Eleanor drew a sharp intake of breath and clung to him.
He held her more tightly, pressing her firmly against him, and drew the tip of his tongue around the pert nub. Her body writhed against him, implying that she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.
And, God, did he want her.
No. Need. He needed her. So much so he was swollen to the point of pain.
A single thought floated to the forefront of his mind: her innocence. Its loss would pull away the rest of life’s opportunities for her, the way it had for Lottie.
No. Eleanor had need of a husband and it could not be him—not when adventure called to his blood, when he had unmet promises to fulfill.
Charles straightened and pulled her neckline back into place. “Forgive me,” he said raggedly. “I forgot myself.”
Eleanor glanced down, her lashes hiding not only the brilliance of those green eyes but also her emotions. When she looked back up her thoughts were closed off to him.
She lifted her head with the haughty elegance she’d exhibited weeks before. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
“No, thank God.”
Her brow lifted. “I don’t understand.”
“Eleanor, that couldn’t have gone further.”
“I believe it could have.”
He stared at her a moment, stunned beyond wit and words. “I’ll not strip you of your virtue. Especially not when you are seeking a husband.”
The small muscles of her neck tensed and she gave a stiff nod. “I understand.”
She lifted the journal from where it had fallen on the ground, forgotten in the blaze of passion.
“I believe I will read through this on my own, as the key does not appear to have revealed any secrets to us.”
He caught her hand and could not help but sweep the pad of his thumb over the incredible softness of her palm. “Are you sure you wish to do this? What is within those pages is not anything a lady ought to read.”
She drew her hand from his. “I am not as fragile as you believe me to be.”
She was sliding away from him emotionally, leaving him cold in her wake. “Will you be at Hyde Park tomorrow?” he asked.
“My mother did not know you in order to recognize you before,” she replied. “I cannot believe she will be thrice fooled now that she’s seen you enough to make the connection.”
Devil take it, that was an excellent point.
“But you’ll come tomorrow?” Was he bargaining with her?
She tilted her head, her expression sweetly pleasant. “Perhaps.”
Footsteps sounded outside the door before Lottie entered, with Eleanor’s cloak and wig draped over her arm.
Eleanor began to assemble herself for her immediate departure. “Thank you again for everything, Lottie.”
Lottie pulled her into another gentle embrace. “The pleasure has been mine, Lady Eleanor. I hope our time together has been beneficial.”
The footman appeared to announce that her hackney had arrived. Eleanor inclined her head at Charles and gave him a seductive smile that set his heart pounding.
“Thank you for the tulips, Your Grace.”
And with that, she was gone.
The tulips?
“Did you teach her to smile like a coquette?” Lottie asked. “If so, I’m quite impressed with you.”
“That was of her own creation,” Charles replied.
“Well, then, I’m quite impressed with myself.” Lottie winked at him. “Did you come to any exciting revelations?” she asked.
Too many to share.
“Nothing in the journal,” he answered earnestly.
She nodded slowly and then smirked at him. “Tulips, Charles? Mind you do not lose your heart to the girl.”
“Lose my heart?” Charles scoffed at the preposterous notion. “I merely have an interest in seeing her succeed. And I assure you the tulips were not from me.”
Though, dammit, he could not help but sift through his memory to think on who might have sent them.
Lottie shrugged, as if she did not believe him. “I have a favor to ask you regarding Lady Eleanor.”
He gave a tense nod, suddenly fearful that Lottie might suggest he never come back to assist Eleanor.
“Will you go to Vauxhall the night she is to meet Devonington?” Lottie wrinkled her nose with distaste. “I do not like the man.”
“I’ll be there.”
Charles poured himself a finger of Scotch. He didn’t much care for the man either. But then, he hadn’t liked any of the suitors vying for Eleanor’s affections. Not a one of them was worthy of such a woman as Eleanor Murray.
Least of all him.
Chapter Fifteen
The dinner at Vauxhall Gardens could not have been more terrible. Eleanor made her way to the carriage line through the thick crowd, desperate to be done with it all.
A day with the promise of heavy rain had left the London air thick with moisture. Her skirts hung with damp stickiness against her legs, her hair felt as though it were plastered against her brow and the evening chill seemed to have taken up residence in the marrow of her bones.
And, as if the atmosphere were not already uncomfortable, the company had been far worse.
The Earl of Devonington held tightly to her arm as he escorted her through the throng of people seeking to avoid the impending storm. It had been he who had been utterly deplorable. He’d eaten with relish at the carvings of ham, famously thin, apparently taking great quantities to satisfy his monstrous appetite.
Watching the glistening slivers of pink meat disappear between his wet lips had resulted in obliterating her own appetite.
And now he had allowed Eleanor’s cousin Lady Violet and her Aunt Lydia to become lost in the crowd.
A clap of thunder sounded overhead and Devonington flinched on her arm. He patted her hand. “It’s merely thunder. No need to be afraid.”
