“If a woman must work to support herself, as members of the lower classes must do, then it is acceptable.”
Only the lower classes? The thump, thump, thump of Nina’s heart had shifted to a fast trot. She strode to the window, needing to calm herself, fearing she might say something she would regret.
She turned back around. “But what if this occupation brings her pleasure?”
He walked toward her and set his hands on her shoulders. As on the sofa, his touch brought her no spark of excitement. No warmth. No connection.
“A duchess, like her husband, would not need to work. It is the duchy’s holdings and wealth that make her part of the elite.”
He didn’t grasp what she was saying, or he did and still could not comprehend her point.
A knock sounded on the door.
Fernbridge lowered his hands.
“Come in,” she said. Relief flooded through her at being interrupted.
The butler stepped into the room and bowed. “Lady Nina, would you care for some refreshments?”
“Your Grace, would you care for tea?” she asked.
“No.” There was a wisp of impatience in his voice.
“Menders, I’ll take some, please.”
The butler exited.
The Duke of Fernbridge motioned to the sofa again. “As I was about to say—”
A crash sounded in the hall.
Nina lifted her skirts, dashed toward the door, and flung it open.
Georgie sat on the corridor floor. The hall table lay on its side next to where her brother sat, gripping his ankle and moaning.
Caroline was squatted beside him, examining it.
“Oh goodness, Georgie, what happened?” Nina asked.
“I twisted my ankle, and when I tried to grab the table for balance, both it and I fell.”
“Does it hurt terribly?” Nina crouched next to her brother and ran a hand down his back.
“Phillip,” Caroline said to the footman who’d come rushing down the corridor, “will you carry Georgie to his room?”
“Of course, my lady.” The footman scooped Georgie up.
“I want Nina to come upstairs with me,” Georgie said with a whimper.
Georgie wants me to go with him? Nina blinked. That didn’t seem like Georgie at all. He was an independent child who tried to act like he never needed coddling. Something smelled as foul as week-old fish. Confirmation came when Nina noticed Caroline winking at Georgie.
“Perhaps I should return tomorrow,” Fernbridge said.
“Your Grace, perhaps that would be for the best,” Nina replied.
“The child shall be fine,” Grandmother said from where she stood at the end of the hall. “No need to cut your visit short, Your Grace.”
“No, it is best I return tomorrow.”
Caroline stood. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
After the Duke of Fernbridge left, Grandmother thumped her cane. “What is going on here?”
“Georgie took a tumble,” Caroline said in a matter-of-fact voice.
The old woman released a heavy breath. “Children his age should be at boarding school.”
“He has a tutor,” Nina replied, following both the footman carrying Georgie and Caroline.
Grandmother made a disgruntled noise.
After Phillip laid Georgie on his bed and strode from the room, Georgie sat up and grinned. “How’d I do, Caroline?”
Her sister-in-law ruffled Georgie’s mop of brown hair. “You are born for the stage.”
Nina stared at them both. “He wasn’t hurt at all, was he? What is going on?”
Caroline took both of Nina’s hands in hers. “After I shooed your grandmother away from where she was eavesdropping outside the drawing-room door, I heard what you asked His Grace about women working. The man had no idea what you were trying to say. And I could tell from your voice you didn’t wish him to ask for your hand. Or was I mistaken?”
“No. You are correct. I do not wish to marry him.”
Caroline released a relieved sigh. “Thank God. If I’d misread the situation and botched up the Duke of Fernbridge’s proposal, I feared you would want me run over by a carriage.”
“Thank you.” Nina squeezed Caroline’s hands, then strode to Georgie and kissed him.
Her brother frowned as if she’d slapped his face with a wet eel and wiped her kiss off his cheek. “Yuck! No need to kiss me.”
“So, what are you going to do, Nina?”
“I need to think about it.”
* * *
If Nina didn’t stop pacing, she would wear a path in the carpet in her bedchamber. She forced her feet to stop their perpetual motion and glanced out the window. Outside, the London sky was dark and fog clung to the pavement like a lover reluctant to be parted. A carriage made its way down the desolate street. The clopping of the horses’ hooves the only noise outside beside the slight whistle of the wind.
She let the curtain fall back into place and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Nearly one in the morning. For the last three hours, she’d contemplated doing something rash. Something she might regret. Something that would affect her for the rest of her life, and once done could not be changed. As the French would say, a fait accompli.
Now or never. She moved to the armoire and took out her navy cape and draped it over her shoulders, snatched her gloves and silk scarf off her dresser, and walked out of her bedroom.
The house was quiet as well, except for the tick, tick, tick, of the longcase clock on the first-floor landing. Everyone was asleep, except Anthony, who was not home.
On the tips of her toes, Nina made her way down the steps and out the door. As she moved through the night’s fog, she pulled her cape tighter over her shoulders to ward off the dampness in the air. A man stumbled out a residence and swayed on his legs.
With a shiver of apprehension, Nina moved closer to the building she was in front of so the drunk would not see her.
When she reached Charles Street, she hesitated.
