Kiss the Earl (19 page)

“You were about to inform me as to the very good reason you had for rifling through my personal papers and correspondence without my permission.”

She bit her lip, glancing aside as if she could not look at him for the moment. It was painfully easy to see that she planned to feed him a passel of lies.

He narrowed his brows. “If you were planning to lie to me as to your motives, pray, do not. I cannot abide liars.”

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Ella's eyes lit with icy-blue fire and she stormed around the carved corner of the desk to face him.

“Oh really? So you don't like liars, huh? Well then, why have you been lying to me ever since you met me?”

A cold sweat broke out on his palms, but he kept his face carefully blank. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Amelia. I talked to Mrs. Templeton. She said you think of her like a sister! You aren't in love with her,” she said, poking her finger into his chest. “I bet you didn't even really ever intend to marry her! So why have you been lying to me?”

“I have not been lying.” He had. “Mrs. Templeton is mistaken.” She wasn't. But what could he say now? His temper threatened to boil over, but he clamped down on it, hard.

“Just tell me the truth, Patrick! Why can't you admit that you haven't been honest with me about her?” Her eyes shone, and his heart cracked just a bit.

“I cannot say.” He started to turn away, but she reached out and caught his sleeve.

“Why can't you? Because I'm not part of this world? Because I'm not the kind of person who deserves to know the truth?”

“Because you are so bloody ready to go home!” His yell must have startled her, because she dropped his sleeve and took a step back. “You have not stopped for one moment telling me how wonderful your world is, how superior it is to my own. Well, madam, I have tried my damnedest to help you return there. I have nursed you in my own bed, sent my cousin to find someone to magic your portal open, even lied to you to keep you at arm's length so my feelings would not cause you pain!”

She kept backing away until she had bumped up against his desk, her eyes wide. “Your…feelings?”

He pressed on, moving closer until mere inches separated them. “Yes, Ella. My feelings. They go much deeper than they should.” Running his hand along her neck, he tangled his fingers in the hair at her nape. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he continued. “If you knew their depth and breadth, you would not continue to taunt me.”

“I'm not taunting you,” she whispered back, staring at his lips.

He took her mouth in a kiss. He pressed her back onto the desk, his tongue delving deep into her mouth, his hips seeking the softness of her. Her arms twined around him, pulling him down onto her, and he groaned in delicious desire.

She was hot, writhing against him, meeting his tongue stroke for stroke, the sweetness of her mouth and the twist of her hips beckoning him onward. He imagined stripping her dress from her body, freeing himself from his trousers, and coming high and hard into her wet and welcoming warmth. He groaned as her hands slipped down his back and then to his hips.

His greedy hands moved across her body to cup her soft breasts. Her turgid nipples poked into his palms, begging for his attention even through the fabric of her dress. He indulged them, softly teasing and tweaking the hard points. Her moan seemed to wrap around him and draw him tighter against her. This sweet heaven was surely more than he deserved. Bending down, he caught the point of her right breast between his lips. Dampening the fabric with his tongue, he suckled her. It was divine, but he wished he were tasting her bare skin. He could only imagine the sweetness of her naked flesh against him. Her leg hitched high on his hip, and he nearly spilled himself at the feel of her hot core against his erection.

“Ella,” he moaned when he could lift his mouth from hers. It wasn't nearly enough. He wanted to see her, all of her. Jerking her dress up to her waist, he looked down. God, she was beautiful—olive skin smooth and soft to his hungry touch. He splayed a hand on her hip, marveling at the difference between their skin tones. She trembled, clutching at his shoulders for balance. Her skin was hot, almost burning the flesh of his hand. He let his fingers play lower, down to the crook of her knee, then back toward the base of her belly. When his hand ran high on her thigh, she gasped and jerked upright.

“Patrick,” she cried when his finger dipped into the curls at the base of her belly. “Oh my God.”

“Shhh,” he said, relishing the satiny wetness he found between her petals. “Let me love you, Ella.”

She bit her lip but nodded, trust in her eyes. He was so relieved, he could weep. His finger drifted lower, circling the entrance to her body. But before he could press forward, surround his finger with her heat, a sound he had no interest in hearing met his ears.

“Not to worry, Sharpwicke. I won't detain him long.” Iain's jaunty tone was just outside the door. “But I do need to speak with him rather urgently.”

“Shit,” Ella said, her eyes widening in alarm as she bolted upright. Patrick jerked her hem down just in time for the door to open.

“I say,” Iain said, looking from a red-faced Ella to a glowering Patrick. “It is good to see you two as well.”

Patrick made a fist. He was going to kill that black-haired Scottish bastard.

Right after he went for a swim in the ice-cold Meadow Pond, that is.

Patrick did not turn and look at Ella, though the noise she made as she scrambled off the desk, wrinkling papers and knocking over books, was truly hard to ignore. He kept his gaze trained on his cousin, who looked more than a little amused.

“Hello, Iain,” Patrick said smoothly as Ella scrambled to pick up the things she'd knocked down. She trod on his boot, but Patrick contained his wince. Instead, he reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet.

“But wait,” she said, pulling back. “I dropped—”

“Leave it,” he hissed at her before smiling tightly at his cousin.

