by Kelly Bowen
Rose twisted, reaching for his hand. “Don’t you dare, Dawes,” she whispered, and he might have chuckled, but the sound was swallowed by his gasp as her fingers replaced his. His erection was slick and hot and hard, and it pulsed as she swiftly slid her fingers up its length. She ran her thumb over the engorged head and then stroked down, and Eli made a tortured noise as his hips jerked and he came, his entire body shuddering violently, his seed spilling over her stomach.
Eli gasped and collapsed on top of her, his head buried in the crook of her neck, his chest rising and falling at a pace that matched hers. Rose wrapped her hands around him, stroking his back, feeling his tremors subside. Her skin, where it wasn’t covered by Eli, cooled in the night air, and after a few minutes, he stirred, rolling to the side, and she felt the mattress dip as he shifted. His fingers were at her face then, gently lifting his cravat from her eyes and drawing it away from her face. Rose didn’t move, her eyes still closed, lying still as Eli used the linen to wipe her belly. He took his time, pressing kisses against her skin as he went, until he finally withdrew and was still.
She opened her eyes to find him watching her. He had propped himself on one elbow, and with his free hand he reached out and pushed her unruly hair back from her face.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For understanding.” He crumpled the linen that had covered her eyes in his fist and let it fall beside the bed.
Rose smiled, catching his hand in hers. She turned it over, pressing her lips to the center of his palm. “I might ask you to do it again.”
Eli stared down at her. “You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met,” he said.
Rose could feel herself blush.
“Stay in London when we go. Allow me to court you properly.”
Whatever glow still lingered in her body cooled almost instantly. “Don’t do this, Dawes. Not right now.”
He expression was troubled. “Rose—”
“Don’t ask me to do that. Not now. Please.” She didn’t want to ruin this perfect moment. Didn’t want the reality of the future to intrude.
She heard him exhale heavily. “I’m not going to stop asking until you say yes. You mean too much to me. I will not lose you. Not again.”
Rose felt something in her heart twist painfully. They were noble words, kind words, fervent and heartfelt. They were words that should make any woman happy.
His hand moved from her hair to her cheek, tracing the edge of her jaw. “I want you to have all that you deserve. I want to take you everywhere and anywhere. The theaters, the operas, the museums. Balls, dinners, fireworks in pleasure gardens. I want all of your dances and all of your walks in the moonlight.” He turned her head toward his, forcing her to meet his eye. “I want all of your days and all of your nights.”
Rose was silent, knowing that she could go none of the places he was proposing. She could not be the woman the Earl of Rivers needed her to be. It was her reality, one she had learned to accept, and she had never regretted it. Until now.
Rose lifted herself up on her elbows and turned, leaning up to kiss Eli on the mouth with all the emotion that was trapped inside her. “You have this night,” she whispered, because she couldn’t promise anything else.
Chapter 15
The bruised clouds hung low and heavy over London, threatening rain.
Eli could smell it through the open carriage window, despite the more noxious odors of sewage, dust, and livestock. He picked out the usual landmarks visible above the riot of roofs—the Tower, St Paul’s, Westminster Abbey. In some places a new building had cropped up that he didn’t recall, and in others an empty space stood gaping, like a lost tooth in a row of crooked ones. After living in isolation as he had for so long, the sheer mass of humanity crammed into every space was disquieting.
As the equipage crept forward, he looked away from the passing view to study the woman sitting across from him. Rose was sitting quietly, gazing out her window, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was wearing the sky-blue dress that set her hair on fire and reminded him what she had looked like on that Dover beach the first time he ever kissed her. And just how much he wanted to do so again.
It had been two days since he had reluctantly crept from her bed before the onset of dawn, leaving her sleeping peacefully. He hadn’t asked her about London again. Hadn’t wanted to taint their time with regret and refusal. But she’d withdrawn into herself anyway, even if she had tried to hide it with pleasant, amiable conversation steered always in his direction. Conversation about his plans when he reached London. How he would explain his lengthy absence. Who and what he had missed most.
Every question he’d tried to turn back on her was met with another question directed at him. Rose would have beaten his father at his own game. His father must have adored her.
The carriage stopped, and Eli glanced out the window. With some shock he realized that they were in front of the Rivers home in Grosvenor Square. He tore his eyes from the familiar facade and found Rose watching him.
“Welcome home, Lord Rivers,” she said with a small smile.
He stared at her, suddenly unwilling to get out. Unwilling to leave her. As if she would be lost to him if he stepped out of this carriage alone. Which was absurd, he knew, because Rose was only continuing on to the Haverhall School and the studio and the obligations that waited for her there. Though that knowledge didn’t seem to make him feel any better.
“Come inside with me,” he said, before he could think better of it.
She shook her head instantly. “My lord, I don’t think—”
“Do not call me anything other than Eli. Dawes if you must.”
