Page 10 of How to Tempt An Earl (Wed Within a Year #2)

T he place Kieran had chosen to camp was along a stream that managed to remain vigorous even after the efforts of a hot summer to deplete it. He’d set up makeshift targets along the bank and was waiting patiently for Celeste when she finished washing. The two pistols from the gun box beneath the carriage seat lay ready and gleaming.

‘We’ll start with loading,’ Kieran instructed and she envied him the ability to switch roles so effortlessly: one moment the carefree flirt, the next moment the deadly Horseman, the protector, the bodyguard. Her own emotions were still running amok, her mind filled with images of him at the water basin.

‘You need to concentrate,’ he scolded, and she knew she’d missed something important. ‘I want you to be entirely proficient with these firearms from start to finish.’ Gone were the laughing eyes that had teased her—a reminder that freedom must always be fought for and that it came with a cost. She had to be prepared to defend hers. ‘I hope you will not have to face Roan or Vincent alone, but one must plan for all contingencies.’

Celeste didn’t like to think of those contingencies, which necessitated that Kieran Parkhurst, Horseman extraordinaire, wouldn’t be beside her at the crucial moment. But she did not argue. At some point, she would need to part from him and she would need the skill he was willing to teach her now.

In slow, deliberate movements, he showed her how to load the balls, how to add the powder and how to prime. ‘Now, you try.’ He handed her the other pistol and she followed his instructions as best she could, feeling herself glow when he praised her efforts.

‘Excellent. Now, we shoot. Be sure your aim is good because, even if you’re proficient at reloading, it will take twenty seconds at best to do it and we seldom have ideal conditions. Under pressure, nerves may get the best of you, which is understandable, but excuses won’t keep you alive. No one is going to stop and wait. The enemy will keep coming. Only the most seasoned soldiers don’t fumble under fire. In my opinion, the only shot you can count on is the one you have loaded. You may not get a chance to reload and try again,’ Kieran said sternly. ‘Make the shot count. Take your time. A hurried shot will not serve your cause. After you fire, you will be exposed. A lifetime can happen in the twenty seconds that follow.’

She swallowed hard against the image his words conjured: the dark alley and the men in pursuit. It was hard not to imagine a scene in which Ammon Vincent charged her while she struggled to reload. She shook off the fear. No; if Vincent came at her she would not miss. She would make sure of it.

‘I don’t mean to frighten you. I mean to be honest with you. Too many people feel empowered by a gun and they overplay their hand. Let’s see you shoot. You’ve shot before but every gun is different.’

She was eager to show off and to make up for a lack of focus earlier. Maybe she even wanted to impress him with her passable skill. Celeste extended her arm, steady against the weight of the pistol, coolly sighted the target and fired, the gun jerking up at the last moment. The shot went slightly wide of her intended mark. Drat. She’d hoped for better.

‘Good enough,’ Kieran complimented her, striding forward with the other pistol. ‘It would have hit your target somewhere, and that would have disabled him, giving you time to get away. The kick was more than you were expecting. You can always adjust your aim to compensate.’

He passed her the other pistol and took up a position behind her, aligning their bodies so that they stood in perfect profile together. His hand curled over hers as they aimed the pistol, the spicy smell of his soap catching her nostrils and his nearness making it hard to think of firing shots. ‘Ready, on the count of three…’ he murmured at her ear and together they made the shot, hitting the mark this time. ‘Did you feel how we controlled the recoil?’

She’d felt more than that. She’d felt the power of his body behind her—the press of his hips against her buttocks, the muscles of his thighs and the semi-aroused state of his manhood. She could dismiss it on the grounds that such intimacy was required for the drill. It was no different from riding astride before him on Tambor. And yet, the echo of his words sent a delicious tremor through her: be careful what you’re asking for, Celeste. I might be inclined to give it. It was proof he felt it too—this want, this curious hunger that sprang to life between them.

That they were both willing to explore it was a dangerous combination. There was no one to check them, nothing to stop them except her own good sense. But once that was gone then her own objectivity, her own ability to see actions for what they were, would be gone too. Caution reared its head. Was that what he wanted? Was he flirting with her, seducing her, in the hope of prising the list from her before she was ready to give it up?

