To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (Wicked Wagers 3) Read online

  So caught up in the magic of the kiss, she did not notice his hand expertly freeing one breast from the bodice of her gown until the cooling morning air brushed across her heated skin. She broke from his kiss and sat back on a gasp. He levered himself up and on a deep groan, crawled up her body, gently pushing her down onto the path.

  She’d never experienced the weight of a man on top of her. It was thrilling and scary all at the same time. Before she could decide what to do, his mouth found her bare, taut nipple and the hot moistness of his mouth stifled any protest. This time the moan came from her.

  She heard a rustle and felt his hand glide seductively under her dress and up her trembling thigh. He stroked her leg while devouring her breast with his mouth and wicked tongue. She let the magic of his love-making consume her. She knew she should protest. She knew Henry would be mortified at what he was doing. He wasn’t in his right mind.

  His fingers danced up the inside of her thigh and she tried to close her legs. His lips found hers once more and he let his tongue seduce her. Her clenched thighs relaxed under his soft touch and his fingers swept upwards to find the damp core of her. He groaned deep into her mouth as his fingers slid through her wetness.

  His breath was ragged, and she could not miss the hard length of him against her stomach. He slipped a finger inside her, and she only just stifled a cry before arching beneath him. Her mind screamed at her to stop him. This was getting beyond the point of no return–it was scandalous. But her body wouldn’t acquiesce, craving his attentions.

  His mouth left hers and trailed a molten path toward her ear. His hand sunk deep into her hair, holding her head at an angle while he nipped at her ear lobe, all the while his finger stroked deep within her. She could feel her body tightening. She struggled for air, panting, urgently seeking some kind of release from the slow building torture of pleasure.

  “How I love your responsiveness to my touch, Millicent. Come for me, I’ve missed you so much...”

  Amy froze. Pain lanced her chest. How stupid could she have been? Of course he thought she was someone else. Henry never noticed her—not in this way. Why, only last year he’d been more than instrumental in arranging her ‘almost’ engagement to his friend, Marcus Danvers, the Marquis of Wolverstone.

  “What’s wrong my love?” He noticed her lack of response because he stilled, his hand leaving her.

  Amy was thankful it was dark, but with such a starry night he might not be so drunk that he couldn’t recognise her. Panic took hold. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him sideways with all her might. He rolled off her with a grunt of surprise. Too mortified for words, she pushed clear and jumped to her feet. As she righted her clothing, covering her naked breasts, she barely glanced over her shoulder to ensure Henry would be all right before she raced for the safety of the darkness and her home.

  “What the hell...” Henry shook his head and rose to his knees. His groin throbbed, something he’d not experienced in a while, and his head thumped like a blacksmith’s hammer was pounding inside it. He’d awoken from a very pleasant dream to the blazing nightmare of a terrible reality.

  There had been a woman in his arms. A stranger.

  He spied something bright and dazzling on the path next to him. He picked up the object and brought it closer to his face so he could examine it. An earring.

  “Christ, it wasn’t a drunken dream.” The earring was exquisite. A cluster of emeralds surrounded by brilliantly cut diamonds. It was heavy in his hand. Expensive. This, along with her silk clothing, led him to the conclusion that the woman was no light-skirt. He’d dallied with a woman of prominence.

  Whoever she was, she was every hot-blooded man’s fantasy. Warm, silky skin, her scent like freshly cut flowers. She was so responsive to his touch. He could still smell her arousal on his hand and he hungered for more.

  He staggered to his feet and groaned, holding his head in his hands while he swayed. He touched the gash on his head and grimaced.

  When the dizziness and nausea waned he looked around the square. It had to be someone local. No woman of quality would stray far from home this late. But hadn’t there been a musical soiree at Lady Answell’s townhouse on the corner tonight? Blast, that didn’t help. It could have been a guest taking the air.

