Tempting Eden

by Margaret Rowe

  “You know I cannot spare the girls for more than an hour or so a day. Where did you think to instruct them?”

  “Why, here, of course.”

  “Hartford won’t like that.”

  “He won’t know. I’ll get him to set a schedule for his visits. Perhaps I’ll tell him I’m helping with a charity school. It won’t be far from the truth.”

  Mrs. Brown shook a manicured finger at her. “I won’t have you putting ideas in their heads, Eden. They’ve all been whored out on the street, you know. That’s how I found them. Katy was just six. These are not innocent little girls. A life here is more than they had ever dreamed of.”

  “I know. You are a generous employer and have a warm heart. I mean no criticism of you. Ceres told me she got her start here in just the same way, and I know she is happy. I was happy here myself.” She looked down at her neat black kid gloves. “I miss my sister fiercely. Idle hands. I’m at loose ends.”

  “Perhaps you should volunteer at a real charity school then.”

  “I am a man’s mistress. I hardly think I would be welcome.”

  Mrs. Brown knew Hartford meant to hide his intended bride until she was persuaded to make his intentions a reality. But if Eden was discreet, no one need remark on her visits. The maids could meet with her in the staff dining room in the back of the house. There was a private rear entrance that had been used a time or two when a gentleman had to make a hasty exit. Mrs. Brown recalled one very formidable dowager marchioness who had hunted her son the marquess down after months of fruitless letter-writing. She had not budged from the Pantheon’s hallway for three-quarters of an hour. Mrs. Brown had to admire the woman’s determination, although she’d had a depressing effect on business for the evening.

  “Very well. The girls were disappointed when you left us. Work something out with Lord Hartford, and let me know when it will be convenient for you to come. I’ll make sure your eager pupils are free.” Mrs. Brown pressed Eden’s gloved hand. “Do be careful, dear. I doubt very much whether Holy Hartford wants his future wife to have an association with an establishment such as mine. I shouldn’t want you to ruin your chances with him.”

  “There is nothing to risk, Mrs. Brown. I expect before long I’ll be right back here entertaining gentlemen.”

  Mrs. Brown’s silver eyes narrowed. “Do you mean to break your contract?”

  “No. But Hart will. He’ll come to his senses and see how impossible this all is.”

  “Perhaps.” But Iris Brown didn’t believe it for a minute.

  She should be happy. She was not, but she was at least comfortable. Perfumed and elegant, too. Eden sat on a parlor sofa awaiting Hart’s return. The fire burned bright in the grate. Brutus purred in her lap. Another delicious dinner had been prepared, no thanks to the cat, who had gotten on Mrs. Philpott’s nerves. But Eden thought the little fellow was simply misunderstood. He just needed some fattening up and the area behind his ears rubbed.

  As she watched the hypnotic flames, Eden was somewhat stricken with the knowledge that she had sadly neglected Hart’s pleasure thus far. She knew this interlude of theirs would not last, but she meant to derive every physical benefit from it. If she could steel her mind from her past, there was a chance she might enjoy the touch of a normal man.

  She sighed. Hart was not normal. He was a paragon of virtue and honor. And unbearably handsome to boot. He’d make some young society miss an excellent husband. They’d raise an army of children to turn Hartford Hall into a real home at last, to banish the specter of sin forevermore.

  She was startled from her reverie by the brush of warm lips on her neck. “Oh! You might have given me an apoplexy!”

  “Stealth is just one of my skills. I didn’t cause you to awaken this morning, did I?” He came around and sat down on the sofa next to her. Brutus opened one eye at the intrusion and promptly shut it. “I see you have civilized our little friend.”

  “The Philpotts are not very happy with you and your present, my lord. You may have to give them a raise.”

  “It is my opinion that the Philpotts are doing very well already. How did you spend your day? I confess after you kicked me into perdition all night long I went home and slept the day away. So I trust I shall be alert this evening for whatever you have planned.”

  Eden felt guilty on all counts—for being a restless bedmate and for her visit to the Pantheon. And she had avoided thinking about the matter of their intimacy. She tucked the cat into a corner of the couch and stood up. “May I get you a drink, Hart? Brandy? Sherry?”

  “I’ll have a finger or two of whiskey, if you have it.”

  Eden peered into the drinks cupboard. It seemed she had everything. She poured Hart a generous amount and returned to the sofa. As soon as she sat down, Brutus returned to the warmth of her lap.

  “Nothing for you?” asked Hart after taking a sip.

  “I shall have some wine with dinner.”

  They sat for a few minutes before the fire, the only sound in the room the hiss of the logs and the low rumble of the flames. Eden supposed they presented a charming domestic scene. But she felt the knot of worry at her neck. If her dress had not been so à la mode that it prohibited her from raising her arms, she might have rubbed herself as she had rubbed Brutus.

  “You’re very quiet. What are you thinking about, Eden?”

  Perhaps now was as good a time as any. “I have heard of a school—a charity school. They are in need of volunteer teachers. You would not mind if I spent an hour or so working with young girls every day? I would of course be available to you in the evenings.”

