Page 57 of This Earl of Mine

Chapter 30.

Georgie sucked in a breath as he advanced until only a few inches separated them.

“To start with, I should remind you that I am not like other men in theton,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows at that understatement. He was like no man she’d ever met.

He reached up to her hair, found one of the pins that was keeping it coiled up on top of her head, and tugged it out. “What happened this afternoon was ample demonstration. I’m not one of your courtly lovers, all talk and no action.”

He tugged another pin, and the weight of her hair uncoiled lopsidedly then fell down her neck. He was so close, she could feel the heat rising from his body, smell the addictive scent of his skin. Two more pins, and the whole lot untwisted. He drew the shining mass over her shoulder, and she shivered as his fingers smoothed its length, tracing to the very end where it finished just above the peak of her breast.

“Allow me to demonstrate the difference between courtly love and real life.”

“There’s no need,” she croaked.

“Oh, I insist.” He ran his fingers down her arm, caught her hand, and raised it to his lips. “A courtly lover might kiss your hand, for example. Like this. Suitably reverent and correct.” He trailed one finger over her collarbone and down the center of her chest. Her ribcage expanded as she took a deep breath, and he paused teasingly at the edge of her bodice, just above the shadowed valley of her breasts. “A courtly lover would say your skin is like petals, or silk, or cream.”

He traced a maddening pattern back and forth, light as a feather. “A true and proper knight would probably faint if he imagined doing this.” His finger dipped beneath the lace edge of her dress. “He’d liken your nipples to berries, or cherries, or some other such nonsense.”

Her breasts felt full, aching for his touch. “You wouldn’t say that?” she croaked.

“No.” He withdrew his finger and stroked his hand down the side of her breast, over her ribs and back up. She gasped as he cupped her in one large, capable hand. The warmth of him spread through her dress and saturated her skin. Her nipple hardened under his palm. His eyes bored into hers.

“I’d just say that you have skin I want to lick. To bite. I’d just admit that I’m hungry for you. I want to eat you up.”

Georgie could barely draw a breath. “You do?”

“Oh yes.” He dropped his hand, and she let out a long exhale and tried to find her equilibrium. Every one of her senses was afire, anticipating his next touch.

“A courtly lover would offer a chaste peck on the cheek.” He leaned forward and matched action to words. “But that’s rather insipid, don’t you think? Rather uninspiring.” He took her face between his hands, and his thumbs stroked her chin. “I’d rather kiss you here.” The pad of his thumb dragged over her lips. “I dream about your mouth,” he whispered. “It’s perfect.”

He exerted the slightest pressure to tug her forward, and when his lips met hers, she couldn’t prevent the little moan that escaped her. So sweet. So lush. Soright. He angled his mouth and pushed deep, his tongue stroking hers, and she closed her eyes and let herself dissolve. Heat rose, and urgency, and she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, anchoring herself to him, a port in a storm.

She was hungry for him too. For taste, for sensation.

He caught her lower lip in his teeth—an erotic tug that sent a corresponding tug straight to her belly—then released it and kissed her again, full and commanding.

When he pulled back, his eyes were glittering, and Georgie sucked in a breath.

“Do you want a courtly lover, Mrs. Wylde? Or do you want me?”

“You,” she gasped. “I want you.”

“Turn around.”

She did as he ordered, and he made quick work of the row of tiny buttons down her back. Her dress pooled at her feet, and he caught her shoulders and turned her back around. Georgie watched, mesmerized, as he untied the front lacing of her short stays and drew them off her. She was left in her stockings, shoes, and shift.

He took her hand and led her through into his bedroom, but she barely had time to register a huge four-poster bed and tones of deep burgundy before he took her mouth again. Her head spun, her blood pounded in her ears, and the next thing she knew, the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she was falling backward onto the mattress. Wylde followed her down. Shegave a little squeak of surprise, and he pulled away, supporting himself on his hands, his hair tousled and his lips glistening.

The lower half of her legs were still off the bed. He pushed himself upright and stood looking down at her with a hungry expression.

“I want to see all of you, Georgie. Take off your shift.”

Shaking with anticipation, Georgie gathered her courage and caught the hem in her hands. She lifted it, shifting her hips, and felt a cool rush of air as she exposed her stomach and breasts to the night air. He sucked in a breath as she tugged the cotton garment over her head. The movement snagged the chain around her neck, and with a sinking feeling, she remembered her wedding band. The metal dropped back against her chest as she tossed the chemise aside and faced him in just her shoes, stockings, and garters. A hint of uncertainty plagued her. Benedict had had numerous lovers, women far more beautiful than herself. Would he find her lacking? Would he be disappointed?

“Georgie,” he breathed softly, and the reverence in his voice, the look of sheer yearning on his face, put paid to her fears.

He reached out and snagged the wedding band and raised his brows. “Nice to see you wearing this.” He smiled. “Couldn’t bear to take it off?”

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