The Outcast Earl (26 page)

Charles considered that for a moment, but then left them in place. They weren’t terribly tight or constricting. Waking up with them still around her wrists would serve as a pointed morning reminder for her.

He extracted the pillow from beneath her hips, lifting it to smell her sweet juices where they had spread from her pussy and thighs and onto the linen case that covered it. She slumped on the bed, nude. He frowned—the fire was dying and the room was getting chilled. Charles remembered her earlier barb about not knowing how to sleep with someone. She’d been cold.

With a sigh, he grabbed a wrap from the basket by the chaise and covered her. He needed to wash, still, and build up the fire. Her clothes would need to be disposed of—he was inclined to cut up that dressing gown into a healthy supply of velvet strips for future nights just like this. Abby needed to be cleaned as well, and the blankets and counterpane returned to the bed in a respectable fashion that would keep them both warm all night.

And he still had to devise a way to keep her in the bed until morning. Charles knew very well that he was being a stubborn bastard, but he had a particular desire to see her wake up in his arms, and she had thwarted that desire for two days now. She wouldn’t escape him tonight, one way or another. He knew very well who had won whatever battle of wills they had enacted during the day—it was his turn to claim a victory.

With a smile, he leaned over her, comfortable that she was drowsy enough to pay no attention to the fact that he was buck naked and already getting aroused again. Her eyes were closed, so he drew a stray lock of curls away from her cheek and leaned over to kiss it gently. “Sleep, Abby-heart,” he murmured against her. She mumbled something unintelligible, exhaling in contented exhaustion.

Charles smiled. He’d do as she’d said the day before. He’d keep her so busy she wouldn’t have the opportunity, time or desire to look elsewhere. He didn’t see any alternative—the idea that she might gift another man the same passion she’d shared with him tonight was now impossible to bear.

He had no intention of sharing. Ever.

Chapter Twelve

Charles woke early. He’d left the bed curtains open on Abby’s side, facing the now-extinguished fire, and sunlight was filtering in through the light panels of silk that covered the long windows of the room.

Soon the maids would start pulling the drapes closed at night, to trap as much heat as possible in the room. He supposed he should ask them to begin doing so immediately, and pondered the strange dislike he had of being enclosed inside the velvet draperies of his bed. Despite all the luxurious texture of fabrics surrounding him, when the bed curtains were drawn he never failed to wake with the uncomfortable notion that he was once again sleeping in nothing more than a tent on the edge of a field of battle.

The room was chilly, and the fire’s warmth through the night had been partially lost through the imported Irish glass. For the moment, he was glad that only the white liners dimmed the sun rays. For himself, he almost welcomed the chill, but it would not do to have his bride cold and uncomfortable in his bed, especially since his decree that she was to sleep without nightwear.

The light let him look down at Abby—not Abigail, definitely dearest Abby now—still gracing his bed. She was tucked up against him, her hip to his crotch. He’d felt forced to don a pair of old breeches before climbing into the bed for just this reason—he’d known that if that layer of fabric wasn’t between them, he’d have turned her rear against his cock and taken her. Indeed, his cock wanted it now, regardless of any better plans he had for her first time. Drawing out her initiation to the erotic arts had been an experience Charles was deeply glad he had convinced himself to pursue. They would both reap the rewards for years—he wasn’t going to lose his head, or his dick, in her quite yet.

Charles let his gaze travel over her hair, which was mussed by their wild play and a night of being caught between his arm and her head. Abby’s head still reposed in the crook of his arm. He’d pulled her there, and had slept much better than the night before when he’d foolishly determined to keep to the far side of the bed, away from her temptations. It had been a tactical error—robbing her of the warm blankets, even unconsciously in his sleep, had been poorly done on his part and likely had contributed to her early awakening and escape.

Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow and steady. He wondered if she was quietly awake, as he was, and contemplating. If so, she was being careful not to disturb him. Flat on her back, and nude except for the circlets of velvet around her wrists and a new one around her ankle, she had to realise how physically defenceless she would be if she was faced with the same beast he’d been the night before.

