The Secret Seduction of Lady Eliza

by Bethany Sefchick

  That said, there was much about her gown that he decidedly did not like!

  First of all, she was showing far too much skin for his liking, particularly her décolletage, the gown cut so indecently low it was a wonder that Lady Chillton hadn't remarked upon it. After all, plenty of other men in the room certainly had, ogling Eliza's breasts from afar, even if she was unaware of the conversation. Then again, Nicholas did remember the dowager calling him a lucky man when he had arrived - fashionably late, of course. He had assumed she had seen the Tattler that morning. Perhaps she had been referring to the dress?

  To make matters even worse, Eliza's hair had been swept up off her shoulders in some sort of high, puffy type of style that revealed more of her creamy shoulders than was decent. Truly, the hairstyle - whatever it was called - should be illegal and he wondered if there was anyone he could speak to in Parliament about the issue. Nicholas wasn't good with the names of women's hairstyles. He was merely exceptional with messing them up during bedsport. But Eliza's coiffure this evening bordered on indecent. He could feel it in his very bones. How had her mother allowed her to leave the house looking like that? He had expected better of Lady Framingham!

  With hair and skin and a body like that, however, Nicholas was certain that the other men at the ball would be getting ideas about Eliza - if they hadn't already. And what they would like to do with her. How they would kiss her. Caress her. Strip her naked for their pleasure. Or hers. Perhaps both.

  And no one should be thinking about doing those sorts of things to Eliza! Especially since he was the man courting her!

  Or rather pretending to court her. But courting wasn't the same as a betrothal and that was a step Nicholas could not and would not take. Which meant that other men could, in theory, vie for her hand. And that thought made him even angrier still.

  Until this moment, it had never crossed Nicholas' mind that other men might be interested in courting Eliza. Ever. She was a spinster, and a plain one at that. She found most men either insipid or boring, at least according to rumor. She was also a bluestocking of the highest order. He knew her well enough to know that pretty words would not sway her. But she was a female and in some ways, still an innocent. And a rake intent on seduction would use that knowledge to his advantage. Heaven only knew, if it was a woman other than Eliza, Nicholas himself certainly would.

  However, Eliza was not - and he could not stress the "not" part enough - some pretty young debutante with men falling at her feet. She never had been. The Eliza he knew would never play such a silly game.

  Yet now, he could feel the other men's gazes upon her. He saw how they watched the sway of her hips as she practically glided across the room beside her friend, and Nicholas knew they would be imagining peeling that plum colored gown from her fair, lithe body and pulling the pins from that thick mass of hair. He knew those same men would be imagining laying Eliza down on a soft yet still firm bed and tracing the lines of her delectable body with their fingertips, learning each curve of her, tasting the sweet swell of her breasts before indulging in a sensual kiss, where tongues mated much as their bodies soon would.

  Nicholas knew those men were imagining all of that because he was imagining it himself. And it had to stop. Now. And if it did not, then perhaps he really did need to find himself a new mistress. Immediately.

  This courting business was supposed to be merely a ruse that would allow him to stay close to the man claiming to be Stephen Deaver. If Nicholas had to continually keep other men away from Eliza, that would leave precious little time for the task at hand. And given the way she looked tonight, he had the very annoying feeling that men would be flocking to her side in mere moments.

  He also should be keeping his own hands off her as well. Nicholas knew that. She was Eliza. The woman he had vowed to protect. She was little more than a child, the sister of his long-ago friend.

  Except that she was no longer a child and he was only fooling himself if he truly believed that she was. And fooling himself was something that Nicholas had vowed never to do again.

  With a growl and a curse damning himself for all of eternity, he stalked the remaining few feet across the ballroom and swept Eliza into his arms, whisking her out onto the Chillton's dance floor where a waltz was just beginning.

  Chapter Six

  "Nicholas! What are you doing?" There was a hiss of anger in Eliza's voice that he promptly ignored. "Release me this instant! You are making a cake of yourself!"

  As he settled them into position to begin the dance, Nicholas looked down at Eliza with a condescending glance, as only The Bloody Duke would do. "No. I am making certain that every man here knows I have staked my claim upon you. Publicly. And that they would be wise not to cross me." Then he cocked his head, a seductive smile gracing his lips. "You have been cleared by the patronesses to waltz, have you not?"

  "I have." Eliza felt the first stains of blush creep up her neck and to her cheeks. She might be older, but she had been granted permission to waltz by the patronesses of Almack's during her first season. Which hadn't been quite as long ago as she might have wished.

  His smile widened. "Excellent." And then, with a flourish of grace that she envied, Nicholas swept her into the steps of the dance, nearly causing her to leave her feet.

  Eliza was tall for a woman, more willowy than curvy, but at nearly six-foot-six, Nicholas towered over her. And, to be fair, most men as well. He was also far more graceful than she would have given him credit for, leading her through the steps easily, their bodies almost indecently close - just as she was certain he had planned. For Nicholas never did anything - did not move, nor glance away, nor even draw a breath - without a deeper meaning. Long ago, he had been without that sort of artifice, but no longer. She still saw that side of him on occasion, but tonight? The Nicholas that Eliza knew was in hiding, The Bloody Duke on display for all to see.

  "I suppose you are proud of yourself," she finally whispered. "Staking your claim upon me for all to see, as if I am some prized brood mare from Tattersall's."

