Passions of a Wicked Earl (25 page)

That terrified him more than anything. That he’d
needed
to be with her. He knew no other woman would console him as she did. No other woman would care for him as she did. No other woman could reach below the surface of him like she could.

Her hands gently massaged the lather through his hair and scalp. It felt wonderful. She didn’t pressure him to talk. She didn’t ask questions. She was simply there. It was more than enough.

“Close your eyes,” she said, and she poured warm water over his head—again and again until the soap was gone. When she was finished, she moved around beside him, took a cloth, and began to tenderly wash his face. Earlier, she cleaned the gash on his hand and wrapped linen around it, with orders to keep it out of the water.

He thought he’d never smile again, but he did when he saw the wet spots on her gown, one in particular that made the shadow of her turgid nipple very visible. He flicked a finger over it. “Your nightgown is getting wet. You should take it off.”

Cradling his cheek, she forced him to look at her. “I need more between us than just … bedding.”

He blinked in confusion. What was she talking about? He felt as though his mind were swimming through thick pudding. His thoughts jumped around, never seemed to be sharp enough to grab onto conversation. Her words made little sense. No woman had ever wanted more from him than a good romp between the sheets. “I thought you enjoyed it.”

“I do. It’s wonderful.” She dipped the cloth in the water and began scrubbing his chest. “But I want so much more. When your dog is dying, I want you to come to me, tell me, let me share the sorrow with you. When you have bad news, I want to know so I can share the worry or can help you find a way to make it all better. You don’t have to do everything alone, Westcliffe. It’s why I’m here. Not only to be beneath you, but to be beside you.”

He cupped her face. “Claire, no woman has ever meant more to me than you. But you ask too much.”

“You don’t have to do it all tomorrow. Just know that I will never, ever betray you again. Whatever you tell me, whatever you share with me, it will be safe with me. I want to be here for you, Westcliffe.”

“You want to give me what I need?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He took her hand, carried it beneath the water, and used it to cover his rigid shaft. “This is what I need. Right now. I need you to stop talk—”

She rose, grabbed the hem of her nightgown, and lifted it over her head, revealing her slender, glorious body, inch by marvelous inch. He’d seen her naked before, but tonight it was a reaffirmation of the beauty of the human form—not mutilated or torn or battered. It was perfection.

Standing there, she unbraided her hair, then bent forward and brushed it through with her fingers before tossing it back. He couldn’t believe how provocative so simple an action was. He started to get out of the tub, to take her to his bed if he could make it that far. Lifting a leg, she pressed her toes against his chest and pushed him back down.

She slid her foot down to his hip and slipped it into the water. Gracefully, she brought the other foot to rest in the tub. Straddling him, she lowered herself, enveloping him in a cocoon of molten heat. Wrapping his arms around her, burying his face against her breasts, he came fast and hard, with an intensity that nearly caused him to black out. For that brief moment, the horrors he’d seen had ceased to exist.

All that existed were the two of them.

She was stroking his back, combing her fingers through his hair, whispering that all would be all right, that she loved him. He couldn’t repeat the words, couldn’t allow himself to become that vulnerable to hurt, but he held her close for the longest time.

When the water had gone lukewarm, he rolled her over and washed her while she washed him. After they dried off, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

Claire hadn’t meant to tell him she loved him, but the words had slipped out of their own accord. Strange to think that when she’d married him, she’d feared the physical side of their relationship—and to realize now that quite possibly he feared the emotional. He used his body to communicate, much more than words.

As he laid her on the bed, his mouth came down on hers with an urgency, then a gentleness. He massaged her neck, stroked her cheek. There was almost a sweetness to the kiss, as though he were imploring her to accept him, to want him. To be content with what he could give, even as he seemed to be acknowledging that he knew it wasn’t enough. He could carry her to incredible heights of pleasure, but he couldn’t reveal his heart.

He trailed his lips along her throat, a leisurely sojourn, leaving behind the dampness of his mouth and little tongue tickles. The urgency he’d expressed in the bathtub was gone. He’d needed her for a physical release that would cleanse him as much as the soap and water. She understood that, the importance of it. But how did she convince him that she could be so much more?

Had all the women he’d been with wanted nothing more from him than this? As exquisite as it was, she wanted him to know that he was so much more than this. But it was a task for another time, because he was very skilled at
this
—until all her concerns melted away, until she was lost in sensations.

His tongue circled one breast while his hand kneaded the other. Desire swirled, clamoring for the release he could provide. She threaded her fingers through his hair, as he scooted down, his breath wafting over her stomach. Delicious, intoxicating. He moved lower, parting her thighs.

“Westcliffe?”

“Shh.” He looked up at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “It’s your turn now.”

He buried his mouth in the soft curls, and his tongue swept over her sensitive flesh. She nearly came off the bed, only he held her down, the fingers of one hand splayed over her stomach. They inched upward to cup her breast, and his thumb toyed with her nipple while his tongue continued its wicked doings below.

She skimmed her hands over his shoulders, felt his muscles rippling beneath her touch, just as her own body undulated with each stroke of his tongue. He suckled and nibbled. He thrust and soothed. The pressure built until she was arching against him, crying out, experiencing a cataclysmic release that had her soaring among glittering stars before falling back, breathless and limp.

His low moan echoed around her. He slid up her body, leaving a trail of kisses as he went. When he reached her throat, he eased off her and nestled his face in the curve of her shoulder.