She could turn back, or she could continue. This decision would affect the rest of her life.
Releasing a slow breath, she turned onto the street and headed to Elliot’s front door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Outside Elliot’s town house, Nina shifted from one foot to the other, while twisting her gloved hands together. Her lungs felt tight—as if someone had shoved a cork into her windpipe, forcing the air to remain and expand.
Not a single light shone from within the residence. Perhaps he wasn’t home. Perhaps he was out and about Town. The nagging uncertainty within her whispered she should turn and go. Yet, as if pulled by the force of gravity, she took the final steps to the door.
Breathe. You can do this.
She lifted the knocker and dropped it firmly against the hard surface, then two more times, harder.
Silence. Perhaps that was for the best. She was about to leave when a light flicked on in the entry hall, sending a yellow glow through the transom above the door to spill into the dark night.
“Who is it?” Elliot’s voice was raspy.
She opened her mouth, glanced toward Upper Brook Street. Still time to run away. “It’s Nina.”
The metal click of the lock turning echoed into the air as if amplified, and the door flew open. Elliot stood in a velvet robe—his hair in disarray. A dark shadow covered his jaw. He radiated such primal maleness.
Her gaze dipped to his bare feet, then to where the lapels of the robe met at his chest, exposing the surface of skin near his collarbone. A clear image of what he looked like underneath the garment settled in her mind. The thought of why she’d come here made her mouth feel dry. Her gaze returned to his face.
His blue eyes stared at her as if she were a mirage. “Nina, is something wrong? Has something happened to a member of your family? What is it, love?” He peered beyond her as if searching for something or someone, trying to make sense of why she stood at his door at this time of night.
“No, not
hing is wrong.” Except she’d clearly gone mad. “Why didn’t a servant answer the door?”
He blinked. “Nina, it’s past one in the morning. They are asleep and probably didn’t hear the knocker.”
That made complete sense. Nina wasn’t sure why she’d asked the question. It seemed rather inane. She drew another slow, yet deep breath into her lungs. She should have downed a few glasses of wine before coming here.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” She heard the slight shake in her voice and wondered if Elliot noticed it as well.
Still looking flummoxed, he stepped aside.
Didn’t he understand why she was here? Did she need to spell it out? “You said if you took my virginity . . .”
His intense blue eyes stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.
With her heart beating fast, she strode past him and started up the stairway, plucking her gloves off as she went. Nothing like the sensual way he’d told her to do it. No. She was too nervous. Halfway up the first flight, she realized he wasn’t following her. That fact chipped away at her already feigned bravado, yet she forced her feet to continue.
Damn you, Elliot. Don’t make me feel like a complete fool.
“Nina, if you continue with this, there will be no turning back.”
Well, at least he was contemplating following her. Maybe she needed to act like Hansel and Gretel and leave him a trail, but of clothing. She continued up the steps and, feeling more emboldened now that she realized it was his conscience that hindered him, she dropped one glove on the step, then the other.
She heard him mumble something. Either she was botching this up completely, or she’d done something provocative. Hopefully, the latter.
The squeak of the treads as Elliot moved up the stairs bolstered her confidence. She unwound the silk scarf around her neck and, holding it in her hand, trailed it over several steps before she let it slither down the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder.
She could see the intensity in Elliot’s eyes. The unmistakable desire.
“How am I doing?” she asked.
“You get a gold star.”
“Is that all?” She trailed her fingers over the banister with the lightest of touches. He didn’t respond. She glanced over her shoulder again.
He smiled.
“No response?”
“I’m saving all my energy to stop myself from taking you on the next landing.”
“I think your bed will be better.”
“Oh, I agree.”
As she reached the landing, she paused. The house was dark, making it difficult to see into the rooms, but she figured Elliot’s bedchamber was one floor up. She started up the next flight.
At the landing, she stood still, and Elliot stepped behind her.
“Don’t do this, love, unless you’re absolutely sure.” His breath was warm against her nape.
She was sure. Elliot was right. They were like a fever coursing through each other, yet it went beyond that. She leaned her back against his chest. “You don’t want me?”
“More than words could express, but if we do this, you will be mine and I yours. Our fates will be intertwined. Sealed till our dying days.”
“I like the way that sounds. Not the death part but being intertwined.”
“So, you have given Fernbridge your answer?”
“No, but I will. I don’t want to marry him.” She pivoted to face him.
He gently took her chin in his hand and brought her gaze up to his. “Then this can wait until after we marry.”
“I don’t want to wait.” And by the firmness under his robe, he didn’t wish to either.
“If you’re sure.”
She nodded.
Tangling his fingers with hers, he led her into the dim room to their right and closed the door.
Her gaze settled on the massive bed with green velvet drapes hanging at the corners. She could see the bedding was tossed aside. He’d obviously been in it when she arrived. A gas lamp and several leather-bound books sat on an adjacent round table.
“You were reading?”
“I was. I’ve been finding it more difficult to sleep at night.”
“So have I.” She noticed Zeb sprawled out on a large pillow on the floor.
