Viscount Can Wait, The EPB

by Tremayne, Marie

  Disappearing beneath her skirts, his fingers slid between her parted thighs, causing her entire body to jump at the intimate contact.

  “I—oh . . .” she breathed faintly, suddenly short of breath.

  He began a leisurely and erotic exploration, his fingertips softly toying with her. Eliza wriggled and moaned, the tension building with each tiny circular motion of his fingers. Then he slid them even further to penetrate her. She felt her body eagerly tighten around them, kindling excitedly within seconds. It would not take much effort from him at all for her to find her release. She cried out and he slipped an arm around her waist to clutch her tighter.

  “God,” he rasped, a thin sheen of sweat already glistening on his brow. His restraint was dissolving before her very eyes, and the speed of his hand was hastening. “I want to hear it when you—”

  Eliza shook her head, sending golden strands of hair tickling her face as they fell from their pins. “No,” she managed to say through the waves of delirium-inducing sensation. Placing her hands on his chest to lever her body upwards, she forced herself away from his touch. “Not yet.”

  She knew how much more powerful it would feel if they were joined when the moment arrived, and she refused to be robbed of that perfect bliss. Not this time . . . not when the viscount was about to be hers at last. Impulsively, Eliza pulled away the sheet; the only barrier that remained between them.

  Rising up onto her knees, she ravished his mouth with a hungry kiss, and he seized her plump bottom lip between his teeth in response. An unbridled jolt of need coursed through her and she could feel herself melting in wicked anticipation.

  “Are you sure?”

  Oh, she was sure. Eliza had burned for him for years, the sensual cycle of desire and denial repeating itself on a merciless loop, and her patience was now at its end. With a lightly mocking glance, she lowered down to rest upon him—flesh against flesh, the slick heat of her softness gliding over the impossibly hard length of his swollen shaft.

  Evanston choked in surprise, his eyes half-closed in delight, and she tipped her hips back and forth, deliberate and slow, forcing herself to wait just a little longer before actually having him at last. Her fingers dug into his bare shoulders and with a little moan, she allowed their bodies to convey what their words no longer could . . . anxious to solve the sensual mystery that only their physical union could answer.

  “I need to be inside you.” Thomas leaned forward for another tantalizing taste of her breasts, then shuddered with a trembling breath. “I only wish I was recovered enough to do you honor, my love.”

  “Mmm,” she murmured with another tilt of her hips. “The doctor said you have the fortitude of an ox,” she replied with a lazy smile, her pleasure steadily building, her body making ever-increasing demands.

  “Is that all?” he asked, attempting nonchalance, causing her to laugh in the middle of their embrace.

  She wanted to admonish him for his audacity but found it difficult through her giggles. “Thomas, you are—”

  A sudden flex of his hips caused her to say his name for another reason entirely. The amusement faded from her lips and her breathing became heavy and labored, matching the shift in his own.

  “Can you tell me . . . is it true?”

  His question roused her from her trance, surprising her. She blinked foggily at him.

  “Is what true?” she asked.

  He rocked upward again and she sucked in her breath, enslaved by the way he was pressed so intimately against her sex. She had no idea how he expected her to answer his question or think at all when he insisted on doing that.

  “What you said about the others.”

  In a moment of clarity, she understood. He needed to hear it again after being hurt so many times before. Ignoring the insistent pulses of her body, she gripped his face in her hands to address him earnestly, the hint of fear in his eyes tugging sharply on her heart.

  “Everything was true, Thomas,” Eliza whispered. “All of it. They love you, and they want you to come home.” Her head fell forwards to rest against his. “I love you, and I want you to come home.”

  “Eliza,” he said huskily, his voice full of emotion. “How long I’ve waited to hear that.”

  Her need for him driving her now, she kissed him furiously while they both worked to tug her dress up over her head. It was not a feat that would have been typically achieved, had she not dressed herself so carelessly in such a simple gown. Without the rows of buttons normally dictated by fashion, the garment was soon hastily cast to the floor, followed by her chemise.

