“Please,” she said, her voice soft.
“Demain,” he said, the word dragged from somewhere deep and painful, judging from its roughened edge, and she noted that he had forgotten to speak in English. “Après midi.”
Tomorrow afternoon.
Eliza hid her smile as best she could, her reply polite and cool. “I shall be ready.”
He gave a curt nod before adding gruffly, “Bring a chaperone.”
Chapter 2
Nicolas,
I give you fair warning. I will not be scorned.
―Excerpt of a letter from Madame Lafitte to Monsieur Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau.
6th March 1839, the outskirts of Chelsea Village, London.
Eliza almost ran from room to room, her excitement growing with each moment. It was so perfect she could have wept with joy. Situated a rural location on the edge of Chelsea Village it was close enough to the poorer areas of town yet far enough away from the filth of the city that the air was clean and there were even green fields to look out at from the windows.
“Will it suit?”
Eliza turned from the large window through which the afternoon sunlight was streaming, and that overlooked a lush green patch of ground. Surrounded by high walls, the area would make a wonderful kitchen garden.
“It is perfect,” she said, staring at the man before her with her heart thudding too hard.
He looked as cross as he always did, and she was struck with the desperate urge to kiss him and unearth the kind-hearted fellow she knew was hiding beneath that grumpy shell. It had taken her an entire half an hour, but Eliza had unglued Martha from her side and sent her off to investigate the outbuildings. Martha had silently seethed with outrage, and would scold her later, but that was later. For a precious few moments, Eliza had Mr Demarteau all to herself.
“How did you come to own it?”
He shrugged his big shoulders and moved to the window, standing beside her to look down at the overgrown piece of land below.
“I have been looking for a project to occupy me and the building was a good buy. My brother prefers me to be kept busy. He believes the devil finds work for idle hands.”
Eliza stared up at him, wondering if he knew just how dreadfully handsome she found him, and how badly she wanted to keep his devilish hands occupied. She had the lowering suspicion he was very well aware.
“And are your hands idle?” she asked, a little startled to hear her voice sound so breathless and soft.
His gaze shot to her, confirming that her tone had given far too much away… like the fact that he was standing so close the desire to lean into him and feel his arms go around her was an ache beneath her skin. To her mortification, he took a hasty step back.
“Well, we shall see. If I am to sign the place over to you, I must start over.”
“Oh,” she said, her spirits sinking. “I… I have no wish to inconvenience you.”
He waved this away. “It is no inconvenience, I assure you. My plans were not yet fixed. The property was nothing more than a good investment, so whether I use it myself is of no matter. I own several hectares of the surrounding terrain. London is expanding at a vast rate and will swallow up this little village in no time. This will be prime building land soon enough.”
“So you will sell me the property?”
There was a long silence, and she could not even attempt to read his infuriatingly inscrutable face as he was turned away from her, his hands clasped behind his back.
“No.”
“No!” she exclaimed. “But then why—?”
“I will rent it to you.”
“For how much?” Eliza demanded.
He uttered a figure which was so far below what he could reasonably expect it was laughable.
Eliza frowned at him. “I struggle to believe you are the successful businessman everyone thinks you are if you will make such a ridiculous offer to me. It is a paltry sum for such a fine building, and hardly fair. I do not understand you.”
“Consider it my contribution to charity,” he said gruffly.
He turned and looked at her, and Eliza could not help her smile of delight.
“Oh, but that is kind.”
He frowned. “Hardly. I’ve never given a penny to charity in my life before. Good deeds are not in my nature, my lady. You should suspect my motives, no doubt.”
“Oh. Should I?” Eliza’s breath caught.
She hoped far too hard that he had nefarious intentions for her. Good Lord, but she was in way over her head, and she didn’t care. When she was with him, she felt alive in a way she had never known in all her well-behaved life. Her brush with death had left her impatient with foolish rules and with anything that curtailed her enjoyment of life. It was galling enough that her health set such limits on her ambitions. The girl she had always been, that model of propriety, seemed to her now to have wasted a good deal of her time worrying about what people would say or think of her. No more.
“You should be suspicious of every damn thing about me,” he said with a snort. “And sending your maid off like that was beyond foolish. What the devil were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I should like a few moments alone with you,” Eliza said, the truth escaping her before she could check herself.
Even this new, bold, Eliza was a little startled by her temerity; she felt the blush heat her cheeks but did not turn away or try to modify her words. He stared at her, as unreadable as a marble bust and about as warm.
“Merde. You little fool. You….”
Whatever angry words he was about to utter he swallowed down. Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked off, his shoulders stiff with disapproval. His boots thudded down the stairs at some speed.
“Monsieur Demarteau!” Eliza called after him, stung that he should dismiss her feelings so.
Annoyed, she determined he would not get away so easily and hurried after him. He had already disappeared, his heavy footsteps downstairs now. Eliza ran after him, flying down the stairs too fast. She reached the bottom, but her heart was pounding, and she clung to the newel post to steady herself.
