Page 35 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

Blood pummeled his body that had several places on his person painfully throbbing.

She set her hands on the bed, one at each side of his head, bringing one luscious orb within suckling distance.

He grasped her nipple with his mouth and smoothed his good hand down her backside to her buttock and squeezed.

The fleshy part of her sex pulsed against his cock. His lips plopped from her breast. “Lift up.”

She did, leaving a sheen of dampness on his skin. He adjusted himself to the heart of what he craved most. Her body, a magnet to his, knew its purpose, drawing him inside her snug passage.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, dropping her mouth to his.

Fool that he wasn’t—he didn’t need to be told twice—he swept his tongue into the heat of her mouth.

His hand flattened on the silky skin of her lower back and down.

He pressed his hand against her and, following his silent guidance, she ground herself against him.

Dear God, he wouldn’t survive the precious torture.

“Harder,” he murmured.

She licked his lips while grinding herself against him, panting in his ear.

“Yes,” he growled. “Yes, darling. Harder.” If only he could flip her to her back. But it was too late. The pressure hit the point of no return and he roared, surely rendering her deaf.

Her own scream plowed through him as she pulsated against him. He lifted his hips for a last grind and felt the tear in his shoulder. “ Damn it.”

She froze. “What happened?” The breathless rush hit his cheek.

Lucius gritted his teeth, hating to tell her, knowing he had no choice.

She pushed against the mattress, straightening her elbows. “Oh, no. There’s blood.” She moved off him, his still-hard cock plopping against his abdomen. “There’s blood seeping through your bandage. If you weren’t hurt, I’d… I’d…”

“Kiss me again?”

She snorted yet her face expressed her mortification. “I can’t believe you are so careless. I must send for the doctor.”

“What? And have your father realize I’m not dead? Absolutely not.” He worked himself to sitting, wincing as he dropped his legs over the edge of the bed.

“The apothecary then. Mrs. Lovelace won’t say anything.” Meredith came to her feet and dashed across the chamber. She turned a knob he hadn’t noticed and an overhead chandelier lit the room, showcasing just how industrialized and inventive his wife truly was. “Let me see it.”

“That’s all I need. For you to faint dead away.”

“I’m not the fainting sort,” she said in a breathless huff.

An image of her in the mud with the Trenwith child speared him, backing that fact. “All right.”

She snatched up a wrap and tucked those lovely breasts from sight, then moved between his knees. Once more he was inundated with the breath of spring while the storm outside raged, mirroring the turmoil swirling within him. With dainty fingers, she unwrapped the bandages and drew in a sharp gasp.

“What?”

“It’s red. Inflamed. There’s blood too. And bruising.”

Her breath tickled his skin. Frankly, he couldn’t feel a thing. Not with the crevice of her breasts still enticing him.

“The stitch is definitely torn.” She moved back then pierced him with stern but concerned eyes. “I fear that if left alone, infection could set in.”

“Fine. If you must send for someone, send for Ashcroft. He’s proved capable enough thus far.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But put some blasted clothes on.”

*

Face warm, if not outright flaming, Meredith scooped their clothes off the floor and dumped them on the settee with the exception of her own frock.

She glanced down. She still wore her stockings and it took a moment to locate her missing chemise.

She found it on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed, then pulled it over her head.

Her corset and stays were on the floor near where Lucius sat on the edge of the bed.

Right where she’d dropped them like the wanton she apparently was.

Did she regret it?

Not if her still humming body was any indication.

The low fire in the grate, hopefully, kept him from seeing just how red her face was. Avoiding his eyes, she slipped into her corset and quickly laced it up. Stays next. She stalked to the settee, snatched up her dress, and drew it over her head.

Once she was certain she had herself under control, she went to the fire and stoked it, though it clearly needed more fuel. She glanced at her husband to find him watching her with a bemused half-smile, clutching the bandages in one hand.

Her insides melted. “Does it hurt?” she asked softly.

“Does what hurt?”

“Your shoulder. What else?”

His lip kicked up a notch, filled with innuendo.

Her face definitely flamed. She went to the door.

Lucius stood from the bed, and she was outraged.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I can’t very well cover myself up, sitting on the counterpane.”

Her eyes, of course, went straight for his…

his nether regions. Mercy . “Oh. Of course.” She found his silk banyan at the foot of the bed and held it out.

“I brought this for you last night. Mr. Ashcroft likely hasn’t arrived yet this morning.

I’ll leave a note for him. And request breakfast…

Are you hungry?” she asked as an afterthought.

“Starved.”

With a quick nod, she slipped from her chamber and ran for the main staircase without thinking.

“What the devil is going on around here?” Papa bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. “Where were you last night? I should not have to dine alone.”

“Time escaped me, Papa. My maid provided me a tray.”

