Yet she had not looked disgusted, merely interested. Intrigued. Curious.
Well, curiosity killed the cat, and it would certainly ruin her. He would ruin her. She was too delicate to want such treatment. But if she did… he would have to take care not to be too rough, for her flawless skin would bruise like a peach. No. No, he could never raise a hand to her, not even for pleasure, she was too fragile. There was so much he could show her instead, though. Oh, good Christ, yes. So much. He would put her over his knees and lift her skirts and….
“That’s it. I’m going. Do as you please.”
Nic startled, suddenly aware his brother was speaking to him.
“What?”
Louis threw up his hands and walked out the door. Nic muttered a curse and followed him.
Chapter 3
Dr Archambeau,
Lady Elizabeth is still suffering from fatigue, headaches, and fainting spells. I don’t give a God damn how bloody important your work is. You’ll get yourself over here if I must come and get you myself. If it aids your motivation, I will give a generous donation to further your research. However, if I do not see you here with the minimum delay, I think I do not need to remind you of the consequences you will bear.
―Excerpt of a letter from Monsieur Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau to Dr Archambeau – translated from the French.
20th March 1839, Mrs Manning’s Rout Party, Old Burlington Street, London.
By the time the brothers arrived at Old Burlington Street, the grand building was filled to the rafters. Every stick of furniture had been emptied from the place and the entire house given over to the evening’s entertainments. The sound of music drifted from the ballroom, where people were dancing. Louis sent a longing look in the direction of the card room, but Nic caught his arm and towed him away before he could disappear.
“You may not fleece the people whom we need to accept you into society, Louis. It’s bad form.”
Louis glowered and snatched a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
“Respectability is overrated,” he grumbled under his breath. “I wish to God you’d been the legitimate heir.”
“Well, I’m not, so tant pis.”
Nic refused to allow himself to think how different his life might have been if things had been reversed, how it might have been he who was eligible to court Eliza in full view of the ton, instead of making lewd remarks in private. Shame rose in his chest. He wished to God he had broken his promise and not come.
“Too bad for me, indeed,” Louis muttered. “I cannot remember the last time I had any fun. I suppose I must find Lady Elizabeth and ask her to dance.”
Shame dissolved under a wave of jealousy and anger at his brother’s careless words.
“And this is a chore for you?” Nic asked, his voice dangerously low.
Louis shot him an odd look. “You know very well I have no desire to marry. Not her or anyone. I am doing what you have asked of me, so you may keep your promise to our father. Lady Elizabeth is beautiful and charming. She is everything a man could want in a wife, and I still do not wish to marry her, for I have no desire for a wife at all.”
Unbidden, Nic felt his fists clench.
“At last, the two most intriguing brothers in the city. I had begun to think you had abandoned me.”
Mrs Manning was lavishly dressed in a gown of deep violet and splendidly arrayed with a sparkling parure of amethyst and diamond jewellery. The glittering stones were glorious, of the finest quality, and Nic imagined them against Eliza’s beautiful skin. His fingers itched.
“Madame, as if we could dream of staying away,” Louis said smoothly as Nic had done nothing but stare at the woman’s jewels like some Johnny raw who’d never seen a lady before. “If London’s most sought after hostess deigns to invite us to such an elegant event, we are yours to command.”
“Is that so?” Mrs Manning murmured, regarding Louis with the same expression Nic was wearing over her jewels. “I would think you might ask the lady to dance, too. Hmm?”
“It would be my pleasure to do so.”
Nic watched as Louis led their hostess away without a backwards glance and sighed. He should get out of here. He’d shown his face, and he doubted Mrs Manning cared for his presence anyway. She’d barely looked at him. People seldom did when Louis was around.
“I was afraid you would break your promise.”
Nic’s heart leapt, instantly reacting to the lovely voice. Walk away, walk away, he told himself, but he was weak. He was so damn weak where she was concerned. If she ever discovered how defenceless he was around her, he would be in serious trouble.
