Page 10 of Dare to Tempt an Earl This Spring (Wedding Fever #1)

T homas reclined, frozen, the lingering heat of her kiss still burning on his lips. She had taken control in a way he hadn’t anticipated, leaving him both dazed and befuddled. He was a man accustomed to dictating the pace, always holding the reins, yet with her, everything shifted. Paisley had once viciously tugged at his control, making him fight to keep it, but with her, it was different.

Every look, every touch, subtly pulled at his grip, and he felt as though he was losing ground in a battle he hadn’t realized he was engaged in. Desire warred with his need for dictating the pace of his life, and he struggled to reconcile the man he thought he was with the one who was slowly unraveling under her influence.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” Ashley asked, tucking her blonde tresses behind her ears and seemingly trying to catch her breath as she settled into the bed of hay again. Hell, he could still feel her pressed up against him. What a heavenly feeling.

Where did he learn to kiss like that?

Did one learn this?

His gaze drifted down to her lips, still slightly parted from the kiss, and he had to stop himself from leaning in again. Instead, he reached out, almost absentmindedly, and pulled one of those loose tresses of hair back out from behind her ear. He let it fall, then ran his fingers through it, stroking a silky tendril. It was impossibly soft, like a foal’s first tufts of mane, and she smelled of crisp bloom and fresh morning dew, a scent that seemed to wrap around him, intoxicating his senses.

“Why do I feel I shall regret answering that question?” he finally replied, stretching out his legs to find a more comfortable position.

She raised an eyebrow at him, her lips quirking into a small smile. “You think I can’t handle hearing how many women my betrothed has kissed? Do you want my number?”

Her words hit him like a blow.

His blood curdled at the thought of her kissing another man. Jealousy, sharp and immediate, surged within him. He tried to tamp it down, but it lingered, gnawing at his insides. The idea of Ashley kissing someone else—anyone else—was unbearable. Yes. He wanted her number, every detail, every name, so he could snuff them out of existence.

Did he want to know? Yes. “No.” He scowled. “How many men have you kissed?”

Her smile only grew.

Come to think of it, he thought bitterly, given her boldness and how she kissed him, he could not have been her first.

“I have kissed only one man the way I’ve kissed you.”

He stilled. He was her first? A tightness in his chest that he hadn’t realized he was holding onto eased, and he silently cursed himself for caring. Of course, he cared. How could he not? His whole body hummed with want for her. He wanted nothing more than to lay her down in the hay, kiss every inch of her, and rip her bodice off with his teeth. His hands clenched into fists, grasping the brittle blades of hay beneath him. Just like his restraint, they cracked and crumbled under the pressure.

“What about you?” Ashley asked, her smile never faltering. There was a lightness in her tone, as though she already knew the answer but was merely curious how he would respond.

He grunted, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

The question irked him, not because he was ashamed of his past, but because, suddenly, he found himself wanting her to believe she was different from any other. That she meant more. But to admit that… He wasn’t sure he was ready to admit that to himself, let alone to her. This certainly wasn’t the perfect moment for such an admission.

“What man keeps count?” he practically grumbled.

Ashley laughed, the sound bright and infectious, filling the small space between them with warmth. It disarmed him in a way that nothing else could.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” She nudged him playfully with her foot. “But I suppose that’s part of your charm.”

Charm.

He felt he had less charm than a rock, hard as he was. But the fact that she said he had charm made him ridiculously pleased. “It’s hot in here,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling off his boots. “Time to settle down.” Before he truly crossed a line he’d rather cross at home.

“Ah, yes, sleeping together. In a bed of hay. Here.”

Thomas chuckled, taking his shirt off.

“Why are you taking off your shirt?”

He caught her gaze flicker to his chest, and he felt a surge of confidence. “Because I turn into a furnace at night.”

“Is that really the reason?” Her disbelief made him laugh.

He flexed his pecs.

She laughed, settling into her side of the bed. “I do believe you are right; we should turn in for the night.”

“You don’t have any curiosity?”

“Curiosity over…?”

He scooted forward and took her hand. She let him guide her over his chest. He knew he was in good shape—he spent so much time outside riding, and he’d always had to use his strength for his horses. “This?”

She blinked, then dug her fingers in his flesh, scoffing lightly. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Never.”

Her brow shot upward. “ Never? ”

Thomas cleared his throat and allowed her hand to fall away. “Not tonight.” Damn it, what the hell was he doing?

Her gaze fell to his chest again. “By the by, why are your muscles so visible?”

“Strain makes them bulky.”

She shot him a deadpan look. “Strain?”

He laughed. “I am jesting.” It was his attempt to block the temptation of the moment. He didn’t just want to lose himself in her; he wanted to discover who they could be together, outside of the confines of this hasty marriage that he did not want to be of convenience. He still wanted love. Hers. It was a bold notion, a reckless one, but he still felt a thrill of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, they could rewrite not just the rules.

But everything.

*

Ashley jerked as their carriage hit another rock on the road.

