Meet the Earl at Midnight (Midnight Meetings) (28 page)

“So this is a mix of difficulties, the countess combined with a sleepless night?” he prodded. “Nothing more serious than that?”

She rested her chin on the pillow. “I’ve been a lot of bluster about being able to stand on my own, haven’t I?”

“If that’s what this is, then I’m glad it’s nothing serious.” He smiled and moved closer, his hand within reach of her knees. “Actually, you’ve given me a new trial to face.”

“What’s that?”

“The dilemma of talking with a woman for no particular reason over no particular subject. Usually I’d find out what I needed to know, or impart necessary information and leave.” He smiled at her. “I’m learning to converse for no other purpose than conversation itself.”

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” she gibed with a sleepy, teasing smile. “Having to converse with a woman and not necessarily having a deep topic or explicit task at hand.” A sparkle relit her eyes, and she tipped her head, exposing the part of her neck he longed to explore.

She had no idea what that tilt of her head did to him. His pulse quickened, and warmth spread through him. Edward was lost in the graceful lines exposed to his view as she continued her banter, unknowing of the riot inside him.

“Or perhaps in the hope of drawing closer to the other person?” Her siren’s alto stirred him, breaking through his muddle.

He searched her eyes, languid with the evening’s ease. “You’re throwing down the gauntlet on this nocturnal visit, aren’t you?”
And
more
of
your
diverting
stretch
of
neck
will
be
the
prize.

“I am, my lord. Are you up to the challenge?”

Edward faced facts right then. He wanted to truly know
her
, which was a daunting task of emotions mixed with facts. For some reason, that white desk caught the corner of his eye at the same time that stunning revelation hit him. Papers stacked in neat piles across the surface. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what she had shut away in the drawer when he entered, but fate turned him in another direction.

“I may be revealing trade secrets of every male, but the trick is knowing when to listen and when to tune a woman out. All while giving the appearance of attentive listening. I’ve done that all my life. Perfected the skill to an art form.”

“At least you’ve mastered an art.” She batted the pillow against his encroaching thigh and laughed, a deep, sensual sound. “And how will I be able to tell when you’re truly listening and when you’re playing false with me?”

“That’s my secret. Something you’ll have to figure out over the years to come.”

As soon as he said that, her cheerful sparkle faded, and she looked away. The bottom edge of Lydia’s upper teeth showed on her lower lip, and her thick brows worked with what he guessed were myriad thoughts running rampant in her head.

“That is one thing your mother and I have in common. I wish the same as her that you wouldn’t go.” She swiped away the messy lighter strands of hair that framed her face. The line of her mouth wobbled. “I don’t want to make you angry by saying that out loud. I cannot even explain it. I have no claim to you, but…”

She shrugged and stared off into the fire. He wouldn’t fight her on that statement. He wished for the ease to continue, but he was a swimmer beyond his depth here on female emotions and wants. Silence hung between them, an awkward kind for him, though she appeared wistful and at ease. He cleared his throat and settled his hand atop his knee, all the closer to hers. The red-stained bandage on his thumb was a flair of color and, like a conversation lifeline, Edward showed her the appendage.

“See what happened tonight?”

She reached over, and her hands cradled his larger hand. “What did you do?”

He welcomed the coddling touch.

“Not a bad cut, but I was preparing seed pods for a friend of mine in Edinburgh, Dr. Finley. We share a lively correspondence on our work.” He shrugged off that explanation of a man she’d likely never meet. “I was so focused on getting things done that I tried to do the cutting at night, when I had no business doing so.” He inched closer. His head was very near hers. “The bark that grows on the tree from that seed cures rampantly bleeding wounds.”

Her dark lashes fringed wide-open eyes.

“Do you recall the other treatise that you’re copying for me? The one on the
Agathosma
betulina
?”

“Yes.” She nodded rapidly and glanced over at the desk. “I worked on it some today when I was feeling up to it.”

“Good. I need that done and soon. That plant has curatives for the same kidney disease that claimed my father.” His hands cupped hers, and his voice lowered as he focused on her appendages.

