Eden drew her beautifully plucked eyebrows together. “You truly were serious yesterday.”
“I was. I’m a serious man.”
“It will do you no good.”
“What do you mean?”
“I see what you are doing. You think because I was once a . . .” How to phrase it without using the words slave or whore or slut? “. . . player under someone else’s direction that I shall enjoy having the upper hand. Doing the directing. Well, I won’t.”
“How do you know if you don’t try?”
She hoped to shock him from his complacency. He had to know right now what she was before this new game progressed any further. “Are you saying you’d lie there like a lump while I trussed you up and whipped you?”
Hart’s face was carefully neutral. “To be frank, that sounds most unpleasant. I would much prefer what we did yesterday if it comes to that.”
Eden blushed and turned away. She had dreamt of nothing else. “This will never work. Please send me back to Mrs. Brown’s.”
“I cannot. I have broken off my relations with her. As a non-member, I cannot even enter the Pantheon to sneak a peek.”
“Damn it! Get a friend to take you! Write a letter! Hart, don’t you see, this is wrong. I can never be what you want.”
He came to her and put his arms around her. “I want you anyway. I need you. And whether you know it or not, you need me, too. Now may I kiss you?”
She looked up at him, her dark eyes welling with tears. “What?”
“I need your permission, Eden. I shall never take what you do not freely give.”
Eden closed her eyes, shutting his beautiful face away. She had given nearly her soul away before. No matter how it had started, she had ended up in a hell of her own making. If her stepfather had not died, she knew she would have killed him. Or herself. The latter was more likely, so worthless had she felt.
She was coming to terms with what had happened to her, what she had let happen. She knew Hart would never hurt her physically, but he would tie himself so tight within her, she’d never be free of him. One day he would come to his senses, his ridiculous notion of her rescue unnecessary. She was not some gothic heroine to be pitied. She could forge her own future.
Yet she was in his arms. His warm lips were near. He smelled of lime and clean linen. And almost-love. So she lifted her face to him, risking her soul once again.
If he’d had time, he could have counted the tangle of dark lashes brushing the tender blue skin under her eyes, skin that told him she’d had as little sleep as he. He could have kissed the tiny beauty mark upon her temple and the spangle of freckles he discovered on her nose, which she had tried to cover with rice powder. He could have traced her perfectly imperfect mouth with the pad of his thumb until she captured it to suckle. He could have unpinned her hair and watched it fall in loose waves upon her creamy shoulders, breathing in its lush rose scent.
But he only had time for a kiss.
Each time he kissed her, he felt like an explorer navigating in uncharted waters. So far he had discovered her hesitation and her hope. He was grateful that her practiced arts deserted her when she was in his arms. He wanted to take her where she had never been, to learn where she wanted to be. And then he remembered. There was a great deal to learn.
“Do you like dogs?” he asked, breaking the kiss.
Eden sagged up against him. If he had not been holding her up, she would have been puddled on the carpet. “Pardon?” she asked in confusion. To her utter mortification she recalled her last mention of dogs to him. She’d been on her hands and knees, stripped of pride and desperate. It had been a shocking attempt to make him understand what had happened with his uncle, but perhaps that was how he meant to take her this afternoon. The position of the dog. “I—I will do anything you like.”
“A dog would be good company for you here so you don’t get lonely. Unless you prefer a cat. Which is it?”
“Um, I like them both.” She’d had a cat when she’d come to Hartford Hall, but her stepfather’s dogs hadn’t always been toothless old things and had driven it off. How could Hart go from that miraculous kiss to a discussion about house pets?
“Cats are useful for keeping the mice at bay. I don’t suppose Mrs. What’s-er-name has said if they’re a problem.”
Eden untangled herself from Hart’s arms and managed to get to the couch without falling. The man was mad. “Her name is Mrs. Philpott, and no, she has not.”
“They fight, though.” Eden’s mind was still a blank as he chattered on. “Cats and dogs. It really should be one or the other. This house is probably not big enough for both.”
The kiss had obviously addled his wits as it had weakened her knees. But a reply to this preposterous question seemed required. “A cat then. So it can be useful.”
“Very well, then, a cat it is. I’ll bring one back tomorrow.” To her amazement, he bent down and kissed her forehead, then bounded out the parlor door and down the stairs. She never had a chance to tell him what she had been thinking about rather strenuously all night and morning long. This mistress business was not at all what she had expected.
She heard the door slam, then seconds later reopen. He must have taken the steps up two at a time, for he poked his head in the doorway rather quickly. “You never said. What time do you wish me to come tomorrow?”
Eden laughed. “You are impossible. Come for dinner. Eight o’clock. You and the cat may stay the night. I have been thinking.”
