Nic grunted, and his hands moved higher. Here was the silken ribbon above her knees that held the stockings in place, which meant that if he moved just a little more…
His breathing hitched as his fingers met her skin, so warm and soft and… and now he could not stop. He watched her face intently, waiting for the moment she told him no, for the moment she came to her senses and slapped his face for taking such damned liberties. The moment never came. She just stared at him, her breathing erratic as his palms moved up, over her thighs.
“Nic,” she whispered. “Nic, kiss me, please.”
Sanity was a distant memory, everything he had promised himself, all his honourable intentions lay forgotten, abandoned in the heat of her words. Her fierce demand was like setting a spark to dry tinder and up he went, caught in the moment, in her, intoxicated. Nic pushed closer, between her thighs, pushing her skirts up and out of his way. Her arms wound about his neck and then her lips touched his and he was dizzy with pleasure. When her mouth opened, he groaned. She was inviting him in, her tongue darting out to touch his, eager and uncertain all at once. God above, what had she done to him, why did it have to be her? There had been other women he might have fallen for, more appropriate for his station in life, but no, Nic had to reach for the moon. It was like the damn rope all over again. He’d never been satisfied until he’d gone as high as was possible, risked everything there was to risk. So here he was doing it again, with a duke’s daughter of all people, and a sheer drop beneath him that would ruin him for good if he fell.
“Eliza,” he breathed as she broke the kiss, gasping for air. “Oh, God, help me, Eliza.”
She kissed him again, her hands in his hair, upon his face, her kisses bolder and more certain now, fracturing his control as she made soft little pleasure sounds that shot straight to his groin. Her hands moved over him, sliding beneath his coat, unbuttoning his waistcoat and seeking his skin. Suddenly, clothes were a torment, confining him, restricting him to the point of pain, keeping her from touching him, and him from putting his hands on her as he needed to. He murmured her name, stroking the delicate skin at the juncture of her thighs as the scent of her rose about him, muddling his wits and sending lust coursing through his blood like a drug.
“Eliza, Eliza, ma petite sirène, mon amour.” Some distant part of his brain was aware he was babbling, love words, declarations, promises, he hardly knew what, only that he could not keep them in a moment longer. “Je t'aime, toujours, pour toujours, mon amour….”
“Yes,” she said, sounding as desperate as he. “Always. I love you too, Nic, for always.”
“Let me touch you, mon Eliza, mon bel amour,” he begged, knowing he ought not, that he had not the right, but he was too far caught in whatever spell she held over him to stop.
“Oh, yes, yes, please,” she sobbed, almost beside herself with impatience, tugging at him, pulling him closer, demanding but not quite certain what to ask for, but he knew.
He held his breath as his fingers found the silken curls, springy and soft, and trailed through them, gently, teasing back and forth. She was trembling now, clinging to him, staring at him, wide eyed and vulnerable, trusting him.
“Nic,” she said on a breath of surprise as he found the little pearl of flesh hidden in its secret place. “Oh!”
“Do you like that?” he asked, aware of how deep his voice had grown, thick with lust.
She nodded, cheeks blazing, but she did not look away from him.
Nic caressed her, far too aware of her growing arousal as his fingers explored her, entranced by the way her mouth parted, her breath coming in little gasps as her chest rose and fell with increasing speed. “Is this what you wanted from me?”
Another nod, before she added seriously, “Well, p-partly.”
He couldn’t help it, he grinned, delighted by her, enchanted, as if she didn’t have enough of a hold on him.
“Do you touch yourself like this, my Eliza?” he asked, knowing from Louis’s experience that many aristocratic ladies never did, that they did not have the slightest idea of their own bodies, let alone how to pleasure themselves. He found it hard to believe Eliza would be so ignorant and was unsurprised and pleased when—after a moment’s hesitation—she nodded. Nic could not leave it there though, he had to ask, “And when you touch yourself, do you think of me?”
He had no right to ask such things, but the need to know was killing him.