Drops of rain trickled from the skies and the civility of the crowd dissolved quite suddenly into chaos.
A man lunged between Eleanor and the Earl, ripping her arm from where the Earl had gripped it.
Devonington looked down at his waistcoat and cried out. “The wretch stole my watch!” He bolted after the man without a backward glance to Eleanor.
She stopped in stunned shock. He had left her. Alone. She steeled her spine and pressed forward in the crowd, eager to get to her carriage and end the awful night.
A man further behind them in the crowd caught Eleanor’s attention. He rose taller than the other men, his dark hair glossy in the subtle moonlight, with a profile all too familiar. Her breath caught.
Charles.
Rain pattered down with a vengeance and the crowd reacted in kind, becoming rougher and more forceful.
She blinked through the heavy droplets.
Was it truly him?
Had he come for her?
The man turned and she nearly cried out with joy. It truly was Charles. He scanned the crowd, his expression intense, before his stare came to rest on her. Eleanor’s heart leapt at the connection, and pounded even harder when he fought through the wall of people, heading in her direction.
She shouldn’t be so eager, of course. After their last discussion he had made it quite obvious he wanted her to seek another husband. He had agreed to her condition, but clearly did not intend her to remain unmatched.
The churning sea of bodies tugged her hard to the right, and for one cold, lonely moment Eleanor was at the mercy of wherever the panicked crowd forced her. Shouts filled the air as people cried out for lost companions, while others shoved for advantage. She searched the sea of faces but did not catch sight of Charles again. The glow of hope dimmed.
Then a strong arm settled around her shoulders, blocking the worst of the jostling, and Charles’s familiar
scent fell around her like a warm embrace.
“I have you, Eleanor.”
The voice was smooth and confident. Immediately any distress with Eleanor’s situation evaporated.
Charles was there with her and all would be well.
* * *
Charles shielded Eleanor from the crowd with his arms, taking on the worst of the bumps to protect her. He did so gladly, grateful for the opportunity to come to her aid, to see her liberated from the company of Devonington.
The arrogant ass of a man had been so loud while speaking that almost every word he’d uttered had reverberated around the expanse of the private boxes. Eleanor, her cousin and the older woman with them had appeared quite perturbed.
Now she was free of the Earl, and standing before Charles with a quiet smile hovering on her lips.
“I have had my footman bring my carriage around toward the back, where it might be less crowded,” Charles offered. “May I escort you there?”
“It would be my pleasure to have you do so, Your Grace.”
“Charles, please.”
He led her away from the edges of the crowd. Those large green eyes flicked up at him and held his stare.
“Charles.” She glanced to his mouth and quickly turned her head away, looking toward the direction they headed.
The rain had ebbed to a few trickling drops and the roar of the crowd faded behind them. Ahead, one light glowed in the distance like a brilliant ball of fire. Another lit up several feet away, followed by another, and another.
Eleanor stopped and Charles followed suit. “They’ve continued to light the lamps,” she said.
“It would appear the rain is beginning to abate.” He kept his hold on her. There was no longer a need to do so, but there was certainly a desire.
Several more globes of light lit up in the distance.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she asked. “Like magic.”
He looked down at her and found her lovely face awash in the gilded glow of those many lamps. “Indeed.”
She shifted her gaze from the lamps in the distance to his face. Dots of rain had left a sheen on her skin, giving it an otherworldly, luminous appearance.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered.
“Because you’re beautiful.”
She did not lower her head in demure acceptance of his compliment. Instead she tilted her head up. “No longer an Ice Queen?”
The blazing memory of that kiss, her passion, scorched through him. “God, no. Rather the opposite.” He dragged his fingertips over a wet lock of her red hair. “You are fire, and your kiss is quite unforgettable.”
“Then you’ve thought of it?” She slid him that coquettish look.
“I have.” Time and time again...until the tease of the memory became as unbearable as the aching in his groin.
She turned to him and set a hand on his chest. The rain had resumed its steady fall, pelting them with frigid drops, and yet so intense was the heat in her eyes he scarcely registered the cold.
“I’ve thought of nothing else.”
Her voice was quiet, intimate, the same as it had been that day when he’d kissed her. He recalled it all too well now...taking the pinkness of her nipple into his mouth and reveling in her cries of pleasure.
“Nor have I,” he groaned truthfully. It had even distracted him often from his task of finding the ruby.
Rain soaked them both, leaving their clothes clinging to them and giving shape to her curves beneath the loose-fitting gown she wore. He could see a narrow waist and full hips to match the breasts he knew to be round and firm.
Her gaze took on that boldness he so enjoyed. “Will you kiss me, Charles?”
Lottie’s words came back to him at that unfortunate moment. She is meant to wed, not to be distracted by you.
