“Are you sure?”
“I am.” He beat back another wave of tenderness. When she stood willingly in his arms, trembling with the onslaught of new feelings and experiences, she undermined his every defense. Again he pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips. “Open for me, Eleanor.”
Her eyes were glazed. “I—”
Leath swooped, sliding his tongue into the hot depths and tasting her fully. He closed his eyes, the better to savor every nuance. She was sweeter than cherries or peaches or apricots. Like honey, but with a tart edge.
She made a sound in her throat. Denial or encouragement? Then her tongue fluttered against his, and this time, her sigh betrayed enjoyment. Her hands kneaded his loose shirt like a kitten sharpening its claws.
How long did he stand beside the fire kissing Miss Trim? He didn’t know. Eventually, inevitably, kissing wasn’t enough. His lips drifted across her face and down her neck. When he concentrated on a nerve at the junction of neck and shoulder, she cried out. Her fresh scent became richer, earthier.
He aroused her. God knew, she aroused him. His hand shook when he raised it to the line of buttons descending from her demure collar. He fumbled at the fastenings—he, who hadn’t fumbled with a woman’s clothing since he’d left Cambridge.
Her face flushed with pleasure. Her eyes were closed and her glistening mouth parted as she awaited more kisses. She leaned into him as though her legs couldn’t support her. He wasn’t feeling too stable himself. His blood pounded hot and heavy, the need to touch her skin an insistent hum in his ears. Her breath emerged in ragged sighs and her strong, graceful hands curved around his shoulders.
The gray dress gaped. He felt like a traveler venturing into an unexplored land. How he’d fantasized about stripping away her nunlike clothing.
He bent to kiss her collarbone, lingered on the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. Sliding one hand under her shift, he cupped her breast. The weight of her flesh in his palm crashed through him like a hurricane.
She gasped and stiffened. “This is wrong.”
“Yes,” he agreed. He might be a fool; he’d never been a liar.
“You promised… kissing only,” she said unsteadily, although without withdrawing.
“Then let me kiss you again.”
Her lips quivered with uncertainty until with a sigh, she succumbed to the heat. Her beaded nipple scraped his palm. When he flicked it with his thumb, she started and gasped into his mouth. She pressed forward, silently begging for more.
Her reaction excited him. Urgently he pushed her undergarments down to bare one breast to the firelight. Seeing that satiny white flesh crowned with deep pink made him shake with need. The sight was somehow more arousing because plain white linen covered her other breast. He felt as though he unwrapped the most wonderful present in history.
Unable to stop himself, he bent to take that pearled nipple into his mouth. She gave a soft cry and squeezed closer. He drew harder, curling his tongue. Then, when she panted and squirmed and dug her hands deep into his hair, he gently bit her. Another start of shock.
Dear God, she was so responsive. He couldn’t remember a lover so attuned to pleasure.
Her swollen, parted lips beckoned him. He kissed her again, glorying in her quick, hot answer, even as he hoisted her high in his arms and carried her to the huge bed that he’d never shared with a woman.
When he came down over her, her legs parted to cradle him. He pressed into her mound, letting her feel his weight and size.
She wriggled and made a choked sound, but he was too far gone to pay attention. One unsteady hand stretched down to raise her skirts. He burned to touch her sex.
She made another strangled sound against his lips and caught his hand as it reached her thigh. Vaguely through raging tumult, he sensed that her body wasn’t as loose and welcoming as it had been.
Wits dull with arousal, he raised his head. “Eleanor?”
His heart sank. She looked tense and afraid and unhappy. His hand stilled at her hip, although he couldn’t bring himself to retreat.
“Stop,” she said in a thick voice. “Please stop.”
For a searing instant, he wanted to argue, persuade, seduce. She was so close to surrender. And he’d craved this joining from the first moment he’d seen her.
He grappled with the beast inside him. The beast fought back.
Gritting his teeth, he stared down at her and reminded himself that he was a man of honor.
