“Mattie told me I was to wear a nightgown. I shall do just as you wish, of course.”
“No, you shall do as you wish.” He reluctantly left the warmth of her hand and lay down on the bed. “And I do hope your wishes coincide with mine.”
“And if they do not?” Eden untied the silk string of her robe. She went to the closet and hung it on a padded hanger. Her nightgown followed. Hart took a deep breath, hoping to find his voice.
“You are incomparable.”
“And you, sir, are easily impressed.” She lay on her side next to him on the bed, looking into his eyes. “Why, Hart? Why have you done this?”
Here was a question he had no answer for. It had bedeviled him for days. He should not want her—he should not even touch her. To atone for what his uncle did, he need only give her a generous allowance and chalk her fall up to the family curse. Was he about to fall with her? He was afraid so. He made his voice light. “Fate. The moon. The stars. I only know I have to have you, and I have to have you now. I fought against it, Eden, believe me. I don’t want you hurt again. And I won’t hurt you, I swear.”
She leaned in to kiss him. He lay still, letting his lips be their sole point of contact. His arms ached to hold her, to flip her roughly on her back. His cock yearned to plunge and plunder, claim her for his own. But instead he let himself be kissed, an artless, nearly virginal kiss, which thrilled his soul and tested his resolve.
She broke away. “Am I not pleasing you?”
“You please me too much. I meant what I said. We shall do as you wish.”
Her perfect eyebrows knit. “But I am your mistress. Surely it is up to you to tell me what to do.”
“I think you’ll figure something out.”
“Are you serious? What if I just get up and walk away?”
“I do hope that’s not your choice. I should be quite discomfited. In dire pain, actually.”
“This is a trick,” she said, rising from the bed. The sunlight behind her set fire to the gold strands in her brown hair. He longed to run his fingers through the waves, but perhaps not today. He had taken a risk, to come to her quickly today, to give her no chance to think or refuse him, to make their congress seem like the most normal, thoughtless, animal thing. The sooner they began this dance, the sooner he could set her fears to rest. And he really could not wait another minute.
“No trick. I am at your disposal. Surely you can see that.”
Eden’s eyes flicked to his manhood, which stood at rigid attention. “I may do anything?”
“Anything within reason.” He hoped she would not subject him to the crueler games his uncle had inflicted on her.
“I must think on it.”
To Hart’s disappointment, she sat back down on her chair. At least she was still naked, so he could still admire her glorious body. That henna rose was intriguing. He hoped he might be able to inspect it at closer range sometime in the very near future.
Perhaps he’d been too precipitate. But he could hardly prevent the effect she had on him. He’d been rock-hard even before he picked her up at Mrs. Brown’s last night. When she’d only exchanged monosyllables with him, he knew he was doomed to delay, but it seemed twelve hours was about all the time he could do without her. Surely once he made her his, she would see there was no choice but to marry him.
“Does your aunt know about this—this relationship?” Eden asked, startling him with the question.
“Of course not. She believes I sent you back to Hartford Hall with Mattie. That you decided it was too soon after all for a commitment such as marriage, but that you are thinking about it.”
She shook her head. “I will never marry.”
“So you’ve said. On the first day we met, actually.” She was busy with her hands, smoothing her nails with a thumb. He wished she was smoothing him. “Should I get dressed?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
Patience, patience, patience, damn it. “Well, when you do, inform me of your intentions.” He stretched, popping the tension in his neck. “My, this bed is comfortable. Perhaps I’ll take a nap.” He closed one eye.
“Don’t you dare go to sleep!” She stalked toward him, her fists clenched. At least he’d gotten a rise out of her. She came a bit closer.
“That’s a very interesting drawing you have on your—” Hart offered, not quite knowing what to call her feminine mound. “I don’t suppose you’d object if I took a look at it while you and your elves are thinking?”
She lay back down on the bed, martyred, closing her eyes as if it hurt her to look at him. She was clearly not on the same page as he this afternoon. They were not even on the same chapter. Perhaps they were reading different volumes altogether.
Hart leaned on one elbow. When he touched the rose with a fingertip, she jumped a mile.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to distress you. I find it very difficult not to touch you, you know.”
“Why don’t you then? Let’s just get this over with!”
He chuckled. “Hardly the words a gentleman wants to hear. You are depressing my ardor.”
Eden opened her eyes and stared at his cock. His words were clearly not quite true.
“That’s what I want. To begin and get done. You said we’d do as I wished.”
“And what is it exactly you want me to do?” he asked, all innocence.
Eden clasped her hands tightly as if she wanted to slap some sense into him. Her irritation was amusing. “You know! Don’t make me say it.”
