This Earl Is on Fire (18 page)

I
t was the night of the Vale ball.

Standing in the receiving line, Adeline steeled herself for her first encounter with Liam in a week. So far, after greeting Ivy and Vale, she was doing admirably well. All she had to do was remember how to breathe.

While she stood in front of the dowager duchess, her parents were ahead of her, already exchanging a greeting with Liam and the guests of honor.

Adeline tried not to listen to Liam's voice or let her gaze stray even a single inch from her hostess's smiling face. Instead, she focused on her curtsy, keeping her corrective half boot flat on the marble floor.

“My dear Miss Pimm, you look positively radiant this evening in that pale coral gown. And your hair done up in a twist is quite flattering.”

Adeline was just about to thank her when the dowager duchess tapped her nephew on the arm and asked, “Wouldn't you agree, Liam?”

But Adeline had come prepared for her encounter. She brought a fan of her own, and summarily dropped it on the marble floor. Then she
accidentally
kicked it, hard enough so that it slid between two potted topiaries behind him.

“Oh, do forgive me,” she called out the moment Liam turned around to fetch it. Then she made direct eye contact with the next in line, assuming that Liam's uncle would introduce himself. Thankfully, she was right.

“I've heard a great deal about you, Miss Pimm, and the kindness you've shown my nephew,” Albert Desmond said after their introduction.

“My parents and I believe we offered nothing more than anyone else would have done.”

“Oh, how I wish that were true.” His lips curled up at each end like his mustachio, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “It is a shame that my daughter was not well enough to attend the ball. I'm certain she would have enjoyed meeting you. Though perhaps some other time in the near future?”

“I'm afraid, sir, that we will be leaving London day after next.” As she spoke, her gaze drifted to Liam.

Holding her fan and walking toward them, his steps suddenly halted and his brow furrowed, but he made no comment.

Adeline returned her attention to Mr. Desmond. “Please know that you and your daughter are more than welcome to our home in Boswickshire whenever your travels take you north of here.”

And because the line of guests behind them were crowding closer, she did not wait for her fan. Instead, she took her father's arm and descended into the ballroom. This time, she did not take special care to ensure that her corrective half boot was concealed by the hem of her gown. By now, all of London—with the help of Miss Leeds and Miss Ashbury—knew about her limb. But Adeline walked with her head high and refused to let it bother her a moment longer.

This would be her last London adventure, and Adeline was determined to enjoy herself. So, as the evening progressed, she didn't look for Liam in the crowd at all. Well, hardly ever. Perhaps once—every five minutes or so, but no more than that.

Yet as she walked beside Mother after fetching a glass of punch, she saw Liam standing with her father near the open terrace doors. Trepidation slowed her steps.

It was almost time for the gong to ring for supper. Was Liam asking for permission to escort her to the dining room? She sincerely hoped not.

Her night was going along perfectly without him. Neither Miss Leeds nor Miss Ashbury had been invited. She'd already danced two country dances—one with Lord Ellery and one with her host, the Duke of Vale. And though she would never admit it, her foot was cramping. Which made it all the better that she'd taken Juliet's advice and filled her card for all the other dances.

When she finally reached the terrace doors, whatever conversation Liam had been having with Father abruptly stopped.

Liam greeted Mother and then bowed to Adeline, his hand extended. “Miss Pimm, would you do me the honor of this next dance?”

The musicians in the gallery above were already playing the first strains of the dinner waltz. Couples paired off on the ballroom floor, each of them twirling gracefully.

And Adeline went cold, feeling as if Liam were mocking her. He knew she did not know how. She'd confessed as much to him.

“Thank you. No.” Then she gave her father a pained look, feeling betrayed by him as well.

Turning away, she decided to adjourn to the retiring room. Liam stopped her, however, putting a hand beneath her elbow. She tried to shrug him off, but he was more insistent than she expected. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her parents engaged in a quiet conversation, Mother frowning, Father shaking his head. Any moment now, all eyes would be upon their group. Therefore, to avoid a scene, she allowed Liam to escort her through the doors.

The air was brisk, and there were no stars or moon to guide them. The only light came from the ballroom, spilling over the wet terrace stones.

