by Amy Sandas
“Thank God,” he muttered under his breath.
“Though every once in a while might be fun,” she added to tease him.
He flexed his fingers at her waist and glanced down at her again. This time, though, his eyes were heavy and dark. “You antagonize me quite enough already.”
The tone of his voice when he spoke made Eliza think he was not exactly complaining. In fact, something richly sensual flowed from his words and entered her bloodstream in a tingling rush. She was left feeling breathless and warm.
Unfortunately, at that moment they reached their destination. Eliza had to take several swift inhalations before she was capable of redirecting her thoughts toward the purpose of polite socializing.
But the insistent thread of awareness hovered in her consciousness for the rest of the evening, making every glance she received from the marquess, every touch of his hand, every comment he directed to her feel weighted with some deeper meaning.
Chapter Seventeen
Eliza rose early the next morning and joined her father on the short trek to the lake. They were part of a small group who had all roused themselves at the ungodly hour of dawn to sit on the grass-banked shores and cast their lines into the calm waters.
Eliza loved this time of day, when the world was sleepy and life seemed to be in no hurry at all. The morning was grey and damp with the night’s mist and all was still quiet, as if the countryside had not yet awakened. The atmosphere was tranquil and her father’s company was wonderfully undemanding. The invisible tether connecting her to the place where dreams formed had not yet been fully severed and Eliza found it easy to turn her focus inward. New ideas had slowly been taking shape since the highwayman’s story had come to a close. Eliza took the opportunity to explore what characters and plot might be discovered.
The early hours of the day passed quickly, as tended to happen when the fishing was good and her thoughts were active. By the time the sun rose high enough in the sky to burn off the haze of morning mist, Eliza had a basket full of fresh fish and an exciting plan for her next writing project.
Other guests had begun to make their way to the lakeshore, and with the quiet of the morning dispersing, Eliza decided to head back to the house.
At grand country parties such as this, most of the female guests would sleep late into the morning, but the promise of sport had lured many of the men out of their beds. Several gentlemen milled about near the stables as they organized themselves into groups for hunting and shooting. Eliza scanned the area for broad shoulders and a handsomely stoic expression but she reached the house disappointed.
Several other activities had been arranged throughout the day. A market fair was taking place in the nearby village with dozens of local artisans and craftsman. For those with no interest in perusing the local goods, there was also an archery competition planned for later and guided walks about the estate. Lunch was an informal affair. A light repast was set up in the dining room for guests to eat at their leisure. Picnic baskets were also going to be available for the adventurous sorts who wished to take their meal outdoors.
Eliza wished she had thought to ask the marquess last evening what he planned to do for the day. There had been little time for a personal conversation as he led them around the drawing room in a marathon effort to spend at least a few moments socializing with each and every guest before the night was over. She suspected he had done it intentionally to fulfill his responsibility and so free himself up to enjoy the rest of the weekend however he wished. Eliza had appreciated the strategy and gone along happily from one group to the next. Unfortunately, the tactic had not allowed much opportunity for private exchanges.
It was not until she had been lying in her bed, trying to fall asleep that Eliza wondered if perhaps that had been part of his strategy as well.
Bypassing the front hall by entering through a side door, Eliza avoided contact with any other guest as she made her way to her room and promptly ordered a bath. Now that she was indoors, the stench of fish hovering about her was obnoxious.
Scrubbed clean and dressed in a fresh gown, Eliza left her bedroom again with no particular destination in mind. As she wandered down the hall, she heard the chatter and hum of women’s voices layering over each other in gossip and laughter. Eliza held her breath and passed quickly by the open doors of the sitting room where most of the ladies had gathered while their men occupied themselves with the sport offered outdoors.
Her mother would not be happy with her for avoiding the opportunity to get to know some of her future relatives better, but Eliza was not in a mood for socializing. She had had enough the night before to last her quite a while.
Today, she was feeling much more inclined toward a bit of exploration.
Boarhill Manor was an extraordinary example of late sixteenth-century architecture and Eliza seized the chance to discover the details of a new setting. She made her way through the west wing and down a secondary stairway to the front entry hall. From there, the grand curving staircase with its richly carved banister brought her to an upper level in the main section of the house. This expansive wing contained several common rooms designated for specific uses. Instead of parlors and drawing rooms, there was a large ballroom, a modern game room complete with a billiard table, card tables and other amusements, a beautiful music room and an impressive armory displaying a collection of weaponry from a bygone era.
Just beyond the armory, practically hidden in the shadows at the end of the hallway, Eliza found another staircase. It intrigued her because it did not extend back down to the ground level of the house. The stairs only went up.
Curious and emboldened by the fact that she had encountered no other guests and only seen a few upstairs maids during her explorations so far, Eliza decided to see where the stairs led.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway narrowed and actually turned away from the main part of the house. So rather than continuing above the ballroom and the other rooms she had traveled through below, she now found herself in an entirely different wing. She made her way slowly down the hallway, seeing that many of the doors along its length were closed.
