Silk and Scandal

by Carlysle, Regina

  Appearing thoughtful, Nicholas stood and moved to the foot of the big bed. He gripped an end post on the four-poster bed then looked at her. “Do not believe anything the man has to say. He bears me a grudge and would do anything to cause me trouble. This time he succeeded. Eliza, last night’s events were so heinous and potentially life-threatening that I am afraid you have squandered your last chance at a life of spinsterhood.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why, my dear, it is quite plain. You are a very foolish woman. It is time I saved you from yourself.” He lifted a brow as a slight smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Your parents are, at present, installing themselves in my home. They are, to say the least, furious with you. Your father is quite prepared to wash his hands of you, thus placing you in my own quite capable care. To make the matter plain, Eliza, we shall marry one week hence. Prepare yourself and heal quickly. My patience, already quite thin, has disappeared entirely.”

  Once again he moved to the side of the bed where he bent to place a noisy kiss upon her lips. Then, as if quite pleased with himself, he went to the bedroom door and stopped to give her a raking glance, full of sexual promise.

  “Feel better, love, as you have a wedding night coming soon. Believe me, I am counting the moments.”

  * * * * * * * *

  Three days later, a much-improved Eliza was summoned downstairs to face the wrath of her parents. She’d been spared talking with them or Nicholas over the course of recuperating from the simple flesh wound on her left side.

  They must be furious with her, but somehow their absence from her bedside served to make her even more nervous and self-conscious. And, oh yes, she knew what was coming. They would force her to wed Nicholas, the handsome beast who haunted her dreams. Bloody hell! She wasn’t ready for marriage to any man, much less a dominant creature such as Nicholas Delaford.

  Already her possessions had been moved into the Berkely Square home. Throughout the day, Pandora, her only companion, busily loaded her clothing into a wardrobe in the adjoining chambers. Drawers of stockings, undergarments, and other apparel were filled to overflowing, telling Eliza that chances of her returning to the Grayson townhouse were minimal at best.

  After the summons at mid-morning, Pandora helped her don a lavender morning gown sprigged with tiny white daisies but even the pretty gown did not allay her fears or improve her mood. Fear gripped her. Sighing as she studied her maid’s handiwork in the cheval mirror, she drew in a fortifying breath as she prepared to face the consequences of her actions.

  All hopes of summoning a modicum of pity for her plight evaporated when she opened the door of his study and entered into oppressive air of hostility that greeted her. Immediately, she saw Nicholas sitting behind his massive desk. Not even a modicum of kindness was to be found on his features. He sat in a big chair with his elbows propped upon the desk and that compelling gray gaze examined her from top to toe as if in appraisal of her worth. He looked every bit like a stern headmaster at some exclusive boy’s school. Harsh and unbending.

  Millicent sat with red-rimmed, swollen eyes in a chair near open French doors and gazed distractedly at the garden. Eliza’s father glowered from his standing position near the fireplace mantel.

  “You were summoned fifteen minutes ago,” her normally kind father snapped. “You are late.”

  “I am sorry, Papa. May I sit?”

  “No, you may not, young woman. You will stand and take what is due you after the shame you have brought on this family.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but caught a look from Nicholas and thought better of it. Snapping her mouth shut, she found a spot on the intricately detailed carpet and fixed her eyes there.

  Lord Henry moved to the center of the room and stood over her. “Do you realize what you have done with your antics? You silly little chit! Do you know what losing you would have done to your mother and me? Or do you care?”

  “I—”

  “Shut your mouth. I won’t stand for excuses and I will never understand why you felt it necessary to seek revenge for every woman in London who found herself impregnated by a Lord of the Realm.”

  “But they—”

  “Need you. I know you believe that. Have you forgotten the vast wealth at your disposal, and have I ever prevented you from using it as you choose? No. Never. You could have simply aided these strangers financially, but that was not enough. Was it?” When she remained mute, Lord Henry shouted, “Was it?”

  “No,” she mumbled, her face hot with shame.