The instant he released his hold on her, she crossed her arms, warding off the chill she felt inside and out. “What could you possibly have to say to me that you could not have said at any time during this past week?”

“I did not ask you for a conversation. I asked you for a waltz,” he said, his teeth clenched so hard that a muscle twitched over his lean jaw. He did not look pleased or even apologetic. Instead, those green eyes flashed in anger. “And the only reason I brought you out to the terrace is because I intend to hold you scandalously close, with your feet upon mine. Though with your parents nearby, your reputation is secure.”

She refused to budge. “I decline your invitation.”

He taunted her with a smirk and lowered his voice. “Come now, you know we've been this close before. Surely you haven't forgotten.”

“Have
I
forgot—” Her hands curled in to fists and she untangled her arms, but only so that she could pummel him if the opportunity arose. “According to the
Standard
, it is you who has forgotten.”

“There is no understanding between us, Adeline.”

“Nor will there be in the foreseeable future. You are free to do whatever you choose.”

“Correct. And this moment, I choose to waltz with you. Now cease this nonsense and step into my arms where you belong. For the dance,” he amended with a glower.

Then he pulled her close beside him—hip to hip, leaving no space between them—without giving her the chance to refuse him again. Settling his hand against her back, he waited for her to do the same to him.

She did. But she hated that it felt so good to be in his arms, even now.

“We are both quite cross. I do not know why I am indulging you.”

“Because you cannot refuse an adventure.”

“True. That is all this is, after all,” she said, embarrassed when her voice broke, and she felt a telltale stinging at the corners of her eyes. “Nothing more.”

“Blink those tears away before you force me to kiss you,” he commanded softly. His green gaze hard.

Knowing that she was only torturing herself, she blinked several times, just wanting to end this once and for all. Like the dancers inside, she lifted her arm, posing it with her hand extended in an arc above her head. Then he took that hand, and in that same moment, began their promenade.

Holding her gaze, he made a slow circle, each step making her aware of the warmth of his body and his hold on her. Once completed, he pulled her closer, shifting so they faced each other, stomach to stomach.

“Put your feet on mine,” he ordered, his voice dropping. He settled both of his hands at the small of her back, making it impossible to resist. “And now fold your arms behind you.”

The action caused her breasts to jut forward, pressing against his chest. “Are you certain this is—”

He didn't give her time to finish her question or even time to prepare herself for what came next. Instead, he swept her into a turn. One after another.

Adeline gasped, amazed that this was happening. She felt every bit of his strength, the thick muscles of his thighs, the shift of his abdomen, the security of his hands. He would not let her falter. She should have known better all along.

This was not a dance of humiliation or even of pity. He truly was giving her a last London adventure.

It was over all too soon. There was only time enough for a dozen turns, perhaps fewer. When the music ended, he set her on her feet and stepped apart from her. And she desperately wanted to do it all over again.

“I love you for the dance,” she said on an exhale. She didn't know why she was breathing so heavily. After all, she hadn't done any of the work.

It took a moment before her own words filtered into her brain. But in that time she felt her lungs seize, her eyelids widen, and her mouth open.

And other than the rapid rise and fall of his chest, Liam went completely, utterly still.

“Oh! I meant to say ‘thank you for the dance.'
Thank you
,” she repeated stupidly. She wished he would say something to stop this torrent of embarrassment. “Because no one says ‘I love you for the dance,' even if you're very fond of dancing. That doesn't even make sense. For if it did, then everyone would be—”

“Adeline, the dinner gong has rung,” Mother called from the doors. Fortunately, she was standing far enough away that she couldn't have heard Adeline make a complete fool of herself.

With one last look at Liam, she whispered a final
thank you
and hurried off to join her parents, deciding to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night.

L
iam forced himself to remain still, rooting his feet firmly on the terrace stones. Yet every muscle in his body wanted to go after her. To haul her into his arms. To kiss her until there was only enough breath left in his body to tell her that he loved her for the dance too.

His head was spinning once more. This time it was not from a blow to the head but to the heart. How had he let this happen? How had he let her crawl under his skin and live in his veins? Hell, every breath he took was filled with her scent. Every sound filled with her wit. Every sight filled with her smile and her eyes. Especially when she looked at him as if he were put on this earth solely for her.

