Page 38 of This Earl of Mine

Her fingers stroked the thick hair at his nape, just above his cravat, and her heart pounded at the illicit thrill of it. Wylde cleared his throat, repositioned himself in his chair, and threw down a ten, ruining any chance he might have had of winning the hand.

Georgie stifled a giggle. Was she distracting him? The idea was delightful.

The hand finished, and he stood and gathered his paltry winnings. “Excuse me, gents, but I’ve ignored my lady long enough. I do believe she’d appreciate a tour of the house.”

This was met with knowing ribald laughter. “Oh, aye. I hear the doctor’s billiard table’s very sturdy,” Kenilworth snickered. “Well worth a detour.”

Georgie flushed beneath her mask. They all thought Wylde was taking her off somewhere for… nefarious purposes.

If only.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his ridiculous offer to introduce her to physical pleasure. The idea had taken root, a wicked, intriguing possibility. Had he been serious? What would he have done if she’d actually taken him up on it?

His cheek brushed hers as he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “They’ll be imagining usin flagrante delictoin less than five minutes. Come on.” He looked at her and away, leaving an instant’s burn in his wake. As he ushered her out of the room, Georgie tried to banish the hot, sinful images he’d conjured.

They dodged another couple sneaking upstairs and a servant carrying a swaying tray of glasses. Wylde sent her a casual, intimate smile over his shoulder that perfectly communicated his delight in the unholy thrill of risk-taking. His eyes were glowing with excitement. Georgie’s matching sense of elation left her almost breathless.

This was what made this man so dangerously attractive. When he called on someone to join him on an adventure, he was well-nigh irresistible.

Chapter 20.

Benedict tried to still his racing heart as he ushered Georgie down the corridor, into O’Meara’s library, and closed the door behind them with a click.

The woman was driving him insane. He hadn’t taken a decent breath since he’d seen her in that fever-dream of a dress. Its color emphasized the smooth skin of her bare shoulders and made him want to kiss the indent at the front of her throat, where her collarbones met. The dangerously low-cut bodice invited him to cup the lush mounds of her breasts, to press his face to them.

And if the dress hadn’t been enough, whilehe’dbeen trying to concentrate on piquet, the little wretch had started fondling him. Her light, teasing touches had produced a flash of heat on his neck and an instant stiffening between his legs.

He had no idea what hand he’d played; his complete attention had been on her fingers in his hair. He imagined her closing her fists, gripping his hair as he thrust into her, and his hands trembled. The scent of her,an intriguing mix of perfume and skin that was uniquely hers, teased his senses, so delicious he wanted to lick her. Everywhere. He felt befuddled.

He needed to concentrate, to look for evidence. Not throw her up onto O’Meara’s leather-topped writing desk. With a decided effort, he strode over to the desk in question and produced his pocket knife from his waistcoat. The lock to the top drawer yielded to its pressure with only the slightest splintering of wood, and he exhaled in satisfaction. “Let’s see what the good doctor is hiding.”

He rifled through the drawers, discarding most items until he came to a roll of large papers tied with a slim blue ribbon. The size alone indicated they were maps or plans of some sort. He pulled down one corner, took a brief glance, and decided they merited a closer look. He glanced over at Georgie, who’d made her way over to one of the walls of books, and beckoned her forward. As soon as she got close, he dropped to his knees and took hold of the hem of her skirts.

She sucked in a scandalized breath. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t very well walk out of here with these stuffed in my jacket, can I? We’ll have to hide them in your skirts.”

She made a little squeaking sound, but he’d already exposed her stockinged shin. He inhaled a waft of warm, perfumed skin that made his head swim and caught a tantalizing glimpse of gartered knee before she pushed her skirts down with her hands.

“Stop being such a prude,” he scolded.

She gave huff of irritation, or perhaps embarrassment. “Get off! I’ll do it.”

He sat back on his heels and reluctantly handed her the roll of papers. She turned her back to him and hiked up her skirts, using the strings from her inner hangingpocket to secure the scroll. She let the fabric fall with a swish, then turned and took a few experimental steps. The roll rustled almost imperceptibly as it banged against her thigh, but the folds of her skirt hid its presence very well.

“There. I—”

Voices in the hall made them both freeze. The doorknob rattled. He hadn’t locked it. Before she could protest, he grabbed her upper arms, pushed her back against the nearest bookshelf, and smothered her “oomph” of surprise with his mouth.

In some dim recess of her mind Georgie realized Wylde was only kissing her to distract from their true purpose in the library, but as his lips molded to hers, she could barely think. Panic at the thought of discovery heightened her sense of urgency, and with a little moan she returned his embrace with desperate fervor.

Somewhere near the door, she heard an embarrassed laugh—“Oh! sorry, old man, didn’t mean to interrupt”—but Wylde’s tongue delved into her mouth, hot as sin, and thinking became too much.

With the mask on, all she could feel was his lips on hers, the slight, thrilling rasp of his stubble chafing against her jaw. Two mouths pressing together in the darkness. His body was hard, his weight pinning her effortlessly against the shelves, and she writhed against him shamelessly, wanting more. His hands came up to cup her face, then slid down her throat and over her breasts, and Georgie bit back a gasp of shock. Her nipples peaked, and her breasts seemed to swell into his hands.

He moved lower, his lips leaving a trail of fire down the side of her neck and across her collarbone, and Georgie tilted her head, wordlessly begging him to continue. She couldn’t stop her hands from straying over his body,over wool and linen, down the front of his chest, then around his waist and under his jacket. Her seeking fingers slipped beneath his waistcoat and shirt and then she was touching the hot, bare flesh of his back. His muscles leapt and flexed beneath her palm.

He gave a heartfelt groan. “This dress, woman, God, I—” He seemed incapable of finishing the thought. His hot breath fanned the swell of her breast just above the neckline of her dress, and Georgie’s knees almost buckled as his tongue flicked out and tasted her skin. Like in a whirlpool at sea, she let herself be dragged down, beyond hope of rescue, helpless against the undertow.

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