“A promise extracted under duress,” he pointed out gruffly. “Which amounts to blackmail.”
“Does it?” Her eyes widened with delight. “Goodness. I’ve never blackmailed anyone before. I didn’t realise I had it in me. How extraordinary.”
He rolled his eyes, refusing to be charmed by her, or at least refusing to allow her to see he was charmed.
“Good evening, Eliza.”
Nic stiffened as a man approached her. He was likely the only one here who could rival Louis for title of handsomest man in the room. Nic had never met him, but there was no mistaking those striking pale blue eyes and blond hair. He was one of Montagu’s sons. The eldest, he thought. Philip, the Earl of Ashburton. Though he had all his father’s austere good looks, his manner was far warmer, and he smiled at Eliza with the affection of a close friend.
Eliza’s face glowed with pleasure in a way that made Nic feel like breaking something.
“Good evening, Pip. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Pip? That was far too familiar for comfort. Well, and what of it? he told himself. What did you expect, you damn fool? Of course she’d be friends with the eldest son of a marquess. She was a duke’s daughter. It was exactly the kind of match she ought to make. Her sister had told him last summer she’d already turned down offers from a duke and a marquess. As if he’d needed the warning. As if he’d needed reminding he wasn’t good enough for her.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lady,” he murmured, turning away.
He froze as Eliza’s hand shot out and grasped his coat sleeve. He stared at her slender fingers in shock. Her white gloves curled about the dark material, holding on tight. Looking up, he met her eyes. Eliza blushed and let go.
“D-do let me introduce you,” she stammered. “My Lord Ashburton, this is a friend of mine, Mr Demarteau. Mr Demarteau, Lord Ashburton. Pip and I grew up together. We’re practically brother and sister, aren’t we, Pip?”
Pip sent her a curious glance, his cool blue eyes moving from her to Nic with interest.
“Practically,” he said.
It might be true, too. The earl was certainly regarding Nic with the kind of suspicious look a big brother would give a man he thought might have unscrupulous intentions towards his little sister. He turned away from Nic and back to Eliza.
“Well, it is good to see you looking so well, Eliza. We’ve all been so worried about you. Are you dancing tonight?”
Eliza glanced at Nic and he knew damn well she was waiting for him to speak, to tell Lord Ashburton a bare-faced lie and say he’d already engaged her for the next dance. Well, she’d have a long wait. He’d not be manoeuvred by this over-indulged little chit who would have him dancing to her tune if he gave her an inch. So, Nic forced his face to remain impassive. What did he care if she danced with the bloody toff, anyway? She was not his. She ought to be dancing with Louis César in any case, not him. So she could do as she pleased.
“Certainly, Pip. I should be delighted to,” Eliza said, and walked away without another word.
Nic told himself to leave the party now. At once. He’d kept his blasted promise and turned up. He’d never promised to stay. Though it was galling to admit, he could not make himself do it. Instead he skulked in the shadows, watching Eliza dance with Ashburton with his guts in a knot. Pathetic bloody fool. Was he going to stay all night, waiting for
her to deign to speak to him again, waiting for a few crumbs to fall from the table of his betters?
Stop it. You’re getting yourself all riled up for no reason.
Cursing his own stupidity, he made himself turn his back on the dancing and fetch a drink. Though he was aware when the dance ended, he refused to look for Eliza. He would not act like some pitiful lovesick youth. Well, of course not. He wasn’t a lovesick youth, for the love of God. He snorted inwardly. Oh, no. No, he was a man, old enough to know better, a man who’d done things she would revile him for, and he was hopelessly infatuated with her. It wasn’t love. At least he had sense enough to know that much. It couldn’t be love, for he hardly knew her. He didn’t know the meaning of the word, either. Men like him did not fall in love. That was for more refined creatures than him. Louis would fall, one day, despite all his protestations. He was good at heart and sooner or later he would realise he could reach for everything fate had denied him.
