Earls Just Want to Have Fun (29 page)

“If that's what you want.” In one move, he turned her onto her stomach then came down on top of her. She turned her head to the side to look up at him, and he murmured in her ear, “Do you want this?” His tongue teased the delicate skin behind and below her ears, and she squirmed against him. He prayed she agreed, because he had never wanted a woman—never wanted anything—as much as he wanted this.

“Yes.”

His hands gripped her hips, raising them. He kicked her legs apart and opened her. On her elbows, her head turned so she could see him, she smiled. He would have driven into her, but he was no brute. He would not risk hurting her. Instead, he entered her slowly, inching inside until he filled her. She moaned, and he moved, stroking her. Taking her hips in his hands, he thrust in and out, holding his own pleasure back as long as he could. When he felt it mounting, he reached for that small, tender nub at her center and stroked it.

“Dane,” she cried as she tensed around him.

“My name, Marlowe.”

“Maxwell,” she breathed as she gripped him in the throes of passion. With her climax, his own came, and they both tumbled over into darkness.

***

Several hours later, Marlowe lay weak and sated in Dane's bed. The curtains had been drawn, but she could see the light from the sun beginning to seep through in slim slivers of gold. Beside her, Maxwell lay sleeping. He'd taken her—and she'd taken him—several more times that night, and she felt sore and achy and thoroughly pleased.

He was a man with many sides. He could be tender and sweet, and rough and demanding. No matter what side he showed, he always made her heart pound. If she didn't think it would kill both of them, she would have taken him again right there. Maybe next time he could strap on his tilter and do a few of his fencing stances—naked. She giggled at the thought, and then sobered when she heard the sound of footsteps outside the door.

The servants were awake, and that meant the mopsqueezers would be in soon to see to the fire and the linens. His valet would arrive to dress him. Cook would have breakfast ready for them. How easy it would be for her to settle into a life like this. Her every need would be seen to. Her every desire catered to. How easy to forget where she had come from and the squalor she left behind. If she were Dane's countess, there was so much she could do to help those trapped in rookeries like Seven Dials. But that was false confidence. She was in his bed, and assumed she was in his heart. But for a man like Dane, it was a long path from lover to wife, especially when the lover was nothing more than a common thief. He'd never take her as his wife, and she didn't expect him to.

Except for the small fact that she was in love with him. Desperately, madly, completely in love with him. A few days ago, she would have laughed at the very idea she would ever marry the Earl of Dane. Now she was not laughing. She wanted him to be hers, in the same way she was already his. A few days ago, she might have been persuaded to accept the role of his mistress, but that was before she'd fallen in love with him. That was before the idea of him looking at another woman, touching another woman, sleeping with another woman made her so angry she could hit someone or something.

Marlowe elbowed Dane roughly. He mumbled then opened his eyes. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Yet.”

He frowned at her then reached over and pulled her into his arms. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured against her neck. She almost complied. It would be lovely to snuggle up to him, press her cheek against his warm, solid chest, and sleep. He smelled of sleepy man and clean linen, and there was a hint of her own scent on him too. She liked that, knowing he was hers, if only for a few hours. But he was not hers, and she couldn't go back to sleep.

She pushed back and sat, pulling the sheet up to her neck. “The staff is awake. The maids and your valet will be here soon.”

“I don't care.”

“I do. I don't want them to see me here.”

One eye opened. “Because it's improper?”

She nodded. “I don't want everyone whispering about me any more than they do. I'm not a bawd.”

He sat and faced her. “No one would ever think that of you. You don't think that's my opinion of you?”

She wanted to ask what his opinion of her really was, but she had too much pride. She hopped off the bed and found her chemise. After she pulled it over her head, she said, “I should go.”

“Back to your room?”

She shook her head. “No. Back…” Seven Dials was hardly a home. “Back to where I came from.”

Now Dane rose and grabbed her arm. He was apparently unconcerned about his nudity, but Marlowe was quite aware of it. “No. I told you. You're not going back there.”

“I have nowhere else to go. And you know where to find me if Lord and Lady Lyndon are still interested in meeting me when they return from Scotland.”

“They can find you right here.”

She shook her head. “This is your home, not mine. My presence here has forced your mother and sister to leave, and caused you to risk your life. I thank you for your help. I do. I can't say how much it meant to me, but I don't belong here.”

“You don't know that. If you are Lady Elizabeth, this is exactly where you belong.”

