* * *
Damnation. Gareth acknowledged the prickle in his blood for what it was. A warning. Someone else was in the house, and not far away.
He reached toward the dressing table. Upon arriving back, he had set his dagger there when he undressed. He never traveled without one, after being the victim of a highwayman when he was at university.
His hand closed on it, and he turned. He saw no one in the chamber, or at the door. Someone had been there, however. He had all but felt the thief’s breath.
He threw the dagger down, pulled on his trousers, grabbed the weapon again, and strode out of the dressing room. He’d be damned before he allowed trespassers to make free with the lodge, especially while he was inside it. One confrontation, one capture and strong warning, and word would spread that the situation had changed.
Faint sounds came to him, from the back of the house. Whoever had intruded now descended the servant stairs, and not even stealthily. He did not pursue in that direction. Rather he ran down the main stairs, outside, and around the house.
More sounds back here, in the basement kitchen. The low windows proved too dirty to peer through. He walked down the stairs to the submerged door, and positioned himself to its side. With luck the thief had not availed himself of a kitchen knife.
The thud of the door’s bar shoved aside. His thief pushed against a door whose hinges needed oil. On the third attempt the door flew open.
Gareth grabbed at the figure flying out, swung it around, and slammed it against the stone wall. Even as he did, he knew he had made a mistake.
CHAPTER 7
Eva landed hard against the stones. A cry escaped her and her eyes clenched against the pain. When she opened them again, an astonished, furious Gareth held her shoulder against the wall. Her gaze locked on the dagger aimed at her chest. His own chest, still naked, framed the view.
“Eva! What in hell—” His gaze shifted from her to the dagger. He threw the weapon down and lessened his grip on her shoulder. He did not release her, however. “What are you doing here?”
She thought fast. “I went for a walk and thought I would see if Erasmus was here. I had a question for him.”
Gareth’s lids lowered. “Things are not so improved that they require a caretaker when I leave. If you have been to town even once during my absence, you would know he was not coming here while I was gone.”
Thinking fast had not helped her. Nor did thinking slowly. She could not drum up another good reason for being here.
“Did you come here to see whether I had returned?” His gaze darkened. Deepened.
“Of course not.” There was nothing else for it. “You said you would be gone at least a fortnight, and I thought perhaps while you were gone I could see the improvements you had made.”
“Do you often enter other homes when their owners are gone?”
Such an unfortunate question. “I am sorry. I should have never entered.”
“Do not apologize. I am glad you came.” His hand fell from her shoulder. Finally. “Come inside. I will show you the improvements.” A slow smile formed, but he looked no friendlier. “Several chambers still require new fabrics and such. You can advise me.”
“I . . . really cannot . . . That is, it would not be . . . appropriate for me to . . .”
Her words died in her throat. He had stepped closer. That put her nose at most six inches from his chest.
“Come now, Eva. If it was appropriate for you to enter the house, and appropriate for you to watch me wash—”
“I did not watch you wash!”
“Correction. Watch me dress. Even so, after that you can hardly quibble about your setting foot inside to advise on drapery.”
She was mortified that he realized she had seen him before he dressed, incomplete though the dressing had been. She should pretend she had not, and react with anger. Only at the moment, try as she might to summon shock and indignation, she instead found herself making heroic efforts not to stare at his naked chest which, it seemed to her, all but begged for very close study indeed.
She forced her gaze over his right shoulder, then his left, then to the ground—anywhere except the handsome face and the knowing half smile of private amusement. That chest kept looming in her view, however, drawing her glances like a magnet draws iron shavings. She noted how taut the skin looked and how hard, and the tight lines as it tapered to his trousers. She wondered what it felt like . . .
She sneaked a glance at his face. He was watching her watch. His expression appeared intense, serious, and as wicked as the sisters Neville had warned.
She looked down, feeling her face heat. “I should go . . . I must go.”
A hand on her chin turned her face. “Do not be embarrassed. It is normal to be curious. The only shame is if all the musts and shoulds drown out the wants that we hear inside ourselves.”
She smelled the soap he had just washed with. She pictured him standing in the dressing room not long ago. Her mind filled with that image, and the sensation of his hand on her face and the shocking way she yearned to press her fingertips against his body, to discover more and to perhaps feel if his blood thrummed like hers was doing now.
He tipped up her chin so she looked in his eyes. Dark eyes, endlessly deep and full of life and experience and thoughts of only her.
His thumb caressed her lips. They trembled and pulsed from the connection, and the sensation entered her blood. That felt so good. Terribly, wonderfully good.
He angled his head and kissed her mouth. Gently at first, but almost immediately it became a ravishment. It was as if one small breach meant the whole wall fell.
Oh, what a kiss it was. She let herself enjoy it while she inhaled the scent of him. She allowed the wants to have their way, and to respond to his wants in kind. She did nothing to end the kiss because she did not want it to end. Five years of duty disappeared, and she was a girl again, rediscovering the taste of forbidden fruit.
She did not object when he embraced her. She felt no shock at finding her body pressed against him so that she felt his skin through her garments and his warmth all around her. He deepened the kiss, calling forth chaotic wonderment and daring. Pleasures cascaded through her body until she lost all sense of propriety.
