When Good Earls Go Bad: A Victorian Valentine's Day Novella by Megan Frampton Page A

Matthew said, nudging her aside with his body. She landed on the bed with a gentle thud. He sat up and flung the waistcoat onto the floor, pulled the shirt over his head, and threw that, as well.
    If his housekeeper complained about how messy he was, he could always threaten to put his shirt back on.
    “Oh my,” she said with a breathy sigh, looking at him so intently it felt almost like a caress on his skin. No, wait, she was caressing his skin—she’d reached out to his abdomen and her hand was stroking him, sliding over him as though he were something to be touched, to be handled, not something to be deferred to.
    And of course he had to touch her, only she was still wearing clothing. Which did not suit his plans, and he did pride himself on being a planner. Until she had completely upset his carefully plotted course.
    But he couldn’t think about that now. Not just shouldn’t, but couldn’t, because all he could think about was her. Specifically, her naked. “Take that off,” he said, gesturing to her gown.
    “I’ll need help,” she replied, gesturing to the back. “With the buttons.”
    She wriggled around and presented her back, looking over her shoulder at him, her expression one of joy and desire and surprise.
    He undid the buttons with shaky fingers, then slid the fabric off her shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the nape of her neck. She shuddered as his lips found her skin, and then he pressed more firmly with his mouth, his hands wrapping around her front to slide the gown down until it was at her waist.
    She wore more, of course; he hadn’t thought it would be so easy to get her naked. He had hoped, certainly, but he’d known that most ladies wore a multitude of clothing. To draw out the suspense of undressing? Or just because they were ladies and liked clothing and fabrics?
    This, he reminded himself as he ran his hand over her breasts, still encased in some sort of covering, was research. He had to know what ladies had on under there, didn’t he, to know if they would want to purchase silk from exotic lands?
    He was well aware he was justifying his actions, but at this moment, he didn’t care.
    “This, too,” he said, tugging on whatever it was she had on under her gown. She stuck her tongue out at him as she leapt off the bed, her gown pooling at her feet, her hands going to laces and fastenings and whatever else there was there until she had taken it all off and stood in front of him, entirely naked.
    And smiled, a confident, warm, delicious smile that told him she knew he wanted to look at her, and that he’d like what he saw.
    As he did. She curved in at all the right places and curved out at the right places as well. As he watched, she cupped her breast in her hand and flicked her finger on the nipple.
    He practically forgot to breathe, it was so erotic. And it was just her touching herself. Imagine what it would be like when it was his hands.
    “Come here,” he said in a growl, unfastening his trousers and shucking them to the floor to join the rest of their clothing. Now he just had on his smallclothes, and his cock jutted out from the fabric, an obvious sign that their exploration was worth exploring.
    She got back onto the bed, bouncing a bit as she sat, a delighted grin on her face. Yes. This was still joyous Annabelle, the one with the thousand questions and the curious mind, the one who, it seemed, was as curious about him as he was about her.
    The one who was lushly, gorgeously nude, her pale skin dusted with freckles, like the ones on her nose, her breasts round and full, with rose-colored nipples.
    The one who was exploring his chest with her hands, whose eyes were on his mouth, who was pushing him back down and straddling him, those lovely breasts right in front of him. Waiting to be touched.
    He did not like to keep anyone waiting.
    Matthew raised his hand to her breast, curling his fingers around the soft curve of her, grasping the fullness of her before grazing her