"What do you want?” she asked wearily. “Have you not done enough? Have you not tormented me already?"
His voice was low and husky. “How have I tormented you?"
"You know."
"Do I?” His smoky gaze caught hers in the mirror. He caressed her jaw. “Are you tormented from missing my touch, my hands on your body? If so, my sweet, I share the torment, believe me."
A shiver took her, and he felt it reverberate through his body and beat a path to his gut. “I want you with every breath in my body. I cannot bear this distance."
"You caused the distance, Christian. With your deceit and lies. If you lie in a lonely bed each night, you have only yourself to blame."
He teased tiny circles along her slender throat. “And I do blame myself. This entire affair is my fault. Would that you would let me make amends."
"It is too soon,” she said softly. “Please, let us just get this night over."
Clearing his throat, Christian stepped back and reached into his chest pocket. Removing from it a long, black velvet box, he sat it before her and opened the lid.
Elizabeth's tiny gasp went through him like a balm, and he smiled. “These belonged to my mother and now they belong to you, sweeting."
The string of white and yellow diamonds were simply breathtaking. Small at the clasp, they alternated in color growing larger in size as they met in the center. Matching earrings set in shining gold lay nested within the stunning circle of jewels.
"I do not know what to say."
"Say only that you shall wear them tonight and try, just a little, to think of me."
* * * *
The lone hackney sat unobtrusively beneath the shadow of a cluster of trees as Park waited for the Duke and Duchess to leave. The party in their honor would keep them occupied till dawn, and he had plenty of time to enter the manse and make his way to Elizabeth's room. Everything was working according to plan, he thought with a smile. Soon, he would have the perfect means for blackmail and the ruination of his cousin.
Drawing deeply from the silver flask he kept in his coat pocket, he vowed he could already feel the cool, gold watch in his hands. It held his means for revenge and the path to fortune.
He only hoped Beatrice was enjoying herself with Edward as much as he would enjoy tonight's work.
* * * *
Bea sat naked astride a drunken Edward. He groaned and grunted in his passion, and she felt of burst of pride in her ability to make the man toss out his wits. Yes, he deserved to die! The lash of his cane burned across her buttocks. He liked rough play and he'd hurt her.
Edward would pay. He would pay with his life, the worthless slug!
Moving rapidly upon him, anxious for the business to be over, she moaned loudly and pretended to gain satisfaction. Afterwards she narrowed her eyes, watching closely as his eyes glazed at the approach of his release. When the moment was right, she reached beneath the mattress.
Drawing the blade, seeing it shine in the moonlight, she watched his mouth open on a silent scream of ecstasy just as she stabbed him in the heart.
As he stared up at her, his face frozen in the throes of death, she climbed off his body and stood beside the bed. His crippled limbs jerked, making him look ridiculous. He was such a pitiful sight that she had to laugh.
After dressing and walking from his quarters, careful to keep to the shadows, she found an unoccupied hackney.
Laughing softly to herself, she realized she'd never had quite so much fun before. She must be sure to do this again sometime.
Nineteen
Dawn would arrive soon, Elizabeth thought, as she stared out the windows of Christian's handsome carriage. It was, it seemed, the blackest part of night in that hour before dawn when streaks of soft gray would begin to blend with oncoming sun. If circumstances were different, she might close her eyes and submit to sleep, but she was emotionally charged from the stress of the past evening.
He lounged across from her, staring moodily out the window. His lips tightly compressed, his pale eyes flashing with anger. Upon entering the carriage for the return home, he'd removed his cravat. His queue had been relieved of the black ribbon binding it, and his jet hair hung loose to his shoulders.
In his anger, he looked a barbarian and so deadly handsome that it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep herself from flying into his arms. To prevent such an occurrence, she pinned him with her gaze and snapped waspishly, “You do not look pleased with yourself, husband."
He returned a sharp look and lifted one side of his lips in an unpleasant smile. “Why should I be?"
