Tempting Eden
Page 22
“What an idiot I am. Get under the covers, Eden. I’ll do the rest.”
Gratefully, she slid under the quilted linens but did not close her eyes. She watched as Hart sat and struggled with his boots, tossed his stockings and shirt aside. When he stood to remove his breeches, she couldn’t help but give an appreciative sigh.
He was golden in the firelight, the fair hair on his body shimmering like the powder she had worn at Mrs. Brown’s. She thought of the men she’d seen during her week of lessons, pale, fat, lean, young, old. Hart surpassed them all, could have posed for a life study illustrating the Perfection of Man. And he was hers, for tonight. For a little while. Long enough, perhaps, to last her a lifetime of memories.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Where would you like me to begin?” he asked, the mischievous crease on his cheek deepening.
Eden had been prepared for his deference. “You may kiss my toes.” That would teach him. She still wore her stockings, after all.
His face betrayed no surprise. Gently, he loosened the coverlet at the foot of the bed and exposed her narrow feet. “Which side, madam, left or right?”
“Why, both of course.” Two could play this ridiculous game.
Hart held her feet together, fingering one sole. Eden stifled her urge to giggle, then gasped as he somehow inserted both her big toes into the hot cavern of his mouth. A most peculiar sensation tugged in her lower belly as his tongue tricked and tickled. All the while he was massaging one foot, then the other. She felt an unfamiliar lassitude.
“That’s quite enough,” she said at last.
She felt his hands move up to her calves, stroking and kneading until her legs fell apart. The friction between his hands and her stockings unraveled her. He pushed aside the linens. The candles revealed the shadows on the planes of his face. Eden had never seen anyone with such earnest concentration before.
“I want to taste your rose again. May I?”
As if he needed to ask. She nodded and he parted her folds.
Bliss. The tip of his tongue swept slowly, remorselessly. She felt no embarrassment as she opened to him, urging him on with her thrusts. Two long fingers entered her while his mouth was busy feasting on her plump bud. She was drenched and filled with the certainty of his perfection. Soon she would edge beyond her boundaries, to the place where there was nothing but feeling and flying. In the meantime she lay dazed, almost thought-free, all focus on the morsel of flesh that was between his teeth and under his tongue. He was consuming her, devouring her. There would be nothing left but a flash of light as he made her disappear.
His fingers pumped in concert with her cries, bringing her to the brink and back. Teasing. Tormenting. And then he suckled, hard. Electricity crackled through her body, shock after shock. Heat spread from her belly to her breasts to her cheeks. He didn’t stop. She didn’t want him to. It was all too much, yet not quite enough.
When she was calm enough to speak rationally, she smoothed Hart’s disheveled hair.
“I believe it must be your turn.”
“And I believe I enjoyed that as much as you did.” His finger traced the henna rose, skipping over odd ridges. He frowned. “Did they hurt you when they did this?”
“No, no. It’s of no consequence.”
“Hold still.” Hart brought the branch of candles closer.
“Not the hot wax!” Eden cried. She scrambled into a sitting position and grabbed desperately for the blankets. Her bliss had dissolved in seconds, as though it had never existed.
“Eden. Love. What are you talking about?”
This, this was why it would never work between them. He could never understand. Her past, like white-hot flashes from a summer night’s storm, would keep intruding. She shivered beneath the covers.
“N-nothing. I was nervous the wax would spill, that’s all.”
He put the candles down. “I will never hurt you. If I could bring Ivor to life again, I would kill him for what he has done to you. Eden, look at me.”
Reluctantly, she raised her eyes. Hart looked like the fierce warrior he had been. She noted with some regret that his manhood was no longer standing at attention. Time spent with a debauched lunatic had a depressing effect, after all.
Her mix of shame and regret brought tears to her eyes. “I cannot do this, Hart. You must see that. When I’m with you, I cannot help but remember other times.”
The muscle twitched in his cheek. “How did you plan to spend your nights at Mrs. Brown’s?”
“It would have been different. Mechanical. My—my feelings would not have been involved.”
She saw him surge with hope. She had revealed too much.
He sat next to her and took her hand. Absently he circled the soft pad of her palm. “Eden,” he said softly. “Do you think me a murderer?”
“No! Why should I think such a thing?”
“Because I’ve killed men. I’m not even sure how many. I spent over ten years learning how to shoot, bayonet, bludgeon. How to use my bare hands if necessary.”
He had conjured up a terrible vision for her. “But you were a soldier. And if you didn’t know how to fight, you would not be here to tell me about it.”
“Very true. I did what I had to do. And so did you.”
“It’s not at all the same.”
“Is it not? What would have happened to you if you had defied Ivor?”
Eden knew too well. But God help her, at first she had been intrigued by the wickedness.
