The Geek Girl and the Scandalous Earl (26 page)

He parted her legs with a knee, then knelt between them, groaning aloud as the gates of her body met his gaze. Releasing her breasts, he rose, palming his thick erection as he looked on the most intimate part of her.

“You are so, so lovely,” he said again. She pushed up on her arms to kiss him, and her nightgown fell back to her waist.

He reached for it, drawing it upward, but she stopped him when he moved to remove it altogether.

“It’s kind of chilly in here,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t question her.

He paused, still holding the hem of her gown. A line appeared on his brow. “Are you certain? I assure you, I will keep you warm.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. I promise.”

And with that lie, she drew his head down to her to kiss him again.

She poured everything into that kiss. The pleasure he’d given her so far, the fear she’d been hiding even from herself, the guilt at the lies she’d told him, everything. He responded with every bit of fervor she’d given him.

His hands were everywhere—her back, her legs, her breasts, her ass. When he came in contact with her bandaged arm, she gasped, but she covered it quickly with a moan. She didn’t think he noticed.

He rubbed a hand down her belly, through the damp curls at the apex of her thighs, slipping a finger between the slick folds. Another rush of moisture greeted his touch, easing the way for his finger to dip into the well of her body.

She gripped his shoulders, clutching at him, trying to bring him closer, farther, deeper into her.

“Please,” she moaned when his finger set up a rhythm within her. Her hips echoed his movements, wanting more. He added a second finger, stretching her sheath. Her hands left his shoulders, rubbing through the dusting of hair that coated the strong pecs, the lean abs, down to the nest of hair at his groin where his erection stood hot and hard and waiting to enter her.

She held his length with both hands, reveling in the velvet heat. He felt so good, so damn good to her. His two fingers didn’t stop their tortuous rhythm, so she mimicked it with soft strokes of her own around his length.

“Dearling, it is too much,” Mike rasped. Jamie looked up at his face, and his eyes were nearly begging.

“Then don’t wait,” she said, and brought the silky head of him toward her aching passage.

He removed his fingers, but she barely had time to register the loss before he plunged his length into her. His shaft filled her, stretched her farther than his fingers ever could. Her body’s moisture coated him, easing his way, making his smooth strokes deep within her move like liquid silk.

His body pressed her down, a welcome weight across her breasts and between her thighs. He buried his face in her neck and drove his shaft in hard, making her cry out at the sensation. He felt so good, so hard, so deep within her.

He kept his strokes slow at first, smooth, measured, and even. Small gasps escaped her with every plunge as his body came into contact with her aching clit. That tiny bundle of nerves was calling for him, teased and taunted by the unhurried strokes.

“Mike,” she moaned as she rubbed down his back to cup his ass with both hands. “More.”

He quickened his pace for three strokes, drawing small cries from her, and then returned to that torturous, even pace. Her clit was throbbing, aching in ways that it never had before. Frustrated, she tried to reach a hand between them to rub it, but he didn’t lift his hips to give her access.

“Please,” she begged, hips thrusting upward as hard as they could. Her body wouldn’t be denied. It wanted what it wanted, and it wanted Mike worse than it had anything ever before.

“Please what, dearling?”

“Please fuck me,” she yelled, way past caring. “Oh God, Mike, just fuck me!”

He took her mouth in another soul-searing kiss, and his hips took up the rhythm that her body had been begging for so hard. Each thrust brought him deeper than she’d ever thought he’d go, and she could no more stop the cries that ripped from her throat than she could stop the orgasm that was bearing down on her.

His hips drove into her, grinding against her clit, wrenching sensation and response from her body with every stroke. She rose to meet every thrust, her shrill cries seeming to come from that aching place between her thighs where he was in complete control of her.

And then, when she thought she couldn’t possibly feel any more pleasure, he reached between their bodies and rubbed at that tiny bud that seemed to call him master.

She screamed, her back arching as the waves of pleasure wrenched through her. Her body shivered and pulsed around his thick length, the heat of him searing her from deep within. She shuddered as her cries quieted, wrung out from the exquisite feeling.

“Jamie,” he groaned as he pulled out of her body. He palmed his shaft, and only a moment later, hot jets of his pleasure landed on her thigh and her belly, some landing on the hem of her nightgown. Their breaths came heavy and ragged in the sudden, thick silence of the room.