  “That sounds very worthy.” He looked into her face. Her gray eyes were huge with what appeared to be anxiety, as though she waited for him to forbid her. She had been forbidden from far too many things these past four years. He supposed she must be beyond bored waiting for his visits. If she only knew how he’d like to move in and spend every waking and sleeping minute with her. Well, perhaps not sleeping. He’d been devilish uncomfortable. “I have no objection. Is this your way of setting me on a schedule?” he asked and grinned.

  “You have caught me out, sir. But I shouldn’t like to inconvenience you.”

  “As long as you grant me a few minutes of your time every evening, I shall be a happy man.” He had plenty to occupy himself with during the day. And now that Des’s nights were spent in the arms of one goddess or another, company at his club was flat.

  “Thank you, Hart.”

  “Come, puss.”

  Eden froze. But Hart merely transferred the cat from her lap to the floor.

  “I need a kiss before dinner. I say, are you all right? You’ve gone pale as the moon.”

  “I-I am fine.” Eden turned to him and closed her eyes, wishing she could close off part of her mind altogether.

  She felt disembodied, floating. And his kiss didn’t help, but sent her even further away. His lips were whiskey-warm. At first they simply pressed chastely upon her own, but then Hart’s tongue teased the left corner of her mouth, swept in, invaded. She lost the battle for clarity almost immediately.

  She should let him take her on the sofa now. Damn dinner. She had to know—

  There was a knock on the door. Hart pulled back.

  “Later,” he whispered.

  Eden had excused herself after a delicious dessert of meringues filled with bottled fruit to get ready for him. He was going to be deprived of all the unbuttoning and unlacing, and that was probably just as well. When one anticipated important events, one inevitably got nervous. Hart had to allow that he felt nearly as anxious as if he were preparing to go off to battle again.

  And it was a battle. Somehow Hart had to erase the past. Not only had his uncle toyed with Eden’s sensibilities, but he’d left an ugly reminder on her body that would forever scar her. And as seductive as the henna tattoo was, he was anxious that Eden’s nether hair grow back and cover the symbol of her servitude. That was a simple solution. Far more difficult was erasing Iv
or Hartford from Eden’s mind.

  Mattie knocked on the parlor door, blushing profusely. “You can go up now, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Mattie.” He paused. “How would you say Miss Eden’s mood is?”

  “I think she’s right nervous, sir.”

  “Well, so am I. We shall deal well together, or fall to pieces.”

  “I hope it’s the first, sir. Miss Eden’s had enough worry.”

  “Indeed she has. Thank you, Mattie.”

  When he entered the room, he was disappointed to find it in near darkness. But Eden had set the stage, and he was now an actor in her play. She lay in the bed, her hair a dark cloud upon the pillowcase, the quilted coverlet up to her chin. Without a word, he undressed efficiently. He thought of the other day, when he was as eager as a young stripling. When he thought the noon brightness would cast its light upon them. When he thought he knew the worst of her suffering and was prepared to tease and tempt her into pleasure.

  His task ahead was more complex. Had greater chances of failure. Would lead to heartbreak for both of them if he did not find the way to ease her sorrow. A voice within questioned why he was so determined to have this particular woman, why his heart was at risk. Why did he want to marry her? For surely he had just wanted a comfortable, unexceptional wife. Some girl with a bit of education and a modicum of virtue. He had not even recognized Eden as the beauty she was when they first met, so he was not the victim of Cupid’s arrow.

  Hart knew Eden thought he was an unnecessary knight errant, out to rescue a damsel who had earned every bit of her distress. He couldn’t credit that. His was not simply a chivalrous quest for Eden’s hand to somehow defend the family honor. To bury Ivor once and for all. True, he wished to do both things, but even more he wanted Eden to feel cherished. As she deserved to be cherished. For despite any pretense to reason or rationale, he believed he was falling in love with her, even though he knew only a part of her. She felt so right in his arms. He wanted to bring laughter to her eyes and joy to her soul.

  But first, he wanted to bring her to climax. He could see the tension in her still body, mummified as she was by the covers. He wrestled the edge from her and slipped under.

  “Eden,” he said softly.

  She was defenseless against him. He burned as brightly as an

  angel by the single candle.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  A mistake. She saw the hurt on his face. “Hart.”

  “That’s better.” He pulled her to him, kissing a white shoulder. She thought if she looked, she would see the warm imprint of his lips on her skin.

  “I will not hurt you,” he promised.

  Soon she felt his imprint everywhere. His mouth skimmed her neck, the valley between her breasts, each puckered nipple. When he licked the crescent under each breast, she thought she would expire of lust. She lay absolutely still, savoring each nip and graze.

  He was conquering her, vanquishing her fears one inch of skin at a time.

  His hand slipped between her legs and she gave a little cry.

  She was ready. Slick and wet and oh so willing. Aching for him to enter her and make her feel whole again. Completed. Uncomplicated.

