Page 73 of How the Earl Entices

He collapsed on top of her, his body throbbing from exertion and blissfully tingling with utter happiness.

He placed a tender kiss to her flushed lips, then lowered his head to her bare shoulder, resting his forehead there as he struggled to calm himself. Good God, how she undid him! He’d never known a woman like her, one who could make him feel strong and masculine with only a glance. One who frustrated him beyond measure yet drove him to bliss when she finally granted release.

One who made him want to give her the world, and himself right along with it.

He gathered her into his arms and turned onto his back to nestle her into the hollow between his shoulder and his chest. With her eyes still closed and her face tantalizingly flushed, he’d never seen a more beautiful woman.

He placed a delicate kiss to her lips.

In reply, she placed her hand to his chest—

No, to his heart. Her fingers curled into the waistcoat he still wore, so desperate had he been to have her that he hadn’t removed any of his clothes. He grinned. He understood that feeling of possession, because he felt the same about her.

“You are an amazing woman, Grace Alden,” he murmured. “I’ve never…never.”

He laughed with astonishment that he couldn’t put to words the wonderful way she made him feel and nuzzled his cheek against hers. But he’d have the rest of his life to describe to her how happy she made him, how much he admired her, and if his blossoming joy was any indication, how much he cared about her.

She whispered against his shoulder, “Susan.”

He froze, his heart skipping with a hard jolt that shook him to his core. He slowly rolled over on top of her, raising himself onto his elbow as he stared down at her, searching for answers.

She fixed her eyes to his chest, unwilling to meet his gaze as she confessed so softly that he could barely hear her, “My name is Susan Montague.” A silver tear slid down her cheek in the moonlight. “Viscountess Lockwood.”

Chapter 22

Ross climbed the stairs into the bedroom and silently held out a glass of brandy.

“Thank you,” Grace whispered as she accepted it. Yet there wasn’t enough liquor in the world to help her through this. Nothing could stop the shaking that had gripped her since she’d revealed her secret, or relieve the numbness that filled her after he’d gazed at her with such shock.

Or hide the bewildered suspicion that now registered on his face.

Only a few minutes ago, they had been wrapped around each other, desperate to touch and explore every part of the other until their passion was spent. Now he remained apart from her, and as she stood there, covered neck to ankle to wrist by her night rail, she felt more exposed and vulnerable than when he’d ripped her dress away.

He’d removed his jacket and cravat while she’d been changing. Now, with his shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing muscular forearms, he looked like the perfect picture of a gentleman at leisure as he sat back on the windowsill and watched her, his long legs kicked out in front of him. But his relaxed appearance belied the simmering tension seeping from him.

“Start at the beginning,” he ordered quietly. “And tell me everything.”

She took a deep swallow of brandy and welcomed the burn down her throat. “You were there at the beginning.” She whispered in little more than a breath, “At Lady Hawthorne’s masquerade.”

His eyes flickered as the memory of that night finally returned to him. “The waltz that was stolen…It was Lockwood.”

She nodded, suppressing a shiver as the memories flooded painfully back. “That was when I met David. We were married not that long after.” She trailed her fingertip around the rim of the glass, watching it because she couldn’t bear looking at him. “For two years, we had a pleasant marriage. He was kind and generous, always thoughtful…a good husband in every way.”

“He loved you.” The matter-of-fact shrug of his shoulder wasn’t enough to hide the trace of jealousy in his voice.

“He did. But I didn’t love him, not in the same way. Oh, I cared about him, certainly, but it wasn’t love. I think he knew that and was hoping that I would come to love him in time.” She didn’t dare to speak louder than a whisper, not when the connection between them now felt so tenuous that she could destroy it with nothing more than one harsh word. “But we only had two years together.”

Trying to gather herself enough to continue, she lifted the glass to her lips. She closed her eyes as the brandy warmed her throat, to shut out as much of the pain of that time as possible. Yet from the ashes rose life, because that horrible time also gave her Ethan. How could she wish for anything to be different?

“You said before that he died of fever,” he prompted.

“Yes. We were in London and had just arrived for the season. Because we’d lost our land agent the month prior, David had worn himself out putting the estate in order for our absence. He was exhausted from working and traveling, and the fever came on so fast…” She pressed the back of her hand against her lips to keep down any errant sob that might escape at the memory of her sick husband and whispered through her fingers, “I sent for Doctor Laraby. At first, David seemed to recover, only to suddenly become worse. But I couldn’t be at his side because I’d fallen ill myself—headaches, sickness in my stomach, dizziness…”

“Because you were with child.”

Nodding, she felt the close study of his gaze on her, although she didn’t dare look up from her glass. “I’d missed my courses the previous month, but that wasn’t unusual. I was only eighteen, and since I’d missed my courses before but hadn’t gotten with child, I thought that month was simply the same as before, that my sickness was the same that had gripped David. So did Doctor Laraby. He advised me to stay in bed in my room, and that’s where I was when David died.” The memory of that horrible afternoon rushed back so fiercely that she flinched. “I should have been at his side. I should have been there to comfort him. I should have—” A knot of self-recrimination in her throat choked her. “But at least he wasn’t alone. His brother Vincent was with him when he passed.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.