Elizabeth, whose damp hair hung long and clean down her back—narrowed her eyes. Bat dung, indeed. She had dried her hair in front of the fire. There was not a speck of bat dung around … other than the two-legged variety that stood before her.
She laid her fork down, gently, gracefully putting the silver fork next to the silver-and-beige plate that sat between the silver hors d’oeuvre, salad, and dessert forks. “Actually, duke, I left it in. It does wonderful things for one’s hair. Do you like the smell?”
He missed a step, or at least she thought he did. The roguish look in his eyes faded into one of genuine humor. “Indeed,” he drawled. “I shall have to try that sometime.”
The servant leapt forward to pull out a chair. Ravenwood sat down, not at the opposite end of the rather long table. No, he took the seat to her left, his leg all but brushing hers as he did so. She blushed, turning her legs in the opposite direction.
“Thank you, Colin,” he said to the footman. “That will be all.”
The servant bowed smartly, straightened, and turned with military precision.
“And, Colin,” the duke called. The man turned on his heel with graceful precision again. “You can dispense with the royal equerry act,” he said drolly. “You look ready to asphyxiate, that jacket is so tight.”
The servant’s whole demeanor changed. His shoulders slouched, his neck relaxed, his black hair fell forward over blue eyes. “Can I, Yur Grace? Lord love me, me shoulders was beginnin’ ta hurt.”
“I am not surprised,” Lucien drawled. Elizabeth stared between the two in shock. “Where the devil did you get that livery?”
“Mrs. Fitzherbert made ’em. Said a proper duchess would expect it.”
Lucien caught her gaze, his expression seeming to say, “Do you believe this nonsense?”
Oddly enough, Elizabeth felt the urge to smile back.
“Well, you can tell Mrs. Fitzherbert your normal mode of dress is acceptable.” He turned back to her, his brow lifting. “Unless, of course, you prefer otherwise?”
Elizabeth looked between the duke and Colin. “Of course not.”
That seemed to be the right thing to say, for Lucien smiled at her approvingly. Elizabeth blinked, telling herself she shouldn’t care to have his approval. And yet, she did.
She looked away, her gaze fixing upon the silver candelabra whose arms stretched toward the ceiling. Candles dripped wax upon the flowers that surrounded it, the smell of the pungent blooms noticeable even over the smell of food.
“There, you see,” Lucien said. “Straight from the duchess’s mouth. You may tell that staff that unless the Prince of Wales is hiding in a closet somewhere, they will be free to wear and behave however they wish.”
The servant’s face filled with relief. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he gushed. “Knew you wouldn’t marry no priggish London lady. Told the old bat that, but Mrs. Fitzherbert wouldn’t have none of it.” The man smiled, bowing in her direction when he neared the door. “Welcome, Yur Grace,” he said to her. “ ’Tis glad I am that you wed this wretch.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lucien shot, swiveling in his seat. But the servant had already gone. Elizabeth found herself biting back another smile, something that surprised her given the fact that her knee still burned where Lucien’s leg had pressed against the maroon fabric of her gown.
He faced her again, his eyes frowning, but his green gaze glinting as he stared across at her. “I should fire the lot of them.”
“They are—” She searched for the word.
“Beyond the pale,” Ravenwood supplied.
“Indeed they are,” she said, finding a bit of a smile leaking through, despite her best intentions.
He leaned back in his seat, the front legs of his chair no doubt lifting. “That color becomes you.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, looking at her half-eaten plate of food.
Silence descended. Elizabeth wondered if she should get up and leave. She folded her hands in her lap.
“What do you think of this room?” he asked.
She looked up sharply. “ ’Tis beautiful.” But, of course, he must know that. The dining room was in the back corner tower. Since it was dark, she couldn’t see much from the glass windows that stretched to her right, but she imagined the view would be lovely come the morn. A fireplace to the right of the door sent a mellow glow over the table, and the cherrywood side table to her left was covered with ornate dishes that matched her plate. The serving dishes each had the Ravenwood crest on the side. Very impressive. It all made her feel very much a commoner.