  “Of course not,” he continued while Millicent sniffed into her handkerchief. “No, my sweet daughter chooses to vent her grief by attacking men of the Ton and stealing a mere pittance just to harass and harangue.”

  “I just wanted to avenge Lottie, Papa! I owed it to her for pushing her toward Edward. It was my entire fault that she married the man in the first place.” Tears fell freely from her eyes as she grabbed her father’s lapels and drew him toward her.

  Millicent wept on. Eliza looked Nicholas’ way to see he’d gone still, alert, pity swam in his eyes. Releasing her father’s lapel, she attempted to still the shaking of her hands by clenching them into fists. “Forgive me,” she whispered finally. “Charlotte would never have failed you as I have done. My anger has been so awful and potentially hurtful to both you and Mama.”

  The rage on Lord Henry’s face dissolved into abject misery as he tugged his daughter into the shelter of his arms. As she wept freely, he buried his face into her hair. “Sweet moppet, do not cry. Thanks to Nicholas, disaster has been averted, and it seems we will not lose you. You could have died in the dirty street. You could have been taken by authorities and hanged for a thief. My dearest girl, how frightened we have been.”

  Her father went to Millicent and bending to her, began to stroke her shoulders as she cried.

  Woefully, Eliza watched, moved by their affection, until she became aware that Nicholas now stood behind his desk.

  “Very well,” he said gravely. “You are contrite, Eliza, for the moment. But you will soon learn that I am not as forgiving as your father. Hear me well, my dear, for I will not say this again. You must be contained and controlled by a strong man and that man, despite your protests, is I. By your actions, you have lost any and all hope of living independently.”

  “You mean to punish me, do you not?” She despised the crack in her voice. Gazes locked and a shiver took her at the subtle menace he exuded. His eyes carried the promise that once she was his, her life would never be the same.

  “Naturally. I am actually quite surprised that you would doubt it.” He stepped from behind his desk to move close. “I took you for a more intelligent female. Surely you’ve guessed your punishment by now.” Despite their audience, he drew her possessively against his body. He laughed. It was a thoroughly wicked sound, a seductive sound. It was the sound of victory. Finally, he looked at her, letting her absorb the sudden silence in the room. “Prepare yourself, my darling. Tomorrow we wed and we shall be together for all eternity. Like it or not.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Calling upon every reserve of patience he possessed, Nicholas barely restrained himself from taking the stairs two at a time. Eagerness for Eliza swam giddily through his senses and even the two snifters of brandy he’d consumed failed to quench his burgeoning need. It was his wedding night and upstairs his new wife awaited his attentions.

  The wedding had been a small affair with only Eliza’s parents, Pandora, An Li, and his man, Rawlins, in attendance. Every florist in town capitulated to his wishes and quickly transformed his mansion into an elegant bridal bower. Flowers draped every cornice, filled every corner and every vase. Their marriage might be hasty but Nicholas was determined that it be elegant enough to please his bride.

  Violinists from the London Orchestra established themselves behind a discreet alcove and, considering the hefty coin spent, gladly gave up their day of rest to accommodate him.

  After an elegant
wedding supper, prepared by his own French chef, Eliza’s parents returned home, leaving the newly married couple alone. Waiting to retire to his chamber was one of the hardest things Nicholas had ever done.

  Eliza had been a vision.

  Dressed in her mother’s bridal gown, she had looked both poised and innocent. It was a strange dichotomy to be sure. The hand-tatted, Brussels lace gown had, over time, faded to a soft yellow, setting off her vibrant hair. She carried a small, trailing bouquet of yellow roses, gardenias, and stephanotis.

  While they stood before the minister, and she quietly repeated her vows, Nicholas caught the hesitation, the reserve in her voice and worried about the approaching wedding night. That she was against marrying was no secret, yet he prayed she would overcome her fears and come to accept him.

  Thinking to humor her, he’d spent the past hour sipping brandy and musing on their wild and interesting courtship. She needed time to prepare and, despite the clawing need within him, he would give it to her.

  Forcing himself to calmness he didn’t feel, he took his time, reaching the top of the stairs just as Pandora prepared to enter his room. She carried in her arms a stack of freshly laundered towels.