“Well, I wish to speak with you.” He strode to the library, then turned back. “Immediately.”

Blast it. What was she to do now? And, what the devil was he doing up and about so early?

Bartlett peered around the edge of the staircase. “Coming, Papa.” She inclined her eyes to the floor above, hoping he could read minds. He gave her a minute nod and disappeared again with Papa none the wiser.

Meredith entered the library. Her father paced before the fire with his hands clasped at his lower back, and based on history, she prepared herself for a long lecture.

He speared her with an aggravated look. “There are some disturbing revelations regarding your behavior.”

She pulled up stunned. His audacity sent a surge of raw fury through her. “My behavior?”

“You are rarely home. You are often spotted at The Copper Kettle and cavorting with the villagers much too often.”

“I live here , Papa. And, it’s hardly mattered in the past three years with whom I’ve associated,” she ground out through a clenched jaw edged with an impatience of her own.

“I also understand that steward you’ve engaged is a total incompetent.”

“My husband has made Mr. Ashcroft’s acquaintance.

He is still earl in these parts and has approved my choice.

” She crossed her fingers at her lower back for that little stretch of truth.

“Again, not your concern.” A sudden thought flashed through her and she frowned.

“I take it Mr. Thornfield is the source of your information?”

“As a matter of fact, he is. I approved the steward he originally recommended. Apparently, you turned your nose up to his suggestion.”

“First of all, Mr. Thornfield has no notion of Mr. Ashcroft’s competence. Secondly, Mr. Thornfield’s recommendation was unavailable and Mr. Ashcroft was.”

“Thornfield told me he offered to assist you until Underhill made it to Cornwall.”

“And, I made the decision to turn down his offer.”

“Well, now that I’m here, we can send for Underhill.” He spoke as if his word settled the matter.

“That’s very generous of you, Papa, but I’m perfectly satisfied with Mr. Ashcroft. I have no intention of retaining this Underhill.”

“I have a reputation to maintain, young lady. Meddling in village matters does not look good. Your position requires dignity. You have a duty to me—er, the earl.”

His displeasure had her grinding her teeth. How was one supposed to respond to such blatant… manipulation. He was trying to manipulate her. There was also an undercurrent of something else. Fear of losing control. Yes. Her father was obsessive when it came to loyalty.

“Secure an introduction with your Mr. Ashcroft. I wish to make his acquaintance.”

“What!” His arrogance floored her. Meredith snapped her fallen jaw shut and breathed in through her nose, striving to remain calm.

Yet, defying him outright was dangerous.

“It occurs to me you have lost track of your own entailments, Papa,” she said mildly.

“Perlsea belongs to Pender not Rathbourne.”

The surprise on his face shifted to mottled fury. “You forget to whom you are speaking, my daughter.” A sudden blast of ice rent the air. She glanced around, surprised the room hadn’t been encased in a sudden freeze, complete with icicles and snow-covered tundra, due to his voice alone.

An image of his hand squeezing her throat had her splaying a hand on her sternum. Fear, a ripple of glacial waves, pebbled her skin. But there was no turning back. From the corner of her eye, she attempted to assess the library for a weapon of some sort. He blocked the fireplace poker.

Wits. She had wits. A small thread dangled before her, she tugged. “Ah, are you… are you threatened by my independence, Papa?” she asked with a small smile she prayed conveyed a confidence that was as flimsy as an ocean wave.

His lips tightened and he started in her direction.

A fissure of panic fluttered in her stomach.

The door opened and help entered in the form of Mrs. Verity rolling in a cart with the tea service.

“Mornin’, Yer Grace. Milady.” Her hawklike gaze flickered between Meredith and her father. “Beggin’ yer pardon, milady, there’s been an accident. It’s Agnes.”

Meredith’s head whipped around. “Heavens.”

“Who’s Agnes?” the duke demanded.

“My maid. Enjoy your tea, Papa. I must see to her.” She strode to the door.

“Now, just one damned minute,” he thundered.

“Later, Papa. And do not bother engaging your Mr. Underhill. It will be all for naught.” She stole from the library into the large entry hall and, for the first time since she’d been accosted by the duke, pulled in a breath.

She inhaled deeply and speared Mrs. Verity with a sharp look. “What happened? Where is she?”

Mrs. Verity glanced over her shoulder where she’d closed the door behind her own exit. “She’s fine. I feared fer yer safety. The steward’s made his way to the master suites.”

Meredith let out her breath. “That was quite risky of you, Mrs. Verity. If my father gets wind—”

“Bah. He don’t scare me none. Ye best see wot that Mr. Ashcroft is up to, milady.”

“Oh, right.” Meredith ran for the stairs. She also glanced at the library door then to Mrs. Verity. “Thank you,” she said softly. But the housekeeper was already bustling away.