She ventured her own embrace. The sensation of his skin beneath her palms entranced her. She pressed her fingertips against the hard muscles beneath the soft skin. That very small aggression emboldened him. He tightened his embrace in return and seduced her lips apart so his kiss could become invasive.
More astonishment, at how she reveled in the way his size and strength dominated her. Her sensuality, dormant for so long, too long, raged now, as if this physical contact fanned its flames.
His forehead pressed hers. He gazed down at his hand while his fingers trailed over her neck and along the top of her dress. “You surprise me, Eva.”
“Do you want me to push you away and storm off indignant?”
“Hell, no. Not unless you want me to die. Come here.” He drew her to a bench set against the house’s bricks and pulled her onto his lap. His finger splayed over her crown to hold her head to a fevered, demanding kiss. The pleasure began again, as if there had been no pause.
His head bent and he kissed her neck, and the skin exposed by her bodice. Thrills started shooting deep and low until she wanted to squirm. Caresses, firm and knowing, made it worse. A touch on her breast, light as a feather, made her gasp. Others, less light, had her head swimming.
That felt too good. Wickedly so. Much better than the vague arousals caused by the few embraces with Charles, when her breasts pressed his chest enough to stir her. Gareth’s caresses proved deliberately provocative. She knew, even as she succumbed, that his goal was to master her will.
She did not care. Did not care. All the shoulds lined up, and her desire kicked them away. She wanted this, her body did as did her soul, but mostly the part of her that controlled all of her senses demanded it.
He unbuttoned her peliss
e and slid it off so masterfully she barely noticed. The fastenings on her dress loosened under his caress on her back. That same hand gently eased the fabric off her shoulders and down her arms while his other hand continued distracting her by fondling her breasts.
When the fabric of her chemise moved, however, she started in shock. Reality forced itself into her awareness. The most gentle kiss on her cheek urged her to be calm.
“I want to see how lovely you are, Eva. And I want you to know the best pleasure. You will allow it now.”
She did not agree, nor did she object. She did allow it, as he commanded. Aghast at how the promise of pleasure swayed her, she watched him push the chemise off her shoulders until her breasts rose high and bare above the garments bunched at her waist.
“Perfect,” he muttered, dipping his head to kiss one, then the other. “You are beautiful, Eva.”
The flattery poked at her better sense. A poignant ache shot through her, as she acknowledged that just perhaps, maybe, she was being a fool. But then his fingertips started playing at her bare nipples, and she thought about nothing at all.
Heavenly. Luscious. She did squirm now, to try and relieve the pulsing need torturing her more and more. His head lowered to kiss her again, then he used his tongue and teeth to make her arousal unbearable. She held on to his bare shoulder while wave after wave of incredible sensation crested in her body.
“Are you a virgin?” His question feathered into her ear while his touch continued tantalizing her.
She barely heard. Barely answered. Finally she nodded.
Fingertips rolled over her two nipples until she was breathless and immobile. His mouth began its devastating arousals again, while his caresses claimed all of her. Her hips and thighs, her bottom and back. All of her. A sensual stupor engulfed her. The need pulsed more and more, aching and wanting. A frantic yearning entered her euphoria. It grew until it absorbed the pleasure within itself.
Then, unmistakably, he stilled. His hands did, and his whole body. Her body screamed in frustration, but beneath her silent chaos she heard what he heard. Noises came through the quiet day, from around the other side of the house.
Horrified, she looked at herself, and at him. Reality forced itself into her stupor. More sounds now. Gareth stood with her in his arms, carried her over to the door of the house, and set her on her feet. “Come with me.”
He led her into the kitchen, then up to the first level. “No one will come inside, I promise you. I will see what is happening. Go upstairs and wait for me.”
He strode toward the front of the house. She ran up to the public rooms, fighting to get her chemise and dress back on as she did. She ran to the front room and looked out the window. Down below the sounds came again. She opened the window a crack.
“You are back, sir. That is a surprise. Did not expect you so soon.” It was Erasmus speaking. “I seem to have disturbed your rest. I apologize. I just came to bring that stone in the wagon there for the wall, and saw these things here. More must’ve heard of Miss Russell’s instructions that things taken be returned. I thought I would bring them inside.”
“That is not necessary. I will do it,” Gareth said. “Just bring the stone to the garden.”
“I’ll take the wagon to the back garden portal, and unload it there. Are you home for a time now, sir? Should Harold and I come tomorrow?”
“I may leave again for short journeys, but you can both come tomorrow morning. I will come along and help with the stone.”
Eva stared down at her haphazard dressing. Her close call stunned her. What if Gareth had not heard Erasmus, and they had been discovered like that, both half-naked? What if Erasmus had not come at all?
She finished fixing her garments. She fastened her dress with trembling fingers. When the wagon wheels outside faded away, she slipped out of the chamber and down the stairs.
* * *
Gareth tried to give a damn about the stone wall while Erasmus explained what must be done. He had found similar stones at a mason’s farm a bit to the south, he explained, and had taken it upon himself to procure it.