The quiet stillness in this part of the house was palpable, making her feel like an intruder. Realizing she had likely wandered into someone’s private apartments, she was about to turn back when she reached an open door. Peering inside, she was drawn into the space, though it was obvious this room was much more personal in nature than the ones she had previously examined.
A leather sofa and two chairs were arranged before a lovely marble fireplace, unlit due to the warmth of the day. A broad desk sat in front of a large stretch of windows and a modest liquor service stood beneath a landscape painting. The room was painfully tidy without a knick-knack or unnecessary object anywhere in view. The mantle above the fireplace held a small gilded clock, but no candlesticks or objects d’art stood beside it to keep it company. No vase of fresh flowers was present to brighten the staid atmosphere and even the surface of the desk was immaculate, without a piece of paper or inkwell in sight.
Eliza turned about looking for any evidence that the room was actively in use and found nothing. Yet, she sensed in the space something intangible but frighteningly familiar. She wondered if she had perhaps wandered into the private apartments of the marquess.
The room certainly seemed to suit him. Well-ordered, refined, undemonstrative.
She took a deep breath. Thinking she detected the subtle notes of his scent, she was suddenly flushed with acute yearning.
Eliza frowned as she wandered a bit farther into the room to trail her hand across the smooth surface of the leather sofa. There was no point in denying the truth. Sometime between their first encounter at Silvery and the present moment, she had become rather fond of her temporary betrothed.
As soon as she acknowledged the feeling, she grimaced. Fond was such an innocuous word and did not nearly encompass the range of what she felt in regard to the marquess.
“Do not tell me your m
other sent you on another errand. I thought we were finished with that business.”
Eliza started at the sound of Rutherford’s voice. As she turned to face him, she half expected to see him as she had that first time, wrapped in a damp towel and nothing else. Her disappointment was keen when she saw he was fully clothed. But the disappointment quickly became a visceral sort of pleasure as she took in his full appearance.
He must have just returned from some activity outside as he was once again dressed in the costume of country gentleman. His hair was wonderfully tousled and his face bore the bronzed color of having been under the sun. She even imagined she could smell rich notes of pine and earth mingling in the space between them.
Her heart gave a nervous skip. She tried to laugh off her sudden heightened sensitivity to his presence, but the sound came out a little shaky. “Though I doubt Mother will fully relax until we have uttered our vows, I can say in all confidence that she has no idea I am here.”
He gave a subtle lift of his brows in acknowledgement of her statement but said nothing else as he strode farther into the room. Shrugging his wide shoulders free of his coat, he draped the outer vestment over the back of a chair. He behaved as if it were completely natural to return from his walk or ride, or wherever he had been, to find her in his personal rooms.
But Eliza sensed something stirring beneath the surface of their interaction. A delicate weight seemed to be closing in around them. It made her lungs feel tight and her muscles strangely languid as she followed him about the room with her gaze.
After discarding his coat, he moved toward the desk. He released the top button of his shirt and then the buttons at his wrists so he could flip his sleeves back over his wrists. Eliza watched his fingers nimbly manipulate the buttons and she was reminded of when he had opened the back of her gown to save her from the spider. Her skin tingled as she recalled his fingers brushing over her bare back. What would it have felt like if he had been touching her with more seductive intentions?
Heat flushed her body and she averted her gaze. Goodness, her imagination was in need of some serious discipline.
She should explain how she came to be in his room, claim to be needed elsewhere and make a hasty retreat.
But she could not bring her feet to move and her tongue seemed frozen behind her teeth.
She did not want to leave.
“Have you been outside?” She asked the first thing that came to mind, not really caring how absurd the question sounded when the answer was obvious.
She looked up to see the marquess had stopped beside his desk and turned to look at her from beneath his brows. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze that stopped her breath.
“I have. And why are you not otherwise occupied? I imagine Grandmother arranged for sufficient amusements throughout the day.”
“I went fishing with Father this morning, but returned to the house early,” Eliza replied. Because it felt strange to be standing still in the center of the room, she turned and crossed toward the fireplace.
“The lake rarely allows for good fishing. You may have better luck tomorrow,” he offered in a low voice.
Eliza lifted her hand to trace the filigree on the mantle clock as she replied, “On the contrary, my basket was full. I thought I had better leave a few fish for the others.”
She slid him a sideways glance and a flashing smile. But she hadn’t realized he would look so heart-stoppingly appealing as he leaned back against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest and his intense eyes focused rather forcefully on her. Her hand shook as it hovered over the clock. She felt out of her depth, as if she had just plunged into a mysterious pool and the warm rushing waters had closed quickly over her head.
Strangely, she felt no desire to come up for air.
“And what brought you here to my sitting room?”
Eliza lowered her hand to her side, feeling as though she moved in slow motion. “I found myself alone and decided to explore the house. I did not go in any rooms that were closed. I would not have intentionally intruded.”
