Page 36 of Deceiving an Earl
Ellen was pliant against him, warm and soft, and she smelled of an intoxicating mix of roses. He filled all his sense with her as his tongue explored the seam of her lips.
And then she opened her lips and he was tasting all of her. Sweeter than any ice, she was.
He groaned, suddenly so aroused that it hurt. But he kept his distance, did not allow her to know exactly what she did to him. He didn’t want to frighten her. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away.
He just wanted to taste her and explore her.
He was the one who broke the kiss first, pulling away because he was so breathless he thought he might expire.
Her dark eyes were clouded, her lips red and moist, her cheeks flushed. Her lashes fluttered until their gazes met, and then she smiled.
“I…” He thought he should apologize for being so bold, but he didn’t want to apologize. Because he wasn’t sorry. He was glad he kissed her, that he now knew her individual taste.
…
Oliver arrived promptly at eight in the morning and knocked on the door himself. He was in a foul mood that wasn’t helped when the butler answered the door and young Fieldhurst was sauntering down the stairs, a scowl on his face, one eye blackened and nearly swollen closed, and still in the clothes he’d been gadding about town in the night before. Expensive clothes. Not the old clothes he’d requested.
His mother hovered behind him, shooting concerned looks at Oliver and her son, wringing her hands. She looked exhausted and worried, and that increased Oliver’s ire.
He wasn’t sure if he was angrier at the boy or at Ellen. All night he’d thought about Ellen and the surgeon, and by the time morning came he had worked himself into a temper.
“I said to wear old clothes,” Oliver said in lieu of a greeting.
Ellen shot a nervous look at her son who appeared bored and uninterested.
“I just arrived home,” young Fieldhurst said, as if it were nothing to keep someone waiting.
Oliver arched a brow. “Very well, then. Come along.”
“I thought I might come, too?” Ellen’s statement ended in a question, and Oliver shook his head.
The last thing he needed was Ellen hovering about. He had a feeling that most of young Fieldhurst’s problems stemmed from an overprotective mother and no father figure.
“Come along,” Oliver said again, turning toward his carriage without waiting for either of them to answer.
He settled into the driver’s seat, and Fieldhurst fell into the seat next to him with a loud sigh, and Oliver urged the horses forward.
They did not speak and that was fine with Oliver. He was thinking of his comfortable bed and how he should be in it and how he’d never seen the morning quite like this. Most mornings he also was just coming home, not going out.
He resented Fieldhurst for this, but in truth it hadn’t been the boy’s decision to get started this early, and by the looks of him it appeared he wanted to be in his bed, too. In fact, his eyes were closed, his chin on his chest, and he was breathing deeply.
Oliver kicked the boy’s boot. If he had to stay awake, then by God, so did the boy.
Philip jerked awake with a loud, “Huh.” And looked around with bleary eyes.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked in a whiny voice that put Oliver’s back teeth together.
“Because this is not a drive through the country. You’re to stay awake.”
“And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” He settled back down in his sleeping position.
“I am your last hope of getting back into Eton, you ungrateful runt. So stay awake.”
Philip snorted but sat up and yawned and looked around blinking. “Where are we going?”
“The Fieldhurst estate.”
“The Fieldhurst estate?” His voice rose in shock. “Why are we going there?”
