“I haven’t had lemonade since I was a lad,” Dev remarked when he’d chugged half of his. “It refreshes.”
“Tastes better with extra sugar. Val adds cold tea to his. Try mine.”
“As I have had the chicken pox,” Dev said, sipping from Westhaven’s glass. “Give me that sugar bowl.”
They passed an amiable evening, chatting over dinner about the marriage prospects for their sisters, the house party at Morelands, and the state of British government in general.
When the earl was alone in the library at the end of the evening, he found himself wondering why he hadn’t offered his brothers the use of the townhouse earlier. It would have allowed them both to be near their sisters without residing at the ducal mansion, and it would have provided some company.
Anna had been company out at Welbourne, but in the week since their return, she’d faded back into the role of invisible housekeeper. When he walked into a room, she left. When he sat down to a meal, she was nowhere to be found. When he retired to his rooms, she’d been through earlier, cleaning and tidying then disappearing.
The door clicked softly, and as if he’d conjured her with his thoughts, Anna padded in on bare feet, clad only in her night rail and wrapper.
“Anna.” He rose, and she watched as he took in her dishabille.
“My lord,” she said and earned a thunderous scowl from him as he stalked over to her.
“What have I done, Anna, to earn your use of my title?”
“I cannot be sure we are private,” she said then blinked at her tactical error. “And I do not believe such familiarity wise.”
“Ah.” He backed away, leaning on the desk, arms crossed. “Shall we discuss this change of heart on your part? You’ve been avoiding me since we got back to Town, and don’t think to tell me otherwise.”
“You are no longer ill,” she said, raising her chin. “And you are capable of dressing yourself.”
“Barely,” he said with a snort. “So tell me, how am I to court you if you won’t stay in the same room with me? How am I to persuade you to marry me if you maneuver always to have others present when I am about? You aren’t playing fair, Anna.”
She watched him warily, trying to formulate an answer that wouldn’t aggravate him further. If she’d known he was in here, lurking in the solitude and darkness, she would have run in the opposite direction—she hoped.
“Come here.” He gentled his tone and held out a hand.
“You will take liberties,” Anna said, crossing her arms. “And you know I do not encourage your courting. I warned you your efforts would be for naught.”
The difficulty, Anna silently admitted, was that she had made no efforts of her own, efforts to secure yet another position, another identity, another escape route. Like one of her grandfather’s fat, wooly sheep, she’d just gone about her tasks, cutting flowers, airing sheets, and telling herself soon she would press his lordship for that character, soon she would explain the situation to Morgan, soon she would make inquiries at some different agencies.
A week had gone by, and she’d accomplished nothing, except another seven days of longing for a man she had no business desiring.
“You will make me work for it, won’t you?” Westhaven said with a faint smile. He pushed away from the desk and approached her silently. “That’s as it should be.”
His arms closed around her, and Anna just bowed her head, knowing even more than his kisses and his wicked caresses, the comfort of his embrace had the power to paralyze her. He was warm, vital, and strong, and while it wasn’t his aim to protect her, the illusion that he could was irresistible.
“Let me hold you,” he whispered, “or I’ll have a relapse of the chicken pox to inspire you to closer attendance of me.”
“You can’t have a relapse.”
“Actually, I can,” he murmured, his hands easing over her back, “but Fairly says it’s quite rare. Relax, Anna, I just want to feel you in my arms, hmm?”
She couldn’t remain tense, not with his big hands stroking so knowingly over her muscles and bones. He touched her the way he might touch a horse, listening with his hands for what her body would tell him without her mind’s consent.
“You need to eat more,” he said. “You’ve put weight on me but neglected yourself.”
“You lost weight, being ill,” Anna corrected him, her voice sleepier than she’d intended it. “And you have to stop this.”
“Why is that?” She felt his lips against her temple, and leaned into him a little more heavily.
“Because, I like it too well, and then you’ll be kissing me and your hands will be wandering and I will want to let them wander.”
“Good,” the earl said, humor in his voice and something else. Something not quite as relaxed as his hands might have suggested. “I do want to kiss you. Have for days, but you’ve been dodgy as a feral cat.” His lips brushed her cheek, and Anna felt her meager defenses crumbling.
“You must not,” she said, cuddling into his chest as if he could protect her from his own wayward intentions.
“I rather think I must,” he argued softly. “I have never met a lady so in want of kissing.” Those lips were moving along her jaw now, then teasing at her neck. Oh, the wretched, wretched man… Anna let her head fall to the side, vowing she would do better next time. She wouldn’t let him get past the first embrace. But for now…
She was wicked. Her brother had told her she was headstrong, unnatural, and ungrateful, and all that added up to wickedness. She should not be misleading the earl like this, should not be giving him ideas, should not be enjoying giving him ideas. But he touched her, and all the loneliness and worry and fear went away, taking her honor and common sense with them, leaving her melting and trusting and entirely too willing.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, his teeth scraping gently at her skin. “Don’t think, just let me bring you pleasure, bring us both pleasure.”
“Westhaven…” she whispered, trying still to end this, to put him firmly in his place. He’d told her he would never force her; that he would stop if she asked it of him.
She could not ask it of herself, Anna thought despairingly as the earl’s lips settled softly over hers.
She tried to hold back, to keep herself aloof from his caresses and his kisses, but she had no experience with sexual self-restraint. Her hands crept up to caress his neck and jaw, her body pressed into his with shameless disregard for anything save the need to be closer, and her mouth parted on a sigh.
“Oh, not this…” She broke the kiss when he began to rock his hips against her but stayed in his arms, her forehead resting on his sternum. “You are interested, and soon you will be indecent with me again.”
“I would love to be indecent with you, Anna.”
“I cannot allow it,” she wailed. “You do not understand all of my circumstances, Westhaven. This is nothing but folly. We must stop.”
“Soon,” he assured her. “Your virtue is not at risk, Anna. Not tonight. Just let me pleasure you.”
“You want to be indecent,” she accused again, gripping his waist tightly.
“Unless you ask it of me, I will not remove my clothing,” he replied, his voice steadier than hers.
“Do you promise? You won’t even unfasten your trousers?” She lifted her face to regard him by the light of the fire.
“I will not unfasten my trousers,” he replied, his gaze rock steady with maybe a touch of humor in his green eyes. “Let me hold you and kiss you and bring you pleasure.”
If he kept his pants up, Anna reasoned, she wouldn’t be so tempted to wantonness, wouldn’t be tempted to touch him, to explore his intriguingly hard and yet delicately smooth male member with her fingers… and lips and tongue. If he kept his pants up, she could manage to keep her own wits about her.