The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  But Nigel? Not Nigel. He was different. Safer. He was a man who could steal away her heart.

  She didn’t think her heart could survive if he were to physically harm her.

  But, considering the damning circumstances, why shouldn’t he?

  “I will need my gloves back, my lady.” Mr. Waver didn’t wait for her to offer them. He snatched the warm fur-lined leather gloves from her hands himself.

  The voices were loud, nearly at the door.

  “If Edgeware finds me out here, he might believe me guilty of conspiring against him,” she said in a panic.

  How could Mr. Waver escape Nigel’s wrath? How could she?

  “Ah…that might be true.” His eyes were alight with new danger. “But you, Lady Edgeware, must be my diversion.” He pushed her into the raging storm. At least he had let her keep his oilskin cape. “Do not worry overmuch, my lady. He does love you.”

  She stumbled across the clearing toward the search party with nothing more than Mr. Waver’s assurances that Nigel loved her ringing in her head. The sharp pelting rain helped clear the last bits of fogginess from her head.

  “Over here, m’lord!” she heard someone shout.

  Nigel appeared at the head of the crowd of footmen like a forlorn figure in one of Dionysus’s paintings. His dark features were as hard as solid stone.

  She froze. How would he choose to punish her for her unexpected appearance in the middle of this crime? Would he beat her, not letting up with his fists until she lacked the strength to move or even cry? Would he lock her in the cellar with the rats and leave her to starve until one of the servants in the manor grew weary of listening to her cries for help? She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the pressure of her heart pounding painfully against her chest as she stumbled toward him.

  What would he do to her?

  Nothing.

  Mr. Waver was right. Her gaze met Nigel’s and her worries vanished. She suddenly realized she wasn’t afraid of Nigel. Instead, she was afraid for him and for their future. What he thought of her mattered. She couldn’t figure out when it had happened, but his trust in her mattered enough for her to want to fight for it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Just as Charlie had predicted, Nigel found Elsbeth standing in the middle of this tempest.

  She stumbled as she plodded a path toward him through the violent weather. The cape she wore whipped about her slender body, tossed by the wind. Her soaked nightclothes clung to her body shamelessly. Her golden hair was wet and tangled.

  His chest clenched. She looked like a besieged princess fleeing her captors and returning to a country now laying in ruin.

  Hell, her feet were bare.

  This wasn’t a woman who had willingly wandered out into a storm.

  He ran forward and clasped her against his chest, protecting her from the driving rain by enfolding her into his voluminous cloak.

  “You silly, silly dove,” he said, very aware his lips were a mere whisper from hers. Her orange blossom scent made him long to taste her. “When will you learn there is nothing but mischief to be found in the rainy weather?”

  Elsbeth sneezed. It was a dainty sound that made him smile and worry at the same time. “I was stuck in the rain when I first met you,” she said gravely. “I suppose I should be more careful. Look how much of a muddle you’ve made of my life.”

  A smile curled her brave lips. Giving into desire, he brushed his lips across hers.

  Deuce it. She was as cold as death. He swept her into his arms. “Keep searching for another hour,” he called to the army of footmen he’d assembled.

  Both Nigel and Elsbeth were soaked to the bone by the time he reached the front stoop. He kissed her forehead while struggling with the door handle. “Don’t worry. I’ll find some place dry and warm for you, my lady wife,” he said as he stepped inside.

  He marched through the darkened house, up the grand stairs, down the hall, past her room, and kicked open the door to the master bedchamber. A healthy fire burned behind the grate of the fireplace, filling the room with healing warmth.

  “M-my lord,” she stammered after he returned her to her feet. She hugged the dripping oilskin cape close to her body. “Perhaps I should return to my chamber.”

  “We are both soaked and cold. There is no need to disturb the entire household. We can dry each other.” He didn’t need to glance in Elsbeth’s direction to know she shuddered. “And then you can tell me how you found yourself to be out in that deadly weather.”

  After a search of his wardrobe, he found the shelves where his valet stored his heavy dressing gowns and a stash of towels. He grabbed up a fistful of towels and two gowns and tossed them onto the bed.

