Page 34 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

Soft hair tickled his nose. He sneezed, a mechanism that jarred his wrapped shoulder and had him gasping. His other arm was trapped beneath the source and started to tingle. He forced his eyes open.

Meredith’s head lay on his good shoulder. Dark lashes veiled her closed eyes in a peaceful sleep. His sneeze hadn’t even disturbed her. He closed his eyes again and laid his lips against the petal-soft skin of her forehead. Breathed her into his soul.

This.

Her.

It— she —felt… right.

Seconds later, she stirred. Her head fell back and sleepy moss-green eyes lifted, meeting his.

“Oh.” There was something a little distant about her as her gaze gained focus.

She scrambled back nearly smacking his nose with her head.

“I thought only to close my eyes for a minute.” The husky tone her voice took on stiffened his morning erection to painful intensity.

She moved off his arm, sitting up in the massive bed and shoving her disheveled hair from her face.

The tingling in his arm intensified as the blood rushed in.

Alas, it took his mind off the other aching parts of him…

He flexed his fingers. “Yet, it’s morning,” he groused with a wry turn of his lips.

Her legs fell over the side of the bed, but he snatched her hand before she could move out of his reach.

“What is it?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing.” Her back straightened with the deep breath she took in then she turned to him with an overbright smile. “Tea? I think we could do with some tea.”

He didn’t buy it for a moment and tugged her back to him. She landed with a thunk against his side, her face near his. Better than that, her lips within reaching distance. “You are truly the most stubborn woman I’ve ever encountered.”

“Entirely a product of your own making, my lord,” she said on a breathless huff. “For three years, I’ve had naught but my own assurances to see me through. Of course, I did have Mr. Ashcroft’s assistance.”

“I’ve heard just about enough of Ashcroft’s exemplary virtues.”

Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “Oh?” she challenged.

“You minx,” he growled, taking her mouth, leaving nothing behind.

She froze but he didn’t relent. He brushed her lips with his, until the battle catapulted in his favor—as he knew it would—and he slid into the velvet confines of her mouth and her tongue danced with his.

This old Keep, his young bride, the low lighting of the early morn, the storm outside raging, all components weaving him into a spell nothing short of black magic.

Good ol’ Cornwall . He stroked; she reciprocated. She suckled; he returned the favor. Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape. His erection grew tighter, harder.

Lucius licked her lips and dove back inside for more, his good arm tightening her to his torso. There was no pain in his shoulder. Or if there was, it was muted by the pleasure of having her close.

She drew back. “All right, I promise not to extoll another single noble trait of Mr. Ashcroft’s sterling character.”

“Is that so?”

“I solemnly vow.”

A single noble trait … The words struck Lucius with the tines of a sharply pointed fork.

“Lucius?”

He blinked, bringing him back as quickly as his mind had departed. The concern in her eyes clawed at his heart. “I’m good.” His voice came out a low gravel he barely recognized.

She moved carefully. “Shouldn’t we rise?”

He raked a gaze over her then at the tented coverlet. “I find I require a bit more time in bed.”

“Is that so?” she whispered.

It was the loveliest sound in the world. “I’ll let you rest.”

“I don’t need rest, love. Just you.” God, for the use of both arms. He shifted slightly, watching her, knowing his gaze lingered too long, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her upturned face.

She bit her lip.

He groaned and pulled her back in for more.

The softness of her lips, her upper arm, the subtle fragrance of lavender—mingling with the violet she usually wore.

If ever there was a moment he could consider heavenly for the least heavenly person ever, this was it.

“Meredith,” he whispered. He leaned away and looked into eyes filled with a sense of guarded… dare he say—hope?

The fire in the grate was too low to disguise the high points of color in her cheeks. And it certainly failed hiding the erection still swelling beneath the coverlet.

Her fingers grazed his waist where the edge of the linen bedsheet had slid and flattened against the blazing heat of his flesh. He clenched his jaw. Hot breath against his cheek ignited his groin and he couldn’t hold back a hiss.

Her head snapped back, her eyes wide, dark and unfathomable, within the confines of an intimacy he couldn’t remember ever experiencing. She licked her lips and lowered her gaze to his straining arousal.

In a brazen move that left him speechless, she lifted the cover away. “I, um, don’t suppose I could touch it…” The husky tonality prickled his flesh.

