Page 44 of My Best Friend’s Earl (Bluestocking Booksellers #2)

Follow your heart, and urge him to follow his

H ow was the taste of her so familiar, while simultaneously being wildly new? Would it always be like this between them? Oliver pulled Constance across the short span of the carriage to sit beside him, and she came willingly.

Willing was too small a word for it. She was as eager as him. Being on the receiving end of Constance’s welcome unleashed emotions he’d never experienced before. Oliver smiled against her mouth and felt her smile in return.

Bubbles of giddiness pushed at his chest. Part of him wanted to roar in triumph. Another part silently thumbed his nose at Dorian’s claim that Oliver was emotionally repressed. After all, he’d confessed his desire to the luscious woman in his arms, and this was the result. Not repressed at all.

Constance leaned back, tugging him down with her to the seat.

Logistical complications rose as quickly as his cock. The bench wasn’t long enough for them to fully lie down. And God, he wanted to feel her beneath him more than anything. Desperate prayers flew toward heaven that Constance was correct and the Hollands planned to leave them alone.

Bracing himself above her, Oliver’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head when she anchored one leg around his hip and brought him down between her thighs.

The incredible bounty that was this woman spread out like a feast below him.

The blue velvet seat acted as the perfect foil for her wild curls.

It was enough to make a man wish for some sort of artistic talent, so he could capture her exactly like this.

Eyes dark with desire, flushed cheeks, lips plumped and damp from his kisses.

“How long do you think we have until we reach the cottage?” His voice was rougher than he’d ever heard it.

In answer, she offered a wicked smile. “Long enough, I hope.”

Wait. Did she want to… now? Here? Sweat broke out on his brow. Shit, he’d have to tell her. Otherwise, she’d have no way to understand the awful showing he’d make of this.

And he would. At least at first. Maybe his enthusiasm would make up for lack of technique. Acutely aware of the way his erection pressed against the fall of his breeches, Oliver cleared his throat. “Constance? You should know something.”

She froze. “I’m sorry. Did I misread your intentions?” Red suffused her face as she shifted to sit up.

“No, not at all. God. If I could, I’d keep you in bed for the next week.”

She relaxed back on the seat. “Then what is it? If we want to be together like this, I fail to see… oh.”

Before she could reach her own conclusion—and God knew she could hop like a rabbit from one disastrous scenario to the next—Oliver gathered his courage.

“I’m a virgin,” he said at the same time she asked, “You have the pox, don’t you?”

They gaped at one another. “What?” they chimed in unison.

This time, he thumped back on the seat and she sat upright again, blowing a curl off her face.

“How are you a virgin?” Fascination and a healthy dose of disbelief coated her words.

“I’ve been engaged my whole life. Everyone expected my bride to be a virgin, but not me, which isn’t fair. And knowing who I’d marry meant opportunities with other women felt like a betrayal.”

Inching closer, Constance gave him the soft and dewy-eyed smile usually reserved for babies and small animals. “You’re really the most marvelous man, aren’t you? Then, why now? Why me?”

How could she ask that as if it were a real question? He traced a finger over the full curve of her cheek, marveling at her soft skin. “Because, with my conscience clear on the engagement, I can finally admit how desperate I am for you. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

Her hand slipped under his cravat to the opening in his shirt. They both sighed when bare skin met bare skin. “Have you abstained from everything? Wait, I wasn’t your first kiss, was I?”

His chuckle ended on a hiss when those clever fingers delved farther under his shirt and found a nipple. “You were my third kiss.”

A saucy grin made her eyes light. “Really? What about looking, but not touching? Bawdy houses, and the like.”

There must be an invisible string he’d never noticed running between his nipple and his balls, because with every touch, pressure built between his legs. “Do you really want the specifics right now?”

Her smile turned wicked when she lightly pinched his nipple and he gasped.

“If I’m going to let you into my body, I think I have the right to ask questions.

I’ll answer any you have for me. But if you’d rather not discuss specifics, as you say, I can respect that.

Especially knowing you don’t carry the pox or the clap. ”

“Am I to gather you aren’t a virgin then?” Oliver kept his voice light, lest she think he was somehow passing judgment.

Despite his efforts, her smile froze. “Is that a problem?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I’m glad one of us knows what they’re doing.”

