by Louise Allen
‘Elliott?’ She licked her lips and saw him watching her. His heavy-lidded regard stirred disturbing sensations deep inside. ‘Elliott…’ She leaned towards him and pressed her lips to his.
Everything about Elliott became tense, from his arms around her to the hard evidence of his sexual interest beneath her. Bella could almost hear him thinking before his lips moved under hers and he leaned back against the support of the sofa, bringing her to lie against his chest. It meant she was on top of him, in control of the kiss. It felt exciting and dangerous and wicked, even though he had not even opened his mouth beneath hers, even though his hands remained light on her back, quite still.
He is leaving it to me, she thought and the sense of power eclipsed all the other sensations. Elliott wanted her and she was in command and she knew her kisses did not displease or disappoint him. It seemed to her, in a flash of insight, that this was a brave thing for a man to do, to abdicate sexual power to a woman. She could not imagine Rafe doing so for a moment and yet Elliott was not doing this out of weakness, but out of confidence.
Bella ran her fingers into the hair at Elliott’s nape, rubbing over the taut tendons, the muscle. She had the illusion that she could hold him like this, powerless in her grip, so she could pillage his mouth at her leisure. Part of her mind laughed at her—he could have her on her back in a moment—but the fantasy was delicious. As she probed at his closed lips with her tongue-tip and he resisted her she realised he was playing too.
Her fingers closed in his hair, commanding obedience as she slid her tongue inside his mouth. The tightness was exciting and his surrender, as he opened to her, delicious. Bella shifted so she cupped his face with her other hand, holding him while she explored, tasted, teased. His mouth was hot and slick and he tasted of tea and, under that safe, domestic taste, something male and dangerous and wild.
Panting a little, she drew back so they were nose to nose. ‘Take me?’ he suggested, his voice husky, his hands sliding down to the curve of her hips. ‘Here, now…’
Chapter Thirteen
Take me. Could she? Dare she? Of course not, she would be utterly inept, laughable. All the magic drained away, leaving her mortified and awkward. ‘No,’ Bella muttered, wriggling free. ‘Not here, in broad daylight.’ She was blushing, she could feel it. How she must disappoint him after his mistresses, chosen, of course, for their sensual expertise.
‘Later?’ Elliott sat upright as she landed inelegantly on the other end of the sofa. He did nothing to disguise the bulge in his breeches.
Bella looked away. She had to try to respond sooner or later, even though it would be a disaster. ‘Tonight?’
‘Tonight,’ Elliott agreed. He sounded as though they were discussing whether or not to have fish for dinner. Was that simply good manners or was he hiding anger and frustration under the civil tone? Of course he was.
There was a silence while Bella regarded her toes and wondered what to say next. Her mind appeared to have gone numb and her body was a confused riot of sensations, most of them urging her back into Elliott’s arms.
‘What were you doing in that sitting room?’ Elliott asked. He crossed his legs, so she felt it was safe to look at him again. ‘I thought you would want to start any decoration with your own rooms.’
‘It will be ideal for the nursery,’ Bella explained. It would have been better if she could have given this more thought before springing it on him, she thought as his brows drew together. ‘A door could be knocked through to my sitting room and there’s a small room for the nurse to use.’
‘You will never get any peace.’
‘I will. The nurse will be there and my own sitting room is between my bedroom and the nursery.’
‘Very well.’ He agreed so suddenly that she was taken aback. ‘But we had better wait until your pregnancy is official before we start knocking holes in walls.’
‘Of course. Thank you, Elliott.’
He made a dismissive gesture and, just for a moment, Bella thought she saw something almost like shame in his eyes. Then it was gone. He was good at hiding his emotions, but she thought it was because he valued self-control, not because he had set out to deceive her.
Elliott had a certain dangerous edge of physicality to him that made her wonder if he was exactly comfortable in the high ton. She imagined him stripped to the waist boxing, or fencing, driving home an attack with a flashing blade, and swallowed hard.