The dog opened one of his drooping lids and his tail wagged.
“Hello, Zeb.”
“Best not to speak to him,” Elliot said. “It took me a protracted amount of time to get him onto his bed.”
Smiling, she unbuttoned her cape.
Elliot stepped behind her to help slip it off. Neatly, he draped the garment over the back of a damask chair, strode to the grate, and poked at the glowing embers, drawing life back into the fire. Flames flickered, sending light to lessen the shadows.
She glanced around.
“The house needs updating,” he said, obviously noticing the way she took in her surroundings.
“I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking it looks no different than the bedchambers in my family’s residence.”
“What were you expecting? Red flocked paper? Paintings with Bacchanalian revelry?” There was humor in his voice.
Goodness, no. She laughed. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been in the bedroom of a bachelor’s residence.”
“I’m working on fixing the property. To be honest, my uncle dearly neglected the residence.” He motioned to a ladder propped in one corner of the room, where freshly applied areas of plaster stood in contrast against the light blue walls.
“You’re working on fixing it?”
“The doubt in your voice will damage my self-esteem.” He grinned.
She returned his expression. “I didn’t mean I thought you couldn’t do the work. But you have to admit it isn’t every nobleman who plasters walls.”
“Let us just say I have hidden talents.”
The heated expression in his eyes caused her nerve endings to tingle. She remembered how talented his fingers, mouth, and tongue were. A warm flush settled over her body. “You do.”
“Flattery will get you whatever your heart desires.” His grin broadened and he began unfastening the buttons on the back of her gown. His warm breath touched her nape, while cooler air drifted over her spine as he brushed the gown off her shoulders. He pulled her back against him—one hand wrapped about her waist, the other cupped her breast. Even over her shift and corset, she felt the warmth of his big hand.
For a long minute, they just stood there. Him holding her. Her basking in the warmth.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
She peered over her shoulder to look at him. “I am.”
He unlaced her corset and removed every stitch of clothing she wore until she stood in only her silk stockings and garters. As he’d undressed her, the tips of his fingers had grazed over her skin, causing a tingling sensation throughout her body. He was correct—being undressed heightened anticipation.
His hot gaze traveled from her face, down the length of her body, then back up.
Gooseflesh scattered over her skin.
“Good Lord, you’re perfect.” Elliot scooped her up and laid her on the bed. He untied the sash of his robe and tossed the garment aside, leaving him clad in only his drawers.
The light from the lamp highlighted the sculpted surface of his chest. He was beautiful.
“Is it time to move onto lesson six?” She skimmed her hand down his hip.
He flashed a wicked grin and shucked off his drawers, revealing his thick and proud manhood, jutting forward from dark hair. Elliot braced his hands beside her shoulders and leaned over her.
“Nina, my dearest love, we will start at lesson two, work our way through lesson five, and end with lesson six. Then we will do them again, if you wish.”
“Is that a promise?”
“It is.” He covered her mouth with his.
Elliot’s kisses usually started out slow, then built. However, this one was intense. The slow build tossed aside for something more primal.
Hungry. Demanding. His tongue tangled with hers as if challenging her to respond with the same frenzy.
She did. Her body grew anxious for things to become more complex, as they had at the house party. Her breasts were already tingling. Restlessness coursed through her, making her want more contact.
As if reading her thoughts, he lay next to her. His hands softly glided over her legs, still encased in her silk stockings. He made an appreciative noise. “God, you feel good.”
She watched his face, half cast in shadow, as his hand skimmed over the plane of her belly to mold itself to the pliable flesh of one breast. His thumb gently swayed against her erect nipple. He captured the tip in his mouth. His tongue teased before he gently nipped at it.
Pleasure and pain melded into something she could not explain. She arched her body.
“Do you like that?”
She managed a nod.
His mouth moved to the other breast. The edge of his teeth scraped against it. Not in a painful way, but in a way that made her breathing turn shallow. With his mouth still on her breast, his warm palm skimmed over her inner thigh and cupped where she’d grown wet. He made a noise, clearly stating his satisfaction as one finger slide inside her, then out.
She wanted to whimper at the loss of contact. But then his finger returned. Thicker this time. Perhaps two fingers. The sensation didn’t feel intrusive—no, the opposite. She welcomed the slight pressure. She moved her hands to his back and tried to pull him on top of her.
He chuckled softly. “What an anxious puss you are. I want to take my time. Taste every inch of your body.”
Taste her body? Yes, she wanted him to do that again. The memory of his mouth on her had left her restless throughout the past several days. But the loss of not being able to talk with him was even more profound.
Tipping her head up, she watched him scatter soft kisses over her skin as he worked his way downward. His warm breath fanned against her sex. His tongue touched, delved, and tasted. The same sensation that had built last time clawed for release.
The heavy weight of his erection brushed against her shin. She moved her leg, stroking him.
The noise he made sounded primal, and she felt its vibration against the nub between her legs. Elliot scooted up beside her, and she ran the tip of her finger over the silky skin of his manhood before she curled her hand around it and stroked him.
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 19