She must be losing her mind!
Dizzily, she looked at the sharp planes of his face, and her eyes widened. During the melee that ensued after her accident, his hair had come down. It hung straight and thick to just past his shoulders, black as sin and tempting when it should not have been. Helplessly, she lifted her hand to touch a silken strand.
"Beautiful,” she whispered.
He looked down and smiled gently. “What?"
"Your hair. You look like a barbarian."
Christian laughed, white teeth flashing. “Like barbarians, do you?"
Elizabeth frowned at him. “Never,” she whispered, but then unwillingly, she smiled in return.
Suddenly he stilled. His eyes, smoky and smoldering, seemed to see straight through to her soul. “What is it about you?” he murmured huskily. “You make me smile. You make me furious. You make me want you more than any woman I've ever known."
Beneath the curve of her bottom, she felt him, hard and male, pressing her softer flesh. Heat stole across her face as the evidence of his desire left her speechless and somehow embarrassed. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as she realized, despite everything, she felt the overwhelming attraction as well.
In short, she could remain here in his arms forever.
Lord Grayson's townhouse was a relatively short ride, and Christian lifted Elizabeth down, under protest.
"I am quite fine, I assure you,” she vowed in a shaky voice. “Please, Christian, this is very embarrassing."
Firming his lips, he gripped her even more tightly and, with some assistance from staff, carried her through the foyer. Striding into the parlor, he laid her upon a floral brocade sofa. “Send for a doctor."
"No. James, please do not.” Elizabeth struggled upright, her eyes bright with alarm. “He would only frighten my mother, and I shan't have it!"
"But, m'lady! The countess is out for at least several hours. Surely you need medical care?” James’ gray brows drew together in concern.
"Send for the doctor!” Christian's voice left no room for argument, and the man hurried off.
Propped on one elbow, Elizabeth narrowed livid eyes. “How dare you, sir! This is not your home or your business!"
Christian was in a fine temper, she thought. Flags of color tinted his sharp cheekbones and his jaw worked, showing his agitation. Dare she push him further? Dare she tell him that her own fear had sharpened her tongue?
"I have made it my business, Elizabeth,” he said coolly. “It is my opinion that you've brought about much of this fiasco by taunting Edward Huntley. So quit your protests and let me care for you.” Gently but firmly, he pushed her back down and placed a decorative pillow beneath her head. When her head lay back, she winced. “Here now. Let me see."
Despite his sharp tone, his hands were gentle as he lightly felt the back of her head. “You have a bump. No bleeding, but it must hurt like the very devil. You shall have an aching head for a day or two, I should imagine."
"I refuse to let it stop me,” she whispered, reaching up to touch her temples. “Edward will not have the satisfaction of knowing he has slowed me down. My social obligations stand, and if I am unlucky enough to see him again, I will spit in his eye!"
"Enough! You are a willful chit just asking for trouble. Your cavalier attitude will be your undoing if you continue unchecked. No, Elizabeth. You'll go nowhere tonight and that is my final word. Furthermore, you will stay away from Lord Stanhope if I have to tie you up and cart you away into the country where I can keep an eye on you."
"The devil, you say."
"You may call me the devil if you wish, but I shall have my way in this matter. You need a keeper, and I am fully prepared to take on the task.” Standing, he quickly left the room leaving her to seethe.
When he returned moments later, he carried a crystal brandy snifter. Obviously, he'd made himself at home in her father's study. Whirling the amber drink slowly, he took a slow sip and gazed at her stoically.
She felt heat rise to her cheeks and though she wanted to rail at his presumptive behavior, her head pounded too sharply to allow her to vent her anger. Instead, she struggled to stand and glare at him.
"Lie down."
"No. I am not a child."
"You are behaving as one who needs a switch across the rump. Do not deign to defy me, my lady, or you shall get what you are begging for."