  He closed his eyes and remembered her response. She was young, he was sure of it. Her responses were untutored, hesitant, innocent.... Christ.

  Someone young, local, someone who had been out that evening.

  Innocent. What if he’d nearly debauched a virgin in his garden? A smile broke over his lips. But he didn’t feel shame or guilt. He stood up straighter, invigorated for the first time in months.

  He weighed the earring in his hand before slowly closing his fist over it. He would find the owner of this earring. Her response told him very clearly that she was not immune to him.

  For the first time in ages he looked forward to his bed. He needed to get some sleep. Soon he would start his very own fairy tale. He had a Cinderella hunt to begin in a few hours.

  With lightness in his step, Henry trotted up his front walk.

  For a change, his footman was most surprised to hear a whistling and chirpy master enter the house, especially as he had nasty gash on his forehead. But then all of the nobility were a bit crazy.

  Chapter Three

  Amy tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. Her body still hummed deliciously. Henry St. Giles. She’d kissed him, and more. Her face and skin heated.

  The year he’d finished at Oxford, she’d fallen completely in love with the twenty-one year old second son of the earl. She’d stand at her window each day merely to catch a glimpse of him. Any dreams of a marriage were simply that—dreams. Her father would never allow her to marry a mere second son.

  But two years ago, after his brother's death...He was now the Earl. Her father could hardly object to a match. Unfortunately, Henry obviously had no desire to wife hunt. Or maybe it was simply no desire for her.

  One night she’d been hiding from her father in Henry’s private garden. She’d overheard him talking to his dead brother. Henry had just become the earl and seemed lost in grief and responsibility. How she’d longed to offer him comfort. She’d meant to leave him to his privacy. She’d been mortified that she hadn’t turned tail and fled as soon as he started unburdening his heart. A proper young lady did not eavesdrop. She didn't mean to stay and listen to his personal conversation, but something in his lonely chat with his recently departed brother penetrated her heart.

  She’d learned something about Henry St Giles that day. She learned they had quite a bit in common. They both wanted more out of life. Not materials things. They were both looking for something personal, something deeper, a connection with another human being.

  Last night they’d connected all right. She plumped her pillow and tried to relax. The morning sun was well up in the sky. She should get up. But she dreaded the morning now. What if Henry realized who he’d kissed in his garden? He’d thought her someone else. His heart might belong to Millicent. If Henry realized what he’d done, he’d try to offer for her. She could not have that. Not if he loved another.

  Worse, she had to go back to the garden. She’d lost one of her emerald earrings. They were a gift from Lord and Lady Wolverstone. They’d had them especially designed as a thank you for saving Sabine from a sadistic rapist. It was the first time she’d worn them.

  The earring likely came off when Henry’s hand sunk into her hair. If anyone found it in the garden and showed it to Marcus, her identity would be revealed.

  She knew what would happen then. The duke would see her betrothed to Henry in a snap of his ducal fingers.

  Her father had lost his temper with her at Lady Skye’s ball last night. He’d wanted to announce her engagement to Jeremy Montague, Marquis of Chesterton. Her threat of causing a scene the only reason her father angrily relented.

  Yesterday she had made her own list of possible candidates. She’d gone to the bal
l to begin her planned assault, determined to thwart her father’s list of husbands with one of her own choosing. Sabine had promised to help. Only Amy couldn’t confess to her friend that there was only one name on her list. Henry St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood.

  She had not seen him bestow his favors on any of the young debutants. She’d also investigated him as much as she could without raising eyebrows. According to her friend Latisha’s brother, he did not appear to have a mistress. He didn’t appear to have anyone. He looked lonely and sometimes a tad sad. His brother’s death had changed him.

  She’d been delighted to learn that Henry wasn’t in love with anyone. But she’d been wrong to hope. It appeared he did have someone special. He’d called a woman’s name last night. Millicent sounded more than a casual acquaintance. When he spoke her name, it sounded as if he loved this woman. His voice choked and it held such longing.

