The Earl with the Secret Tattoo Page 6

  But he did ask for her bonnet.

  “Of course.” When she removed it, she looked more vulnerable than ever. Her hair fell over her shoulder in a braid, and it was slightly mussed—as if she’d run to his house straight from her bed.

  Good Lord. What had happened? “Let me get you a chair,” he said. “A glass of ratafia. Something.”

  “A chair would be lovely. And perhaps a fire, if you still have one. And I’ll say no to the ratafia, but thank you.”

  He took her arm, and she didn’t object. Michael was still at the top of the stairs.

  “A fire, Michael,” said James. “In the library. And some tea, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Michael hastened down the stairs, a jacket thrown over his nightdress.

  James paused to let the servant pass ahead of them. When they got to the library, the footman was already crouching at the hearth, fanning the embers and adding coal.

  Lady Eleanor sank into the depths of the most comfortable chair in the room and placed her reticule on a small table at her elbow.

  Michael left for the tea, and she looked up at James with those expressive brown eyes.

  “I’m all right now,” she said—his pulse picked up its tempo at the word now—“but a man came to my room tonight and held a knife to my throat—”

  “Good God.” James sank to his knees and gripped her hands. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She nodded. “I really am.”

  “Tell me what this man looked like.” A desire to kill filled him, hot and intense. “Perhaps he hasn’t gotten far. I’ll make sure he never hurts you again.”

  Her mouth tipped up in a small, grateful smile. “You’re very kind. But it’s too late for that. He looked like a black shadow to me, and he’s long gone.” She withdrew her hands from his, and it was like losing his favorite Christmas gift only moments after receiving it. “But there’s another way you can assist me.”

  “Tell me.” Spoiled by the feel of her palm in his, he dared to take her right hand again. When he raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles, he lingered there far too long.

  Her face was flushed, her pupils wide and black. “I need answers, Lord Tumbridge,” she said in a breathy but determined voice. “I don’t know where else to turn. You have me at your mercy. It’s a place I never wanted to be, as you well know.”

  “You’ve nothing to fear from me, my lady. I’m at your service.” His tone was gruff, and it wasn’t simply desire that made it so.

  It was astonishment.

  His love for her wasn’t a feeling. It was a fact. The same way the sun’s rising, the blue of the sky, and the changing of the seasons were. He couldn’t wish it away, even had he’d wanted to.

  “You’re not the same Lord Tumbridge I usually know,” she whispered. “Right now you’re more like him—the man with the secret tattoo.”

  James dropped back onto the rug, his hands stretched out behind him. “Sometimes something feels fated,” he said. “I tried very hard not to let you know the truth, but the truth will out when it must out. And in our case, I think I’ve lost control of when that will be.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He gave a soft laugh. “You trusted me tonight, and so now I’m going to trust you.” He paused a moment, wondering how it would feel to tell someone outside the Brotherhood the truth of his secret life. “I’m not that cold, aloof man you see, the one you believe delights in ruining your life.”

  Her eyes widened. “Who are you, then? I think I caught a glimpse of you on the steps at the Brady mansion. I hope you are that man. And I hope…you’re still the man who rode up and saved us from those robbers.”

  He stared at her a very long time. “I’m both,” he said, and prayed she believed him.

  But her eyes registered confusion. “Then why were you kissing Clare? Why do you present yourself as a useless man of leisure? And why have you meddled in my affairs so egregiously?”

  “That man,” he said quietly, “is an illusion necessary for my job—my mission, really. And Lady Eleanor, you must believe me when I say it’s an honorable one. That mission will end soon, I believe. And when it does, I’ll be ready to move on.”

  “This is all very hard to take in,” she whispered.

  “I’m sure it is.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “But it’s imperative we now talk about you. Tell me more of what happened tonight.”

  Slowly, haltingly, she related to him every harrowing detail of her evening.

  The fury in him grew more entrenched. “I can’t allow you to go back.”

  “Let’s not speak of that right now.” Her mouth was firm, her gaze resolute. “I need to know if you were after Lord Westdale’s talisman that day you came upon us being robbed. I must know.”

  “I did want the talisman, yes,” James confessed. “But then I found out others were after it as well. I followed those thugs with the intention of disbanding them before they got to you. But I was too late.”

  “Would you have set upon us, as well, had they not been there first?”

  “I had every intention of stopping the boys’ carriage and politely requesting the talisman.

  Yes.”

  “So you really were a robber.” She sounded horribly disappointed.

  He reached for her hand and held it tight. It was becoming a delicious habit. “I never would have allowed the distressing events that happened to you that day to occur. I’d have been brief, polite, but demanding. But when I saw how traumatized all of you were, I couldn’t do it.”

  He could tell she was listening intently as she watched the flickering flames of the fire.

