Page 11 of Not Just Any Earl
A gentleman didn’t toss up…
He trailed his fingertips over the slender curves of her hips, across her belly, and the sound she made, that needy little gasp, God help him.
This is a library, and not even your library.
It’s Lady…Lady…Lady Somebody-or-Other’s library.
Johnathan let his fingers wander higher, tracing a line from her belly to the space between her breasts, praying for strength when he found her unencumbered by a corset, all her delicious curves unbound, as if she’d been waiting for the stroke of his roving hands.
No corset? That didn’t seem—
She caught his hand and pressed her lips to his palm.
A gentleman didn’t toss…
No matter how much he wanted her. No matter that he was trembling for her, his cock as rigid as an iron spike, pressing against his breeches, his chest heaving with every labored breath, his head swimming—
A gentleman didn’t…
But Johnathan did. He was.
He wrapped a hand in her hair and eased her head back, swallowing at the sight of the long, graceful curve of her neck laid out like a feast before him. He caught her chin between gentle fingertips and turned her head aside so he could press his lips there, his tongue darting out to taste the arch between her neck and shoulder, his hands sliding up to cradle her breasts.
A soft cry fell from her lips as he stroked her, the peaks of her nipples going taut against his palms, and just like that, with her hungry little pleas echoing in his head, Johnathan was lost, his hand fisting her skirt and dragging it to her knees, then higher, imagining the pink silk caressing her thighs, and higher still, past the warm, wet hollow between her legs where he was dying to bury his face, his mouth, his tongue. “I want to taste you, Susanna.”
She went utterly still, her reaction so sudden and unexpected it chased some of the fog of desire from Johnathan’s head. “Susanna? It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s Melrose.”
A gasp broke from her lips, shattering the quiet. It was a gasp of distress, not passion, and in one baffling instant, she went rigid against him. Johnathan froze, stunned. “Susanna? I beg your—”
But she didn’t give him a chance to beg for anything. Before he could utter another word, she snatched her skirt from his fist, jerked it down, and tore herself from his arms.
Johnathan instinctively moved to follow her, to catch her and soothe her with whispered assurances, but she was gone in a whirl of skirts, leaving behind only the memory of her silky hair against his lips, and a faint scent of roses.
He stood there for long, silent moments, dazed, but the lady had made her choice. There was nothing left for him to do but return to the ballroom.
Johnathan gathered himself together, his heart curiously heavy in his chest, but just as he was leaving the library, he stepped on something, and leaned down to pluck it up.
It was a violet ribbon.
He pressed the smooth silk to his nose, and drew in a deep breath.
Roses.
He slipped the ribbon into his pocket, and left the library.
Later, Emmeline wouldn’t recall how she managed to gather her wits enough to tear herself from his arms at last, nor would she remember her frantic flight down the corridor, a prayer on her lips that she wouldn’t meet anyone else—dear God, please—her feet echoing on the bare wooden boards of the staircase, then the blur of figured green damask wallpaper in the hallway on the third floor.
Then, at last, the safety of her bedchamber, her lungs on fire, her breath ragged, tearing at her throat as she sucked in great gulps of air.
It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s Melrose.
There was only one Lord Melrose in London, and he was the very same Lord Melrose Juliet had wagered on, the same Lord Melrose who was meant to make Juliet his countess before the end of the season!
Emmeline’s head met the door behind her with a hard thump.
No, it can’t be. I can’t possibly be so unlucky as to—
“Emmeline, is that you? Oh, thank goodness! Where have you been? Help me loosen some of these buttons, will you?”
