Twilight with the Infamous Earl
Read Twilight with the Infamous Earl Online
Authors: Alexandra Hawkins
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical romance, #Regency
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This book is dedicated to the fans of the series.
Your love and boundless enthusiasm for the
Lords of Vice have meant the world to me.
It’s been an amazing journey!
Contents
Praise for the Lords of Vice novels
Vice is perhaps a desire to learn everything.
—Honoré de Balzac
Chapter One
April 1, 1826
“Am I boring you, Frost?”
Vincent Henry Bishop, the Earl of Chillingsworth, who many knew simply as Frost, allowed his hand to slide appreciatively over the contour of his current bed companion’s naked waist and hips. Widowed two years ago—if there was any validity to the rumors—the thirty-five-year-old Lady Gittens was on the hunt for a new husband.
If true, the dear lady had deplorable taste in men if she considered him a candidate for marriage.
“Did I seem bored five minutes ago?” His fingers separated as Frost cupped one of the fleshy cheeks of her buttocks.
He and the delectable widow had spent the better part of three hours in the lady’s bed. His companion was enthusiastic and inventive. The cooling sweat on his flesh and his pounding heart were proof that he had been fully engaged in their love play.
Maryann was reclining on her side with her buttocks teasingly close to his still-rigid cock. Frost sensed her smile.
“Not at all. Five minutes ago I managed to command all of your attention.”
He brushed aside her dark blond hair that was sticking to her damp flesh. “When I’m with you, I need all of my wits,” he murmured, kissing her on the bare shoulder.
“Then why have you checked your watch three times in the past hour?”
Although he had tried to be discreet, her plaintive tone implied it was a considerable offense. “And that is my sin?”
Women. They fretted over the oddest things.
“The hour is growing late, my sweet. As much as I enjoy our encounters, I have other obligations.”
“Another woman?”
Frost sighed. He and Maryann had been lovers for three weeks, and she was already displaying signs of possessiveness. Even though he had made it clear that she was not his only lover, the lovely widow was pressing him to set aside his other women. She thought she could dictate the terms of their little arrangement, and for a time he had been willing to indulge her whims.
Unfortunately, spoiled creatures tended to become tedious over time.
“Yes.” She stiffened in his casual embrace. He hid his smile in her hair. “My sister. I’ve been commanded to make an appearance this evening.”
Maryann made a soft scoffing sound. “No one commands you, my lord.”
He playfully swatted her on the buttock. She cried out in surprise.
“It is good of you to notice.” There was a slight warning in his tone, but his companion was oblivious. “However, I make a point of listening to Regan. She has a nasty temper when provoked.”
Maryann shifted in his embrace until her back was pressed against the soft mattress. She gazed up at him with limpid blue eyes. “Your sister is not the only one who gets cross when she doesn’t get her way.”
Frost gazed down at her body. She was a beautiful woman. White, unblemished skin that still held a ruddy blush from their lovemaking, full breasts with erect nipples, and generous hips that bore the marks of his hands and teeth. The thatch of hair between her legs glistened with the evidence of their lust. “You should have no grievances with me. You’ve had your way for half the afternoon, wench,” he said teasingly.
“Only because it pleased you to do so,” she said with a pout.
“And that is why we have gotten along famously.” He lightly ruffled the hair between her legs and kissed her on the lips. “You understand me all too well.”
With some regret, he began to rise. “I should go.”
Something akin to panic flashed across Maryann’s flushed features. She reached for his wrist to halt his escape. “There is no rush. It is early still, my love. Tarry awhile longer.”
The temptress parted her thighs as she guided his hand to her womanly folds. His cock stirred with approval as his fingers tested the proof of her desire. Frost hesitated. Sensing her victory, she arched her hips, the action allowing his fingers to deepen their penetration.
The three hours they had spent tangled in the sheets had passed quickly. If he had not promised his sister that he would join her and their friends for dinner, he would have stayed until his body was fully sated.
Frost grimaced. “I have no time for this.”
He withdrew from Maryann.
Her eyes snapped open with frustration. “How can you possibly stop now?” she demanded.
“With much difficulty and regret.” He covered her hand with his and gently peeled her fingers from his cock. “Be reasonable, my sweet. I do not want to start something that will take us hours to finish.”
“Then give me an hour more,” she pleaded, crawling after him when he stood. “Just one. I promise you will be grateful you granted me this boon.”
Without warning, Maryann dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth. She suckled the head of his arousal with enough pressure to make him groan with pleasure and discomfort. The lady possessed an exquisite mouth.
His fingers brushed her shoulders. “Maryann.” He drawled her name in a manner that was an equal balance of praise and curse.
It only took him a second to come to a decision.
“Stop.”