‘I must go,’ Elliott said. He stood and looked down at her and his voice deepened, sent a shiver down her spine. ‘Until dinner, my dear. I look forward to it—and to later.’
Bella got through dinner somehow. Elliott must have spoken to Henlow, for the meal was formally served, even though there was only the two of them. Elliott was teaching her, she realised, demonstrating the etiquette she must learn in the safety of their own dining room without guests.
All the leaves had been taken out of the table so they could converse, he at the head, she at the foot. An array of cutlery hedged her plate, glasses were ranked across the top of it. There was a vast starched napkin to control on the slippery silk of her evening gown and a succession of dishes to identify the correct flatware for.
And Elliott kept up a constant stream of conversation, mostly on subjects she knew nothing about, so she had to deal with a quivering aspic mould while finding something sensible to say about the fact that there would be a by-election next month for the Evesham constituency.
Then, just as she was trying to decide what to do with the saddle of lamb and the tiny, highly mobile white onions she was being offered, he asked her opinion about Napoleon’s abdication. ‘I am afraid I have no idea whether Elba is a sensible place to put him or not, my lord. This lamb is excellent. Is it from your…our own flock?’
‘Oh, yes, Lady Hadleigh, it is ours.’ She decided he was pleased with her reference to the farm. ‘I feel Napoleon would be safer further away—Elba is too close to France for my liking.’
‘You think he might escape and we would have war again?’ That was an alarming thought after only a few weeks of peace. ‘Perhaps wiser counsel will prevail and he will not be sent there.’
‘Perhaps.’ Elliott went on to talk about the government’s views on the subject; the names of ministers and opposition politicians made her head spin. She strongly suspected him of trying to distract her from what would take place later in her bedchamber, but she tried to keep up with him. It was obvious that she would have to start reading the newspapers if she was not to appear a complete dunce when they had dinner parties.
Somehow she managed five courses and remembered to leave Elliott to his port without needing to be reminded. She sat and pretended to read until he joined her and then braced herself for at least another hour of scrupulously polite and highly educational conversation until the tea tray was brought in.
‘Lady Hadleigh.’
‘My lord.’ He was going to say something about her reluctance this afternoon, or what he expected when they went to bed, she knew it. Bella sat up straight, put on her best, brightly interested, face. She could do this. She must do this, and the longer she put it off, the worse it would be. Elliott was her husband now, she owed him a duty. And another, more cynical, sense nagged her that she must attach him for the sake of the child. That the happier he was with her as his wife, the better he would accept the little cuckoo in his nest.
‘You preside over the dinner table with great grace.’
‘Thank you.’ Oh, thank goodness, he did not want to talk about bed yet. Then what he had said sank in and she bit her lip to control the smile that was in danger of becoming an unladylike grin of delight. ‘It is such a relief to hear you say so—I was well aware that you are doing your best to make me familiar with the etiquette.’
Elliott sat down, crossed his legs, steepled his fingers and regarded her over the top of them. He should have looked formidable, instead he seemed reassuring. ‘I hope I can help; it cannot be pleasant to be pitchforked into this.’
‘I never thought of the practical implications of being married to a viscount,’ she admitted ruefully.
‘I imagine not,’ Elliott said wryly, then, to her great relief, changed the subject instead of observing that she had not appeared to have given much thought to anything but her infatuation or she would not be in this position now. ‘Shall I invite the Bayntons to spend the day soon? If the weather is fine John and I will ride out—I want his advice on some woodland—and you and Anne can have a comfortable time together.’
‘Oh, yes, please.’ The prospect of having a female friend who could explain the mysteries of childbearing was almost overwhelming. ‘Thank you, Elliott. I am conscious of how much trouble I must be to you.’
‘Not at all. I am beginning to see the advantages of having a wife,’ he said. What those were for him she could not imagine; just now she seemed to be causing him nothing but problems. Perhaps he thought that after tonight… His smile with its wicked edge sent little flutters of alarm through her. ‘You must let me know whenever you want to go into Worcester for more shopping—clothes, refurnishing your suite. Perhaps you and Mrs Baynton would like to have an expedition one day?’
