Goodness, she’d been silly. But she was not silly now. She pulled a soft blue silk dress from the pile and held it up, gauging its fit. It appeared to be Regency in design, and very low-cut. Her shift would show and her nipped-waist corset would be unnecessary beneath the voluminous folds of the gown, although Eliza was probably going to be too nervous to eat much. The dress was trimmed with shimmery gold leaves at the hem, beneath the bustline and around each sleeve. It smelled of lavender and was a lovely thing, even though it may have belonged to Sir Thomas’s grandmother.
Eliza sat at the dressing table and unpinned her pompadour. The dress called for a sleeker style, which she managed by braiding her hair and twisting it into a coronet. She removed the gold bar pin from her shirtwaist blouse and anchored it into the braid to catch the light.
Eliza was immediately sorry she’d dismissed the little maid once she’d stepped into the dress. A thousand hook and eye fastenings marched down the back—well, seven, but that was several too many. Hoping she’d managed to close most of them, she stepped out into the hallway and collided with her dinner partner. He had borrowed a suit of Sir Thomas’s evening wear, and was resplendent. His auburn curls had been brushed back and tamed with brilliantine, and he was quite the most handsome male specimen she had ever seen.
“Were you waiting to ambush me?” Eliza asked, once she could find her voice.
“Yes. Do you always use such colorful language when you dress?”
“If you’d heard me, you should have come in to help.” She tugged up the bodice to no avail. But that was the point of the dress, wasn’t it?
“I was frightened. To think, once you used to be such a proper girl. Hold still.” He fastened the dress with hardly any effort at all.
“Just days ago,” Eliza said, feeling daring. “And then I met you, and all propriety has flown out the window.”
Nicholas grinned down at her. “All?”
“There’s not enough left to signify. You do know where the dining room is in this monstrous pile, don’t you? I should hate to get lost.”
Nicholas extended an arm. “I won’t tell Tubby you said that. He’s rather proud of the family mansion.”
“It’s lovely, really. Just a bit intimidating.” There had been no gloves in the trunk, and her bare fingers brushed against the fine wool of his sleeve. They sauntered down the hallway, passing conventional landscapes, architectural renderings, and colorful canvases that bore no relationship to any reality she knew. Artwork was everywhere; Sir Thomas’s house was like a museum.
“You should see Raeburn Court if want to truly be intimidated.”
Of course. Nicholas’s brother was a baron. A millionaire, if the newspapers had it right. Mary was certainly turned out in the highest style when she came into the office. Nicholas must be used to houses this size, and even grander.
But, she reminded herself, he’d left all that behind. The Lindsey Street residence wasn’t all that much larger than the house she’d grown up in.
Money didn’t make one happy, but it was useful. Eliza felt the burden of worry over her mother lift—Dr. Samuelson would be providing the novels and hats in the future. Eliza could go on with her well-ordered life.
After tonight. Tonight was for disorder.
“You look very handsome,” she said, as they descended the main staircase. Two footmen were posted at the front door below like bewigged bookends. How bored they must be.
“As do you, Miss Lawrence,” Nicholas replied, being formal for the benefit of the footmen. If Eliza had wanted more ardor over her flimsy dress, she was doomed to disappointment.
One of the footmen sprang from his post and began opening a series of doors for them, as if they were incapable of touching doorknobs themselves. They followed him through several reception rooms, all of which held more paintings and statuary. At last he led them to a palatial dining room in the rear of the house. The garden lanterns flickered beyond the wall of French doors, and the room itself was lit with a bright blaze of light from an electric chandelier.
“Ah, service à la française,” Nicholas murmured, catching sight of the groaning sideboard. “I told Tubby we’d prefer to serve ourselves. I hate to have people hovering over my shoulder when I eat. Now we can be relatively private.”
Eliza was relieved. While she knew which fork went with what, she felt like an imposter in fancy dress costume in front of the servants. All she was missing was a mask.