She didn’t want to think like that, about him especially. She wanted instead to think that last night had changed things between them; that facing Roan’s men had brought them together in a common purpose. But she had to be careful with those thoughts. She’d been wrong before. She’d been wrong about David, to her great detriment. She knew now that intimacy was different for men and that sex could be merely physical, a source of short-term pleasure only. Whereas for her, sex was emotional, a source of intimacy and the foundations of trust. She could not make that assumption again.

Yet, even knowing that, the temptation continued to nag—that this time it could be different. That this time she would be smart enough to see betrayal coming. She could forestall it and protect herself against it. She could have the best of both worlds. Dear Lord: she was talking herself in circles, hoping that when her thoughts looped back round she’d have answers—or, more particularly, answers that she liked and that would allow her to do what she wanted. And what she wanted was Kieran Parkhurst as a lover. Foolish, foolish girl.

She turned and stepped away from the lure of his body. ‘Why are you doing this? You already have access to the list. We’ve already negotiated for it. You don’t need to do anything more.’

‘I want to do more. You need more than my protection. You need to be able to provide your own.’

‘Why do you care?’ She kept coming back to that. Why would a stranger do so much for her? ‘Horseman’s oath?’

He put their pistols away. ‘Come and walk with me.’ He led them down to the stream and they strolled beneath shady oaks in silence before he spoke again. ‘The Horsemen are sworn to the care and keeping of England and to the welfare of those who protect her. For that reason alone, you are entitled to whatever I can offer you. You are the key to bringing down one of Europe’s most notorious and elusive dealers in firearms, a man who not only makes money from war but also proactively perpetuates war for personal profit. As such, he works against the hopes of the Vienna Congress and is responsible for the deaths of countless soldiers when peace might be made.’

She shuddered to hear Roan discussed—and by extension her father—in such bold and blunt terms, all of which were true. Roan dealt in war and thrived on it.

‘And so did I, for a time. I lived on the proceeds of his ill-gotten gains,’ she reminded him. She hated knowing it was something she could not undo.

‘You didn’t know any better,’ Kieran assured her.

‘Not at first. I knew, though, long before I ran. And, even when I knew, I did nothing.’ That was, perhaps, her greatest sin. ‘I stayed until I had to run for me . The threat of Ammon Vincent and being caught eavesdropping were what pushed me into it.’

Those words would give her the distance she needed from him. Once he understood she was not honourable, there would be no more lingering gazes on her mouth. He would despise her now. Any minute, he’d think what she’d been thinking since she’d eavesdropped on Roan’s conversation—that if she’d run earlier, turned against Roan sooner, Wapping might not have happened and his brother might still be alive.

He stopped and faced her, taking a determined step towards her until she felt compelled to retreat, her back coming up against a tree trunk. Something fierce blazed in his eyes, desire sparking and naked. She’d not bargained on that for a response and more than she’d bargained on her own body thrilling dangerously at the knowledge that he wanted her.

‘Why do you do this, Celeste? You seem compelled to drive a wedge between us. First with your scepticism, now with this idea that you are single-handedly responsible for what happened in Wapping. It would seem to me that you should be seeking the opposite—that you would want to draw us closer, to make us a team, not enemies. You did not like my scepticism when we first met and I do not appreciate yours now. You want me to trust you but you want to be allowed not to trust me. It can’t work that way.’

He moved closer to her, eyes hot, voice low. ‘I want this to work, Celeste. I want to keep you safe. I want to see Roan finished, not just because it’s business but because I want it for you.’

Her breath caught. There was no hiding her reaction from him. He was close enough now to see how his words affected her, how his nearness made the pulse at the base of her neck race, and embarrassingly so, as if she were a schoolgirl in the throes of infatuation. And yet, she could not look past him nor could she rally the resources required to step away.

He leaned against the tree trunk, an arm bracketing her. ‘I want this for you because I find myself attracted to you. I’ve made no secret of it. You’re beautiful, canny and brave. You intrigue me. Everything you tell me leaves me wanting to know more.’

He drew a finger along her lips and shock waves of desire crashed through her. ‘This is not about Roan or Wapping or any of that. This is just about you and me. You intoxicate me, Celeste, and I think I intoxicate you too.’