“Of course.” The concession nearly killed him.
She was right to protest. Heaven forgive him, he’d forgotten where he was. He’d forgotten every reason not to do this. Aside from his suspicions about her, she worked for him. A gentleman didn’t harass the servants. From his earliest years, that tenet had been drilled into him.
Dear Lord, just imagine the scandal if London discovered that he’d retired to the country to lead a respectable life and immediately turned to swiving the maids. His political career would never recover. Even if, poised above Eleanor, his political career seemed sublimely unimportant compared to the throbbing weight in his balls.
Worse, he verged on becoming a liar. After promising to stop at kisses, he’d been close to taking her. And she was a virgin. Her uncertainty at every step she took toward ruin confirmed that.
He should be horsewhipped.
“Hell,” he muttered and rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed. Burying his head in his hands, he sucked in shuddering breath after breath. He didn’t dare glance at her. If he did, all good intentions would fly out the window and Miss Eleanor Trim would be a virgin no more.
And the Marquess of Leath would prove himself a cad of the first degree.
Prickling silences had become familiar. This particular silence drew blood. The fire crackled in the grate. Somewhere outside a fox barked on its nightly hunt.
“I’m sorry,” she said dully from behind him after what felt like an hour, although reviving common sense insisted that it couldn’t be nearly that long.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He wished he sounded kinder, but he still struggled for control.
“I shouldn’t have let you do that.”
That made him turn. Her gaze was fixed on the gold and blue embroidery on the tester above the bed. She was back to looking like a marble carving. He felt a powerful nostalgia for the beautiful, rosy creature who had kissed him as if she’d die if she stopped.
She hadn’t buttoned her bodice, although she’d tugged her shift over her breast. The thin linen did little to hide the voluptuous fullness or the pearled nipple. He squashed down a tide of lust as he recalled touching that perfect breast, kissing it. At his sides, his hands tightened into fists.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said more roughly than was justified. However right she’d been to stop him, desire swirled in his blood. He was honest enough to admit that if she hadn’t spoken, he’d now be lying between her thighs discovering paradise.
Her lips tightened, but she didn’t look at him. “That’s the problem, I was a fool.”
“It was foolish to wander into a man’s room in the middle of the night,” he said harshly.
He didn’t think she had any more color to lose, but she turned even more ashen. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“I shouldn’t have touched you.”
“No.” She paused, then spoke with searing bitterness. “I must go and pack my belongings.”
“You shouldn’t take the blame.”
At last she turned her head in his direction. Shame clouded her amber eyes. “You’re a marquess. I’m a nobody.”
He winced, denial twisting his gut. “Please tell me you didn’t feel compelled to kiss me because you work for me.”
“No, kissing you was all my own stupidity,” she said flatly.
He drew a relieved breath. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve wanted to kiss you since that first night when you mowed me down like a runaway carriage.”
He didn’t know why he extended this torture of having her close without being able to touch her. He should send her away with a promise never to bother her again. Except that looking at her gave him such pleasure, however awkward this moment. His caresses had loosened the severe coiffure. Her chignon sagged onto her nape and curls of blond hair teased her forehead and cheeks in a damnably enchanting way.
When her gaze widened, the beauty of her eyes struck him anew. “Well, why didn’t you?”
His laugh was dismissive. “I had no right.”
He’d had no right to kiss her tonight either, even if she’d kissed him first. He returned his brooding gaze to the fire.
“You’re the master here,” she said listlessly.
“That’s precisely why a gentleman doesn’t pester the servants.”
“Many do.”
“And lose the right to call themselves gentlemen. It’s unconscionable to take advantage of a woman who relies on my goodwill for her livelihood.”
Silence descended again. Strangely, this time it felt considerably less charged. Eventually curiosity won out over self-loathing and he turned to her. Instead of the contempt or fear or anger that he expected, she looked baffled.
“What is it?”
