Could she bear any more sensation? It seemed she could. Nicholas’s hands and mouth were everywhere at once, and she followed his direction, shyly touching when instructed, gaining confidence, marking this man as her own, if only for one night.
Once again he had placed her above him. This time she knew exactly what to do. How fast, how slow, a clever angle to drive him deeper—she controlled it all and watched the torment on his face. Marveling at her brazen behavior, she didn’t stifle her scream as she reached her crisis when he touched her center. Let the servants imagine what they would. Eliza didn’t care—she was much too far over her self-imposed line. Boundaries were nonexistent in her new universe.
She was brought down to earth as Nicholas lifted her hips and hastily disengaged. Eliza gazed down in curiosity as his seed spurted between them. His cock was not a pretty thing, but it had the power to give life and remarkable pleasure. She touched it with a fingertip and he quaked.
“See,” he gasped. “Witch.”
Eliza had power, too. What would she do with it?
Chapter 32
Nick had been unable to persuade Eliza to stay the night with him. She’d crept from his room near midnight, flushed and beautiful, her braid finally unraveled. They had talked of male anatomy, of all things, drifting into half sleep between sentences until she had the good sense to kiss his cheek and leave him. Peppered with questions after their lovemaking, Nick found himself trying to translate physical sensation into words, and proved to be completely inarticulate for an experienced man.
How could he explain that intercourse—such a sterile word—had never been quite as perfect with any of his lovers as it had been tonight? He didn’t want to compare Eliza to anyone—she was incomparable.
He’d sworn not to touch her if she stayed in his bed until morning—beast that he was, he’d abused her twice in rapid succession and deserved to be shot. But by the gods, he’d had no choice. He was bewitched. The real Eliza had exceeded his fantasy Eliza by miles. Being with her was like seeing a sunrise sober for the first time, or tasting a strawberry after a year of going without. She was fresh, vital—and not for him.
A leopard didn’t change his spots. Nick couldn’t saddle Eliza with his life’s choices. She deserved someone proper and honorable, like that bloody Hurst fellow. Nick punched the pillow and tried to fall back asleep, but without Eliza in his arms there was an aching emptiness.
He rose and put on a borrowed dressing gown. Brandy would help, and Tubby had some on his drinks tray in the library. The house was silent, the halls still illuminated. He trod lightly down the stairs, not wishing to attract any helpful servants.
The lights were on in the library, too. After a moment’s hesitation, Nick turned the knob and discovered Tubby in full evening dress, his tie only somewhat disarranged.
“You’re home early,” Nick said, helping himself to the decanter at his friend’s elbow. He took a cut glass snifter from the tray and poured an unhealthy tot into it, then sat across from his friend in front of the fireplace. The warmth was welcome—he should have donned Tubby’s pajamas as well as the robe.
“These things are a dead bore, you know. You do know—that’s why you hied off to the Continent all those years ago and hardly ever came home. Much more amusing revelry there, I expect.” Tubby took a meditative sip and stared into the hissing coals.
“What’s wrong? Did you fail to get the financial backing you were looking for? You know you can finance the artists’ project yourself, and on your own terms.”
“My accountant doesn’t see it that way. We have a meeting tomorrow morning, and I will be called on the carpet by the ink-stained wretch.” Tubby sighed. “It’s my money, isn’t it? It’s not as though I have a houseful of little Featherstones to leave it to.”
Nick grinned. “Hop to it, then. Find some poor girl and marry her.”
“I’m like you in that regard—why should we give up our freedom, eh? We’re too young to marry and have children.” Tubby flushed at his error. “What I mean is, one can have children and not be married and still have a life worth living. You do.”
“Do I? I wonder.” Nick wasn’t questioning Sunny’s parentage. She was his in all the ways that mattered. But the rest of his life? It was past time for a reckoning.
“Nicholas! You are the envy of all your friends. Jaunting here and there, painting and pursuing naked women—and making damned good money for your trouble. You’re a rising star in the art world—hell, you’ve already risen. Plus, even if you never sell another painting, that dead aunt of yours left you a pile of loot. You don’t have to go home to your brothers, hat in hand.”