He pressed a soft, sweet kiss on her lips, and then left her alone on the bed. Only seconds later, he returned with a cloth, damp from the water in the basin. He cleaned her skin gently, as softly as if she was delicate porcelain. She smiled. Mike would probably always be overprotective, but she was beginning to love it.

“I am sorry, dearling,” he said as he finished. “Your night rail has been soiled.” He lifted the now-damp hem again. “Let me remove it, and you can wear my robe if you are still chilled.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, trying to bat his hands away. “It’s not that bad.”

Mike furrowed his brow, concern written plain as day across his face. “Jamie? Is something wrong?”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, no, everything’s great! Really. Just fine. Nothing to worry about at all.”

She stared at him and prayed. He shook his head slowly.

“Jamie, please remove your nightgown, or tell me why you will not.”

She closed her eyes. No way out. She couldn’t look him in the eye and say she’d fallen and cut her arm. She couldn’t lie to him anymore.

Jamie lifted the hem of her gown and winced as she pulled it over her head.

Micah’s eyes locked on the white bandage instantly, the thread of doubt that circled his throat suddenly turning to a noose made of certainty. “Jamie? Are you injured?”

She took a deep breath before answering. “Yeah. I’m sorry, but I need to tell you the truth. I snuck out of the house earlier today.”

Her words sliced through his heart. She’d lied. He’d done everything in his power to protect her, to keep her safe. She’d not trusted him to care for her and had taken her life into her own hands. His head dropped and his shoulders rounded in utter, complete defeat. He had no words.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in his silence, tears springing to her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I wanted to get some air and I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think,” he said when she trailed off. “That is it, is it not?”

She bit her lip as the tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell me the rest, Miss Marten. Why are you bandaged?” His voice turned cold. It was his last defense, and he clung to the autocratic hauteur that had shielded him so well in the past, trying desperately to ignore the pain in her eyes.

“I saw a woman through the window several houses down. I think it was Collette. I hurried down the street, trying to get home, but I twisted my ankle and fell. I heard a gunshot, and it brushed by my arm. I ran home right after. I’m so, so sorry, Micah.” She collapsed into sobs, covering her face with her hands.

He didn’t say anything while she cried. He couldn’t. To comfort her would break him totally. He’d loved her, offered her everything that was his to give. She’d thrown it all back in his face and flirted with her own death while doing so. He was not enough for her. He’d failed, and now, he would do what he must to keep her safe.

When her sobs had turned to gulping breaths and sniffles, he stood, numb. Walking over to the bureau that had brought her into his life in the first place, he pulled open a drawer. From its depths, he pulled a dressing gown and then crossed the carpet once more. When the velvet fabric was laid in a pile next to her, he turned his back and walked away. He spoke without looking at her. It was the only way he could do what must be done now.

“I must end our engagement, Miss Marten. Please return to your home on the morrow. Even if you decide to remain, we will not wed.”

“What?” Her voice was thin with pain.

He did not turn to her. He closed his eyes, trying to keep the vision of her away. It was too tempting. “I cannot marry you. That is my final word on the matter.”

She said nothing behind him. He did not move, did not breathe. Just kept his stance wide, his hands clasped behind his bare back to keep them from trembling. Strong. He had to stay immobile, not show any weakness. She’d fight him if he showed the least vulnerability. And if she did, she’d die. It was that simple. Someone, be it Collette or someone else, was attempting to kill her. Despite his best efforts, he’d been unable to locate the source of the threat for certain. The runner that tailed Collette had sworn she’d not been the source of the poisoned sweets. If Micah allowed Jamie to stay, he’d bury her as surely as he’d seen Louisa buried. He could not bear that. Better to let her go to her home and never see her again than to see her dead.

There came the rustling of fabric and soft footsteps crossing the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her tear-stained face looking up at him. “I know you have no reason to trust me,” she said, her voice thick and strained, “but I am sorry. Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

He didn’t move, keeping his gaze locked on the wall in front of him. “A man that cannot keep you safe is a man that does not deserve you.”

“But wait,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “You love me. Please, just wait.”

He did look at her then and made no effort to hide the pain on his face. She stepped backward, eyes widening.

“There is nothing to wait for,” he said.

***

When Jamie opened her eyes the next morning, it was with total certainty that she’d completely destroyed any chance she had of a happily ever after with her earl. She’d shattered Mike’s already tenuous trust in her, let Collette Dubois know her rival was still alive and well, and bought herself a one-way pass back to Depressionland circa 2012.

