The Naked Earl. Sally MacKenzie

      “N-no, I’m not. I just want to touch you. Please? Just let me touch you.” His arms were too long. No matter how much she stretched, she could not reach his body.

      “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Now put on your nightgown.”

      “I think it would be a splendid idea.” She lunged again. No luck. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

      “Because besides the fact that you appear to be thoroughly foxed, I’m certain there are going to be people at your door and quite possibly your window any moment now. You don’t want them to find us like this, do you?”

      She hiccupped. “Yes, I do.” She lurched toward him again. If she didn’t feel his body against hers soon, she would cry.

      Robbie gave an odd little growl. “You wouldn’t say that if you were sober.”

      “Yes, I would.” She stopped fighting and touched him where she could reach. The muscles in his arms were warm rocks. She could barely get her fingers around his forearm. She stroked his wrist with her thumb and saw sweat bead on his upper lip. She wanted to lick it off.

      “I love you, Robbie. I’ve loved you forever.”

      His jaw tensed. “No, you haven’t.”

      “Yes, I have.”

      He shook his head. “Hero worship. Calf love.”

      “No. Kiss me. You’ll see.”

      He rubbed his face on his arm, wiping off the sweat. “There’s no time for that, Lizzie.”

      “Yes, there is. Kiss me.”

      “Lizzie.” His hands clenched on her shoulders, but gentled when she drew in a sharp breath. “Lizzie, please. If I’m found here, the scandal will be beyond belief. James will kill me.”

      “No, he won’t. You’re his friend.”

      Robbie snorted. “You’re his sister. Trust me. He will kill me.”

      “I don’t see why. He met Sarah naked, didn’t he? How can he complain?”

      “That’s different.”

      “No, it’s not.”

      “Yes, it is, and if you weren’t so foxed you would see that. Now put your nightgown on.”

      “All right, but you’ll have to let me go. I can’t put it on with your hands in the way.”

      “True. Just don’t—”

      Robbie loosened his grip too soon. Lizzie closed the distance between them in one step and threw her arms around his waist.

      “Lizzie!” He moved almost as quickly, dropping his hands to her hips, pushing them back.

      She had forgotten about his swollen part. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she so ached to feel his entire body against hers. What she could feel felt very, very good. Her hands played over his back, running up and down his warm, smooth skin. She pressed her cheek against his chest and heard his heart pounding. She found a drop of sweat trickling down between his nipples and licked it, running her tongue up the trail to his neck.

      “Lizzie!”

      “Mmm?” His hands on her hips were wonderful, but they were too still. She tried to wiggle, to encourage his fingers to roam. Perhaps she could show him the way. She slipped her own hands over his buttocks and around to his stomach, careful not to touch…

      “Lizzie!” Robbie leapt back as if scalded.

      “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She glanced down and smiled in relief. “No, see—you’re better. The stiffness and swelling are almost gone. You should be able to tuck your…um, well, you should be able to tuck it into your pantaloons now.”

      “God, Lizzie.”

      Lizzie frowned, looking up. Robbie’s mouth was so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes looked…haunted.

      “Robbie, I—”

      She jumped. Someone was banging on her door—and someone else was banging on her window.

      “What…?”

      “Your company has arrived.” Robbie grabbed her shoulders, turned her, and pushed her toward the bed. “Get your nightgown on.”

      Bloody hell. Lizzie was not moving quickly enough. And she was clearly half-seas-over. Did she grasp the seriousness of the situation? No. She was sitting on her bed, staring at him. Staring at a particular part of him.

      At least she had stopped grabbing him.

      More banging. Whoever was hitting the window might manage to break it if Lizzie didn’t get her nightgown on soon.

      He snuffed out the candle, leaving the room lit only by the banked fire in the hearth. Perhaps darkness would help her concentrate on the matter at hand.

      “Put on your nightgown.”

      “Hmm?”

      “Lizzie, you need to put on your nightgown now. You have to answer the door.” He reached to help her—and encountered a soft breast.

      “Mmm.”

      Good God, the girl was purring. If only…No, he wouldn’t think of it. It was impossible. Completely im—

      “Lizzie!” He tried to keep his voice down, though with all the door and window pounding, he could have shouted and not been heard over the din. “Lizzie—yikes!”

      He grabbed her wrist and pulled her fingers away from where they had wandered.

      “Did I hurt you? You’re swollen again.”

      “Lizzie, just put your nightgown on and get the door. Please?”

      She huffed and the small puff of air tickled over his stomach.

      “All right. Will you touch me again after they are all gone? It felt so good.”

      Damn. He balled his hands into fists. He really would like to hit something. He tried to keep his voice calm.

      “We’ll see. Now be a good girl and put on your nightgown.” Louder banging on the door and some muffled shouts. At least James wasn’t here. He was at Alvord, awaiting the birth of his second child. “Hurry. The door first. Try to look as if you’ve just woken up. And remember, I’m not here.”

      “Not here. Right.”

      He watched her take her first steps toward the door, then he jumped onto the bed, pulling the curtains closed.

      Betty, Lizzie’s maid, must sleep like the dead, he thought. Hell, she must be dead if this racket hadn’t woken her. Of course, that was assuming she was in her bed at all. More likely she was with his valet somewhere. It was no secret those two would like to make a match of it. Collins had certainly hinted about it enough. Robbie was beginning to fear for his life when the man shaved him each morning.

      Betty and Collins would be merry as grigs if he wed Lizzie. Well, he would be, too, but it would never happen. He sighed. When he had seen her, standing naked in front of her mirror, the candlelight making her skin glow, her hand sliding down her curves to exactly the place he most wanted to be…

      He buried his face in the pillow. A mistake. He inhaled her scent and grew even harder.

      He stifled a moan.

      The door had swung open. Light and the babble of voices flooded the room. Only a miracle would keep him from detection.

      He prayed for a miracle.

      “He’s here, isn’t he? I know he’s here.” Lady Felicity Brookton, clad in a pistachio-colored dressing gown, pushed Lizzie aside and stepped into the room, holding a candle high. “Where are you hiding him?”