  So who was Millicent?

  With an exasperated sigh she threw back the covers. She wouldn’t find out who Henry’s mysterious lady by lying in bed moping. She moved to the bell pull to summon her maid. She knew exactly where she would go today. A quick trip to explore the garden and then on to Telford House. She had information to gather.

  When she next saw Henry she’d have to pretend indifference. It would be difficult given her body remembered very well what his clever fingers could do. She swallowed her longing. She prayed he would not be visiting with Harlow when she called on Caitlin.

  This morning she would visit with the two ladies who knew the most about Henry St. Giles. Or at least would know how to find the answers she sought-who was Millicent and what is she to Henry? Lady Dangerfield and Lady Wolverstone. Caitlin and Sabine would help her she was sure, especially since she’d been instrumental in ensuring Sabine married her one true love, Marcus. If they didn’t have her answers, she’d ask them to discretely extract the information from their husbands, Henry’s best friends.

  #

  The next morning, Henry was up early. For once in his miserable life, Charles was on time. Just when Henry felt like death had come knocking, his cousin looked fresh and alert. He felt like the worlds biggest hypocrite.

  His bad temper made the meeting short and functional. He laid out his plan.

  “Charles, you will offer for Hilda Lulworth and I will guarantee you an annual income of six-thousand pounds.” He held up his hand stilling Charles’s cry of protest. “In addition, I refuse to pay any of your gambling debts except this current note, and if you should end up in the poorhouse, I’ll move Hilda into the Dowager house on my estate. I’ll ensure Hilda’s security, but not yours.” He turned a ferocious gaze on his useless cousin and added, “Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  Charles made to stand his mouth spluttering curses but his father put a hand on his shoulder, stilling him. “That sounds more than generous. However, one small point. Hilda is expecting a match with you. What if she should refuse?”

  “Then Charles will woo her and ensure she doesn’t refuse.”

  “I bloody won’t marry that mouse of a woman.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow, and spoke slowly and carefully, ignoring the pain thumping through his head. “Then I won’t cover your notes and you can rot in the poorhouse for all I care. The choice is yours.”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “I believe Henry is being more than generous, Charles.” He stood, indicating to Charles to do likewise. “We shall not take up any more of your time. Be assured I shall ensure your wishes are adhered to.”

  They reached the door before Henry spoke. “By the end of the season this marriage is to take place. Only then will I pay off your debts. Plus, Hilda will at all times be treated with respect and kindness or I shall cut you off without a penny.”

  Charles’s back stiffened but he remained silent. His only form of rebellion was the slamming of the door upon his exit.

  Henry dropped his head in his hands, praying he’d done the right thing for all concerned. He’d have to talk with Hilda. He didn’t look forward to that conversation.

  Henry wrote a quick note and summoned a footman with directions to deliver it to Lulworth house. He would settle the matter this afternoon.

  His stomach heaved—from guilt or his hangover he wasn’t sure. But even with a hangover from hell, he couldn’t stop from wanting to begin his search for the owner of the earring nestled safely in his jacket pocket.

  He rose, moved to the window, and looked out over the garden. If not for the earring he’d have thought last night a perfect dream.

  He’d start the search in his garden. He couldn’t get the feel or response of the woman from last night out of his mind. She’d felt perfect in his arms. Perhaps she’d thought so too. Maybe she’d return to the garden...

  He strode from the room, determined to find the answer he sought. As he descended his front steps, his hopes rose when he spied a splash of lavender and white through the foliage. Someone was there. The dress indicated it was a woman. He entered quietly. She could be searching for her earring.

  He crept closer, sticking to the grass rather than walking on the gravel path.

  As he rounded the bushes, and the fountain came into view, the sight that greeted him saw his senses sharply focus.

  Two round globes greeted him. A woman was on her knees, under the bench. The fabric of her white linen dress pulled taut across her plump behind. His arms moved as if to mold his hands to the beckoning sight, and he had to check himself. Hadn’t he molested enough women recently?