She hadn’t slept a wink last night. How could she, when the man—her enemy with ambiguously blurred lines—held her, his hard, unforgettably chiseled—and thoroughly naked—chest pressed up against her back. But not only that, rather a certain hardness that sprang forth just as sleep was about to claim her, only to banish any hope of rest altogether.

And she had never thought she’d love hay.

She had welcomed the prickly straw poking through the blanket, a distraction from the temptation to lean into that warm, solid form behind her. Otherwise, she might have leaned into that chest. Even worse, a man she had never thought would be a master at flirtation. And speaking about flirtation, she’d grossly underestimated the degree to which he’d take it.

Jordan had never taken a kiss that far. He had always preferred to press his lips to her cheek or forehead, and she had never questioned it. And she had never been overcome with a sense of boldness with him. It hadn’t been necessary.

Right?

She kept her eyes shut, refusing to look at the tempting devil.

Last night had put so much in perspective.

He was good .

So good.

At bewildering a woman’s mind.

She had to be more careful if she wanted to stay in control of her plan of retribution. She couldn’t allow it to become an afterthought, like having her mind trail all the paths of how they were different.

He was—could she admit it?—a bit handsomer than Jordan, a bit taller, and a bit sturdier. His smile was certainly brighter and made his eyes sparkle, even in the dim light.

No.

Let’s stop the comparison there.

What she couldn’t stop was the undeniable seed that had taken root in her mind, sprouting and blooming with every passing moment. The more time went by, the more Jordan’s once vibrant, laughing face faded. Merely faded.

She patted her chest for the brooch he gifted her and came off short.

The brooch!

Oh. She glanced at the simple baluster of the hayloft. She had attached it to the coat she’d carelessly draped over one of the wooden beams. But how had she had forgotten about the trinket? She hadn’t thought of it, nor touched it, for a long time.

What a confounding predicament!

What had once been clear and sharp had become blurred, distorted—until only a vague impression of the man she once thought was her whole world remained.

She peeked at Linsey.

His brows were scrunched as he stared out of the window.

Her slippered foot nudged closer, tapping his boot.

She stilled, waiting.

He turned slowly, eyes flicking down to her foot, then back up to meet her gaze. He smiled, and she smiled back. His smiles were so frustratingly infectious!

“You slept quite deeply last night.”

He blinked twice. “You did not?”

“I kicked you; you didn’t wake.”

“You did not.”

This man! “So, you were also awake?”

“Wild dreams couldn’t pull me under.”

Sturdy liar. He snored. Urgh, but even those snores sounded—she wanted to say seductive, but that wasn’t quite the word. Snores weren’t seductive! But the man snoring and the boyish face he had when he was relaxed tugged at her heart.

Was she going crazy?

Those snores felt like a breeze against her back. Except that she didn’t even have a cat! Why did it sound like a lion’s purr?

And then…and then! This morning he’d acted as though nothing had happened! As though they hadn’t had a whirlwind flirtation filled with the bulge in his breeches he could hide as much as the Tower of London.

Don’t think about it.

Ashley put her hands on her cheeks, hoping she didn’t blush. Thomas had woken up so handsomely disheveled—glistening muscles on display—rubbed his hands through his hair, and pulled on a shirt as though a new day had dawned without the memories of the previous one.

As dawn’s gentle light seeped into the hayloft, Ashley shivered when the cool morning air replaced the comforting warmth of the night—the comforting warmth of the handsome blond earl. The scent of crushed hay mingled with the remnants of their picnic—a bottle of claret, half-eaten bread, and cheese—scattered like the echoes of their shared escape.

Thomas moved with quiet purpose, gathering the remnants of their secret meal. His presence was a steadfast anchor in the morning light, yet Ashley’s heart fluttered with nerves, a persistent reminder of the night etched into her memory. Her fingers trembled as she folded the blanket, a simple task now heavy with whispered confessions and stolen glances.

As they prepared to leave the hayloft’s secluded embrace, Ashley’s pulse quickened. The ladder stood before her; each rung felt like she was descending back to reality. Thomas reached out, his hands firm on her waist. His touch sent a shiver through her, both grounding and unsettling. As she placed her foot on the first rung, her balance faltered. Thomas’s grip tightened, steadying her effortlessly before she fell off the ladder.

“Thank you,” she croaked before he let her go, and she felt the ground melting away from under her feet as he held her. Being in his arms was…it was just so…as if he could make her fly.

“Since you’ll be my wife soon, it is my duty to keep you safe. It doesn’t matter if from a mouse in a hayloft or splinters on a wooden ladder.”

Ashley wanted to smile, lean against him, and feel the warmth of his lips and that strange but addictive tingle he sent through her.

No !

“And as your wife you’ll tell me those secrets, will you not?”

“My number?”

That, too. “And, you know, secrets like the wager that made you rush into marriage with me.”

“With time comes all secrets. I’m also afraid that the more I get to know you, the more insufficient my haste is, Lady Ashley.” He stepped closer, the hard middle of his body as solid as a large oak leaving Ashley in his shadow. The morning light coming through the open stable doors made him glow like a golden trophy and Ashley had a choice:

One, she could wrap her arms around him and let him press her against the wooden wall, splinters or not. It played out in her head just like in a forbidden book: fast, quick, and there’d be the haste he’d mentioned.

