Page 75 of One Night with an Earl

“Wait! What are you—”

He shut the door and faced her. Bond Street was bristling with pedestrians, but the alley between buildings was isolated and quiet.

His expression was serious. “Did she threaten you?”

“In more ways than one.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is more that I haven’t told you. My employment means more than just a roof over my head. I have a younger brother, and my salary, no matter how small, helps provide him with clothing, shoes, and necessities.”

His eyes sharpened. “A younger brother?”

“No one knows of him, certainly not her ladyship. Adam just turned fifteen and is away at school. That’s why I did not risk penning you a note explaining everything, in case it was discovered.”

“I wish I had known. I admire your loyalty to your brother.”

His words affected her more than he could ever know. To have the Earl of Drake admire her? Somehow, along the way, she no longer thought of him as his father’s son. Oh, her family’s loss still remained an ache deep in her heart, but she’d seen the care Oliver took with Rosedown and its tenants, even if his father and brother would not have bothered.

“Can you understand my panic?” she asked.

His expression was serious. “I cannot fathom what it is like to walk a day in your shoes. Please know that I want to help, not make things worse.” He reached out to finger a loose curl by her temple.

His closeness was a welcoming warmth upon her skin, like the caress of first morning sunshine. Her breathing rushed in her ears, in time with the hurried beat of her heart.

“My lord—”

“If you change your mind about tonight, I’ll accept your decision. I meant what I said: you coming to me of your own free will means everything to me.”

Her gaze lifted to his, to the chiseled features of his face, and she searched for some hint that he knew how he was affecting her.

“You are as courageous as you are beautiful,” he said. “I’ve long wondered about that night at the Silver Chalice. Why were you at the brothel? I want to understand your motives.”

How could he understand her desperate need to escape her dull, daily existence for one night? Or her past? To have suitors and lovely gowns one day, then to swiftly lose everything the next, had been horrid. The debt collectors did not care if a person was in mourning, and her dreams for her future had been shattered.

Striking a bargain with Madame Crescent had been an escape of sorts—one night of pleasure before her looming thirtieth birthday. “My lord. Oliver, I—”

His voice was hoarse. “You do not have to tell me everything now. I hope you will trust me someday.”

She may not be able to tell him all her secrets, but she was no longer frightened of him. He may be an aristocrat, an earl, a man well above her station, but the concern she saw in his eyes made her feel safe. She hadn’t been frightened of him in a long while, had she? Rather she found herself entranced by the raw need in his eyes.

He placed a hand on the brick right by her head, his large body leaning in. “Whatever twist of fate brought you to me that first night in the brothel, I’ll be forever grateful. The connection I felt with you has increased tenfold. I understand your concern for your brother must come first. What I’m trying to say is that I will not send the coach if you no longer wish it.”

I want it.

Her own restraint slipped. Rather than answer, she decided to show him. Taking a handful of his shirt, she pulled him toward her and pressed her lips to his. He stiffened for a heartbeat, then his lips brushed hers, once, then twice, almost as if he was afraid she would change her mind. Without a coat or waistcoat, his chest was so muscular, his shoulders so broad. She longed to run her fingers across the expanse of skin, to touch and explore and tease.

When she rose on her toes to eagerly deepen the kiss, he groaned and slipped a hand around her back and pulled her close. His mouth slanted across hers, their tongues tangling. The caress of his lips set her body aflame, and she felt like a breathless girl of eighteen as she met him with equal fever, savoring every moment.

He raised his head, and their eyes met, both catching their breath. She struggled to remember their conversation. When he looked at her like that, she wanted to damn Lady Malvern. All she could think about was Oliver’s kiss, and she knew her feelings for him had nothing to do with reason and everything to do with the pang in her chest.

“Does this mean—”

“Send the coach, my lord.”

He placed a tantalizing kiss in the hollow of her neck, causing her senses to reel. “Thank God.”

…