Page 38 of My Wicked Earl
“Did I tell you, Colin,” she led him to a bench well-hidden behind a rather large wax myrtle, “that I’ve finished the book on ancient embalming techniques?” She sat and pulled him down next to her, watching his silky movements in appreciation. Once she’d attended a lecture on snow leopards and that was what Colin reminded her of. A big, graceful cat.
“Is that why you’ve led me astray?” His voice took on a husky lilting quality. “To discuss ancient death rituals with me?”
Birds sang above their heads, heralding the coming night and a frog croaked softly from the small fish pond on the other side of the garden. It was so peaceful here, so primitive. One would never know they were in the middle of London.
A gentle breeze blew across the garden, tossing a curl across the tops of her breasts.
Colin leaned forward, his attention focused on the curl. He pressed his lips against the skin above her bodice as his hand reached out and cupped the underside of one breast.
“Tell me to stop, for the love of God, Miranda.”
Instead, Miranda lay back against the bench and taking his wrist, pushed her breast more fully into his hand. “I don’t wish you to stop, Colin.
She heard him curse under his breath even as his thumb found her nipple beneath the silk, circling the engorged tip before rolling the peak between his thumb and forefinger. The warmth of his hand lit her skin as he pulled down the lace of her bodice to deftly free her breast.
Cool evening air blew across her nipple before she felt the flick of his tongue against the sensitive peak.
Oh, this was more wicked and pleasurable than she imagined. She twisted on the bench, her skirts rustling in the quiet. “More,” she begged.
Colin gently suckled the engorged peak, his teeth nibbling against the tender flesh, the pulse of his mouth sending small waves of pleasure rippling through her body.
Miranda gasped, pushing her hips up against him, hoping to ease the ache between her thighs. She was heated, her skin feeling as if a flame had been lit to it. Miranda had the sudden desire to divest herself of her gown. Press herself naked against the large male body that held her.
It occurred to Miranda that this was why young ladies required chaperones, this feeling of wanting to throw off your clothes and rub oneself against a man like a cat in need of affection. Imagine how ruination would spread through theton. Was this how the term ‘merry widow’ was coined? For widows could engage in such activities without a chaperone.
Her hands threaded through the silken strands of his hair, loving the movement of the molten gold waves against her fingers.
“Colin. Ruin me,” she whispered. “Please.”
The cool evening air again caressed her breast as he lifted his mouth from the delicious torture he inflicted upon her breast. “Dear God, Miranda, I certainly want to.” One elegant finger trailed down the top of her breast to her nipple, brushing the tip until Miranda thought she would faint from the pleasure.
“Please, Colin. I wish it. I-”, she didn’t know how to express herself, “wantyou. So much so I fear I’ll die from it.”
“I would not take you on a bench in your father’s garden,” he said quietly, his breathing uneven. “You deserve better than that. God, you deserve so much better than me, Miranda. Every man in London wishes to court you. Had I any sense at all I would leave you alone, for both our sakes. You would do better with a man who can give you the things I cannot.”
“You don’t mean that,” she gasped as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Miranda, you’ve your pick of earls and dukes. I’m a third son. I’ve nothing to offer you.”
“Yourself. That is all I want or shall ever want. I will not change my mind.” She trailed her finger against his bottom lip, satisfied when a soft growl escaped his mouth.
“This is only your first Season. You may regret such an indiscretion later.” His lips twisted into a small smile.
The frog croaked again, this time sounding as if he were beneath the bench on which they sat. “Besides, think how shocked,” he said teasingly, “that poor frog would be.”
Miranda gave a sigh of disappointment. She pushed herself up against him.
“I said I wouldn’t bed you,” Colin’s mouth fell against her neck to murmur in her ear, “but there are other things.”
“Show me.”
One of his arms fell to her lap and moved down to the hem of her dress. Shuffling through the mound of silk and petticoats, his hand trailed heat up the thin silk covering her calf, hesitating for a moment in the hollow of her knee.
“Have a care,” she whispered, “for my dress.”
A dark, wicked laugh escaped him. “I shall have a care for a great many things. You have my word on it.”
The feel of his hands against her silken clad legs fed the ache gently throbbing between her thighs. Shyly she moved so that her exposed breast would be closer to his mouth. She should be horrified to be so exposed, but she wasn’t; she was too immersed in the sensations humming through her body.