Thayne was wrong. He thought Liam erected a barrier to keep everyone at a distance. But if that were true, then his efforts had failed. Adeline Pimm had broken through.

She was not like any other debutante. Scheming and manipulation were foreign to her, not mother's milk. In fact, she was one of the few people he trusted. And when she said she loved him—even though she blundered it a bit—he believed her.

This was all new. He'd never felt this sort of certainty before, not even when he was seventeen. Back then his regard had been easily swayed. He'd been too eager for affection. Now he was different—reluctant and even jaded.

All the more reason for him to see where this would lead.

And if Adeline thought she was going to leave London day after next, she was sorely mistaken.

U
nfortunately, Adeline couldn't keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night.

She had, however, managed to survive the rest of Vale's ball without making an even bigger fool of herself. Yet by the time they returned to the townhouse, she hated herself for being a coward with Liam earlier.

Why hadn't she simply thanked him
and
told him that she loved him? She deserved to close the lid on London before she left it all behind. She did not need any open ends or regrets. Hadn't she faced all of her other fears?

So it was time to face this one. Sort of.

Instead of telling him, she decided to leave him a note. That way, she wouldn't have to look at his face and see that he—
she swallowed
—did not feel the same for her.

Having made up her mind, she went to the adjoining doors. Prepared to slip the note beneath them, she pulled on the painting. That was when she discovered something unexpected, something that piqued the interest of her adventure-seeking nature—the door on her side was unlocked.

Out of curiosity, she opened it and then pushed on the next door to see if it was unlocked as well. It was. Not only that, but she saw the flicker of light coming from down the hall.

Her heart raced at a fine clip beneath her breast. Was Liam here?

The parchment crinkled as she gripped the note in her hand. What if she did tell him face-to-face instead? While she knew the risk already, there could also be an advantage. She would never have to wonder about his response. Or spend years imagining—
wishing
—that he was thinking about her. Though, honestly, it was far more likely that he would completely forget about her existence.

“Happy thought, indeed,” she murmured and quickly started to contemplate slipping her letter beneath his door instead. Or perhaps she'd drop it in the urn standing a foot away and leave the rest up to chance. Then again, servants might find it. And since this was a rather personal letter, she should just hand it to him and walk away. Or she could just leave it here on this demilune table.
Perfect.

Without overthinking her decision—at least any more than she already had—she placed it on the table and turned back to the door.

“Adeline?” Liam's voice stopped her. “What are you doing here?”

She closed her eyes, feeling her heart thud with every one of his approaching footfalls as she faced him and offered a shrug. “I didn't want to leave without telling you good-bye.”

It was a terrible excuse and made little sense.

Even with the lamplight behind him, she could see his smirk. “Are you leaving this very instant, instead of at daybreak the day after next, as you said earlier?”

She should simply hand him the note and walk away. But suddenly all of her bravery abandoned her. “I didn't think I would see you before then.”

Dressed only in his shirtsleeves and his black trousers from the ball, he continued toward her with long, purposeful strides, avoiding the crates in the middle of the hallway. The closer he came, the more difficult it was to breathe. Her heart knew that this might be the last time she ever saw him, and now it was pounding so hard that it was surely deflating her lungs in the process. Her skin tingled too, aware of the diminishing space between them. And her eyes greedily swept over him.

He stopped directly in front of her, his dark, angular features more intense in the low light, his green gaze locked onto hers. “Adeline.”

Just her name, nothing more, and it robbed her of her last breath. His chest expanded as if he was holding it captive. How dare he take her heart, her air, and leave her with nothing but this emptiness. She pressed a hand against her middle.

“How could you have known that I would be here?” he asked, his voice low as his gaze dipped to her mouth. In response, her lips pulsed, feeling warm and plump.

“I did not.” She shifted on her feet and pointed her thumb back over her shoulder. “I merely noticed the door was open and the key”—as she spoke, he moved closer, forcing her to lift her face—“is missing.”

And, without warning, he kissed her.