Lying supine like an insect under an enlarging glass was frustrating; best to face the handsome, arrogant beast in an upright position. Finally, she managed to stand and gave him her meanest stare. Squaring her shoulders, she pointed toward the doorway. “How dare you! Out! Now! I appreciate your assistance in the matter of my fall, but that appreciation extends only so far."
"You aggravating little minx! How dare you defy me?” Christian fairly roared. Elizabeth shrank back at the look on his face. His fury was real, tangible and directed at her. He set the snifter onto a small table, the crack of crystal meeting marble heavy in the sudden silence.
"Fall? Is that what it was?” He stalked toward her and took her shoulders in his broad hands. “Someone shot at you, you silly corkbrain and we both know it was probably Lord Stanhope."
His fingers flexed on her shoulders as he drew her close. “You are like a naughty child teasing at a poisonous snake with a stick.” He closed his eyes briefly, his nostrils flared. Elizabeth realized that when angered, Christian could be very dangerous indeed. Finally, he opened his eyes. “I know you hate the man, but spewing your venom has enraged him. You will keep your mouth shut in future and allow me to deal with him."
"Pah,” she spat, noting the furious working of Christian's jaw. “Edward does not scare me! Furthermore, I need no help from you to manage my own affairs."
"He should frighten you. Do you want to end up like your sister? What would that do to the people who care about you? This vendetta must stop before he succeeds in killing you, or is that it? Do you want to die needlessly, a martyr? For what? A ghost?"
Elizabeth lifted her head to stare for a long moment into his eyes and to her mortification hers began to fill and a shudder racked her body. Events of the day crashed over her with shocking fury.
"You know nothing of me if you believe that.” Her voice was low and husky, tremulous. “I love my parents as I loved Charlotte.” She lowered her head as fat tears rained down her face. Terror and anger faded in the face of his rebuke. Memories resurfaced, a bitter reminder of what she'd lost. “But Charlotte. Oh, my dearest Charlotte was goodness, light, and my very best friend. How ... h-how can I forget her? How can I simply ignore how he hurt her, killed her, and took her sweetness and honest joy from my life?"
Christian captured her tears upon his fingers, and the regret written upon his face was her undoing. With a soft moan, she sank against him, weeping. Melting in his arms, she clung, trembling and drawing in great gasps of air, as if needing that sustenance to bring her empty heart back to life.
With a low, rough voice, he spoke softly to her, comforting her as if she were a child. Had anyone ever made her feel so safe? As he ran his hands over the curve of her back, he cuddled her close.
"More than hate motivates you, does it not?” he whispered against her hair. “Love for your sister's memory compels you to risk everything."
His softly spoken words made her go quiet against him.
"How would it feel to have the affection of such a woman?"
The musing question seemed more introspective than directed to her, she realized. It made her want to know more about this complex man. “Have you been loved by a woman, sir?"
Christian laughed softly. “Not in the way you mean, but yes, my mother showered her love upon me until the day of her death."
"Tell me about her."
"She was a beauty, as I recall, with the saddest eyes.” He reached down to stroke her hair absently. “My father, the bounder, put that look there. His philandering tore her apart, bit by bit. He did not want her love so she gave it all to me. My fathe
r, quite simply and callously, broke her heart."
"How very tragic."
"Perhaps that is why I feel driven to help females in need."
Elizabeth looked up at him shocked to realize her tears still fell. Was it today's trauma that provoked her tears now or the thought of his beautiful but lonely mother?
"Come now, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You'll make yourself sick, and this has been a very upsetting day without further tears. Please. You are breaking my heart."
Seeing the very real depth of feeling within his silvery eyes, she felt her throat constrict. When was the last time she'd had someone to lean on? Since Charlotte's death and even before, she'd been like a lioness protecting her cubs when it came to members of her family. She had been the one to offer comfort and aid if warranted. This was so new, different, and alarmingly welcome.
"Christian,” she choked. “Today. I was so afraid.” Her throat seemed to close up as the fear re-generated in her mind.
"Shh. I know."
He gazed into her eyes, his expression raw and somehow hungry. He took her face in his hands.