“Thank you, George,” Nicholas said to the young man. “You can go. We’ll ring for the second course.”
“Second course?” she asked doubtfully. There was enough food on the table now to feed a dozen people.
“First, soup and fish. Second, roasts. Third, dessert. That’s the general order.” Nicholas picked up a gold-rimmed bowl and ladled some soup from a flower-bedecked tureen into it. “May I serve you, Eliza?”
“Better not. In truth, I haven’t much appetite.” Her stomach was possessed by very busy butterflies.
“Me either, but we must help Tubby’s reputation with Cook. The woman has been with his family since the Flood. Tubby’s much too afraid of her to hire a fashionable French chef.”
She filled a bowl a quarter of the way to the rim. “I really can’t believe a man like Sir Thomas is frightened of his servants. Why, we have hundreds—perhaps a thousand people on file at the agency eager to work.”
“Ah, you’ve caught him out,” Nicholas said, picking up his spoon. “Tubby’s attached to all the old dears here. They practically raised him. His father was too busy making money and his mother too busy spending it to pay much attention to him.”
Goodness, pity the poor upper classes and their odd ways with their children. Eliza was suddenly grateful for her middle-class upbringing.
However long Cook had been slaving away in the Featherstone kitchen, she was an accomplished woman, and Eliza discovered she could eat more than she originally thought. The ensuing conversation was not at all strained. If Nicholas suspected what plans she had for them after, he gave no sign, regaling her with larks that Sir Thomas and he had got up to when they were not-so-innocent schoolboys. They deliberately avoided talking about the present or the future. Sunny’s name was not uttered once. Nicholas seemed determined to pretend everything was absolutely normal, and Eliza tried to follow suit.
Despite her butterflies, she made a creditable attack on the first course, and tucked away slices of beef, chicken, and lamb when they arrived with an assortment of vegetables. Dessert, too, proved impossible to resist. Grateful that the gathers of her borrowed dress hid a multitude of sins, she rose from the table feeling woozy with food.
“I’m going to skip the port and cigars,” Nicholas said, standing with her. “Care for a turn in the garden?”
Eliza looked down at her dress. Despite her décolletage, Nicholas had kept his eyes firmly focused on her face throughout the meal. “I’d freeze to death.”
“Nonsense.” Nicholas shrugged out of his coat and smoothed it over her shoulders. His warmth and scent enveloped her.
“Now you’ll be cold.”
He struck himself on the chest just as she’d seen an ape do in the zoo. “I’m made of sterner stuff, Eliza. I still have on long sleeves and a waistcoat. And with all the wine I’ve drunk, I’m hotter than hell.” He loosened his tie as if to prove it.
It was true he’d indulged himself with a generous hand all throughout dinner. He did not sound drunk, but there were flags on his cheeks and his eyes glittered. Some night air would do them both good. Eliza wanted Nicholas awake and alert for what she had in mind.
He held a French door open. She slipped an arm through his and stepped down into the thick turf. A few scattered stars pierced the clouds. The heavy air smelled like rain again, which meant that the newsmen might be driven from Lindsey Street tomorrow.
Nicholas had not mentioned how they w
ould return there. It would be inconvenient if she had to climb over the wall again.
She was not going to think about tomorrow when she only had tonight.
Nicholas wrapped his arm around her in friendly fashion. There was no hint of passion, just concern for her well-being. She made a show of shivering and he drew her closer.
“It’s probably snowing in Scotland,” he said, staring up at the sky.
“Surely not. It’s only October.”
“Och, lassie, how little you know.”
“You don’t have much of an accent, now that I think of it,” Eliza observed.
“They tell me I do when I’m angry. Going to public school in the south beat it out of me, I suppose. For the past ten years, I’ve been roaming the Continent. It’s a wonder I’m not out here whispering French in your ear.”
Eliza shivered again, not from cold but from the thought of Nicholas murmuring foreign phrases of endearment. There were probably several that her French lessons had not covered.