Yes, he’d promised to marry her if there was no other interest, but he wouldn’t be any more a good husband to her than his father had been parent to him. He should take her from this place. And yet even as he thought as much he found himself already leaning into her, drawn to the promise of her lips.
Her mouth was warm against his, despite the chill of her skin. Their lips met in a single chaste kiss before their tongues brushed one another’s.
Charles’s blood raced insistently through his veins, hot with need. Aware of the possibility of being seen, he pulled his evening cloak around her and held her gently to him as he led them both down one of the infamous dark paths of Vauxhall Gardens.
Once they were veiled in shadows, Charles kept his cloak over them both and tilted her face toward his. She licked her rosy lips. With a hungry growl he drew her more tightly against him and kissed her. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and ran his tongue over it.
The feminine curves of her body arched against him, so the ache of his hard shaft pressed into the softness of her stomach with the most exquisite torment.
She trailed kisses down his jaw to the line of his neck. Her breath sounded loud in his ear and he felt the warmth of her lips parted over his skin as she gently nibbled at the sensitive skin there. He had to clench his teeth to keep from giving in to a long, hungry groan.
“Is that what you like?” she asked.
Dear God.
“Eleanor...” he said her name on a rough exhalation.
Her hot tongue touched his neck, followed by a delicate little nip and a sucking kiss. His body blazed with the tingles of lust. Did she know what she was doing to him?
He found her body under the cloak by touch, roaming his hands over her sweet shape. He reveled in the slenderness of her waist, the curve of her bottom, which he caught in his hands. She arched her hips forward and his shaft pressed against her stomach once more, causing friction against the intensely building pressure.
He murmured her name, though he’d intended to speak in protest. They should not be doing this—especially in a place they could be so easily seen. Yet even as he thought such things his hands did not cease their eager exploration.
She pulled her head away from him as his palms found the weight of her breasts. Her lashes swept downward, her face registering all the pleasure she felt. Confound it, he could not help himself. His thumb brushed the swell of her breast until a moan told him he’d found her nipple beneath the thickness of her stays.
She was so passionate, so receptive. Had he ever wanted anything the way he wanted Lady Eleanor Murray?
Yes, he had. The stone.
Everything he’d sacrificed already and would sacrifice in the future. The stone, his promise—it had to be everything. Before the dukedom, before Eleanor. She needed a husband—not to be pawed by him.
It was for exactly that reason that he drew away and straightened. “We cannot keep on with this,” he said.
Eleanor simply nodded. Her eyes sparkled with longing and her mouth remained reddened from the force of their kisses. She did not protest this time—perhaps because she understood that together they were far too dangerous.
Charles quickly adjusted his placket once his cloak had fallen back around him. He could only hope the raging swell of his manhood would soften quickly.
Eleanor took his offered arm, her hand trembling slightly when she set it atop his, and together they made their way to the waiting carriage.
The cool air cleared the fog of Charles’s passion. He would not allow himself to ruin Eleanor—especially when he knew he could not in good conscience marry her.
Once he had the rest of the journals from her, he would unearth the whereabouts of the Coeur de Feu and then leave to reclaim the stone, fulfilling his father’s promise. In the meantime he would have to keep his distance. For Eleanor’s sake.
Chapter Sixteen
Charles couldn’t take it anymore. Or rather he couldn’t take the lack of progress anymore. He’d applied hours to searching thro
ugh the journals from their country estate to no avail.
Placing the key on the page, reading something indistinguishable. Then placing the key on another page and reading something indistinguishable. And yet again placing the key on the page and reading something indistinguishable.
In truth, it was as he’d expected. He’d gone through every book and piece of paper in the stack of boxes. What he needed was doubtless in the other journals Eleanor had.
He would need to see her again in an effort to secure more of them. After all, he had said yes to her request to wed her if there was no one else willing to. The journals were his due.
And yet the very idea of being in the same room with her left his mind whirling with a stream of memories he could not shake.
Their secluded tryst under his cloak blended with that last time at Lottie’s. When he’d kissed her. Actually much more than kissed. He had pulled down her bodice and drawn her nipple into his mouth. He almost groaned at the memory, for such a little bud it was—berry-pink compared to her alabaster skin, firm against his tongue. And the way she’d cried out and clung to him...
Regret twisted in his chest. He shouldn’t distract her from the marriage mart. Especially when the only vow he truly intended to fulfill was the one he’d given his father.
He stared down at the great mahogany desk he sat at—his father’s. Even the new chair Thomas had procured did not alleviate the sense of strangeness in the room, the sense that Charles did not belong there. Perhaps he never would adjust to this room being anything more than his father’s study.
Charles lifted his gaze to take in the richly appointed room with its blend of luxurious furnishings and cherished artifacts, all amid the piles of opened boxes from Somersville Manor.
His father had seemed invincible, too vibrant ever to die. And yet he was truly gone. After a lifetime of seeking his father’s approval, of wishing for the bond Charles had seen other fathers and sons share, it would never happen now.
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