Page 43 of My Best Friend's Earl
“God, I want you,” he said between kisses. How refreshing to admit that truth out loud.
“Need you.” Her answer came on breathy gasp as the tempo of her hips increased against his. “Please.”
If she wanted him enough to beg, he could not say no. Not when he needed her as urgently as his next breath. Together, they fell against the wall of shelves and he set her bottom on the edge of one sturdy wood plank, intent on reaching for the hem of her gown.
Glass jars rattled at the impact. The sharp sound cut through the haze of desire, creating a tiny opening through which reality returned. Oliver’s hips pinned hers to the shelves. Scant few layers of cloth separated his aching cock from the heat pouring from the juncture of her thighs. Blown pupils nearly swallowed that particular shade of Constance blue, and a flush stained her cheeks and chest.
As often as he’d caught himself staring at her lips before, he’d thought he knew their curves. But the sight of them as they were at this moment, plump and reddened from his kiss, would haunt him forever. Blond curls hung in a tangle, escaping her coiffure.
At some point in their wild fumble of limbs, the part of her gown with the damaged seam had given way and now it gaped to show a love bite on the curve of her shoulder, and the dusky rose of an areola peeking above the neckline. She looked rumpled, andhis.
Except, she wasn’t. Neither of them had any business being in this room together, much less kissing with such fervent madness.
Reality was a cruel slap, bullying aside whatever part of him had demanded he ravish this woman five seconds ago.
Miss Constance Martin of Martin House Books might have sneaked into a ton event, but there was no way she could leave the same way she’d entered. Not appearing freshly tumbled and thoroughly debauched—which was his fault.
“Well, fuck,” he sighed.
Chapter Sixteen
Change the goal entirely
I’m glad I searched our emergency location. I believe this is yours.” Althea handed Constance her red cloak, which she took gratefully. The army had missed a phenomenal logistical mind in Althea. She’d made backup plans upon contingencies when they laid out their goals for last night’s ball. “How did you get home without freezing to death?” Althea asked the question around a mouthful of rye bread. The Thompsons’ cook offered them the loaf with fresh butter and thinly sliced ham when Constance arrived as scheduled in Althea’s kitchen the day after meeting with Franklin Wellsley.
Cook plunked a pair of ciders next to them, then returned to the wall of ovens. Constance smiled her thanks before gulping a mouthful. Retelling the events of the night before would be difficult. Withholding the details of her interaction with Oliver was never under consideration. Some said confession was good for the soul. After a lifetime of making impulsive decisions and living to regret them, Constance was all too familiar with accepting the inevitable consequences of her choices.
Even when that meant telling Althea about the scorching kiss she’d shared with her friend’s fiancé. Recalling thesounds he’d made, the desperate way he’d promised anything she wanted, and the way she’d begged for more sent shame and desire battling in her mind. If the heat from her cheeks was any indication, her face must be alarmingly crimson.
“That map you sketched saved the day. Thank goodness you know the house so well. Choosing the storeroom to meet Mr. Wellsley was a stroke of genius.”
“Over the years, I’ve had to entertain myself in Lady Bellingham’s home for hours at a time, while she and my mother visited in her drawing room. I wasn’t permitted to join them—probably because they drink a concerning amount of cordial while gossiping about their friends.”
“In this instance, your penchant for snooping worked in our favor.”
“What I want to know is how you sneaked out of the house, unnoticed, with your gown and hair in such a state. At least your hair should have been in more disarray than usual if Oliver kissed you properly.” Althea offered a wicked smile, and Constance thanked the stars for the ten thousandth time during this conversation that her friend didn’t feel territorial about her fiancé.
“He insisted I wear his coat to cover my gown. As to the hair, Southwyn helped pin it into some semblance of order. Enough to not draw attention, anyway. Although wearing his coat would certainly warrant a second look.” While the memory of how he’d lost control at the first touch of lips had kept her awake long into the night, it was the moments afterward that made her heart twist.
Without prompting, Lord Southwyn had expertly coiled her curls back into place, securing the mass with pins they’d found scattered on the floor. “My mother had curls like this,” he’d explained in that deep, quiet voice. “Her hair was dark, so it didn’t create the nimbus effect yours does. But I spentmany afternoons helping shape her curls into individual spirals like these.”
“The rainwater makes the curls particularly soft,” she’d said, and he grunted an agreement.
After such fervent kisses, the gentle way he’d taken care of her had been a surprise. Especially when she checked in her mirror at home and spied the purplish marks on her neck and shoulder. That he could be nearly violently passionate one minute, then patiently taming her hair the next, was another facet of a man who became a greater enigma the longer she knew him. A man she had no business kissing or wanting.
“I suppose you used the servant’s entrance to the garden, then hailed a hack near the mews.” Althea drained cider in her mug. “That’s what I’d have done.”
Nodding an affirmative, Constance took another drink to wet her parched mouth. Her lips were tender against the rim of the glass, and she nearly whimpered. Hours later, her body still bore signs of his conquering in the most delicious, welcome way. God, he’d been nearly feral, and she craved more. Beyond her lust, there remained one important piece of information to share.
“I discovered something else. He didn’t know about your parents’ restrictions. That he hadn’t noticed doesn’t speak well of him. But he did not realize your father is keeping such a close eye on you for nefarious purposes.” She’d completely forgotten about his role in Althea’s life the second he touched her, which was something Connie needed to mull over. What if he’d been the villain actually? How had she not thought of her friend after that first kiss?
Studying Constance with a speculative look, Althea finally nodded. “I believe that. After all, I keep saying he doesn’t care enough to pay attention. He likely believeswhatever Father told him. All that might not matter in the end, though, because Oliver likes you.”
Constance shrugged. “We get along fine, I suppose.” She bit into a slice of rye, slathered with thick butter. It was a truth universally acknowledged that swallowing emotions was easier when accompanied by baked goods.
“No, helikesyou. He wants you. Do you know what this means, Connie?” Althea grinned as she leaned close.
The bread turned to a brick in Connie’s throat. Wordlessly, Althea nudged Constance’s mug toward her with a finger. A moment later, Constance’s wheezed “What?” sounded feeble and a tad desperate.
