Page 13 of How to Tempt An Earl (Wed Within a Year #2)

H e was Prometheus tonight, playing with fire, basking in its warmth and luxuriating in the power of its possibility as he carried Celeste upstairs. His body was rampant with desire even as he schooled himself to nuance. This was not to be an act of possession, but an act of partnership. He would not fall on her like a stag in rut, no matter how much his body clamoured for that. She had not asked for that—not with her body, nor with her words. She was not a thing to be taken. Although, if their previous encounters and kisses served as indicators, she was not opposed to doing some taking of her own.

Kieran was not wrong. He’d no sooner kicked the door to their room shut and set her down before she was tugging at his neck cloth and yanking shirttails from his breeches, her hands running up beneath the fabric and over his skin even as her mouth sought his in a fierce, greedy communion. ‘Thank goodness I dress simply on the road.’ He laughed against her mouth. ‘Shirt buttons wouldn’t stand a chance against you.’

‘Against…yes, perfect.’ The words were part instruction, part feminine growl, and he had only the merest of warnings before he found himself with his back to the wall. Her hands returned to the waistband of his breeches and he pulled his shirt over his head, balling it up and tossing it aside. He knew where this was going and it wasn’t to bed, at least not yet.

Her mouth was hot on his—by all the saints, this woman could kiss! He reached for the bodice of her gown, giving a silent and perhaps inappropriate thanks to those same saints that a front-fastening bodice was also front-unfastening. He was good with laces and hooks but tonight he hadn’t the patience for them. Neither did she. Deferred passion and desire were riding them both too hard. ‘Did you bring another chemise?’ he mumbled in her ear.

She drew back for a moment, eyes clouding in confusion, her voice a breathless wisp. ‘Yes, why?’

‘Because you’ll need it tomorrow.’ He took the thin linen in both hands and rent it.

She gave a surprised gasp and her eyes gleamed. ‘You wicked man.’ She laughed.

‘You wanton woman.’ He gave a husky chuckle. ‘You beautiful, wanton woman.’ He spun her around then in a hard turn, reversing their position. Her back was to the wall and her eyes were bright with anticipation. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather use the bed?’

‘I cannot wait for bed.’ As if in proof, her bared breasts pressed against his chest, skin to delicious skin, flush with the heat of passion. Her hand dropped to the straining length of him jutting under his breeches. ‘And you can’t either.’

He lifted her then, her legs wrapping around his hips, her core meeting his. His blood ran hot and hard and his phallus throbbed and strained, a stallion waiting to be let loose of his reins. Good God, this woman drove him to the brink of madness…and pushed him over with a single, simple gesture. She raised a hand to her hair and with one pull of a pin sent it falling over her shoulders in a chestnut cascade while her eyes locked on his until he was an inferno of want.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her body moving against his in invitation, a reminder to his fevered self that water slaked fire, that wetness solved heat. She would be wet… she would assuage his fire. He went into the wet channel of her, deep, hard and thirsty, the way a man on fire might jump into a lake. She arched against the wall, moaning in appreciation, the joining bringing initial relief. ‘More…again,’ she coached, moving her hips against him.

Yes, more. The simple command resonated with the instinct of his body. Once more, twice more, thrice more he drove into the welcoming wetness of her, fire banked, while desire roared until his body shuddered with it. He felt her nails dig into his shoulders and felt her body gather, preparing to claim her release even as he did the same. He felt her legs tighten as if she could hold him within her for ever— something he absolutely must not let her do .

In the recesses of his mind, caution awoke. Appealing as the thought was to spend deep inside her, he could not. The Horseman in him roused at the last moment: protect, protect, protect… What he could not do for himself, he could do for her. He felt climax claim her, felt her body gather and release, and then he was gone from her, groaning and shuddering with the power of his own completion as she held him to her and he spent.

They came back to earth very slowly after that, her legs eventually letting go of his waist, their bodies able to function at last without the support of the other, although they clung together long beyond what was necessary. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing against his chest and could feel her breath slow. He could smell the scent of hyacinth on her skin mixed with sweat and the musk of sex—details to file away; details by which to remember this night when, for a while, he’d held perfection in his arms.

Kieran took a half-step back from her and kicked his breeches off the rest of the way before returning to her and gently removing her gown and the halves of her chemise. ‘We are naked now,’ he murmured against her cheek, his eyes half-closed as he breathed her in.

‘Yes, we are. Wholly, completely, naked,’ she replied with soft seriousness. She understood what he’d meant: this nakedness was more than the physical; they also stood before one another emotionally stripped to the skin and vulnerable. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He lifted her once more and at last carried her to the bed.

They were good at this, lying together in the dark. They’d had a few nights’ practice, perhaps intuitively knowing they would lead to these moments, these revelations. A smart man could tell a lot about a woman by the way she made love. He’d not been wrong that she’d been looking for partnership, not possession. But now, he better understood why. The obvious answer was because she controlled her passion and she valued her freedom.