She met the duke’s gaze again, only to notice him staring. Her knuckles turned white beneath the table.
“It occurs to me, my dear,” he said softly, “that you are at a crossroads.”
Her gaze snapped to his. He’d sat forward again, his elbows on either side of his silver charger, his hand cupping his chin in a manner of extreme relaxation. The pose irritated Elizabeth given that her own pulse pecked at her chest like an angry chicken.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He tilted his head, his expression turning pensive. He traced an invisible pattern upon the plate with his other hand. “Well, you can tell me you’ve changed your mind about my teaching you how to seduce a man.” He smiled. “Or, we can continue.”
Her hands clenched then unclenched in her lap. Leave it to him to state everything so plainly.
“Do you not agree?” he asked matter-of-factly.
She gained the courage to look at him. A half hour ago she’d steeled herself to tell him she’d given up the idea. A half hour ago she’d convinced herself that it was her only choice. A half hour ago she hadn’t been sitting next to him, staring into green eyes that all but dared her.
“Which will it be, Elizabeth?” he asked, leaning back with a smile upon his face. That grin seeming to mock her determination to quit. “I confess, I am all agog to hear.”
She swallowed, then slowly, deliberately, stood. She’d dressed in her finest this eve: satin evening gown, fancy lace-embellished slippers, her trunks having arrived from London. Only now did she realize she’d done so to give her courage. After all her failed seasons, she’d learned to dress to give herself more confidence. Mock her would he? Call her a coward, would he? Well, he hadn’t exactly, but he may as well have. “Why, Your Grace,” she said, her posture meant to remind him that she’d come face-to-face with far worse than a randy duke. She’d stared down all of society. “I’m surprised you would think me ready to give up the notion.” She smiled tightly.
Was it her imagination, or did his green eyes widen? She couldn’t be sure, for in the next moment he straightened, too. “Good, for the next phase of your training begins now.”
Had a servant been listening at the door? At that exact moment, one entered with a large tray of … fruit?
“Here you go, Your Grace,” the man said.
She saw the duke eye the tray. “Ah. Excellent. I see we had the bananas.”
A devilish smile lifted the edges of the servant’s mouth. “Cook found ’em at market last week, though they’re a wee bit small.” Lucien and the servant exchanged a look Elizabeth didn’t understand—the servant setting the tray down and then turning.
“Fruit?” she asked, when the servant left.
Lucien turned to face her.
A twinkle had entered his eyes. “Aye. Fruit.”
She hated to ask the question, she truly did. “What, may I ask, are you planning to do with fruit?”
He lifted a black brow. “Oh, but ’tis not what I am going to do with it. ’Tis what you are going to do with it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Have no fear, Elizabeth, this shan’t hurt.”
“What are you planning?” she asked suspiciously.
“You shall see.” Slowly, he stood. Elizabeth told herself to relax as he stared down at her. When he turned to the tray of fruit, he all but cracked his knuckles. When he faced her again, he ha
d a banana in his hand, the look on his face one of gleeful anticipation.
“One of the things you need to learn, my dear, is that there is a multitude of ways to seduce a man.”
She supposed the fact that he was a man and holding a banana should likely worry her. She stared at him.
“Bananas are a favorite of mine”—his eyes glinted—“for many reasons.”
“Indeed,” she drawled. “I confess, I’ve only ever had the fruit upon a few occasions.”
“We get them regularly, thanks to our proximity to the ocean.” He slowly took a seat. Elizabeth felt some of her amusement fade at the look in his eyes.
He leaned back. “Since you claim to know more than the average lady would know about the male appendage, I’m sure you recognize its similar shape to this.” He held the banana up.
No, Elizabeth had not ever noticed the resemblance. Heat made her cheeks sting.
“I can see by the expression on your face that you haven’t ever made the connection.” And was it her imagination, or did she see him bite back a grin. “Then, you see, ’tis good I am educating you, for a banana can bring a man to his knees.”
