He straightened to watch Clara. Her face was flushed, her lips fully stretched about the girth of his cock and slick with his pre-cum. The fingers of one hand were about his cock, the other no longer cupping his ball sac as she thrust that slick finger in and out of him with greater force and speed.

  Ezra could feel the heat of his release building higher and higher inside him as he looked at her, a churning sea of volcanic lava threatening to explode and release into Clara’s mouth. “You have to stop now— Fuck!” Ezra’s back arched as Clara’s probing finger pressed hard against the sensitivity inside him. That, along with the heat of her mouth surrounding his cock, caused him to lose all sense of control as he released spurt after spurt of his cum into her greedily sucking mouth.

  Finally, Ezra collapsed back, having no strength to stop Clara as she continued to suck on his spent cock until she had drained him dry.

  Eventually, she released him to rest her cheek against his thigh. Her lips were slightly red and swollen, and her cheeks even more flushed.

  “How did you know to— Did the duchess also tell you how to do that?” Ezra gave a rueful shake of his head at Clara’s confirming nod. “No wonder Weston and Harrogate always look so conceitedly smug.”

  Clara chuckled huskily. “They do appear to be two rather contented gentlemen.”

  Ezra sat forward to gently help Clara up from the floor, his arms about her waist as he sat her upon his thighs. “Thank you, Clara. That was—is something I have never felt so intensely before now.”

  “I am glad.” Clara did not believe she had done too badly considering it was the first time she had put her lessons into physical practice.

  And the rewards!

  To feel the pulsing of Ezra cock in her mouth and against her tongue. To taste the sweet nectar of his pre-cum. To stroke her finger inside him until he was unable to stop his release from exploded into her mouth before it was swallowed down greedily.

  “It is your turn now,” Ezra stated firmly, lifting her up from the floor and into his arms before placing her on the bed.

  “Ezra?” She looked up at him uncertainly as she lay upon the bedcovers.

  He knelt on the bed beside her. “It is time I gave you something to remember me by. As it was a school for young ladies, how did you practice cunnilingus?”

  Color bloomed in her cheeks. “There was no reason to do so when we were to be the recipient, not the giver.”

  He shrugged. “Some women prefer other women.”

  Clara nodded. “So we were told, but as none in my class felt that inclination, we were allowed to demonstrate on ourselves, as much as possible, the things we should encourage a gentleman to do to us if we wished to attain physical release.”

  His brows rose. “You know how to give yourself pleasure?”

  “Yes.”

  “And release?”

  “Yes.”

  “With your fingers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you done so often since the two of us first met?”

  Her lashes lowered. “Yes.”

  “As have I.”

  Her eyes widened. “You have?”

  “Oh yes.” Ezra smiled ruefully. “Now tell me of these things you learned to encourage a man to do to you.”

  Her gaze lowered. “I am sure you are experienced enough in such things that it is not necessary for me to direct you.”

  “But I should like you to,” he encouraged gruffly.

  Her blush deepened. “Well, first it was explained that I would probably be in or on a bed when it occurred.”

  Ezra nodded. “Which you already are.”

  Her frown was pained. “Are you certain you are not mocking me?”

  He placed his hand over his heart. “I swear I would not do such a thing after the pleasure you have just given me.”

  Her blush was one of pride now. “Well, once the woman—I am on the bed, the gentleman will lie down between my— Yes, just like that,” Clara confirmed as Ezra lay down on the bed and made himself comfortable between her parted legs, his face on a level with her mound. “Perhaps we should have removed my drawers before— Ezra!” she gasped as he grasped the waistband of that garment to rip the drawers down the seam before pulling them off her completely. She was now naked from the waist down and fully exposed to his heated gaze.

  “What happens next, naughty girl?” Ezra prompted gruffly.

  “How many time do I have to tell you I am not a girl!”

  “Indeed you are not.” He would never be able to think of Clara as such again. “But you are naughty.” It was a naughtiness that had taken him to such heights of pleasure seconds ago, it had almost caused his heart to stop beating.