  “It was the one time that I truly failed in my mission.” Her fingers felt small and delicate in his grip, the French lace at her cuffs a tantalizing reminder of her femininity. “But when I saw you”—she tore her gaze away from the hearth and looked at him—“when I saw you running from the girls’ carriage, your hair flying out behind you, your face determined to save the day and get that pistol from beneath the horses’ hooves—” He gave a short laugh. “—something twisted in my heart. I knew instinctively that the best thing to do at that point was be a hero to you, that brave young girl throwing caution to the wind. And to your friends. Not worry about the talisman. Retrieving it would have to wait.”

  Michael came in with the tea, and Eleanor thanked him profusely before he left. Without demurring, she poured James a cup in silence and then one for herself, the perfect lady of the house despite her irregular choice of attire.

  “Would you care for a little brandy in yours?” James reached for a decanter on a nearby shelf. “It might help.”

  “Why not?” She gave a shaky laugh.

  He poured a dollop into her cup. Together, they sat a few minutes sipping their tea, he at her feet, both of them facing the fire—and dare he think it?—enjoying each other’s company.

  It was almost too much to bear, knowing he could turn, push the fabric of her cape and night rail up her leg, and press a kiss to her calf—she was that close. That tempting.

  He may have been imagining it, but as the seconds passed, the ambiance went from cozy to tantalizingly intimate.

  “Eleanor—,” he said without looking at her.

  “Yes?”

  He had to tell her how much he longed to kiss her. But it would require turning. Looking directly at her.

  Speaking the truth.

  From his heart.

  He swiveled his shoulders. “There’s something I must tell you—”

  “I, too,” she said into the charged atmosphere, and put her cup and saucer on the nearby tea tray. “I have the talisman.”

  All his planned words slipped away.

  “Do you?” He heard the croak in his throat.

  “Does it mean that much?” she whispered.

  “Yes. You don’t know how much.” But not as much as she did. Nothing mattered as much as she did.

  She retrieved the primitive co
pper circle from her reticule and handed it to him. When their fingers touched, they both paused.

  Did she feel it, too? That there was something between them? Something momentous, even vital?

  “I hope it’s what you need,” she said. “For your long-delayed mission.”

  “It is,” he said. “Thank you.”

  The crackle of the fire in the hearth was the only sound in the room. Her expression was vulnerable. Brave. Honest. And she was beautiful because of who she was, he thought—even apart from the fact that she was a classic English rose.

  Something powerful and mysterious—something that almost frightened him—pulled him toward her.

  She had it all wrong. Dear God, he was at her mercy. Love owned him. And not the other way around.

  Slowly, gently, he laid a kiss on her lips.

  And it was like coming home. He’d never felt so moved by a simple kiss, nor by the hunger he felt to be near her—this woman. No other.

  She let him caress her mouth with his own, part the seam of her lips with his tongue. He sensed her shyness. But then she was kissing him back—with warmth and passion—their hands gripping tightly, their tongues colliding as each explored each other.

  James reeled with pleasure, drunk with the knowledge that he’d move heaven and earth to make her his own.

  If she’d ever have him.

  If she ever would.

  Still kneeling, he pulled back, not wanting to take advantage of her riled state and afraid to build up his own hopes. Those, he knew, he couldn’t have—not so long as his mission in the Brotherhood went unfulfilled. And even if he were to succeed, who was he to hope when he knew all too well how easily tragedy could carry the day?

  But she reached out.

  Touched his forearm.

  Laid her hand on it.

  He looked down at that sweet hand enveloped in lace and then back up at her.

  “I—,” she whispered. And then swallowed.

  “You don’t need to say another word.” He stood and drew her hand up so that she was forced to stand, too.

  And then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her the way he’d always wanted to, the full length of her soft, rounded body pressed against him. “You’re exquisite,” he said against her mouth.

  She gave a little moan in her throat and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

  But very gently, he pulled them down. “Let me remove your cape. Please.”

  She cast her eyes to the floor. “Very well,” she said, her cheeks pink. “I’d like that.” And when she looked up at him, he saw that she desired him as much as he did her.

  Good God, he was a lucky man. There was no luckier man on earth.

  With careful fingers, he pulled the cape from her shoulders and cast it onto a nearby sofa.

  She stood before him, her body outlined by the light of the fire. He saw the dusky rose of her nipples beneath her night rail. And when he glanced farther down to bask in her beauty, he caught a glimpse of a darker shadow between her legs.

  He basked in the sight of her, queenly yet unguarded, and lifted her in one swift, sure motion to kiss her madly.

  Ahh, how perfectly she fit in the crook of his arm!

  Somehow, without looking, he managed to back up against the seat cushion of the chair she’d only just occupied and lower himself into it. All the while, their lips never came unlocked. She was snug in his embrace, where he wanted her to be, her soft, pliant breasts pressed against his chest, her fingers tangled in his hair.

  His hand caressed the curves that made up her hourglass figure, lingering at her waist and inching up until his thumb brushed lazily across the underside of her left breast.

  Her heard her intake of breath and ceased his explorations.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered. Looking straight into his eyes, she put her hand over his and moved it to lie directly over her heart.

  He felt it beating wildly beneath his palm. His was just as fast, of course, and it didn’t help that she was sitting directly on top of his erection, her lush weight teasing him every time she moved even a fraction of an inch.