Ella glared at him but stood motionless by his side.

“I am sorry to interrupt you, Cousin.”

“It is no interruption,” Patrick said, letting go of Ella's hand, albeit reluctantly. “Miss Briley was just leaving.”

He looked at her pointedly.

Her mouth opened, then shut. She snorted, then opened her mouth again.

“Leaving,” Patrick said emphatically, with a nod toward the door.

For a moment, he thought she might skewer him with his silver-handled paper knife. She eyed it longingly before glaring at Patrick and then Iain, then leaving the room.

Once the door shut—well, slammed, really—behind her, Patrick sank against the front of his desk.

“So, like that, is it?” Iain smirked as he picked up a book that had flopped open in front of Patrick.

“Like what? Oh, don't tell me your thoughts. They will only make me angry.”

Iain rounded the desk and sank into the chair, shutting the bottom desk drawer with the toe of his boot. “As you say, Cousin.”

Patrick straightened his waistcoat and turned to his cousin, stiffening his spine and clasping his hands behind his back. “What news do you bring? I presume you've learned something, thus the reason for your return.”

Iain's black hair bobbed as he nodded. “It was not easy, but I found word of a woman. A Mrs. Comstock. She definitely has experience in the Old Ways, but she is nursing an invalid relative all the way in bloody Cornwall. She's not expected to return for several weeks, if not months.”

A heavy breath escaped Patrick, and he crossed the room to look out the window. The afternoon was still sunny and clear, a beautiful spring day.

Deep in his heart, he was glad for the delay, but he knew it came with a price. The longer Ella remained in his company, the greater his longing for her. And did she feel the same? If they were to fall in love, would she be willing to remain here for the rest of her days? How would she feel about it? And, less important, surely, how would he feel about it?

He did not dare to dream.

“I would have remained and continued searching for someone else to lessen the delay, but something else happened, Patrick. I rode straight here to warn you.”

Patrick turned. “Warn me?”

Iain's nod was not comforting. “It is Lord Brownstone. He's gone more than half-mad with worry over Amelia. He cornered me in White's one evening, grabbing me by the lapels and threatening to knock my head clean off my shoulders if I did not confess as to your whereabouts. He's convinced that you know where Amelia's gone.”

Tension tightened Patrick's shoulders, but he forced himself to remain still. “And what was your reply?”

Chair legs scraped against the floor as Iain stood. “Do you think so little of me that you suspect I would dare give him your location?” He glowered at Patrick.

“No, I know you better than that. You are my only family, Iain,” Patrick said softly. “I love you as a brother, and I believe you would never betray me, thickheaded and selfish as you are.”

A snort escaped Iain. “Thank you for the pretty compliment.”

“So what am I to do now?” Patrick knew better than to think that his cousin would have an easy answer, but he asked it anyway.

“We must find Amelia,” Iain said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “The only way to ease the baron's bloodlust is to present him with his daughter, hale and whole and preferably unruined.”

With a glance at the door Ella had disappeared through, Patrick shook his head.

“I cannot leave Ella.”

“And that is another matter.” Iain rounded the desk and stood toe to toe with Patrick. Their heights were evenly matched, so Iain's dark brown eyes looked straight into Patrick's. “What are your intentions toward Miss Briley?”

“Intentions?” Patrick nearly laughed the word. “I do not know what you—”

“You are the one who told me that she was a proper young lady, one not to be trifled with.” Iain's expression was black as his soul. “But if the pair of you are as intimate as what I just witnessed, you'll be the one ruining her, not me.”

His blood boiling, Patrick leaned closer to his cousin. “I would never sully her reputation. Not Ella. She is all that is goodness and kindness, and I—”

“Then you must leave her,” Iain said, not backing down the slightest bit. “If this Mrs. Comstock is unable to send her home, Ella will remain here for the rest of her days, and then of course she will wish to wed. No man of stature will have her if it's known that she has lived here with you, unchaperoned. Would you wish for the rumors of your descent into debauchery to become truth? Will you soil her and then abandon her?” Iain's tone softened. “Or would you wed her and be done with it?”

The anger drained out of Patrick, leaving shock in its wake. “Wed…Ella?”

If she were to remain here forever, then he could wed her. He already wanted her, had begun to care for her more than was wise. But could he love her? Pledge himself to her, and ask for her loyalty and love in return?

He did not know. He could not know.

“I must think on this,” Patrick said, more to himself than to Iain. He turned his back on his cousin and looked out the window once again. “I must think.”

“Then while you think, for God's sake, have a care for her reputation. Come with me and search for Amelia. We'll find an old woman to hire as a chaperone for Ella, and then you can make your decision after observing the proprieties.”

Patrick wanted to say no to Iain's very reasonable suggestion. But the more he thought on it, the more sensible it seemed.

With great regret, he turned to his cousin.

“Very well. We leave at first morning's light to search for Amelia in earnest.”

The last thing he wanted was to be separated from Ella. But, for her sake, he must.

It was the honorable thing to do.

But the memory of her body pressed against his would not leave him. Perhaps he needed a dip in the pond after all.