He traced the column of her throat with a finger, letting his hand rest over the pulse note at its base. ‘Don’t deny it; your body doesn’t lie.’ His hand moved to cradle the nape of her neck, his mouth at her ear, uncovering her secrets one by one. ‘Your pulse races, your sea-glass eyes are bright with desire, and if I were to touch you beneath your skirts you would be wet. There is no shame in it. You are not alone in this. I am hard for you. You know this is true—you felt me against you when we fired the pistol. Your desire is reciprocated. The question is, what shall we do about it in the short time our paths will cross in this world?’

She let out a shuddering breath. This must be what it felt like to slowly go insane, to feel oneself let go of reason’s anchor. He had her mad with wanting when she knew this was not the time. With a few simple words he’d made the wanting seem logical. This passion between them was to be for a short time only, until their paths diverged once more. There need not be consequences, or a future. Such promises made a liaison safe from betrayal.

Her own wicked whisper added fuel to the fire of her want. If not now, when? If not him, who? You deserve to be spoiled. Let him be the one. And her body answered: yes, yes…

His mouth moved to claim hers and she raised her face to meet him. Mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, their bodies pressed hard against one another until it was not clear who had started it. It didn’t matter. They were in this together now. For a short while, she need not be alone.

She reached for him then, sliding her hand between them to the hard length of him, but he covered her hand firmly with his own, his mouth at her ear.

‘Your pleasure first.’

Then his hands were beneath her skirts, pushing them back, the late summer breeze cool against her exposed skin, delicious and decadent as her desire ratcheted. She bent her knee, hitching it about his hip to help him, to hurry him. He kissed her, laughing against her mouth. ‘Patience. It will be worth the wait, I promise.’

She nipped his lip in a lover’s retaliation. ‘That’s an awfully arrogant presumption, sir.’

‘We’ll see, minx.’ He laughed at her throat, his hand moving against her, his finger tracing the intimate folds of her which proved to be its own kind of tantalus.

She gave an accusatory moan. ‘You are priming me like your pistol.’ Teasing her towards oblivion would be more accurate.

‘Is it working?’ His mouth was on hers in a series of slow kisses, his hand going at last to that hidden place secreted within her labia.

‘Heavens, yes…’ She breathed. Her nub was swollen and throbbing. She pressed against him, seeking release. She was greedy, hungry in her desire—perhaps because this was for her alone, perhaps because she’d chosen this for herself. The release came quickly, explosively, and hot. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the oak trunk, face turned upwards to the sky. Her mind traced the rivers of pleasure as they fanned out from her core, sending twin ripples of peace and repletion through her.

‘Ahh…’ she sighed in soft delight. ‘If only this feeling could last.’ She let her head loll against the tree and slowly opened her eyes to find him watching her, his own eyes dark with desire. He was enjoying this; he’d found a kind of pleasure for himself in helping her achieve hers. ‘Do you think there’s a name for this feeling?’ she asked dreamily.

He pushed back a lock of her hair and gave a lover’s smile. ‘The French call it “la r é solution” .’

She tugged at the waistband of his breeches and flashed him a coy smile. This fun, this play amid pleasure, was new territory for her and she was enjoying it immensely. ‘Shall we find la résolution for you too?’

He stayed her hand, his eyes serious even as desire flickered there. ‘Only if you want to. This does not have to be a trade. You don’t owe me.’ His voice was rough, edged with want, making it evident what those words cost him.

She did owe him, though. He’d saved her life, he’d given her shelter and so much more. But she wouldn’t argue the point. She stretched up on tiptoe to reach his mouth with hers. ‘I want to,’ she whispered against his lips.

* * *

A woman in charge of her passion and his was heady indeed. When he added in the allure of the out of doors on a warm summer day, the seclusion of the stream and oak trees, there was no resisting. When she reached for him this time, he let her have him. She danced him about in a half-circle until they traded places. ‘You may need that tree trunk before we’re done,’ she warned in a throaty whisper that held the promise of great delight.

He answered with an intimate laugh. ‘That’s awfully arrogant of you, minx.’

To which she replied with a twinkle in her sea-green gaze, ‘We’ll see, sir,’ as she worked the fastenings of his breeches and took him in hand.