She knew she wouldn’t like where this went. She just knew it. But it was far too late to protest. And so she merely stared, trying not to squirm.
“Pay attention,” he said, leaning forward.
Elizabeth told herself not to lean away, she truly did, but she couldn’t help herself.
“As the banana markedly resembles a chap’s manhood, one need only pick one up and hold it thus”—he encircled the fruit with his fingers—“to make a man think of your fingers wrapped around his shaft.”
Elizabeth combusted … at least, that’s what it felt like. Her whole body burst into flames, starting with her cheeks and ending with her toes.
“Now,” the duke said, the twinkle in his eyes increasing, “if one peels the banana thus”—he broke the top off then began tugging at its skin—“then lifts it to one’s mouth thus”—he slowly put the fruit to his lips—“one should take care to eat it gingerly. If you bite the end off, you are apt to ruin the mood.”
Elizabeth watched as he gently, slowly, opened his mouth, his tongue flicking out to nibble at the fruit.
She couldn’t look away. Her eyes stared, transfixed, as he worked upon the fruit. She grew light-headed, only to realize ’twas because she’d forgotten to breathe.
“Now,” he said, his eyes suddenly warm, “you try it.”
She couldn’t. Elizabeth almost said the words aloud, but the look in his eyes, coupled with the challenge she saw there, made her slowly, reluctantly, reach for the fruit. Her hands shook. Their fingers brushed. She jerked both the fruit and her hand away.
“No, no. Do not hold it that way,” he scolded, and she could see him bite back a smile. “Lord, Elizabeth, you will make your lover wince with pain.”
For some reason, his words got her back up. He had fun with this, at her expense. Cad. Fiend. Miscreant.
“How is this?” she asked. She shifted the banana to her other hand, caressing the smooth flesh softly.
The tables had turned. She saw him swallow, the humor in his eyes instantly fading.
“And this?” she asked, bringing the fruit to her lips.
Did she hear him groan as she mimicked his earlier movements? Certainly, she saw his nostrils flare. Saw his lips compress. She licked the side.
He met her gaze. Elizabeth felt her body jolt at the heat in his eyes. “Don’t lick it, stroke it,” he ordered.
“The banana?”
“Yes.”
“Like this?” she asked, rubbing her finger up its side.
“Encircle it,” he ordered, “with your thumb and index finger, then stroke it up and down.”
Warnings went off in Elizabeth’s mind, but she did as asked. “Now don’t move.” He reached for a plum off the tray, lifted it to his mouth, took a bite of it, the fruit hanging over his lips.
“Take it.”
Take it?
She almost drew back. He stilled her with a hand. The contact jolted her, made the heat that had waned suddenly burst through her again. And with that heat came the realization of what he wanted. He wanted her to take the piece of fruit that hung over the edge of his lips. With her mouth.
No, a voice warned. Don’t do it.
But something in his eyes, some power that seemed to hum between them, made her dip toward him, made her do something completely naughty and thoroughly against every ladylike behavior drilled into her head. She took it, their faces closer than ever before.
The tough skin didn’t break. She tugged, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Lucien tugged back, their lips touching. And then they kissed.
Elizabeth groaned, stood, a half-formed notion of fleeing entering her mind. But Lucien followed her up, pulled her to him, and then he deepened the kiss. He licked her. Licked at the fruit. Or was it she? Gracious, she didn’t know. Instead she … oh goodness, she licked him back. The taste of the fruit blended with their kiss. Gracious, oh, gracious. It was heaven. It was naughty. It was wicked.
His tongue entered her mouth. Her body pulsed at the apex of her thighs. He cupped the back of her neck, the fruit disappeared, though she had no recollection of swallowing, only of him. Of his tongue filling her. Of the need, nay, the craving for him to fill her in other ways.
“Elizabeth,” he moaned.
She clutched at him, pressed against him. Closer, a voice urged. She wanted him closer. Wanted their bodies to touch in places they shouldn’t. Her breasts ached to be pressed up against him. She shifted. His manhood pressed into her mound, and she almost cried out.
