Unraveling the Earl Read Free Page B

you,” he answered, entirely charmed. “And
me. Us.”
    “Wait.” She held up one hand, her fingers spread wide and
none too steady. “Wait, my lord. I just need a moment.”
    “We haven’t a moment to waste.” Henry pitched his voice low.
“Come away with me, my dove. And we will all the pleasures prove.”
    “Do stop. I cannot think with you quoting poetry to me. And
quite poorly, I might add.”
    “Don’t think,” he ordered. “I’ve a carriage waiting. We can
be at Hastings Hall in two hours. And I promise you those two hours will be
well spent.”
    “Yes, yes, you are London’s greatest gift to the ladies.”
Her voice shook with the last remnants of her laughter as she dragged her gaze
down the length of his body and back again. She took a deep breath as her
shining eyes met his once more. “Shall we away, my lord?”

Chapter Two
     
    Henry craned his head out the window, his gaze searching the
road behind until he spotted the second carriage following a mile or so behind.
He sat back with a satisfied smile, his hand idly stroking over the front of
his trousers and his painfully hard cock beneath.
    The little minx had insisted upon making the journey in her
own carriage, an antiquated, lumbering box on wheels pulled by six mismatched
horses of unknown lineage. One footman, little more than a boy, decked out in
black-and-gray livery, rode beside the coachman while the other had disappeared
into the interior behind his mistress.
    As the roads were dry they’d made good time, reaching the
gate set between twin gatehouses in less than two hours. From there they had
only to follow the long, tree-shaded drive that led from the road to the house
in a straight shot, bisecting hills and forests and a stream.
    As his carriage crossed the stone bridge Henry saw that the
stream was a small trickle, due no doubt to the drought that had taken hold of
most of the country in recent months.
    A copse of trees, fenced off from the road and recently
thinned, was the final impediment to the sight of the manor house. Sitting
majestically above a small rise, the yellow-stone mansion sprawled four stories
high against a backdrop of rolling green hills and sprawling gardens. A wide
portico held aloft by a dozen tall pillars spanned nearly a quarter of the
front façade, creating a shady space where Henry and Olivia had played as
children.
    When they could escape their mother’s eagle eye.
    Henry blinked against the sudden moisture filling his eyes
and an unfamiliar burning deep in the sockets.
    “Damned dusty roads,” he muttered.
    Not caring to think about his mother and the havoc she had
wreaked far and wide before quietly passing away in the night, Henry instead
thought about the mysterious lady who followed in a dilapidated excuse for a
carriage.
    Miss Buchanan. What the devil was her given name? It seemed
she ought to have offered it up at some point. She had followed him from London
to Somerville and two hours farther north to Hastings Hall to partake of his
charms, after all. One would think they would be on friendlier terms.
    There was plenty of time for that. Hell they had all day and
all night to become better acquainted.
    Henry was painfully hard just imagining her slender legs
curled around his waist as he thrust into her quim. After she’d straddled him
and taken her pleasure, riding him hard and fast or soft and slow, depending
upon her preference, of course. The ladies did like to mount him, having heard
the whispers of his stamina, proof that even the highest born were not above
spreading tales of their sexual exploits.
    Perhaps later, after he’d gifted her with a handful of
thrashing orgasms, she might be persuaded to wrap her long fingers around his
cock and take him into her mouth.
    Who was he kidding? Even his various mistresses had only
offered up their mouths in return for some bauble or other.
    Ah well, a man could dream. And if that particular dream
came to naught, he fully intended to roger Miss