To Win a Viscount (Daughters of Amhurst) (18 page)

The taste of her still fresh on his tongue, the sweet nectar distracting from his mental faculties, Edmund swallowed. He could have sworn she had asked to return the favor, as in, replaying what he had just done to her. “I beg your pardon?”

She reached for the button of his front fall, still secure in the cotton. With a flick of her fingers, she released both the button and his swollen arousal. Her gaze lowered, her eyes widening as they took in his naked state. He made to kiss her and ease her embarrassment, but she backed away and shook her head. “Should I place my mouth on your sex would it affect you as yours did on mine?”

“Albina—”

“It is a simple question. And, as my instructor, one you are required to answer.” Her gaze remained transfixed, and for the first time in…forever, Edmund began to feel self-conscious. Was she displeased by his appendage? Frightened? Disgusted?

When he made to refasten the fall, however, she covered his hand with hers. “Edmund?”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “Yes.”

Her lips curled as a light flared in her eyes. Without a word, she wrapped her hands around his sex.

Edmund clenched his jaw and hissed.
Good God
. He gripped her shoulders as she did the unthinkable—and pressed her lips to the delicate skin of his member.

If he had thought ecstasy had been achieved with the culmination of her climax, he was wrongly mistaken. With her lips tentatively brushing over the sensitive tip of his sex, he experienced a stimulation like none other. Her mouth was magic, filled with a sorcery unlocked with the flick of her tongue.

With a sharp inhale, he sought to find control. At least a semblance of order as a rush of desire collided with the heat of his ardor. She was magnificent. Tenacious. And far bolder than he ever dared hope. She set to proving just how bold, by near spending him with the wicked talent of her mouth. Before he embarrassed himself with his lack of self-control, he let out a jagged breath and whispered, “Albina.”

She peered up at him and frowned. “You have not yet reacted the same as I. Am I not doing things properly?”

God no. There was nothing proper about her mouth on him. Which was fortunate, as he did not wish her to be proper. In the slightest.

“I do not wish to be selfish and expend myself before we finish. I still have much to give you.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “There is more?”

He cupped her chin. “Yes. Though doing more claims you as mine, Albina. And mine alone. I never did learn how to share and refuse to do so now. I would have you as my wife.” The idea that another man even look at Albina near undid him. His heart pounded, his breath short with unadulterated jealousy.

Devil take it.

His heart had claimed its mate.

He stood stock-still at the revelation, reeling in the deep affection he shared for the woman who wanted him despite his shortcomings, his lack of fortune and title.

“You wish to marry me?”

Edmund slid his thumb along her jaw. “I do. More than anything.”

Albina stood. She slid her hands up his chest and stared into his eyes. “I want you to claim me as yours.”

He wanted to do nothing more, but doubts clawed at the joy wrought by her acceptance. “Do you realize the implications?” he pressed, wanting nothing more than for her to concur, but not without total knowledge of her decision. “Should we marry, you will no longer be an earl’s daughter, but a groom’s wife.”

“An honor I am eager to claim.” Her voice did not falter, nor did she speak with any reservation. Her words were sincere. And yet…he needed more.

Edmund took her hand. “I have no doubt you will be happy with me, at least at first. But I cannot promise you a home, let alone a bed, if the earl does not approve of our match. I will be without a post, with no means to care for you as you deserve. I do not want you to resent me when your standard of living is not what you have grown accustomed to. Or when you, God forbid, are shunned by your former friends and family for choosing me over someone of your own class.”

That was his fear if she should take Emberton. If she did not, if her horse was unable to take first, their future together had the potential of being far dimmer.

His stomach roiled. After yesterday’s debacle, her failure to control her steed made a potential loss far more a probability. He would be a man without a position, without a recommendation to offer to potential employers, and with no means of bettering himself. He had nothing to offer her.

Unless he accepted the viscountcy.

She slid her hand out from his and placed it on his cheek, her thumb grazing over the whiskers he had yet to groom.

“I am not a fortune-teller, Edmund. I cannot see what difficulties lie ahead. Your fears may be well-founded, but I know we can conquer them. Together. Despite any disadvantage. I have never been more certain of my decision than I am right now, in this moment. I am without clothes. In a barn. With a man whom I have chosen to share my one virtue. And yet”—her lips lifted into a smile—“he insists on stalling.”

