Page 2 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.

For weeks, he had risen before dawn. He sat late over business in town: considering petitions for Catholic relief in the Lords, weighing speeches on France’s march into Spain and Britain’s wary neutrality, and conferring with allies over reciprocity measures and their consequences for trade.

Committee rooms claimed his afternoons with canal and turnpike bills, clauses to amend, and witnesses to hear, while letters arrived from magistrates on grain prices and parish relief. His estates demanded what remained of him, from rents and repairs to harvest forecasts and the millrace. With the Season in full swing, he had ignored a flood of ballroom invitations, grateful that his mother and sister were settled in Bath for an extended stay.

Tonight was the first time in weeks Sebastian had set aside figures, leases, political motions, and correspondence and permitted himself an evening of diversion. Hell, it had been almost six months since he had taken a lover to his bed. He sat a moment in the dim interior of the carriage, listening to the rain slap against the roof, irritation pounding through his veins. His hand rose toward the trap and then fell again.

Sebastian pushed open the door and stepped down into the drizzle. “I shall remain at home tonight,” he told his coachman. “Return the carriage to the mews and see the horses well rubbed down.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sebastian hastened through the rain and re-entered the house. The hall’s warmth at once stripped away the cold. He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to a footman. He took the stairs two at a time and turned along the guest corridor.

A maid carrying a brass candlestick hesitated at the corner, lowering into a quick curtsy.

“The eldest of our guests,” he said. “Which chamber?”

She inclined her head toward the far door. “The chamber at the end, my lord.”

Sebastian went to it and knocked. A quiet voice within bade him enter. He opened the door, stepped across the threshold, and stopped as if he had struck a wall. His damn heart lurched, and his mouth dried. The lady stood in nothing but a fine lawn chemise, so thin it was nearly transparent. The delicate fabric clung to the soft rise of her breasts and revealed the dusky shadows of her nipples, drawn tight whether from chill or awareness, he could not tell. A darker triangle lay veiled beneath the suggestion of curls where the muslin kissed her thighs. Her hair, loosened from its pins, tumbled in damp, heavy waves to one sensual hip. A faint fragrance of honeysuckle drifted to him, until the very air seemed steeped in her scent and each breath became an alluring temptation.

“By God, you are lovely.” The words slipped from Sebastian before he had the presence of mind to temper his admiration.

A low sound escaped her, yet she remained motionless, eyes wide, a flush deepening across her cheeks with every heartbeat. Still, Miss Whitley did not move. Hunger surged through Sebastian, swift and unexpected. His cock hardened on a heavy pulse as need coursed through him like the finest whisky, warm, swift, and reckless.

Sebastian took a single step closer. “Tell me, Miss Whitley, have I mistaken this for an invitation to delight myself?”

His voice seemed to release her. She gasped and darted to the bed, vanishing beneath the coverlet. It was too late. The image had branded itself upon his mind with indecent clarity, while his body had answered with a swiftness that startled him. He was long accustomed to beauty and had not felt such immediate desire in years; his appetites were usually teased and coaxed forth by subtle sensualities, not roused to this ravenous pitch.

Sebastian drew a breath that did not steady him and found, to his irritation and fascination, that he wanted another look… perhaps a taste. The forbidden nature of her presence lent her a darker, more wicked allure. “Are you married?”

She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I… no, of course not. But I should like to be.”

She sounded uncertain, as though his bluntness had disordered her thoughts.

“Are you affianced?”

She gave him a baffled look. “No. Though I confess I cannot imagine why my marital prospects concern you, my lord.”

Sebastian decided this was not the moment to tell her he wanted her as his lover. Arrogant though the certainty was, he felt he could tempt her into his bed; he was a generous lover, prodigal with pleasure and provision. She would want for nothing.

Miss Whitley clutched the coverlet to her chin, a tremor running through her frame. “I thought you were my sister Emelia, my lord. You had left, and I never imagined it was you at the door. That is the only reason I bade you enter.”

Bloody hell, of course she had.

Sebastian took a step back. “I should have announced myself. Forgive the intrusion; it was badly done of me.”

She shook her head almost frantically. “My lord, this is your home. I would never presume to require you to announce yourself⁠—”

Her words broke off as three younger girls rushed through the open door, swept past him, and arrayed themselves before the bed, as if shielding a fair maiden from a beast.

Dark amusement stirred in Sebastian. “Now that you are dry, I would have all four of you attend me in the library. You will find it through the fourth door on the left of the second landing. I am no longer inclined to wait until morning to learn what is afoot.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He observed the faint tremor of her mouth, and suspicion flared within Sebastian. He left them and made his way to the library on the second floor. The heavy draperies were drawn, and rain still hissed against the panes. A fire crackled in the hearth, driving back the night’s chill. Several minutes passed; his restlessness sharpened, and he wondered what tale they meant to spin. A knock sounded. He bade them enter, and all four young ladies came in together, now properly dressed in gowns so worn the seams seemed to hold by grace alone.

Sebastian considered them for a few beats before saying, “Please avail yourselves of the comfort of the sofas.”