  She exhaled slowly, taking in the glorious sight of his body, ready for her. Eliza slid her hand up the thick length of him, loving the satiny-hard feel of his manhood against her palm. His breath caught and he leaned back further against the pillows, trembling as she touched him, shaking his head.

  “There are so many things I want to do. I’ve yearned for you . . . for so long.” He broke off into a hiss at the glide of her hand over his excited flesh.

  “And you will. Right now, though, you must preserve your strength.” She kissed him hotly then smiled. “Let me take you instead.”

  His brows raised a moment before she sank down onto him, no longer willing to wait, unleashing a desire that had long been refuted and fulfilling countless fantasies in the process. Thomas’s voice rang out, drowning the echo of her own moans as he entered and filled her, stretching her to capacity. She struggled to take him all in, wriggling to accommodate the snugness of their fit, but did not halt her descent until he was buried to the hilt, and there she had to pause. The satisfaction of having him inside her was already nearly enough to push her into climax.

  “Oh . . .” she keened softly, her thoughts whirling while she tried to suppress her body’s response. Eliza could sense his anxiety rising in the way his head rolled on his shoulders and his eyelids fluttered.

  “Please, don’t stop,” he managed.

  “But I need to wait a moment—”

  He cursed softly. She placed her hands against his chest and rocked against him experimentally. Ecstasy shot through her core and she froze once more.

  “Sweet Jesus, yes,” he ground out. “Eliza, keep going.”

  He seized her waist and brought her down to meet his swift upward thrust, and she knew that this would not take long for either of them. With her sounds of pleasure mirroring his own, she momentarily worried about his overexertion. But all rational thought was lost as her control dissolved, and Eliza rose up above him to fall down, her body eagerly crashing home on top of his.

  Again they met. And again, until gradually they found each other’s rhythm, desperately reaching towards the pinnacle that was promised. The drive of their hips became an instinctual tempo that they couldn’t help but follow, and Eliza could feel the dizzying pressure mounting. Although she would have loved to prolong their union, she simply didn’t have the self-control required to wait. It felt as if they’d already waited forever for one another. They would have a lifetime to take it slowly.

  Their fervor grew, their pace increasing, and before long they were careening off the precipice together, lost in the throes of their union. An incendiary heat flowed through her body as his fingers dug into her hips and he shoved upwards in a last hard thrust, a rough cry erupting from his lips. Her body came alight with blazing sensation and she threw her head back with a gasp, catapulted into the heavens and taking Thomas along with her, each equally senseless until they both found themselves shaky and trembling, lying exhausted beside each other.

  Slowly, Eliza regained awareness, tiny shivers of pleasure still racing through her sated limbs, and she rose to meet his heavy-lidded gaze. Smiling, she claimed him for another kiss, then collapsed next to his good side while being mindful of his injury. They lay there together, enjoying the minutes comfortably with one another, both working to catch their breath. Finally, she gazed at him in admiring amusement.

  “You did quite well for being infirm, my lord, alt
hough I was not able to make you beg as I would have liked.”

  He shook his head, breathing still slightly ragged with the recent expenditure of effort. “I will remind you that I’ve nearly been begging for months,” he said mischievously. One of his arms wrapped around her to pull her close, and he pressed his face into her hair to inhale deeply. “More than once, I had to convince myself that you were truly there and that I had not fallen prey to another torturous, although quite welcome, fever-induced hallucination.”

  She buried her face against his shoulder in silence, happier than she’d felt in many years. They would marry soon, and she would become his wife. The only thought that brought her more peace was the fact that he would also take on the role of a much-needed and much-loved father to Rosa. Relief flooded through her at having made her choice at last, and what was more, having made the right choice.

  Gradually, his breathing eased, hitching slightly when she felt him twist around to survey the bedside table. A slight grunt of pain was his only indication of his healing wound and the fact that it still bothered him, which was miraculous given his condition just a week before.

  Eliza pushed herself upward to view him with concern.