No, he didn’t. And there was Sunny’s inheritance to consider. If he were a different sort of man, he might look to it to plunder.
Like Daniel Preble.
He knocked back his drink, poured another, and repeated the process.
“I say! You’ll fall down my stairs at the rate you’re going,” Tubby teased. “We want you and the luscious Eliza to leave whole and healthy in the morning.”
Whole. Eliza wasn’t whole, thanks to Nick and his selfishness. But, he acknowledged, she’d been the angelic architect of her own ruin, impossible to resist.
No, not ruin. He was not some bitter arbiter of morals, some shriveled Pooter like Miss Scully. In Nick’s opinion, far too much was made of so-called innocence anyway. He didn’t believe in shaming someone for merely seeking their God-given bliss.
And bliss it had been.
Nick realized Tubby was still speaking to him and set his drink down. He pretended to have understood what his friend said and nodded.
Both of Tubby’s eyebrows raised. Wrong answer, apparently.
“It’s not like you to kiss and tell, Nicky. But now that you’ve started, fill me in. Was she as good as she looks?”
Rage and brandy were an unfortunate combination. Poor Tubby felt the brunt of Nick’s fist. Lucky for Tubby that he reared back in his leather chair and lifted an arm just in time to cover his leering smile and keep his teeth.
“I say, you’re not very grateful!” he said, rubbing his elbow. “Here I’ve done your bidding all damn day. I threw money at that dreadful Scully woman. Scooped you up from Lindsey Street. Kidnapped your governess. Contacted my solicitor. Fed and housed you. And to thank me you want to knock my head off. Not cricket. Not cricket at all.”
Appalled, Nick looked down at his fist. “I’m sorry. I’m not myself.”
“Who are you, then? I know you’re under a cloud at the moment, but it will all come right. Coningford’s a brilliant fellow. And if you’ve managed to talk Miss Lawrence into warming your bed, you are luckier than most men.”
Nick gritted his teeth. “You are to say nothing of that if you value your own luck. It was a mistake. An aberration, and it will not happen again. Eliza is much too good for me. She’s leaving tomorrow once we deal with Daniel.”
“Pity. I don’t suppose you’d approve if I offered her carte blanche? I’m between mistresses at the moment.”
Nick was stopped from another lunge when he saw the mischief on Tubby’s face. “That’s not funny. At all.” He swallowed the last drop of brandy.
“No, I guess not. You are well and truly hooked, aren’t you, old friend? I don’t blame you—Eliza is a lovely girl. Intelligent. Too smart for me, probably, but then you always got better marks than I did in school. She might just do for you for a while until you get back into the social scene.”
“I’m not getting back into the social scene. I’m going to Scotland when this is settled, and Eliza—Miss Lawrence to you—is going back to her old job.”
“Best laid plans,” Tubby murmured. He stifled a yawn. “I’m done for the day. I’m going upstairs.”
Nick reached out and laid a hand on Tubby’s arm. “You must promise me to say nothing to Eliza—or anyone—of my indiscretion about
tonight. She doesn’t deserve any more gossip about her reputation. She is—she is above reproach. Don’t give her one of your knowing looks. You must forget I ever said anything.”
“Well, you haven’t said anything anyway. A vague nod is not a confession to sin. Why, I believe you weren’t even paying attention to me to begin with. You might have agreed to anything I asked.” Tubby rose from the chair and extended his hand. “Your ladylove’s secret is safe with me, I swear it.”
Nick was even more awake than he had been after Tubby left. Though his head was pounding, he poured a few more fingers of brandy. It was excellent stuff—trust Tubby to have the best.
Nick was slipping into unfamiliar territory. His wits were wanting, his heart racing, his skin alive with the memory of Eliza’s touch. For the love of God, his robe was tenting at the very thought of her.
What would she do if he slipped into her room? Probably stab him with a hairpin. She’d been most definitive that their night was over.