‘I am not sure the bills I might run up will count as advantages.’
‘We need to make this our home,’ Elliott said. ‘That will cost money—I am quite resigned. I have put repairs in hand to deal with the damp and the cracked windows.’
‘Well, in that case…what are your views on water closets?’
Elliott gave a gasp of laughter. ‘I hardly dare enquire why you ask. Where were you considering locating such an object? And how the devil do we get the water to it?’
Bella launched into a description of her reading on the subject and they were well into considerations of water tanks, lead pipe and ventilation by the time the tea arrived.
‘I can just imagine what Daniel would say if he could hear us,’ Elliott observed as Bella poured, nervously aware of the age and beauty of the Worcester tea service she was expected to deal with. ‘If he thought us unromantic before, can you imagine his comments on sanitary engineering as a honeymoon topic?’
‘I would not dream of discussing such things with anyone else present,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘I know it is not something ladies should speak about, but I do feel I can talk about anything with you.’
‘Thank you.’ Elliott’s expression of satirical amusement softened. ‘Now that is a romantic observation, Lady Hadleigh.’
Bella wondered just how romantic Elliott was feeling an hour later as she sat at her dressing table while Gwen brushed out her hair. Such dull hair, she thought. Straight and brown and ordinary despite rosemary rinses. Did men notice such things, or did the fact that she was not a beauty mean that details such as the colour of her hair or the shape of her nose were ignored? Perhaps it was best not to brood on what men found attractive, not with her husband expecting her to… In fact, best not to think at all, about anything, if that could be managed.
‘Which nightgown tonight, my lady?’
‘The fawn one with the copper ribbons,’ Bella decided at random. At least it did not clash as unpleasantly with the pink draperies as the green had done.
It was, if anything, more revealing than the green. There seemed to be an inadequate amount of fabric in the bodice and very little substance in the skirts unless she stood stock still. ‘And the négligé, please, Gwen.’
The maid brought the robe, which did little for decency other than add another filmy layer, and placed the slippers on the floor by Bella’s bare feet. ‘Scent, my lady?’
‘I do not have any.’
‘There was this in the cupboard, my lady.’ Gwen produced a gilded flask and took out the stopper. Both women bent over to sniff.
‘Phew! Certainly not that, it belongs in a—’
‘It certainly does.’ Gwen wrinkled her nose. ‘One of his late lordship’s fancy pieces left it, I’ve no doubt. I’ll pour it away outside, shall I, my lady? The flask is pretty, though.’
‘Yes,’ Bella said. Fancy pieces? They were back to the orgies again. Would Elliott like this scent? She decided she did not care whether he did or not, she was not going to wear it. ‘Keep the flask, Gwen. You may go now.’
‘Thank you, my lady. Goodnight, ma’am.’
Bella sat and wrestled with the images that the perfume and this chamber conjured up. A man would have certain expectations of a woman dressed as she was in a room like this one.
‘Arabella?’
Elliott had come into her room without her hearing him. She shot to her feet like a startled partridge with an entire shooting party after her.
‘I beg you pardon, but I did knock.’ He was smiling slightly at her discomfiture as he stood there in the same blue silk robe he had worn two nights ago. Only there was no glimpse of nightshirt at the throat and his feet were bare. Now under the thick silk he was naked, she realised, feeling as though all the breath had been sucked out of her lungs.
She had to say something. ‘I was thinking about clothes and wondering if you would like this ensemble.’ She twitched the skirts a little. ‘I think the colour very pretty, don’t you.’
‘I think the wearer very pretty too,’ he said, walking up to her and putting his hands on her shoulders.
‘Oh, Elliott, you know I am not!’
‘I must confess that cold, hungry, frightened and feeling sick, you can look a trifle drawn and wan,’ Elliott admitted. ‘I did not see the true you. Our wedding day was a revelation and I should have told you so. Now I see big hazel eyes, with long lashes, perfect skin, a mouth that was made for eating strawberries—’
‘It is too wide.’