Edmund let out a laugh. She still wanted him. Without the promise of the viscountcy and the measure of life it could afford. A surge of relief coursed through every fiber of his being, momentarily quieting his fears. He slid his hands over her shoulders. “Only one virtue, Albina? I can think of several.”

“All of which I wish to hear—after you claim me as yours.”

Edmund kissed her with a renewed fervor, his love for his future wife escalating his ardor. He did not need to be told twice. Without a backward glance, he lowered her into a mound of freshly strewn hay and did precisely as she asked—and claimed her for his.

Chapter Eleven

Albina sat in her tub, the lavender soap washing away more than the dust acquired from her morning ride, but also the musky, heady scent of the man she wished to marry. Her skin flushed not from the heat of her scented water, but from the memory of Edmund’s lovemaking—an intimacy that had, in no uncertain terms, settled the fate of her future. The feel of his skin on hers, of his hands stroking places she could not even name, brought about another tingle of pleasure, the area between her legs, while sensitive and a tad sore from her earlier exertions, still responsive to her thoughts.

She had been claimed. Taken by Edmund. Albina giggled into her sudsy hands. Her happiness could not be contained, nor did she wish it, for the only exuberance that had ever come close to resembling her current state was the one she felt whilst on a horse, racing at insurmountable speeds.

Albina slid farther beneath the steaming water, languishing in the delight such a treat wrought, when the door flung open, followed by the harried appearance of her sister.

“Sarah, what the devil?” Albina asked, groping about for a towel. While they were sisters and shared everything from a day of birth to a name, she did not wish for her sister to see her newly taken body. Edmund had been as gentle as such activities allowed, but she had noticed the remnants of a nibble or two marring her pale complexion.

“Forgive the…intrusion, but you were not in your usual places, and when I visited the stables—”

“You visited the stables?” Albina sat upright. Her hand having found a towel, she tossed the linen around her upper torso. “When?”

Albina had returned for her morning ride a tad later than usual, but no one had awaited her arrival, not even the maid. Had the poor girl been around, she would have found Albina in a state fit for gossip. Pieces of straw stuck to places of her body she had not known existed, not to mention the damp spot darkening her breeches and declaring to anyone with worldly experience the course of her morning activities.

Shedding the condemning clothing, she had stuffed it into the deep recesses of her wardrobe and rung for a bath posthaste. For as much as she wished to cling to his smell, she did not want a single person to be aware of the intimacies she had exchanged with her future husband.

At least not until after Emberton. She had to focus. To concentrate on the race and the win. She could not fail Edmund, not after all of his instruction…in more areas than one. The marquess was no longer her motivation or her prize for a job well done and a race won. No. Her accomplishments on a horse demonstrated Edmund’s skill to both his current employer and potential future ones, should the earl not take her participation in stride as much as she hoped he would…

“Good heavens, Albina,” Sarah fussed. “The water must have been far too hot. Your skin is frightfully flushed.”

“Yes, I suppose it was a tad warm,” she said, relieved for the excuse. “But the stables? You were there just now or earlier?”

Sarah handed her the silk robe the maid had earlier set on a damask chair. “I have only now returned. Mr. White bid me—”

Albina’s hand clenched around the embroidered silk. “You spoke to Mr. White?”

“No, Albina. I spoke to the horses. Of course I spoke to Mr. White. He is the groom you have acquainted yourself with, is he not? Your instructor?”

Oh, she had acquainted herself with him, all right. In the most indecorous of manners. Were it possible, her skin deepened even further, to a scalding crimson. “He is. But why did you seek his conversation at all?”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “To inquire after you.”

Praying the sheer fabric hid the evidence of her romantic interlude from her sister’s far-too-perceptive gaze, Albina slid her arms into the robe. “What is it you wish to ask me?”

“Not what I wish to ask, but what I choose to relay.” Sarah eyed her with speculation. “The Marquess of Satterfield has left for Emberton.”

Albina sighed. “You ran to the stables and interrupted my bath to tell me of the man’s schedule?”

Lifting her chin, her sister rolled her eyes. “As Emberton is less than a week away, I should have thought you both anxious and excited by the revelation.”