She leveled a look at him, and she watched as the realization of what he'd just said dawned on him. He opened his mouth but didn't correct his statement. Marlowe supposed she had no choice but to put her pride aside. “Are you saying that if I'm Lady Elizabeth you want to marry me? That's the only way I could truly belong here.”

He looked away. She didn't even need to wait for the words, because she knew what he would say now. He didn't want to marry her. Of course he didn't. What man of any means or character would want to marry her? She was such a fool for even suggesting it. She'd known he would never marry her, known that a night or two was all they would have, and she had wanted it to be enough. But her heart had other ideas. Her heart wanted it all.

“Marlowe, I care about you, but marriage is—”

She shook her head. “I do not want to hear your explanations of what marriage is. It's not something you want from me, and I knew that. I don't know why I even mentioned it, because I know you would never become leg-shackled to me. It's just I had to be an idiot and go and fall in love with you.”

He released her and stepped back, a look of pure shock on his face. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. Go back to your life, Dane, and I'll return to mine. I can see myself out.”

She found her wrapper and pulled it on, cinching it tightly at the waist. All the while, he stood completely frozen, as though he was still reeling from her revelation. She practically ran to the door and had it open when he finally spoke. “You can't leave yet.”

“You can't stop me.”

“That's not what I meant.”

She looked back and met his gaze.

“Your—Lord and Lady Lyndon are in Town. They want to see you this morning. Here.”

Marlowe's legs gave out at his words. She didn't think she could have possibly heard him correctly. Lord and Lady Lyndon were in Scotland.

“Brook told me last night,” Dane said, still standing naked as a new babe in the middle of his bedchamber. “They were en route to London and made haste when they received his missive.”

“And you didn't tell me last night?”

He had the grace to look ashamed. “When I saw you…it slipped my mind. I apologize. You will stay to meet them?”

She nodded. “Yes, and then…” She did not know what would happen next. “And then I'll be out of your way. If you don't mind, I'll make use of the dress Susanna lent me. I'll return it when I can.”

Dane shook his head. “Keep it.”

“No. I'm not a thief any longer.” She closed the door on him and walked quickly back to her room, ignoring the servants she passed. She didn't want to see their looks of curiosity, and she didn't want them to see the weak tears welling in her eyes. He was well and truly done with her. He hadn't even asked her to stay. He hadn't even tried to make her change her mind. He was giving her the dress and dismissing her. He hadn't wanted her to feel like a bawd, but she felt like one now.

When she reached her room, she had enough time to wash and begin dressing before Jane knocked on her door. For once, Marlowe gratefully accepted her assistance dressing, but she wouldn't allow the maid to do more than pull her hair back in a tail. “I don't want to look like a rum mort,” she said. “This is who I am.”

Finally, she was ready, and she took a last look at the room she'd inhabited for so short a time. This had been the first room she'd called her own. The first bed she had slept in—well, the second. She'd been a different person when she first entered this room. Now she was free of Satin. Now her heart was broken.

She made her way downstairs and heard the clink of silver on plate. She peered in the dining room and found Brook sitting there, sipping from a cup. Behind him, Crawford stood with his back against the wall and his eyes fixed forward. When Brook saw her, he rose. “There you are,” he said with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”

She scowled at him. “Is that supposed to be amusing?” Was there anyone who didn't know she'd spent the night with Dane?

His brows rose. “It was supposed to be a polite morning greeting.”

Perhaps he didn't know. “Oh. Then yes.”

“Where is Dane?”

“How should I know?”

Brook held up his hands. “I seem to be saying all of the wrong things this morning. Let us start again. Good morning, Marlowe. Would you like tea?” He gestured to Crawford.

“No.” She swallowed. “Thank you.”

Brook crossed to a chair and pulled it out. “May I offer you a seat?”

She sighed. “Fine.” She took the chair, and he took his, and they looked at each other for a long moment. Marlowe looked away. When would Lord and Lady Lyndon be here? She wanted away from this place.

“Would you like me to make you a plate?” Brook asked. “At breakfast, we generally serve ourselves from the sideboard.”

“I know what the proper thing to do is. I'm just not hungry.”

“That's something I never expected to hear you say,” Dane said from the doorway. She hadn't even heard him come down the stairs. He stood tall and handsome in charcoal-gray breeches and coat. His riding boots were polished until they gleamed, and his cravat was snowy white against the dark red of his waistcoat. She had to make herself look away.

“Did you tell her?” Brook asked.

Dane entered and crossed to a seat opposite her. “About her parents? Yes.”