  She sniffed. “I did not hear you complaining about my naughtiness a few minutes ago.”

  “Nor am I complaining now,” he assured, gaze lowering to where red curls covered her mound. Damp red curls, he discovered as he stroked his fingers through that silky softness, his senses invaded by the delicious sweet and spicy perfume of her arousal. “I think the next instruction should be to bend your knees and place your feet firmly on the bed either side of me,” he invited huskily.

  Clara immediately did as he asked, only to give a slightly distressed squeak and move her hands in an attempt to hide herself when she realized how much more exposed she was in this position.

  “These remain here.” Ezra gently grasped her hands and placed them on the bed beside her. “You are so beautiful here, Clara,” he murmured appreciatively once he had parted those red curls to reveal her plump nether lips and the little nubbin above poking out shyly from beneath its hooded protection. “So, so pretty,” he groaned before lowering his head to lick a path from her perineum, over her slicked nether lips, to that pulsing nubbin above.

  Her taste was of sweet nectar and hot spice, the one like honey on his lips, the other an explosion of sensation and taste to all his senses.

  “Ezra!” She gasped, half sitting up, when his lips encircled and then sucked on the throb of her clit.

  Ezra lifted his head only enough so that he could speak. “Watch me, Clara. Do not take your eyes off me,” he added harshly when the fiery blush on her cheeks indicated she might close her eyes from the embarrassment of seeing his face buried between her thighs. “Watch,” he instructed again, his gaze on her face as his fingers parted her curls and fully revealed her clit before his head lowered so that he could slowly swipe his tongue from her red and exposed clit to the slickness of her swollen nether lips.

  Clara’s eyes were wide, the black iris blown so much that only a slim ring of blue surrounded it. “Again, Ezra,” she begged.

  “Like this?” His tongue did another sweep, this time from her tight back pucker, lingering to lap up the increasing slickness at the entrance to her channel and then higher to where her clit throbbed for the attention of his lips, tongue, and teeth.

  “Yes!” Her hands moved so that her fingers could become entangled in the long thickness of his hair and hold his head in place between her thighs. “Oh God, Ezra, more…” she cried out as her hips began to undulate and lift in rhythm with the stroking of Ezra’s tongue on her now hard and fully erect clit.

  Clara had no idea how long Ezra kept her poised on the edge of release, his fingers caressing, tongue stroking, teeth biting just short of pain. Until she felt as if she might explode from the sensations that now caused her body to tremble and quake at the slightest touch

  “Please, Ezra,” she finally begged. “Please!”

  He growled low in his throat, reaching up to cup her breasts, fingers squeezing and pulling on her nipples as he sucked her clit fully into his mouth. His tongue was a fierce lash against that sensitive nubbin until Clara was thrown, hurled, into a maelstrom of intense and prolonged pleasure.

  Chapter 11

  Clara was alone in her bed when the maid knocked on the door to her bedchamber and brought her breakfast in to her at nine thirty the following morning.

  She was disappointed but not surprised by Ezra’s absence, accepted he would not wish the two of them to be found in bed together. Besides, she had his promise that he would not leave before informing her first, and she trusted him to keep that promise.

  She was in some discomfort from her aching shoulder this morning, but not for the world would she ever admit as much to anyone. The last thing she wished was for Ezra to learn of it and once again offer her words of reproof in regard to her actions the previous evening.

  The truth of the matter was, her behavior yesterday evening had been carefully thought out. The fact she had fallen asleep—after dressing in her night rail, cradled in Ezra’s strong arms, and with her head resting on his bare and muscular chest once he had removed his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt, and with his heart beating steadily beneath her ear—was all she had needed to reassure her she had succeeded.

  Clara did not have a single regret regarding her actions. No matter where Ezra was going or what his intentions were when he arrived there, she had intended to ensure he would remember their last night together.

  As she would.