  He then reached for Elsbeth.

  She squealed and jumped away, tripping over the hem of her cape, a cape much too long to be her own.

  Nigel didn’t have time to wonder about that now. If he didn’t want to lose Elsbeth to illness from the wet and cold, he’d have to get her out of those soaked garments.

  “I am healthy as a stoat. I assure you, my lord.” She dashed across the room. “I have no need of your assistance.”

  Foolish woman, she would hasten her own death if she continued to fight him. “Like it or not, I am your husband. I feel a definite responsibility after your health.” He picked up a towel and crossed the room with a purposeful stride. “Tell me, Elsbeth. How did you come to be outside in the middle of this storm?”

  She crossed her arms across her chest. “I-I woke up outside, my lord.” Her gaze narrowed and she appeared to fight off a moment of confusion. “After you drugged me.”

  “Drugged you?” He took her arms and peeled them away from her chest. “Why in blazes would I wish to drug you?” The cloak fell easily to the floor.

  “Charlie made you believe I was plotting against you with Dionysus.”

  “So you believed I drugged you in retaliation?”

  Her pink tongue ran lightly over her lips as she nodded with uncertainty.

  “I did not drug you.” He kissed her nose, wanting instead to cover her lips with his. “And I don’t believe you are conspiring with Dionysus against me. But if you feel you must, you can be sure I will not harm you for it.”

  Her thin nightrail was indeed soaked through and through. The fabric clung to her taunt, rosy nipples and puddled between her long, creamy legs. He drew a ragged breath. And was suddenly as hard as the stones of Purbeck Cliff.

  “Wife.” His voice was strained. “We must get you out of these sodden clothes.” The thought of peeling her ruined nightgown from her creamy body threatened his ironclad control. Yet the alternative, turning his back and giving her privacy, would surely put him in his grave.

  “Close your eyes. I don’t wish to embarrass you, but I do need to remove your nightrail.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “No. No. No. I can take care of myself, Edgeware.” The fear that had flared in her eyes melted away as she ran her hand down his chest. Her fingers trailed a path from his shoulder blade to the flat of his belly. She tilted her head and moved closer to him. She reminded him of a curious kitten straying too close to the hounds.

  “So, I am Edgeware again?” He lightly touched her cheek. Lord, if she kept looking at him that way, he would soon be doing much more than simply caressing her.

  She batted his hands away, but with less vigor than before. “I am not injured. I assure you.”

  “That is not why I wish to remove your clothes.” He dipped his head and traced the contour of her lips with his tongue. She trembled, yet her eyes slipped closed, just as he had asked.

  Heartened, he grew bolder and teased her lips apart and eased his tongue deep inside her welcoming mouth.

  * * * *

  Nigel’s scorching kiss chased away the death-knelling chill that had settled in Elsbeth’s bones. Like the other night in his study, this welling of need completely wiped away her caution. His gentle hands slowly moved over her body as he lifted her nightrail over her head. N
ot long after, a warm soft towel touched her damp skin.

  She opened her eyes and peered curiously at him, trying to guess his thoughts.

  “There is a bed nearby this time, love,” he said. His cheeks were warmed by his rakish smile. And all of the sudden she didn’t care that he was looking at her…all of her. Not while the soft towel and his warm hands stroked her body.

  Hmmm…she sighed and peeled open his soaked shirt, rediscovering his rippling muscles.

  Who was this man? Why did the soft glow in his eyes remind her of Dionysus’s lonely landscapes? How could he touch her heart so easily even while she fought to protect it?

  With the towel he teased her nipples until they were taut and tingling. The sensation snaked down to her belly and lower. This time when he put his lips to hers, she parted her mouth at his touch.

  He stroked her body all the way down to the damp curls between her legs. His touch awakened her body until a tingling, sinfully erotic warmth radiated out from that delicate place between her legs, spreading throughout her body. Like a fresh new day, she was gradually coming alive. Finally, she was taking her first slow breaths of life.

