His mouth descended on hers, and a flood of heated pleasure infused his veins. A moment of shock, a tiny noise of surprise, and then she responded beneath him with a passion he had hoped for but not expected. Thomas leaned into the kiss, tasting her deeply, and she responded by opening for him, moaning against his mouth and tugging on his coat to pull him closer.
Thoughts flickered through his head as he indulged in his desire. He saw himself lifting her in his arms to carry her upstairs to his bedchamber. He imagined taking her swiftly the first time, and so very slowly the next . . .
Then he thought of the consequences of such an act.
Wincing, he gently gripped her arms and eased her away. He needed to show her he had changed. That he could be a better man. As he had said to Caroline before, he had to at least try.
“Eliza,” he said in a voice that came out no louder than a whisper. He cleared his throat and stated more formally, “Lady Eliza . . .”
Eliza stood, stunned, staring at the linen shirt covering Lord Evanston’s broad chest as he broke the contact between them. Her body hummed and buzzed as it never had before, and her mind scattered frantically to make sense of what was happening.
Thomas kissed me, her brain insisted, but that couldn’t be right. There was no earthly reason why he would choose to kiss her over some young debutante, unsullied by marriage and childbirth. Or one of his other worldly widows, like Victoria Varnham, who had the experience to drive him wild in ways she couldn’t even imagine.
Her lips tingled, and she lifted her fingers and brushed them across her mouth in a sacred gesture. An attempt to preserve his kiss in her memory. In a daze she stared at him. Her defenses had been breached. Passion, long held in check, now simmered beneath her skin, in every cell, in every breath. Were he to kiss her again, she could not account for how she might react.
Thomas’s eyes searched hers, and they were filled with dread. “Forgive me. I—I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
She blinked furiously to dispel the haze of longing that lingered. It had been years since a man had been intimate with her. She had tried to imagine it with Sir Landry, but to her everlasting frustration, the man of her fantasies had always transformed into Evanston—this man standing before her now, with eyes as bright as a lightning strike. The effect on her was no less overwhelming. He’d always been capable of wrecking her with his gaze, but his kiss . . . well, she was still struggling to find her wits. It had been a moment lived straight from one of her reveries and vastly different than the first time. Almost as if he believed she were the only woman in the world worth kissing.
Before he could speak another word of apology, Eliza’s hands were behind his head to pull him down. This time she rose high upon her toes to meet him in her greed, mouth opening to receive him, her blood heated with lust.
Initially frozen in astonishment, his hands held her at bay for the span of a breath before he issued a low growl and hauled her up against him. With her arms twined around his neck, there was nothing to be done but surrender to the extent of his embrace, and the feel of his body against hers caused her to gasp aloud. Eliza arched into it, every wicked part of her cursing her blasted corset for hindering the delicious friction between them.
The velvet slide of Evanston’s mouth against hers assailed her over and over until she could feel herself shaking, and his hands skimmed dangerously over the small of her back, then paused. He broke the kiss, just barely, his lips hovering inches above her own.
“Eliza,” he said huskily as he fought to catch his breath, shaking his head in regret. “You should not have come here today.”
She frowned in confusion, swaying unsteadily on her feet. “But you invited me here.”
The viscount released a soft, mirthless laugh. “Obviously, an invitation is no guarantee of civility. I would devour you utterly, despite my best intentions.”
Her heart thudded hard, then seemed to stop altogether. His eyes held hers just as his hand, warm and strong, remained possessively in its position, low on her back. The temperature in the air seemed to increase exponentially but she suspected it was only her, flushing pink at his words. Evanston had meant them as a warning, and she supposed the fact he was warning her at all meant something important.
But in as many ways as the viscount was appealing—his masculine good looks, easygoing sense of humor and abundance of seductive charm—he was now infinitely more attractive through this show of simple consideration for her. And after years of suppressing her greatest wishes, with her desire for him now no longer a secret, the thought of him devouring her was not the deterrent he might have thought it was.
His breathing labored, he struggled to get out his next words. “You should leave before this goes too far.”
She frowned again, sliding her hands down from around his neck to curl her fingers around the fabric of his lapel. He was right, of course. To continue this insanity would be a hideous mistake. He was not the stable father figure she required for Rosa. And she couldn’t forget that William would never allow such a thing even were she to yield. In fact, the discovery of any involvement between Eliza and Evanston would mean the end of William’s long-standing friendship with the viscount . . . a thought that grieved her to no end.
And what would become of their friendship? Would she sacrifice it all merely to appease this blood-heated frenzy that had seen fit to plague her since before she’d been married?
Eliza inventoried her senses, deliriously taking stock of how he affected her. His nearness. How solid he was beneath her fingertips. His crisp, clean, masculine smell. The lingering taste of him.
The tortured look on his face. His eyes begging her to ignore his advice . . .
Helpless to do otherwise, she lunged forwards for another ravenous kiss. Evanston muttered in protest, but the effort was unintelligible and halfhearted at best before she parted her lips to welcome the slick thrust of his tongue. He advanced on her, sending them colliding into the nearest wall. An ancient vase, possibly quite valuable, went toppling off its pedestal to crash onto the unforgiving floor beneath, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces around their feet.