"Throughout our night of pretense, you found every opportunity to touch me,” she said. “You knew very well that I could not say you nay or all would know that our marriage was a sham."
"It is not a sham. Our marriage never has been, and you know it. You are very much my wife, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not."
She laughed. “Try to convince yourself, Christian, but I know better. It became a farce from the first lie that left your mouth. Tonight, you used the presence of the crowd to touch me, to brush against my body every time we danced, which was quite often, as I recall."
"You are an incomparable actress then, my dear,” he snarled, leaning forward to glare at her. “With every shiver of your body, you let me know how my touch affected you. Do you now say that you were pretending only? That my hands upon you did not conjure memories of what we once shared?"
Elizabeth looked at his hand on her knee and trembled. His dark laughter filled the air as he reached up to draw the nearest window shade down. He looked at her and smiled tauntingly. She sensed his anger as his gaze raked her from head to toe. A palpable silence filled the confined space, then he moved closer. Her pulse quickened.
"What do you think you are doing?” she gasped, backing herself far into the squabs. He ignored her as he drew the other shade and lowered the flame of a single gas lantern to leave only an intimate flicker of light. The carriage was no longer simply a conveyance. It became a cozy nest, a frightening cozy nest.
Her nerves were stretched taut as a bowstring. One touch from him would send her over the fine edge into insanity. “Please, do not. No, Christian."
"Why, Elizabeth? Surely you are not worried that you might succumb to my charms? And here I thought you were impervious to my touch."
"I am."
He laughed and leaned closer. Her breath grew hurried, and the sound of it punctuated her distress.
"Liar,” he murmured. “You want me as I want you. Only a fool would deny it. Damn stubborn woman! You are mine and I have the marriage document to prove it."
She felt herself losing ground. “I do not want you! Not anymore. You used me and lied to me. You've killed my affections for you."
"Consider, love,” he said, his voice hoarse. “If you truly do not want me, then you will not succumb, will you?” With one quick move, with no warning at all, he knelt on the carriage floor and tossed her skirts about her waist.
"No!” she gasped, squirming back to escape his marauding hands. Grim determination settled across his features as he grasped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the carriage seat.
"Yes.” He made a rough sound and parted her thighs. The lacy drawers she wore proved no barrier as he reached for the discreet slit covering her femininity. He rent the frail fabric with one swift tug. “If I cannot win your love with words, then, by damned, I will win it through seduction. Enough is enough."
He buried his face between her thighs and took her with the ferocity of his mouth. The sound of her cries filled the confines of carriage, and she knew she was lost. A red cloud of pleasure burst through her brain and lust consumed her completely. How could she deny herself such intensity of feeling?
His fingers expertly parted her folds then he plunged two of them into the secret depths of her body. Helpless now, she mewled, a soft whimpering sound of want and hunger. His answering growl told her that she'd proven his point. Yes, she wa
nted him. Desperately. Shame filled her.
"Christian. Please, no! Do not make me want you so.” She pleaded with him now and hated herself for it.
He stroked the interior of her body with a subtle, tantalizing touch.
"I must. I must have you now or die.” He whispered the words against her sensitive flesh. Touching his tongue to the tiny pearl of nerves he'd brought forth with his mouth, he took her ruthlessly, bringing her to the very edge of glory.
Lost in sensation, she watched him open the front of his trousers and his erection sprang free. Her body clenched in anticipation. Growling low, he drew her from the seat of the carriage and settled her atop him. Peach fabric, frothy like a delicate confection, settled around them as they knelt there in the churning carriage.
She sensed his impatience and recognized her own as he drove inside her, deep and hard. She cried out his name, helpless against a wealth of pleasure.
Shaking and quivering, she bucked against him. Needing his hardness, his length, she increased her movements until he gasped against her breasts. He drew her bodice down and took her nipple into his mouth.