“This?” Hart asked, as he cupped her breast in his warm hand, thumbing her erect nipple. She shivered in pleasure. “Or this?” He nuzzled her neck, inhaling the rose fragrance on her skin. “Or perhaps this?”
The mattress shifted, and Hart’s warm breath teased her rose. His tongue traced the artwork lightly, then slipped lower. Her legs fell open.
She made no argument. In fact, she said nothing of any note, just breathed in a satisfactorily rapid fashion. He limned each fold and crevice with his hands and his mouth, paying special attention to the hard little knot of her lust. He blessed the daylight as the tip of his tongue connected with her nub, each stroke darkening her flesh from pink to ruby. Her fingers laced through his hair, mindlessly mimicking the very movement of his tongue as he tasted her. When she stilled her hand, her fingertips pressing hard against his skull, he sensed she was about to come apart for him. He captured the bud in his mouth, sucking its sugared sweetness. Eden cried out, and he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop until she peaked again and his mouth was filled with her glory.
Just as perfect as he knew it would be. He held her close, fitting her to his body, skimming the surface of her hot skin with one hand. He wished he could say her satisfaction had satisfied him, but he wanted more. Much more.
But not today. If he didn’t leave now, their moment might be spoiled. She wasn’t ready. He knew it. He could wait. He had a week less than a year to make her his.
He rolled off the bed. When she opened her mouth to protest, he put one finger against her lips and told her to go to sleep, that he would see her tomorrow. That she must think of something she wanted him to do.
She watched him get into his disordered clothes as her body adjusted to this latest marvel. She could think of a thousand things. But they all might remind her of Ivor. Eden allowed that Hart’s technique was a considerable improvement over his uncle’s, and she mercifully had not thought once of the man as Hart had kissed her senseless. But that didn’t mean that tomorrow the ghost could not come between them.
But Eden did sleep; she was exhausted. When she woke it was dusk. When Mattie brought the supper tray, on it was a note.
It asked the simple question How are the elves? Are you thinking? Eden smiled and slipped it under her pillow.
Des had been hinting around all through dinner, but Hart pretended to be as thick as the beefsteak he was spearing into his mouth. He couldn’t play the imbecile forever, though, and he thought he might just have the solution
that would free him completely and make Desmond a very happy man.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began. No elves were involved.
“Bad for your brainbox, Hart. Thought you weren’t yourself.”
“You know I must marry.”
“Oh, not that again. A few weeks in the country and your head has gone to mush. Never tell me you met some dairymaid who’s put down her bucket to become Lady Hartford.”
“I have sheep, Des, not cows,” Hart laughed, although he believed there were several head of cattle on the home farm for the usual butter, cream, cheese and milk. “But I have met someone.”
Des threw his napkin down on the table. “I knew it! Who is she? Some squire’s daughter?”
“No names. No details. I’m not sure of my suit yet, Des. I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Is the chit insane? Any girl would be happy to call you husband.”
“Thank you for your vote of confidence. I am proceeding slowly. It is my hope that within the year—”
“A year!”
“I must be patient. She is worth winning. But I very much suspect she would not be happy to learn that I have a subscription to Mrs. Brown’s.”
Desmond had the grace to blush. He’d been angling all evening without much subtlety for an invitation there later. He’d probably found the last few weeks to be dead dull while Hart was visiting his estate. But Hart was about to dispel the dullness and make his friend’s dreams come true.
“High in the instep, is she? A gel’s got to know how to get on in the ton. Nothing wrong for a gentleman to have a bit o’ fluff on the side. Her mother needs to tell her so.”
“I’m afraid her mother is dead and it’s certainly not a subject I wish to broach with her while I’m attempting to woo her. Anyway, I propose a solution which should suit all of us. I’d like to transfer my membership at Mrs. Brown’s to you. I believe that has been done a time or two.”
Major Henry Desmond looked massively disappointed. Not the response Hart had hoped for. But Des’s next words explained his reaction.
“Gad, Hart, you know I haven’t the blunt for it. I can’t afford it. Too bad for you, old chap. Though no one’s sorrier than I.”
“You misunderstand. It would be a gift.” Hart watched in amusement as light dawned on his friend’s face.
“Oh, I couldn’t. Well, perhaps I could, but Mrs. Brown might not like it. She’s a dreadful stickler. Worse than the patronesses at Almack’s.”
“Nonsense. You’re a war hero. You come from a good family and don’t kick dogs and children. I’m sure the woman could be persuaded to take you on. She owes me a favor. Let’s finish our dinner and go find out.”
Des now looked like it was Christmas and his birthday combined. He ate a little faster than was good for his digestion, and shortly he and Hart were admitted to the Pantheon by a very stiff-necked butler.
Hart gave the man his card and whispered something in his ear. The butler moved rather quickly for a man of his age and returned shortly to invite the gentlemen to Mrs. Brown’s private parlor. Hart had seen quite enough of that room, but Des was all agog.