Her cheeks were scarlet now, her eyes hazy with desire, but his body reacted instantly when she licked her lips and answered him.
“Y-Yes, Nic.”
“Oh mon Dieu. Tu vas me tuer. Eliza, you are going to kill me.”
He really thought she might when she leaned in and whispered in his ear. “And do you, Nic, do you think of me and… and touch yourself?”
“Christ, yes. Yes, I do. You are all I think of, you fill my thoughts, always, every moment of the damn day. I shall run mad for wanting you, I love you beyond reason.”
Eliza gave a triumphant, breathless laugh and closed her eyes, her head tipping back as his fingers worked diligently beneath her skirts. Oh, God, she was so ready for more, so hot and wet and his body was crying out to give her what she needed, yet Nic just wanted to watch her, to watch her pleasure and take nothing for himself. Some distant part of his mind must not have been totally addled and still on alert, as he heard footsteps downstairs. He paused, listening, and pressed his mouth to Eliza’s to still the word of complaint he knew was coming.
“Hush, mon étoile,” he whispered. “Merde. Someone is coming.”
Aching with frustration and wild with annoyance, he rearranged her skirts and stood, moving away from her. He heard Miss Anson, her voice set to carry, bless her, or perhaps curse her. If she’d been less helpful, he’d not have taken advantage of the situation, and there was no denying that he had, blackguard that he was. There was nothing to be done now except spare Eliza’s blushes, so he moved well away and pretended to be studying something outside the window. He surreptitiously gave himself a hard pinch in a delicate place to calm himself down in the dim hopes of making his arousal less obvious than waving a damn flagpole in their faces. Muttering a curse, he blinked. His eyes watered and he breathed through the pain. At least it had cleared his head, though that meant he was horribly aware of every liberty he’d just taken.
“There, all done!” Miss Anson announced, waving the notebook with a cheery attitude, whilst casting curious glances between her friend and Nic. “Are you ready to go, my dear?”
Eliza swallowed, apparently finding some difficulty in answering, for which Nic could sympathise. There was nothing worse than balked lust for scattering your thoughts.
“I… yes, I… I think so,” she managed, sounding breathless still.
“My lady, this morning has been a deal too taxing for you,” Martha scolded. “And what did I say about sitting by the window? You ought not to have sat in that nasty draught for so long. I reckon you’ve caught a chill already, you’re all flushed.”
At this, Eliza’s colour deepened and Nic was certain he heard Miss Anson smother a giggle.
“I’m quite all right, Martha, don’t fret so,” Eliza said, getting to her feet and trying to fend off her maid who was trying to put her hand to her forehead to check her temperature.
“I think we’d best be on our way, Mr Demarteau,” Miss Anson said. “Eliza has probably has all the excitement she’s going to get for one day.”
Nic held his tongue, uncertain of what he might say if he spoke. He was irritated by the woman’s amusement, though she was clearly a friend who loved Eliza. Though that being the case, she ought to take more care of her, damn her, instead of leaving Eliza undefended with a wicked bastard like him. The desire to apologise for his behaviour was churning in his guts but he could hardly do that, he could hardly look at Eliza at all. His body ached for her, his heart too, though it was torn between wanting her and wanting to protect her from him and everything being with him would mean
.
Somehow, he bid them a polite goodbye, assuring them he would close up the building after they had gone, to give himself a moment alone to calm himself. Once he had seen the ladies to the carriage, he went back upstairs, remembering the window was still open. He’d just closed it when a terse cough made him turn around again. The maid, Martha, was glaring at him.
“I told my lady I had forgotten my gloves,” she said, taking them out of her reticule and pulling them on with sharp, angry movements. “But I wished to speak with you.”
Nic nodded, he might have expected as much, the woman was no fool, she knew what he was.
“I would never do or say aught to upset or embarrass my mistress, sir, but I know men, and I know that colour in her cheeks was from no draught. You took liberties.”
Nic opened his mouth, ready to give her a sharp set down for thinking such things of Eliza, although it was true.
