The Earl in My Bed (Rebellious Desires 2)

Swallowing her astonishment, she peered up at him. “For what purpose?”

Provoking amusement lit his eyes. “To play cards.”

Her husband was deliberately ignoring the strict rules of etiquette and conduct that governed their set, and blast her curiosity but she was captivated. What was his agenda? She narrowed her eyes. How did this procure him the heir he had traveled back to England for? Did the dratted man believe she would fall at his feet and welcome him to her bed and body at the slightest bit of attention from him?

“Whatever are you doing?”

He smiled, but entirely without humor. “I am wooing my wife.”

Daphne was rendered speechless. That was the last thing she had expected, and she had no notion how to respond. She went with him to the area mostly dominated by gentlemen, the scent of cigars, and where port and brandy flowed freely. Several men appeared curious at her presence but none questioned him. She was not the only lady present, and after a while, Daphne relaxed, determined to savor the rare moment of enjoying a ball alongside her earl.

An hour later, she acknowledged a most startling and perplexing truth. Her husband was charming, sweet, and so very wonderful. Daphne never dreamed he could be like this. For so very long he had been indifferent and unapproachable. She didn’t want to believe his amiable facade for a moment. But how could she not?

Daphne laughed and gambled quite recklessly, entranced by the bemused admiration in her earl’s eyes as they trounced everyone at the table at whist.

It was the most wonderful of times.

And the most petrifying, for somehow, the sly scoundrel was sneaking beneath her guard.

A couple of hours later they departed the ball in separate carriages but arrived home only a few minutes apart. Daphne’s lady’s maid had been waiting, and she completed her night toiletries and scooted under the covers, hugging Gulliver to her. He was no longer a sweet pup she could easily lift but a magnificent beast whom she loved with her entire being. Her dog loved her unreservedly, without judgment, and had been her staunchest friend over the lonely years. They took long walks together, they swam in the lake whenever she retired to the country, and if he could have talked, surely, he would have recounted the unending sorrows she poured out to him while they picnicked.

Suddenly, the connecting door to her chamber opened. Her fingers tightened on Gulliver’s neck as Sylvester closed the door and sauntered in. He was dressed in a dark blue silk banyan and his chest was bared to her gaze. She could read nothing from his expression. A warning bell sounded in her mind.

“May I sleep beside you, wife?”

Shock stole her tongue for precious seconds. “What?” Not the most elegant of reply, but she really could do no better. Everything about that night, from the ball to now, felt unreal.

“I wondered if I could perhaps share your bed. There is no fire in my room or sheets atop the bed. In fact, my windows were left open and the chamber is frightfully cold. I have slept in more inhospitable conditions, so I could return if you are disinclined to share. I must also warn you that I sleep naked, but I will not make advances unless you ask me.”

His eyes contained a gleam of mockery that made her suspect he was teasing her. Surely, he had to be teasing. She threw back the covers, launched from the bed, and padded toward him. Daphne was very aware of his eyes caressing along her length, and she was grateful the night had been nippy enough she had been forced to wear her cotton night rail. How would her earl react, she wondered, if he knew when the nights were sweltering she also slept in the nude? She skirted around him and peered through his still open door. The room was truly dark and terribly cold. “My goodness! This makes no sense.” The staff would never be so lax in their duties.

“Hmm, someone in our employ is desperate to lose their position.”

She shot him a reproving glare. “There must be a credible explanation.” Even though she couldn’t imagine what could have prompted their efficient and well-ordered servants to abandon a duty they had previously tended to with such pride and care.

“Or they want us in the same room and in the same bed,” he said with frustrating calm.

She snapped her head around to meet his amused gaze. “I beg your pardon!”

“You heard me, Countess. That could be the only logical explanation. It would also explain the lone candlelight at last night’s dinner. I had wondered if it was a ploy to hide unappetizing fare. But our dinner was splendid as usual. Then it occurred to me they perhaps wanted a romantic atmosphere.”

“Why did you not say something?” she hissed, thoroughly provoked. She, too, recalled the strange suggestion from Mrs. Shepherd, the head housekeeper, about a basket being prepared for a picnic in Kensington Gardens with the earl. There had been a determined light in the woman’s eyes, but Daphne had taken the hamper with a few more items to the orphanage in the village. She’d also observed for the past few nights dinner had been more…exotic, with all their favorite dishes, fresh flowers in even the earl’s chamber, and how had he entered her room just now when she had locked the connecting door?

Did they not understand they could be sacked for their highly improper behavior? Daphne scowled. She treated her staff as if they were her family, without distinction of rank getting in the way, buying presents for their children’s birthdays and at Christmas, asking after their families, taking a basket to Mary Higgins, a former chamber maid, when she had been confined. Perhaps her kindness had lulled her staff into a false sense of security. “Why would they act in such a manner?”