Baron hadn’t even come to sleep with her last night. As she carefully stretched, favoring both her injured arm and sore ankle, she couldn’t help but think she deserved to be alone. She’d lied straight to the face of the man that she loved more than she’d ever loved anyone. She was doomed to be alone because she was a frackin’ idiot.

Muriel’s timid knock couldn’t have come at a better time.

“Hey, Mur,” Jamie called as she opened the door, overjoyed to see someone that she hadn’t completely ostracized with her idiocy. “Good morning.”

Her overly bright smile must have confused Muriel.

“Hello, miss,” Muriel said warily, placing the tray of chocolate on the side table. She headed over to the wardrobe and busied herself selecting a gown for Jamie.

“So, how’s things with you? Good?”

Muriel’s smile came with a furrowed brow as she brought over a sage green gown. “I am quite well, thank you.”

Jamie fell silent after that, feeling kind of foolish. She let Muriel help her dress without another word. She didn’t belong here. She was more fish out of water than she was proper English miss. She didn’t fit in here at all. It was probably better if she gave up and went home.

She stared down at her suddenly watery lap while Muriel put the finishing touches on her hair.

“Miss?”

Jamie sniffed and blinked quickly, hoping the moisture would disappear. “Yeah?”

Muriel came around from behind her and sank gingerly down on the chair across from Jamie. The maid fidgeted with the pleats of her skirt, pale eyes wide as she blurted, “How do you know if you are in love?”

Jamie bit her lip.
Of
all
the
questions. Of all the days to ask me that
.

“I’m probably the last person in the world you should be asking that question,” she said, trying and failing to meet Muriel’s gaze.

“No, Miss Jamie, you’re the right one. There is a fellow, and I’ve fancied him for so long, and I think he fancies me too, only I do not know what love feels like.”

Jamie held her temples with one hand, wrapping the other arm around her middle. “Does he make your heart run races around you?”

“Yes,” Muriel whispered.

“Does he make you feel like somebody hit you straight in the guts, knocking your oxygen supply into next week?”

“He does.”

“Can you think of anything else in the world but how it would be to hold hands with him for the rest of your life?”

“I want to be with him forever.” The maid’s emphatic reply came straight from the depths of her, all the way from her toes.

Jamie looked up then, toying with the green dress’s lace collar at her throat.

“Then it’s love.”

***

Talking with Muriel had lifted Jamie up a little. Her doldrums were still there, but a sense of determination had bullied them a bit farther down on her attention scale. She wasn’t ready to lie down and die quite yet. She and Mike had something incredible, something worth fighting for. She couldn’t let her earl go so easily.

He wasn’t in his bedroom, and he wasn’t in his office. He wasn’t in the sitting room, and he wasn’t in the dining room. Jamie was about to bribe George to run outside and check the garden for her when she heard the soft notes emanating from the music room.

She walked slowly, almost afraid of what she’d see. As she drew closer, the tune became clearer. The sweet tune, so lilting, faltering, its tempo only a quarter of what it had been originally, filled her heart with bittersweet remembrance. The song she’d written for Mike. She’d know it anywhere.

The doorknob was ice-cold as she wrapped her fingers around it, turning it slowly. The song stopped abruptly as the door swung open.

“Sorry,” she said, her eyes greedily drinking in the sight of him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He’d rocketed to his feet as soon as she came into view, and his curt bow was his only answer.

She’d never felt so awkward in her life. Not the first time she’d danced with a boy, not the first time she’d thrown up at a piano recital, not even the first time she’d grouped up with unknown gamers, strangers after her own heart, to run a quest and ran them straight into the opposite faction’s home city. She walked toward him, wishing he’d say something, anything, even if it were to yell at her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, even a little. His face was as blank as a dark computer screen.

But when she drew closer to the bench, he said, “Pardon me.” Then, with another shallow bow, he walked out of the room.

Once her frozen, stupid brain got going again, she followed him down the hallway, calling his name, but he wouldn’t stop. He went straight out the front door without even acknowledging her.

Thornton closed the door behind the earl, giving Jamie a sympathetic smile.

“He’ll come around, miss.”

She nodded to the butler and went up the stairs. She didn’t want Thornton to see her cry.

