Page 41 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
“Your rooms,” Whiddon began.
“Are uninhabitable. I heard the rustling when we entered, the same as you. I will sleep here tonight. It looks as if it is habitually vermin-free.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Pursing his lips, he ran his gaze over her. “Why did you refuse the maid?”
“Because I’m tired and I have no patience to deal with a frightened and likely drunken girl. You saw how that maid reacted earlier.”
He bit back a grin. “Oh, hell. You’ve likely frightened them into a tizzy down there. They are probably all shaking in their shoes.” He considered. “Or they may be plotting against you. They are a disreputable lot.”
She stared. “That’s how you regard your staff? The people who share your home? Care for your things? Prepare your food? A disreputable lot?”
“They don’t prepare my food. And some of them are disreputable. Some are perfectly safe, though, I’m sure.”
She shook her head, suddenly certain this was all going to be far messier than she’d already expected. “Well, the hall boy seemed fine, at least.”
“Is that who that was?” Whiddon sounded as if she’d solved a puzzle he’d been worrying at. “The hall boy? I think he’s new. On second thought, he might be the only one sober. If you send for a maid, he might be the one to respond.”
She folded her arms and gave him a mulish look. “It was your oversight that put us in this situation. You didn’t tell me of the conditions here and I did not come prepared. I will see what is to be done tomorrow, but tonight, you can help me undress.”
He frowned and looked as if he might object, but she forestalled him. “I’m sure it is not your first time undressing a lady.”
He, very wisely, did not answer. They stood, braced like a pair of combatants. Her heart began to pound. He stood tall, broad and implacably remote. She stifled the urge to throw herself at him, to burrow into his embrace and reach for his kiss. With another man, it might have worked. It might have breached his walls and thawed his demeanor and led to the wedding night she wished for.
But this was Whiddon, and she knew better. His fingers were already beating his unhappiness against his leg. He would only retreat further and grow more defensive.
Strategy.
The door opened again, and the valet came in with her luggage. “Here you are, my lady. Are you sure you don’t require anything else?”
“No, thank you, Chapman.” She turned away as he nodded and left. Shrugging out of her pelisse, she folded it carefully and draped it over a stuffed chair near the cold hearth. She fetched a nightshift from her portmanteau. A new one, lacy and made of fine lawn. She took it with her, returned to the chair and placed her hands on the back of it. “Would you mind helping with my buttons?”
Whiddon nodded rigidly and she turned away, bending her head forward.
His steps came slowly, but she felt him come close behind her. The rasp of his breath sounded loud, and her skin tingled with the feel of him, so near, so large and powerful, looming behind her.
His warm finger traced a faint caress on her nape, then he was unbuttoning her. Her dress sagged forward as he finished. “Now, just the laces of my corset, please? After that, I should be able to manage the rest.”
He finished quickly and she breathed a long sigh of relief as the corset loosened. Holding everything against her, she turned and glanced up. “Thank you. It won’t take me a minute to change.”
His chestnut hair had fallen forward onto his brow. His expression was shuttered. She thought for a moment that he meant to stay where he was, but he gave a sharp nod and moved away to look out of the window.
Moving quickly, she changed into the nightshift, folding each piece of her clothing over the chair. When she finished, she went to him and stood by his side. After a moment, she sighed and leaned against him.
His arm automatically moved around her, but he scowled. “Charlotte,” he said in warning.
“I’m sorry. I know. I promised separate lives. But this is only for one night.” With her head tucked against his muscled arm, she tilted her face up and smiled at him.
His expression came alive with shifting emotions. Exasperation fought with irritation and gave way to a deep hunger that roiled behind his eyes. He gave a growl that she was sure she could feel starting in his chest and he bent down and kissed her.
His arm snaked around her waist. He hauled her around and pressed her tight against him. Angling his head, he kissed her deeper, harder.
Oh. Good heavens. Yes. This was different from the kiss at the altar. More. Shockingly demanding and blatantly hotter. Beneath the fine lawn of her nightgown, her skin was ablaze. She’d gone molten and melted up against his broad, powerful form.
He made another noise, deep and rending, and pushed her against the wall next to the window. He kissed her like he was starving for her. She raised her arms, wound them around his neck and kissed him back, fiercely. His tongue plunged into her mouth, battling with hers. She gave him kiss for kiss and threaded her fingers in his hair.
He moaned. She felt his manhood, a hard spike pulsing between them. He cupped her breast, kneading it with one hand while the other drifted up to pinch her nipple. Sensation shot through her, from peak to peak and deep into her womb. Her breath was coming fast. She was nothing but sensation and raw, wildwant.
Suddenly, he stilled. His hands dropped away, and he turned his face from hers. She could feel the heated air against her skin as he panted and reached for control.