Stunned by his order, Maryann released him and lifted her bewildered gaze to meet his. Frost pounced. Hauling her to her feet, he spun her around and bent her over until her hand found purchase on the mattress.
She laughed with delight. “Yes, please, my lord.”
Frost was not seeking her permission. He used his foot to widen her stance as his hand curled around the length of his hard flesh. “Is this what you want?”
His vigorous thrust filled her and she gasped at the swift invasion.
“Yes. Hard and fast. Let’s not waste a minute of the hour!”
Seizing her roughly by the hips, Frost set a pace that would have made a seasoned prostitute at a brothel wince. However, Maryann moaned in pleasure as he buried himself into her sheath over and over.
Frost suspected he would be late for Regan’s gathering, but his sister would forgive him. His gaze admired the curve of Maryann’s spine as he reminded her who was in control of their relationship.
He intended to pleasure her for the hour he had promised, and then he would walk out of her life without a single regret.
Chapter Two
“Lord Chillingsworth,” Lord and Lady Pashley’s butler announced as Frost entered the dining room three and a half hours after he had first joined Lady Gittens in her bed.
“Good evening, all,” Frost said to the twelve people sitting at the long rectangular table. Lord Pashley, or Dare, who also happened to be his brother-in-law, was seated at the farthest end. All six gentlemen were as familiar to him as his own reflection in the mirror. His friendships with Dare, Hunter, Saint, Sin, Reign, and Vane were formed when they were still boys. As for the ladies, with the exception of Regan, who was his sister, claiming any kind of familiarity with Grace, Catherine, Juliana, Sophia, and Isabel real or just fanciful wishing on his part would likely end with his jaw being broken, since the ladies were happily married.
Over the past six years, his dearest friends had fallen in love and married. As often was the case, the demise of their little band of merry bachelors had begun with Sin.
The Marquess of Sinclair or Sin, as he was often called, was so besotted with Juliana, no one except Frost had foreseen the consequences of what his friend had started. One by one, his friends had sacrificed their freedom for the marriage bed.
He was surrounded by couples, Frost noted with silent amusement, and he, the lone bachelor of their little group. “Ah, I see it is just family this evening. Good, I am famished.”
He bent down to kiss his sister’s cheek.
“You are late,” Regan said, tilting her cheek to accept her brother’s kiss, which was part affection and part apology for his tardiness. “If you were so famished, you should have arrived before the first course was served.”
“My apologies, brat. Something came up unexpectedly.”
The six gentlemen seated at the table smirked and chuckled at his response. There was a good reason why the
ton
referred to the seven of them as the Lords of Vice. His friends could hazard a guess on how he had spent his afternoon.
Frost had little doubt the ladies had guessed as well.
After all, his little sister had been practically raised by him and his friends. Too often, she had glimpsed compromising situations that had made her old beyond her years.
Regan gave him a knowing glance. “Indeed.” She grasped his left ear before he could escape, pulling his head down so she could kiss him on the cheek. “You have been missed, brother mine.”
Frost briefly shut his eyes as he savored his sister’s caress, and then he pulled away. Regan was the only woman who had a claim on his heart. She was proof that he was not the coldhearted bastard he had often been accused of being by angry mistresses and half the
ton
.
He acknowledged his brother-in-law with a nod. Dare had been his friend long before the gent had set his sights on Frost’s little sister. Believing Regan deserved someone better than a Lord of Vice for a husband, Frost had tried to discourage the relationship. He had even sent his sister away to Miss Swann’s Academy for Young Ladies in the hope that time and distance would extinguish Regan’s affection for the handsome scoundrel. Alas, his efforts to keep the young lovers apart had failed, but he was not disappointed with the results. Not only had he gained a brother, but Dare had proven to be an excellent husband and father.
“My apologies for disrupting your conversation,” he prompted his host so Regan could not question him further on why he was late for their dinner party. “What did I interrupt?”
Dare was not fooled by his friend’s apology or feigned interest. He likely deduced that anything Frost had to say was best discussed away from the ladies. Shrugging, the man said, “We were discussing your nephew’s new game of repeating every word he hears.”
“And how is the lad?” Frost leaned back in the chair while the footman placed fine china and silver cutlery on the table in front of him. Now eighteen months old, Bishop Wells Mordare held the lesser title of Viscount Wrenne. He was a beautiful boy with his father’s good looks, his mother’s mouth, and his uncle’s charm. It would be a potent combination as young Bishop grew older.
Dare shook his head and sighed. “Bishop overheard your sister and the housekeeper discussing a slight mishap in the kitchen.” At Frost’s raised eyebrow, he explained further. “It was nothing. Some crockery was knocked over and one of the maids cut her hand as she picked up the shards.”