Page 52 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
Tearing her mouth from his, she dragged her lips over his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. She nipped at the vulnerable skin at his collarbone. She wanted to taste of all of him. She wanted—
Shoving her away, he staggered back, turned, and grabbed onto the mantel as though it alone gave him the strength to stand. Breathing harshly, he bowed his head. “You should leave.”
She took a tentative, trembling step toward him. “No, I want this.”
“If I take you—” He shook his head. “It would be unfair to take you, then seek a divorce.”
“I don’t want a divorce.”
Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. “Tonight, emotions are high. In the morning, there will be naught but regret.”
“You’re wrong. I want—”
“I don’t.” He slammed his hand against marble. Then he was gripping it again, his knuckles turning white. “I don’t. Not like this. Not because a brush with death has us wanting to feel alive. You deserve a man who wants you because it is you. God help me, it has taken me long enough to realize that.”
“And you are not that man?”
“I don’t know. I only know that taking you to my bed tonight would be a mistake, and if you do not leave, that is exactly what I am going to do.”
“I’m not going to leave.”
“So be it.”
He turned around. The agony on his face nearly brought her to her knees. Then he strode past her, leaving the room, leaving her behind.
Chapter 15
The Honorable Stephen Lyons wished he were dead. Whenever he moved, his skull felt in danger of splintering into a thousand shards. The room carried the musky scent of glorious sex. Like a blind man, he gingerly searched the sheets for the bare bottom of the lovely lady with whom he’d shared the night, but she’d apparently already taken her leave. Just as well. He had to report to the War Office this morning. He wondered at the time.
Squinting, he rolled over to grab his watch only to see a man sitting in the shadows. He jerked upright at the unexpected visitor, then grabbed his head as pain reverberated through it. “Damnation. What the devil are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you, puppy,” Ainsley said. “You’re supposed to be in India.”
“Devil take you! I’ve told you not to call me that.”
“But it suits.” He glanced around the shabby room. “Your accommodations are not to be desired.”
“They’re temporary.” Just someplace to stay when he had a bit of leave. Tossing back the sheets, not bothering to hide his nakedness, he clambered out of bed and lumbered to the washbasin. He displayed the cocky mien for which he was so well-known, the one that irritated the devil out of his brothers—brothers who possessed the one thing he never would: a title. He resented their power and influence. Splashing the cold water on his face, he shivered and reached for a towel. Drying off as he went, he wandered back over to the bed, sat down, and flicked the sheets over his hips. “How did you find me?”
“I have my ways.”
“I’ve always suspected there is more to you than shows on the surface. So why did you feel a need to find me? I’ve not been frequenting your circles. As a matter of fact, I’ve been working very hard not to draw attention to myself. So why the bother?”
“Westcliffe’s been shot.”
“Good God. I’m now the earl?” He’d wanted the title for as long as he could remember, but he’d never expected to have it. He’d not wanted to pay this price for it. Christ! He shook his head. “Why would someone kill him? Was it a hunting accident?”
“I didn’t say he was dead.”
He snapped his gaze over to his brother, only to find him scrutinizing him with those sharp green eyes of his. He knew women who bought emeralds simply because they matched the shade of Ainsley’s eyes. Women had fawned over his brother from the cradle.
“You were truly taken by surprise,” Ainsley said quietly.
“Naturally, I was. It’s not every day that someone is sh—bloody hell! You’re here because you think I did it.”
“The thought occurred.”
“Why would I do that?”