“I was not unwilling” was all she managed to say before he interrupted.
“Because he ensured that you were ripe for him, by all the devious steps he used to seduce you. You were little more than a lonely child, Eden. You had no idea of what he ultimately intended. I’ve seen the book. I’ve heard the tales. It was as if he made you his prisoner. Never tell me you were willing at the end.”
No, she had not been. But she had no choice but to obey, or so she thought.
“What if he’d never planned to harm Jannah?” she asked in a hollow voice.
Hart snorted. “Oh, he would have. Only her illness prevented it. You did what you thought you had to do. And you must not let it ruin our future.”
Eden felt the beginning of a pounding headache. She wished he would go away with his good intentions and honorable behavior. She could never change. “We have no future.”
“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said? I will stand by you until you come to me of your own free will. And you will.” Hart flashed a grin. “I am told I’m irresistible. Now, come,” he said lightly, “it is late and we are sitting on this comfortable bed. Perhaps we should lie down and try for sleep.”
“J-just sleep?”
“Only that.” He straightened the covers and slipped under them. “I shall hold you in my arms and watch you dream.”
Eden joined him. He kept his hands on benign places, her elbow, her hip, but she could feel the heat of him. She had never been so comfortable or so miserable in her life.
Hart imagined he was the only man in London with a mistress whom he had pleasured twice but from whom he had received no reciprocation. His rod was absolutely rigid now, but he had no desire to disturb Eden in her sleep. She had been a devil of a bed partner, rolling, muttering, her slender body turning into one hundred sharp appendages that had poked him unmercifully all night long. Those tender toes he had kissed had kicked with abandon. He thought he might actually have a bruise or two.
But at this gray hour before sunrise, she seemed at peace, her dark hair tangled on the pillow. She’d had it cut at Mrs. Brown’s. He missed the length of it as he remembered that rainy day when he saw her in the bath. It seemed like years ago.
He slid out of bed and stabbed at the ashes, finding a few feeble coals still useful. He tended to the fire as quietly as he could, then went into the tiny dressing room to relieve himself.
The cupboard stood open, and each of the black dresses that Juliet had selected hung neatly in the dark.
But she seemed to see no middle ground between being his uncle’s concubine and being one of the Pantheon’s jades. Eden had no hopes or aspirations for herself—certainly none that included him, even if she had admitted that her feelings were engaged.
He returned to his sleeping beauty. The covers had slipped, revealing her sinfully perfect body. She’d lost a pink garter in the me-lee of her night, but the black stockings stood out in stark contrast to the cream of her skin. Hart eased himself gently onto the bed and looked his fill, wishing the sun would hasten its appearance so he could see every glorious inch.
That flower adornment was incredibly erotic. He had never seen its like. He bent to study it, recalling the scarring beneath the petals. He stifled his oath. The painter had made every effort, but the straight angles of the letters had been difficult to conceal in the rounded petals.
The bloody bastard. Bile rose in Hart’s throat, thinking of the cruelty of his uncle. Hart could imagine Eden, lying still, her tears ignored, waiting to be mutilated. He somehow must have skipped over this particular passage in the book. He was sure his uncle would have gloated over it.
For the first time in his campaign to court Eden, he felt a degree of despair. How could he counter with bracelets and cats what she had suffered? How naïve he had been. No wonder she had sought to erase one man under dozens of others. Perhaps she thought she could inoculate herself against ever feeling anything again.
He had spoken last night of killing with his bare hands. It had never given him satisfaction—it was simply expedient after his saber broke or his rifle had misfired. He’d not had to do it often, but how he longed to get his hands around his cursed uncle’s neck.
Eden stirred, turning to her side. Hart saw more faint traces of his uncle’s depravity. He closed his eyes, praying that his will to heal her body and her spirit would prosper. If not, he couldn’t bear to think of her in Mrs. Brown’s or some other place like it, no matter how superior it claimed to be.
With quiet haste, he dressed and let himself out of the little house. Eden might sleep the morning away, so exhausted she must be from her restless night. He had no idea how to spend his day, but knew a shave and a bath were in order. And a good, long nap.
Chapter 14
It was past noon when Mattie finally poked her head in the doorway. The baron had left before first light without even so much as a sip of coffee. Mrs. Philpott was quite put out after assembling what she hoped would be a proper postcoital breakfast to find the master missing and the mistress a slugabed. This couple was far different from the last lord and ladybird she’d served, Mrs. Philpott had said and sniffed. Miss Emery with her airs, her nose always buried in a book. The baron coming and going at all hours of the day and night. Mattie had to patiently explain that this couple was different, period.