Brook nodded and smiled at her. “Then perhaps it's just nerves.”

“When will they be here?” Marlowe asked suddenly. “I don't have all day.”

“Ah, yes, your pressing business in Seven Dials,” Dane said. “If you don't object, I might go with you.”

“What?”

“I said—”

“
Why?
” She didn't want Dane going with her. She was trying to get away from him.

“I thought I might see if any of your gang would like honest work. I could always use a new groom, and Lloyd could train a new footman.”

Crawford made a noise that sounded suspiciously like something an injured animal might make, but when she looked at him, he appeared unfazed. “Why would you do that?” Marlowe asked.

“Because I want to help those less fortunate than myself. This seemed as good a start as any.”

“Well, they won't take you up on it. Who would want to be a slavey when he can make more diving?” She looked at Crawford. “No offense.”

“I assure you, miss, none taken.”

“Because you're not likely to have your neck stretched in service,” Brook pointed out.

“Or face transportation,” Dane added. “I cannot force them to accept my offer, but I can make it, can I not?”

He was right, and who was she to stand in the way of Gap or Tiny or Stub finding honest work? She didn't want to see any of the cubs dance upon nothing at the gallows. If Dane hired them, it was a better future than what was in store for her. She didn't know what she would do tonight or tomorrow or the week after. She just knew she couldn't stay here.

Dane asked for tea, and the three sat in silence as the men sipped from their cups. Marlowe wondered how long she would have to sit here. How long she would have to wait until she knew who she really was? Still, when the knock came, she was unprepared.

“Who would be calling at this hour?” Crawford murmured, leaving his post, but not before Lloyd, the head footman, took his place.

“If it is Lord and Lady Lyndon, show them to the drawing room,” Dane said casually, but his gaze was on Marlowe. She could feel him watching her. She hoped he could not see how she trembled. She hadn't known how she would feel when this moment came, but she'd hoped she would be able to pretend as though she didn't care. As though whether these people accepted her or not meant nothing to her. She didn't need them. She didn't care if they wanted her or not.

But now she feared she wouldn't be able to pretend. She was too nervous, too scared the Lyndons would not know her. And she was equally afraid they would. What would she do if she was Lady Elizabeth? Could she accept that her whole life was about to change?

As if in a dream, Crawford returned. He must have said the visitors were Lord and Lady Lyndon, because Brook and Dane rose and gestured for her to follow. Her body obeyed, but she seemed to have no control over its actions. She followed Brook up the stairs, wishing now that she had allowed Jane to style her hair more artfully. She felt so plain and so utterly not like a
lady
must feel.

Dane was behind her, and he was saying something. From the tone of his voice, it seemed designed to put her at ease, but she couldn't hear him. There was a rushing sound in her ears that blocked everything else out. And then before she knew it, she was standing outside the drawing-room doors and Crawford swung them open and she stood face-to-face with an older, distinguished-looking man. She stared at him, willed herself to recognize him, but he wasn't familiar at all. He looked like every other swell she knew. He was dressed in fine clothing, albeit a bit wrinkled from his journey. His hair was dark brown with streaks of gray. He was short and stocky, and he looked at her with narrowed eyes.

Dane exchanged some sort of greeting with the man, and Brook did as well. All three of the men spoke, but Lyndon did not take his gaze from her. Neither could she pull hers from him. Finally, she closed her eyes, swallowed, and when she opened them again, she heard him say, “Is this her, then?”

“Yes.” That was Dane. “This is Marlowe. Sir Brook can explain where and how he came to conclude she might be the…person you are looking for.”

“Where did you find her?” Lyndon asked. Brook had acted as though the man was desperate to see her, but he obviously wasn't pleased with what he saw. He sounded hard and cold, and Marlowe began to wish she could find a means of escape. This was wrong. She wasn't Lady Elizabeth after all.

“She was living in Seven Dials, part of a group of criminals,” Brook said. “I believe the leader, Satin, abducted her as a child. I've taken him into custody, and when I questioned him about it, he all but admitted as much.”

Marlowe's gaze snapped to Brook. When had he questioned Satin? Had Satin told the truth, or said what the inspector wanted to hear in order to buy himself an easier punishment?

“That doesn't mean she's mine,” Lyndon said. He looked at Marlowe again. “What is your name, gel?”

“I—” Her voice wouldn't seem to work, and she cleared her throat and tried again. “I'm called Marlowe.”

“And have you ever been called anything else?”