“You’re a strange man, my lord.”
He frowned. “Because I’ve got some glimmer of a conscience?”
“Yes.”
His lips lengthened with displeasure. “Nice that you have such a favorable opinion of me.”
“Why should you care what a mere servant thinks?” She sat and began to button her dress. Her fingers were deft, but the pink in her cheeks indicated that his presence while she performed this intimate action disturbed her. She wasn’t the only one disturbed.
He sighed with impatience. “You know, my lovely, it doesn’t work. It didn’t work when I first met you, and it’s even less effective now.”
He knew she wasn’t trying to look seductive, but her sideways glance under those heavy lashes got him all hot and bothered again. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Your pretense at humility. You’re too remarkable, my beguiling Miss Trim, to fade into the wainscoting.”
His praise didn’t please her. “But I am a mere servant.”
His laugh held genuine amusement. When he’d rolled off her, he’d felt like the lowest worm in creation, but this odd conversation restored his spirits. “You’re not a mere anything, Eleanor.”
Her eyes darkened in a way that did nothing to cool his simmering blood. “You shouldn’t call me that.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” he admitted ruefully, even as he wanted her to call him James. But that was a step too far, however ludicrous that seemed when he knew how she tasted and the precise raspberry shade of her nipples. “I’ve had my hand down your dress. Calling you Miss Trim seems a little silly.”
Blushing, she shot him a resentful look. “I’d like you to forget that.”
“For my peace of mind, it would be better if I did,” he said wearily. Except he’d never forget it. That exquisite moment when he’d cupped her and heard her gasp with delight would haunt him forever.
“Can I go?” she asked.
“Can I stop you?”
“You did before.”
Yes, when he’d been desperate to learn why she’d intruded into his room. After that, he’d been desperate to kiss her. He wasn’t a man familiar with desperation. Until the mysterious Eleanor Trim entered his life.
She was dangerous. And not just because he couldn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. He still didn’t know why she’d turned up tonight. She left him so befuddled, he hardly cared anymore. He sighed heavily. “Yes, you can go.”
“Thank you, sir.”
She abandoned him to a restless night. Damn it. Leath returned his attention to the fire, muffling the traitorous wish to be a different man, with different responsibilities. A free man without the weight of family expectations riding on his shoulders. A man who wasn’t quite so nice about his honor.
He’d grab Miss Trim and kiss her into conceding. Then he’d make sure they both enjoyed a restless night. Twined together like ivy.
He’d expected her to rush away, but she left the bed slowly, almost reluctantly. Did she want to prolong his torment? If so, she succeeded mightily. He didn’t trust himself to look at her. If he did, she wouldn’t be going anywhere.
He heard her pad across to the door and he waited to hear the click as she left. When the silence extended, he braced himself to turn.
She stood across the room, rumpled, beautiful, alluring. Wide brown eyes studied him as if he presented an unanswerable question. He should find consolation in knowing that he wasn’t alone in his confusion.
“My lord…” She rested her hand on the doorknob as if preparing for a quick escape. He couldn’t blame her, given what had happened last time she’d tried to leave.
“My lord,” she repeated softly, “I didn’t kiss you because I work for you. I kissed you because… I’ve wondered, too.”
What the devil?
“Eleanor?” Before he’d decided to stand, he was on his feet. He surged forward, although even now, he recognized that he couldn’t tumble her and call himself a man of principle.
That miracle of a mouth, the mouth that tasted like heaven, curved into a wry smile. “Good night, sir.”
She bobbed a brief curtsy, then fled before he caught her.
Chapter Nine
Leath’s eyes were the color of a stormy sky.
Such a trivial fact for Nell to dwell upon, but easier than recalling how she’d teetered on the brink of disaster. When he’d risen above her on the bed, eyes of astonishing beauty had transfixed her. Not brown as she’d expected, but steel gray with a charcoal line around the irises, shadowed to mystery by sooty eyelashes. She was surprised she’d noticed so much with him lying between her legs, lifting her skirts.