Nic was simply beguiled by Eliza’s innocence, that was all. He’d been captivated by her beauty and grace, her innate goodness, by all the things he had never had in his life before. It was the same for her, he knew. She was tempted by her first glimpse of another world, by the thrill of trailing her fingers in a dark sea, but he would not be her plaything. He would not be used until she tired of him and returned to her own world without a care, for what would become of him then? What would he do once he’d had a taste of everything he could not have? He’d go bloody mad, that was what.
The music had begun again, a waltz this time. Nic wondered what it would be like to dance with Eliza in his arms, and then cursed himself for not being able to keep her out of his mind. Well, enough was enough. He would not let some pretty, spoiled child tie him up in knots. Making his way through the crowd, he refused to acknowledge the fact that it was far too late for that. He took one last glance at the dancefloor and was about to turn away when he saw her.
What was she doing, dancing again? A different partner this time, one he did not recognise. She’d be worn to a thread if she kept this up. The foolish creature couldn’t even run down the stairs and… Nic watched her with increasing alarm as he noted how pale she looked, saw the way she was clinging to her partner’s arm. No doubt the stupid bastard whirling her about thought she was flirting with him. Before he knew what he was doing, he was moving across the dancefloor, through the swirling couples as silk gowns and petticoats swished about him. The music was loud, but all he could hear was his heart thudding in his ears.
He reached her just as she stumbled. Her partner tried to right her, to move her on but she pulled away from him. For a moment she stood, swaying.
Nic ran.
He caught her, holding her to him and sweeping her up.
“Nic?” she said, her voice faint and a little dazed.
“I’m here,” he replied gruffly. He moved fast, taking her away from all the gawping faces, from everyone who was whispering and murmuring. He kept moving, watching out for someone to come with him, to act as chaperone, for he could not be alone with her. There, that peacock who was down at Holbrooke, he’d do. The Indian bloke and his twin sister.
“You there! Mr Anson, isn’t it?”
To his credit, the fellow didn’t hesitate when he saw Eliza.
“Viv,” he called.
His sister turned with a scowl. “I told you already, Ash. I’m not speaking to you, so you can just go and take a running—”
“It’s Eliza, you damned harpy. Come and help.”
“Oh!”
The two hurried along in Nic’s wake as he headed towards the doors of the terrace.
“She needs some air, but it’s cold outside.”
Mr Anson nodded at once. “I’ll fetch her cloak.”
He rushed off as his twin held open the door for Nic to carry Eliza through. His heart constricted as he felt her hand slide about his neck, holding on, her silky hair tickling his jaw.
“Nic. I’m so tired.”
“I know, mon amour,” he said, wincing as he heard the endearment. It had slipped out. He’d not meant to say it. “You’ll feel better outside. Get some air.”
She nodded, but clung closer as the cold hit her. Moving to the far corner of the terrace and deep in the shadows, out of sight of prying eyes, he gently set her down. She swayed, and he told himself he had to hold her against him. There was no choice. If he didn’t, she would fall. He tried not to notice how soft she was, how perfectly she fit against him, or the tantalising scent of her that made him ache with longing.
Keeping one arm about her, he stripped off his coat.
“Help me with this blasted thing,” he demanded of Anson’s twin sister. Vivien, he thought her name was. She hurried forward at once and helped him tug the coat free.
“I don’t know where Ash has got to,” she muttered. “I hope he’s thought to bring her a drink. A tot of brandy is what she needs. Put some colour back in her cheeks.”
“That sounds lovely,” Eliza said, a thread of amusement in her voice now as Nic tucked his coat about her shoulders. She shivered and leaned into him, sliding her arms about his waist. “Oh, you’re so lovely and warm.”
“Eliza!” Nic protested.
He looked at Miss Anson in alarm, but the girl just smirked at him.
“I’ll er… go to the door and look out for my brother,” she said, her eyes alight with mischief. “And anyone else who might come along. Don’t worry, I’m an excellent lookout.”
And a dreadful chaperone, Nic thought bitterly.