The line of her shoulders softened. “My former fiancé and I anticipated the marriage bed. I’ve kissed plenty of men, but you’ll be my second lover.”

Shifting to straddle his lap, she clung to his front like a spider monkey.

“This is better. Now tell me, Lord Southwyn, if I’m to be your first woman, what do you want from this encounter?

You’ve waited for this, and I’d hate to disappoint you.

” The question was teasing, but Oliver heard the sincerity behind it.

His hands traced down her spine, then snugged under the lush curve of her bottom.

“First of all, stop with the title nonsense. If by some miracle I manage to make you come, it would be awkward as hell for you to yell ‘Lord Southwyn’ in the heat of passion.” As he’d hoped, she laughed.

But because she was Constance, she still managed to surprise him.

“Oh, Lord Southwyn! God, yes! Harder, Lord Southwyn!”

Fuck . She was funning with him, but her approximation of a woman in the throes of climax was damned convincing. Oliver shifted under her, trying to make room in uncomfortably tight breeches.

Constance snickered. “Liked that, did you, milord?”

The way her laugh lit her from within made him sigh. “You’re so damned beautiful. I’m afraid I’ll take one look at you without your clothes, and spill at your feet like a green lad.” Honesty was much easier when combined with laughter.

The vulnerable confession inspired another sweet smile from her.

“Then you come like a green lad. I’ll take that as the compliment it is.

Oliver, our time together doesn’t end when you finish.

After all, you have hands and a mouth.” A thumb caressed his lower lip. Her voice turned husky. “And a tongue.”

Images raced through his mind. “I’ve never done anything with these hands or my mouth.”

Honeysuckle and her warm breath clouded his senses when she leaned in, whispering between nipping kisses, “Shall I teach you, Oliver? Would you like to learn how to give me pleasure?”

He was firmly in her thrall. A brush of fingertips on the crest of his ear made him shudder. Light kisses across his cheekbone. Innocent touches and seductive words—confounding, surprising, and arousing, like everything else about her.

“Yes. Yes, I want that,” he rasped. Oliver’s eyes fluttered closed as her mouth explored his ear and neck with feather-light touches that made his toes curl inside his boots.

“By the time we’re done, you’ll know exactly how to make me keen and beg and scream your name.”

He moaned. “Fuck, yes.”

It was at that moment the carriage slowed, and the coachman’s “whoa, lads” reached them. Oliver thumped his forehead on her shoulder, making her giggle.

“I would never wish ill on them, but I hope our friends stay away all night. Possibly all week.” That earned another laugh. Which, from his vantage point, did delightful things to her breasts.

By the time the footman opened the door, they sat on opposite sides of the coach, and he was thanking whatever fickle deity had decided the people of England would need a warm coat in June, because the garment covered his raging erection.

Inside Caro and Dorian’s cottage, Constance immediately busied herself building a fire. She was so thoroughly competent for a woman who often reminded him of a honeybee, flitting from one thing to the next.

As she went about being rather marvelous, he inspected the cottage for any signs of problems since the duke and duchess left for London.

Because, with their friends, in theory, arriving any minute, he couldn’t take Constance up on her offer to teach him how to make her beg.

Fuck, he needed to think about something else. Oliver imagined dunking himself in an ice bath and walked away from the fascinating temptation that was Constance Martin.

The cottage felt alive with color and texture, and so very different from the ducal townhome.

No marble floors or silk-covered walls. Windowsills—dry, despite the weather, thank God—and doorways were painted in shades of crimson, navy, and saffron.

Art from their travels adorned the walls, and woven rugs in every color of the rainbow covered the stone floor.

The majority of Dorian and Caro’s marriage had been spent on the Continent serving the king during the war. After Waterloo they’d returned to the cottage they referred to as their sanctuary, rather than to London.

Sure, there had been the odd few days in Town.

But it soon became clear to those in their inner circle they preferred life here.

Oliver glanced around the kitchen. A pantry held a few basic shelf-stable goods.

Otherwise, the area was bare. No surprise, since they’d been in London for the final part of Caro’s pregnancy.

“Dorian mentioned how challenging it can be to live such wildly different lifestyles. I admit, it was a shock to see the Duke of Holland chopping wood and baking bread, when I last visited,” he commented, breaking the silence.