All the while Gareth’s mind was on that bench, with Eva on his lap. Her astonished cries of pleasure formed a melody behind Erasmus’s drone.
Had they not been interrupted . . . His mind’s eye saw Eva totally naked, straddling his legs, her eyes glistening with her abandoned joy.
He glanced to the bench near the garden door. A brown smudge caught his eye. Eva’s pelisse. The fantasy vanished. Erasmus’s voice seemed to boom. The last hour presented itself with ruthless objectivity.
What in hell had he been thinking? Nothing sensible, that was clear, if there had been any thought at all. He could not remember. A lie, that. He had thought plenty, and would have taken her except for the interruption. Even when he sent her above to dress, he fully intended to join her and unfasten that dress again.
That brown pelisse loomed on the bench, visible out of the corner of his eye. If Erasmus saw it, there could be hell to pay. For Eva. Always for the woman. His own reputation had long ago become famous for such things, but he hardly suffered for it.
He pictured her above stairs, worried about that pelisse, perhaps watching from a window. The way she had accepted pleasure had charmed him. Incited him. Still, he prided himself on control. He did not act impulsively. He did not put women at such risk. He did not even trifle with women like Eva Russell.
“It should only take one or two days,” Erasmus explained, summing up what had been a lengthy lesson in wall building. “Less time with help from Harold.”
Gareth pulled half his mind out of his crotch. “It will be good to have the garden secure again.”
Erasmus nodded. “I’ll be taking the wagon back now, unless you want me to put all those things from the portico away.”
“No need to do that now. Be on your way.”
Erasmus walked toward the garden’s back portal. Gareth strode to the house, grabbed the pelisse, and entered.
He formed his apology on the way upstairs. He went to his dressing room and pulled on a shirt, then went looking for Eva. He looked forward to correcting his inexplicable error in judgment.
He could not find her. He threw open the door of the final room he searched. It was empty too.
He strode to the window. In the distance, he could see a small brown form moving quickly along the road to where it bent out of sight.
CHAPTER 8
Eva peered into her looking glass. Besides her face, its reflection showed the chaos in her chamber. Most of her garments lay on her bed, waiting for her to choose the ones she would take to Birmingham. She had been too agitated the past two days to complete the task, and now she would be up half the night getting prepared.
She opened the drawer of her dressing table a crack and eyed the crisp white letter within. It had arrived this morning, delivered by Erasmus. Before she read it, she took the opportunity to ask Erasmus to keep an eye on the house while she and Rebecca were gone. Not that there was anything to steal. She felt better knowing someone would check on occasion, however. With Erasmus working for Mr. Fitzallen, stopping by here would not be inconvenient.
Mr. Fitzallen. She had forced herself to think of him that way ever since she ran from his house. It had been a mistake to allow the informality of first names. One of many mistakes.
He also had retreated into formalities in that letter.
Dear Miss Russell,
Business affairs take me away again for several days. When I return, I will call on you, to speak words that our last meeting demands.
Your servant,
Gareth Fitzallen
She assumed he would call on her to apologize. If that notion produced a foolish pang of disappointment, she could not be blamed. He had disrobed more than her body. He had uncovered yearnings and needs she did not even know existed in her. She rather wished he had not, so she would know some peace again.
She had only to think of that hour with him to shock herself an
ew. Yet, the long, strict scold she gave herself as she hurried home needed repeating over and over. Left to her own mind’s memories, the wonders and pleasures would have their way and send her into a most inappropriate reverie.
“What are you staring at?” Rebecca now loomed in the reflection, too, right behind her.
“My eyes.” His flatteries needed to be remembered. She must force herself to keep the evidence that he was a lying seducer fresh in her thoughts. Humiliation lay buried in the truth beneath those lies. Was it enough to keep her from believing him in order to be swayed?
Rebecca pulled pins out of Eva’s hair, so her locks fell free. Rebecca picked up the brush. “They are unusual. Changeable. Sometimes green, sometimes blue, other times almost gray. I think it depends on the lighting. And your mood, of course. When you are angry they are definitely green, with golden sparks all but flying out of them.” She worked the brush down Eva’s back. “I have always envied you your eyes.”
“That is ridiculous. You could never want to trade these for yours.”
“A lot you know. Mine are blue in an ordinary way. When yours are blue, they are the color of a perfectly clear pale jewel. But it is the way they change that I envy.”
Eva looked again. Right now in the candlelight, she could not tell what color they were. All she saw were the tiny reflections of the candle’s flames.
“You have not packed,” Rebecca said, while still tending to her hair. “That means you can make room for my gift.”
“Gift? What gift?”
Rebecca set down the brush. “I will be right back.”
A few minutes later Rebecca’s steps sounded on the floorboards. She entered Eva’s room, only nothing of Rebecca could be seen except her feet. The rest of her hid behind a dress that she held high by the shoulders.
A woman would wear such a dress to a dinner party or the theater. Constructed of satin more silver than gray, it bore embellishments of tiny white beads and lace on the neckline and sleeves. A tasteful band of lace decorated the lower skirt.
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