“Eliza, you ought to sit down,” he said, trying to remain calm and sound stern and indifferent. A failure on both counts, he was certain.
His voice was rough-edged and his heart was beating so hard he felt a bit giddy himself. Putain, get a bloody grip, Nic.
“No, this… this is perfect. I just needed some air and… and you.”
“Don’t be such a damned fool.”
“Why didn’t you ask me to dance?”
Her arms were still coiled tightly about his waist. She looked up at him, and her eyes—the intoxicating green of emeralds and absinthe, and every bit as dangerous—took a hold of his soul and promised to never let go.
“You know why.”
“I don’t,” she said, speaking too softly, the moment far too intimate. “I don’t have the least idea.”
“I’m not for you, my lady,” he said, though there was no conviction in his voice, and he could hear it as well as she could.
“Aren’t you?”
There was a wistful note to the question that called to him. He bit down against the words that crowded on his tongue… promises to always be hers. Forever. Instead, he shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. She pressed closer to him and rested her head on his chest with a sigh.
“Oh, that is a terrible shame, for I very much fear I am yours.”
Oh, God. The wonderful, terrible words struck at his heart, and that undefended part of him was unprepared for the attack. They sank in, piercing to the core, choosing the perfect moment when he had made himself vulnerable to her. Fool. Damned fool, he cursed himself, but it was too late.
“That’s madness and you know it.”
He strove for anger, for anything to cover up the gaping hole in his chest before she saw the damage and went in for the kill. He did not think he would survive it.
“How cross you are,” she said, and once again looked up at him. “It’s your own fault, you know. I knew the first time I saw you, and I think you knew it too. I was so certain you felt it, but then you got all cross and belligerent and you made me all cross and belligerent too and… well, here we are. How silly it was to waste all that time, though, Nic. Time is precious. There’s simply not enough of it. You realise that when it’s almost taken away from you.”
“Eliza.”
He could not hold back the raw emotion in the way he said her name. The knowledge he’d almost lost her was agonising, unbearable, yet he could not help but remember
that dreadful time when she was caught in some nether world, betwixt and between, in a place where he could not follow, could not fight to be by her side when she fell. He’d never been so wretched in all his life.
“Don’t look so afraid. There’s nothing to fear.”
He snorted at that and turned his face away from her. “Why in the name of heaven did you do it?”
She started at the anger in his voice, except it wasn’t just anger, but guilt too. He’d been culpable, he knew it. Perhaps if she told him so, he’d have the strength to go away, to leave her be.
Eliza stared at him. He felt the weight of her gaze, the quality of her silence. And so he asked again.
“Why did you climb the walls, Eliza? You were all alone. What the devil were you thinking?”
She looked away then and rested her head back on his chest. “I don’t know, really. It wasn’t your fault, if that’s what’s making you look so miserable. You’ve no need to feel guilty. I wasn’t trying to copy your acrobatics.”
“You weren’t?” Nic let out a breath as a weight lifted from his heart.
“I’m not such a ninny,” she said with a tut. “You know it was only recently I could believe that day with you was real, that you’d really been there and done those extraordinary things. I thought I’d dreamt it. How did you learn?”
“In another life, but never mind that. Why did you climb the walls?”
Eliza huffed out a sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. It sounds so foolish now, only I felt so trapped.”
“Trapped?”
She nodded.
“I was frustrated and impatient and… well, for lack of anything else to do that might ease my desire to be reckless, I climbed the walls. Literally,” she added with a laugh that did not amuse him at all. “If you’d been there, perhaps I’d have raced you across the fields again. I’d have liked that, but I was alone, and Lottie was marrying Cassius. All the plans were underway, and she was so happy… lit up from within. I wasn’t angry any longer, I really wasn’t, but… but I had this panicky feeling, like I knew I must do the same thing soon enough, only I could never feel like she did, never be so certain about the future, about my husband.”
Dare to be Brazen (Daring Daughters Book 2) Page 4