“I’ve always admired the way they’ve made their own happiness, even if it isn’t conventional. This house has witnessed so much love. You can feel it,” Constance said.

She was right. Some indefinable thing made this a home, rather than a house.

The back door off the kitchen remained locked tight, and the floor was dry. Weather hadn’t seeped into the house there, either. Good.

The primary bedchamber held a large bed that immediately inspired all sorts of ideas, so Oliver quickly backed away.

The room he usually stayed in for visits was oddly bare. Frowning, Oliver went to the second guest room. That too stood empty, although the walls now showcased a mural, suggesting this would be Nathaniel’s bedchamber.

What had happened to the guest beds?

Still pondering that question, he returned to the main room, now noticeably warmer thanks to the fire crackling in the grate. “Did Caro mention she planned to make over the guest rooms?”

Constance looked over her shoulder as she hung her cloak on a peg by the door. “No. They hired a local artist to paint Nate’s room, but I don’t recall anything about the other bedroom. Why?”

“If they do abandon us here, there’s only one bed.”

Her laughter rang out, echoing off the exposed timbers of the ceiling.

Confusion prevented him from joining her. “Why is that amusing?”

Still giggling, she explained, “Stranding the couple in a cottage or inn with only one bed is a tried-and-true way to force characters together in romantic novels.” Still chuckling, she shook her head.

“If there were a way for Caro to expose us to a rain shower first, I’m certain she’d have done so. ”

Now he was truly baffled. “What does catching our death in the cold have to do with anything?”

Constance’s eyes sparkled. “Because we’d have to remove our clothing to get warm and dry. Obviously.”

“Of all the days for the damned rain to stay away, it had to pick today,” he grumbled good-naturedly.

As if they truly were in a play, someone knocked on the door.

“Right on cue?” he asked.

Constance stifled a laugh when they found a footman wearing the Holland livery on the step. “Pardon the interruption, your lordship. The duke and duchess have stopped for the day but send these for you and Miss Martin.”

Refusing to meet Constance’s eyes, lest he laugh and confuse the poor servant, Oliver took the folded paper and passed along a small packet wrapped in string with her name on it.

Caro isn’t feeling well, so we’ve stopped at Betsy’s home. Your servants will find comfortable lodging in the barn, with ample supplies. If you and Connie need anything, our neighbors will happily help. There should be enough food in the pantry to survive overnight.

We plan to be there by late morning tomorrow.

Love is worth seizing, my friend.

-D.

Handing the note to her, he addressed the footman. “Thank you. Will you be returning to them, or bedding down here with my staff?”

“Plenty of hours of daylight left, so I’ll make my way back and be on hand for His Grace. Unless you require my presence, of course.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine. But thank you.”

The servant nodded. “Will there be a reply?”

Oliver glanced at Constance, who shook her head. “Nothing that should be put into writing, no. I hope the duchess feels better by tomorrow,” he said.

As soon as the door closed behind the footman, he turned to her.

She clasped her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts against the neckline of her gown as she swayed playfully from side to side. “Feel free to tell me I was right anytime the urge strikes you.”

Oliver leaned against the door and tried not to eye her like a hungry wolf. “You were right. Now, it seems we’re all alone in this cozy little cottage in the middle of nowhere.”

Her eyes widened comically. “With only one bed! If I’m not careful, I might let my base urges overwhelm decorum. We must find something to do with ourselves to pass the time.”

Desire thrummed through him, thick and insistent even as Oliver grinned at her playacting. “You mean, to distract ourselves from temptation? Is this when I’m supposed to nobly offer to sleep on the floor so you may have the bed?”

The undulation of her hips stole his attention as she stepped closer.

“I couldn’t possibly sleep in that big bed all by myself, knowing you were on the cold stone floor.

” One of her hands covered his thundering heart.

“I’m sure I can trust you to not take advantage of me. ” Constance grinned cheekily up at him.

“Ah, but can you be trusted to not take advantage of me?” he asked. If she took another step toward him, she’d feel exactly how her playful teasing affected him.

“I’m afraid I may not be able to help myself,” Constance murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Thank fuck for that,” he growled and wrapped her in his arms.