She turned from the faint stars to his face. “I want you to make love to me tonight, Nicholas. To bed me,” she added, just in case he didn’t understand.
He pushed her gently away. “No, you don’t. You can’t. You’re just feeling a bit sorry for me.”
“No, that’s not why. I assure you I want this for an entirely different reason. I’ve given it a great deal of thought.” She made for an iron bench beneath a bare tree and sat down. It was cold on her bum, and she put her arms through the sleeves of Nicholas’s evening jacket.
It was the second time today she’d sat on a damp garden bench, but this time Nicholas was not beside her. In fact, he was backing away toward the French doors of the dining room. Through the glass, Eliza could see the footman George and several others clearing the dishes, with Hitchborn supervising. If they looked out, they could see Eliza, too, since the garden was lit at intervals with pretty brass lanterns. She sat up a bit taller.
“Eliza! A few days ago you thought I was an utter reprobate. As I recall, just this morning my wickedness made you faint.” He ripped a leaf from a bush and peeled it to its center. Poor leaf.
“It has been a busy day.” Too busy. Perhaps her poor brain had simply shut down. She might even be possessed by some demon, a demon who’d discovered her virginity should be disposed of at once.
“You’re funning me. I have to say under the present circumstances I don’t appreciate it.” Nicholas tossed the naked leaf to the ground.
“I am perfectly, perfectly serious.” Eliza held her hand out. “A lot has happened. Too much. But this is one thing we can have for ourselves. I’ll be gone tomorrow or the next day, after that man comes to see you. You never need to see me again. You can take Sunny and go to Scotland. Be with your family again.”
Nicholas’s expressions flit from one thing to the next like a jerky moving picture reel. Her hand remained uplifted and untouched. Feeling a little foolish, she dropped her arm and clasped her hands together in her lap.
Spurned. She was the one who usually did the spurning, not that she’d had frequent opportunity. She had been right to trust Nicholas—he was too much of a gentleman to take her up on her offer. It seemed he was giving up his wicked ways. He’d been conscience stricken most of the day. One day she might thank him for his restraint, but tonight his rejection was a bitter pill to swallow.
He cleared his throat, then mumbled something unintelligible. Eliza stood up, slipping off the coat. “Never mind. I’ve been silly, haven’t I? I’ll just go to my room, then.” Alone.
“Wait.”
Shivering, she clutched his coat to her chest. “Yes?”
“You do me too much honor, Eliza. If you’re sure—if you’re really sure—I’ll come to you in half an hour.”
Half an hour! He may as well have said tomorrow—she was likely to lose her nerve in the next thirty minutes. So could he.
She shook her head. “No. Now is preferable. Right now.”
“That smacks of impulsivity.” His smile was fleeting.
“Yes, and I’m never impulsive. One should take advantage while one can.” She stepped across the grass between them. It was only a few feet, but she was falling hard from her pedestal.
Chapter 30
He was mad. Or she was mad.
It was probably a bit of both.
It had been a struggle for Nick to be witty and carefree at dinner. Reliving his youthful hijinks for Eliza’s benefit had stoked his own doubt and reminded him that he’d been far too casual about obeying the rules for years now. He’d been selfish. Reckless. The very fact that Sunny could be his child was a mark against him. It was one thing to take risks on the canvas or behind the camera for art, but quite another to create, then jeopardize another’s life.
Now Eliza was asking him to be casual again with her ridiculous proposal. And he couldn’t say no when it was so very obvious he should. Eliza wasn’t like Barbara or his other inamoratas who understood the way of his world. He would hurt her—not just physically—and he didn’t want to.
“Now?” The one syllable was heavy on his tongue.
Her icy hand squeezed his in reply.
He could walk her upstairs, then dash across the hall and bolt his door. By the gods, he was a coward. He didn’t want to take advantage, as she put it. Tomorrow she would come to her senses and how awkward it would be to have her back at Lindsey Street passing out solicitor’s cards.
