to say
seemed important any longer. All that mattered were the sensations
coiling tightly within her preparing to be unleashed. Oh, it seemed
an eternity had passed since she felt the hardness of his body
pressed up against hers. She was suddenly craving him, and she
wanted to shout for the joy of it, because he stirred within her
sensations that before him had been foreign, because his touch was
like magic.

Even though the many layers of her clothing, she
could feel the heat of his hands, the impatience, the power that
would cause her to soar to unlimited heights.

He trailed his hot mouth along her throat.
“Oh, Camilla, how I've missed you.”

“Mrs. Warner,” she rasped.

“What?”

“I'm Mrs. Warner. Call me it. Just
once.”

He leaned back until she could meet his gaze. He
skimmed his gloved fingers around her face. “I love you, Mrs.
Warner.”

Tears stung her eyes. “I love being Mrs.
Warner.”

“That's good, because I plan for you to
be Mrs. Warner for a great many years.” He stripped off his
gloves and dropped them to the floor. “Now let's see if
I can figure out how to get you out of all this.”

It didn't seem long at all before she was
lying on the bed, completely nude, and saying. “I always knew
you were a smart man.”

Then he was stretching out beside her, his clothes
shed more quickly and easily than hers. She placed her bare hand
against his naked chest, heard him catch his breath, felt the
muscles beneath her hand tighten and quiver. He wrapped his hand
around hers, brought her hand to his lips, his eyes never straying
from hers. “We will have a lifetime to go slowly; but I need
you, Camilla, and I need you now.”

Nothing, not even reading, made her feel as
powerful as the desperation that laced his voice. She'd never
felt more wanted, more essential, more desired. It was a heady and
potent sensation. Yet as desperately as he seemed to need her, she
needed him equally as much. “I need you, too,
Arch.”

The urgency in his voice, the readiness of his
body, his quivering muscles gave her the impres
sion that he would quickly slake his desires and then
see to hers, but it was as though having voiced his needs, learning
that she had needs as well, that his fires had been banked.

He ran his hand along her side, down to her thigh,
her calf, then back up, his gaze following the path of his hand. He
met her eyes, gave her a smile, a kiss. The press of his lips to
hers was brief, yet filled with promise. His mouth grazed her
cheek, her chin, then took a leisurely journey along her
throat.

Growling low, Arch dipped his tongue into the
hollow at her throat. Rolling slightly, she bowed her body against
his, to urge him on, to encourage him to hurry.

“Not so fast, my darling,” he
whispered.

Now that he was so close, was able to feast on her
flesh, he seemed in no hurry to finish the meal. She threaded her
fingers through his hair, pressed her palm to his cheek. Tomorrow
she would watch him shave, and the day after that, and the one that
followed. Without guilt, without shame, without worrying that
anyone would learn of her behavior, she would watch him awake,
brush his hair, dress. She could share all aspects of his life,
openly and in public, that before she'd only shared in
secret.

There would be no more secrets, not between them,
not around them. They could be open and
honest
and the knowledge was incredibly liberating.

His hands worked their magic over her breast,
cupping, kneading, reshaping. She loved the feel of his hands
reacquainting themselves with her body. He lowered his mouth to her
breast, his tongue circling, creating a familiar path. He closed
his mouth over her turgid nipple and suckled gently.

“Archie.” She dug her fingers against
his scalp, holding him in place, relishing the feel of the
roughness of his tongue.

He kissed the underside of her breast, the valley
between them, then gave attention to her other breast. She stroked
her hands over his shoulders and back, rubbed her feet along his
calves. She kissed his throat, his neck, his chest. She took
satisfaction from his growls, his harsh breathing, his tense
muscles, and his dew-coated skin.

How could he have thought she'd truly give
any of this up for a dukedom?

They became a tangle of arms, legs, and bodies
sliding one over the other. Touching, teasing…
now…not quite yet…a bit longer…I
can't wait
…

When they came together it was as though
they'd never been apart. And yet at the same time, it was new
and different. These weren't stolen moments, secretive
moments. These were their
moments, the first of
many to be shared during all the nights to come.

They rode the wave of passion together, and when it
crested, she thought nothing had ever been so glorious.

It was long moments before she came back to
herself, aware of the weight of his body on hers. She loved the
feel of it. Loved everything about this man.

He eased off her and brought her up against his
side, holding her close, his hand idly stroking her arm.

“I've missed this,” he said
quietly. “Holding you. Having you near.”

“I'm so incredibly happy, Arch. I never
thought I would be. Not like this.”

