Chapter Five

W ith a deep breath, Ophelia stood from the armchair, hoping her shaky legs would carry her to the carved oak panel without incident.

As she opened it, her husband stood there, tall, broad and in shirtsleeves. Blood raced through her veins at the sight of so much maleness filling the space a few feet from her.

His hawk eyes measured her wrapped in lace, hair in a long braid over her shoulder, and what she'd schooled to a casual expression.

"I suppose we are ready to start on that," he paused as his focus found her lips, "project."

Why her entire body came awake with his rasp she could not fathom, but her legs threatened to stop doing their job. "Of course," she breathed and turned to stride to her bedchamber on feet that might stumble at any moment.

The shuffle of shoes on the Aubusson told her he followed suit, the connecting panel clicking shut with an ominous sound.

As he reached the bedchamber, she made a show of lying on the bed, hands laced on her midriff, awaiting the brief and disappointing episode, hazel eyes locked on the canopy above.

"Enthusiastic about it, I see." His rasp had her darting her gaze at him.

The darned man stood at the doorjamb, one large shoulder leaned on it, the other hand bracketing his breeches-clad hip. She tried with unsuccessful results not to notice his dishevelled hair and the tanned skin showing through the gape of the lawn lacking a proper cravat.

Her brief snort echoed in the room. "Your, say, style is familiar." Her voice did not bother to ditch the boredom embroidered into it.

With a fluid motion, he pushed from where he leaned and prowled to the bed. "Is that so?"

But when her stare clasped to his, any sassy retort she might have given vanished. Because his undeterred attention inspected her with such intent that her skin flushed everywhere.

Her husband did not sit on her bed as she'd expected. Or even laid over her for the task ahead. No. Instead, he turned and went to sit on the ottoman below the frilly-draped window.

His head rose to her. "Come here." The command filled her with more sensations that lay far, too far, from unenthusiastic.

Goodness, it'd taken a lot for her to reach her bed and lie on it. And now she had to use her legs again? "Why ever for?" she asked to buy some seconds.

This session was supposed to be a quick way to generate an heir for the blasted Earl. She'd accepted to take the role of a broodmare in exchange for her freedom, even if years ahead. The last time they'd been in a bed, it had been down to the point. What was the man about now?

"Do it, and you will see." His cryptic answer did not make things better.

She did not seem to have an alternative, so she made herself sit up and place her feet on the carpet. Perhaps he imagined taking his five minutes in a different disposition, so to say. As she stood up, he did the same. On uncertain legs, she headed to the man dominating her feminine space at that moment. And halted three feet from him.

His large hands held her upper arms. "We can start with the familiar if you insist." He pulled her to him, their clothes touching. The heat of him seeped into her and it occurred to her that what he meant by familiar was the explosive kiss they'd shared in the townhouse's garden. His head lowered to her before she had time to celebrate her spot-on guess.

Like one of those Egyptian serpents, he kept her mesmerised and, worse, waiting for him to strike. By Jove, he did. His eyes fixed on her mouth while he took it, as though he could not wait any longer.

The moment his lips touched hers, he engulfed her in a tidal wave of sensation so sharp that her only response was to kiss him back with more passion than the last time. Double as much, to be precise.

That musky scent of cumin and man invaded her nostrils in the same manner as his tongue took charge of her mouth with a note of the dinner's fine wine. And like that fine wine, he clouded her mind and lit up her body.

Trapped between them, her palms splayed on the unyielding wall of his chest, separated from his tanned skin only by the fine fabric of his shirt.

His arms brought her closer, his kiss deepening to maddening levels. He demanded more from her, and she surrendered, opening more for him. Breathless and senseless, she yearned for more. Until neither could postpone the need to come up for air.

With a reluctant lingering, their lips separated by mere inches. Unwilling, her lashes lifted to find his piercing eyes on her. "Does this get familiar enough?" He used his murmur as a device made for tantalising.

She sank her teeth into her lower lip before her mouth reached for his for a repeat, even if nothing came to it to give him a reply. Her eyes never left his, keeping her so ensnared that she did not even notice him shifting. In a blink, he folded himself onto the ottoman, bringing her to sit on his lap. That put them on eye level, gazes merging in the light coming from the fireplace. In the dimness, his hair became darker, his eyes darkening as it met hers. Under her, she registered solid thighs flexing to accommodate her.