He hauled her to him, lifting her to her toes. His mouth slanted over hers, his hands delving through her hair, sending pins scattering. Sweet heaven, she was lost. Every excuse to leave disintegrated in the heat of this kiss.

She loved him—that was the only reason she was here. Not to say good-bye but to tell him properly, as she should have done before.

She said the words to him one thousand times in that instant, with every touch, every murmur of longing in her throat, every breath she took from him, and every breath she gave him back in return. She reveled in the taste of him, in the magic of his tongue gliding over hers.
Yes! I love you. I have always loved you. I will die loving you. And then I will love you for eternity . . .

He growled, fierce and hungry as if he'd fed on those unspoken words and wanted more. She would give him more. And did as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body into his.

Taking her by the waist, he lifted her against him, never breaking their kiss. Not even as he strode back down the hall to the room with the glow of lamplight. He closed the door by pressing her against it, using his hips to anchor her. Instinctively, she tilted forward, rolling against him. With an urgency that matched hers, he devoured her mouth, her throat, her shoulders, tugging the satin sleeves down her arms. When he exposed the beribboned edge of her chemise, he paused and licked his lips as if she were a confection he was slowly unwrapping.

Catching her breath, Adeline looked down, seeing that the gauzy fabric merely acted as a veil over her breasts, leaving him an unhindered view of her pale nipples rising above her corset.

“Now is not the time to be bashful.” Hot breath left his mouth, causing her flesh to tighten and ache.

“I'm not.” She shook her head. “I want you to see me. And I want to see you.”

He lowered her feet to the floor, his gaze a hot green elixir. She thought he might put a halt to everything they were doing. Instead, he stripped out of his shirtsleeves, giving her a display of his lean torso, matted with black hair over the sculpted lines of his chest and tapering down his stomach.

He was magnificent. Grinning, he took her hands and placed them on his bare chest. “Is this what you want?”

Her answer came out as an indecipherable mewl as she spread her hands over him, gliding up to his shoulders, marveling at how hard he was. Solid. Strong.

“And this is what I want.” His mouth closed over her breast, chemise and all. She didn't even have time to gasp before she felt the swipe of his tongue, dampening the fabric, laving the taut peak. The heat of his mouth spread through her body, making her damp elsewhere.

She shifted, pressing her thighs together against the insistent pulse nestled in her sex. Instinctively, she wanted him there. Before she could tell him, he untied the ribbon of her chemise, tugged it down, and bared her flesh.

Cupping her breasts, he weighed them, kneaded them, increasing the ache. Then he clasped her wrists, lifted her arms, and pinned them against the door. He looked his fill. Dipping his head, he blew on her damp flesh, her nipples tightening even more, aching. Then, at last, he closed his mouth over her.

Oh . . .
Her head fell back against the door as he suckled her, drawing her deeper. She thought she knew what it was like to be a morsel of food in his mouth before, but she was wrong.
This
is what it felt like. With the rasp of his tongue pleasuring her, grazing the crest in rhythm with the throb of her sex, she felt thoroughly devoured.

He elicited the same delicious torture from her other breast as well. Then her gown fell to her waist and with his help slithered down to the floor.

She was glad it was gone. It was far too hot in here. And she couldn't breathe either. But he remedied that soon enough by pulling her corset free. His hands splayed over her waist, thumbs toward her navel. Those sinful green eyes looked up at her as he sank to his knees, pressing kisses through the chemise over her stomach and down in a straight line.

She watched, fascinated by the way he closed his eyes with each kiss. The way he paused to inhale deeply. Her fingers brushed away the hair from his brow, wanting to see every expression. But when he gripped her hips as his mouth trailed lower still, to the hem of her chemise, she felt a rise of nerves. Leaning in, he nuzzled her there.

“Is now the time to be bashful?”

“Not yet. This is only the beginning. Just wait and I will tell you when.” When he shook his head, his nose skimmed back and forth at the cradle of her thighs, burrowing closer with only the thinnest garment as barrier. “Mmm . . . Adeline, give me your hand.”

When she did, he placed it against her sex, then settled his own hand over hers, cupping her. “What do you feel?”

Dampness met her fingers, completely saturating the thin chemise in between. Then she remembered their race on Rotten Row, and a flood of heat rushed to her cheeks. No wonder he had laughed so wickedly.