“Oh, blast this foolishness,” she said, gripping tighter as the room spun about her in a sickening fashion. Fury and frustration at her own weakness rose in a tide and she felt tears prick behind her eyelids. Her breath grew short, and she tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet with her free hand, suddenly convinced it was strangling her. Wrenching it off, she stood, swaying, and closed her eyes.
“Eliza? Mon Dieu, you’re as white as a sheet.” Eliza’s eyes opened with a snap, his voice far closer than she expected and dark with anger.
“I’m quite all right,” she retorted, though her voice quavered, and it was obviously a lie. “Do not let me detain you, sir. If you are so desperate to be out of my company—”
She had no chance to finish her indignant sentence as he picked her up. Eliza gave a squeak of surprise, uncertain how she felt about this. On the one hand, she was still cross with him for being so abominably rude as to walk out on her. On the other, well… she had dreamt of the last time he’d held her too many times not to enjoy it. Besides which, her knees had been about to give out and the dirty floor would be ruinous to her dress, which was one of her favourites. Indeed, she had spent far too long deciding on what to wear today and had gone to a great deal of trouble for the infuriating brute, who had hardly spared her a glance all afternoon.
“You are the most troublesome female I have ever had the misfortune to encounter,” he groused, carrying her through the building.
“Yes. I know.”
“You are determined to throw yourself in my path at every opportunity, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Whatever romantic notions you have about reforming me or bringing me into society, or whatever the devil you are thinking, are quite mad.”
“But I don’t want to reform you. I like you just as you are.”
He shot her a look of pure outrage.
/>
“Oh, dear. I vex you dreadfully, don’t I?”
“Yes, blast you.”
Eliza smiled and laid her head on his shoulder, one hand snaking up about his neck. She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of him. It was utterly intoxicating: shaving soap and freshly starched linen, a faint tang of cigar smoke, and some expensive cologne with a citrusy note that teased her senses. She sighed, wondering if she imagined the slight tremor that she felt run over him. Eliza opened her eyes, shockingly aware of the strength of his body against hers, the heat of him that seemed to burn through layers of fine linen and wool to scald her by slow degrees.
To her disappointment, he was crossing the room and heading towards a chair, one of the few pieces of furniture in the entire building. Her hand tightened about his neck, unwilling to let him go, and likely ruining his cravat. She didn’t care. He stood beside the chair, ready to set her down.
“Let go,” he said, still not looking at her.
“I don’t want to.”
He made a harsh sound under his breath. Bending, he placed her firmly on the chair, reaching up to curl his fingers about hers. She tightened her grip on his cravat.
“Eliza, you must stop this foolishness,” he said, though the words were gentler now.
“I will, if you promise to come to tonight’s rout party.”
He set his jaw, stubborn as an ox. “No.”
Eliza persisted. If she did not do something, he would go to ground again, and she would not see him for months. “I know Mrs Manning has invited Louis César so I’m sure she must have included you. The ton is all agog, fascinated by the two of you, as you must be aware.”
He snorted at that. “They are waiting to discover some juicy detail of our scandalous past, that is all.”
“And do you have a scandalous past, Nic?”
He looked at her then, and her breath caught. If ever the devil was made flesh to tempt good girls into darkness, he would have looked like this. His eyes were so dark, but this close she saw the brown was flecked with tiny glints of gold, like stars.
His voice rumbled through his chest as he spoke, deep and forbidding. Eliza shivered. “You have no idea what you are playing with, Lady Elizabeth. If you don’t have a care, I might decide to stop this pretence that I’m a gentleman. I could eat you in one bite and spit out your bones. I wouldn’t look back, either, and then where would you be?”
She ought to have been horrified by his words, but he looked so grim and fierce that she only found it touching that he would try so hard to frighten her off. He wanted so badly to save her from himself. It was rather sweet.
“What the devil are you smiling at?” he demanded, looking more incensed than ever.
“You. You’re quite adorable, you know.”
He made a sound of utter disgust and uncurled her fingers from his cravat. Eliza simply gripped his hand instead. “Hell’s bells, woman, let me go!”
“I will if you come to the party. Please.”
Nic groaned. “Fine.”
“You must promise.”
“Dieu ayez pitié! Fine, I promise, damn your eyes, you infernal creature. You’re spoilt, that’s what. You must have your own way in all things, must do exactly as you please, no matter the consequences.”
“You are probably right,” Eliza said equitably. “It would be surprising if I were not a little indulged in the circumstances, though, would it not? My father is a duke, after all. I have likely had my own way too often. I suppose you think I need a husband to take me in hand.”
She was well aware she was flirting with him. She felt unsure if she ought to be thrilled by her own daring or horrified by her shocking boldness. Whichever it was, she was alight with… with something… something she had never experienced before. Eliza had never acted so in all her life, though, and she thought she might need more practice before she was certain what that something was.
“I think,” he said, or growled perhaps, as his voice had grown deep and raspy. “I think you need spanking.”
With a tug, he pulled his hand free of hers.
Eliza’s mouth fell open. He grunted at her obvious shock.
“Yes, my lady. Now perhaps you see, at last. I am no gentleman to speak to you so crudely. I have no desire to be, and yes, I should be delighted to do the job myself, to teach you the dangers of toying with men like me. Here and now, if you like. Believe me, it would be my pleasure.”
