Page 18 of Only Earl in the World (Taming of the Dukes)
The four other members of the Hellfire Kitties stared at her over the tea table with varying degrees of disbelief, wonder, and I-told-you-so satisfaction, the last of course from Vesper, who couldn’t stop preening over her incomparable matchmaking brilliance.
She was, in true Vesper fashion, taking all the credit, though Briar didn’t mind.
Her friend deserved whatever joy she could get.
“I knew you would be perfect for each other!” she crowed. “I told him to get off his arse and strike while the iron was hot.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? It’s not real,” Briar said, sipping her tea and nearly scalding her tongue. She’d sent a message to the earl that she could no longer keep the truth from her friends. To her surprise, he had agreed, and so, here she was. “This farce is simply a means to an end.”
A means to an end that was becoming more treacherous by the day.
Because by God, that kiss .
It was as though it had been brewing for an eternity, building and building into something so explosive that stars had fallen from their orbit.
Or at least, it had felt that way. Like everything in the cosmos had been inexplicably altered.
She had been changed down to her cellular matter.
After she had shamelessly begged for more, her entire body on fire, Lushing had obliged until they had both almost dissolved into a tangled coil of heat, lust, and shivering desire.
And then they’d both sworn never to do it again.
Though every single hour of the day since, she yearned for his touch.
Briar had experimented with kissing before, but none of them had been like that.
Cataclysmic and all-consuming. Her mind had been inventive with her writing, but her body had never made the connection between what she wrote and what she felt.
Certainly, she’d experienced the sparks of arousal.
But that single kiss had turned her arousal into an inferno, and now that her senses were awakened, it was all she could do to not show up at the earl’s residence with nothing but a cloak, a crop, and a pair of boots, and demand he finish what he started.
Which was never going to happen.
Because everything was going perfectly to plan, and if they were lucky, they would each get what they hoped for—their former partners.
Briar was stunned at how quickly their artifice had worked.
Given that the ton loved gossip, when they had first appeared together as a couple at the opera a fortnight ago, the tongues had wagged nonstop about whether they’d been secretly courting all along, something that everyone had allegedly long suspected.
A load of poppycock, of course.
High society loved nothing more than drama and amorous intrigues.
As predicted, Viscount Sackley seemed to be regretting his hasty rejection, particularly when the denizens of the ton raved about Lady Briar’s brave and charitable endeavors, and her decidedly virtuous nature.
That was mostly thanks to her mother’s connections with all the influential dowagers.
Briar leaned into the praise with everything she had, swiftly becoming the new darling of the ton .
And likewise, the perfect Lady Penelope had become rather prickly, sending longing glances toward the Earl of Lushing whenever they were at the same social events, which was often by design.
The lady, too, was bemoaning her injudicious acceptance of the suit of a man who was considerably less everything than the dashing earl.
Less titled, less rich, less charming, less handsome…
Briar didn’t miss the jealous looks she received, which her dreadful self-absorbed cohort seemed to love leaning into as well.
This was more than a matter of pride to him.
He wanted Penelope crawling as he’d admitted to Briar.
She had yet to reconcile how the growled confession had seeped into her bones like oil over gravel, making the slumbering beast inside lift its head with coy interest. Given the chance, she would yield at a simple command from him.
Briar would crawl on her hands and knees if he told her to.
Even now, she wanted to squirm in her garden chair.
Briar firmed her lips and focused on the matter at hand, her friends and not the fantasies of her wanton inner self. “My precious darlings, what you’ve seen over the past two weeks has been crafty subterfuge. I assure you, Lushing is not interested in me, nor the reverse.”
Vesper let out a vulgar scoff of amusement as Effie pinned her lips to keep from likely doing the same. Both Nève and Laila feigned deep interest in their scones, their expressions of disbelief nearly identical.
“Could have fooled me,” someone muttered. It sounded like Effie, the wretch.
Briar sighed and reached for patience. “We are simply doing what we must to convince our former paramours of their mistakes,” she explained.
She knew that her friends had always insisted there was something between Lushing and her…
but that something was reciprocated antagonism.
