Page 41 of Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords and Ladies in Love 2)

He bowed his head. “As you wish.”

Arabella’s heart thundered at this point. Excitement shot through her, and she could already feel herself damp between her legs.

As if he sensed her thoughts, Nash once again placed his mouth near her ear and ran his tongue over the soft shell. “Have no fear, Arabella. We will take our time. We have all night.”

Oh dear.

Chapter Thirteen

Nash knocked lightly on Arabella’s bedchamber door. He’d given her enough time to bathe and prepare herself. He was looking forward to a night spent in his wife’s bed with her naked curves plastered against him in sleep.

Today had been particularly satisfying, despite Arabella’s faux pas with the animals at Blossom’s farm. He shook his head, considering how her behavior would have been viewed had a member of Polite Society been present. On the other hand, Blossom and his wife had been grateful for her assistance and had not seemed to think any less of her for her actions.

Otherwise, she’d made an excellent impression on his tenants, and the staff already turned to her for instructions, which removed a great deal of burdensome decisions from his shoulders.

Thinking of his tenants raised his ire again at the condition of his finances. He’d learned from one of his tenants that his steward, Edward Jones, had not been around to collect the rents for some time. It seemed his son, Randall Jones, had been collecting them on his father’s behalf. Randall had told the tenants that his father was ill and he was helping. A trip to the Jones cottage had shown it locked up tight.

He pushed all of that aside at Arabella’s response and opened the door. She stood there, all pink and glowing from her bath, in a thin cotton nightgown, her curves visible through the candlelight. The gown’s bodice was low enough that the creamy mounds of her breasts rose and fell as she took in breaths. Her hair had been brushed to a gleaming mass of locks draped over her shoulders. She smiled softly at him. He continued his perusal of her body then glanced down at her hands.

She held a furry scrap of some sort of animal in her clutches. Blood dripped onto her pristine white night gown. And the rug. And the counterpane. And her tiny toes peeking out from under the gown.

“What the devil is that, Arabella?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but one of the maids just brought him to me. He’s been injured and needs my attention.”

“I need your attention. We are not going to perform surgery again. I will ring for a footman who will take that—animal—to the kitchen and have Cook serve it up for breakfast.”

She gasped and clutched the animal to her chest, then swung around, her back facing him, protecting the creature. “No. He is only a little kitten. We can’t eat him for breakfast!”

“I insist. Well, not about eating the thing since I don’t fancy kitten stew, but you will have a footman take it to the kitchen and have one of the maids clean it up.” He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “That is my final word on this, Arabella.” He walked to the bell rope and tugged.

She continued to pet and murmur to the kitten about the mean man while they waited. Ordinarily her soothing way with the kitten would have blood pumping to his groin, imagining her stroking him instead of the animal. However, the sight of all that blood and the animal’s wails hindered any lustful thoughts.

A footman arrived, his eyebrows reaching his hairline when Nash had Arabella place the kitten in his hands. “Please see that one of the maids attends the kitten.”

“Yes, my lord.” He swallowed a few times. “And then what would you like us to do with it?”

Arabella shook her head furiously. No, he wouldn’t tell the man to have it cooked up. “Just find a basket or something for it to sleep in for the night.” He glanced over at Arabella. “And please have another bath sent up for her ladyship.”

Nash sipped on a glass of brandy in his room, trying very hard not to listen to Arabella in her bath. So far, he had not succeeded. He would read a few lines, then picture her naked body in the warm, scented water, beaded liquid sliding ever so slowly over her flushed skin.

He slammed the book shut, tossed down the rest of his drink and decided she’d had long enough to wash off a bit of blood. Determined to hurry her up even if she were still bathing, he strode across the room and entered her bedchamber, coming to an abrupt stop.

She faced away from him and apparently hadn’t heard him enter. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with strands of damp curls falling down the back of her neck. The creamy skin of her shoulders rose about the rim of the tub, urging him to place his lips there and taste the dampness of her flesh. She hummed softly, stroking her skin with a cloth.

He moved to the bathtub and knelt behind her. Her body stilled as he gave in to his urge and kissed her gently on her neck. She regarded him over her shoulder. “My lord? I am not finished.”

“I know.” He reached out and took the cloth from her hand and rubbed it with the lavender and lemon scented soap floating in the water. Pushing up his sleeves, he dipped the cloth into the water and smoothed it over her breasts. Her nipples immediately tightened and drew into two pouting beads. Her welcoming moan spurred him further, to nibble on her ear and lick the soft shell.

Arabella tilted her head to one side, and he dropped the cloth and used his fingertips to stroke her nipples before cupping them in his hands, kneading the flesh, feeling their weight. “Open your legs,” he whispered. She did as he commanded, her bent knees resting against the sides of the tub.

A whispered “yes” escaped her lips as his fingers slid between her ebony curls, caressing, stroking, petting, much as she had cooed at the kitten. “Do you grow cold, sweetheart? The water is no longer warm.”

When she turned her head to answer, he took her lips in a deep kiss, his fingers still fondling her intimate parts. His thumb circled and pressed against the jutting flesh that would bring her pleasure and eventually cause her to break apart in his arms.

Arabella whimpered when he withdrew his hands from the water. He moved to the chair next to the wall and scooped up a drying cloth Sophia had left there. “Stand,” he said, his voice raspy as he returned to the tub.

Her eyes grew wide. “Stand?”