She realized she was holding her breath. It came out on a stilted exhale. “I am wet through.”

“Very much, indeed,” he growled with apparent approval. Then his kisses moved lower, his hands trailing down her legs. Past the ribbon ties of her stockings. Following the embroidered pink rosettes to the lump in her shin, that small protrusion of a broken bone fused without mending. He paid little heed to it and continued his course all the way to her half boots, untying and then removing one after the other.

She watched him with more caution now, not knowing what to expect or whether she needed to guard her heart. Standing before him, flatfooted and tiptoe, he pressed more kisses to her feet, her ankles, shins. When he reached the knee of her shortened limb, he slipped his hand in the sensitive hollow behind it. Then he lifted her leg and draped it over his shoulder. Those eyes met hers once more, a grin on those lips. “More?”

It was more command than question, but she nodded her head all the same. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. This conversation reminded her of their first, and by the gleam in his gaze, she believed he was thinking about that too.

“Again,” she said, and he obliged, trailing kisses back up to the edge of her chemise.

This time when he took her hips in hand, he lifted the garment away, revealing a thatch of brown curls. The sound of an indrawn breath gave away her shyness.

“Not yet, darling.” He nuzzled her again, murmuring something naughty about Boswickshire honey. Then he set his mouth over her sex.

She gasped again. But was it shock or pleasure? She had her answer soon enough when he began to lave her most sensitive flesh, suckling and flicking as he had done to her breasts.

She couldn't stop watching him. Indistinguishable sounds tore from her throat. The sheer bliss in his expression and in the guttural groans against her sex robbed her of words. But in her mind she was thinking,
Please. Yes. Again.

Her senses overwhelmed her with pleasure, even as her leg trembled. Her hips rocked forward, but he held her still, devouring her. Then shifting, he draped her other leg over his shoulder too, his mouth pressing harder against her, filling her with urgency. Suddenly, an ache so sharp, so divine tore through her, and her entire body spasmed on a low, keening cry. It went on and on, shuddering through her and leaving her without any control, only a rush of pure euphoria.

She felt weightless, floating. In fact, she was only partially aware of Liam moving again and gathering her in his arms. But she knew the exact moment that he laid her down and lifted her chemise over her head. Her eyes drifted open to see a circular canopy above her, and beneath her a long chaise upholstered in blue silk. “This isn't your . . . bed, is it?”

He stood above her, his hungry gaze missing nothing of how she was lying nude, as if on a platter before him. “The mattress in the master chamber was too soft”—he stroked a hand down his side over the yellowish bruises—“so I've slept here instead.”

She studied the lingering traces of the attack, grateful for the powerful build that protected him, kept him safe. Rising up, she touched him there, the tight flesh warm over his ribs. She wished she could heal him with a kiss. How strange it was to hate the men who did this to him and yet know that she would not have met him otherwise. How could she have lived without ever feeling this way? And her love was only growing stronger.

She wrapped her arms around Liam's waist, peppering kisses over his bruises. The hard length of him pressed against her breasts. Curious, she released him so that she could study the front of his trousers. Tracing the thick ridge with her fingers, she then imitated his action and set her mouth over him.

This earned a choked sound from him.

“Not yet,” she teased. Lifting her gaze, she pressed her tongue against the fine wool, feeling the heat and hardness of him through the fabric. She watched his eyes darken, shadowed beneath his heavy lashes.

He slipped his hands into her hair, framing her face, but shook his head. “Someday we will explore this more. But this time, I need to bury myself deep inside of you. Is that what you want, Adeline?”

Sweet heaven,
how was she supposed to answer that when her mind just melted into jelly? A hot rush of liquid pooled low inside of her as if she could feel him there already. As if he were meant to be there. Now. “Yes.”

She loved the way he looked at her, his gaze roving over her body. He unfastened his trousers, shucking them and covering her body with his so quickly that she barely had time to see that part of him. But the glimpse she caught of a column of flesh—darker than the rest of him—jutting upward caused a small surge of alarm. And feeling the hot length of it against her caused another. Though she did not have a moment to balk before his mouth was on hers once more.