The first long stroke brought him to full attention. The first pass of her thumb across the surface of his cock-tip had him reaching overhead to grab the sturdy oak branches for purchase, and he held on for dear life. When had a woman’s touch felt like this? It was like pleasure’s agony and ecstasy’s ache all at once, each stroke a wicked allegory of what it must be like to slide inside her.

She thumbed his tip again, playing with the moisture at its slit. ‘You do not disappoint, sir.’ Her voice was husky with desire; her eyes glittered like hot emeralds. ‘Your cock is magnificent.’

What a delicious word that was coming from her mouth, and a bold word too: cock . There wasn’t a well-born debutante in London who used that glorious word.

He pressed against her hand and she scolded, ‘Patience. It will be worth it.’ Her other hand reached for the tender sac behind his cock and gave a gentle squeeze that had him nearly breaking the branch he clung to.

‘You are a mind-reader,’ he rasped. It was hard to put two words together, let alone a whole concept. All he wanted in this moment was release. She knew it, too, the rhythm of her hand speeding up. He felt his body tighten and gather. She felt it, too. A satisfied smile took her face, and then she let him go, letting him claim the cliff that waited for him and jump off it into pleasure’s free fall, while she held him in all his pulsing glory as he panted and spent until he was exhausted, purged and whole again for the moment.

He let go of the branches. ‘You’re right. These are the best moments.’ His own breath still came short. He’d been entirely winded by her. He gathered her to him and she came, wrapping her arms about his waist and laying her head against his shoulder. Somewhere, a bird sang. In the stillness, there was no threat, no Ammon Vincent, no Cabot Roan. There was just the two of them and the wholeness they’d created together. If only that could last. How peaceful that would be—not just for her, he thought, but for himself as well. One gave up peace when one became a Horseman.

A breeze blew and he raised his hand to catch the wind. ‘Autumn is coming,’ he said softly. ‘The wind feels different at the end of summer. It’s still warm but there’s a cool current beneath it now.’

She sighed against him. ‘It was the first of September yesterday.’ He supposed it had been. He’d been too busy squiring her around the city and escaping Roan to take note.

‘The first of September is my mother’s birthday,’ Celeste explained. ‘She would have been forty-seven.’

Only eleven years older than he was now. Forty-seven didn’t seem terribly old, after all. ‘What happened to her?’ he asked quietly so as not to disturb their peace.

‘What happens to many women. She died from complications of childbirth.’ He felt her give a rueful smile against his chest. ‘For a week, I had a baby brother. He was so small, and cute. Mother would let me climb on the bed beside her and hold him. I’d stay there for hours, all three of us snuggled together.’

She turned her green eyes up to his face. ‘It might have been the happiest week of my life. Of course, I don’t remember exactly, but I remember how that week felt. Father would come and read aloud when he was done with work. We were a real family. And then it was over. She went fast, in the night, before a doctor could come. Without her, my brother didn’t thrive. Father said he didn’t take to the wet nurse. He died the following week.’

Kieran thought of his own mother and the luck and ease she’d had bringing five healthy children into the world. He thought of his sister, Guenevere, who was expecting her first child in December, and his heart cracked a bit for the woman in his arms. ‘I am sorry,’ he murmured into the dark halo of her hair. ‘Do you want children?’

‘Wanting a child and the practicality of raising a child are vastly different things. I would not bring a child into Roan’s world,’ she said solemnly.

‘Nor would I bring a child into the Horsemen’s world.’ He held her a little tighter, feeling as if he’d found a kindred spirit who understood the dilemma between wanting and the reality of having. Satisfying that want was the height of selfishness. They stood a while longer, silent and still beneath the oak. He was conscious of the deep peace of the moment. He would not disrupt this until he had to or until they disrupted themselves.

But he could not let this last for ever. The day was advancing. ‘We should go back,’ he suggested quietly. ‘It’s time to get on the road. Bert will be waking up and the horses will be ready to stretch their legs.’ He reached to pull a leaf from her hair. ‘The weather’s good today. Perhaps you’d like to ride with me? Tambor can carry two.’

‘I would love nothing better.’ She smiled and, as they strolled back to camp, he felt her fingers lace through his. This was progress and it was both comforting and complicated.