  “Please.” She could barely say the word. Her lips were numb, her mind a perfect blank. Her need was so great it was a wonder to her that she still breathed at all. But he did not seat himself within her, instead returning to the scene of her earlier rapture with his teeth and tongue to bring her to the brink. But no further. Tonight she knew they would come together, joined in body and spirit. She lay as his warm, rough tongue traced his pattern on her rose, parting her own petals and entering the dark recesses of her body. Tiny lights flickered behind her eyelids as he took her closer to the flame. He licked his way back up to her lips, drinking the nectar within her mouth with all the fervor of a starved man. She tasted her own honeyed decadence on his tongue.

  “Look at me, Eden,” he said, rising above her.

  In the dark, he was so like his uncle it hurt. It was as though the devil himself was playing a trick on her, tempting her with the improved image of her foolish girl’s desire and at the same time snatching away her future happiness with its reminder. How she wished he were darker or uglier. Instead he was her golden-haired angel.

  “I want you to keep your eyes open when I make you mine,” Hart said, his voice raspy. “I am not Ivor. I want you to see that, to know it with every touch, every kiss, every stroke. I will never hurt you.”

  Eden nodded. “I want to believe that.” Her hand reached out to guide him home.

  Effortless perfection. Sheathed heat. Liquid pleasure. His eyes remained on hers as he moved slowly above her and within her. It had cost him not to spill his seed the instant her hand first touched him. As much as he wanted to claim her quickly, Hart wanted to give her no discomfort. Their dance was languid, lazy even. At first she was as still as death, frozen in some sort of limbo. Gradually he felt her adjust to him, to meet his long thrusts with the rise of her hips. A sigh escaped her. Then a series of short cries. Her eyes closed, her mouth twisted.

  Though he had been called Holy Hartford, he’d not been a monk. But this night with Eden was far different from anything that had come before. Whether it was simply a case of his patience being rewarded rather spectacularly, or something far more mystical, he had never felt so alive. He sensed she felt the same.

  “Open your eyes, Eden.” His voice was harsher than he’d intended. His actions harder. His breathing faster. He wanted to tell her, but couldn’t find the words. Let his body tell her instead.

  Eden watched him, fascinated that something she had experienced a thousand times could feel so new. His gaze was open and steady. He was smiling, not in triumph but pure happiness. She felt his hand cup her cheek and she turned to kiss it.

  He thrust in steady rhythm, pulling her along to his music. His cock bumped against the tip of her womb and she arched, legs stiff, hands wild on his back. Urging him, crying, losing what little control she had. She was no longer capable of speech or thought, just pure driving sensation skittering from his body over hers and into her heart.

  And then he flooded her, the wetness soothing the fire within her. He sought her mouth as he emptied his soul. Held her until their hearts quieted.

  “You are all right?” he finally managed to ask.

  “Perfectly.” And it was true. Save for the initial fright, she had warmed to Hart’s skill, savored his lovemaking. If she had been Brutus, she would have been purring, she thought ruefully. Her pleasure had been fleeting, yet intense. He had waited for her, and for that she was grateful.

  He tucked her into him, his breath hot against her temple.

  “Do you dare to sleep in this bed with me tonight?” she asked, attempting humor. She did not want a serious discussion of anything at the moment.

  “I had not thought to sleep much,” Hart replied, his voice a gravelly burr.

  Eden smiled. “Because of my kicking, sir?”

  “Because I will take you again tonight. And again, if it’s possible. It is you who will have no sleep tonight.”

  “You are cruel.” Eden could imagine nothing better.

  “Cruel to be kind. Do you want anything? Some wine or a sweetmeat?”

  “Only you.” She kissed him briefly on the lips, then drew downward on the bed. She fondled his cock, sticky from their play.

  Hart inhaled sharply. “You don’t have to—”

  “Hush. I want to.” I need to, she thought.

  Her lips and hands at first brushed his heavy sac. He twitched in delicious agony. When her tongue made contact with his shaft, she felt him relax and let her master him. She covered every square inch of skin systematically, cleaning him as a mother cat cleaned a kitten. She took him in her mouth and she felt his cock begin to stir again.

  “Surely this is a bit of a miracle. I don’t think I’m quite ready—”

  “Do be quiet,” she murmured, releasing him from the seductive prison o
f her mouth. “I will not stop until you are.”

  My God. Whether she’d learned these tricks from his uncle or her stay at Mrs. Brown’s, he didn’t know and didn’t care. She guided him deep, her tongue stretched and dancing around him. She sucked and swallowed, each jump in her throat squeezing him in a delicious vise. It was almost the heaven of her cunny, hot and moist and wicked. Her dark lashes fluttered on her crimson cheeks, her brows knit in sensual concentration. She had never looked more beautiful to him, or more dangerous.

  Then she opened her dark eyes, staring straight into his with bold purpose, her mouth lifting into a saucy smile as she took him even deeper. This, now this was true danger. He fell into the fathomless depths, taut and hard, drowning, about to spend himself in one endless wave. He couldn’t hold out much longer against such luscious sin, floating at the edge of sanity. He attempted to withdraw, but she merely shook her head in impatience and suckled at him with another smile until he had absolutely nothing left. He lay dazed on the linen sheets, wondering if he was still alive. Lassitude crept over him as she nestled back beside him, pressing her white body close.