Nick knew what he had to do next with his enervation. There really was no choice. He took the stairs two at a time, continuing up past the bedroom wings to the attic studio Tubby lent out to friends. Nick had spent enough time up here on his last visit to London to know his way around. He’d even helped Tubby stock it with all the necessary art accoutrements.
This was two nights in a row that Eliza had inspired him. He should be dead on his feet, yet instead it was as if someone had switched on an electric light in his brain. Last night he’d worked in a frenzy, but tonight he approached the canvas with calm. This time he truly knew his subject, the exact size and taste of her, the color of her nether hair, the sheen of her skin.
The painting would be for Nick alone. Nick would destroy the other, or alter it so that no other Scully-like creature could assume it was Eliza Lawrence. This painted Eliza would have no need to touch herself—she was curled into the comforter, warm and well pleasured, her golden hair spread against the pillow, her lips parted by another question. Her blue eyes were dark with knowledge.
The Education of Eliza.
It was she who had taught him.
Nick worked long into the chilly night. He would warn Tubby against coming up here, and make arrangements for the painting’s disposition once things were settled. He’d heard of private treasure rooms, walled-off from the rest of the house and accessible only by the owner. A place to come and congratulate oneself on one’s exquisite taste. His would need nothing in it except Eliza’s portrait.
Staring for the rest of his life at a canvas Eliza would not be sufficient. What had Tubby said? Nick was “well and truly hooked.” Something had to be done. Nick was afraid he knew precisely what, and wondered if Eliza would ever agree if he even had the courage to ask her.
Chapter 33
Eliza thought about skipping breakfast, but she was no coward. Hiding herself in her room would only delay the inevitable embarrassment daylight would bring.
She and Nicholas had parted on friendly terms. Too friendly, really. He had allowed her to look her fill at his body, had responded to her imbecilic questions with halting modesty. He’d been solicitous. Charming. Yet there was a barrier between them even after making love twice.
And that was just as well, wasn’t it? Nicholas might look at her with rapture now because she was someone new, but a man with his history wouldn’t be satisfied with one woman for long.
The clothes she’d arrived in had been pressed and cleaned by Sir Thomas’s staff, but had not been made any more fashionable. After wearing the lovely blue silk dress, it was a comedown to don her own clothing. Eliza examined herself in the mirror—starched white blouse, gored gray skirt, fitted gray jacket. The little maid from yesterday had improved upon Eliza’s usual hairstyle. She looked like what she was—a middle-class secretary-governess, far out of her league in this elegant Mayfair mansion.
Carrying her hat and purse downstairs, she was conducted to the breakfast room by Hitchborn. The gentlemen were already seated, but stood as she entered.
“Good morning!” boomed Sir Thomas. “Lovely morning, what?”
Eliza looked out the window. It wasn’t, really. The skies were leaden, though the rain had held off so far. “Lovely,” she repeated as Hitchborn helped her into her chair.
“Did you sleep well?” her host asked.
“Indeed I did.” She’d been too sated to think straight or crooked.
Hitchborn was at her elbow. “May I prepare a plate for you, Miss Lawrence?”
“Yes, thank you.” At the butler’s nod, a footman rushed to pour her coffee. Now that Eliza was in Nicholas’s presence, she was not quite sure-footed enough to get to the sideboard on her own, and was grateful for the assistance.
She glanced up at him and noted the deep circles under his eyes. Goodness, he didn’t look as if he’d slept at all. She had, falling asleep immediately upon returning to her own bed. No bad dreams, no guilt, which was something of a miracle.
She hoped Nicholas wouldn’t have a relapse. She might be tempted to stay longer and take care of him, and then where would her resolve go?
“Good morning, Nicholas.”
“Good morning.” His voice was scratchy, as if he hadn’t spoken to anyone yet today.
“My chauffeur is at your disposal to drive you back to Kensington whenever you’re ready,” Sir Thomas said, spearing a chunk of beefsteak and busying himself with the food in front of him.