"Sweet,” he breathed, leaning closer. “So sweet you are."
Softly his lips brushed hers. Over and over, he skimmed them with light touches that became a degree hotter, faster. Expertly, he nibbled at her lips sending hot shivers of pleasure over her skin.
"You must not hate so, my love."
The man knew how to kiss a lady, she thought, softening against him, dissolving in pleasure.
"Set yourself free, my lovely, darling Elizabeth."
With his tongue, he opened her lips and moved inside, tasting as if she were a delectable treat that he would devour bite by bite. Sighing, she melted against him, helplessly kissing him back. She must be doing it correctly since Christian groaned and drew her closer.
His hands pressed the flesh of her hips then cruised purposefully over her waist. Elizabeth arched into his touch, feeling a bit like a cat begging to be petted. And pet her he did, until without her quite realizing how it had come about, her breasts were held cupped in his hands.
Oh, my! Oh, dear! Yes!
When he flicked her nipples with his thumb, Elizabeth's knees went weak. Trembling, she ached for him to take his kisses deeper. She wanted the press of his mouth against her nipples, too. The feelings he churned within her should have terrified her, but instead a deep curiosity bloomed, dark and rich, inside her.
"What a dangerous lady you are. You are perfect,” he said. His voice was rough against her throat. “Perfectly beautiful. You make me ache."
Breathing deeply, he returned his attentions to her swollen lips, kissing her harder, hotter, and with devastating effect. The doors of the drawing room were open. Anyone could come by, at any moment. Titillating. Shameful. Heat rose up and dragged her under as she helplessly wound her arms around his neck, accepting his kisses with a devastating abandon. He could take her now, she knew. Lift her into his arms and carry her up the stairs and love her breathless.
Elizabeth felt wanton. It was a terrifying feeling, she thought, as Christian dined on her mouth, making her mindless with the need for more. Never had she imagined that a man could give these feelings to a woman. Amazing how a simple but devastating kiss could make knees weak and her body pulse in the oddest places. She ached for him to touch those sinful spots and ease the wildness within her. She wanted something new and amazing. She wanted suddenly to know what other women took for granted.
Unable to resist his masculine allure, she pressed herself tighter against him. So strong, so hard. Her breasts felt full and tender as she wantonly rubbed against him. His answering groan, his deeper kiss was shocking. A sense of power unfurled within her, a sudden female understanding blossomed in her mind. She could make this strong, impossible man groan and shake. Impossible! Delicious! She tunneled her fingers through the thick, black strands of his hair amazed at the warmth and silky texture. Astounding! Barbaric! A dark pirate come to life and held against her heart like a haunting dream. She wanted more and more. Christian was a man who could own her with his touch.
Sighing, gasping against the molten assault of his mouth, his body, Elizabeth shifted away finally and stared into his eyes for several long minutes, an eternity. She shuddered helplessly.
"I cannot do this,” she whispered raggedly. A fine tremor shook her to the core. Her thighs trembled, her lips were swollen, and that place at her core burned hot and moist. Oh, no! She could not let this happen. The work ahead of her was too real, too necessary. There was no time for love, men, and babies in her life. There was no time to dally with things that could never be. Not until every memory of Charlotte's abuse had burned from her heart.
Her face flamed, and she stared at him in horror. “No!"
"Darling."
"No, Christian,” she said, pushing him away. “I have no time for kisses. Especially yours. With your touch you could own me, and I do not wish to be a woman owned by a man. Any man."
Several emotions—anger, regret, and yes, desire—flashed across his face as he looked at her. Slashing cheekbones burned dark red, his lips were parted, slightly swollen from their kisses. Swallowing audibly, Elizabeth wanted to reach out, touch him once more. She wanted to run her hands through that beautiful, long hair, trail teasing fingers over his broad shoulders and down the long, heavy muscles of his back.
Impossible! Blast him for whetting her curiosity so! Damn and blast him for showing her the meaning of passion! What was she thinking by allowing things to rush headlong beyond the pale?