Two, she could follow the advice from the handbook.

Just when you think you captured his interest, let him fight for it. Be the challenge that preoccupies his thoughts.

Ashley inhaled sharply, the silence around them thick with unspoken words. Thomas moved closer, oh so deliciously close that she only had to tilt her head and let him kiss her. She yearned to surrender to his embrace, to let herself truly fall. But it wasn’t she who was supposed to fall, rather it was he who should fall—on her sword.

Whoosh!

She slipped down and he leaned with his muscular arms against the ladder. She took a big step back and turned around, securing her bonnet and she only heard him growl.

Ashley sucked in her lower lip. She’d escaped the kiss—or had she missed out? Well, either way, it had worked. If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d kicked a hay bale and groaned in frustration. That was exactly where she wanted him, wasn’t it?

But Ashley began to wonder if the wisdom in her plan had accounted for the price she’d pay? In the abstract, it had all sounded easy. Could Charlene be right and she was making a mistake?

When her feet touched the wet ground outside the stables, her resolve wavered. She was ankle-deep in the muddy road that would take her to Thomas’s estate. Truth be told, Ashley didn’t know exactly what she’d gotten herself into. Charlene’s warnings echoed in her mind, caution she had too easily dismissed.

Then he emerged from the stables, sleeves rolled down and in his coat. He looked like the earl again, leaving the less composed and much hotter Thomas behind.

I see you now…both sides, Linsey.

Her gaze met Linsey’s, reading a question in his eyes—a plea for something. A kiss? She wasn’t ready to respond. Not yet.

The world outside awaited, unchanged by the night’s secrets, but Ashley felt transformed as their carriage rumbled along the soggy road. Whether a mistake or destiny, the path she had chosen lay before her, and it seemed a lot more slippery than she’d expected. As they left the hayloft behind, Ashley felt a pang of sentimentality—it may not have been the most elegant first night, but it was certainly the most memorable. Side by side but worlds apart, she felt the weight of her decision settle on her like a cloak, both soft and unyielding. Much like the path on the horizon, there was a fork in her path, and she didn’t know which way was right. Vengeance and lust were like power and submission—they didn’t overlap. Neither did the choice she had to make.

She would let him off for now, the handsome fiend. “How far until we reach your estate?” She certainly didn’t want to think about those wild dreams.

He pulled the curtain aside and peeked out the window again. “Not long now.”

Splendid .

There would be space on an estate. Grounds to recoup her wits! Also, her bottom was beginning to go numb, and her bones were starting to feel restless, too. She needed to move. Dance. Run. Point a sword at someone. She required a breath of…

Not him.

Ashley composed herself as well as she could, tried to tame her hair, and pinched her cheeks to get some color that she was sure had drained from her while staring at him.

Minutes later, the carriage rocked again, jolting Ashley from her thoughts. She shifted in her seat, trying to ease the ache in her muscles. She flexed her toes. Just a bit more. Because between the bumpy ride and the lingering discomfort of an altogether hay-bed night, she wasn’t sure what felt worse—her body or her mind!

“I suppose it’s too late to warn you, I live a rather simple life. Nothing like the whirlwind one would call London.”

She’d already estimated as much. “Well, I suppose I should warn you . Now that you’ve let me into your life, that might change.” Change? Inevitable. For us both.

Thomas lifted a curious brow. “Should I look forward to this remarkable statement?”

No . She couldn’t help her gaze being drawn in by his. “You should…try to…” Why was she hesitating? “Protect what you are best at protecting.” Like your horses. “So then, it has never occurred to you that I might bring mayhem into your simple life?”

“It occurs to me every day.”

Good. It should. “I don’t know how to respond to that since it’s been all of three days since you made my acquaintance.”

“You’re counting?” His grin came. “Every single day?”

Well, hadn’t she dug the proverbial shovel into the ground with that answer. She had a feeling that the shovel was only going to dig deeper. But the ground was muddy, and she felt like she was getting her hands dirty.

But it was her battleground.

She had come with a purpose, after all. Every step she took was a calculated move, each moment another skirmish in the greater war she waged against her own restless heart. It was the way his presence unsettled her, the way a simple glance from him could send that strange flutter trembling through her stomach. She drew in a breath, steadying herself, and her hand lifted instinctively to her chest where her brooch should have been.

But of course, it wasn’t there.

Ashley’s fingers hovered for a moment before she dropped her hand, her lips pressing together in a faint grimace. She had noticed its absence earlier but had resolved not to think on it. And yet, the loss lingered at the edge of her thoughts, sharp and nagging. That brooch had always been her anchor, pinned over her heart like a shield. To have it gone now felt careless and wrong, as though she had already surrendered something vital. Her frown deepened. When had she last seen it? Why hadn’t she been more careful?

She pushed the thought away. There was nothing to be done about it now, and she had far larger battles ahead.

Later, Ashley.

Yes, she could think about it later.

At that moment, she had to focus. She couldn’t let herself be swayed by the allure of the earl and whatever charm that clung to him. She had come here with a plan, and she would see it through.