Eliza was ready now, anxious to leave and get all this over with. The room was unnaturally silent except for the scrape of utensils on china. She was still holding her hat and handbag, and Hitchborn took them from her and set them on a vacant chair after he delivered her plate.
The butler had been overly optimistic regarding her appetite. Another look at Nicholas revealed he was staring down at his plate. It was pristine save for a single sausage that lay in a slick of grease. His paint-covered hand hovered over it with uncertainty. Perhaps he’d never been to bed at all, painting his eyes out as he had the night before. No wonder he was in a fog.
“Do you think it will rain?” Eliza asked of no one in particular. Anything to break up the awkward atmosphere in the room.
“It is cloudy,” Sir Thomas said too cheerfully. “What do you think, Nick?”
Nicholas put his fork down. “I have no idea. Very likely it will. Doesn’t it always rain here?”
“Sometimes it feels that way. Spring is especially wet, don’t you agree, Miss Lawrence?”
This conversation was becoming more inane by the second, even if she had started it. “Yes. A London fall can be very wet as well.”
“And summer is so wretchedly hot and dirty in Town. One would want a bit of rain then, wouldn’t one?” Sir Thomas was a touch desperate to keep the weather report going. “Of course, that’s why everybody who is anybody goes to the country. Oh, I do beg your pardon, Miss Lawrence. That was thoughtless of me. I meant no disrespect.”
Desperate and now stricken. Eliza was certain Sir Thomas didn’t mean to be a snob; it just came with the territory when the territory was a gilded cage such as this.
“That’s quite all right, Sir Thomas. As it happens, I spent part of last summer in Scotland. It was lovely.” When she wasn’t chasing after that little devil Jonathan Hurst and mooning over his father. Eliza cut a muffin in quarters, then eighths. The question was, could she swallow any size at all? Would sixteenths be better? Thirty-seconds?
“Ah! Scotland in the summer!” Sir Thomas approved the change of subject and tried to engage Nicholas in a discussion of a Scottish summer in their past. Nicholas grunted here and there when Sir Thomas paused for breath. Stags, heather, lochs. Eliza concentrated on her mangled muffin and a few forkfuls of egg.
Sir Thomas was being too polite, Nicholas monosyllabic. She was already nervous about today, and the company wasn’t helping. Was Nicholas regretting last night? That’
s not how she remembered that last lingering kiss in the dark when they said good-bye.
Nick threw down his serviette, the sausage still on his plate. “I think we should go, Eliza. If Daniel was on the night boat from Dieppe, he could be arriving at Victoria any minute. I expect he’ll go straight to Lindsey Street.”
Eliza nodded. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Sir Thomas.”
“I’d do anything for Nick’s—uh—governess. You’re a brave girl taking him on. I mean, all the—all the fuss and whatnot. The—the child-minding is bad enough, and then having to d-deal with Nick and his various afflictions must have been ten times worse. P-poor girl. Not quite the job you were expecting, was it?”
With every word he uttered, Sir Thomas looked more uncomfortable, but it didn’t stop him from babbling. Why, for all his money and status, he was shy!
“Tubby, that’s enough.” Nicholas was white around the mouth and looked ready to fling his fork across the table. That’s what came of staying up all night doing whatever he had done. If it was another nude portrait of her—
“I can’t say I haven’t been surprised by everything that’s happened. Thank you for your concern,” Eliza said, trying to make up for Nicholas’s rudeness. Blood and vomit, newsmen, an escaped criminal, Miss Scully, deflowering—it had been a jam full week. Next up was the devil’s best friend, Daniel Preble.
“We have to go.” Nicholas took her elbow and steered her toward the door. It was no gentle lover’s touch.
“My hat and bag!”
“If you insist. It is the ugliest damn hat, you know.” A footman scurried to the chair and handed her the objectionable hat and needlepoint bag. Eliza hadn’t thought twice about it before, but Nicholas was right—the hat was not what it could be. He had an eye for beauty. Eliza imagined he must enjoy buying clothes for his mistresses.
The Reluctant Governess Page 24