Breathing heavily, he stepped back giving her the room she needed. He eyed her until a one-sided smile twitched at his lips. “I should mention that you have been thoroughly compromised."
She gasped. “You wouldn't dare!"
"Would I not? That was no simple kiss upon the back of your hand. You well know there was nothing proper about it. Elizabeth, you will soon learn that I am not a man to be denied. Already, I have said that I wish to marry you and I plan to, my dear. However, I would prefer that you come to me of your own free will and not under coercion. You see, I want a willing woman in my bed."
She wanted to be harsh with him, act the complete shrew, yet when she finally spoke, her voice trembled with strain. “You shall never have me, willing or otherwise."
He grinned, sending a little thrill through her. “It is the otherwise that captivates me. I want you willing but yet, I want you wild."
"You speak in riddles, sir. I swear you live to torment me and I shall not abide it!"
Turning, she neatly escaped from the room and hurried upstairs to await the doctor.
Christian watched her flight with a slight smile on his face. Considering the events of the afternoon, he could afford to take his time, plan his moves. Elizabeth's parents, despite her protests, would see to it that she remained housebound for the rest of the week. This should give him ample time to approach Lord Henry with his plan.
Though Elizabeth probably did not realize it, he knew Lord Henry quite well through business dealings. It shouldn't be difficult to corner him in his club and make his proposal. Christian had the perfect card to play to ensure that the vixen was never far from his controlling hand. And control was what Elizabeth needed. Before long, she would be his problem to manage, and there would not be a thing his prey could do about it.
Satisfied at his progress, he settled himself to wait for the doctor's arrival.
* * * *
Beatrice, Lady Fitzgerald, narrowed dark eyes and paced the length of her elegant drawing room as she awaited the arrival of her guest. The boudoir upstairs, sensual and exotic to match her taste, would perhaps be more apropos a meeting place as seduction was uppermost in her mind.
Spotting a small table of inlaid wood, she lifted a crystal decanter and poured a small dram of whiskey. Sipping slowly, she moved to a large, gabled window and watched carriages pass on the street below. Lifting her glass in salute, she smiled.
"Here is to you, my darl
ing Park,” she whispered. “Handsome, biddable, and most importantly, dumb as a post. What fun we shall have bringing doom upon Christian's head. As long as you let me do the thinking, we shall win in the end."
Park Mansfield, cousin to Duke Haverton, was a delectable, though slightly stupid, young man who possessed golden hair and a long, lean body. Several years ago, she'd been his lover until he left for the Peninsular War. Park had wanted to make his fortune, but it was not to be. Still, he loved women: wealthy, sophisticated women. It was the extent of his affairs with rich widows that gave him entrée to the best society had to offer.
Controlling Park would be simple, she thought. Fantastic lovemaking was a tool any intelligent woman could use to advantage, and she used her tools well.
"Sex will come later,” she murmured, licking her lips in anticipation. “We have other, more important matters to discuss, do we not? Primarily money and the best means to attain it."
Park and Christian Delaford were bitter enemies and should Christian fail to marry soon, Park would inherit. He might be slightly one spoke short of a wheel, but wealth was something he understood quite well. Yes, he would be easily controlled.
Pausing at a gilt-framed mirror, she admired her appearance, as she had done numerous times over the hour past. Re-arranging a black curl atop her head, she made a moue at her reflection. “I must look my very best today,” she said as she fiddled with her coiffure. “At my age one can never be too sure."
Oh yes, Beatrice knew that her beauty was unquestionable. What gray hair she possessed was discreetly colored and her lush figure had remained almost as firm as when she was twenty.
It had been that very face and figure that had kept her late husband a slave to her beauty. It had also been those same attributes that had lured the great Duke Haverton, Christian's father, to her bed.
A magnificent lover, Harold, the late Duke, was the father of her only son, Stephen. Sadly, her own husband, Lord Fitzgerald, had failed to sire an heir. Of course, when she'd given birth to Stephen, the fool had thought the child to be of his own loins.
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