  When he stepped from the shadows into the light of a shell-shaped wall sconce, she gasped and clutched the towels to her chest. “Oh, Your Grace, you gave me a start.”

  He smiled. “I am sorry.” He glanced at the closed bedroom door with a frown. “I thought Eliza might be ready by now.”

  Pandora grinned and unconsciously lifted one hand to straighten her mobcap, which had gone askew. “Lady Eliza, oh, pardon me, I mean Her Grace was a wee bit nervous so I suggested a soak.”

  “She’s in the bath?” The images evoked delighted him, made him want to drool like a slavering dog. His palms itched to touch wet-dappled skin, smell lavender soap on a naked female body. Eliza’s naked, female body.

  He couldn’t help himself; he had to ask, “What does she think of it?”

  “The bathing room? Ooh, Your Grace, she thinks it heavenly.” Pandora rolled her eyes. “Never in all my days have I seen such a thing! All those blue tiles and the sunken tub with running water. And those faucets! The brass ones shaped like dolphins! They are from another world, they are.”

  “I am glad you like it. I had it built just after my father died. Having seen something like it in the Orient, I knew I must have that luxury for myself.” Nicholas had spared no expense. Mermaids inlaid with gold filigree chased randomly across a background of cobalt blue tiles. Large ledges surrounded the sunken tub and held gold soap dishes and trays of candles. When lit, they gave an eerie, yet erotic, glow to the room.

  It was a room for seduction.

  Though he had never shared this particular bath with a woman, he found he wanted to share it with Eliza.

  “Here, allow me.” He reached for the stack of towels.

  Pandora drew away, eyes wide. “Please, Your Grace. She is very nervous. That is why I suggested a soak to begin with. If she sees you, she will faint dead away.”

  Nicholas lifted a mocking brow. “Faint? Eliza is not a woman to faint easily, and well you know it. Now she might throw something at me, but I doubt she will drop away in my arms from shock.”

  “She is a tough little bird, is she not?” Pandora grinned suddenly and thrust the towels into his arms. “Do your worst, sir. Best she get it over with, I say.”

  “I quite agree,” he solemnly added as his lips twitched with wry humor. “We shall call tomorrow when your services are needed. It will, no doubt, be quite late. Understood?”

  Pandora grinned widely and practically danced away. “Understood. ’Til the morrow then.”

  Nicholas sucked in a deep breath and entered the bedroom. Gazing around in satisfaction, he saw that everything was as he’d ordered. A low fire gave color to the dark room, along with a lit brace of candles sitting atop a table. Beside the candles sat a vase of wild roses that exactly matched the color of Eliza’s wedding dress.

  That same dress hung across the wardrobe door, prompting a swift smile. The wedding bouquet he’d ordered graced the seat of a chair, streamers of ivory ribbon falling delicately to the floor. Already the room smelled of Eliza, elegantly floral with a touch of exotic spice.

  The bathing room was connected to the master suite by a door. The duchess’ chamber was located on the opposite side of his room. In the scheme of things, it hardly mattered since Eliza would never occupy it. Perhaps when their babe was born, the room would become a nursery. He had always believed parents should tend their children rather than leave the task to nannies and governesses. A warm glow of anticipation seeped through his consciousness. A few short months ago, he would never have imagined the thoughts he now fostered.

  Eyeing the closed door of the bathing room, he recalled the days when his mother had slept in the duchess’ chamber beyond. As a small boy, he often escaped the nursery to snuggle against her through the night. It was a lovely room with sweet memories attached to it, but it would remain empty until his son was born. He planned to keep his bride close at hand and in his own bed every night.

  A softening occurred in the vicinity of his heart, but when a faint splash reached his ears, his mind returned abruptly to more carnal matters. His body clenched in anticipation.

  Taking advantage of the time, he shucked out of his jacket and shoes and removed his starched, white cravat. After removing the diamond buttons from his shirt, he tossed the garment to the floor. Wearing only his trousers, he again took up the stack of towels.