One might leave it there and feel satisfied. He’d known other women who’d valued their right to choose and to control their lives in and out of the bedroom. But it was the reasons behind valuing her freedom that gave her away and set her apart. He was coming to learn that, for Celeste, freedom was a defence: she used it for control but also as a means to protect herself. Freedom was her shield.

‘May I ask you a question?’ he ventured in the dark.

Her hand lingered at his hip. ‘If I can ask you one.’ Her fingers idly traced the scar and he could guess the trajectory of her thoughts. ‘How did you get this?’

‘By being young and careless.’ It had happened twelve years ago, and it was still hard to talk about, but it would be the price for the question he would ask her. If he did not share confidences with her, he could not expect her to share any with him.

She snuggled closer. ‘It is hard to imagine you being reckless. What happened?’

‘I was in Leipzig on an errand for my grandfather, delivering dispatches to the Allies. It was during the War of the Sixth Coalition that ultimately led to the liberation of Paris, so I suppose my sacrifice was not in vain.’ He tried to make light of it. ‘Caine was with me or I might not have made it out alive. It was just the two of us back then. Stepan and Luce had not yet joined us.’

She stopped her idle stroking of his hip and raised herself up on an arm. ‘You’re deflecting. Do you even realise you do it? Whenever something personal comes up, you immediately turn the conversation to your brothers.’

‘I do not!’ Kieran protested.

‘Yes, you do. For instance, when I ask about summers at Willow Park, you talk about things you all did together. When we were gazing at the stars, you talked about camping.’

‘Well, yes. Is there something wrong with that?’ Kieran was intrigued now. Apparently, the insights tonight were not all going to be his.

‘No, I liked those stories. But I also want to know about you too—just you, what you think, what you feel, your experiences. Yes, you are a Horseman, a member of a group. But you are also Kieran Parkhurst, a single individual.’

Her finger went back to tracing his scar in a long, deliberate stroke. ‘Perhaps it’s been a long time since you’ve thought of yourself that way. Perhaps this scar is the reason for that,’ she prompted gently. ‘Tell me what happened and don’t gloss over the part that really matters—the part that changed you, the part that still haunts you.’

Good God, he’d never felt more naked than he did now, or more seen. When had someone actually looked that deeply into him? How he felt about that was rather confusing, awkward, perhaps because it happened so rarely. The tables had been completely turned on him. She should be a Horseman. With those insights, she’d be lethal at interrogation. A man’s secrets wouldn’t stand a chance. He had no excuse to put her off other than his pride. He settled back against the pillows and drew her close. ‘It was on account of a woman.’

* * *

‘Of course it was.’ Celeste smiled up at him, hoping to ease his apparent lingering embarrassment. ‘Go on.’ If she didn’t encourage him, she suspected he’d find a way to make the story disappear into a different conversation.

‘I met her at an officers’ reception in Leipzig. She was charming, cultivated and intelligent—a lot like you,’ he teased, and she sensed he joked to make light of something that was not light at all. This vulnerability was an intriguing side to the all-confident Kieran Parkhurst and she rather liked it.

‘We danced a few times and went out on the veranda for a stroll. She made sure I was aware of her interest in me—a touch here, a provocative remark there. I was twenty-four and perhaps too easily impressed with a slightly older woman’s experienced attentions. We went back to my rooms, which was my first mistake. I’d nowhere to go after…well…afterwards. That made me careless. A Horseman never stays the night or never falls asleep. I usually left my lovers’ chambers after we had our fun.

‘But that night I dozed off. I awoke to find her rifling through my messenger bag. She found the dispatches I was to deliver the next day. I was groggy and I thought she was just looking for money. When I confronted her, she drew a blade on me and I was too far from my own knife. That was when I realised she’d known all along who I was and that she was not merely a guest at the party. I was her mark. She’d been sent by the French to intercept the dispatches.

‘I charged her even though she was armed and I was not. I knew my duty and I knew those dispatches contained information about troops and munitions—information that, in the wrong hands, would lead to the deaths of Englishmen. I was betting that she was bluffing and that she wouldn’t use the knife.’

‘And you bet wrong,’ Celeste whispered softly. ‘What happened to the dispatches?’

‘I saved them, at great expense to myself.’ He was becoming tight-lipped again. But she didn’t need the details when she had the scar. She could imagine all too well the blood and the pain.

‘And the woman—what happened to her?’ Celeste asked quietly. It was perhaps a question that could only be asked in the dark and only discussed once.

‘She died. Caine found us both on the floor,’ he said quietly. Celeste made the translation in her head: the woman had not simply died, he’d killed her. He’d been forced to for his own survival and for England’s. She kept the automatic words of sympathy to herself. He would not want her to be sorry any more than she’d wanted his pity. But she did want him to know she understood the import of his story and how that episode had shaped who he was. His disclosure had not been in vain.