  The lessons they had been given at school on the subject of physical pleasure, where giggling and elbow nudging had usually ensued before the teacher was able to bring the class to order, had in no way prepared Clara for the emotional closeness she would feel to her partner, Ezra, along with the physical pleasure.

  It had been truly wonderful, and she could not wait to explore those emotions again, hopefully when Ezra would make love with her fully.

  But his absence now warned that would not happen today—

  Clara turned toward the door as it burst open, and an obviously eagerly curious Rissa rushed into the room and quickly closed the door behind her.

  “I saw Lord Stone leave the house about an hour ago and could wait no longer before coming upstairs to ask you— Well, did you do it?” she demanded, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

  Clara remained reclining against the pillows, a gentle smile curving her lips. “It?” she feigned ignorance.

  Her friend narrowed her eyes. “Do not play games with me, Clara Catchpole. Lord Stone might be fooled by your innocent expression, but I am not!”

  Clara chuckled. “Ezra is not fooled by it either.” She gave a languid stretch. “I shall just say that my evening with Ezra was very…enjoyable.”

  “Really?” Rissa sat on the side of the bed to snatch a piece of toast from the breakfast tray across Clara’s thighs before biting into it, her expression thoughtful as she chewed. “I am madly in love with my darling Zachary, of course,” she murmured. “But that does not mean I cannot appreciate the fact Lord Stone is a very handsome gentleman whose haughtiness of nature must present something of a challenge.”

  Clara had no wish to hear another woman appreciating Ezra’s looks or his demeanor. “Has my mother stated a time when we shall be departing?”

  “I believe ten thirty has been mentioned.” Rissa sighed. “I shall miss your company dreadfully.”

  Clara gave her friend’s hand a reassuring pat. “No doubt we shall see each other sometime over Christmas.”

  “That is still weeks away.”

  The same weeks, and possibly months, that Ezra intended to be gone from Worcestershire and possibly England.

  Clara had no idea how she was going to survive without him. It was—

  Her attention was drawn across the room as the door to her bedchamber burst open for the third time this morning, this time to admit her harassed-looking mother. “Rissa has already told me we are leaving at ten thirty,” Clara soothed, knowing how agitated her mother could get if her plans did not run smoothly.

  “What? No.” Her mother wrung her hands together. “You must dress and come downstairs immediately, Clara.”

  Her brows rose. “Can I not eat my breakfast and bathe first?”

  “What? No,” her mother repeated as her agitation deepened. “A visitor has arrived downstairs. A Mr. Grayson Long.”

  Clara nodded slowly. “He is Lord Stone’s estate manager.”

  “Just so,” her mother confirmed abruptly. “He refuses to state the purpose of his visit until he has spoken with you.”

  Clara felt the color drain from her cheeks even as she threw back the bedcovers and rose quickly to her feet.

  There was only one reason she could think of for Grayson Long’s visit, and she would never forgive Ezra if he had broken his promise to her and left without saying goodbye to her, after all.

  There was no mistaking the tension in the silence of the drawing room of the Westons’ home when Clara entered ten minutes later, after having rushed through washing and then dressing, her hair pulled back in a simple bun at her nape.

  Not that Grayson Long seemed at all perturbed at being in the presence of a duke and duchess, an earl and his countess, and a lord and his lady. If anything, Ezra’s estate manager seemed to be the most relaxed of the seven people in the room.

  “Mr. Long.” Clara greeted him with a polite smile and curtsey. “I believe you wish to speak with me.”

  He gave a terse nod. “I spoke at length with Lord Stone yesterday.”

  Her shoulders stiffened warily at the abruptness of Mr. Long’s statement. “Yes?”

  “He gave me the impression he intends to depart England in the next few days or weeks.”

  Clara sensed the six curious gazes of the other people in the room were now centered on her. “I believe so, yes.”

  “Do you have any idea if he brought forward those plans?”

  “Not that I am aware, no.”