  Quietly, he opened the door. Shimmering images danced upon the walls, images produced by candlelight upon water. Transfixed, he silently moved into the scented atmosphere and watched Eliza as she attended her bath. Remaining still at that moment was the hardest thing he had ever done. Spying a low stool in a darkened corner, he dropped on to it, prepared to enjoy the dazzling view.

  Unaware of his presence, Eliza sank deeper into the water only to rise moments later, water glistening on pale skin. Rivulets trailed down her long, slender neck and past her shoulders. His vision hampered, he could only imagine the drops delving coyly into the valley between her lush breasts, clinging gently to pale, tender skin.

  He felt the steam in the room blend with the sudden heat of his body and wished his remaining garment to disappear. He would not remove the trousers, however, not yet. For all her bravado, Eliza was an innocent, and he found he hadn’t the heart to further terrorize her.

  As if she’d heard his thoughts, she spoke, obviously thinking Pandora had reentered the bath. “Tell me again not to be afraid, Pandora. Mother says nerves on one’s wedding night are normal but still... I do so hate being ignorant, especially with Nicholas. How he would love to laugh at my uncertainty. The beast.”

  Nicholas wanted to laugh, but held his tongue as a length of her upswept hair tumbled to a damp shoulder where it clung like lake moss to a stone. With impatient fingers, she lifted her arms to tuck the errant strand back into place.

  He held his breath as he saw a tantalizing glimpse of her breast, heavy and wet, lift with the movement. He stifled a groan of sheer frustration.

  Blessedly ignorant, she reached for a soap-laden sponge and casually lifted one long, shapely limb from the scented water. “What shall he do to me tonight, I wonder? No, don’t answer. I already know what Nicholas will do. What, you ask? He shall do whatever he wants, as always. My new husband will run over me as if I were an urchin in the streets and I, like that urchin, will beg. Beg, beg, beg like a bloody fool!”

  “Ah, but I love to hear a beautiful woman beg,” Nicholas said from the shadows.

  Drat! Damn and blast, the man!

  Water splashed as Eliza squealed and flailed her arms. Turning in the wide, chest-high bath, she stared aghast at Nicholas. As she folded her hands protectively across her breasts, she yelled, “How dare you!”

  Her husband was a cad! Look at him! Smug and grinning like an ape!

  “Have you forgotten our
vows so soon, love?” he asked. “And lest you forget, I dare much.”

  “How could I forget the worst day of my life?” she countered, uncomfortably aware of his lazy, masculine sprawl. Despite the fact he was a sneaky, intrusive lout, it was impossible to remain immune to the sensual picture he made. Bare-chested, his body corrugated with ropy muscle, her husband was the very ideal of male beauty. His thick hair, loose and blacker than sin, made her fingers itch to stroke it.

  He stood graceful, yet predatory, and she silently cursed him. Without a qualm, he moved closer. Looming over her, he held a heavy towel in one fist and propped the other upon his hip.

  “What an awful thing to say to your trembling bridegroom.”

  “You, sir, have never trembled a day in your wretched life. Please, leave.”

  “Come,” he said softly. “Let me dry you. I realize you wish to prolong the inevitable, but you shall prune like an old woman if you linger.”

  Sudden humiliation shook Eliza to the core. Already she was frightened beyond endurance. Did he have to loom there like some kind of apparition? Well, he was a gorgeous apparition, but still! Surely he could give her a moment? Looking into his eyes, she knew her time was up.

  Despite their bantering words, she wanted to die. Being caught en déshabillé was not something to which she was accustomed. Unexpectedly, the stress of the day and her terror of what the night would bring struck with brutal force.

  “Please, Nicholas.” Her voice cracked pitifully. “Must you shame me this way?”

  His hard features softened. “Ah, love, why do you insist on thinking me a cad?” He moved closer and, holding her gaze, smiled tenderly. “I see nothing but rare beauty before me. Your beauty. The sight of you renders me speechless, but fills me with pride that you are, at last, mine. Come, darling. Let me take care of you.”

  Terror weakened her limbs as she mutely looked down. Ashamed. Yes, she was humiliated to be naked and afraid before him. Where had her bravado gone?