‘And since then, you don’t mix business with pleasure,’ she murmured. More particularly, since then he hadn’t trusted women who were in the game. Or, perhaps it was that he didn’t trust himself with women who were in the game. She traced his scar. No wonder he’d originally thought she was working for Roan, trying to draw him into a trap. He’d been trapped before by a pretty face. How hard it must be for him now, to let go of that narrative of deceit and embrace a narrative of trust with her, and her heart went out to him. She understood; they were alike in that regard. As much as she wanted to earn his trust, she was reluctant to give him her own. They had that in common.

‘The aftermath was the worst part. It took a long time for me to recover. I’d lost a lot of blood. When I was well, I was hailed by those who knew as a hero for saving English lives, for helping to secure an Allied victory by protecting the plans. Parties were held for me. Not one person mentioned why I’d been knifed in the first place. No one talked about my mistake. No one would listen when I tried to explain what had really happened. That’s the guilt I live with. For being careless, I was lauded as a hero.’

He was silent for a long moment and she wondered if he was thinking about other guilt—perhaps guilt over his missing or dead brother. Was there something he could have done? He blinked once, a long, slow sweep of his dark lashes as if he was putting the memory behind him.

‘My turn,’ Kieran said, and something in his tone made her brace. ‘You know who hurt me. Now, tell me who hurt you. And, before you try to throw me off the scent, don’t tell me Cabot Roan or Ammon Vincent. That’s not the hurt I’m talking about.’

‘What makes you think there’s any other hurt?’ She prevaricated with as much persuasive calm as she could manage. He was just guessing. How could he know? She kept it buried deep.

‘Because you use freedom as shield. Just like you’re doing now. Stay here beside me, Celeste. Don’t move away.’ She hadn’t even realised she’d tried to move away until his arm tightened around her. ‘You’re protecting yourself, keeping yourself from getting too close or from giving up too much of yourself. You call it choosing, controlling your own destiny. But really, you worry about giving yourself up to the wrong person. One only worries about such things when one has already done it. Who was he?’

‘You already know; you’ve said as much. Someone I thought I could trust; someone whom I thought cared for me.’ She shrugged and fought the urge to break free or slink off to the far side of the bed and hide in all ways. ‘There’s nothing left to tell.’

He laughed against her hair. ‘That tactic did not work for me. I am certainly not going to let it work for you. Celeste, you can tell me. I thought you’d decided that you were safe with me,’ he scolded.

It wasn’t him knowing that bothered her. It was what it might reveal about her—that she wasn’t strong like him, that she’d been selfish. But she drew a breath and took the chance.

‘He was a new client of Cabot Roan’s when I first came to live at the house. He was handsome and dashing. He always made time for me. After he’d conducted business with Roan, he made a point of seeking me out. I was young and flattered.’

It hurt to talk about this. Had it felt this way for Kieran? She regretted making him tell her about the scar…almost. Perhaps she’d treasure what she’d learned all the more for the price it cost.

‘He was my first kiss, and my first love. He seduced me most thoroughly. I thought he might even marry me.’ She’d believed that so wholeheartedly, she’d gone to bed with him and made a habit of what she’d thought were lazy, decadent, stolen afternoons with him when Roan was out. ‘But, as in your story, not all was as it seemed. He wasn’t a client at all. He was a test of my loyalty to Roan and I failed. Roan told me that he was going to take David’s—’

She swallowed. It was still hard to say his name years later. Kieran was patient with her, saying nothing and running his hand in a gentle motion down her arm, steadying her.

‘Roan told me he was going to overcharge David for an order of weapons by making it appear that there was another buyer. At that point, I had become aware of Roan’s deceits and of what he did to amass his wealth. I told David. I thought I could trust him with that information. I could not. He’d been working for Roan all along. David turned on me without any remorse and then Roan knew how much I despised him and what I was willing to do to spite him, to rebel. Things became infinitely more difficult for me after that.’

Roan had punished her.

‘In what ways?’ Kieran prompted gently.

‘Do not make me say, Kieran. Please.’ Roan had humiliated her in front of his men and it hadn’t stopped there. She reached for him beneath the covers, thinking to distract him, but he was too fast.

‘Keep your secrets.’ Kieran covered her hand and set it aside. ‘Sex can be a tool, a weapon even, but we will not use it between us as such. Isn’t that why you wanted it to be tonight—because tomorrow it’s back to the real world?’ Because tomorrow they’d be at Wrexham. Tomorrow she’d need to surrender part of the list. Drat him for seeing too much. ‘Circumstances may shift tomorrow, but not us. We can choose to be honest with each other. We can choose who we get to be.’

‘And tonight?’ she queried softly. ‘Are you still my man?’ Or had her disclosure changed his mind about that? Their stories had striking similarities but there was one key difference: she’d shown herself to be untrustworthy, even if it was on Roan’s behalf, whereas he’d shown himself to be eminently reliable. In the face of danger and death, he’d not failed.

He rolled her beneath him, looking down at her, his dark curls tousled and his eyes once more dark with desire. ‘I am always your man and this time we’re going to take it slow.’