Page 50 of Unmasking the Earl

He strode on until a stand of tall hawthorns hid them from the road. Then he set her down in the green wheat and, finally, bent his head to kiss her.

Her lips parted on a sigh, and she let her head sink back to give full access to his firm, demanding mouth.

Visions of the previous evening’s encounter swam through her head—his impressive body, slick with water, glistening in the candlelight, the darkness of his eyes, his expression suffused with desire. He had wanted her.

And she’d wanted him, too. Wanted him to sweep her up into his arms and kiss her and touch her, and… Lord, she didn’t know what else.

His kiss became deeper, hungrier. Her bonnet fell to the ground, and she reached around his body, digging her nails into his back. He groaned and shifted, and pushed his hips against her in a shockingly suggestive way. She couldn’t help herself. Her body just seemed to take over, and she pressed her hips against his in return.

This was not how she’d imagined things would be when she’d pictured Julian making love to her. There had been none of this deep, animal instinct, this fundamental lust to explore him intimately as a man. All of him.

Ned had awakened something in her she did not understand…but was eager to experience. She was the pupil, he was the master, and where he led she had no choice but to follow. Her whole being ached for…Ned.

Even as she felt her body begin to soften, to meld to his shape while blending her mouth with his, he unerringly undid the buttons of her pelisse and pushed it from her shoulders. His hands tugged at the lacing of her gown.

Sweet Venus, he was undressing her…

And all the time his skilled hands were about their work, his kisses grew deeper, more insistent, drugging and overwhelming in their intensity.

She felt her gown loosen, the breath of the early summer breeze on her shoulders, the fall of her hair caressing her neck. When had he freed it? She had no idea, but was glad. He’d told her he wanted to see it flowing free.

Her inner voice of reason was shouting at her to stop—now!—before she fell completely under his spell…but he had already stolen her will, and all she managed to do was shift slightly and murmur a halfhearted complaint that they might be seen.

His voice was soft and low as he replied, “There’s no one to see but the swallows and the skylarks, and they won’t care, as their minds are on exactly the same thing.”

He shrugged out of his coat and placed her hands on the buttons of his waistcoat.

“You want me to undo them?” She was surprised she could still speak, with her lips so bruised, her tongue so slack from the heated tangle with his.

“It seems only fair,” he said, smiling down at her. “If you want to, that is.”

She did.

Knowing the glory that lay beneath his clothes, she felt as if she was unwrapping the best gift she had ever been given. It gave her the opportunity to run her hands over his chest, feeling the ripple of muscles, the innate strength they represented. Very quickly the waistcoat joined their other discarded garments, down amongst the quivering crop.

He pulled her against him again, seeking her mouth, and found her breasts beneath the loosened corset, and caressed the soft flesh with his fingers.

How shamefully sinful! How deliciously wicked!

She arched her back, pressing her breasts more firmly into his hands, reveling in his sensual touch.

He moaned at the invitation, and his fingers found her beaded nipples and caught the aching buds between thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. She let out a breathy sigh in response, and so did he.

He seemed to enjoy touching them as much as she relished having them touched. His lips increased their pressure as his tongue demanded full access to her mouth, and she welcomed it with her own, exulting in his desire and his need, and in the fact that every splendid masculine inch of him was concentrated on this one moment.

On her.

She splayed her hands over the crisp linen of his shirt and remembered what he looked like without it on. She felt a desperate urge to see his naked torso again. Touching was good, but seeing and touching would be even better.

She ran her hands down his flanks until she found the waistband of his breeches and started tugging his shirt free.

He released her from the kiss and held her away from him, looking at her in a daze. “Cassie, this is madness. Your enthusiasm is making me forget myself. To take this any further would make me as bad as Captain Wycherley.”

Her entire being cried no! They couldn’t stop now. What was she to do with this desperate, throbbing desire that had penetrated every part of her body, if not…this? She needed…something. His words and his confident touch implied he knew exactly what it was, even if she didn’t.

She tried to think of the lessons Wycherley had taught her. But couldn’t remember a cursed thing. So, she just reached forward, pulled at his shirt, and demanded, “Take it off. I want to see you again.”

His face was still, with no expression but the blazing inferno in his eyes. For a moment she was afraid of him—of his size, his power, the obvious intensity of his feelings, and his ready ability to utterly ruin her.