He lifted his hand and reached for her thick blonde braid to slide it between his index and middle fingers from her nape as it started a slow descent to the end of it. Over her breast. No man had ever touched either hair or… Her breath caught in her throat as he did not halt his progress. Expectation and anticipation caught her in their web. At the last minute, his fingers detached from her body, holding only the rope of silky plait.

"I have never seen it loose." His words fanned her cheeks so close were they.

At the end of the honey-coloured trip, his fingers arrested the tip of the ribbon securing it. And tugged at the satin little nothing until it rolled towards the carpet like an autumn leaf. This time, when his hand returned to the braid's end, it rested on her breast. The response her nerve endings produced was so foreign and acute that she almost became a puddle of melted need at his feet. His fingers undid what she'd done with careless distraction until the abundant tresses fell down her back and shoulder.

"Ophelia," he muttered. As her wide-open eyes met him, he continued, "Your turn."

"T-turn?" Her brows pleated.

"To kiss me." The tip of his refined nose met hers, their breaths mingling warm and eager.

If he only knew she had not the slightest idea of where to start. But his piercing eyes were so compelling that her lips neared his with no conscious decision. She preferred to go days without tea than to show him how disingenuous she was on the matter. His sensuous lips surrounded by that evening scuff gave her the most indecent ideas, so she used them to her advantage.

In hesitant moves, she neared that mouth and darted out her tongue to taste his lower lip. A sandpaper-like sound originated in him, encouraging her. The urge to taste that piece of annoying temptation got the best of her, compelling her to suck it into her mouth. It had to be the best banquet she'd ever had in her life. She kept on her merry exploration as her husband's hands roamed over her.

Until he cupped her breast in earnest over her lacy robe. The response that zinged up and down her nerves jerked her up.

"Hell, woman!" her husband protested.

"What is wrong?" she asked as his hand remained where it was.

"Wrong?" he scoffed. "Do you even see what you are doing to me?"

Well, not see exactly. But she did detect a few things going bigger and, yes, harder than usual. She had no chance of saying a word because that practised hand of his took to undoing the small ribbons tying the front of her robe. When it fell open, he made it fall from her shoulders, leaving only the sheer nightgown underneath. Through the low neckline, his hand sneaked in to find the skin that spread with goosebumps. And eagerness. What this had to do with producing a child she could not fathom but would not ask him to skip it for the life of her. As he cupped her breast again, her spine arched to get more of it. He did not stop there, though. His long fingers rolled the uncouth nipple in such an acute caress that it extracted a moan from her, one that never passed her lips before.

He moulded his lips to her neck to brush his scruffy jaw down the silky skin, adding to the flooding of sensations invading her. That her head fell back with a sigh made it clear what her body thought of it. And just like that, he'd used this distraction to pull one shoulder of her nightgown down her upper arm, revealing the breast it protected. The daze currently occupying her head prevented her from issuing any protest. Worse was to come, though, when that sensuous mouth sucked the poor nipple into it in a caress that almost got her out of her mind.

"Leonard." Her arm rounded his neck, her fingers bunching his overlong dark hair as though she sought a haven.

His name on her lips caused him to lift his eyes to her, seeming as foggy as her mind. She had to stifle a whimper at the loss of his attention. "If I knew it would take so little for you to say my name, I would have done this sooner." But the drawl more than made up for it. Her torso neared him as if begging for him to resume his dilapidation of her composure. A grin pulled at one side of his mouth. "I think we are ready for bed now." And waited for no answer before he unfurled them both from the ottoman and strode to her bed, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. By it, he released her to stand right in front of him as he finished the job of removing the last piece of clothing ill-concealing her. One pull at the other shoulder and the piece pooled on the Aubusson, her cheeks flaming at being naked in the company of a man for the first time in her life.

In the firelight, his gaze roamed over her with stirring insistence. As her silence stretched, he spoke. "You are breathtaking." And then his mouth came down on hers yet again, the explicit kiss setting her further on fire.