***

Jamie thought about talking to Mrs. Knightsbridge, but she decided against it. The clandestine witch was too focused on her own well-being to give a shit about Jamie’s situation.

Jamie tied knots in embroidery thread, petted Baron endlessly, and turned her problems over and over and over in her head. No matter how often she thought about them, what angle she attacked them from, what imaginary scenario she played out, nothing ever got any better. It was shit. Shit plus shit equals shit, and her life at the moment was a shit sandwich with shit sauce. Gross. But sadly correct.

About an hour after she skipped lunch, a knock came on her bedroom door.

“Come in,” she called, not bothering to get up. Baron poked his head up, saw Muriel, and flopped back down beside Jamie so she could continue her constant ear scratching.

“A letter has come for you, Miss Jamie,” Muriel said, handing Jamie an off-white folded paper.

Jamie was scared to take it from her. What if it was from Collette and it was another threat on her life? What if it was a good-bye letter from Mike? Her hand trembled as she took it from the maid, and Jamie waited for her to leave the room before she broke the dot of red wax that kept the note sealed.

My dearest Miss Marten,

I am writing to invite you to visit with me tomorrow morning. I should like to further our acquaintance. Do accept, please. We shall become the best of friends, almost as sisters. Also, I have some information about his lordship’s former mistress, Louisa Maucier, that may be of interest to you.

Yours most fondly,

Marilyn Munroe

Jamie shook her head slightly as she refolded the note. That was really odd. She hadn’t told Marilyn that she was living in Mike’s house, had she? Maybe she had at the ball when she explained about her and Mike being in love. But she hadn’t seen Marilyn since then, so how did the woman know Jamie hadn’t said good-bye to Mike like she’d planned?

Jamie tossed the letter onto the nightstand and resumed her greyhound scratching. She wasn’t going, so it didn’t really matter if it didn’t add up. By then, she’d have crashed and burned with Mike again, probably for the last time ever.

Being a failure sucked so hard.

***

Jamie dressed so carefully for dinner that night. She knew that it was probably the last chance she’d ever have to convince Mike that she wasn’t a complete waste of space. She loved him so much, and her aching chest made it hard to breathe as she helped Muriel pick out something to wear.

Way at the back of the small wardrobe hung a white silk gown, its square neckline edged with beautiful lace. Small puffed sleeves accentuated the otherwise simple bodice, and the skirt fell straight from the high waist, snug beneath the bustline.

“It’s perfect,” Jamie breathed, trailing a finger down the slinky fabric of the skirt.

“You will look so beautiful.” Muriel smiled.

Getting dressed with Muriel’s help was so familiar now. Jamie wasn’t ashamed of her body anymore. Muriel had seen it every day for so long that it wasn’t even an issue. Jamie didn’t have to be told when to hold her breath so the maid could tie the laces of her stays. She didn’t have to double-check which layer went where. It was second nature. It was as normal to Jamie now as throwing on a bra and panties had been back home.

Home.

Where
the
hell
is
that, anyway?
Jamie wondered as she sat and Muriel began deftly twisting her hair into an ornate style.
Is
it
the
century
I
live
in? The country? The state? The house I bought with my own credit? Or is it here, in a country and time that was completely alien to me for so long?

Jamie didn’t know anymore.

When Muriel was done, Jamie stood, turned, and hugged the maid close.

“Thank you,” she said against her white mobcap.

“For what, miss?” Muriel’s thin arms wrapped around Jamie, hugging her back.

“For everything. Just thanks.”

Muriel didn’t say a word and let Jamie stay there as long as she needed.

***

Micah stared at the piece of foolscap laid out on his desk. His pen was poised above it, and the three words he’d written at the top froze his brain in place.

Dear Miss Lyons,

He slammed the quill down and scraped the chair back. Pacing in front of the fireplace did nothing to calm his anxiety. Would he be able to do this? It would be the only way to prove to Jamie that she needn’t stay any longer. It was the only way to prove his lie that he loved her no longer. And that was the only way he could save her life.

Setting his jaw, he rounded the desk once more. Crumpling his first attempt, he started again.

My dearest Miss Lyons,

***

Jamie sat in the empty dining room for almost three hours. Staring at the untouched place setting for Mike didn’t make things any easier. She imagined everything she would have said. Everything she should apologize for, make amends for, promise to never do again. Anything, as long as he gave her another chance to make things work between them.