The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(41)

Anna beheaded a kipper and poked the tines of her fork into its side. She should have expected it, but she hadn’t. The problem was that while she had been making love, he had been… well… having sex. With a nameless prostitute. It was very depressing.

She made a face at her decapitated kipper. And what in heaven’s name was she supposed to do about tonight? She hadn’t planned on staying in London more than two nights. She should be leaving for home today on the first coach. Instead, she sat in Coral’s breakfast room mashing up an innocent kipper.

Anna was still frowning moodily when Coral strolled into the room wearing a sheer, pale-pink wrapper trimmed with swan’s down feathers.

The other woman stopped and eyed her. “Did he not come to the room last night?”

“What?” It took a moment for Anna to register the question. “Oh. Yes. Yes, he came to the room.” She blushed and hurriedly took a sip of tea.

Coral helped herself to some coddled eggs and toast from the sideboard and gracefully dropped into a chair across from Anna. “Was he too rough?”

“No.”

“You did not enjoy it?” the other woman pressed. “He couldn’t bring you to climax?”

Anna nearly choked on her tea in her embarrassment. “No! I mean, yes. It was quite enjoyable.”

Coral unperturbedly poured herself a cup of tea. “Then why do I find you this morning morose when you should have stars in your eyes?”

“I don’t know!” Anna found to her horror that she had raised her voice. What was the matter with her? Coral was right, she’d gotten her wish, spent a night with the earl, and still she was dissatisfied. What a contrary creature she was!

The other woman had arched her eyebrows at her tone.

Anna crumbled a bit of toast, unable to meet her eyes. “He wants me to go back tonight.”

“Rea-lly.” The other woman drew out the word. “That is interesting.”

“I shouldn’t go.”

Coral sipped her tea.

“He might recognize me if we meet again.” Anna pushed the kipper to one side of her plate. “It would be so unladylike to return a second night.”

“Yes, I do see your problem,” Coral murmured. “One night at a brothel is perfectly respectable, whilst two comes perilously close to being déclassé.”

Anna glared.

Coral smiled whimsically at her. “Why don’t we go shopping for those fabrics you told your mother-in-law you would be bringing back. It will give you time to think. You can make up your mind later this afternoon.”

“What a very good idea. Thank you.” Anna set her fork down. “I’d better go change.”

She rose from the table and hurried out of the morning room, her spirits lifting. She only wished she could abandon her thoughts of tonight as easily as her breakfast. Despite what she’d told Coral, Anna was very much afraid that she’d already made up her mind.

She was going to return to Aphrodite’s Grotto and Lord Swartingham again.

THAT NIGHT, THE earl entered the room where Anna waited without saying a word. The only sounds were the quiet shush of the door closing and the crackle of the fire. She watched him pace forward, his face in shadow. Slowly, he shrugged out of his coat, his big shoulders bunching. And then she glided to him before he could make the first move, before he could take control. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. But he deflected the movement, drawing her close to his body instead.

She was determined this time to make their dance more personal, to make him understand that she was real. To touch at least some of him. She took advantage of her position and quickly worked the buttons on his waistcoat open. It came undone and she attacked the shirt beneath.

He reached to catch her hands, but she already had the shirt partly undone. She greedily reached for her prize: his flat, masculine nipples. Her fingers stroked through his chest hair until she found them; then she swayed forward and licked his nipples as he’d done the night before to hers, feeling vaguely triumphant that she’d gained the upper hand so soon. His hands fell away from where they had risen to catch her wrists. He caressed her bottom instead.

His height was a hindrance to her—she couldn’t reach all that she wanted. So she pushed him back into one of the armchairs by the fire. It was important to her that she win this battle tonight.

He sprawled there, his shirt half-open in the firelight. She knelt between his outspread legs and slid her hands into his shirt, all the way up to his shoulders; then her fingers smoothed down his arms, taking the fabric with them. She pulled the shirt off him and let it fall to the floor. That left her free to run her hands over his beautiful, muscled shoulders and arms. She moaned her delight in finally being able to feel the power and warmth of his body. She felt light-headed with anticipation.

He stirred and brought her hands to the front of his breeches. Her fingers trembled, but she brushed his hands aside when he tried to help her. She pushed the concealed buttons through their holes, feeling his erection growing all the while beneath her fingers; then she reached inside to draw him out.

He was gorgeous. Thick and large, with pulsing veins that stood out along his shaft. A swollen crest. The sight filled her with heat. She made a crooning sound in her throat and spread the placket of his breeches as far as it would go so she could look at his chest and stomach and penis. She adored the sight: the black wiry curls of his pubic hair, the thick column, standing now to his navel, and the heavy sac of his testes beneath. His naked skin gleamed, as if gilded by the firelight.