  “I’ve aggravated your injury,” she said guiltily. “Do you need more medicine?”

  He twitched his head. “No. I only just saw that envelope on the table.”

  “Oh yes.” Eliza retrieved the sheet from the foot of the bed to wrap it around them modestly, then reached over to pick the missive off the table and hand it to Thomas. She curled up next to him again, savoring the warmth of his body next to hers, the irresistible tickle of his chest hair against the sensitive tips of her breasts. “I’d totally forgotten. It’s from William.”

  Evanston’s eyes widened but he accepted the parchment, broke the wax seal with his fingers and unfolded the letter. A scrap of paper fluttered down onto the sheets beside him, but for the moment, he paid it no mind, his eyes busily scanning the scrawled passages. Eliza watched him mutely until her curiosity won.

  “What does he say?” she asked.

  Thomas’s eyes were shining, as if he were battling off some kind of strong emotion. He cleared his throat and glanced sideways at her.

  “He says, and I’m quoting him, that ‘even the high and mighty Earl of Ashworth has been known to be an ass from time to time.’”

  A laugh bubbled up from her lips. “Well, surely that was common knowledge to some of us,” she said, giggling. “What else does William say?”

  Evanston swallowed hard before speaking. “He told me he hopes that I will consider your offer of marriage, as it would serve to officially make us brothers. He also says he can think of no better man for both you and Rosa.”

  His eyes returned to the page then dropped down to the sheets, his hand searching until it closed around the piece of paper that had fallen. “There is a postscript, as well, where he again requests my cooperation, ‘for any woman who carries your calling card in her reticule, is nothing short of completely besotted.’”

  Thomas glanced down at the small card with a grin, then flipped it around in his fingers so she could see it for herself, the name imprinted in black ink, the top left corner folded over.

  Viscount Evanston

  Eliza’s mouth fell open, her cheeks turning pink.

  “What? I, but no, that couldn’t be—”

  His eyes gleamed wickedly. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been caught carrying my card, dear lady.”

  Hadn’t she cast that thing into the fire? No, she realized with a warm rush of embarrassment, she had returned it safely into her purse, like some selfish magpie who refused to relinquish its treasure.

  Eliza thought back to her last encounter with William, in the study at Lawton Park. She’d been crying, had rummaged through her reticule for a handkerchief, and then . . .

  She gazed up in panic to meet his eyes. Thomas burst out laughing, pausing to wince slightly at the ensuing pain.

  “Fine,” she conceded in irritation. “Yes, I carried it with me, all through London and back to Kent. And do you know what?” Eliza pushed up on her knees to pluck the white card from between Evanston’s fingers. “I want it back.”

  Eliza tried to roll off the bed but Thomas was surprisingly quick, grasping her around the waist to jerk her back against him. She shrieked in outrage but ceased struggling at the strong feel of his arms around her and the slide of his naked skin against her own. His mouth drifted hotly against her ear, making her squirm.

  “Keep the damn card, if you like,” he whispered huskily, “but I can’t let you leave until I’ve been able to reward you for such loyalty.”

  And given the limitations of his injured state, he did everything he could to show her how very grateful he could be.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Evanston’s carriage wheeled up the drive of Hawthorne Manor, his country estate. Burton could be seen standing proudly upon the top stair. Once they had stopped completely, footmen would jump into action, unloading trunks and conveying their belongings inside for unpacking. Another glossy black carriage sharing the Evanston family seal was conspicuously parked to one side, the coachman tending to the horses as they whickered restlessly. Thomas’s eyes widened at the sight, then hung his head and sighed.

  “My mother, unannounced, as ever. I suppose I must subject myself to her presence now that I have healed.” His eyes shifted to Eliza accusingly. “Unless you knew about this already?”

  She laughed and raised her hands in capitulation. “My only crime was updating the viscountess on your progress, and perhaps . . . er . . . providing her with the date of our return to Kent.”

  He stared at her mutely, then addressed her in a low voice.

  “You did what?”

  As the vehicle bounced to a halt, she clasped his fingers gently between her own.