Yes, her mind screamed. Yes. This was what she wanted. And then his hand replaced his manhood and she did cry out, her body pressing into his fingers of its own volition. He stroked her. Something began to build. She strained against him.
And then he abruptly let her go.
Green eyes burned into hers. She stared back. It was no consolation that his breath seemed as labored as her own. No source of comfort that his voice was raspy as he said, “And that, my dear, concludes this lesson. As you can see, touching fruit can arouse even the most jaded of men.”
He turned, his back ramrod straight as he left the room. But before he exited, he turned, his hand resting on the door handle. “I shall meet you upstairs for another lesson.”
Elizabeth turned, too, her hands clutching the edge of the table. Her eyes stared blindly at him. What in heaven’s name had just happened?
Chapter Twelve
He didn’t think he could do it. Didn’t think he could continue with her ‘lessons’. And, by God, that surprised the hell out of him. Just as everything about Elizabeth Montclair had been a shock.
He threw out crass sallies. She threw them right back.
He tried to frighten her with bananas. She ended up frightening him.
Aye, he sighed. No sense in denying it. He’d begun to be charmed by his new wife and it simply wouldn’t do. She beguiled him with her sweet smile. Made him laugh with her sassy tongue. Made him wonder what life might have been like if things had been different.
But things were not different. The title was not his to pass on. Elizabeth would have been the perfect wife for Henry. Not him. Never him.
And so the question remained, had he scared her enough to call it off? Lord knew he hoped he had. He’d almost lost control in there, didn’t think he had the willpower to go through another lesson.
He grabbed the banister rail, slowly lifting himself, surprised how out of sorts he felt. But as he climbed the steps, a part of Lucien knew he couldn’t face her again. But what shocked him, what had him pausing with one foot on the step above him, was the realization that he didn’t seek to avoid her out of a need for self preservation. No. What had him turning around and sinking to the step again to his consternation was the realization that he sought to comfort her by not appearing in their bedroom.
Good lord, he wanted to make he
r happy.
Only he knew he never would.
It took Elizabeth forever to gain the courage to leave the dining room, and even then she had to pause at the base of the stairs to take a deep breath. How could she face him? What would he think of her?
He would think you are an apt pupil, that’s what.
She shushed the voice, for all that it had a point. This talking to herself had become quite annoying.
The staircase was sweeping, the steps wide, the railing ornate. She focused on these details as she climbed. On the wall sconces that were recessed into the walls. On the landscape painting that hung in the hall that led to her room. Their bedroom, she corrected. It was over the dining room, and so she turned to her right, her steps slowing as she neared the door.
Gracious, she didn’t think she could do this. She couldn’t go inside. What if he was—she swallowed—naked. What if he expected her to sleep that way?
Elizabeth, a voice scoffed. He cannot force you to sleep naked. Do not be a ninny and go inside. She touched the handle.
He stuffed his tongue inside my mouth.
Her hand fell back to her side. Gracious, he licked my tongue. And I licked him back.
She couldn’t do it, she thought. She just couldn’t embark upon another lesson. Or any lessons, she admitted. She needed to call their agreement off.
“Did you need help undressin’, mum?”
Elizabeth whirled. The same maid who had helped her dress earlier stood there, the pixie-faced servant having said more words to her than her former lady’s maid had said in an entire lifetime.
“His grace told me you weren’t feelin’ well. Likely because of your long journey. Told me to tell you he’s changed his mind about playing a game with you. Said you can go to bed instead.”
The relief was so great, she almost collapsed where she stood.
“He’s not here?”
The little maid came forward, her red hair peeking out from beneath a white mobcap. She opened the bedroom door for her. “No. Left the castle using the back stairs.” She stood aside to let Elizabeth enter. “A good man ye married, if you don’t mind me sayin’. Not many would forgo a night of pleasure with ’is new bride to let ’er sleep.”
Seduced Page 13
