Twilight with the Infamous Earl (18 page)

Emily had not been introduced to the lady he had been speaking to, but there had been an air of familiarity between them. She saw how close they had stood with their heads bowed in a private conversation; the woman caressed his coat sleeve.

That woman had been his mistress.

Emily was certain of it. Tears were to be expected, but her eyes were dry. She was too furious to cry. As for her face, there was nothing to be done. Her pale complexion revealed too much; if she had any sense she would start spending more time in the sun to darken her skin.

“Emily!”

She stared blankly at the smiling brown-haired woman whom she had almost collided with. Emily had been so distracted by Frost and his mystery woman, it took her a moment to recall the name of a lady she had spoken to on several occasions.

Lady Vanewright. Isabel. She was the wife of one of Frost’s friends. Another Lord of Vice. Her mouth trembled. She had to get out of this ballroom before she did something foolish.

“My apologies, Isabel. I cannot—I have to get away.” Emily gulped. “There are too many people. Please.”

The countess took one look at her face and simply said, “Come with me.”

She took Emily’s hand and together they made their way to one of the side doors that opened into a passageway. Guests and servants filled this area as well, but Isabel had another destination in mind. When she reached the stairs, she urged Emily to descend them.

“Earlier, I was looking for my husband and discovered this small room,” she explained, opening the door. “We are in luck. It is still empty. The door over there leads to the library. Since most of the guests are upstairs, this is likely the quietest room in the house.”

“Thank you.” She was unsure if she should reveal anything else. “You should return to your husband. I will be fine.”

Isabel hesitated, her brown eyes full of warmth and compassion. “Vane saw me leave with you. He will assume we left to find a quiet place to talk if I do not return to the ballroom. I can see that you are distressed. Is there something I can do? Can I get someone for you?”

Emily shook her head. “No. I just—I am being foolish.”

“Is this about Frost?”

Startled, she gaped at the other woman. “How did you guess?”

Isabel pressed her lips together as if she was struggling not to laugh. “Well, it wasn’t much of a guess. Vane and I saw Frost enter the ballroom. He didn’t join us and he seemed distracted, as if he was looking for someone. We assumed it was you.”

“Why me?” There were more than two hundred guests packed into that narrow ballroom. “And you are wrong. I was not the lady Frost was seeking.”

“Oh no!” The countess seemed genuinely upset on her behalf. “Though I suppose it isn’t too surprising. After all, we are talking about Frost. Still, he seems genuinely fond of you. Even my husband had made a small wager with—” Isabel smiled, realizing she had said too much.

Before Emily could press the lady further, the door opened and the last man she wanted to see was standing in the doorway. He braced his hand on the frame of the door, looking slightly disheveled and out of breath.

“Isabel, your husband is looking for you.”

A mutinous expression flashed across her delicate features. “Vane is aware that I am with Emily.”

“Regardless, your husband is expecting you. Upstairs. Now.” Frost stepped aside, clearing the threshold for the countess’s departure. “I would hate to see that unblemished flesh marred with bruises.”

Emily gasped, distressed by the thought that the lady might be punished because of her. “Maybe you should go. I will be fine.”

Isabel glared at Frost. “Don’t listen to him, Emily.” She marched up to the earl. “My husband doesn’t beat me.”

Frost smiled benignly at her. “Well, maybe he should.”

The countess glanced back at her. “I wish you luck, Emily. You’re going to need it.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Frost stared at Emily, attempting to deduce how angry she was at him. Would she try to run away from him? Grab the gold-and-black lacquer vase and throw it at his head? Or would she be provoked to violence, as his sister had been, and try to slap him? Would he even try to stop her, he wondered. He was not guilty of any wrongdoing. Nevertheless, his past sins were numerous, and often he had escaped any real punishment.

“I hope I was not interrupting anything important,” he said politely, assuming the ladies had been discussing him. Isabel was a sweet-natured lady who seemed to like him well enough, but Frost was not counting on her to defend him.

Emily’s mouth thinned with her obvious displeasure. “If you would stand aside, I will take my leave as well, my lord.”