“Because they want to hear the pitter-patter of little lords and ladies.”

She glared at him helplessly. How often had Mrs. Shepherd, who had been with Sylvester’s family for over twenty years, commented that she anticipated the days of a little master once more being in the house?

“This is outrageous,” Daphne gasped, ignoring the satisfied glint in his eyes.

“You could sack the lot of them,” he suggested drolly. “I’ll line up the lot and deliver a stern warning that we’ll not tolerate such antics.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and his gaze sharpened. “I’ve managed our household without your input for years. No need to trouble yourself now.”

He canted his head and gave her a rather assessing glance. “Does that mean I sleep in your bed tonight, wife?”

No…yes. Confusion rushed through her as opposing needs melded inside. She had never had another presence in her bed, except her dog. Her husband’s request seemed simple, yet frightfully complicated. At her silence, Sylvester dipped his head in a slight bow and spun on his heel.

“Stay.” The command slipped from her unbidden, without conscious thought, and she must take it back.

But she wasn’t even sure why. How many times had she woken in the middle of the night and dearly wished he were holding her? Frustratingly, she could not bring the words to her lips. Her heart tumbled in her chest when he slipped the banyan off to stand naked before her eyes. He was simply magnificent. She could see the tightly controlled strength and power in her husband. Glorious muscles delineated every inch of his body, and Daphne doubted she had ever seen a finer specimen. She looked everywhere but at that part of him. Until she couldn’t help herself and she stared helplessly. She blinked. His manhood looked nothing like those she saw in the scandalous books she had devoured or on the statues she had examined. Her husband was frightfully well-endowed.

Heat swept through her entire body. Oh God, she hated when she blushed. The last thing she wanted to do now was appear gauche or uncertain or aroused. She couldn’t take her eyes from his, couldn’t help but moisten her lips.

Cursing the desires he easily roused in her body, she moved over to the bed, clambering on and sliding beneath the sheets. He doused the single candle and prowled over to her. Sylvester did not speak, and as the mattress dipped under his weight, she scooted more to the center of the bed. They lay there, silent, rough breathing testament they were both awake

.

She closed her eyes tightly, despising herself when a tear ran down the corner of her eyes to her temple. “I know what you are doing,” she said with a voice that trembled. “It is too late for us.” For she was decided, she would remain no longer in a loveless marriage.

“Nothing is ever too late,” came his soft-spoken contemplative reply. “Dancing with you tonight, playing cards with you, I cannot recall a time that could equal the pleasure I felt.”

Her breath hitched.

“Except that night in the library when I tasted your lips and between your sweet thighs for the first time.”

And most distressingly, with all the balls, the music parties, the picnic, and routs she’d indulged in over the last several months, nothing had compared to the last few hours…except when he had taken her to such heights of bliss.

Unable to reply, she turned to her side, hugging Gulliver to her. He growled in contentment and stretched his powerful frame beside her. “Do not touch me, Sylvester,” she warned.

She felt his amusement more than saw it.

“As you wish, my wife.”

My wife. A rush of unexpected warmth went through her, and her heart ached at his soft, sensual tones. She was weakening. If there was ever a time to escape, this was it.

Tomorrow she would start her scandalous campaign in earnest.

Chapter Seven

Sylvester reluctantly eased from the warmth of his wife, his cock aching, his promise not to take her trembling with the strength of his desire. It was perhaps a foolish decision to sleep in the same bed with her when he had been celibate for so long. He had spent half the night awake, fighting through the desire of wanting her and wondering why he had sworn to not touch her.

He padded silently to his room that now had a fire, fresh flowers, and newly spread bed sheets. A steaming bath was already waiting, and an hour later he was dressed smartly with the aid of his valet, who seemed pleased Sylvester had come from his wife’s chamber. He offered no scolding, for their unusual antics had seen him one step closer to having her in his bed. He could be more ruthless and use her untapped passion against her, but he wanted to tread gently with her. It confounded him. He could not explain the need, and he had decided to simply embrace it.

He didn’t want to break her, he realized. He had seen too many beautiful and precious things broken and ruined—his sister as she had lifted listless eyes to him, blood soaking her bandaged wrists, and Magabe, a resilient child who had tried to run away from a plantation only to have his skin flayed from his back for the affront of wanting freedom. Sylvester had bought him—the only way to see Magabe free—and taken him back to England where he could receive true liberty.

The last several days had seen Daphne shying from him, and it had been uncomfortable acknowledging that he did not want to frighten her away, so he was moving with patience. When she hid, he did not pursue, when she ducked into rooms to avoid him in the hallways, he was amused, and when she closed the connecting door to her chamber, he would stand on the opposite side for minutes, fighting back the rampant hunger brewing in his gut to storm her defenses with carnal kisses and touches.