She sighed. “We’re not in Dover any longer, Lord Rivers. As such, I will address you as befits your position in London—”
In a heartbeat he had closed the distance between them and crouched in front of her. “If you think that being in London changes anything, think again, Rose Hayward. You belong to me just as much as I belong to you, whether we’re in London or Dover or on the damn moon.”
“My lord, we’ve discussed this. Your focus now needs to be on the matters and duties that will—”
He leaned forward and kissed her, a demanding, searing kiss that sent desire flooding through him. God, he would never get enough of this woman. He pulled away slightly, gratified to see that she was just as breathless as he. “Matters and duties have waited for years. They’ll wait a few more minutes.”
She started to shake her head again. “This isn’t—”
“The last time I invited you here, I had just bought a painting.”
“I remember. Michelangelo’s Leda and the Swan.”
“Yes. Do you know why I bought it?”
Rose shook her head.
“Because Michelangelo painted the truth for those who cared to look closely. That it wasn’t Zeus who descended to seduce Leda. Rather, he portrayed a mortal woman so incomparable that even the greatest of gods couldn’t resist her.” He paused. “I saw you in her. You’re my Leda. Irresistible.”
Rose flushed, her eyes searching his. “Eli—”
“When was the last time you visited my gallery?”
“Not since your father died. It didn’t seem right.”
“Would you refuse my invitation now?”
“You’re using a dirty trick here.”
“Yes.”
“What if I say no?”
Eli leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers again. “If you refuse, Rose, I will keep kissing you here in this carriage for as long as it takes you to say yes. I will make sure we scandalize the coachman and the neighbors and the servants and the bloody watchman who will finally come to see what is going on. Then I will carry you out of this carriage, into my house, and make love to you on the Aubusson in the middle of that gallery.” His mouth grazed her ear. “I might do that anyway, my Leda.”
“Eli,” she breathed.
“Excellent. I’ll ta
ke that as a yes.” He withdrew to the other side of the carriage and opened the door.
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no.” He stepped from the carriage and held out his hand to her. Rose hesitated for only a moment before she sighed and took it.
The square was seemingly deserted at this time of evening—too early for the wealthy inhabitants to emerge in pursuit of evening entertainment, and too late for the servants who toiled during the day. He glanced up at the windows of the stretch of stately, pillared homes, but only the reflection of the heavy clouds stared back from the glass. He glanced down, smoothing his hand over the superfine of his coat. He’d dressed the part today. A midnight-hued coat and dove-gray silk waistcoat topped with a starched cravat. Trousers and polished boots. All things that had once been as familiar to him as breathing but now still felt slightly foreign.
He climbed the stairs, Rose at his side, and grasped the heavy brass knocker.
“You know you own this house, right?” she asked, sounding amused. “You don’t have to knock.”
“The last time I sneaked into a house I owned, I almost found myself skewered. I fear the servants here may be armed with something more substantial than the end of a paintbrush.”
“It was the sneaking part that was problematic, Dawes. Had you used the front door and announced yourself—”
The front door suddenly swung open, and the frame was filled with the bulk of a stone-faced, silver-haired butler. His eyes went directly to Rose, and his expression thawed minimally.
“Good evening, Miss Hayward,” the man intoned. “It is a pleasure to see you.”
“And you, Dufour,” she replied. “You’re looking very well.”
The man almost smiled before his mouth flattened once again. “Is there something you require that I can help you with, Miss Hayward?”
She hesitated. “Not me, exactly.”
For the first time, the butler’s gaze left Rose and focused on Eli.
“Good evening, Dufour. It’s been a long time,” Eli said, a strange sense of surrealism descending. The familiarity of all of this—it was almost as if he had never left. Almost as if the time between then and now had suddenly evaporated.
Dufour outdid himself. His face went ashen before turning an alarming shade of crimson. Though that was the only outward sign that Eli’s sudden resurrection and reappearance were anything other than expected. And to his credit, his butler did not look away from Eli’s injury, as if that too had been anticipated.
“Good evening, my lord,” was all he said, as though Eli were back from a walk and not the dead. He pulled the door open wide and stepped smartly aside.
Eli entered and glanced around, that odd sense of simply stepping back in time intensifying. Nothing had changed since he had been here last. The marble floors still shone, the wood trim still gleamed, the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ornate plaster ceilings still glittered. The bust of a long-forgotten Greek philosopher still stared sightlessly from its perch near the grand staircase, and the matching jade vases still rested in their alcoves on the opposite wall.
“My apologies, my lord.” Dufour sounded utterly composed. “But we were not notified that you were—”
“Alive?” Eli asked. Once of his first duties as earl might be to give this man a raise. He would have made a splendid general.
“Planning to be in residence,” the butler corrected succinctly.
“It is I who should apologize, Dufour,” he said. “For my extended absence and lack of correspondence. There were…unforeseen circumstances.”
“Understandable, my lord,” the man sniffed, as if that explained everything. “And I speak for everyone in offering you a warm welcome back.” He paused, his heavy brows bunching slightly. “If I may be so bold, might I suggest that you and Miss Hayward make yourselves comfortable in the formal drawing room? For just a short time? I should like to advise the staff of your return so that they may…present themselves accordingly.”