Her skin was soft, with a few small calluses, especially on the inner part of her thumb and index finger, where the wooden stem of her paintbrush rubbed the skin. He massaged her palm, making tender circles over white-pink flesh. The act rendered her speechless, but the small, dark space between her lips was closer.

“Don’t you see? There are so many lives that could be saved. Families wouldn’t have to endure what mine faced.”

She licked her soft lips, drawing his attention to her plush, lower lip. But she surprised him with a soft-voiced revelation of her own.

“Your father, your brother…that’s what drives you,” she whispered. “The loss of them.”

He nodded, his shoulders shifting against the back cushion. Lydia had just peeled back a layer that left him denuded, and like any man who found himself suddenly bared, the exposure was a new, uncomfortable thing. He needed grounding. He needed her. Their fingers, still moving from the desire to explore flesh, somehow became intertwined.

“What started as youthful study and curiosity turned into something else long ago. I’d hear stable masters talk of applying poultices to a horse’s damaged fetlocks, and midwives discuss herbal remedies.” He shook his head and looked her in the eye. “Then much-vaunted physicians slit veins, bleeding patients as was done in medieval times.”

“Sounds barbaric,” she agreed.

She understood, and that lifted a burden from his shoulders.

“And now you see why I must find better answers. I planned a six-month expedition along the western coast of Africa and was stunned by what I found. I brought back as many seeds, pods, and stripling plants, trees, and bushes as I could fit on the ship. By then, Jonathan and my father were dead. I admit I skulked away for that expedition while my mother still grieved.” He shook his head. “I had no business going then.”

Her hand reached up and touched his scarred cheek. He froze. No one ever touched him there. The burned parts gave a slight haze of sensation and pressure, but the other scars gloried under her fingertips skimming his flesh, so hungry was he for touch—anywhere. Sublime pleasure stirred him in a straight arrow line to his loins. With his bulk leaning close, and her slender white hand stroking his hairline and feathering his cheekbones, he could be a beast calmed by a forest maiden, so still was he. Her index finger traced the skin next to his left eye.

“I noticed this half-circle scar the first night at the Blue Cockerel and wondered about it.” Those fingers of hers skimmed the outer edge of his eyebrow and moved down his cheek again. “Was the countess angry?”

“What?” He blinked.

Her hand slid to his jacket. “Your mother,” she said, a smile playing about her lips. “She must’ve been beyond upset at your voyage.”

“She was furious with me when I returned, the wounds notwithstanding. At the worst moments, I imagined the attack, my scars were a form of penance. I felt guilty about not doing a better job as head of the family…that promise I gave my father.” He winced at the memory. “He knew me far too well. Nor did it help matters with Jane in her flights of rebellion, but we all eventually recovered and found our footing.”

Lydia’s hand grazed his coat at the opening, a slow trail down near his navel that teased him. Something in her dark green eyes told him she read him again.

“You all have your own ways of adjusting to pressures.”

“Even before things went bad, we did.” His voice went thick and slow. “Jon conformed, Jane rebelled, and I hid away in science.” His dry bark of laughter was in no way humorous. “And my mother adjusted in hers.”

“What do you mean?”

Edward shrugged that off and looked her in the eye. “More the point, do you understand?”

With that quiet question, a slight distance filled in the space. They’d come full circle to his need to leave, to do, to accomplish much.

“I think I do,” she ventured, tucking some hair behind her ear. “At least you’re not running off after treasures of gold and silver.”

Her lips parted as if words wanted to spill forth, but she wasn’t altogether sure to release that dam. Edward nodded at her, wanting more of this intriguing intimacy.

“Go ahead. We can, by now, be honest with each other. That’s something I’ve come to value about you.”

As soon as he said that, her features tightened and her eyes half-closed, pinched and uneasy. Lydia let words pour out in a soft plea as her fingers slipped inside his coat.

“Then why not stay and share what you’ve already learned with all and sundry? Support another scientist to go on the expedition, and you stay. Present your findings to the Royal Society
.
” She tugged on his shirt, finishing on a higher note.

Her green eyes, lighter in color yet fathomless, searched him.

