Page 54 of Unmasking the Earl

His head hung over her, dark hair flopping over his brow, concealing his face, and she reached for him, clutching at his back, reveling in the feel of the powerful muscles working as he moved harder and faster, harder and faster.

Then came a moment of absolute stillness. He arched his back and shivered inside her, and she pushed down, hard, and suddenly felt herself open like a flower to the sun. Her flesh blossomed, and she rose above herself to ecstasy, and the waves of pleasure washed over her again and again and again.

He gave a soft, strangled cry, and leaned down, his hair softly grazing her face, and kissed her so tenderly, so delicately, she thought she might weep with joy.

He was still inside her. There was no discomfort, only a blissful feeling of satiation, fulfillment, completeness. She wanted to lie like this, with him filling her, holding her as if he loved her, forever.

When he moved to pull out, she mewed in disappointment, but he caressed and soothed her, rolling onto his back and cradling her against his side where she fitted perfectly, her head on the pillowed muscle of his shoulder. He gazed up at the sky and the wheat stalks, and she drank in the beauty of him—the noble profile, the firm, sensuous mouth which had given her such pleasure, the long lashes that rested against the high cheekbones.

He was beyond comparison. She could not have asked for more. She could not have given more. It was perfect. They were perfect.

“Ned?”

He turned his head and kissed her on the forehead. “Yes, my darling?”

“Was that good?”

“Unsurpassable. For me, at least.” He laughed. “But I shall do my utmost to increase your pleasure, next time.”

There was going to be a next time? The thought warmed her. She said, “I like it when you laugh. I like it when you smile.”

“You have given me a good deal to smile about, Miss Cassandra Blythe.”

He reached across and pulled her on top of his naked body, his half-erect manhood pressing against her bare abdomen. It was the most erotic feeling— she could so easily be aroused all over again.

The sound of a goat bleating brought her suddenly back down to earth. Here she was, lying naked in the middle of a field with her lover—who just happened to be an earl—and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. Could the day get any stranger?

And what, if anything, was going to be the outcome of this extraordinary lapse of self-control?

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ned hated to leave this idyllic place with this wonderful woman, but alas, it was time. Cassie was fully dressed and looking breathtakingly lovely, her eyes shining, her lips bruised from his kisses, and her cheeks stained pink from their lovemaking.

He rescued her bonnet and rolled it between his hands, pressing it back into shape. “I’m sorry,” he said, returning it to its accustomed place on her head. “We seem to have crushed it at some point.”

He tied the ribbons, smiling down at her, struggling to control his still-rampant lust and remember the kind of behavior expected of a gentleman.

“There. Back to normal,” he said, giving her bonnet a final adjustment. He smiled again because it seemed the right thing to do, and looked around him. “I’m quite certain no one has seen us, except that goat peering through the hedge.”

She followed the direction of his gaze, laughed softly, and looked up at him, waiting.

Taking her hand in his, he placed it on his arm. They must carry on with their errand as intended, but slowly, giving their aroused bodies time to calm down before meeting the old woman. And allowing his tormented mind time to find the right words to ensure that Cassie would marry him.

For, of course, they must marry after this. There was no question of anything else. He assumed she knew this, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to raise the subject.

What was he afraid of, rejection? Because of Carnforth? How could she reject Ned after what they had just done? It would be madness. She was his now, whether she liked it or not. Though, he sincerely hoped she liked it.

But he couldn’t find the right words to say to her. To banish forever her stubborn clinging to the childhood tendre she had so clearly outgrown. But how to convince her of that? Or would she even need convincing? His thoughts were in such turmoil, all he could manage were banal pleasantries as they strolled along the path.

“Are you satisfied now that any man with eyes in his head must see you as a woman?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh yes.”

“I trust you no longer feel the need for Wycherley’s lessons?”

She gave a light laugh. “Are you fishing for compliments, Ned? Do you wish me to award you a golden apple so you can be sure you are the better tutor?”

He frowned. Not the response he’d hoped for. She didn’t seem the least bit worried that he’d essentially ruined her. “Perhaps I am that vain. I don’t know. I just hope you realize now that Carnforth is not the only man who can make you happy.”