  “Forgive me, darling. I felt that even your mother, such as she is, deserved to know the welfare of her only child. Surely you would not deny her the chance to see your recovered state for herself.” Eliza raised his hand to her lips, then lowered it to gaze at him fondly. “And in my defense, I received no reply, so could not readily anticipate her being here today. Not for certain.”

  Evanston stared at her, still annoyed, but relaxing a bit. “You, of all people, should know what that woman is capable of.” He slumped backwards against the cushions of the vehicle’s interior. “I’d willingly slide back into unconsciousness to avoid her company.”

  She tsked chidingly and leaned in to kiss the corner of his downturned mouth. “Come now, Thomas. That isn’t being very charitable. While it’s true she’s said some awful things in the past—”

  “I can’t remember a time when she’s said something nice,” he muttered under his breath.

  “—I feel that if she is willing to finally show some concern for your well-being, that perhaps you could let her try?”

  Her brilliant green eyes held his gaze in steady contemplation, and while he knew she was trying to convince him of the validity of her point, he could see empathy there too. Eliza sighed softly. “Although, if you truly wish her to leave, I do understand. Since I informed her of our imminent arrival, I will go speak with her myself and ask her to depart.”

  She had provided him with a means of avoiding his mother, but if it would make Eliza happy for him to walk in there and speak to the woman, then, by God, he would make an attempt. Besides, no one said the conversation had to be lengthy.

  With a grunt of assent, he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “You may owe me for this later.” Her complexion glowed at his words. Clearly it was a price she was willing to pay.

  He descended off the metal steps and Thomas handed her safely down off the carriage.

  “Burton,” called Eliza. “Please have tea brought to the drawing room.”

  The butler, who clearly held her in high regard, snapped into action with a nod of assent. “Yes, my lady,” he replied smartly. “And might I just a
dd, my lord,” he said meeting the viscount’s eyes, “it is so good to have you both at home.” He smiled surreptitiously at Eliza before disappearing into the house.

  Thomas gave Eliza an amused look. “It appears you’ve already gained the admiration of my staff,” he teased.

  Before she could reply, the soft beat of footsteps caused the pair to turn. Lady Evanston had emerged from inside Hawthorne Manor and stood now upon the front stairs, her demeanor hesitant and unsure for perhaps the first time in her life. Rather than the harsh black mourning dress she had insisted on wearing in the time since his father’s death, she had tempered her choice of clothing, wearing the rich purples and violets of half-mourning instead. Her hat was a rather understated affair in muted gray, not the sharp black feathered things that normally protruded from her head. He felt his brows lift in amazement.

  “Hello, Mother,” he said slowly.

  Eliza stood silently beside him, her hand wrapping securely around his own. She nodded at the woman and dipped into a curtsy.

  “My lady.”

  Lady Evanston’s black gaze flitted between the two of them, finally coming to rest on her son. The corner of her thin lips twitched in what could have resembled a smile.

  “Greetings. Thomas, you must be much improved,” she stated, her eyes scanning over him to appraise his condition. “Lady Eliza informed me of the dire nature of your injury, but I am still uncertain how you came to acquire it in the first place.”

  Christ. Here we go . . .

  He would not coat the truth with sugar merely to appease his judgmental mother, but still did not happily anticipate her reaction. A light squeeze of Eliza’s fingers gave him the extra motivation he required.

  Evanston cleared his throat. “You will appreciate the irony, I am sure, of my former mistress hiring a thug to attack me. It seemed my love for Eliza brought out her more sinister side.”

  His mother’s eyelids lowered to skewer him with a hooded stare. “Tarrying with the wrong sort of woman? Perhaps it served you right.” He then registered her gaze flicking over to Eliza, who was likely directing her own glare at the viscountess. A slight mien of remorse passed over her face and the older woman’s lips twisted in censure. “What I mean to say is, I’m glad you’re all right.” She tipped her nose slightly higher in the air. “Am I to understand this criminal was never apprehended?”