  He swept her into his arms. With great care he lowered her onto the bed’s exotic indigo blue counterpane. She snuggled into its warmth. His spicy, erotic scent lingered on the soft fabric. She wrapped it around her while she watched him peel his wet shirt off over his head. He tugged on one of his drenched leather boots. It refused to budge. With a growl he left them on and crawled onto the bed with her. He didn’t seem to care that his boots were muddy and his fawn colored trousers were dripping. She helped him pull off his boots. He tossed them to the floor. Their gazes both followed up trousers to the straining buttoned flap at the front. Embarrassed, she quickly turned her head away.

  She gasped when he touched her bare thigh and tugged her toward him. His skin felt damp and cool against her warm body. The contrast made her want him to rub his chilled, rain soaked body over hers. As if reading her mind, he kissed a path up her leg. She parted her legs as his caressing kisses moved closer to the heat between her thighs, a heat that was still throbbing from his deep strokes.

  Their eyes met. His were hazy and filled with warmth. Biting his bottom lip he smiled at her. His gaze, deep and hot, raked her body over and over. “You are beautiful, Elsbeth. You’re a dream come to life, a miracle of art. Everything I have ever desired.”

  He dipped his head between her legs and touched his lips to her sensitive flesh. Elsbeth gasped with surprise and tried to pull away. “This is very embarrassing,” she whispered as she buried her face into a pillow.

  His tongue answered her, teasing her, creating a moist heat that bloomed and traveled up her body until even the tips of her fingers shivered with excitement. Her embarrassment, quickly forgotten, was replaced with a growing urge she couldn’t quite name. She was dying, and he was pulling her apart. Ah, such a way to die. Wondrous sensations flooded her till she could no longer think. She could no longer do anything other than squirm against the building pressure between her legs.

  She arched her back and pressed her lips together to keep from crying out. His mouth was on her nether lips, deeply kissing her, suckling her until she did cry out her pleasure. He seemed pleased by her response and rewarded her by easing his hot tongue inside of her. His fingers dug into her hips. She laced hers through his hair. He pulsed his tongue in and out, mimicking the movements of lovemaking until her body felt like it was about to come apart. Her hips came off the bed as her tender flesh tightened and then throbbed, spreading throughout her body until she was nothing more than a puddle of tingling delight.

  * * * *

  Nigel kissed the soft inside of her thigh, setting off a fresh tremor of pleasure. Elsbeth couldn’t seem to catch her breath, but it didn’t matter. She smiled and squirmed within the soft cocoon of the bed’s counterpane as he made his way up her body, peeling away the heavy bedcovering inch by lovely inch while kissing the top of her thigh, her hip, her stomach…

  He wasn’t even close to being finished with her yet. And surprisingly, she wasn’t done with him either. She felt as sensual and confident as the woman portrayed in the nude painting Dionysus had created of her.

  Perhaps a happy ending was finally within her grasp.

  “Nigel,” she whispered. Her heart thundered under the weight of what she planned to confess. Though she’d fought against her feelings every step of the way. He had refused to let her deny her passions, her need to be loved. And, whether she wanted to or not, she loved him. After all those lies about not being able to love, not being able to love him, he needed to know the truth. It was within her grasp to give herself the happiness she knew she deserved. And she was willing to take the risk.

  “Nigel, I-I think I’m falling—”

  “Good God!” he gasped and pulled sharply away.

  Like a wanton she tried to draw him back. She missed his lips on her and the erotic heat his touch sparked throughout her body.

  “No.” He pushed her hands away.

  Cold and embarrassed to have him staring at her so, nude and exposed—almost like that…that cursed portrait—she covered her breasts with her hands and tried to roll from the bed.

  “Lie still,” he ordered, his voice no longer honeyed. His wicked grin faded, so too did the hunger from his onyx gaze. “You told me you weren’t injured,” he said. It sounded painfully like an accusation.

  “I’m not—I-I wasn’t hurt.” She gathered up one of his dressing gowns that was still lying in a crumpled heap on the bed. Feeling vulnerable, she started to cover herself. She should have never believed she could somehow transform herself into that beautiful, desirable woman in Dionysus’s painting. She should have never tried to reach for something so out of her depth. She was a cold woman—so she’d been told many times over—and she shouldn’t expect anyone to ever love her.