This wooing business was dangerous. One would think in the teeming metropolis of London, the preeminent city of the world, one could find a well-behaved cat for a modest fee. Even a kitten would have done the trick, but apparently kittens, like lambs, were seasonal and November was simply not a good month for them. Both he and the estimable Calvert had combed the area pet shops. Had they wanted a parrot or a poodle or a goldfinch or a goldfish, they would have been spoiled for choice.
Instead, Hart found himself in possession of a young orange tomcat with a stunted, corkscrew tail, who took a dim view of his new situation and had clawed Hart right through his gloves. The cat was presently yowling his head off in a cage as Hart’s carriage made the trip to Eden’s house. Hart doubted Eden would get too terribly attached to the creature, and he had a substitute present in his pocket, a lovely pearl-and-diamond bracelet which would more than make up for the cat’s shortcomings.
Hart allowed as his life had been completely upended these past two months. He had started as a soldier and ended a baron. His bills were now paid in full, he had two houses instead of modest bachelor digs, and he had fallen headlong in lust with a most stubborn, unsuitable woman. A woman whose honor made her refuse to marry him yet could abide being his mistress. A mistress he’d somehow forgotten to make love to when the subject of cats came up.
He reminded himself as the cat made its presence unmistakable that he’d vowed to go slowly with Eden. He knew she considered herself too damaged for decency. And how he regretted his own part in her feelings.
Hart wondered how many times he’d misjudged a situation. Not many, he hoped; he’d had a reputation of quick thinking that had saved his men and his own hide more times than he could count. But he’d made a mistake with Eden Emery, the least likely femme fatale.
He’d spent his life running from the reputation of his family, but Eden had had no opportunity to run. His uncle had tamed, then trapped her. Eden had never known an ordinary life. She had been desperate enough to believe she should lose her identity entirely amidst the demimonde. How to persuade her to trade the name Flora for the Baroness Hartford?
My God. Even his title must be anathema to her. But there was nothing Hart could do about the patents dating to the fourteenth century.
His driver pulled up to the mews house and Hart grabbed the cage, getting swiped again for his trouble. The shop owner had tied a yellow bow on it, which was now sadly damp and chewed. “Little bastard,” Hart muttered under his breath. Eden would prob
ably choose a different name, but that suited the creature to the ground.
He was very tempted to pass the cat off to Philpott so it could begin its life in the kitchen, but he resolutely mounted the stairs.
Eden was reading a book by the fire. A branch of candles burned on the table at her elbow. She was dressed in one of Juliet’s selections, a tasteful black gown trimmed with a smattering of gray pearls. She placed a ribbon between the pages and rose, curtseying. “Good evening, my lord.”
“Please call me Hart. Surely we are on more intimate terms. I believe I’ve earned the right.” Intimate did not even begin to describe what he’d done to her two days ago.
She nodded. “Very well. And what have we here?”
“This, my lady, is your cat. I shall not hold it against you if you release him into the streets at once. He seems to have a bit of a temper.” As if to punctuate the remark, the cat howled.
“Well, of course. How would you feel if someone confined you in a cage? Poor little fellow.” She bent to stroke his fur through the bars.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. He’s a perfect brute.”
“Release him. I’m sure he’ll be much more equable when he has his freedom.”
Reluctantly, Hart lifted the latch, and the cat dashed under the sofa.
“If we’re lucky, he’ll stay there all night. But I have something else for you.” He reached in his pocket for the jeweler’s box.
“I know it’s not my birthday.” She took the case but didn’t open it.
Another thing he didn’t know. Her birth date.
“When is it?
“The eighth of October. You’re a bit late.” And there had been no celebration since the baron was scarce cold in his grave.
“And you are twenty-two, correct?”
Eden shrugged. “Alas, I am. An old maid.”
“You needn’t be.” Hart brushed her cheek with a warm fingertip.
“Do not start in again, my—Hart. I have planned a pleasant dinner for us and I should not like us to disagree. It is very bad for one’s digestion.”
“Very well. I will endeavor to find topics of conversation to which you have no objection. Presents, for example. Look inside there. If it’s not to your taste, I shall return it and get you something else.”
Eden popped the box open. A delicate single strand of freshwater pearls interspaced with small diamonds lay nestled in black velvet. It was not the gaudy gift of a man to his mistress, but the kind of thing a man might give his wife.
“It—it’s beautiful.”
“Here, let me fasten it. The clasp is a shell. Isn’t that rather clever? The jeweler has a matching necklace and earbobs, but I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”
She held out her arm. For a dizzying second she remembered other occasions when she had been in such a position, waiting to be bound. But she had never been tied by pearls and diamonds. She shook her wrist, watching the jewels catch the candlelight.
“How could anyone not like it? Thank you.” Impulsively, she reached up to kiss him on the cheek.