Mattie was no fool. Something had been amiss at Hartford Hall, but she and Charlotte had had their hands full caring for the baroness and then Miss Jannah. There wasn’t time to wonder why Miss Eden was sewing all those strange clothes or why she jumped at the sound of the master’s voice. When young Lord Hartford enlisted Mattie in this scheme, he assured her he planned to make an honest woman of Miss Eden in the end. He’d better, or he’d have to answer to her.
Mattie set the breakfast tray down and opened the curtains. There wasn’t much of a view, just a little patch of walled garden, but the house itself was a tidy little jewel box, everything up to snuff. Well, it had been until yesterday.
“Miss Eden, Mrs. Philpott wants me to talk to you about that cat.”
Brutus. She’d forgotten about him completely, poor little mite.
“He’s marking his territory, if you know what I mean. Mrs. P’s having a fit of the vapors and Mr. P’s got sticking plaster on his nose from when the cat tried to chew it off. They don’t like him much.”
“Oh, dear. Perhaps he should be shut in the scullery until he learns this is home. With plenty of cream and herring. Perhaps then he won’t be so bad-tempered.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to catch him then, miss. Mr. P would only strangle him if he got his hands on him again.”
“That should give me something to do today,” Eden said. “I do so hate being idle.”
“I don’t know what the baron was thinking. Seems to me the little devil is just an alley cat.”
“Oh, surely not. He says he scoured the city for him. There was a lovely ribbon on the cage.” But he’d never actually said he’d purchased him.
“Well, I’m sure you know best. You will ring for me when you’re ready to dress?”
“Oh, yes.” The wardrobe Juliet had supplied certainly required the assistance of a maid, vastly different from the dresses Eden had constructed for their maidless removal. Although Ivor Hartford had enjoyed watching her struggle before she’d had the wit to alter her clothing for his convenience.
Eden tore off a corner of toast and popped it in her mouth. She wondered if the girls were just rising at Mrs. Brown’s. She missed the ribald chatter and easy laughter. And the little maids had been so earnest in the few lessons they’d begun. Impulsively, she pushed the tray away and rang for Mattie.
“Mrs. P won’t be happy you didn’t finish your breakfast.”
“Pooh. Tell her that when I get back, I’ll capture Brutus for her. And get Mr. Philpott to order me a hack in half an hour. I’m going out.”
“Where are we going, miss?”
“We are not going anywhere. I have a private errand to run.”
“You can’t go out alone! The baron will have my hide!” Mattie wailed.
“He’ll never know if we don’t tell him, now, will he? And it will serve him right. I can’t loll around here all day wondering when he’ll turn up.”
Mattie cleared her throat. “That’s what mistresses do, miss.”
“Not this mistress,” said Eden with resolution.
She marched up the front steps. Even though she was veiled, the butler recognized her. He let her in, quickly escorting her upstairs to Madam’s sitting room. Eden kept her lips firmly sealed as he scolded her. She wasn’t Flora anymore. What was she thinking of, sailing in here in broad daylight? What if one of the gentlemen members couldn’t control himself until darkness fell and found her lounging about in the vestibule? He all but said she was as mad as a hatter.
Mrs. Brown had been enjoying a demitasse in the kitchens, speaking fluent French with both her chefs, when Foster informed her of the disaster that awaited her upstairs. She calmly laid her cup aside.
“Claude, Henri, the midnight supper you have planned for the special event will be a triumph and long remembered. If you will excuse me.”
Mrs. Brown was beginning to feel a bit like a player in a French farce. This Hartford business was taking up far too much of her time. The sooner the baron and Eden wed, the sooner they could sequester themselves in the country and stop involving her in their affairs. But if it was amorous advice Eden wanted, she had come to the appropriate source. Mrs. Brown took a deep breath and entered her sitting room.
“My dear, how chic you look,” she said approvingly, noting the exquisite cut of Eden’s dress and matching pelisse. She was pleased to see that Eden had at least had the sense to wear a veiled bonnet.
“It is Hart’s aunt’s doing. She thought she was ordering my trousseau.”
“Then you have not changed your mind about marriage? I am shocked that Baron Hartford has not changed it for you. Does his lovemaking leave you cold?”
Eden blushed. “No. That is, we have not really done it yet.”
Mrs. Brown sat down in some shock, inviting Eden to do likewise. “The girls told me he was perfectly capable. Accomplished
, even.”
“I really can’t explain why he has failed to consummate our arrangement, but I expect he’ll get around to it eventually. But I have come on a different matter.”
“Oh?”
“The younger maids. Francie and Josie and the others. I should like to continue their lessons.”
“What does Baron Hartford have to say about that?”
“I haven’t mentioned it. I see no reason why I should.”
Mrs. Brown considered. Eden looked determined. As much as Iris enjoyed working with her young charges, running her business and assisting the goddesses in their own educational endeavors took up a great deal of her time.