Truly ? “At will,” he gritted out.

Again, she licked her lips, and he could almost feel them on the inferno of his skin. With the tip of one finger, she traced the length of him, back and forth until he thought he would go mad, but he allowed her to play. He could endure anything but her turning away at this moment.

“How do you live with this thing in your breeches? Or ride a horse? It seems quite impractical,” she said softly.

“Admittedly, it can be most inconvenient,” he growled. “But you are in the unique position to do something about it.”

“Me?” Her low tone almost undid him.

“Yes,” he croaked out.

Her eyes took on that mischievous glint he was beginning to recognize. One she was mastering with diabolical precision and designed—in his estimation—to cause him much suffering. That traveling finger found its way to the tender skin at the base of his staff and he quivered beneath the touch.

But he had his own brand of daring and couldn’t resist seeing if she was up for the challenge. “Your breath is so hot, I’m likely to melt beneath any touch.”

She froze. Then her head tilted. “Touch?” The wisp of breath went straight to his blood.

“Touch,” he confirmed in a whisper.

“You mean like this?” Her tongue lashed against his length. Molten lava. This was how Pompeii had disintegrated under the blast of Mt. Vesuvius. He knew because he’d toured the ruins.

A low moan escaped him.

“You appear to be holding up,” she said.

“Do I?” He pushed his fingers through her hair, sending pins flying, then cupped her head with his palm. The effort to keep from pulling her face into his groin had sweat popping out along the hairline. “Meredith.”

Her lips touched the tip of his cock and his head fell back against the pillow.

Lucius laid his good arm over his eyes and listened to the clothes she’d slept in rustling. He pictured her throwing one leg over his hips and riding him into oblivion.

The mattress shifted and her finger traced his bottom lip.

“If this is all it takes to kill you…” she said softly.

The melodic tone of her voice was velvet on his skin.

Her fingers delivered their feathered touch along his jawline and down the column of his neck.

She traced the edge of his bandage. “Are you in pain? It’s obvious any extraneous activity is beyond your capability. ”

Lucius removed his arm, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her on top of him. “You really think so?”

“Mr. Ashcroft had to stitch you up, sir. It would be beyond bad etiquette to undo his handiwork.”

“Take off your clothes and I’ll show you just how polite we can be to your Mr. Ashcroft.”

“Lucius—”

“More so when you say my name so breathlessly and tenderly like that.”

Her lips formed a moue, but curiosity sparkled in her eyes. Slowly, she moved from the bed to stand beside it. To his shock and delight—watching her through a slitted gaze—she worked the buttons from the modest scooped neck of that horrid wool dress.

“What the devil are you wearing, anyway?”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t you start. I’ve already been chastised for not donning the latest Paris fashions from my father. I’ll not hear it from you as well.”

“By all means,” he said quickly, through a muffled laugh. “As long as you continue on your current path, my lips are sealed.”

“Yet I still hear you talking.”

He didn’t bother responding, just gave a small smile, awaiting the rest of the show of which she might generously grace him.

The wool frock loosened, hiding her luscious shape as she worked the buttons free, then parted, exposing an older style corset. An abomination of which he’d never seen. It was grayish in color, and the only frills it sported was a tiny black bow near the crevice of her breasts. He swallowed hard.

Two petticoats fell away next. She shimmied out of the mounds of fabric. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, she released the ribbon of her corset. Dear God, though impossible to fathom, he grew even harder.

“Do you require assistance?” he growled.

She smiled. It resembled a knowing feline who’d lapped up all the cream. “I do not.” The corset fell away, leaving her sheer chemise teasing him with the shadow of dusty nipples.

“You are killing me,” he said. “Come here.”

“But my stockings…”

“Leave them. I can’t wait. Not any longer.”

She crawled on the bed.

“Straddle me.”

She threw one leg over his hips. “Like this?”

“Exactly like this,” he murmured. He set his palm on the top of her thigh. The ties of her garters tickled his legs. “Pull off your chemise.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Are you certain this is wise?”

“Oh, yes.” The guttural sound rumbled up his chest.

She clutched the soft material between her fingers and slowly tugged it over her head.

Small, rounded breasts beckoned for his taste. His mouth watered.

“Lean forward,” he whispered. “I can’t reach you from here.”