His voice was low and wicked, and the look in his eyes promised he would deliver if she tried him too far. She knew he was seeking once more to frighten her off, to be honest she wasn’t certain why it wasn’t working but… but his words had quite the opposite effect to the one he might have imagined.
It was once again hard to breathe, though the sensation this time was quite different. Her skin was hot, prickling with awareness, and there was a hollow feeling inside of her, an insistent throb between her thighs that was at once mortifying and fascinating. Why on earth should a threat of that nature make her feel so… so….
“Well, Eliza?” he asked, his words a growl and his expression intent. “Shall I put you over my knee?”
“I….” she began, with no idea of what she was about to say next.
“Well, my lady, the outbuildings seem in good order, but we ought to be getting back now before you wear yourself out. You know you’ll need a nap in the afternoon if you’re to be strong enough for tonight’s party.”
Martha bustled into the room, striding past Mr Demarteau and giving Eliza a critical once over.
“Now, where is your bonnet? Goodness me, what did you take it off for?”
The maid tutted and sent Mr Demarteau a black glare of disapproval.
“I was feeling a little faint, that’s all,” Eliza murmured as Martha tugged her bonnet into place and did up her ribbons. For once, Eliza allowed herself to be managed, too flustered to protest being treated like a child. Would he really have done it? Would she have allowed it?
The idea was… electrifying.
“There, you see? You’ve overdone it. Didn’t I say so? I told you this visit was a bad idea. You’ve done too much this week. I think you ought stay at home and go to bed early instead of gallivanting—”
“Thank you, Martha, that’s quite enough.” Eliza’s tone was firm, and Martha snapped her mouth shut, though her eyes burned with the desire to continue scolding. “I merely came down the stairs too quickly. I was excited by this marvellous building and forgot myself. I am quite well now. I am only sorry I cannot stay longer.”
She sent Mr Demarteau a meaningful look, her cheeks hot, hardly knowing how she dared.
“I will have my lawyer draw up a contract for the rental agreement,” he growled, stalking away from her, and heading for the door.
“Do not forget your promise, Monsieur,” she called after him.
He paused for a second, his shoulders stiffening, and then left without another word.
20th March 1839, The home of Mrs Edwina Manning, Old Burlington Street, London.
Mrs Manning was as notorious as a widow could be whilst staying on the right side of good ton. Her affairs were legion, her lovers far younger than she, and yet she remained one of the most respected hostesses around. It was quite an achievement, and one that few managed with such consummate skill as she. That she was still a handsome woman, though well past fifty—as well as disgustingly rich—was no doubt at the core of her success.
Eliza had escaped to the card room shortly after arriving. Here, there was less chance of being jostled and, despite the chill of the evening outside, the room temperature was somewhat less than the sultry miasma present in the rest of the house. It also meant she could sit down and keep an eye on the comings and goings of the guests. He wasn’t here. Of course he wasn’t. Louis César had not arrived yet, however, and she knew he intended to come. She wondered whether he knew of her meeting with his brother this afternoon. If he did, did he also know what Nic had said to her…? Oh, no. No. Surely, he would
not have told his brother….
“Eliza… Eliza… Eliza!”
“What? Oh! I do beg your pardon, Lottie. Is it my go?”
“Good heavens, Eliza, that’s another game lost. I do wish you would concentrate,” her sister remonstrated, throwing her cards down with a huff.
“Sorry, Lottie. I think you’d best carry on without me. I’m sure Cass will take my place.”
Cassius, who had been standing watching the game, smiled and pulled out her chair as she rose. “If you like, but are you quite well, Eliza? We can go home if you are tired.”
Eliza gritted her teeth. If she never heard those kindly meant words again, it still would be too soon.
“Quite well,” she said with determined enthusiasm. “I think I just saw Florence arrive, so if you’ll excuse me?”
Before either of her chaperones could protest, she melted into the crowd.
“Well, are you coming or not?” Louis demanded.
Nic downed the remainder of his drink in one large swallow and glowered down into the fireplace.
Non. No. Tell him you are not going.
No.
But you promised.
So what? You’re no gentleman, you proved that much today with no question. Break the damned promise. Putain. Stay away from her. It can do you no good. Either of you. She’s just infatuated with someone she knows she can’t have. She’s spoiled, that all. If someone tells a spoiled child they can’t have something, they want it all the more. If she had you, she’d soon grow tired.
“Nic?”
If she had you.
Heat crawled up the back of his neck and an odd sensation held his heart in its grip.
“Nic? Damn you, are you coming?”
What the hell had she been going to say before that blasted maid had come in? The desire to know was like a rat gnawing upon his person, impossible to ignore. It ate away at his composure and sent him wicked images of what might have happened next if he’d lost what little moral fibre he could lay claim to and made good on his threat. Christ, he would run mad. He was bloody mad. Why on earth had he said that to her? Vulgar bastard. He wasn’t fit to speak to her. She was a lady, an innocent, she had no notion of….
Dare to be Brazen (Daring Daughters Book 2) Page 3