The Naked Earl. Sally MacKenzie

he was so close.

      She tasted of sun and salt. Soft and feminine.

      Lord, did she purr? She tilted her head, giving him room to kiss the spot behind her ear.

      Was she panting also?

      “Lizzie…”

      “Mmm?”

      Christ, her lips…they grazed his chin, his cheek, and then her mouth found his.

      He was going to die. His head, his heart, his groin were going to explode.

      Her lips were so soft. They welcomed him, promising heaven—and he was a dying man, desperate for salvation. He ran his tongue along their seam. She whimpered, opening for him.

      He had known Lizzie forever. He had loved her as long. But he had lusted for her only since her come out and never quite like this. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. He was starting something he could never finish; promising things he could not give.

      It made no difference. He could no more stop his plunge into her warm, wet mouth than he could stop breathing.

      Actually, he could stop breathing.

      But he could not stop kissing Lizzie. Felicity could have marched into this private bower with Lady Beatrice and all the ton—even James, Lizzie’s brother—and he would not have, could not have stopped. She tasted of life, of hope, of all that he wanted and could not have.

      His lips left hers and moved down her throat. He loosened the neck of her gown.

      “When,” she breathed as he ran his tongue into the crease between her breasts.

      “When will…ohh.” She made a breathy little noise as his fingers skimmed over her skin and dipped down to free her breast from her corset.

      “When will we…”

      His mouth found her nipple. She shuddered.

      “Oh, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

      He grunted. He was incapable of any more coherent response. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, and then had to cover her mouth with his when she squeaked.

      God, this was heaven—or as close to heaven as he could ever hope to get. He wanted her naked. He wanted his hands, his mouth, on her from her throat to her ankles. He wanted to see her, to taste every inch of her.

      His mouth found the pulse at the base of her throat.

      “R-Robbie.”

      She was moaning. Good. Could he make her squeak again? He touched her nipple and heard her breath catch.

      He could.

      “R-Robbie…when…Oh. Oh, do that again.”

      She pressed closer. Her belly cradled his hardness. She rubbed against him. Heaven. If only…no, he wouldn’t spoil things by pining for what couldn’t be. He would enjoy the present moment.

      It was a very good, a splendid moment.

      “Do what again, love? This perhaps?” He cradled her breast with his hand and kissed its nipple.

      “Oh, yess…” She put her hands on his hips and pulled him closer still. “When…ohh…when…will…we…”

      “Hmm?” He moved to lave the other nipple. She arched back, giving him more room to explore, pressing her hips even tighter against his.

      “Don’t…stop.” Her hands pressed into his buttocks. She twisted against him. Could he bring her to satisfaction just by fondling her breasts? It was a challenge he was happy to undertake.

      “Robbie…what are you doing?”

      The last word came out in a squeal.

      “Shh.” He had never felt so powerful, so alive. “Not so loud. We don’t want to attract attention.” Thankfully, Felicity must have moved on. If she heard them, found them…well, if he wasn’t more careful, Lizzie was going to find herself chained to him for life.

      “I don’t mind.”

      “Hmm? What don’t you mind?”

      “I don’t mind if we attract attention.”

      “Lizzie, sweetheart…the scandal.”

      She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing. “There won’t be a scandal, Robbie.”

      “There won’t?” She must be more drunk with lust than she’d been with ratafia the night before. Her face was flushed, her hair was coming out of its pins, and her breasts…her breasts were completely, beautifully exposed. He traced a circle around one nipple and watched it pucker in response. “You look rather scandalous to me.”

      She rubbed against him. “I feel very scandalous.” She ran her hands up his waistcoat. He watched her pink tongue moisten her lips and bent to capture that tongue again.

      She giggled and pulled back before his mouth touched hers. “There won’t be any scandal because we’re betrothed.”

      He felt the blood drain from his face. He felt limp—everywhere. He couldn’t wed Lizzie. She was passionate. She would want children. She would not want a useless excuse for a man.

      Despair, all too familiar, choked him.

      “Aren’t we betrothed?”

      He hated seeing that lost look in her eyes, but he would hate more the disgust and pity he would see on their wedding night when he had to admit he was incapable of consummating their union.

      He tried to smile, tried to sound blasé.

      “I’m sorry—did I propose?”

      The sting of her hand hitting his cheek actually felt good.

      Chapter Four

      She hated him.

      Lizzie strode up the path to the house. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She was afraid she would do both if anyone spoke to her.

      “You don’t look happy.”

      It was Meg.

      “I’m not.”

      “What happened?”

      Lizzie shrugged and kept moving. It was quite impossible to get any words past the huge lump in her throat.

      Meg fell into step beside her. “Did you see Robbie?”

      Lizzie nodded.

      “Do you want to talk about it?”

      She shook her head. She most definitely did not want to talk about it. She lengthened her stride.

      Unfortunately, Meg lengthened hers as well.

      “Surely he proposed?”

      “Gaa.”

      “He didn’t? How could he not have?”

      Excellent question. How could he not have? He should never have taken such liberties with her person if he were not going to offer for her immediately. Ha! Immediately? He should have offered for and married her before he touched her in such a way. He had had his hands on…Her breasts throbbed in memory. Her breasts and…She flushed and bit her lip. She would not think about the other part of her that throbbed.

      And it was not just his hands! His mouth. His tongue.

      She swallowed a moan. Oh, lud—she would go mad. She was so angry. That was it. Anger was making her stomach feel so peculiar. Achy. Shivery.

      She was so angry she was panting.

      She had to get to her room.

      “Are you all right, Lizzie?”

      “I…I really need…to be alone, Meg.”

      “Oh, Lizzie.”