She thought she felt his mouth form a smile before he drifted off to sleep. His arm and leg were draped heavily over her. She couldn’t move. But she wouldn’t have even if she’d had the ability. She simply wanted to stay curled against him.

Blood and carnage. So many crying out for help. He struggled to reach them—

He awoke with a start, a cry echoing around him. And she was immediately there, caressing his chest, kissing his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” she murmured softly. “Were you there again, in your dreams? At the railway accident?”

Not dreams, nightmares. He wondered how long before they’d dissipate. “Yes.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No.”

The lamp on the bedside table was burning low, creating a halo around her. His angel. He combed his fingers through her hair. Why was she so different from the others? Why was being with her so different?

“How was the ball?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“Did you dance?”

“No.”

“Did Beth dance?”

“Repeatedly.” She tapped her finger on his chest.

“What is it?” he asked.

She peered through her lashes at him. “You wish me to talk about what bothers me, but you won’t talk about anything that you’re feeling.”

“Why don’t you teach me how to do it by demonstrating?”

Grinning wryly, she shook her head. “After what you went through earlier, my troubles are nothing really.”

“Troubles? What troubles?” He threaded his fingers through her hair, anchoring her head so she couldn’t prevent him from studying her face. “Did something happen at the ball?”

“Lady Anne spoke to me.”

He swore beneath his breath. Anne could be cutting when she wanted—and she very often
wanted.
“That can’t have been pleasant.”

“She said you told her I was a gullible girl.”

“I didn’t.” He touched her brow, trailing his finger over her scar. “She uses her tongue as a weapon. Ignore her.”

She gnawed at her lower lip before saying, “You might want to ignore her as well. I told her you told me she was a whore.”

“Oh, God.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. His wife had turned out to be a feisty wench. He so enjoyed her. He paused in his thinking. He did enjoy her, and not just here, in his bed. It was a startling realization.

“Do you still have feelings for her?” she asked, interrupting his musings.

Holding her gaze, he said, “No.” He traced his finger around her face. “We never had our wedding journey.”

She lifted a shoulder, shook her head.

“Let’s take some time to do it.”

She sat up, staring at him as though he’d gone insane. “What?”

“Let’s go away for a few days.”

“But what of Beth?”

“My mother could serve as her chaperone.”

“Your scandalous mother as a chaperone?”

He dragged his finger down the center of her chest, his knuckles grazing the underside of one breast. “Please, Claire. I want to be absolutely, completely alone with you.”

A warm and wonderful emotion he didn’t recognize but still appreciated washed over her face. “We could be ready to leave by noon.”

He owned a small stone residence that overlooked the sea. As Claire stood on the balcony of the master’s bedchamber, inhaled the salt air, and watched the white-capped waves kick up, she couldn’t help but feel this isolated spot was simply another example regarding what she didn’t know about her husband. She wanted to sit him down and demand that he tell her everything about himself. Everything. Yet she also couldn’t deny that there was pleasure in each discovery.

The stone cottage was maintained by a small staff. His manservant and her maid had accompanied them. But in the way of servants, they were discreet and noticeably absent. Which Claire acknowledged was the closest they’d come to being absolutely, completely alone.

She heard a noise, glanced back, and saw Westcliffe standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. He’d divested himself of his jacket and waistcoat. The sea breeze ruffled his shirt, his hair. More strands than usual had escaped her own coiffure, and she imagined he would soon approach to begin tucking them back into place.

“What do you think of it?” he asked.

“I like it very much.”

He stepped forward to stand beside her and put his arm around her waist, drawing her near, tucking her beneath his arm. “I like to come out here and simply watch the ships sailing in the distance. I imagine where they are going, what adventures those on board might experience.”

“You would like to travel the world.”

“I would indeed. I very much might when I have an heir who can see to managing my affairs.”

Her stomach dipped as though a wave had taken it under. Speaking of an heir gave a permanence to matters.

Turning her slightly, he tucked strands of hair behind her ear—only to have the wind set them loose again. His lips curved up in a self-mocking grin. “You said you didn’t wish an end to our marriage, and we have taken matters too far for its end to come about easily or simply. I believe our course is set, and we must make the best of it.”

They were not the sweet words of undying devotion, but they were sweet nonetheless. He was not a man who gave easily of his heart. She was beginning to understand that. But he was the man with whom she wished to spend the remainder of her life. She had little doubt that in time he would say the words she longed to hear.

“I will not be able to stand it if you ever take another woman to your bed,” she stated honestly.

“Since I discovered you were in London, I’ve desired no one else.”

A burst of joy went through her. Even sweeter words.

“You should also know,” he continued, “that I’ve never shared this place with anyone else. But I wanted to share it with you because you are not like the others.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it, but you are simply not like the others.”

It was enough. For now, it was enough. In time, she had little doubt, he would give her more. He would give her all of himself. She was partially to blame for his unwillingness to reveal everything within his heart, but she had seen enough of his small kindnesses, his love, his strength, to know that she loved him. She would do what she must to have him love her.

Rising, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Is it here?” he asked.

He drew his tongue along the center of her sole until her toes curled.

“No,” she answered, peering down at his dark head, rubbing her hand along his calf. He was stretched out beside her, but in the opposite direction. The windows had been left open, and the breeze fluttered the curtains. She could hear the ocean thrashing at the shore. As darkness had descended, they’d spotted the pale lights of a distant ship. She did find something calming about this place.