Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance (13 page)

Well, she had a few of her own, and one of them was to escape from this man.

She bumped up against him, hoping to feel the blunt in his waistcoat pocket. Instead she drew in a startled breath. He was solid as a rock, all hard muscle and lean leg. For a moment she was so disconcerted that she was almost glad for the support of his arm.

He slid her a sideways look. “Is everything well, my lady?”

“Perfectly.” She refrained from looking at him for fear that he would read her intentions, and see how flustered she’d become just by brushing up against him. For being a drunkard and a gambler, he was surprisingly fit.

They were led through the common room and up a lavish set of white marble steps that led to the bedchambers. She had to act fast, before they were shown to their respective chambers, for she wouldn’t have another opportunity to discover where her money was.

A smiling maid curtsied and showed them into an exquisite sitting room with other rooms leading off it. Claire stopped just inside as Blythe made his way farther in.

He murmured something to the maid, who blushed and scurried out, closing the door behind her with one last, longing look at him.

Claire stared dumbfounded at the closed door, but the maid didn’t return to fetch her and escort her to her own chambers. Her gaze slid to Blythe, who began to untie his cravat.

“What are you doing?” Claire’s words emerged more as a squeak. She took a step back and came up against the closed door. “Wh-Where are my chambers?”

He sighed, tossed the cravat on the nearest chair and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. He tipped his head to the set of doors to the right. “Through there.”

She spared the door a glance. “I can’t sleep here. With you. That is to say—”

“I know what you mean.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If you’re concerned about your virtue, know that I am too tired to do anything at the moment.”

“That’s not amusing.” Her voice shook and she had the devil of a time stopping her hands
from shaking as she fumbled for the door handle. “This is improper,” she whispered.

He held his hands out at his sides. “This entire fiasco has been improper. What’s one more night? We both need to sleep and I’d rather you be close. You’ll have your bedchamber and I’ll have mine.”

He finished unbuttoning his waistcoat and the garment joined the cravat. His hands went to the buttons of his shirt. Claire held up her hand to stop him from shedding any more garments. “My lord. Undress in your bedchamber, if you please. I’ll …” She swallowed. “I’ll remain here while you sleep.”

He stared at her as if he didn’t quite believe her. Which he shouldn’t, but she was willing to promise anything to keep him from stripping down to his drawers in front of her.

His lips thinned as he contemplated her for a few more heartbeats. He appeared to want to say something then seemed to change his mind. “I’ll sleep for a few hours, then we’ll be on our way.”

“Take your time.”

Those dark eyes studied her. She tried to look innocent but wasn’t certain she accomplished it. Breath held, she watched as he made his way toward the bedchamber, pause, then turn and snatch his waistcoat off the chair.

When Nathan closed the door behind him, Claire let out her breath along with a few choice curse words. Damn the man! She wanted to stomp her foot in frustration, but long ago learned that stomping and crying got her nowhere. A cool head and a solid plan were much more productive.

Quietly she made her way to the door and pressed her ear against it. There was movement on the other side and she closed her eyes, picturing Blythe unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a tanned throat and muscular chest.

She put a hand to her pounding heart and tried to push the lurid images away. The man was nothing but a rotten liar encased in the body of Adonis.

The bed ropes creaked and he groaned, causing her to jump back from the door and twirl around to walk restlessly through the main room, the sound of his groan following her every step. This was ridiculous. Absurd. She was allowing him to get under her skin in ways no other man had and that simply would not do.

She wanted her money and she wanted her freedom. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Realizing her pacing might be loud enough to keep him awake, she forced herself to sit in a chair with her hands clasped in her lap and wait. How long would it take for him to fall asleep? She tried to remember Richard sleeping but couldn’t because they’d never slept together. He’d enter her bedchamber on the nights he would decide that she had to perform her wifely duties, accomplish what he’d set out to do and leave. There had been no sleeping when it came to Richard, and she shuddered at the memories that threatened to consume her. It’d taken the better part of the year since his death to move on from those memories and she was damned if Lord Blythe was to going resurrect them.