* * *

Ella glanced over her shoulder. Meadowfair Manor rose up behind her, the windows glinting in the sun. The grass whispered beneath her boots as she wandered away from the house. She needed space, time to think. She'd made several rounds of the kitchen garden, but then Cook had come out to pull some fresh herbs, and she booked it out of there.

Her body was still throbbing, left in confusion after Patrick had gotten her all revved up with no place to go.

Her cheeks heated at the memory. They'd never done anything like that before, and she couldn't help but wish things had been able to go a little farther. His fingers were strong but gentle. And he'd kissed her nipple. The fabric was almost dry now, but she'd nearly died of embarrassment when she realized that Iain must have seen the unmistakable wet patch on her gown.

Maybe she should have done something different. But what? She kicked a small stone, wishing it were her own confusion. Lifting her chin, she marched forward.

She hadn't done anything to lead him on. And if his body's response was any indication, he'd enjoyed that just as much as she had. They'd been arguing, for heaven's sake. And then the frustration had turned into something much more delicious.

Ella slumped against the trunk of a large tree, staring up into the sun-dappled foliage. Meadowfair's grounds were really beautiful. It was a shame she couldn't really enjoy them right now.

A soft whinny in the distance made her stand. Wait a minute, was that Kipper? Patrick did say he was going to bring them here. Maybe a little visit with the horse would calm her down.

Her step a little lighter, Ella hummed as she wandered in the direction of the sound. It was even prettier over here, out of sight of the house. Sunlight glinted off something shiny in the distance, and Ella shielded her eyes and squinted. Was that a pond?

She quickened her step, a little excited now. How cool would it be to curl up next to a secluded little pond with a book for the afternoon, instead of being cooped up in Patrick's room? This was a great find.

Another whinny sounded, and Ella finally located the source. It wasn't a pasture or a small stable as she'd figured. The horse—not Kipper, but that big one Patrick had been riding when he'd taken her from the street in London—was tied to a low-hanging willow branch.

“What are you doing here, big guy?” Ella's softly voiced question was answered with a snort from the stallion. She cautiously petted the horse's cheek and looked around. “All by yourself?”

A small splashing sound made her turn toward the pond, and she gasped.

Patrick had surfaced in the center of the pond, white shirt plastered to his body. His dark blond hair looked almost black with the wetness. Droplets sprayed around him as he shook his head, then wiped his eyes.

Ella ducked behind the stallion. She wanted to keep watching, but she didn't want him to think she'd been following him.

With a large sigh, Patrick sank backward into the water and floated on his back in the center of the pond. Ella's tongue darted out of its own volition as she eyed the expanse of his chest, laid bare by his open shirt.

He was so gorgeous. But why was he swimming half-clothed?

The horse snorted and stamped his foot, and Ella jumped back to avoid getting stepped on. She knocked against a branch, causing the leaves to rustle loudly.

Patrick stood, his gaze finding her instantly.

“Hey,” Ella said with a weak smile. “Sorry, I was just walking. I didn't mean to interrupt you.”

Patrick's expression remained inscrutable, but he waded through the shallow pond toward her.

Ella's heart started to beat in triple time. Would he kiss her again? Lay her down in the soft moss and pick up where they'd left off when Iain had interrupted them? Or would he apologize for sending her away so abruptly? Berate her again for snooping in his things?

There were a lot of possibilities, but only one that she really longed for.

He stepped onto the shore, stopping when he was a good six feet from her. “Forgive me for my appearance. I did not know you were about.”

“It's fine. I kind of snuck up on you.” Why were her cheeks burning? Ella glanced away. It was hard to look at him.

Standing up straighter, he cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is best that you are here now. I must speak with you.”

“Okay,” Ella said, rubbing her suddenly sweaty palms on her skirt. Maybe a second kiss wasn't so likely after all. “What's up?”

“I had intended to find you later, perhaps find a better way to say it. But there is no help for it. I shall be leaving on the morrow.”

Her heart stopped and she looked up at him. “Leaving? What do you mean?”

His face was blank, and somehow that made her chest ache. “Iain and I will be traveling north to discover what we can of Amelia's disappearance.”

She didn't care that they'd argued earlier. She'd stick with him. “I can come with you,” she said quickly. “I'm better now, and I promised you that I'd help—”

He shook his head, one damp lock of hair falling over his forehead with the movement. “No, Miss Briley. I do not want you… No. You must remain here. It is better for both of us, I think.”

“Oh.”

She didn't know what else to say. Her heart felt like it was going to thump out of her chest, and the world was fading at the edges. All she could see was him, and all she could hear were the words that had fallen from his lips.
“I do not want you.”

“I do beg your pardon.” Patrick looked down at his wet clothing. “I… I must make preparations for the journey now.”

He gave her a bow and then walked quickly to his stallion's side, grabbing his boots and coat before mounting. He must not have noticed that she was still frozen there, because he clicked his tongue and the stallion cantered away.

“He doesn't want me,” she whispered. Hearing the words didn't make them hurt any less.

Funny, that. She'd never been sure she had a heart before.

Kinda like the Tin Man, she knew she had a heart now, because it was breaking.