He lifted his brows a bit higher at that. “Of course not,” he acknowledged, and she thought she saw the hint of a smile around his lips.
The urge to tease him came upon her. She desperately wanted to see that smile widen. “And I never would have suspected this room was in use by anyone. I considered it may have once belonged to Lady Rutherford’s late husband.” She tilted her head and glanced about speculatively. “It does have a sort of grandfatherly feel to it.”
The marquess coughed and Eliza slid him a covert glance.
He stared at her with a fierce scowl deepening the lines of his forehead. He pushed himself away from his desk until he stood stiffly erect. His hands dropped to his sides and Eliza did not miss the way the muscles in his arms flexed beneath the fine cotton of his white shirt. When he took his first step toward her, she had to forcefully keep herself from running away.
“Are you again daring to imply something about my age, Eliza?”
She had intended to shake him up, maybe make him laugh a bit. Judging by the deep tone of his voice, she suspected he did not find her suggestion very amusing. She bit her lip as he continued to stalk closer to her position. It was too late now to back down. She may as well push it to the limit.
“You are nearly two decades my senior,” she offered in explanation. Then she uttered a phrase that would undoubtedly tip the scales. “Practically old enough to be my father.”
An actual growl rumbled from his chest.
“Ah, I have gone a bit too far, haven’t I?” she asked with a note of contrition even as white sparks of exhilaration flew through her body.
His only answer was a rough grunt of agreement.
She glanced toward the door to judge her chances of getting out of this unscathed. She wasn’t frightened. No, that wasn’t true. She was terrified but in a deliciously wicked sort of way.
She looked back to the marquess with just enough time to draw a swift breath as he closed the space between them and wrapped his strong arms around her waist to lift her off her feet. She issued a sound somewhere between a yelp and squeal as she was momentarily suspended in midair. Her skirts flew up about her knees and her heart flew into her throat. Then she was dropped to the cushions of the sofa and Rutherford came down over her, covering her with his warm weight from chest to toe.
He looked down at her with a forbidding expression and asked roughly. “Do you think me old and feeble?”
“Not at all,” Eliza whispered. His warmth had begun to seep through her clothes and the spicy male scent of him made her a little lightheaded. “On the contrary, you are obviously very strong and…virile.”
“Quite right,” he agreed in a smug tone.
His dark eyes looked into hers as a sensual grin followed his words. Eliza was struck by the potency of his masculine satisfaction and she stammered as she replied. “I believe you made your point, my lord. You may release me now.”
“No.”
Eliza’s eyes widened with a swift flash of alarm. “Excuse me?”
“To be precise,” he clarified as his arrogant expression shifted into one a bit more disconcerting, “I do not want to.”
“Why not? What has gotten into you?”
“You have, Eliza.” His low voice stirred her blood and the force of his gaze muddled her thoughts. “You have gotten under my skin and danced through my veins and found a private corner of my brain where you have settled in to annoy my every thought. I have tried everything to get you out,” he confessed, “but nothing has worked.”
Very aware of their position on the sofa, Eliza shifted beneath him and tried to free her hands from where they had become trapped between them during his demonstration of might. He accommodated her efforts by lifting his weight just enough for her to get her arms out, but once her hands were freed, she had nowhere to put them except to rest them on his shoulders. The heat of his skin permeated the thin material of his shirt and her palms ting
led from the warmth of the contact. At the same time, she realized with a flush of awareness that one of his muscled thighs had settled between hers and pressed intimately to her core.
To distract herself from the quivering that erupted low in her belly, she lowered her brows and grasped wildly for the lost thread of their conversation. It sounded as though he was experiencing the very same difficulty she was. Perhaps they could find a solution to the distracting preoccupation together. “What have you tried?”
He blinked at her question. “Tried?”
“Yes, what have you tried in your attempts to dislodge me? Surely something should work.”
Rutherford laughed then. The sound reverberated through her body. Liquid warmth flowed to her extremities and pooled luxuriously at her center. She shifted again beneath his weight, finding it difficult to think with the contours of his hard body fitting so intimately against her.
“It would be best if you stopped moving,” he suggested through gritted teeth. “It is not making this easier.”
“I cannot help it,” Eliza muttered in rising frustration. “You are making me hot.”
Rutherford groaned and closed his eyes.
Eliza worried her wiggling had somehow hurt him when he muttered under his breath, “Blast it, I am likely to regret this.” He opened his eyes and looked down at her again. “Do you mind if I try one more thing to get you out of my head?”
Wary of the sharp glint in his gaze and the way he seemed to be holding himself stiffly in check, she answered with some trepidation. “If you think it will help.”
Almost before she finished uttering her agreement, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Eighteen
The desire she had been resisting flooded her system in a blazing instant. Every inch of her body was suddenly ignited in a firestorm of sensation. She curled her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders and arched her back in a tense bow, flattening her breasts against his chest.