The chair was entirely too comfortable and her eyes drifted closed. She forced them open and shifted to a better position. She’d napped for a few minutes at Marchant’s but nothing more since then, and her exhaustion was overtaking her. When she found her eyes closing yet again, she sprang from the chair and walked to the window, but even the magnificent view of Notre Dame Cathedral in the distance couldn’t stir her. More than likely this extravagant room had been paid for by the funds Blythe stole from her. The rodent.

She sighed and moved about, stopping at various works of art but not having the mind to study them in detail. Her thoughts kept returning to the bedchamber and the money in there. The thought of sneaking in and retrieving it was almost more than she could bear. Her hands shook at the mere thought.

She glanced at the clock and noted that half an hour had passed. Was that enough time? Was he fast asleep?

She completed a circuit of the room, forcing herself to wait a bit longer until she was standing before his door with no recollection of moving toward it. Again she pressed her ear to the wood and listened. A light snoring drifted to her. She gripped the door handle with trembling hands, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If she was lucky, he’d deposited the waistcoat just inside the door.

Slowly she pushed the door open, letting out her breath. It opened soundlessly and she poked her head in. The room’s curtains were closed tightly against the sunlight. No candles were lit. Shades of gray intermingled with great patches of black. She could just make out the bed and, presumably, Blythe sleeping soundly in it, for she could hear the steady rise and fall of his breath as he slumbered. Another large shadow loomed directly to her right. The wardrobe, she assumed.

Quietly she slid inside the room and stood in the darkness to allow her eyes to adjust.

Since she hadn’t tripped over the waistcoat, her best guess was that he’d deposited it on the bed. She made her way in that direction, arms outstretched. Good Lord it was dark in here.

She jammed her toe into the foot of the bed and bit her lip to keep from crying out while pain raced up her leg and stars danced before her eyes.

She hissed in a breath and waited until the stars subsided and she was sure she could walk without hobbling. Her hands met the bedpost and she skimmed her fingers down it to touch the mattress, refusing to picture Blythe lying on that mattress.

Her hand landed on the fine wool of his waistcoat and she smiled in triumph, her heart pounding in exhilaration. She lifted the garment and Blythe’s scent drifted to her, a combination of spices that set her heart to pounding in an entirely different and unwelcome direction. She gathered the coat to her and turned on her heels.

Suddenly the shadow that she thought was the wardrobe moved in front of her and a strong hand clamped down on her arm. She screeched and tried to pull away but the grip was unrelenting. A match flared and a candle was lit, revealing Lord Blythe in nothing but his
breeches and a fierce scowl. The large expanse of his very bare chest rose before her like a solid wall. For a moment all she could do was stare at his sun-darkened skin and the light dusting of dark hair arrowing to a point that eventually disappeared into …

Oh, my.

“What have we here? A thief in the night?”

She tried to yank her arm free. “A person attempting to retrieve property that was stolen from her.”

“I knew I shouldn’t trust you.”

“No more than I trust you. Now unhand me, my lord.”

“Never, my lady.”

She stilled. Her fingers turned numb but she refused to let go of the coat. “This is—”

“Don’t speak to me about impropriety. You’re the one in my bedchamber. If I didn’t know what you were about, I would assume you were here to beg me to pleasure you.”

She gasped and stepped back but his hold didn’t lessen. “You are a pig.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Tears of frustration and anger pushed against her eyes but she blinked them away. “I want my money and I want to be free of you.”

“Impossible on both counts.” He plucked his waistcoat from her grip and tossed it. She heard it land with a thump on the other side of the room.

He tugged her toward the bed.

Panicked, Claire dug her heels into the fine carpet. “What are you doing?”

“Since you’re untrustworthy and I haven’t slept in nearly two days, you’ve left me no choice.”

“No choice?” The words were exhaled on a breath. What did he mean no choice? Her gaze shot to the bed, then bounced back to him. “No.”