A gentleman would have done as she had asked. Instead he shut the door and locked it. He pocketed the key. “Not until we have had a chance to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Her sulky pout was endearing. “Now give me that key.”

He parted his hands, palms forward, and offered her what he considered a disarming smile. “I must regretfully refuse. However, you are welcome to come closer and try to take it from me.”

Fury flashed in her hazel eyes. Frost tensed, his muscles readying for her response. Emily ran toward the pier table that displayed the lacquer vase, and he had visions of blood and shattered porcelain. She managed to surprise him by veering to the right, which placed the sofa between them.

“Are we playing a game of chase, Emily?” he asked, not moving from his position at the door.

“No, I am getting away from you!”

Emily grabbed the front of her skirt and dashed to the side door at the far end of the room. She violently twisted the doorknob, only to discover that it was locked.

“A pity you don’t have a key,” he said blandly, walking toward her. “If you ask me nicely, I might give you mine.”

“You disgust me.”

“Of course, you could always pound on the door. Maybe someone will hear you on the other side,” he helpfully suggested. Before she could act on it, he added, “Though the plan does come with some risks. Whoever opens the door will know you are alone in the room with me.”

Frost caught her easily when she charged him. He laughed as he whirled her about, savoring the feel of her as she struggled in his arms.

“Give me that key!” she raged at him.

“No.”

A sound of frustration escaped her lips as he spun her around and pushed her up against the nearest wall. As he had anticipated, Emily tried to slip her hands into his evening coat to retrieve the key, but he was stronger and quicker. He captured her wrists and pinned her arms over her head.

“Let me go!”

“I think not.” He laughed as he used his hips to hold her in place. “This position gives me all sorts of ideas.”

Emily stopped struggling, and the hurt look she gave him cut him in half. “Please. You are being cruel.”

“And you, my green-eyed lady, are jealous.”

The accusation brought her stubborn chin up. “I most certainly am not jealous.”

“Truly? Then why did seeing me speaking to another lady send you running out of the Browetts’ ballroom?” He had seen the confusion and the pain on her face before she had turned away.

“I walked out of the ballroom,” she corrected. “There were too many people, and I sought a quiet refuge. Isabel decided to join me, having discovered this room earlier.”

“Kiss me.”

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “You expect me to kiss you?”

“If I misunderstood your hasty departure, then you should have no excuse not to kiss me.” His hooded gaze dropped to her mouth. “The carnal liberties you granted me in your bedchamber have haunted me since our parting. Just one kiss. Prove you aren’t vexed with me.”

He lowered his head. She turned her face away.

“Ah, I see.” He indulged himself by caressing her cheek with his lips. “So you
are
jealous.”

Outraged by his accusation, she tilted back her head to deny the charge. “I am not—”

Frost kissed her. Firm and full of pent-up frustration, his mouth moved over hers possessively. Emily tried to keep her lips pressed together, but he was in no mood to be patient. Releasing her wrists, his right hand cupped her chin and coaxed her to open her mouth for him. His tongue laved her lower lip, slipping inside. Frost moaned. He half expected her to bite him, but after a minute she melted against him.

Emily gripped the upper sleeves of his evening coat and pulled him closer. Her tongue dueled against his until she was the one filling his mouth, a desperate claiming that made his cock swell with need. His hand moved from her throat to her breast.

Frost remembered how her puckered nipples tasted against his tongue. Since that night, his thoughts kept returning to perfection of her breasts as he cupped them in his hands, the firm flatness of her belly, and how she cried out in ecstasy when he pleasured her with his mouth. He had been wrong. One taste had not been enough.

The virginal Emily Cavell had left this greedy scoundrel hungry for more.

Forgetting once again to breathe, Emily ended their kiss so she could take a few breaths. “Oh, Frost.”

“You have no reason to be jealous, Em,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “I only want you.”

Emily lowered her gaze. “Is she your mistress?”

Frost hesitated, uncertain if she truly wanted the truth. Most women did not want to know the details of a lover’s past, but Emily still had doubts about him. Lies would only damn him.