As he came up, he took a step back and set about undressing. In the firelight, her focus funnelled on him as inch by unyielding inch of his tanned skin came into view. Also, for the first time in eight years of marriage, she saw her husband's body. The shirt came off to buffet her with his solid muscles and broad chest peppered with dark hair. He kicked his shoes to go on to unbutton his breeches. She wanted to look away but found it impossible to unglue her eyes from the magnificent sight. In one move, he pushed down his breeches and underpants to gift her with his full nakedness. Protruding from the dark whorls between his powerful legs, the long hardness of him caused her to hide a gasp. This time, the hot flush that surfaced on her had nothing to do with embarrassment, and it caused more damage than his mouth on her breast.

"Lie down, Ophelia." The rasped command had her widened eyes snapping up from his, well his…, to him.

The knowing glint in his dark eyes gave her this impetus to pummel something, preferably his perfect nose. To dispel that, she sat on the mattress and returned to the place she'd left only minutes ago. She watched as all that impressive maleness came to lie by her side.

He did not waste time bombarding her with more of his unsettling treatment of her. He took the other breast in his mouth as if it belonged to his sole person, which it did, his palm not ignoring the twin he'd already tasted. She felt herself melt everywhere, in special, that spot she seldom thought about, taking notice of its dampness. Extreme dampness.

While at it, his other hand kept busy, sliding down her midriff towards the patch of blonde hair for his unprecedented touch. His middle finger opened the way into her folds, zinging a sharp sensation through her. Another moan escaped her.

"So wet!" he mumbled between pulls of her strained nipple. He released it to look at her. "I will soothe it for you."

Lowering to her blonde thatch, he made her bend her legs. She eyed him in awe, no words forming in her. His long fingers opened her folds, his head nearing her most intimate part. His first lick felt anything but soothing. It caused her head to fall on the pillow and her entire body reduced to his tongue on her.

Soothing it might be not, but, darn, it felt good!

His tongue became more and more daring as he tasted every inch of her flesh. With the deepening of her hunger for something she could not fathom. He did not stop, but her breath did as something approached, heating her intimate parts even more; until everything in her swelled to unbearable levels. And exploded in a spinning kaleidoscope that blinded her to everything else but did not keep her quiet. A keening sound filled the chamber as her nails tortured the bedsheets. Only when she stopped screaming did he stop licking. Her muscles let go as she spread her spent person on the bed. With her in this state, he could do whatever he wanted with her; she'd not mind.

But as he towered over her, his distended member bobbing as he went, her nerves resuscitated into alertness. His hands propped by her shoulders as he lay over her, his tip right at her entrance. He eased into her inch by delicious inch. Her insides awakened all over again.

When he'd filled every inch of her, he halted, and his eyes burned into her in the firelight. "All right?" he rumbled.

The delicate lips did not find it in themselves to leave her fast breathing aside, so she nodded. Her response prompted him to start anew. He retreated and came back in a smooth, unhurried thrust. The more he thrust, the more she held on to him; up to the point her arms and legs clung to him like a shipwreck clung to a wooden board. By now, his throat emitted sounds that she read as the result of the same pleasure she felt.

That flesh of hers swelled and heated twice as much as minutes ago and, unbidden, her legs were impelling him, hurrying him. Demanding fulfilment. Her lashes fell shut, those carnal urges taking her by storm. He sped up just as she needed him to, his strokes melting her further and further. She lost her sense of self as she registered the second conflagration erupting in her like the most furious volcano on Earth. And then she was fire and lava spreading everywhere. With the loud moan to go with it.

Her lashes lifted to witness his jaw tight, slashing colour beneath the scruff as he seemed to have gone even harder than when they started. His lips pressed together, beads of sweat surrounding them. Two quick thrusts and one that drove the deepest. She noticed him shuddering as he flooded her with his lengthy ejaculation, a savage grunt falling between them.

Minutes elapsed with them still joined as their mingled breaths came down to normal. The husband fell back on the pillow beside hers and a faint dismay entered the back of her pleasure-drenched head at how bereaved it made her feel. She turned away from him to hide her inner struggle not to harbour any emotion towards the Earl. After tonight, he might as well disappear into the darkness for another eight years for all she knew. And she refused to go through that for a second time. Intelligent people learned the lesson as soon as it was taught. Ophelia had not a stupid bone in her.