“Yes.”

She tugged on her arm. Blythe let go and she twirled around to run for the door. Forget the money, she’d take her chances on the street. Before she even made it a step, his arm wrapped around her waist and he hauled her against him, lifting her off the ground. She screeched and pulled at his hands. He tossed her on the bed and she bounced, then rolled, heading for the other side. His arm clamped around her again and he dragged her to him. A large leg came over hers,
trapping her just as his arm settled over her stomach.

Claire froze, barely daring to breathe as panic beat against her rib cage. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit back a whimper that wanted to burst forth.

“Relax.” His breath brushed against her neck, making her shiver in revulsion. “Go to sleep, Claire.”

Sleep? He wanted her to
sleep
?

“Lord Blythe, please.”

He sighed. “We’re in bed together, can you at least call me Nathan?”

“Please let me go.”

“No.”

She drew in a breath, held it, willed her heart to stop pounding and slowly exhaled. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t sleep next to Lord Blythe like this.

The memory of all those times Richard held her down and had his way with her rushed forward, and fear paralyzed her. Every muscle tensed. Her eyes remained wide open, her hands curled into fists. The weight of Blythe’s leg and arm around her was heavy. She was pinned to the bed, with no means of escape. Once again at the mercy of someone bigger and stronger.

Minutes dragged by, each one seeming like hours. His leg and arm grew heavier, his breathing more even, until she realized with shock that he truly was sleeping. But how was that possible? How could he so easily fall asleep when she was pinned beneath him?

More minutes crawled by. The clock in the other room dinged three times. It was three in the afternoon and she was stuck in this bed with London’s most notorious rake, gambler and drunk.

If Sebastian discovered this, he would call Blythe out. The thought was rewarding for a moment, before Claire remembered that Blythe had already killed one man in a duel. She wasn’t about to offer her brother as a second man.

Blythe shifted, mumbled something and settled his arm more securely around her.

Her gaze went to where Blythe had tossed the waistcoat. If she somehow slid from beneath his arm and leg, then exited the bed without waking him, she could take her money back and sneak out.

She wiggled a little, testing him. He continued to breathe deeply, his breath warm against her neck. She unfurled her fists and touched his hand, lifting it a bit. His palm turned and he
wove his fingers through hers. She stared in shock at their hands. His so large, hers so small and delicate. If he wanted, he merely had to twist his fingers and he’d break every one of hers. Yet, for all he’d done to her over the past several days, he’d never hurt her, and she couldn’t make herself believe that he’d actually break any of her bones.

That he’d simply fallen asleep while lying nearly on top of her gave her pause. Richard would never have done that. Richard could have cared less if she slept at all. In fact, Richard cared about her only when he wanted her to perform both in bed and in society.

She forcefully pushed thoughts of her deceased husband from her mind. It seemed odd, thinking about him while being held by another man.

No, not held, Claire. Pinned. Just another form of control.

Except this was a form of control she was unfamiliar with, which left her confused and frightened.

She lifted their hands, thinking to disengage hers and slide from beneath him, but he merely hauled her closer until her back was flush against his very naked chest and her hips were cradled between …

Her body went stiff and her eyes, which were very close to closing on their own, flew open. Suddenly she was aware of everything about him. The breadth of his shoulders, the firmness of his muscles, the strength of his legs, the hardness of …

She swallowed.

… of his manhood.

Her palms turned sweaty and her legs restless, as if they had to move to alleviate a growing feeling of something she couldn’t identify. Her nipples puckered and she sucked in a breath. What was wrong with her? Why was she reacting like this?

She shouldn’t be thinking of Blythe’s chest or shoulders or legs or any other part of him. She should be thinking of retrieving her money so she could escape.

Blythe’s hand slid upward. His thumb brushed against the underside of her breast. Claire lay as still as possible, waiting for … She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for, but whatever it was, her heart pounded and her stomach muscles contracted as if her body knew what her mind didn’t.