Pleasure speared her as his suckling mouth brought forth small cries of passion. She needed more as her body reached for the pinnacle. He used his strong thigh muscles to propel him higher, deeper within her. She quivered until, with a loud gasp, she flew apart in his arms. His answering cry of completion shook the walls of the carriage as it bounced along toward home.
In tandem, they struggled to fill their lungs, breathing in the scent of sex, of leather. She lay against him; he'd won this skirmish. How victorious he must feel! How stupid she was! Shame and anger grew in equal measure.
Drawing back with a cry, Elizabeth stared into his eyes and covered her mouth with a hand that shook. “How could you? Do you live to humiliate me?"
His face turned to stone as he met her gaze then looked away. “I cannot bear the condemnation in your eyes. Forgive me. I am a complete and total cad."
He fumbled with her bodice, barely managing to cover her bosom. She noted the trembling of his hands and fought a battle with her own emotions. Emotion won as her eyes filled.
"Stop, darling. Don't cry,” he said. “I feel monster enough without seeing what I have done. Forgive me."
She covered her face with her hand as he disjoined them and settled her back onto the squabs. With disgust, she felt him draw down her gown just as the carriage stopped before the front door. Her face felt hot. She quivered from the pleasure he'd given her. She felt empty from the loss of his touch.
Such an impossible situation! She watched him as a wealth of frustration covered her, making her question everything. He had fastened his trousers and was sprawled there upon his own seat, wearily scrubbing his face with his hands.
"I am sorry,” he finally said. Opening his eyes, those very fascinating eyes, he gazed at her.
Elizabeth wanted to dive into his warm arms and forget the world. But she could never forget his deceit. Had he ever cared for her? Probably not. Any woman would have served his purposes. Even in bed.
"Keep your empty words, Christian. They are meaningless, as meaningless as what just occurred between us. I wish to go inside.” Hated tears made her voice quiver, and she despised the weakness.
God! He was a bastard! How could he have done such a thing?
Hating himself, he watched as she flung open the carriage door and stumbled outside. He vaulted after her, hoping to stop her mad flight. She gathered her skirts and ran toward the front door, which opened just as he made it to her side. He attempted to take her arm, but she jerked it away. A sob, full of pain and embarrassment, reached him as she tore up the long winding staircase leading to their rooms.
Despair, a debilitating loneliness, settled upon his shoulders as he watched her mad flight. Would he continually heap misery upon her? Hating himself for taking her that way, but fulfilled as he'd never been by any other woman, he turned toward his study and a much needed drink.
Sometime later, he stood at the window, bleary eyed from lack of sleep, and watched the sun rise over London. Closing his eyes against the pain of failure, he let the disappointment roll over him. He had never felt so utterly alone. He must find a way to convince her that she was treasured. Treasured and loved. How he loved her!
Setting down his empty glass, he turned to go up to bed when his gaze settled on a stack of papers on his desk. His solicitor in Sussex had sent him a missive. Christian's presence was required to attend some problems at Windmere, one of his larger estates. A slow smile creased his face as he, at last, decided on a course of action.
* * * *
Feeling weighted from a dreamless sleep, Elizabeth opened tear-swollen eyes as prior events flooded over her in a nasty wave of humiliation. Struggling to rest on an elbow, she suddenly knew she wasn't alone in her chamber.
The afternoon sun caught dust motes in the air and settled upon Christian's long, black hair. Sprawled shirtless in a chair he'd pulled up, he stared intently at her.
How did a proper gentleman manage to have such a brown torso as he possessed? But then, he was not such a proper gentleman. No, he flaunted convention at every whim. If she were to be totally honest about the thing, she was much the same. How many genteel ladies robbed peers at the point of a sword?
Pushing the sudden introspection to the back of her mind, she looked into his silvery eyes. Black lashes framed his frighteningly sensual gaze. She suppressed a hot shudder, as his eyes moved lower, only to pause and darken. His sinful lips slackened, a reddish color tinged his high cheekbones.
