How to Marry an Earl (A Cinderella Society 1)

Chapter Nine

“I’m sure.”

He moved so swiftly that one moment he was still as a shadow and the next, he was coming for, advancing over the plush carpet, his profile lit by firelight, like something out of a story. Her throat went dry and she had to swallow hard. He half-smiled and it was knowing and amused and utterly devastating. She faltered back a step before she could stop herself. He kept coming and it was thrilling, down to her toes. He stopped mere inches away. His gaze roamed over her, hot and hungry. It was as though he was already touching her.

“Still sure?”

She nodded silently. He dragged his fingertips up her bare arms, tickling, awakening every nerve. He threaded his fingers through her hair, dislodging pins, scraping her scalp lightly until she wanted to purr. Her bones were already melting and he’d barely touched her.

And then his fingers tightened, suddenly, enough to send another thrill down her legs. He tilted her head back to better take her mouth with his. Gone was the veneer of carefree aristocrat, even the hunter seeking retribution and justice. There was only Conall. And herself, the center of his gaze. He deepened the kiss, licking her lower lip until she opened to him, a small sound escaping her.

She’d never made a sound like that.

She wondered if she should be embarrassed.

Later.

Much later.

The sound seemed to wake something in Conall. He kept kissing her, urging her to respond until their tongues tangled and their breaths ran ragged. One hand steadied her at her lower back, warm and big and strong as he moved her backward. Her shoulders pressed against the silk wallpaper. The room whirled around her, blues, firelight, moonlight through the window. It was a kaleidoscope. She was a kaleidoscope, all colours, fire, want. She wanted to laugh but it would have required her to pull away and she had no intention of doing any such thing. She honestly didn’t think she had the physical or moral strength to do so. If the traitor had come strolling through the door, she was very much afraid she would not have noticed. Especially when Conall dragged open mouthed kisses along the curve of her neck. When he reached her shoulder he bit down, gently. Heat jolted through her. He laughed softly, pleased. “That’s it, love.”

She absolutely would not be the only one turning to fire.

Which was fine in theory but altogether different in practice.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She did know she wanted to peel away the layers that kept him so contained, so earl-like. The coat, the patterned waistcoat, the fine lawn shirt. Starting with his cravat. She wanted the strong column of his throat, wanted to see if his pulse was as frantic as hers. She fumbled at the knot, wilting the starch that kept the complicated twist in place.

Conall eased back, eyes heavy-lidded and breath not entirely steady. It made her feel strong. Joyful. He was affected, just as she was. It wasn’t up to her to keep the mood polite or pleasant, to agree with historical mistakes because they were spoken by an earl, to pretend she was in on the joke when she was the reason for it. This was for both of them, a conversation of hands and tongues and desire. She wasn’t alone in this. And it made it all that much sweeter.

The cravat knot, however, could go straight to the devil.

“My valet will be put out.”

“Good. He’s made this entirely too difficult,” she muttered. “And I’m strong from digging. I’m sure I could best him in a fight.”

He grinned. “Of that I have no doubt.”

She grinned back and the fire was still there between them, but so was a curious kind of comfort, of ease. She kissed him because she could. Because she wanted to. And then she unravelled the cravat and tossed it aside. She brushed her thumb over his skin, feeling his pulse as it jerked under her touch.

“I may not survive you,” he groaned. When she couldn’t smother a tiny smug smile, he leaned down to whisper in her ear until she felt his voice everywhere, in her belly, in her thighs, in all the secret places. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“More than I care to tell you. You already have all of the power.”

He shook his head. “Love, you have that backward. Every ounce of power is yours.” His mouth moved lower, tracing the edge of her neckline, dipping into the gap between her stays and the top of her breasts. “And that’s exactly how I want it.”

He licked along the line of lace until she clutched at his arms and he slid his fingers under her gown and lifted her breast free. It was both shocking and perfectly natural when he lowered his head to suck at her nipple until she squirmed.

“Tell me what you want.”

She wanted more. Just more.

She couldn’t find the words, but it didn’t seem to matter. He knew what her body wanted before she did. He licked and sucked at her like she was the sweetest of sweets. She gasped again, cool shivers on the back of her neck, fiery tingling between her legs. She didn’t know how she stayed standing, had the sneaking suspicion it was only because he was holding her up. His knee slipped between hers, pressed up. The contact and pressure were unexpected, delicious.

“Shall I tell you what I want, then?”