Eliza broke away to twist worriedly in his arms, glancing down at the damage.
“Oh—”
Evanston was indifferent to the loss, sinking his long fingers into her elegant coiffure to maneuver her head, exposing the side of her throat to his mouth. She writhed against him with a cry as the viscount worked his way back up with scorching kisses and light nips of his teeth along her neck until she eagerly reclaimed his mouth with her own, winding her fingers through his thick hair.
“Eliza,” he whispered against her mouth in between fiery, openmouthed kisses. His hands rose up to squeeze the mounds of her breasts. Then his fingers hooked over the edge of her bodice, as if he were a hairsbreadth away from tugging it down and baring her to his eyes. “My God—”
Her head was reeling. She couldn’t gasp or cry out. She couldn’t even breathe. She only wanted to be his, wanted his hands all over her, wanted his mouth on her, wanted him inside her.
The sound of the front door opening alerted them to the reentry of Burton. Evanston’s head rose sharply and he moved his body to shield Eliza from view. Of course, Burton would not be expecting to see the familiar Lady Eliza caught in an embrace with the lord of Hawthorne Manor. And he certainly wouldn’t have anticipated seeing them amidst a mess of ceramic pieces strewn over the usually spotless marble floor. She saw inevitable recognition dawn in the man’s eyes, but to his credit he quickly checked himself, adopting an appropriate and docile demeanor more befitting of his station.
“I will fetch a housemaid to clean this mess, my lord. Also, Lady Eliza’s carriage is ready for her whenever she has need of it.” He gave a perfunctory bow. “Is there anything else you require of me?”
“Your absence, Burton,” Thomas said, working to control his breathing. “Please.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The butler disapp
eared quite rapidly for a man his size. Evanston turned back to her, and in one smooth motion, he leaned down to scoop her into his arms. It seemed he was done playing games in the foyer of his own house. Eliza was immediately reminded of the night he’d carried her, injured, into his London town house, except now his movements were filled entirely with carnal purpose. There was no doubt where this would lead.
“Thomas—” she gasped. She pressed her hand against the wide breadth of his chest, her gaze wildly searching his.
Rather than argue with her as he had done in the past, he kissed her. Hard. He kissed her until the panicked tension in her limbs melted away, until her resistance transformed back into eager submission. Then he tore his mouth away and resumed his course up the stairs.
His arms were rock-solid and steady around her, and his pace was resolute. Evanston was not going to change his mind. He was not going to slow down or stop. He would continue forwards until she was lying beneath him on his bed, driven senseless with the pleasure of being taken by him at last.
Eliza couldn’t let it get that far, she reminded herself, although her feeble efforts to resist him up until now did not bode well in that regard. She supposed she should wriggle out of his arms but found herself tugging on his cravat to loosen the knot instead. Unthinkingly, she shifted in his hold to press her mouth against the newly exposed length of his neck, and his ensuing groan of need caused her body to quiver in anxious reply.
The slam of the bedchamber door behind them jarred her senses, and panic took hold once more as he dropped her upon his bed, then held her gaze as he stepped back to rip his cravat aside and toss it to the floor. Eliza was rendered motionless by fear, desire, and the greedy need to have him all for herself. Her heart raced like the wings of a frightened bird, eyes mesmerized, following the movements of his fingers as they lowered to open his shirt. She envisioned those same fingers unfastening his trousers. Could imagine them hastily raising her skirts . . .
He could take her right now to be his wife . . . his mistress . . . his lover . . .
I would say yes to it all. Whatever he wanted.
He’s buying time to seduce you.
Caroline’s words repeated in her head. Eliza scrabbled into an upright position and pushed herself backwards off the mattress, rising swiftly to regard him wide-eyed from the opposite side of the room. He froze, then glanced down at his discarded cravat.
“I can put that back on, if you’d prefer,” he said slowly.
His attempt at humor nearly made her laugh. “Stop it, Thomas—” She covered her eyes with both hands. “Please, just stop.”
There was silence for a moment, then a concerned inquiry.
“Eliza, what’s wrong?”
Her voice was shaking. “I cannot be your next conquest.” She straightened her spine. “I will not be just another widow in your bed.”
“You are the only woman I want,” he said quietly. “Widow or not.”
God, how she wanted to believe him. But she would be risking everything on a hope . . . a wish. Even worse, she’d be taking a chance on her daughter’s life, too.
She felt her head shaking before she was aware of doing it. “I need to leave.”
Regret creased his forehead, and he took a small step in her direction, his hand outstretched. “Eliza—”
“Please, Thomas. Don’t.” Backing away, she leveled her gaze at him, taking in the shock that flickered across his handsome features. More than handsome. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Her heart ached at the sight of him. “I need a husband, my daughter needs a father, and you are just not suited to playing either of those roles. I am certain this would be no different . . . even if you’ve somehow fooled yourself into believing it would be.”
