The Earl With the Secret Tattoo by Kieran Kramer Page A

lost complete and utter control, much to her delight and satisfaction—and
     his?
    That he’d kissed her thighs?
    Her breasts?
    And then he’d adored the very vulnerable center of her femininity with his mouth,
     tongue, and fingers, sending her into even more paroxysms of pleasure than she’d experienced
     the first time he’d brought her to utter bliss at his house?
    If anyone could tell, she didn’t care.
    “When I met your father, I was drunk, bleary-eyed, and hopeless,” James was telling
     her now.
    His nearness, the way the sun glinted through his hair, was driving Eleanor mad with
     the desire to kiss him again.
    “I was at a pub outside of Oxford,” he said, seemingly oblivious of her frustration,
     “and it was the third time I’d been sent down from the university for bad behavior
     and failing grades.”
    “Goodness,” said Eleanor.
    “No, badness,” he replied with a chuckle. “I was very, very bad.”
    “I don’t believe it,” she said lightly. “You said it yourself that the aloof, cold,
     bad Earl of Tumbridge was an illusion.”
    “Yes, he was, but illusions prop us up when we’re too afraid of the truth. And the
     truth was, at that time of my life, I was a lonely young man with no direction.”
    “All right,” she said, “I’ll grant you that.”
    He wouldn’t be lonely anymore if she had anything to do with it.
    He pulled her arm closer through his, which made her very happy.
    “At any rate,” her beloved said, “I was asked by the dean never to return. So I began
     contemplating jumping off a bridge.”
    Eleanor gasped. “No.”
    “Yes. I told you how my diplomat father had been killed in the wars, brought down
     by a French team informed of his whereabouts by none other than Lord Pritchard.”
    “We both have that in common, don’t we?” Eleanor said sadly.
    “Yes. And my mother had recently died, as well.” James’s profile was sober. “My sister
     would have none of me, and I don’t blame her. But in one of the most profound moments
     of my life—which also happened to be one of the lowest and neediest—Lord Kersey appeared
     at my table, dragged my inebriated body to his coach, put me to bed for two days at
     an undisclosed location near London, and when I was perfectly sober on the third day,
     urged me to join the—”
    “The group,” Eleanor supplied.
    “Exactly.” James grinned. “Your father said he knew I was better than the way I was
     behaving. He’d known my father, and he even remembered me as a little boy. He said
     he refused to give up on me, and he wouldn’t let me give up on myself. And for that,
     I’ll be forever thankful to him.”
    Eleanor’s eyes began to burn. “We both had excellent fathers.”
    James gripped her hand. “We did.”
    She stopped and faced him. “I received a letter today.”
    “Oh?”
    “From a family who wants me to serve as governess to their children.” Her chest constricted
     with worry. What if she were imagining everything? What if this love she felt for
     James wasn’t returned? Yes, he liked to kiss her—and he did it exceedingly well—but
     what if she were simply a distraction from the fact that he had nothing exciting to
     occupy himself with anymore, except the regular duties of an earl?
    “This family is in Devon,” she continued. “So…it’s not too far from London. And my mother. Which is a good thing, now that she’s improving.”
    “Really.” James didn’t look terribly happy for Eleanor.
    Hope rose up in her, like a butterfly.
    “Yes,” she said. “The family wants me to start in two weeks.” She began walking again.
    “Will you interfere again this time?” She kept her tone light.
    He didn’t say anything for a long time, his eyes on the one fluffy cloud in the sky.
     “No,” he answered firmly. “I won’t.”
    They continued strolling, and Eleanor’s heart fell so hard to her feet, she couldn’t
     feel them anymore. It felt as though she were walking through