“Of course. A sensible suggestion.”
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll have refreshments for you and Miss Hayward sent in immediately.” The butler bowed slightly and departed.
“You should give that man a raise,” Rose murmured from beside him.
“I was thinking the same thing.” He glanced in the direction in which the butler had disappeared. “Come,” he said, reaching for her hand and tugging her forward.
“Where are we going? The drawing room isn’t this way.”
“We’ll get there soon enough.”
* * *
Rose climbed the grand, familiar stairs and had no idea why she’d let Eli talk her into this. She’d allowed him to obliterate all her good intentions with his clever charm and debilitating kisses, just as she was allowing him to guide her past the entrance to the ballroom that dominated the front half of the floor and to the closed door in the far rear corner.
But for all the earl’s professions that she knew his strengths and weaknesses better than he knew himself, he seemed to know her weaknesses just as well. Titian and Michelangelo were difficult men to resist. Almost as difficult as Eli Dawes.
But after this she would go. Even though she’d broken the promise she’d made to herself that their shared carriage would end their time together, it would be only a fleeting concession. Because the world Eli had now returned to would soon descend like floodwaters released from a dam and carry the new Earl of Rivers away. And the mere idea of exposing herself and getting caught in that inevitability was enough to make her stomach churn and her heart flutter against her insides like a trapped bird.
But for now Rose would take this one last chance to simply enjoy something that they both revered. She was well aware that she might never get another. She watched as Eli reached up, his fingers sliding along the top of the door frame, and found a hidden key. He slid it into the lock and opened the door, pulling it wide to allow her to enter ahead of him.
Rose stepped into the room and stared.
The walls were the same chalk-gray color she remembered, best to provide a blank canvas for the masterpieces that graced them. The expensive Aubusson rug still dominated the center of the room, comfortable upholstered chairs placed in the same strategic spots to best view the art.
Except all the art was gone.
She whirled to find Eli standing behind her, his face pale and his eyes a little wild as he gazed at the bare walls, faint discolored marks the only evidence that canvases had ever hung. Rose’s heart lodged in her throat. A horrible feeling was crawling across her skin, even as her mind constructed rational possibilities. The paintings had been moved. Put into storage. Wrapped for safekeeping after the death of the old earl.
“Where are the paintings?” Eli asked hoarsely, turning in a circle.
“They were all here right after your father died. That was the last time I saw them. But I haven’t been here since then.” She put a hand on his arm. “I’m sure that there is a good explanation.” She didn’t dare suggest the other possibilities that were lurking beneath all those rational ones.
Possibilities like stolen. Or sold.
The earl’s gaze had fallen on the ornate mantel of the hearth against the far wall. A small object, about the size of a book, was propped up on its center, one Rose didn’t recognize. In five strides Eli had crossed the room and seized it, Rose on his heels.
It was a reliquary of some ancient origin, carved from ivory, framed in gilded wood set with sapphires. A line of carved men marched across the bottom, one carrying a bucket, one scattering what looked like seed, the other with a small dog at his heels. Above them, lining the top half, were two angels, their wings unfurled, looking down at the figures below. In the center of the frame was a card, similar to one that would be presented on social calls.
However, there was no name embossed on the card. Only the image of a tiny crown, underneath which was written in an elegant scroll, Purveyor of Fine Art.
“Jesus,” Eli sw
ore softly.
“What?” Rose was at his side, pale and worried. “Have they been stolen?” She voiced her worst fears.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“I know who has them.” There was a muscle working alongside his jaw.
“Who? Are they safe?”
“Most likely. I—”
“My lord?” Dufour was standing in the doorway of the gallery, expressionless once again save for the faintest hint of a crease in the center of his broad forehead. “There are refreshments in the drawing—”
“When were the paintings removed, Dufour?” Eli sounded far calmer than Rose would have been had she come home to find her collection of priceless art vanished.
The butler frowned slightly. “A fortnight after your father’s death, my lord,” he said, as though Eli should have known that. “As per your instructions.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The written and signed instructions that you left were with your father’s will and estate papers. I saw them myself, and they were quite clear. The solicitors and estate managers followed them to the letter.”
“My instructions?”
“That the paintings were to be bequeathed after your father’s death.” Dufour looked grim. “Is there something amiss, my lord?”
Rose was looking between the butler and Eli.
“No,” Eli said, waving his hand. “No, all is well.”
Rose watched him, not understanding exactly what was going on.
“Would you and Miss Hayward care to retire to the drawing room now, my lord? The staff have been assembled and are—”
“My apologies, Dufour, but the staff will have to wait.”
“My lord?”
“There is somewhere I need to go.”
“Now, my lord? But you’ve only just arrived—”
“Now,” Eli confirmed.
“Of course.” The butler shifted. “One additional item, my lord, of pressing concern.”