His cock stiffened another degree. He had no idea if he’d terrified her, although he was damn sure some part of her had found that wildness both arousing and fascinating. He wondered if she could learn how to draw it to the surface without driving him out of his mind with maddening frustration or unwelcome lust in public again. He didn’t think he could stomach many more of those incidents, and he wasn’t quite sure she’d finished testing him.

Indeed, on some masochistic level, he hoped she’d never be finished testing him.

At the thought, he let his free hand—the one not trapped by her head—tighten on her far hip, then slide up her side to snuggle into the spot where the lower edge of her breast met her torso.

The thought of her plump, rounded breasts made him frown. He’d not tasted them the night before, nor had he loved the ripe berries surrounded by superbly sensitive pink skin. Licking his lips, Charles closed his eyes. That oversight would have to be corrected, and soon, though he dared not throw back the blankets to do it immediately. That would wake her. He didn’t want to wake her today as he planned to do most mornings—that lesson could wait for when they had nowhere to be and no one to entertain besides each other.

Charles considered the prospect of no obligations for three or more weeks with growing delight.

Abby mumbled a bit, stretching her body luxuriantly.

Charles smiled, and set himself to watch her wake up.

Abigail stretched and moaned as her muscles came alive. Eyes closed, she drifted happily in a warm cocoon. Her body was stiff and she was curiously aware of the texture in the sheet beneath her. How had her nightdress ridden up so high that her bottom was rubbing the sheet?

Inwardly frowning, she went to roll to her side. A warm hand remained where it was on her chest.

Abigail’s eyes popped open in shock and she went to abruptly sit up.

His hand held her in place. She gasped and turned her head, awareness running over her.

She was naked. In bed with Meriden. And he was—no, he wasn’t nude this morning. He was wearing breeches.
In bed?
Confusion and awkward shyness rushed through her.

Abigail knew her cheeks were flushed. At least the covers were pulled up over them this morning. Hurriedly, she crossed her arms in front of her, trying to dislodge the hand that cupped the underside of her breast.

“Good morning, Abby-heart,” he murmured in her ear, his lips grazing her temple.

How long had she been there, asleep, tucked in his arms? The answer seemed obvious—much too long. All night, in point of fact.

She lifted her widened eyes to him, but he just chuckled, unwinding her hands from where they were wrapping around her middle. “No, not like that,” he teased. “Wrap them around my neck and say good morning properly.”

The pink tinge in her cheeks must be turning red. For all they had shared in the depths of the darkened room and in the sunny library, this was an experience Abigail found unnerving.

He sighed, pulling her hip forward so that she tipped towards him. She reached out, unable to resist touching the skin of his shoulders, just visible from beneath the bedclothes. It was fascinating, and she touched it reverently, then slid her hands down until her palms rested firmly on his chest.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, cupping her bottom and shifting her closer.

Abigail shivered a bit at the strangeness of it, but he was nuzzling her forehead and he was so warm. She could hardly resist the temptation to sink into him. Her breasts pressed against him and her arms slid back up and around his neck.

“Good girl,” Meriden groaned, rocking them together for a moment. His warm skin burned her breasts and she felt them tighten in delicious anticipation.

He felt them, too, if his wicked smile was anything to judge. “I don’t think you have time to go down that road,” he murmured, “Although I have every intention of enjoying those morsels later.”

Time?
Abigail swallowed, wondering if she was pink all the way to her ears. It was pleasant, and comforting, but she was embarrassed to realise that she wanted him to do more than just snuggle her in his arms.

“How do you feel, Abby-heart?” he asked against her ear. “Is the little rosebud in your bottom sore this morning?”

Abigail had to clear her throat to answer the shocking question. “I-I don’t think so,” she eventually said.

“I know I surprised you last night,” he said after a moment. “Is there anything you want to ask me about?”

Abigail shifted, then started remembering. The blood drained from her face as it came rushing back. “Did you really
do
all that?” she accused him.

He raised an eyebrow, the harshness of his face eased by a smile that might have been described as proud. “I did do it, and I’ll happily do it again if you’d like.” He paused. “Or rather, I will do it
and more
again, because I
know
you liked it.”