  He cupped her breast through the thin muslin. “Perfection,” he murmured back, and stroked her nipple.

  She arched into him, their kisses growing more heated, and he slipped his hand under her gown and caressed her calf. When his palm moved to stroke her thigh, she stopped kissing him a moment and looked up at him. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said. “Especially not with Baron Easley.”

  James laughed. “I knew Clare was blowing smoke. But I quite liked imagining you teasing the baron.”

  “I knew it!” she cried. “I could see it in your eyes.”

  He kissed her—the most shameless kiss he’d given her yet. “You’re the only woman I want to kiss, Lady Eleanor Gibbs. The one and only. And I don’t want any other man enjoying that privilege.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, a warm smile on her lips. “I like this kissing business very much.”

  “Do you?” His voice was husky; he was barely in control. But control he must maintain, even as his fingers slid to touch the warm, wet haven between her thighs.

  She slowed her kissing then and moaned against his jaw. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  He teased the small nubbin of flesh he found in the midst of her curls with his thumb.

  “Oh, my,” she said again, a look of wonder on her face.

  The longer he explored, the more her head fell back—an inch at a time, seemingly against her will—against the chair arm. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her lips parted.

  James ran his tongue over the hollow at the base of her neck while playing with her womanly core, his fingers slipping in and out of her while his thumb continued its sensual ministrations.

  “Relax,” he said. “Simply…let go.”

  And she did. Moments later, she cried out, her back arched like a bow, her slick femininity pulsing around his fingers, all while he marveled at her unbridled beauty.

  When she sank back down, her cheeks were rosy and her eyelids heavy. Much to his delight, she gave a great sigh, as if she’d been on a long, wondrous journey and was reluctant to return.

  And then she sat up, gently took his face in both her hands, and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “I didn’t know it, but that’s just what I needed.”

  He chuckled. “I’m glad. I want to do it again.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I can’t. Not now. You need to look at the talisman.”

  She was right, of course. It was a damned shame she was, but she was correct, nonetheless. And because he loved her and wanted to keep her safe, he ignored the throbbing in his loins, stood with her still cradled in his arms, and put her down.

  “All right, then,” he said, aching for her. “I’ll look at the talisman.”

  <#>

  You did the right thing, a breathless Eleanor told herself, and watched the earl examine the copper token closely. On both counts. Not just about the talisman but about the kiss—and about what happened afterwards.

  Oh, the afterward!

  It was her very first encounter with a man…and not a boy.

  She’d had her share of youthful tendres—a few stolen kisses behind the rosebushes or a shady tree—but never before had she experienced something that made her feel as if she’d lost control, was no longer directing her own fate but was instead being whisked away by a powerful force that defied logic and time.

  Something that was eternal and mysterious and much bigger than herself.

  It frightened her. It frightened her so much, she sat primly with her hands laced and her heart leaping willy-nilly within her chest, like a playful colt.

  “This is it,” Lord Tumbridge murmured. “This is what we need.”

  “For what?” she managed to say. She’d forgotten all about…everything. She needed her head back. But it was difficult when she was dealing with the man who’d brought her to th
e greatest pleasure she’d ever known.

  He looked down at her, his expression keen with purpose, concern, and something else—something warm and wonderful that made her lace her fingers even tighter even as she longed to lean forward and kiss him again.

  “I don’t want to tell you tonight,” he said. “You’ve already been through enough. But I will, eventually. I promise. Meanwhile, you’ll have to stay here.”

  “Here? I can’t do that.”

  “You’ll have to trust me. You can’t go back.”

  “Please—before you start making outrageous plans, I need to hear the truth. I can bear it, whatever you have to say. Tell me now. You owe me that.”

  And it will distract me. It will distract me from how much I want to land in your lap again and return to what we were doing before.

  “Lady Eleanor, believe me, it’s much too—”

  “Enough, Lord Tumbridge. Tell me.”

  “Very well.” He paused. “It won’t be easy.”

  “Lord Tumbridge.”

  “As you wish, my lady. But I’ll need you to take a seat again.”

  “Very well,” she said, feeling impatient as she did so.

  The earl fixed his gaze on hers. “The talisman you brought me is what was needed to bring down the man we believe responsible for the death of several people doing their duty to the Crown, his last victim being—” He paused again, looking terribly grim.

  “Who?” She was getting impatient now.

  He sighed and held her gaze. “Your father.”

  “My—my father?”

  “Yes.”

  Tears blurred her vision. She’d gone from utter fright to absolute happiness and was now in the depths of misery and shock.

  “Lady Eleanor, I’m so sorry.” Lord Tumbridge’s expression was anguished when he handed her a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket.

  She gave a little sob and accepted it. “I—I thought he’d died in his sleep.” She wiped her eyes with the linen square. “Oh, Papa. You poor, poor man.”

  And she began to cry in earnest, thinking of all that was wrong with the world.

  Lord Tumbridge hovered over her and smoothed her hair back from her eyes while she cried. “I knew it was too much.”