By her side, she heard him shifting as a muscled arm laced her from behind. "I am glad there will be no hardship to carry this out." His mutter fanned her ear in a way that threatened to induce even more needy sentiments in her.

A deep inhale filled her with cool air and a hardened heart. "I think you can return to your chambers now." The complete detachment in her tone belied the shuffling emotions splashing all over her. "The job is done here for tonight."

Every single solid muscle froze in him. Several heartbeats elapsed with a restless silence stretching into the room. At last, the arm abandoned her, and his legs flew to the other side of the bed. The mattress lifted as his weight left it and he paced the room to where his clothes were, right in front of her. The dimness played to her advantage as she avoided crossing her eyes with him, unwilling to soak in his perfect form, one that had blown up every concept she held about the marriage bed. Those flexing muscles bunched his clothes and boots in his arms, and he walked away; the connecting door in the sitting chamber opening and clicking closed in seconds.

As her head burrowed into the fluffy pillow, the need to cry almost overwhelmed her. The hazel eyes brimmed with tears, but she refused to shed them. An impatient hand wiped them away; she'd done enough of crying herself to sleep. She grew out of the insecure debutante she'd been ages ago. And would not come back to that. More mature and experienced, she would keep her expectations at the lowest possible level to endure whatever disappointment came her way. That had to be the safest approach. The thought compelled her to suck it up and make good use of her release to fetch a restoring night's sleep.

Sleep was a condition that eluded Leonard's grasp as he lay on his huge mattress, staring at the canopy. It did not carry him away even after the mind-bogging session in his wife's bed.

In the first moments upon entering her chambers, he wanted to wipe the boredom from her expression. The stoicism with which she'd lain on her bed as he followed her there had told him she did not care for his moron performance on their wedding night. The initial success of his endeavour came in the form of her moan as he touched her on the ottoman. At the same second, she'd almost brought him to his knees with arousal. One he did not remember having even in his solitary stroking of his member thinking of her.

For all that the scandal sheets boasted of her parade of paramours, she'd displayed a remarkable demureness at his ministrations. If he did not know better, he would say she had not experienced any of it before. She could have feigned her artless reactions to him, but she would have to be a Drury Lane actress for that. His wife mustered many qualities, the stage not being one of them. The contradiction confounded him. Worse, it had almost shamed him even before they returned to her bed. Her responsiveness had emboldened him. And it paid off with her coming undone not once, but twice. He'd thought of staying with her for the night and perhaps earning a repeat.

But no. In the next breath, she'd morphed into the lady of the manor and shooed him from her chamber. That had been like a bucket of icy water on his enthusiasm. Then he remembered his stupid line about hardships. What was he thinking? Of course, she kicked him out; all that romanticism must have overwhelmed her. A laugh spread inside him.

As he fell into a slumber, he promised himself to work on his conversation skills.

After a restless sleep, he called his valet, Collins, for a bath and a shave. At first light, he exited the house with a mind to meet with the man of business.

As Leonard rounded the house to reach the stables, he almost collided with Cook. "Mrs Hodge," he greeted.

"Oh, pardon me, my lord," the other woman said. Leonard looked at her to witness her forty-something features contorted with worry, her hands twisting her ample apron.

"What is the matter?" he asked, his brows crumpling.

"My Jessie!" The cook tortured the fabric further. "She is nowhere to be seen. Missing since yesterday."

"When did you last see her?" he pried.

He remembered the girl of seven or eight who came to greet the Countess upon their arrival. Both woman and child seemed to have developed a deep bond.

"She and her mates went to play by the lake." Came the tremulous reply.

Leonard needed no other information. "Send the footmen to help in the search," he ordered as he rushed to the stable and saddled the horse himself before galloping towards the artificial lake, which he made a point of commissioning together with the folie. In the back of his mind, he registered that it had gladdened him that his wife had made it her favourite spot for her peaceful moments.

