Page 62 of Tempting the Earl

Ainsworth’s chest squeezed at the regret in his tone. “Mr. Thomas may be your brother, but he’s his own man. If he wishes to foster anger and resentment, there isnae anything you can do about it.”

There was a heavy pause as he stared across the short distance between them. Then he lowered his chin in a subtle gesture of defeat. “I know.”

Sensing that his disappointment went far deeper than he revealed, she couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Why does it matter to you so much?”

The very slight flicker of alarm in his stare suggested he was unprepared for her question. “Why does what matter?”

She gave a gesture with her wineglass. “This. This quest you’ve set for yourself to find your father’s illegitimate offspring—to acknowledge them in a world that would likely prefer they remained secret. What do you really hope to accomplish by all this?”

His frown, when it settled over his gaze, did not quickly slide away. It remained there, darkening his eyes to a shade she’d never seen. “Regardless of the malicious nature our common sire possessed, we are blood. That should mean something. It means something to me,” he added in a lowered tone.

And suddenly, she understood.

Despite a childhood of torment and cruelty dealt by his own father—or perhaps because of it—it was the idea of family and the bonds created by blood which motivated him. It drove him to break from society’s expectations and risk scandal by acknowledging his father’s illegitimate offspring in the hopes of forging a true family—something he’d never had.

Meeting his gaze across the room, she once again felt that subtle seething within him. Beneath the current stoicism and perfect manner, a disquiet smoldered.

He was such a complex man. A noble and considerate man. But also, a man with passions and depths he guarded with a ferocity to which she could relate. He was not the detached and soulless lord she’d expected to find. He longed for connection, even if he didn’t know how to go about achieving it.

She thought of how he’d spoken to Mr. Thomas tonight. How he’d held back and allowed the man to speak his piece. How he hadn’t tried to argue or disregard the younger man’s feelings. And how his only concerns had been to respect the man’s wishes and to ensure his family’s safety.

He’d travelled all the way to Dumfriesshire to meet Caillie, despite having received no response to his letters. He’d understood and acknowledged the sensitivity of the issue enough to try to broach it first with her, in spite of her openly caustic attitude.

She’d wanted so badly to make Colin into the villainous image of his father. But he simply wasn’t.

The prior earl had been diabolically selfish, whereas Colin had proven himself to be selfless almost to a fault. Though he was willing to go to great lengths to locate his siblings and offer them a place within the Wright family, he never failed to respect the complex sentiments they might harbor toward their father. And from the very start he’d been nothing but open and honest with the truth of the past and his personal intentions.

She’d also come to accept Caillie’s early assessment...that the earl’s reserved nature might be less about conceit and far more an indicator of shyness. That and the self-protective measures he’d been forced to take in order to survive under his father’s cruel thumb.

It must have taken a great deal of courage and hope to reach out to his father’s illegitimate children. To admit the ugliness of their shared history and speak of it openly. To ask them to consider putting it behind them in order to form a new future as the family they could have been.

She couldn’t imagine how disappointing—how leveling—Thomas’s rejection must feel to him right now...though of course, you’d never know it to look at him.

And she did.

She noted his straight posture and strong stance. The furrow was still in place between his brows and his chin was slightly lowered. It was only because she’d made such an effort at really seeing him that she could detect the subtle confusion in his expression—no doubt triggered by the intent way she was studying him. But she also saw a shadow of sadness in his eyes, a hint of regret, and a flicker of uncertainty.

Setting her wineglass on a nearby end table, she slowly approached him.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I came to London with every intention of proving you unworthy of claiming anything more than a distant connection to Caillie. I believed it only a matter of time before you’d reveal yourself to be a replication of your self-serving father.”

His expression was stern as he stared back at her, his lips pressed into a hard line. There was emotion in his eyes, emotion he was intently trying not to show.

She stopped in front of him. The quiet turbulence in his gaze belied his stiff posture and stern expression and encouraged her to go on. “But I was wrong,” she confessed. “I’m glad you came to Faeglen. I’m glad Caillie has this opportunity to get to know you. I’m glad I got a chance to know you.”

As she finished speaking, he lowered his eyes and she sensed a quiet sort of relief in him. It shamed her to realize just how badly he’d needed to hear her say that.

Ainsworth’s heart ached, her throat closed tight, and she became filled with one impulsive need. Giving in, she kept her eyes locked with his as she lifted her hands to frame his hard jaw. Then rose up to her toes and kissed him.

Chapter Twenty-one

He was shockingly still for a moment, allowing Ainsworth to note the exact moment when desire took over. A rough sound rolled in his throat and he wrapped her in an embrace that lifted her from the floor.

She hadn’t expected such a fiery response. Her kiss had been intended as one of comfort and compassion. But when he parted her lips and slipped his tongue along hers while sliding one large hand down to firmly grip her bottom, she surrendered to the rush of desire he so quickly inspired. In a moment, they were right back to where they’d left off in the garden. Wanting. Aching. Needing.

Her arms slid around his neck and she sunk into the heat of his kiss. With another harsh sound he lifted her higher against him and she felt the hard ridge of his desire against her low belly. Then she was falling back. A gasp of surprise slid from her throat before she felt the soft cushions of the sofa beneath her.

He followed her down. His weight. His heat. His wonderfully hard body stretched out atop her softening form. As their mouths mated in a furious, desperate dance, she tugged rather violently at his coat and, within moments, it was gone—shrugged and pulled and tossed aside. His waistcoat followed a breath later.

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