They were left alone with two snifters of excellent brandy, the bottle handy on a silver tray. Mrs. Brown kept them waiting just long enough for Hart to become irritated, but he had to admit her appearance was almost worth the wait.
For a woman who was over forty, she radiated a serene sensuality that had caused regret in many a young buck that she no longer involved herself personally with her clientele. Tonight her pale hair was upswept with diamanté clips, and her snow white velvet gown’s bodice skirted the limits of propriety. A single large teardrop pearl dipped into the cleft of her bosom, as if pointing the way to pleasure.
“Lord Hartford, I admit this is a surprise. I had not thought to see you so soon.” She smiled, but was clearly puzzled.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Brown. I believe you know my friend Major Desmond.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Brown extended two gloved fingers.
“I don’t know why this didn’t occur to me when we last met, but perhaps I was distracted.” And feeling somewhat robbed, Hart thought, although securing Eden’s freedom had been worth every penny. More like pound. “I find I do not have need of my membership here any longer.”
“Indeed? I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, my lord, but we do not refund fees. Ever.”
Hart laughed. The woman could run circles around the directors of the Bank of England. “So I should hope not. But I believe membership can be passed on. Didn’t Viscount Wetherbury inherit his from his grandfather?”
“You know I never discuss my members, Lord Hartford,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Surely you’re not making out your will just yet?”
“I suppose I should. I’d like to marry.”
She inclined her head. “A noble goal.”
“I’d like to propose that my friend Major Desmond here take on the remainder of my year.”
“That’s a very unusual request. I am not sure I have ever done such a thing before.” She placed a gloved finger on her chin and studied the distance, as if deeply lost in thought. She had told Hart herself that his father had taken his uncle’s place here, but she seemed to have deliberately forgotten. Hart could see why she had been so successful on the stage and in so many boudoirs.
“You allowed my father to take my uncle’s membership, I believe,” he reminded her.
“Ahh. So I did. That was a such long time ago. The rules have changed.”
Hart wondered how much more he’d have to pony up to complete the transfer. No doubt she’d advise him tomorrow in a purple-sealed letter. “Just think on it. Mrs. Brown. I would be grateful.”
“I shall do so, Lord Hartford. How is our mutual friend?”
“Tolerable.” Much better than tolerable, he hoped.
“Good. I trust Lord Hartford’s recommendation is amenable to you, Major Desmond?”
Des swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, rules are meant to be broken, or I wager I would not have a business. Come see me tomorrow afternoon for tea, Major Desmond. Your interview will begin at four.”
“M-my interview?”
“Why, of course, sir. How do you think your friend Lord Hartford got into my good graces on such short notice? I owe it to my girls to make sure the gentlemen who patronize the Pantheon really are gentlemen.”
As they made their way downstairs, Des muttered, “An interview. And tea. I can’t credit it.”
“Whatever will you wear?” Hart teased, only to feel the sharp end of Des’s elbow in his ribs.
Chapter 13
The next day Hart lasted until all of two o’clock before he found himself knocking on Eden’s door. He trusted he had made some progress with her and she was ready to assign him his next amorous task. Something that might relieve him as well.
He found her in the charming little sitting room writing a letter. She hastily shoved it in the drawer of the writing desk and rose to greet him.
“I understand from the girls it is quite the thing for a man to set a schedule with his mistress,” she began, in a most distressingly businesslike fashion. “You know, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, that sort of thing. I shouldn’t like you to arrive and not find me at home.”
“You’re not planning on running away, are you?”
She was not a good liar, Hart thought, watching her expression change. If not actually planning to decamp, she certainly had thought of it. His uncle must have known every minute she was miserable. And derived perverse enjoyment of it.
“We have a contract, sir. I shall do my duty and honor it.”
Damn, damn, damn. Where was the love-flushed girl of yesterday? “I hope you will eventually come to feel more than duty, Eden,” he said softly.
“I shall give you no reason to complain, my lord,” Eden said, a false smile on her face.
Hart sighed. There was no question she knew more about this business than h
e did, and a part of him grieved for her innocence.
“I have severed my connection at Mrs. Brown’s, so I expect to be visiting you every day. Consider that your schedule.” Hart hoped that if she had to see him daily, she didn’t stand a single chance to guard herself against him.
“What time?” she asked with coolness.
He wanted to tell her his bags would arrive in the morning, that he’d wake up to her sleep-creased face every day and smooth it with kisses, that he’d catch her after luncheon and drag her back to bed, that he’d watch the candlelight flicker in her eyes as she arched against him in the dark. Instead, he said, “What time will be convenient for you? Remember, I am doing as you wish.”
Tempting Eden Page 20