  “Lie still,” he ordered.

  Terrified, she obeyed.

  He pressed a towel to her side. She nearly leapt off the bed from the sharp pain.

  Nigel muttered a string of oaths before drawing a long, slow breath. “You are bleeding. Damnation, what happened out there?”

  Elsbeth lifted the towel and saw a few smudges of blood encircling the bullet wound in her side and a deep red mark where a stitch had been torn loose. No wonder her side was hurting more fiercely now. Seeing the blood, though only a slight trickle, triggered ugly memories, memories where she felt all too helpless…all too vulnerable. Never again.

  She couldn’t let down her defenses. Not yet. Not even with Nigel. He was still practically a stranger. His actions were often unpredictable. And her own were becoming more and more predictable. His appearance in the middle of the storm like some modern-day St. George had her falling into his arms, and into his bed.

  Alarmed, she covered herself with the dressing gown and hugged her legs to her chest. “My lord,” she said, her voice sharp. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need you for a nursemaid.”

  He reached for her. She scooted across the bed “I-I—” She took a deep breath. “Please, do not touch me.”

  She held her breath, wondering what Nigel would do. He looked so very upset. His hands curled into fists at his side. Lord Mercer would have laughed at her, and would have touched her all he wanted. But then again, Lord Mercer wouldn’t have cared that she was bleeding. Nigel did.

  He dragged a shaky hand through his hair. “Let me help you. Doctor Pryor—” he started to say when the door flew open and crashed against the wall.

  Molly stood in the doorway, her eyes wild. She clutched a pistol with both hands.

  “Stand away from my ladyship, you devil,” Molly said, her English spoken carefully.

  “Molly, no!” Elsbeth leapt from the bed and charged forward, still hugging the dressing gown to her chest.

  Nigel pushed her aside, putting himself directly in front of the barrel of the pistol. “Let’s all stay calm,” he said. His
voice sounded surprisingly steady. Much more steady than it had been a moment before. She wasn’t feeling nearly as composed. She felt ready to pounce on Molly and rip the gun from her maid’s hands.

  “Molly!” she shouted, trying to get around Nigel. “Molly! Put that pistol down right now! You are only making matters worse!”

  “Elsbeth,” Nigel said quietly, “do not shout at her.” With his arms spread, dressed only in his sodden trousers, he took a step toward Molly.

  The pistol wavered. “I will no’ be lettin’ any man ’arm my ladyship. You ’ear me? No man will be ’arming ’er again.”

  “Trust me, Molly. I have no desire to harm your lady.” He braved another step toward the maid. Elsbeth latched onto his arms, trying to pull him back.

  “Please, Molly! Don’t hurt him. I beg you, Molly!”

  “’E drugged us, milady. ’E drugged us but good with that dinner ’e sent to us. ’E was wantin’ you docile so ’e could ’arm you. And I ’eard you crying out. I won’t ’ave it. I will be puttin’ a bullet in ’is gullet first.”

  “No Molly,” Nigel said as he retreated a step. “There’s no need to be putting a bullet anywhere. Elsbeth is unharmed.”

  “She’s been stripped nude as a babe.” Molly stared at the ruined nightrail on the ground. “’Er clothes been ripped away, you brute!”

  “Look at your lady,” he said though he didn’t step aside to expose Elsbeth. “Does she look as if she’s been abused?”

  “Please, Nigel,” Elsbeth whispered as she tugged on his arm, praying she could get him out of the way. Molly was still staring at the ruined nightrail. A murderous look was twisting on her lips.

  “Molly! Look at me.” He pried Elsbeth’s hands from his biceps. “That’s a good girl, Molly. No one is going to get hurt. Hand me the gun.”

  His hand shot out as quick as lightening and latched onto the barrel.

  “You bleedin’ bastard!” Molly shouted.

  “No!” Elsbeth screamed.

  The pistol fired just as Nigel twisted Molly’s hand and pulled her up against his chest.