Attraction notwithstanding, they were like chalk and cheese with nothing in common beyond their wonderful mutual circle of friends.
Briar still found the earl infuriatingly arrogant; he still found her tiresomely stubborn.
They were both too competitive and controlling to bend to the other.
Maybe not in bed…
Goodness, where had that thought come from?
Heat flooded her cheeks as the visceral memory of his hard body in that alleyway and the way he’d grasped her hair in his tight fist rose up to taunt her.
When he’d held her close, she had felt the wide breadth of his chest against her, the length of his muscled thighs, and that part of him.
The hard ridge against her belly had felt quite sizable.
The women at Lethe talked, and the Earl of Lushing wasn’t lacking in anything—property or prowess.
Though he didn’t make a habit of bedding women at his own establishment, juicy gossip found its way between streets and station, and such gossip usually included tidbits about Lethe’s much-too-attractive and exceedingly virile owner.
For the love of God, stop thinking about him or his deuced virility .
Briar glanced at her friends. “Can we talk about something else now?”
“But nothing else is as exciting,” Vesper said with a pout.
“This is. Do any of you have ideas for Lady Ivy?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Her identity was still a closely guarded secret after all, and it only took one slip in front of the servants for the truth to get out.
“After the last volume, I’m afraid I’ve hit a wall.
Apparently, my muse has decided to go on hiatus. ”
They all perked up after that as Briar reached for the small notebook in her reticule to jot down any notes.
“So, this past volume was flogging,” Nève said.
“With the special furniture in the flagellation room, yes? Excellent work, by the way. I enjoyed the story, even though it’s not really my cup of tea.
” She shook her head with a small wince.
“Considering the physical torture I endured with my ruined toes for ballet, the idea of pain doesn’t seem very pleasurable. ”
“Thank you for saying that,” Briar said softly. “I’m so sorry about your suffering. That’s the beauty of books—there’s something for everyone. I want to cover a wide range of study for my readers to feel comfortable with their likes and dislikes.”
“Each to their own,” Effie chimed in. “I don’t mind a good swat, and Laila loves it.”
A cushion flew at her face, and everyone giggled. “I do,” Laila admitted and ducked her head. “Wait, the flagellation room. Is that what it’s called?”
Nève grinned. “She is a special governess , Laila. She must discipline her naughty lovers somewhere.” She held up a finger to her chin. “If I recall, the book before that was the visit to one of the most elite brothels in Paris, La Fleur Blanche, and the infamous coitus chair.”
Biting her lip, Briar nodded. “That was a fantastic suggestion. Who knew carpenters could be so ingenious?”
“That French count was rather inventive and adventurous with the seat,” Effie said. “Especially when he took it into the garden with Lady Ivy and the courtesan.”
Everyone twittered, hands rising to suddenly flushed cheeks.
“I love a good, luxurious bed,” Nève said. “I do not see the lure of a lack of comfort. I adore indulgence too much.”
“One does have to be resourceful,” Effie mused.
“I admit Vale and I rarely make it to a bed. The uses of furniture can be quite versatile. We even tried a valet’s stand and a vanity once.
It’s remarkable what the right height can do, especially when one’s head is hanging over the side, and his phallus, er, well, never mind… ”
“Effie!” Nève whisper-screamed under her breath.
Effie rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re pretending to be so scandalized about—you’re the one with the flexibility to do ballet splits during copulation. Anyone with abnormal joints can sit down.”
“That was a secret!” she hissed.
Briar grinned. “One that appeared in volume number three, might I remind you, with the voyeuristic show at the theater.”
They burst into giggles as Laila pointed a finger at Vesper.
“I don’t know why Cupidella is being so quiet over there, knowing she and her fondness for outdoor adventures inspired volume number four.
I shall never be able to visit the Crystal Palace again without being properly horrified at the indignities those poor statues suffered. ”
Vesper pinned her lips with a snort, but a look of odd melancholy stole over her features that she tried to hide without much success.
Noticing her swift change in mood, Briar frowned. “Are you well, Ves?”