But as he came by the folie bathed in the first rays of sun, he encountered the whole place desert apart from the flurry of birds and their singing. The placid water looked unperturbed even as he called the girl's name.

"O'Hare!" he shouted to the nearest footman. "Go to the northern pastures." To the second man. "Moore, take the west track." To another one. "Cole, check the road south. I will ride towards the east barns."

"Aye, my lord," they replied before taking their assigned directions.

In the next hours, he and the others raked the estate looking for Jessie.

Ophelia emerged from a very restoring night's sleep with a yawn and a satisfying stretch of her muscles.

Sunlight flooded her chamber as her body remembered last night, unable to avoid the silly grin that pulled at her lips. In seconds, she wiped the grin and the languidness from her now fully awake self. She sat up on the bed, refusing to acknowledge the extreme pleasure her husband made her taste only hours ago. And did not regret sending him packing, unwilling as she was to go on a bonding spell with the blasted man.

Groping for the cord at the bedside, she rang for Ann. After a bath, her lady's maid helped her to put on a simple moss-green morning dress.

A deep inhale, and she felt ready to face the world outside her chambers. Upon entering the morning room, she saw two places set and intact. Jones hurried to pull the chair for her. "Is the earl still in bed?" she dared ask.

"The earl left early, my lady," Jones answered, pouring her tea.

News, indeed. The mordant thought crossed her mind with instantaneous speed. The darned man might very well take another full decade to show up again. Mere history repeating itself. And why it did not surprise her, she needed not to ask. But one question she could not avoid. Why, this time, it nagged at her that she would not experience the scorching sensuality from last night with her husband away yet again. Her body complained at the notion. And she strived to ignore the thought and the complaint as she sipped her tea and buttered her bread.

No matter, she suppressed the onslaught of emotions and disappointment that threatened to boil over. She'd learned hard lessons the first time; and would use her hard-earned wisdom this time around. With that determination in mind, she finished her breakfast and had the cabriolet readied for her usual errands. Since she was in residence, she would start by checking on the tenants.

Ramsgate's stallion reached the pastures, where footmen and stable hands roamed in search of Jessie. They gathered around Leonard. "Anything yet?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not a trace of the lass, my lord," O'Hare prompted.

"Let us keep on looking," he instructed. And the men scattered again.

The image of his wife carrying the cheerful child while they chatted in between giggles caused him to promise himself not to fail in this one. The clear fondness between them had moved something in him he had no time to pinpoint at that moment.

His stallion went into a canter as he neared a barn. "Jessie!" he called for the umpteenth time. In the mid-morning silence, he thought he heard a whimper. "Jessie!" he hollered, closing in. Another whimper.

He jumped from his mount and ran to the barn, his eyes taking a few minutes to adjust to the dim interior. In an enclosed area, he saw a bull nibbling at hay on a wooden box. The animal must serve for husbandry. The sound might have come from that bull.

But he called the girl again. "My lord." A weak child's voice came back to him.

"Jessie." He detected a relief in his tone that he'd never experienced before. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"N-no." Her tone reached him in shaky syllables.

"How did you end up here?"

"My mates and I played until late." He almost did not hear her soft reply. "I got lost and took shelter in this barn." One of the many scattered throughout his lands. In the pitch dark of the moonless night, she would not have found her way home. Good, that she remained here.

"You can come out now." He coaxed. "I will take you home."

"I-I am a-afraid, my lord." The waif sounded as though she were up in the hayloft.

"Of what?" Leonard took care to use a tone that would not scare her even more.

"T-the bull." Now he detected her fast breathing. "It is big and angry."

"Do not worry," he assured her. "I will keep you safe."

"The bull can attack me." The little voice came with more fright.

"Do not worry, the tenants always keep the stall locked." In slow steps, Leonard neared the stairs leading up. "Your mother is worried sick; we should go to her."

"Y-yes, my lord." Hay shifted, and he saw a tiny foot reach the top step.

"There's a good girl," he encouraged in a calm voice.

His words must have given her courage because she came down slow, but sure. Her tiny head turned to the stall.

"Look at me, Jessie," his command caused her dark eyes to fix on him. "Come." He extended his arm. "We will ride like the wind."