Now the morning after tasted bitter, and she cringed at her unbridled behavior. Shame churned in her stomach as she approached the marchioness’s rooms. Lord Leath had seduced Dorothy. How could Nell kiss the brute with such enthusiasm? How could she let him touch her in ways no man had touched her before?
Dorothy had entrusted her vengeance to an unworthy instrument.
But since fleeing Leath, doubts about his guilt had tortured Nell. He’d spoken of his principles before and she’d dismissed him as a hypocrite.
Then last night…
Leaning one hand against the wall, she gulped and faltered to a stop. She struggled to get her breath back against the dizzying recollection of those big strong arms wrapping around her.
Until that last squeak of self-preservation, when he’d been so appallingly close to taking her, she’d been mad for him. She’d loved everything he’d done. The kisses. The caresses. The murmured praise and encouragement. The heat. The intimacy.
What she knew about this man should disgust and terrify her. He’d bedded women all over England. He’d come close to bedding her. She shivered to remember that hard, insistent weight pressing between her thighs. Yet he’d stopped when she asked, and she couldn’t mistake how he’d repented his loss of control.
When a woman lay at his mercy, what sort of rake let her escape unscathed? Nothing from last night fitted what she knew, except perhaps how the marquess attracted her like a magnet drew iron.
Was Dorothy mistaken about her seducer’s identity? Why would she blame her fall on Lord Leath if he wasn’t responsible?
And there was the inarguable fact that someone had seduced Dorothy.
Now what became of Nell’s quest once the marquess proclaimed her a lightskirt? Could she convince the Duke of Sedgemoor of Leath’s misdeeds with only Dorothy’s last words as proof? Especially when Nell’s own belief in his crimes wavered with every new day. She had a horrible feeling that Sedgemoor would dismiss her accusations as mere fancy.
Fate must decide.
She raised her chin and marched toward her ladyship’s apa
rtments, only to halt in the doorway on a betraying gasp when she saw Leath with his mother. For one searing moment, his gaze met hers. That sizzling contact transported her back to those torrid moments in his bed. Then he glanced away and continued discussing Lady Sophie’s latest letter.
“Nell, you’ll enjoy this. Sophie is redecorating the manor at Gadsden in the gothic style.” The marchioness waved Nell toward her usual chair near the chaise longue. A chair beside the marquess’s.
After last night, Nell couldn’t bear to be so close to him. She retreated to the window seat. “How lovely, your ladyship.”
The marchioness continued reading, but although Lady Sophie was an entertaining correspondent, Nell couldn’t concentrate. She stared out to the dismal day. Rain pounded on the glass and wind lashed the trees against skies as gray as Leath’s eyes. When his lordship terminated her employment, would she have to travel in this miserable weather? Would a carriage take her to the nearest coaching inn, or would he make her trudge through the storm?
“Nell?” the marchioness said.
“I’m sorry, your ladyship,” she said quickly.
She hadn’t heard a word of the letter, although she’d been aware of the marquess’s rumbling responses. It was impossible not to remember that voice softening to black velvet. She was damned. Because however she despised her weakness, she couldn’t bring herself to despise what he’d done to her. And deep, deep in her sinful soul, in a place that would never see the light of day, she regretted that he’d stopped.
More than confusion and self-hatred had kept her awake all night. There had been a humiliating dose of frustration too. Leath had readied her body for pleasure, then stopped before all those wonderful, unprecedented, astonishing feelings reached their unknown culmination.
“No matter.” The marchioness smiled fondly. “I’ll write to Sophie and make some suggestions before she goes on her headstrong way.”
Guiltily Nell wondered if her ladyship would smile fondly after she knew about last night. Nell was amazed that Leath hadn’t denounced her the moment she arrived, but after that one breathtaking glance, he hadn’t paid her a scrap of notice.
A Scoundrel by Moonlight Page 8