  She was moving right and left, searching for something. This was his mystery woman. He was sure of it.

  He caught a flash of pale skin, raven-black hair, and the scent of citrus. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Blast. He couldn’t swear it was the same scent as last night. He wished his head didn’t hurt so much, and that he’d not been so drunk. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat.

  At the sound, her head rose sharply and smacked the underside of the bench. “Owe!”

  The deliciously plump bottom began wiggling as she backed out from under the seat, and Henry’s body reacted immediately. Heat licked at his groin and blood raced south.

  She muttered under her breath, twisting to look over her shoulder. Her appalled gaze reached Henry and she froze, eyes widening with shock.

  Henry’s shock matched hers, but he hid it under what he hoped was a friendly yet non-threatening manner, in the sense of I’m not about to attack you again kind of way. It was Amy. His neighbor. Please, dear God, don’t let me have molested Amy.

  “Have you lost something, Lady Shipton?”

  Warm honey coloured eyes quickly masked her shock and she seemed fixated on his bandage. “Oh, you’ve hurt yourself.” She gave a little giggle. “Who on earth dressed your wound? It looks as if a child has played doctor with your head.”

  “Quite. Thank you for your concern. I had a small accident.”

  He watched to see if guilty recognition entered her face, but it remained blank, except for amusement. Irritation stirred. He became more direct.

  “In this very garden. Last night, actually.”

  Amy looked around anxiously. “You were attacked in your own garden?” She took a step back.

  He blanched. Perhaps it wasn’t Amy. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. “Good lord, no. I tripped and fell.”

  Of course it couldn’t have been Amy. Surely Amy would have stopped him immediately. A young woman of quality, an innocent young woman would never have allowed such behavior. Her screams would have brought her servants running. Besides, he’d never been attracted to Amy Shipton.

  Idiot. How had he not noticed that she was, in fact, very attractive? Perhaps because, as a second son of an Earl, he allowed himself to harbour hopes for a wife who would love him, but he never looked above his station. Never would he have expected to be able to marry the daughter of a Duke. But now.... There was nothing to stop him. Why had he never noticed how appealing his young neighbor was?

  He r
an a critical eye over the young woman before him. Christ. His mouth watered. She’d grown up.

  Her face was pretty enough. Wide forehead, high cheek bones, and warm, honey-brown eyes. But it was the cupid bow lips that drew a man’s gaze. The lips pouted and made a man think wicked thoughts. What he’d love to teach her to do with those lips...

  He swept his eyes down and then back up her dainty frame. Her breasts were the right size, enough to fill his hands. She curved in all the right places, in exactly the right proportions. Plenty of flesh to cushion his body. Enough for a man to hold on to. She looked like a woman built for pleasure. His pleasure. Get a grip, man.

  She was however, respectably dressed. In fact, the dress more than adequately covered every inch of her, buttoned up to the neck. Yet, every inch of his body reacted to the sight of her. Unusual.

  His suspicions were back in play. The last few months his body had been reluctant to feel desire, yet here he was reacting like a stallion scenting a mare, to a properly clothed, respectable, young woman. Why? Did it recognize what he could not?

  He repeated his question. “You were looking for something. What have you lost?”

  She gathered herself reasonably quickly, yet she wrung her hands. “I apologize for being in your garden, my lord. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

  Oh, my God. It was Amy. He fought down his horror at the thought he’d basically molested a virgin. No wonder she didn’t want to discuss what occurred last night. Yet, his mind screamed he’d found her.

  “You’re not in trouble, Amy.” First names were appropriate given she would soon be his wife. “Please let me take care of everything.”

  She looked at him wide eyed. “You can find Tinkles then?”

  His mouth opened and nothing came out. At his look of confusion Amy promptly burst into tears. “I’ve lost Tinkles.”