Although he stared at her, his expression wounded, there was an unmistakable hint of injured resignation that he could not conceal. It pained her to see it, and before he could say something to change her mind, Eliza gathered her skirts and hurried past him to throw open the bedchamber door. She careened blindly down the staircase and out through the foyer, holding her stinging breath until a harsh gasp finally escaped as the slam of the carriage door shut out the world. A world that included Viscount Evanston with shirt disheveled and cravat missing, standing solemnly on the steps of his home while he watched her carriage drive away.
Chapter Eleven
Evanston’s pen scratched against the parchment as he signed his name, and he leaned back in his chair, scanning the letter to ensure it had struck the proper tone. He wanted his anger to seethe out from the pages unquestionably, but most of all, he wanted the woman receiving it to know things were irrevocably broken between them. Done. Finished.
Satisfied at last, he twisted the red wax above the flame, watching as it melted and dripped down onto the envelope. He pressed his seal against it, then stared at an errant smudge of ink on his hand. His brow drew down and he rubbed at the spot in annoyance, yet still it remained, a black mark upon him. His head started to ache . . .
Giving up, Thomas jerked his sleeve down in irritation to cover it. He glanced at the sideboard, to the amber-filled bottles that winked at him in the late morning sunlight. Losing himself in the bottom of a crystal decanter had been easy before, but now not even brandy could numb him enough to ignore the fact that Eliza found him strategically lacking when compared to her other suitors. When compared to the lukewarm Landry, for God’s sake.
And no amount of alcohol could compete with the unadulterated intoxication of feeling her respond in his arms, or the sight of her, supple and wanting, on his bed. How he yearned to be drunk on Eliza again. If only he could find a way to forget . . .
A brief knock sounded just before the door to his study flew open.
“Pardon, my lord, but you will be late for your meeting with the earl.”
Burton regarded the viscount from the doorway, his face contorted into a mask of worry. Thomas focused his thoughts back to the task at hand, flipping the envelope over in his hands to quickly address the parchment, then standing to face the butler.
“You worry too much, Burton. I am riding on horseback and can easily make up the lost time. Besides, this is important.” Coming closer, Thomas handed him the missive. “Please ensure this letter is included in the next post. I’d like Mrs. Varnham to receive it as soon as possible. It contains a few choice words I’ve reserved just for her.”
“Mrs. Varnham?” asked the butler in an inquisitive tone. “Certainly, my lord.” Burton crossed back towards the door, but paused before leaving, clearly debating whether he dare say more. Evanston’s gaze flicked up, the dark arches of his brows lifting as he reached for his riding jacket.
“Out with it, man.”
Burton jumped a little at being caught, the silver filaments in his hair catching the late morning light from the windows. “It is of no purpose, my lord. Only, I wanted to say how very . . . ahem . . . nice it was to see Lady Eliza here yesterday.” Thomas slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat, his movements slowing in evaluative contemplation while the man struggled to continue. “I mean, there had been a time in London where you were not . . . ahem . . . responding to her entreaties. And it’s, well, I was glad to see—”
“You saw rather more than you bargained for,” recalled Thomas sardonically with a sharp tug on his jacket.
The butler glanced down at the letter he carried, his cheeks turning red. “Yes, well, I suppose I did. I must say, however, that I’ve always liked Lady Eliza.”
“As have I, Burton. However, she is currently deliberating over multiple marriage proposals, one from a man whom she will likely accept,” he added, hardening his tone of voice to prevent any emotion from creeping in. “She would never have me.”
“It looked very much to me as if she could be convinced to consider it.”
Thomas threw a disapproving glance in the man’s direction. “As a master concerned for the state of your employment, I’d like to recommend you not look too closely next time. Besides, appearances can b
e deceiving.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Burton quickly. “My point is simply that one has heard . . . not that one listens, of course, but one has heard that she has been remarkably selective since the death of Mr. Cartwick. One might say to the point of exclusion. Until yesterday. With you.”
Evanston snorted and retrieved his riding crop from the leather chair where he had tossed it earlier. This was a dangerous line of thought to entertain. The fact that his butler was the one belaboring the point did make the matter mildly amusing.
“She was courted by others in London. Yesterday was one hint of an indiscretion,” he stated dismissively, her objections echoing painfully through his mind. “A mere moment of weakness on her part.”
“Now you are making assumptions, my lord.”
Thomas pierced him with a dark look. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion on any of this.”
“You’ll forgive me, my lord, but I find I care, despite my best efforts. And while I know of no love that truly follows the confines of reason or logic, I have to think that your chances would substantially increase were you to make a proposal of your own.” Burton lowered his head a bit after speaking, almost as if expecting a rebuke for his brazenness.
Evanston froze and stared at his butler. Then he raised a hand to point at the letter. “Next post. Make sure of it. Now step aside, please,” he muttered, brushing past Burton on his way out of the room. “I’m late for my meeting.”
Despite the lateness of his departure, Thomas made excellent time to Ashworth’s estate. His recently acquired chestnut performed admirably on the winding country roads, as it had upon the cobbled streets of London. It had been the least he could do, parading Landry’s near-purchase before him. Still, it would bring only minimal comfort should the blasted man succeed in winning Eliza’s heart—or at the very least, her acceptance of his marriage proposal.
Viscount Can Wait, The EPB Page 16