Abigail’s head spun for a second. “What does that word mean? Fuck?” she blurted out.

Charles laughed, and rolled her onto her back, resting on top of her. He grazed her brow with his lips, then teased the lobe of her ear with his tongue for a moment. “Sometimes you are so amazingly brave and aroused and eager that I forget you’re honestly an innocent in all this,” he admitted. “I’m going to have to teach you an entirely new part of the English language, hmm? A part of the dictionary I’m sure your governesses left out.”

“I—” Abigail began, but she was distracted by the beguiling warmth of his skin pressing into her breasts and hips, and the hairy lengths of his calves rubbing against hers.

“Don’t worry, I’m happy to educate you,” he teased, biting her earlobe again. “About your own body and mine and what they can do together. And how to describe it.” He cleared his throat. “To fuck, Abby-heart, is to engage in the fine activity whereby something of mine goes inside something of yours. So when my fingers were inside your adorable rump last night, I was finger-fucking your arse.”

Abigail gasped. “Breakfast,” she insisted, squirming suddenly. “Aunt Betsy’s expecting me.”

Charles sighed, a little too dramatically for Abigail to believe he was truly aggravated. She watched in fascination as his hands came up to frame her face, and he bent lower, his mouth pressing with burning heat against hers.

He grimaced a few minutes later, as her lashes fluttered open. Grasping the covers, he threw them back, baring them both to the morning chill. Abigail looked around as he drew her up with him, rolling them so that they ended up on the edge of the bed, Abigail in his lap.

“I could have sat up myself,” she pointed out, tracing his jaw where the overnight growth of beard was starting to show.

“Actually,” he grunted, scooting towards the headboard, “you couldn’t have.”

Abigail frowned. She hardly noticed the jagged scar on his cheek now, at least when she wasn’t looking so closely. Indeed, she’d only noticed it because the growth along his jaw made the hairless line of skin stand out in sharp relief on his face. Idly, she considered asking him about it, but refrained.

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning forward and kissing the end of the six-inch reminder, letting the pad of her thumb trace the remainder of the length.

“If you didn’t notice, that means you were a very good girl and stayed in our bed all night.” He chuckled. She glanced over her shoulder as he fetched the knife, then let her gaze follow his hand downward.

To her feet.

Abigail gasped. “Charles!” A long strip of her dressing gown was knotted around her ankle. The other end was knotted around
his
ankle.

“I told you,” he said shamelessly, as he quickly cut through the fabric and set her free. “You are going to be sleeping in our bed, all night, every night. I have no intentions of arguing about it, or of chasing you all through the house and retrieving you.” He stood her up and patted her bare behind as she looked hopelessly around for what remained of her attire. “Now, off you go. Annie will be waiting for you.”

He smirked when Abigail glared at him. “I need something to wear!” she insisted

“No, actually, you don’t. But you should plan on morning soaks in the bath from now on. It will help soothe your body after I’m done playing with it.” He met her eyes evenly. “Why do you think there’s such a lovely big bathing area in your dressing room?”

Abigail trembled. Unable to reply with anything impertinent, she whirled around and fled.

* * * *

Somewhat later, Betsy looked up at Abigail and frowned. Abigail had been late, though she looked more rested than she had in some days. Even Betsy noticed, for she sighed and said sharply, “Well, miss, at least you don’t appear as though you’ve just tumbled out of bed.”

Abigail grimaced and slid into her chair. Grady had left the small table and chairs in Betsy’s room arranged comfortably before the fireplace, and a covered plate awaited her. Abigail removed the lid and smiled. Either Betsy knew her tastes or Grady had been watching her more carefully than she had realised. The plate was heaped with her favourite morning foodstuffs and the cocoa was still hot.

“I did oversleep,” she said unapologetically, “and it’s still taking Annie longer than Jenna ever needed.” Mostly it had taken Annie longer because Abigail had luxuriated in the bath Meriden had recommended. The bathing area was superb—a pipe brought running water into the room, where Annie had already filled waiting pails with it and heated them on the dressing room fireplace hearth. As the maid had said, it was a great improvement on having the watermen carry hot water from the kitchen, already cooling. It was also more private.