An Earls lie or a scoundrels promise

God, it felt extraordinary

Chapter 8 - God, it felt extraordinary.

She watched him. His face, that handsome face change so many times in a matter of minutes, what was he thinking?

'Meet me in the study in 5 minutes, not a minute before, and not a minute late'

and then he walked away leaving her stood alone with her rose.

If she came, he would have his answer.

She waited impatiently for the slowest 5 minutes of her life to tick by, then inconspicuously made her way to the study. Drink was flowing heavily and the night had gone without a single hiccup. She hadn't seen Winters, he must have changed his mind about coming tonight, and she was grateful at whatever had kept him away. She slipped silently into the study, candles were lit, casting shadows across the room, the window was open and white netted curtains danced softly in the breeze, she looked around the room for Blake, he was sat motionless in the large leather wing back chair behind the solid oak desk in the center of the room, with two glasses of brandy in-front of him, he offered her a glass and she accepted.

'sip it, or it will burn your throat.'

She did as she was told and she felt the heat of the liquid trickle down her throat. She hoped it would help settle those butterflies. She was nervous, trembling with nerves, excitement and fear. Although her fear came not from him, but from the last time she was alone with a man, who wasn't Blake. Years ago at her own engagement ball, in this very house. When he had followed her upstairs and shut them away from the party downstairs. When he had kissed her and touched her, No she wouldn't let her mind go there. She wouldn't let it spoil her time with Blake. He was not like the Baron. Not in any shape or form.

He stood and came round the desk without a word. He was acting different, more closed off than he had been recently. She turned and felt her back against the mahogany desk, he was close, so close she was almost sat atop it. She held tight to the glass of brandy in both her hands, along with the rose at her breast, as if a barrier between then. She hoped he couldn't see her trembling, with anticipation, excitement, not fear, not of him. She sipped once more and he watched her lips on the edge of the glass, the liquid wetting her lips, watched her neck as she swallowed and when her tongue darted out to lick away the remaining brandy on those sweet lips, he beat her to it.

He licked her lips, and her eyes opened wider at the sensual intimate action. He straightened up and took the glass from her hands, drained its contents in one and placed the glass to one side. She never took her eyes off him. In the Darkness of the room, what little light the candle gave mad his face all hard, sharp lines, his jaw, his cheek bone, his nose. She traced a finger along his finely crafted jaw and could feel his skin, soft but stubbly. She wanted to graze her lips across it and without thinking did just that. He smelled of brandy and roses, and the usual smell which was all him. It was a heady combination, she felt the stubble, rough against the soft skin of her lips. He groaned.

She looked bewitching and alluring at this moment, simply ravishing, a mixture of innocence, naivety, wondering and confidence, he wasn't sure what was real and what was an act. Was she as inexperienced as she seemed? Could it be an act? Was he being made a fool of again? He kissed her with all the experience he had, all 28 years of it, most of it. He hoisted her up onto the desk by her bum and she let out a little squeal.

She parted her legs as she sat upon the desk, it seemed the most natural thing to do, he pulled her forward so she sat at the edge. Their lips never broke from one another. He positioned himself between her legs and she pulled herself against him, desperately trying to get as close to this striking man as she could.