‘All the better for kissing. Your nose—’
‘Is too long and straight.’
‘All the better for looking down in a provocative manner. Your hair—’
‘Is perfectly straight and mouse-coloured.’
‘A very pretty mouse, for all that. And when I see it loose…’ his hand sifted through the weight of it on her right shoulder ‘…I think of all kinds of things I would like to do with it.’
Bella could not think what Elliott meant, although from the glint in his eyes whatever it was involved sex.
‘Oh, yes, and you blush delightfully.’ He watched her for a moment. ‘Arabella, I would like us to be… open with each other in bed. More relaxed. I want you to feel free to express what you feel and need.’
‘Yes, so do I, Elliott.’ It was a lie. In fact, it was a wonder he did not hear her knees rattling together like castanets, but she could not go on like this. She had made her wedding vows and she must keep them.
‘Good,’ he said, his deep voice huskier than usual as he bent his head. She thought he was going to kiss her, but he held her a little away and brushed his mouth against her throat, nudging gently until she tipped her head to give him better access.
Then his mouth trailed down to the edge of the négligé and his fingers found the ribbons and tugged until it opened. ‘Ah,’ he murmured, the vibration quivering against her skin. Bella swallowed, fighting to stand still as his lips followed the curve of her breast and his hand cupped the weight of it. Then the flickering exploration of his tongue found her nipple through the gauze.
‘Sweet.’ The satisfied sound seemed to come from deep in his chest as Elliott settled her firmly in his arms and began to torment the tight bud with tongue and lips and teeth, tugging and sucking and nipping, saturating the fabric until it might as well not have been there.
Elliott! Waves of sensation, not quite pain, too much for pleasure, pulsed through her. He had not done this before, only kissed her mouth and caressed her body gently with his hands.
Rafe had not touched her like this. He had handled her with what she had thought was the impatience of desire, squeezing her breasts, hurting with a pain that was nothing like this exquisite torment. Elliott moved to the other nipple as Arabella writhed in his arms. The négligé had gone, somehow, and s
o had the nightgown, slithering down to his imprisoning arms where it caught, the silken folds brushing and teasing around her legs.
‘Elliott.’ She managed to say it out loud this time. A protest, a plea, a gasp of embarrassment? All three, perhaps. Arabella could not understand what he was doing to her body, but it was sending her rapidly past the point where shyness was even an option. ‘Elliott, what are you doing?’
He looked up, his lips curving. ‘Making love, Arabella.’
‘You are making me…I do not know. I want…’
‘This?’ He kissed her on her mouth, one hand still cupping her breast, his thumb fretting hard over the impossibly tight knot of the nipple while his other smoothed down over her hip, pushing the nightgown aside. She became aware again that his hands were hard, as though he worked with them.
His mouth was demanding, his tongue thrusting, insistent that she open to him, insistent that she tangle her own tongue with his. He sucked it into his mouth, holding her when she would have withdrawn, nervous of this intensity and the knowledge of where it was leading, then nipping at her lips with tiny, biting kisses.
In the pit of her belly there was heat and an ache and a pulse that had her pressing against him in a blind search for relief, only to find that she was straining against the blatant jut of his erection through the heavy silk of his robe. But there was no room to withdraw her body, hardly any room in her head for the confusion of thoughts. How could she feel like this for a man she scarcely knew yet and did not love? Was she utterly wanton or was Elliott a warlock, conjuring lust out of her ignorance and shyness? But perhaps, just perhaps, it would be all right…
He moved, scooped her up and laid her on the bed, naked, exposed and quivering with shock. ‘Don’t cover yourself,’ he ordered, his voice almost harsh, as she reached for the covers to drag them across her body. He kicked off his slippers, shrugged out of his robe, then stood, his hands on his lean hips, looking at her. And Arabella stared back, seeing him naked for the first time, breathless with discovery and terrified desire.