Haunted by the Earl's Touch - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,59
whispered, though it took all of her will.
But as he started to move, she couldn’t bear it. ‘I must not. It isn’t right.’
‘It feels right,’ he said in that deep raspy voice. Seductive. Enticing. ‘You feel right.’ He cupped her breast. ‘Perfect, in fact.’ He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘But you are right. This must wait until we are married.’
Married. But she hadn’t agreed they would be married.
He kissed her mouth. Chastely. Sweetly. Preparing to leave.
Hot with desire and hunger, her lips clung to his. Her hands grasped his shoulders, pulling him down to her, as she lifted her body to press her breasts against his wide chest. It felt so good to be close to him. To feel his strength. To feel connected.
Her thighs parted to press her mons against that beautifully heavy and hard-muscled thigh. She rocked her hips. Sweet pleasure, stole her breath and made her want more.
He broke away.
‘You must make up your mind, Mary,’ he said, his voice a low growl. ‘Marry me and finish this, or...not.’
She stared up at him. He was speaking of lust, not love. He was being forced into this by a grandfather he hated. Once they were wed, would he resent her? How could he not? But what was the alternative?
She turned her face away, trying to think, trying to make sense of it all.
The mattress shifted as he stood. The door clicked shut.
He had left without a word, quietly. Like a ghost. Did he assume she’d given her answer?
If so, what did that mean for her future?
The heat of her body slowly returned to normal and she rose from the bed, feeling the damp chill at her breast where he had suckled. The heat of embarrassment washed through her. How could she be so wanton with a man who—who might well prefer her dead?
She limped across the room and turned the key in the lock. She balanced the fire irons on the vase and stepped back. Had she forgotten to set them there last night? Had Betsy moved them? She couldn’t seem to remember.
Could she have moved them herself and wandered down the tunnel? In her sleep? Was she indeed hysterical, her fears getting the better of her once she fell asleep? Could she also have opened the window?
She swallowed the dryness in her throat. Was it her mind playing tricks? Or was she just trying to find an excuse for him, for the earl, because she didn’t want to believe he intended her harm?
Was she foolish enough to want to say yes to his offer of marriage?
She crawled back into her bed, her mind going around and around with questions she couldn’t seem to answer.
* * *
The next morning she felt so listless, so tired, she had asked Betsy to bring her breakfast in bed. She just could not face the Beresford family. Not the earl. Not the cousins. And definitely not Mrs Hampton.
Betsy returned with a tray looking as cheerful as always. ‘Eat up, miss,’ she said. ‘You’ll soon feel more the thing.’
‘Thank you.’ She glanced out of the window at a bright-blue sky. ‘The weather looks fine today.’
‘Snow’s on the way,’ Betsy said. ‘The calm before the storm.’
Mary laughed, but said nothing. She was used to local predictions of weather. They invariably turned out wrong. There seemed to be this feeling among country folk that good weather heralded bad. She tucked into the tea and toast she had requested while Betsy set out her gown.
‘His lordship is off to the mine,’ Betsy said, shaking out the creases in the blue muslin. ‘I heard him asking for that there black beast of his. Joe says it’s a vicious animal. The stable lads are all scared of it.’
Mary frowned. ‘The earl never mentioned he was going to the mine.’
‘He arranged it with the manager, Mr Trelawny, yesterday.’
And both men knew she wanted to go, too. Did the earl think she wouldn’t find out, or had he decided that she would be his wife and therefore the mine would soon be under his control? ‘Has his lordship left already?’
‘I wouldn’t know, miss.’
‘Go and find out, would you? And ask him to wait, if he hasn’t gone. Ask him to have the carriage readied for me.’ And if he had left? Might it be an opportunity for escape? ‘Betsy, if I missed him, please ask that the carriage be put to so I can follow on. He must have forgotten I was to go with him.’