“Well, I am neither. The marquess’s departure affects me not.”

“It should.”

“Oh? Pray, why is that?”

An exasperated sigh left Sarah’s lips. “He is in Emberton before the crowds. No doubt assessing the fields along with the stables to better place his wagers.”

“No doubt.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed further. “What the devil has gotten into you? The marquess is alone, Albina. With little competition for his attentions. We should not tarry in our departure to Emberton.”

Albina kicked her recently discarded towel toward the others folded next to the tub. “Emberton is but a day’s ride away. There is no need to leave before the earl’s party. I would rather gain more training with Mr. White than lie in bed, having to feign illness.”

“Your ruse will be but for an hour, for Henrietta and mother’s visual confirmation rather than for any true impediment or length of time.”

“But I shall still be stranded in bed.”

“A price to be paid whether or not our departure is expedited. The earl cannot suspect you are his jockey. He must offer his sympathies at your bedside to solidify both artifices.” She stepped toward Albina. “Or are you no longer interested in racing?”

“Of course I am interested in racing. Don’t be absurd.”

“Then why the lack of enthusiasm for an opportunity to not only socialize with the marquess, but also to familiarize yourself with the same courses as he? Think of the advantages, Albina. Emberton is but a small town that affords few places to congregate. The duchess has confirmed Lord Satterfield stays with them as a guest at Thornhaven…as will we. The odds are in your favor that we shall be in his company more oft than we are not.”

“I should think that more a disadvantage than a benefit.”

Sarah stared at her as though she had grown a pair of horns. “Please, enlighten me with your superior logic.”

Albina rolled her eyes. “Subterfuge requires a certain level of secrecy, does it not? How am I to sneak about with everyone in such close quarters? As a jockey, my presence is required in Emberton. My face shall be seen. My presence known. I should think it best to minimize my exposure to wait for the last possible moment.”

“And forgo the advantages of an early arrival?” Sarah scoffed. “The early bird gets the worm for a reason. It is a cliché for due purpose, and I, for one, do not discount its logic.”

“You asked for my opinion and I gave it,” Albina said with a huff. She tugged on the sash around her robe, pulling it tighter. “If you require nothing else, I wish to dress for the day.”

Deep lines of disapproval creased Sarah’s forehead. “I do not understand your displeasure. The Marquess of Satterfield—”

“Perhaps my interest in the man has waned, Sarah.”

“Bollocks.”

Coughing, Albina paused. “What did you say?”

“I knew it.” Leaning forward, Sarah grabbed Albina’s wrist. “You’ve fallen for the blasted groom.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Albina wrested her arm from her sister’s hold.

“You can deceive Mother, but I am your twin. I know you better than you know yourself. You have. For a groom, of all people.” She clutched her head, her pale fingers running through her dark tresses. “I should have realized it sooner. The disinterest in the marquess, the eagerness to stay at Plumburn for more training… Good God.” Sarah placed a hand to her chest. “What sort of training has he given you, Albina?”

Albina flushed, the color of her skin betraying her.

Covering her mouth with a trembling hand, Sarah stared at Albina, horror etched across her features.

“He will offer for me,” Albina assured. “After the race.”

Sarah merely shook her head, her hand still in place.

“I love him.” Albina said the words with more defiance than confidence, her sister’s fainthearted expression a small prick at her pride. “I could do worse.”

“You could do better, too,” Sarah said, finding her voice. “He is a groom, Albina. A servant. Of our sister’s husband.”

“I am aware of his connections.”

“Then you know a match with him is impossible. The earl will never allow it.”

Albina swallowed. Her sister spoke truth. The earl’s honor would never allow a daughter of Amhurst to marry beneath her. Such an idea would mar the family’s name, a name he himself had scarred with his botched and ill-fated past. He had worked tirelessly to restore it, to make certain old rumors did not taint present connections and prevent good matches for his wife’s sisters. Were he to hear of her selection of husband, he would not only deny her request, but laugh at her impertinence.

And then dismiss Edmund from his employment. Which was why it was imperative she win Emberton. To prove his competence. And hers.

Surely the earl would have to see reason if she, as the sole woman to have ever won the derby, were to ask him to give serious consideration to her request. Assuming she won the race and her sister did not tell the earl before then.