No. He’d deal with Daniel himself if he came. When he came.
“This is most unwise,” he managed, though his feet were moving over the French door’s threshold.
“Perhaps. Best not to talk about it.” Eliza gave him a dazzling smile that rivaled the electric chandelier above. The servants paused from their work and bowed as they passed through the dining room.
Where did this cheerful hoyden come from? He stopped her at the foot of the staircase. “I think we should. Why have you changed your mind? Do you feel sorry for me?” Nick didn’t need a pity fuck, particularly from an inexperienced virgin.
Her smile wavered, then vanished altogether. “It—it just seems like the natural progression of things,” she said in a small voice.
Anyone could hear them. Nick was a fool for beginning this conversation in a public area of the mansion, but he had to know.
“Do you think you love me, Eliza? For you know, you shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.”
Worse and worse. He sounded so damned needy. Of course he was worthy of being loved—everyone had some shred of good within, even Daniel Preble. The key was being able to love back, something Daniel was incapable of.
Did Eliza love him? Could Nick love her? They barely knew each other, even if they had been trapped in the Lindsey Street fortress together. Two against the world.
Against each other for most of the time. Nick had rather fond memories of their arguments.
“No one has said anything about love,” Eliza said, looking down at her feet. She was still wearing her high-button boots beneath her Regency dress.
“I think someone should,” Nick countered. “You’re a very respectable woman, Eliza, much too respectable for me. I’ve lived a life—well, I needn’t go into all the lurid details. You can probably imagine.” He lifted her chin, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You should save yourself for your husband.”
Ah, that got her attention. There was a flash of irritation on her face—there was his Eliza.
“I don’t want a husband.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve said. But never say never.”
“ I value my independence, and I can support myself. What do I need a husband for?”
“You said your parents were happily married. I should think you’d want the same for yourself.”
She shrugged, nearly spilling out of the gauzy bodice. “They were lucky. I may not be. Your p
arents weren’t.”
No, they jolly well had not been. They’d been as ill-suited to each other as he was to Eliza.
But once, there must have been something, some sort of understanding and desire between them. Nick’s father had chosen a tenant’s daughter to be his baroness. Nick was convinced his mother had married not only for the elevation in her position—if she hadn’t cared for her husband, she would not have been half so angry at his peccadilloes.
Mistaking his silence, she pushed his jacket at him and turned away. “Look, forget everything I said this evening. We’re both overwrought. I’m certainly not going to beg you—”
Letting his coat fall to the floor, Nick pulled her into his arms and crushed her words away with a punishing kiss. Yes, he was overwrought. Hard as hell watching her skin and hair shimmer under the lights at dinner. Tired of being good, or his version of good. She wanted him, or thought she did. Well, he wanted her as well.
Eliza responded to his kiss with all the fervor he could hope for. She pressed her body to his—God, but she was soft and smelled like heaven. Nick wanted to take her right here at the foot of the stairs, or against the wall or even on the hall marquetry table, but some good sense prevailed.
Breaking the kiss, he stumbled over his jacket and Eliza clutched his shirtfront. Generally, he wasn’t so clumsy. “What am I to do with you?” he asked, straightening the bodice of her gown.
“The usual thing, I believe. Usual for you, anyway.” She retrieved his coat and folded it over her arm.
“Eliza—”
She raised a hand. “Don’t. Not another word. No more warnings. No more excuses. We will do this thing properly and we will enjoy it.”
If he laughed, would she be offended? She sounded like a—like a—like a governess!
“Very well. You know best.” He followed her meekly up the stairs, watching her derriere sway beneath the silk pleats of her gown. If she had second thoughts tomorrow, it wouldn’t be his fault. Nick would do everything in his power to give her a night to treasure.
A night. Nick wondered if it would be enough. He’d fantasized about Eliza’s body almost from the moment he met her at his door, all starch and snappishness.
The Reluctant Governess Page 22