“Yes,” he admitted, and he could feel her body stiffening, mentally shying away from him. She would have moved away from him if he had not caged her against the wall with his body. “Or rather she was. It was a brief affair, and I had already ended it before we met.”

“Did you tell
her
?” Emily gave him a peevish look. “Ivy is less clingy.”

Frost chuckled. “There is no need to be jealous, love. I have no desire to renew my friendship with the lady.”

“I told you, I wasn’t jealous.” At his raised eyebrow, she loftily admitted, “I was concerned.”

“Well, I will have to think of a way to distract you.”

Emily let out a shriek of surprise when he whirled her around. She stumbled backward, and Frost caught her before she could fall, laying her gently on the sofa cushions.

He tugged off his gloves as he knelt beside her. He placed a hand on her ankle.

“Frost … no, you mustn’t.”

“You have a fondness for the word
no,
” he grumbled.

Frost was unused to a lady refusing his advances. Females of all ages adored him. He would never force himself on Emily, but he was not above applying a little persuasion.

“You have pretty ankles.”

Emily giggled. “You should not be admiring my ankles.”

“How can I resist such delicate bones? I want to put my mouth on them, nibble this particular spot … right here.” Using his finger, he traced the indentation between her ankle bone and heel. “And then I would grow bolder.”

“I do not believe that is possible, my lord.”

“I would trail kisses up your finely formed calves.” His hand slipped under her petticoat and possessively moved up her leg. “The back of your knees. Another spot worthy of my attentions.”

“You must stop,” she begged. “Someone might come.”

If he continued, it might well be him. “Silly girl, the doors are locked, and I have the key.”

Her lips curved into a sly smile. “Do you?”

Emily opened her hand, revealing the key.

She had managed to surprise him. “You naughty girl,” he scolded, tickling her just above the knee and making her laugh. “You hoodwinked me.”

“Yes,” she said, sounding rather pleased with herself.

Frost found the notion very arousing. His cock always seemed to be aware of the lady. “Keep the key,” he said generously as he found the long slit in her drawers. “Some locks need a delicate touch.”

“Frost.” She tried to glare at him, but she bit her lip at his touch.

“You’re wet, Miss Cavell,” he murmured, pleased by the discovery. She might have been vexed, but she still desired him. “Have you thought how it felt when I tasted the honey between your legs?”

“Not at all.”

“Liar.” He pressed his fingers against the opening of her sheath. His fingers sank into her. “There is no shame in liking my touch. I enjoyed giving you pleasure. Last night, when I was alone in my bed, I thought of the taste of you on my tongue while I touched myself.”

“You shouldn’t speak about—”

“Of what?” He slid a thumb up the damp slit between her legs and rubbed the sensitive nubbin. “Just thinking of you hardens my cock until it bursts with hot seed.”

“It’s unseemly,” she protested, which ended in a low moan. “I shouldn’t … you shouldn’t be talking to me like this.”

Frost kept stroking her, sensing the fever was building in her. Slick with her arousal, his fingers slipped deeper. “You should be pleased that you have so much power over me. That I worship you … would kill any man who tried to touch you.”

Emily’s eyes widened at his declaration. “I don’t—there is no one else I—”

Before she could cry out, Frost covered his mouth with hers, drinking in her release. Her muffled sob brought him close to spilling his seed. He knew how to extend her pleasure, and his skilled, nimble fingers kneaded and stroked her drenched flesh as the sensitive muscles of her sheath pulsed against his hand.

With the scent of her release intoxicating him, Frost blindly reached for the buttons of his trousers. He needed to place his cock against her. The feel of her flesh against his would assuage the lust he was feeling. He could take care of himself later. Or maybe he could convince her to watch as he—

“Lord Chillingsworth, are you in there?”

Frost and Emily froze at the sound of Lady Gittens’s voice. How had Maryann found him? He placed a finger to his lips as he gently removed his other hand from Emily’s skirt. The poor girl was too embarrassed to protest. Her face was an alarming red, and he worried that she might faint. He helped her sit up and smoothed down her skirt.

“Persistent chit,” he muttered, sending Emily an apologetic glance. “She must have followed me from the ballroom. This isn’t my faul—”