Albina took a deep breath. “You must allow me to present my case to the earl. After Emberton.”

“I fault myself. For allowing you to meet with the groom. Kisses as payment—”

“It is as easy to marry a rich man as it is a poor one. Surely you can appreciate the cliché, Sarah.”

“Not when it applies to my sister.”

“I shall marry Edmund after the race in Emberton. Until then, my attentions must be on the training.”

“To what end? You no longer wish to capture the marquess’s attention.”

“No, but winning will endear Edmund to the earl.”

“Drawing the earl’s attention to
Edmund
does little for the man if the earl is outraged by your participation in the derby. You are deceiving him by participating in a race he has forbidden you to enter as a jockey. I fail to see how this will beguile either of you to anyone but the Marquess of Satterfield.”

“Nonsense.”

Sarah snorted. “Should you fail at Emberton, the marquess will have one more stick with which to prod the earl.”

“The earl has Henrietta,” Albina countered. “And you know as well as I the marquess has eyes only for our sister. He has never sought me. To deny the claim would be an insult to my intelligence.”

Sarah’s face softened. “He yet could…with time. He is a marquess.”

“And no longer in the running for my husband. I have made my selection. If you do not support me in my decision, I am sorry, for I hold your opinion in high regard, but the heart does not discern between titles. I have found, perhaps for the first time, a man who wants me and not my sister.”

Sarah licked her lips, her eyes downcast. “I have and always want the best for you. If you choose Mr. White as your husband, I will not protest, so long as your happiness is guaranteed…and his heart is equally unbiased.”

Albina stared at her sister’s profile, illuminated by the late-morning sunlight pouring through the antechamber’s narrow row of windows.

Her sister’s concern was a valid one. Albina would be nothing more than a missus, her title of
lady
disappearing as quickly as the societal opportunities afforded to her by her current rank. Edmund, however, served to gain—a lot—were she allotted the same dowry as Henrietta upon her marriage to the earl.

He would be elevated financially, and she would be reduced to the role of a groom’s wife. She would, however, be with the man who set her heart aflame. Who shared in her interests. And who believed in her as no other person ever had.

Albina reached for her sister’s hand, clasping it with her own. “I will marry for love and assume whatever consequences come as a result.”

Sarah squeezed Albina’s hand and nodded. “Promise me one thing, Albina.”

“Anything.”

“Win the damn race, will you?”

…

Edmund sat in a stiff, hard-backed chair, his legs bent, his back straight, and his hands, while open and resting on his lap in a natural state, sweating profusely into his breeches. A quick glance around the earl’s study proved little had changed from his last summons, save for the neatened stack of papers resting on the polished mahogany.

Rain battered the windows, the early-afternoon shower making it appear far later in the day than the actual hour. In fact, were he to give it further consideration, the storm outside reflected the tone inside the large, spacious room. Dark. Menacing. And exceptionally dismal.

Which was rather fitting, given he was certain of the reasons behind his summons. Edmund was going to hell. Straight into the blackest bowels and pits of despair. He was sure of it.

For less than seven hours had passed since Albina, sated and flushed with their lovemaking, had left his side. Less than seven hours since he had held her beautiful curves and exquisite body against his naked flesh. And less than seven hours since he had chosen her as his future wife. He wanted nothing more than to be with her, riding, training, kissing… He clenched his jaw and focused. He had to appear unaffected, as though her scent did not still linger on his skin, teasing him.

Hell. The seventh level. And should it exist, the eighth. For if Edmund could smell the light notes of honeysuckle of Albina’s soap, so, too, could the earl—her protector, the man who undoubtedly wished to remove Edmund from his employ.

He was an ass. And the earl would likely tell him so once he arrived.

If the man did not shoot Edmund dead for his impertinence first.

The door to the study opened. Edmund stood, the change in position welcome. Had he waited any longer, his hands would have left stain marks upon his thighs.

The earl strode toward Edmund. “Mr. White.”

“My lord.”

“No doubt you know why you are here.”

There were a vast number of reasons, including debauchery, defilement, and impertinence. To which crime the earl referred, however, remained a mystery. Unless, of course, he wished to address them all, in which case Edmund would not leave the room alive. Or, at the very least, without a fresh hole or two in his heart.