He took advantage, quickly moving so his mouth connected with hers. He parted her lips with his tongue, stroking the edge of her teeth. Invading and tickling the plump padding of her lower lip, her palate, her cheek, until she couldn’t help but do the same to him. He skimmed the beading at her neckline, then dipped a finger into the warm valley between her breasts.
Before she had a chance to push him away, he stepped back, straightened her bodice and smiled. “You are welcome. And I am starving. You have no idea how much trouble it is to catch a cat in London.”
Eden frowned. “Do you suppose he’ll be all right? I’ll ask Mattie to put a sandbox in the scullery for him until he gets used to us. I wouldn’t want to put him out in the garden and have him run off.”
“Want to bet? What will you call him?”
“Why, Brutus, of course. The perfect brute. It seems he’s already betrayed your kindness.” She had noticed the long scratches on Hart’s hands and had yearned to kiss them better. But she was determined to keep some sort of barrier between them until he realized this plan of his was pointless. Already he had flummoxed her by the kiss. Although she was perfectly prepared to sleep with him tonight, she would endeavor with all her might to distance herself from his charm. She feared she had a daunting task ahead of her.
He deserved someone else as a wife. She deserved not to have her heart broken. If she observed the terms of their contract, the latter was sure to happen. And really, she thought, would Holy Hartford ever go before the courts to sue his mistress for desertion? She thought not.
“Come, sir. I believe our dinner must be ready.”
“What is on the menu this evening? I am famished, you know. Between the jewelry shopping and the cat conundrum, I did not have the opportunity to stop for lunch.
“My favorite. Roast chicken. I hope it will be to your liking.”
Another question answered. Hart ticked it off his mental checklist.
Dinner had been a nearly normal affair. Hart realized that for the first time they were not arguing about the past or the future, but simply speaking to each other as friends. He had any number of nuggets of information about her preferences now, and was sure she knew more about him as well. He noted she drank very little of her wine, and knew why. He was pleased. He planned to make this a memorable night and wanted her to be cognizant of every kiss and stroke.
When he rose from the table and extended his hand, she clasped it. Looking down into her sober face, he asked, “Are you sure?”
“A poor mistress I will make if I deny you my bed,” Eden said, attempting some levity.
“Eden, you know I want more from you.”
“Hush. We will not walk that old ground. Let us just enjoy tonight.”
He followed her up the stairs, watching the swish of her skirts. He dared not look up at her beautiful ass or the proud stiffness of her black back. Juliet had provided stylish clothing, but Hart was anxious to get Eden out of that fashionable mourning gown.
They entered her tastefully appointed bedroom, so very different from Flora’s florid bower. Mattie had already been in to turn down the bed, but was nowhere in sight. She had left a basin of water and towels on the dresser and a tray with a bottle of port and two glasses on a side table near the fire.
“Some wine, my lord?” Eden asked, moving toward the table.
Hart shook his head. “I only want to taste you, Eden.”
He watched her run her tongue over her lips unconsciously and felt a tightening in his groin. “Come to me.”
Without a word, she complied and stood still as he worked at the devilish fastenings of her silk dress, finally draping it on a chair. Let Mattie hang it up tomorrow. Eden’s chemise and stays were as black as night, festooned with tiny pink rosebuds and green stitching. “Very pretty, but wholly unnecessary.” He untied the pink ribbons that laced up her back. He unbuttoned her shift and it drifted to the floor.
She was exquisite, standing in her beaded slippers and black stockings tied with pink rosettes. Hart envisioned her long legs wrapped around him, the whisper of silk against his skin. She stepped out of her shoes and bent to untie a garter.
“Leave it.” His voice sounded harsh, even to him.
For an instant he felt her fear and cursed himself for his lust. He needed to return the control to her, no matter that she thought it calculated.
“Now,” he said softly, “I require your assistance.”
Eden blushed. She had never fully undressed a man before. Ivor had taken her clothed, or had come to bed in his dressing gown. She had welcomed the barrier of fabric between them, although she had always been stripped bare, powerless. It was as if his clothing distinguished him from her low animal nature.
“We shall see if your jacket is padded, my lord,” she teased, trying to erase the unhappy image of herself cowering on the library floor.
“I can assure you, madam, that it is not. Nor are my inex
pressibles.” In fact, when Eden’s eyes inevitably swept downward, she could see he was beyond aroused.
She eased him out of his tailored frock coat, placing it carefully next to her gown. His vest of figured satin came next. When she had difficulty with his cravat, she heard him mutter, “Damn McBride,” and he tore it from his own throat. She pulled his linen shirt out of his pants and stepped back.
“Do not say you are done.”
“I do not want you to get cold.” Her own nipples were frozen berries, and her pale skin was all over gooseflesh.
Tempting Eden Page 21