“Don’t bother,” she said in disgust, making him feel like some depraved, crawling thing for having dared touch Eliza. “I don’t blame my lady. She’s been sheltered all her life. She’s sweet and loving and innocent and she don’t know what men are, but I do. You’re not good enough for her. You and I both know it. Her father’s a duke and you… you’ve not even got a name that’s your own.”
Despite his indignation at being spoken to so by a maid, Nic felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. All at once he was a young man again, facing his father for the first time and promising to find Louis César, to protect him and help him take his place in the world, a world Nic would never, could never belong in. That had always been made abundantly clear. Louis was the heir, and Nic was only good enough to act as his attendant, a lowly courtier. He’d been ready to do anything, promise anything, to see a glimmer of respect in his father’s eyes, though, that he might see something worthy there besides being an embarrassment.
“Is that all?” Nic asked, clinging to his dignity by a thread.
If only what she said hadn’t been true, perhaps he might have been able to retreat into anger, to make her stop bloody talking, for he did not want to hear this, even though he knew he must.
“No. It’s not all. You need to go away and stay gone. She’s infatuated with you and likely to do something foolish. I’ve got one hope, and one only, and it’s that you’re a decent man, despite what you’ve done today. Be honest, sir, what can you give her? I know you’ve got money, but money she don’t need. All you’ll do is lower her, make her an object of pity and ridicule. If you care for her at all, you’ll save her from such pain. She’s got ambition, my lady has. Did you know that? She always planned on marrying a duke, or as high as she could get, so she could use her power to change things for those who have nothing. This school… this ain’t no lady’s fancy to do good for five minutes and play at charity. It’s part of a plan, and it’s just the beginning. You’ll hold her back, you’ll ruin everything, and I won’t have it.”
Nic couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, and he wished the bloody woman would go away before he made a fool of himself. She was right, of course. It was nothing he hadn’t said himself, and he knew she had summed up the situation perfectly, summed him up perfectly. He must go, he must go and leave Eliza alone but… for a moment this afternoon he had allowed himself to believe, to hope….
Fool.
He should know by now where hopes and dreams got you. There were some things you could change through hard work, other’s by taking risks, breaking every rule there was and sheer bloody mindedness. This wasn’t one of them. He’d allowed himself to forget that fact for a moment, but Martha hadn’t.
“Will you go, Mr Demarteau, or do I need to speak to her father? I would prefer not to, for my lady won’t forgive me for it and I love her. Not to mention that I need my position, and she’s been through enough this past year. I can’t bear to see her come to further harm.”
Nic turned away from her, staring out of the window but not seeing anything except the future, which seemed suddenly bleak and empty.
“I’ll go.”
He heard a breath of relief, so heartfelt that he was glad, glad that Eliza had someone who would stand up for her, who would protect her, no matter the risk. For it had been a risk for the maid to confront him. If he told Eliza what she’d done, Eliza would be angry; she might even dismiss the woman for interfering. No, Martha was a good woman, who had Eliza’s best interests at heart, and that was a good thing. It was breaking his heart, but it was a good thing.
“Thank you, Mr Demarteau, and I am sorry. If things were different….”
If he was different.
Nic snorted, and she fell silent.
“Goodbye, then.”
He didn’t answer, there was no need to answer, he just waited, until her footsteps receded, until the sound of horses and carriage wheels faded to nothing, and Eliza had gone.
Chapter 10
Dearest Lottie,
Thank heavens for everything you told me, about love, about how it feels, about the madness that comes with it. I understand so much better now, both everything that you felt for Cassius, and why everyone could see we were such a bad match. Now I am swearing you to secrecy sister, though this won’t be such a dreadful surprise to you, I think.
I am in love with Mr Demarteau.
What began as desire and infatuation is now nothing less than love and admiration. I can think of nothing but him, of when I saw him last and what he said, how he looked, and when I might see him again. I long for him, ache for him until my skin feels bruised and I can hardly bear to sit still. The clock ticks the minutes past so slowly, counting the time before I might see him again. Today I do not even know when that might be and must contrive an excuse to put myself in his path, for he won’t come to me, this I know.
