Page 103 of An Unwilling Earl
“We’re all dressed,” he said on a groan.
“We’ll get dressed again.”
“Good God, woman.”
He backed her against the wall and lifted her many voluminous skirts until the cool air hit her legs.
“Put your legs around my hips,” he commanded, and she did as he said, excited to try something new.
She was wet and ready for him, could already feel the pressure building inside of her.
He fumbled between them and inserted a finger inside of her, making her gasp. Her back was to the wall, supporting her, and she wriggled on his touch. Then his touch was gone, and his manhood was pressing against her, looking for her entrance. She guided him there, and he seated himself inside of her.
She leaned her head back against the wall and watched the various expressions rush across his face as he pumped into her.
“It feels so good,” she said softly as she moved with him.
He moved his hand to rub her. She cried out, and they moved faster until they both found their release, coming together in a violent kiss, and swallowing each other’s cries of pleasure.
He pulled out, and she felt the warm, liquid essence of him drip down her inner thighs.
Quickly he buttoned himself back up and grabbed a towel by the water pitcher and cleaned her up. She was boneless, leaning against the wall, her insides still quivering with her release.
“Well, that was definitely a good start to our night,” she said as she lowered her skirts and fluffed them out.
In the mirror she fixed her hair—no major disturbance there—and saw Jacob slide something in his pocket.
“Surely you’re not taking the pistol to a ball,” she said.
“Surely I am.”
“But, Jacob. We’ll be at Lady Armbruster’s. We’ll be safe there.”
Jacob looked at her with such a serious expression that she stilled. “O’Leary was just here. There was another body, this one left where she was killed. He didn’t even bother to push her into the Thames.”
“What does that mean?” Her words seemed to get stuck in her throat, and she had to force them out. Would she ever be free of the shadow of her aunt and cousin? Would she ever be happy without thinking that something would come along to destroy that happiness?
“O’Leary thinks Edmund—or rather, the killer—is getting sloppy. His superiors finally gave him authority to speak to the Morrises.”
“Are we in danger?”
“O’Leary says no. He does not think that Edmund is after you because he’s never threatened you in the past and you are not the type of woman he hunts.”
She breathed a marginal sigh of relief, although she would never be reassured until Edmund was stopped.
“And we can’t cancel on Lady Armbruster now. This ball is being held in our honor, after all.”
“That is true.”
He kissed her forehead. “We will go, and we won’t think of Edmund or Martha, and we will have a wonderful time. Are you ready?”
She fluffed her skirts one more time. For tonight she wouldn’t think about Aunt Martha or Cousin Edmund. Tonight she would attempt to enjoy herself.
Chapter Thirty
The ball was everything Charlotte had expected, and it was also everything unexpected.
She met so many people that she wouldn’t possibly remember their names come morning, but rather than being standoffish and cold toward her, as she had expected them to be, they had been warm and welcoming. There were a few that were less than pleased that she was the new countess of Ashland, but she brushed off their displeasure and frowns.