Looking down, she gasped, noting that one breast peeked from the low neck of her gown. His gaze, riveted there, was sultry, needy.
Flushing warmly, she sat up and drew the gown over her bare shoulder, shielding her body from view. “Do you need something?"
"A telling question, my dear,” he murmured. “Perhaps you wish you rephrase your inquiry, hmm?"
Helplessly she looked down the expanse of near-naked man and licked her lips. Beneath his trousers, the bulge of his erection was blatantly outlined, making her remember the way he made her feel when they lay together naked and entwined. Never did she enjoy being a woman more than when she was with him.
She cleared her throat and looked away. Raking her fingers through her disheveled hair, she took a deep breath. “What can I do for you?"
"Mmm, let me think,” he chuckled. “I apologize for being difficult, darling, but I simply cannot resist baiting you."
"Well, stop it and tell me why you are here!"
Standing, stretching his long limbs, Christian moved to the side of her bed and sat as if they were still blissful newlyweds. Reaching out, he lovingly brushed her bottom lip with his thumb.
"I received a missive from my solicitor in Sussex. It is past time that I stopped neglecting my duties, so I fear I must travel there tomorrow."
"Sussex?"
He smiled and twined one of her long curls around his finger. Finally, he brought it to his lips for a kiss. “How very little you know of me, sweeting. Windmere is a quite large estate that has been in my family since the Norman Conquest. Though I have many others, this is one of my favorites."
A pang caught her unaware at the thought of his going away. Unable to help herself and forgetting her resolve, she brought a hand to his cheek. “How long will you be gone, Christian?"
He smiled. “Perhaps a month."
"A month! Why so long?” The idea of his leaving distressed her terribly.
"Not so very long with you by my side."
Straightening, she placed a hand over her heart. “I? You plan for us to travel together?"
"Of course.” Before she could protest, he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “You are my wife, my duchess, and as such, you need to see your country home. It is quite beautiful and was the favorite summerhouse of my mother. According to Mr. Simms, my solicitor, the entire village wishes to welcome us and celebrate our marriage with a grand fête."
It did not matter, however. Her parents had not raised her to be a shirker. She knew well the duties required of a proper English wife. Her new title and position demanded that she make the trip. But how in heaven's name was she to prevent herself from falling into Christian's sensual trap?
His pale eyes glinted with mystery. His smile hinted at a bit of deviltry. She had no doubt that he was a man on a mission to destroy her chill behavior. Sitting there, watching the flex and flow of skin over muscle, she felt his trap settle over her and wondered how she would manage to survive. The better question might be: did she want to survive?
* * * *
Days later, Christian drank a final cup of coffee, neatly folded the morning paper, and rose to watch the progress of harried servants. Throughout his lonely breakfast, he'd listened to their rushed footsteps and frantic calls to one another. Leaving the dining room, he walked through the massive treasure-laden rooms and positioned himself near the foot of the stairs.
It was the day of their departure for Sussex and though it was surely a mundane occurrence, this was the first time that he'd traveled any great distance with a wife. God only knew how many things Elizabeth planned to take with them. The thought of a frantically packing wife seemed wonderful and somehow normal.
He smiled, content for the first time in weeks. At last, he would have an opportunity to woo her back into his arms. As a man who knew women, he believed the very romantic nature of Windmere would help tremendously. There, in the country, the world moved slowly and more than anything, he needed time with her.
Leaning against the balustrade, he watched Sally May, an upstairs maid, run down the stairs carrying a precariously stacked row of hatboxes. Brushing against her were two sturdy footmen who were hurrying up to presumably collect more trunks. Pandora stood at the top of the stairs, mussed and overheated. Her mobcap dangled by a single pin, showing riotous white curls around a pixie face. Despite himself, Christian laughed as she drew in a deep breath and red-faced, bellowed at poor Sally May.
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