“No, my lord,” she said. “Not so as I remember.” There were those memories of being called Elizabeth, but she didn't even know if they were real memories or just her imaginings. And if she told this man she remembered the name, wouldn't he think she was lying because she wanted to be his daughter? She was a thief. No one thought she did anything because it was right, only if it was for profit. And so she didn't mention the memory. She realized she was biting the pad of her thumb and hastily lowered her hand to her side.

“Do you remember anything about your childhood?” Lord Lyndon asked. “Did this Satin tell you where you came from?”

“He said I was a bawd's by-blow,” she told him. “She didn't want me, and he took me in.”

Lord Lyndon's mouth turned down in distaste, and he gave Sir Brook a look that indicated this had been a waste of time. “I paid you to find my daughter, not the bastard of some whore.”

Dane stepped forward. “You will watch what you say about her, sir. Whether or not she is your daughter, you will treat her with respect.”

Lyndon inclined his head. “Of course. My apologies, Lord Dane.” He addressed Brook again. “We will speak soon. Thank you for your efforts, but she is not my daughter.” He turned. “I will see myself out.”

The drawing-room doors opened and closed, and Marlowe felt her legs give way. A dainty chair was nearby, and she clawed for it, sitting heavily. Dane was beside her immediately. “I am so sorry, Marlowe. I honestly thought—”

She held up a hand. “You don't have to apologize. I told you all along I wasn't any swell's daughter.”

“He's wrong,” Brook said. “I searched for months to find you. Everything about you tells me you are Lady Elizabeth—your history, your appearance, even Satin admitted as much.”

“He lied,” Marlowe said. “And I don't care. I've had enough.” Her legs felt suddenly stronger, and she rose.

“What are you doing?” Dane asked.

“Leaving.” She started for the doors.

“I'll fetch my walking stick and accompany you.”

“No.” She turned to face him. “I don't want to see you ever again. I”—her voice broke—“I cannot take any more.”

“Marlowe.”

She waved her hand, dismissing him, and practically ran to the drawing-room doors. They were still open, and she rushed through them and down the stairs. At the front door, Crawford stood guard. “Out of my way, pantler.”

“With pleasure, miss.” He stepped aside, and Marlowe reached for the door.

***

She was leaving, Dane thought. She was leaving, and she was not coming back. He should let her go. That was the right thing to do. The proper thing. He was an earl, and she was a common thief. Even if Lord Lyndon had acknowledged her, she would still be a thief. She was not the sort of woman he could marry. He had a duty to the past and future Earls of Dane, and he had always done his duty.

But she was leaving, and devil take him if he had anticipated how much her departure would pain him. It was as though his heart was being ripped from his body and dragged through the street with each step she took.

“Will you allow her to go?” Brook asked with what sounded like passing interest. How could his brother be so nonchalant when Dane felt as though a piece of him had been torn out and stomped on?

“You love her, you know,” Brook added.

Dane turned to his brother. That was it. That was the feeling. He
loved
her. Dane didn't think he'd ever loved anyone or anything like this before. And he knew he never would again.

“I love her,” he said, his voice sounding as though it came from someone else. It was full of wonder and awe. But of course he loved her. He must have loved her for days, if not almost since the beginning. Why else would he have gone with her to Seven Dials, allowed her to stay under his roof, decided to write that bill to help the poor? What else but love could have changed his mind about the lower classes, could have made him see them as people and not simply criminals? His father would turn in his grave, and Dane did not care. He loved Marlowe, and she loved him back. She'd told him so. “I love her,” he repeated.

“And?” Brook asked.

“And I love her!” Dane shouted. “I really do love her.”

“Will you do anything about it?”

Dane frowned at him. “Do…?”

Brook raised a brow. “Stop her, for instance?”

“Stop?” Oh, yes. She was leaving. No, he couldn't let her leave, not without telling her how he felt. Not without begging her to forgive him, to marry him, to say—again—she loved him back. Why hadn't he told her this morning? Why hadn't he realized he could not lose her? She was everything.

Dane sprinted toward the stairs, taking them two at a time and almost falling and breaking his fool neck. But he didn't care. He didn't care about anything but reaching her.

“Stop her!” he yelled to Crawford when he saw the butler step aside and allow her to reach for the front door.

She turned to face him, her mouth dropping open at the wild display he must be making. Dane started to laugh. He must look like a madman, and he didn't care. It didn't matter. To hell with decorum and duty and all the rest.
He
loved
her!