  “As I thought.” The dark-haired estate manager grimaced. “Have you seen or talked to Lord Stone this morning?”

  Clara could feel the color mounting in her cheeks as she remained the focus of those six pairs of eyes.

  “I saw him,” Rissa announced. “Earlier, out the window in the breakfast room. He was leaving the stables on that huge horse of his.”

  “Noble is a destrier and is meant to be that size,” the estate manager informed her dryly. “But this would seem to confirm that something amiss seems to have happened to Lord Stone this morning, either on his way back to Stone Manor or shortly after he returned there.”

  Clara gasped. “In what way amiss?”

  Long shook his head. “I found His Lordship’s horse a short time ago, but not His Lordship. Noble was in his stall, but he was not tied up nor was the door closed to keep him there, and from the look of him, he had been ridden hard. But the saddle was still on his back, and I know Lord Stone would never forget to unsaddle his horse. I also checked with the servants in the main house, and no one has seen or spoken to Lord Stone this morning.”

  The Duke of Weston stepped forward. “What do you think has happened to him?”

  Long shrugged. “The two of us went to check the barn in the far west fields yesterday, where I suspected a vagrant had been sleeping. We found no new evidence of that, only the blankets and scraps of food I had already discovered two days ago. But in view of the shooting of Miss Catchpole and Noble’s return to the stables today without his rider, I have to admit I am…concerned for His Lordship’s safety.”

  As was Clara. What if the person who had shot her had now taken Ezra?

  If that was the case, then Clara intended to find and save Ezra, in the same way he had found and saved her five weeks ago.

  “You have done very well for yourself.”

  Ezra forced himself not to react to the sneering tone of his captor, keeping his expression stoically unreadable as he watched the other man pace up and down the barn where he had obviously been staying these past few days, a loaded pistol in his hand.

  The same pistol he had used an hour ago to force Ezra to dismount from his horse, leaving Noble to make his own way home—and hopefully alert someone to at least some of Ezra’s dilemma, if not the reason for it—before his captor tied his hands behind his back and then forced him, that pistol still leveled on his back, to walk to this barn in the west fields.

  Ezra had not set eyes upon Stuart Hetherington for eighteen years, but those years had not been kind to the other man. Then Hetherington had been aged two and twenty, a blond-haired Adonis, his body fit and lithe from the hours he spent fencing or boxing. Now Hetherington was balding, with a florid face and bloodshot eyes, possibly from years of drinking too much alcohol, and a rotund body that strained the buttons on his stained waistcoat.

  The other man was unkempt in appearance altogether, his clothes, and himself, creased and unwashed. But that was possibly because he appeared to have been hiding out in this barn for several days and nights.

  Ezra and Long had found no evidence the other man intended to return when they investigated this barn yesterday, and Ezra now cursed himself for not having placed someone nearby to keep watch in case the intruder reappeared. In case Hetherington returned.

  “If I have done well, then it is no thanks to you and your…family,” Ezra dismissed, his top lip curled back. “My parents disowned me when I returned from the Bahamas without my wife eighteen years ago, and I have worked diligently for all those years in order to be able to purchase my own estate and stud.”

  The other man’s mouth turned back in a sneer. “I was not referring to your estate or stud.”

  Ezra raised his brows. “Then what?”

  The sneer turned to a derisive smile. “Miss Catchpole.”

  Ezra tensed. “What of her?”

  “No doubt you are anticipating receiving a hefty dowry from her doting parents when the two of you marry?”

  Ezra’s mouth thinned. “We both know I cannot marry Miss Catchpole.”

  “Do we?” the other man taunted.

  “I am already married.”

  “But with Isabel living in the Bahamas for the past twenty years, how many people have ever known that?”

  “Obviously, my parents,” Ezra drawled in a hard voice as he remembered all too clearly his parents’ reaction when he returned to England without the wife they had expected would one day produce the Stone heir. Despite Ezra’s years back in England, the three of them had still been estranged when his parents were killed in a carriage accident six years ago.