“Edward, I’ve not simply copied your research, I’ve read it. What you’ve written is astounding. You could change so much.” Her head tipped in gentle amazement. “But you must present your findings in person, otherwise the words will lose their power and momentum. Isn’t it discourse, face-to-face communication that makes all the difference?”

His lips tightened, as much because she spoke the truth as he didn’t want to hear that truth. Nor did he want to lose the connection building between them. He liked the subtle play of her fingers inside his jacket. But this time a new pull grabbed hold of him, one he wasn’t ready to name. He shook his head.

“No. That’s why I need to get cuttings and seeds out to other scientists with the minds and the means of similar greenhouses. And the supply I have is few and fragile. I must find more to prove my theories.” He looked her in the eye. “To do that, I have to go to other continents.”

Her questing hand on his shirt froze. She removed it to the pillow’s neutral ground. The absence of her searching appendage left a void. They were at an impasse, the same as when he’d entered the room. This was an altogether different kind of barrier: they’d moved into new, deeper territory of intimacy and honesty. But the wall of differences remained, if not more entrenched.

“Besides, I don’t relish going out into Society.” He pulled away, sitting up straighter. “Forgive me, but I thought you understood.”

“Oh, Edward, I do, I do.” She inched closer to him across the cushion, the velvet wrapper loosening in her progress. “You’ll forgive me for wanting you to stay.”

In moving toward him, her right leg unfolded from beneath her, and she stretched the limb toward him. The action wasn’t meant to seduce or attract, but he stared at her knee, shrouded by very thin linen pulled taut across that spot. The hearth’s fire brought to full relief the art of a woman’s limb…Lydia’s.

Viewing with fascination that section of barely covered flesh, he smiled. Men could be so preoccupied with breasts and bottoms as to miss the delicate beauty of a woman’s pretty knee. Too many landscapes of curves and skin and not enough time to memorize them all.

A small, dark mole dotted the center of her knee. He gave in to temptation, tracing the indents that bracketed her joint with thumb and forefinger. Her soft intake of breath from the gentle, unexpected caress was music to his ears, but her skin’s response snared him as much as that subtle sound. Visible waves of reaction pricked her skin, goose bumps under her threadbare night shift.

Edward bent low and kissed the tiny mole. Her skin was warm under his mouth. He lingered over that spot, breathing in her scent and wanting to open his mouth wider and taste her. He spread his hand over her leg. His palm skimmed the back of her calf, down to her slender ankles, where he stroked the delicate shape.

“You know, I also came here because I wanted to check on you. See for myself if you were well or not.” His voice was rough to his ears. “But I want to stay for very selfish reasons.”

“You mean tonight?” Her head tipped with languorous invitation. “Or longer?”

He chuckled, catching what she implied, and was not bothered that Lydia pushed him to stay in England.

“Both.”

Her dark green eyes widened at the admission. Strange, he wasn’t bothered that he wanted to stay—now or longer. Sex was a drug, and Lydia, his wife-to-be, was turning out to be a rich, enticing elixir. Isn’t that what he wanted? A congenial woman in his bed?

He chuckled at that. Sitting close with his hand exploring forbidden flesh, Edward could easily give in to the lure before him.

Most of his brain gave in to the mind-numbing sensual flood, forgoing rational thought, but somewhere in the growing haze, a section of his brain marched on, stridently reminding him of the facts: he’d be the worst kind of oaf to press her in her state of lethargy. He took a slow, deep breath, ready to dive in no matter the consequence. His hand encircled her ankle then slid along the straight line of her shin, snagging and dragging her shift higher. The act bared inches of smooth, fair leg above the ankle.

If he kissed that bare skin, he would stay.

Edward battled his urge, about to give in. And then he saw again her pallid face and the shadows under her eyes.

His other hand reached up to her face, the same as that first night at the Blue Cockerel. His palm grazed her cheek, such fair, smooth skin, and his thumbs barely brushed her cheekbones. Lydia’s mouth opened, revealing that secret dark space between her lips that tempted him. His thumb traced her succulent lower lip, the wanton plushness needed testing.