A shaky grin split her mouth to reveal growing teeth. "I would like that."

As she neared him, he lifted her in his arms, distracting her from the bull. "Ready to fly?"

Her tiny arms rounded his neck. "Yes." Her smile shone with more assurance.

"So let us go find your mother." He placed the girl on the saddle, then mounted and manoeuvred the reins. "Hold tight."

"Yay," she celebrated as the horse gathered pace on the track to the manor house.

It did not take long for the horse and its riders to near the stables. Next to it, Mrs Hodge paced, still twisting the worn-out apron. She would not dare go far from her working duties. As she heard the hooves, she swivelled to them. Her expression lit up in a blend of relief and happiness one would only find in a loving parent.

"Mumy!" Jessie yelled and barely waited for the horse to stop for her to jump and run to her mother. Mrs Hodge opened her arms and folded her daughter with all her plumpness; moisture flooded her eyes as she closed them to receive the girl's affection.

When both mother and daughter untangled from each other, the cook looked at him. "My lord, thank you so much!" And used one end of the apron to dry her eyes. "I imagined all kinds of foolish things that could have happened."

"Not foolish, Mrs Hodge." The Earl's deep tone hinted at understanding. "But natural to someone in your shoes." He looked at her daughter. "And Jessie." The little lass looked at him. "Watch the hour and don't stay out late."

Jessie's open grin made a new appearance. "Yes, my lord."

With a sense of having accomplished his task here, Leonard turned to head inside. Perhaps his wife had already awoken, and they could have breakfast together. The clean towel where her plate should have been disabused him of the notion.

At the front porch of the house, Ophelia stepped out of the cabriolet and left it with a stable hand who'd come to take care of it. She'd accepted the offer for luncheon from Mrs Forster, a tenant's wife, and stayed in the village longer than expected.

Since her husband had vacated the premises, she strode to the study to check on the estate's business. She would make sure everything was in order before travelling back to London, something she planned to do in a few days.

As she pulled the oak door open, her eyes collided with the man sitting at the huge carved desk. She froze as her arm fell to her skirt. The mere sight of him unleashed a whole chain reaction mingling in her. Those heated memories of last night, the dumbstruck state of seeing him here, the faint disappointment that he sat right there, and the overwhelming elation that he did. This mess inside her caused her heart to go haywire as she was lost for words for brief seconds.

She kicked her mind into gear, nonetheless. "Still here?" She applauded the sardonic ring to that.

He'd lifted his head with the noise of her entering. Those sharp eyes inspected her from the practical bun down to even more practical walking boots and back. "Why would I not be?" His drawl came with him leaning back on his high-backed chair.

Her shoulder gave a slight lift and a fall. "Jones said you'd left." She had no means of stopping her eyes from roaming the solid forearm revealed by his rolled shirtsleeves. "I assumed you'd done the disappearing act again."

That made his muscled frame unfurl from his seat. "As you can see," he rounded the desk and propped his lean hips on its edge. The challenge was to avoid remembering those hips pumping into her until she shattered. "I am very much here." Then he crossed those bunched arms that had secured her in place for his sultry ministrations.

Darn him for making her feel so on the edge!

She inhaled cooling air. "In that case, I will leave you to it." Her feet gave a step back to beat in retreat.

"And you came here because?" The rasp stopped her in her tracks.

As her gaze clasped to those dark eyes, her reactions intensified to the point her hands bunched the fabric where they rested. Her dry throat swallowed grit. "I was going to check the estate's affairs." Her attention drifted to the documents spread on the desk. "But you are doing that already so—" Her voice trailed off.

His taut jaw jerked at her. "Close the door and let us do it together." The arrogance in his command sounded appalling, to say the least.

The Countess did not decide if she felt daunted or flattered that he said it. No lord in his right mind ever invited his wife to go through estate affairs together. Even if the notion of doing anything with him besides that… that caused an onslaught of more conflicted sentiments that blurred the boundaries between a rational mind and cool emotions. Or no emotion at all getting in the way—a much preferable condition. One that proved sadly absent.

With no other option, she did his bidding as she walked farther inside, hoping not to give in to the tangled reactions he elicited from her.