She raised herself up, leaned over, and kissed him.
She was Mrs. Warner now. She'd never cherished a title
more.

Eight years
later

“P
apa, when I grow up will I be as
beautiful as Mummy?”

Arch glanced over at Venetia sitting on a blanket,
the wide boughs of the tree spread out above her creating shade to
protect her fair skin from the summer sun. Although she was only
six, it was quite obvious that she'd not only inherited her
mother's features, but her mother's intelligence as
well.

Resting on an elbow, he reached over and tweaked
her nose, which caused her to giggle. “You are as beautiful
as Mummy now.”

“And me, Papa? Am I beautiful like
Mummy?”

This question from four-year-old Helena. He tweaked
her nose also, which made her release a bout of irresistible
chortling. “Undoubtedly.”

“And me?” two-year-old Anna asked.

“Of course,” he said, pretending to
snatch away her little button nose, which caused her eyes to
sparkle.

Then, because she wasn't talking yet, but he
was certain she was equally curious, he tickled his infant
daughter's tummy. A large toothless grin appeared, and her
chubby legs began kicking at the air. “And you, too, little
one.”

“And will Roman be as handsome as you when he
grows up?” Venetia asked.

“More so, I should think.”

He glanced toward the distance where his
son—the first of their children to prove that Camilla
wasn't barren—was playing cricket with his friends.
After Helena was born, Arch and Camilla had stopped taking holiday
in places with warmer climes. After Anna, Camilla had removed the
pearl necklace from beneath her pillow. With this latest addition
to the family, it seemed that the only way Camilla would no longer
have children was if Arch stopped removing his trousers before
going to bed.

And that wasn't likely to happen. No indeed,
not in the least.

He watched as his wife strolled toward him, having
gone to get a closer view of the cricket match while the girls
napped following their picnic. Greeting people along the way, she
smiled brightly. The breeze carried her laughter, and he thought
he'd never known a happier person. Or one more involved with
the community.

Through her efforts the Haywood School for Boys had
become the Haywood School of Etiquette and Advancement. It taught
boys
and
girls now, and not only the
fundamentals. It taught the ambitious how to fit in with the
elite.

“The world is changing, and a new class of
people is emerging. The aristocracy is welcoming wealthy Americans
into its ranks. Wealthy Brits can't be far behind, and there
is a good deal one must know in order not to appear
foolish.”

She jokingly referred to her etiquette program as
“Fooling Them All.” She never joked about her reading
program for adults, “Catching Up.”

She was an outstanding example of what a person
could achieve if she set her mind to it. She frequently spoke to
groups about the need to provide educational programs not only to
the poor but to those who'd been overlooked for one reason or
another, not only to children, but to adults as well. Using herself
as an example, she proclaimed, “An adult's inability to
read is not the fault of the indi
vidual, but it
is rather the fault of England. How can we as a nation eliminate
financial poverty if we do not first battle educational
poverty?”

Arch had never been more proud of her than he was
when she petitioned Parliament, urging them to pass an act that
would allow for free education.

She worked tirelessly to improve the educational
system, and while she was often frustrated by how slowly the wheels
of progress turned, he couldn't help but believe she was
making some impact. If nothing else, she was able to loosen the
tightest purse strings when it came to raising money for her
causes. He suspected it was because she'd once been privy to
a good many secrets. And she had no shame when it came to the
foundations she believed in and using whatever methods necessary to
improve the plight of the uneducated.

When she was near enough, the older girls popped up
and ran to her. She managed to get her arms around all three.
“Hello, my little angels. Did you enjoy your naps?”

“Not really,” Venetia said. “But
will you read to us now?”

“In a bit,” she promised.

Taking the baby into his arms, Arch pushed himself
to his feet as Camilla herded the girls back to the blanket. Once
they were situated, she turned to him.

“I can't understand the rules of
cricket regardless of how close I stand to the game,” she
said, clearly agitated that the sport seemed beyond her
comprehension. So little was.

“I suppose it only matters that the players
understand them,” he said.

“I suppose.” With a loving smile, she
took their youngest daughter from him, turned around, and placed
her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist,
drawing her nearer, and rested his chin on her shoulder, bringing
her scent and warmth closer to him.

No, indeed, he wouldn't be going to bed
without removing his trousers anytime in the near future.

“Do you ever regret not marrying your
duke?” he asked quietly.

Leaning her head to the side, she glanced back at
him. “Why would I want a duke when I could have a
prince?”

But seeing all the love for him reflected in her
eyes, he didn't feel much like a prince. Rather he felt like
a king.