He is such a contradiction of a man, so big and confident and assured, and yet so very uncertain of his own worth. Lottie, he imagines himself beneath me, and I am afraid he will be too easily frightened off in the misguided belief he is saving me from myself and my own foolishness. I am not being foolish though. I know love is hard to find and sometimes shows itself where you least expect it. I know, too, that if you have it, you must hold on tight, and never, ever let it go.
―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Elizabeth Adolphus to her sister, Lady Charlotte Cadogan, Vicomtesse Oakley.
3rd April 1839, Hans Place, Knightsbridge.
“What the devil do you mean, you’re going back to France?”
Louis stared at his brother, shocked and bewildered. Nic sat in the armchair opposite him, staring at the fire, which hissed angrily as a raindrop found its way down the chimney. The rain pattered against the windows too, making Louis glad for the fire and their comfortable surroundings and remembering a time when they’d had nothing at all. Nic shrugged, a gesture that was no doubt supposed to appear nonchalant but did not fool Louis for a moment. His brother was tense, his shoulders stiff, and there was a look in his eyes Louis had not seen for a very long time, and which made him angry. Nic looked wretched. Defeated.
“Just that, Louis,” Nic said, no inflection behind the words, only fatigue. “I’m going home.”
Pain struck at Louis’s heart, but he took a breath, holding on to calm, attempting not to let emotion show in his voice and failing. “We make our own home. That’s what you’ve always told me. This is home because this is where we are, so you are, in fact, running away from home.”
Nic winced. “You’re a big boy now, Louis. You don’t need me. You haven’t needed me for a very long time, if you ever did.”
Something Louis had buried down deep squirmed in his chest and panic flickered to life. He tried to ignore it.
“I see. So you’ve done your job and now you can go. That’s it, is it?”
The words were too raw, too hurt and afraid, but it was what Louis had always feared. His brother had come for him, had rescued him from the hell hole into which he’d been cast. Nic had given him a home, family, a purpose, but Louis had always fea
red it was just because he had promised their father, not because Nic wanted to stay, not because Nic wanted a brother. No one would want a brother like Louis, after all.
Stop it. Stop it. That’s foolishness, he told himself. His rational self knew it was. Nic was his brother, he was loyal, and he loved Louis. This was not about him. This was about Eliza.
“Louis,” Nic said with a sigh. “Why will you never believe me? I have told you time and again, you were never just a job, never just a promise. You’re my brother, my blood, and you always will be. I just… I need to leave.”
“Why?” Louis demanded, forcing himself to remain calm with difficulty.
Something had happened. Nic was upset, he could see that. He needed help, he needed advice, not Louis clinging to him like some terrified child, afraid of being abandoned again. Nic was right, he was a grown man. It wasn’t his brother’s fault he felt adrift when Nic wasn’t around.
“What happened today? What happened with Eliza that’s sent you running for the hills?”
“Nothing,” Nic said, terse now, and so obviously lying Louis could have laughed.
“Nothing. I see. So you’re leaving me here alone for no reason?”
“Louis, you are not alone,” Nic protested. “Look at the bloody mantelpiece. You couldn’t cram another invitation on there if you tried. You’ve won. All you need do is marry a suitable bride and your situation is assured. You’ve got more friends than you could ever need.”
“They’re not my friends!” Louis shouted, springing to his feet.
Nic stared at him, obviously confused.
Louis gave a mirthless laugh and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “They’re not my friends, Nic. They like and admire the Comte de Villen, that charming façade which has about as much depth as a puddle. They don’t like me. They don’t know me, and with everyone else I can never be me again. Do you not see? You’re the only one who knows who I am and if you go I… I must keep playing the part, Nic. Forever and ever and….”
Dare to be Brazen (Daring Daughters Book 2) Page 12