  He shrugged lazily, as if he hadn't a care in the world, but she could see the sharpness in his dark brown eyes that belied his actions. "I would not have been forced to do so if you would have worn a more appropriate, far less revealing gown."

  Nicholas raked his gaze over her, and though she knew it was all part of the act, Eliza still felt herself shiver involuntarily, as if he had physically caressed her. "It was what Madame LaVallier's shop girls delivered. As you were the one who requested the frock, your grace, I assumed it was what you wanted." Then, she decided, two could play at this game. Unlike the other members of society, she was not afraid of The Bloody Duke. After all, she knew it was just an act. "And besides, I feel pretty in it."

  Subtly, Nicholas pulled Eliza closer. Not so close as to attract unwanted attention, especially on a ballroom floor filled with other dancers, but enough so that she could feel the firmness of his thigh against her body as they moved in graceful time to the music. "Pretty?" he asked softly, though there was a dark edge to his words and for a moment, Eliza had to wonder if she truly did know Nicholas at all. She had never been privy to this side of him before. At least not directed at her. "Pretty? Brat, you are positively seductive in that gown, and I suspect you bloody well know it!"

  Though he kept his tone soft, his words were still loud enough that several couples around them looked over and Eliza was forced to paste a serene smile on her face. She also had to take a few moments to process Nicholas' words. His swearing at her the least troubling thing he had just said. Seductive? Her? Truly the whole Bloody Duke act must finally be addling his brain. She was the least seductive woman in all of London. A low-cut gown would do nothing to change that. And it was wrong of him to torment her with visions of what she would never be. Or worse, to pity her and say pretty, lovely words that he didn't truly mean.

  This was a farce of a courtship, true, but that did not mean Nicholas had to be cruel. She did not understand him or his actions. Sh
e doubted that she ever would.

  "What I know is that you must have taken a blow to the head during your little spy adventures," Eliza tossed back, her eyes snapping with anger. She did not need or want his pity. "Any man with eyes can see that I am not in the least seductive. I am Eliza. Dowdy spinster and bluestocking. A new gown does nothing to change that." She kept her voice low, but again was aware that they were attracting stares.

  "It does when it puts those delectable breasts of yours on full display for men to salivate over like a pack of hungry dogs!" Nicholas was angry now and making no secret of it, his words hitting her almost like physical blows.

  Eliza pulled back as if she had been slapped. She had no idea how to respond to Nicholas' words. She also wondered if it was part of the act. Beyond the basic idea of them pretending to court - and of course, that, in public anyway, he would always be The Bloody Duke - they hadn't discussed much in the way of specifics. In fact, she hadn't really agreed to this plan at all. Instead, she had been forced into it.

  Then Eliza realized that Nicholas' anger must simply be part of the ruse. Just as he had the previous evening, he expected her to play along. He was already setting them up to end the courtship, which, she had to admit, was wise. And more than a little brilliant.

  According to rumors, Nicholas and Eliza had been courting in secret for some time. It was only Stephen's return that had forced them to go public. So it would not be a surprise for them to argue their first night out together in society. Especially when she looked so different than she normally did.

  Narrowing her eyes, Eliza decided that if this plan was to succeed - and if she was to keep the imposter Stephen from making off with her family's fortune and title - she had better be willing to play along and keep up her end of the bargain. Even if it was not a bargain she had willingly made.

  "As you gave the modiste the instructions as to what sort of gown you wanted, your grace, I thought you would be pleased." Then she smiled serenely, rather pleased with her reply.

  She was also pleased that her words seemed to have momentarily knocked Nicholas off-balance as his mouth snapped shut in indignation. As if he did not know how to respond. Perfect. She was not some meek and mild chit just out of the schoolroom and he well knew it. After all, he had known her for a good portion of his life. And practically all of hers. He should know by now that when pressed, she would fight back. It wasn't as if her true personality was a secret - at least not from him of all people.

  "Waltz." He ground out that single word from between clenched teeth, which only made Eliza smile a little brighter. For one moment, she had bested The Bloody Duke and it felt strangely good.

  It also felt good to dance, something she did very little of on most occasions. She was a wallflower for the most part. Part of the decor of the ballrooms of London. Never standing out, though that had been by choice. She had seen far too much of life to be satisfied with the idiot men who clamored around her friends. Well, not all of them were idiots, she amended silently, but the majority were. And none of them had ever spared her a glance until it became clear that they would not find favor with either Diana or Sophia.

  Eliza had lived much of her life being the second choice, the forgotten woman. And she grew weary of people pretending otherwise. Of pretending that she mattered above all others. Of pretending that she was their first and only choice. Pretending that she was valued.

  It was probably also why Nicholas did not annoy her as other men did. He never pretended - about anything. He was always brutally honest. Ellie had always been his first and only love. There was no other. He never intimated otherwise. All of the women he bedded - though, to be fair, most of them were mistresses, courtesans, widows or prostitutes - knew their place in his life. He never lied to them on the matter, either. Just as he had never lied to her. She was important to him in some fashion, even if she could never quite understand why, and he treated her with respect. At first, Eliza had assumed that it was because she was Stephen's sister and then later because, as he had once told her, she wasn't a "simpering, silly little bit of fluff and nonsense" who fawned all over him. He needed that in a friend. She took him at his word. She had no reason not to.

  No, from the beginning, stretching all the way back to childhood, they had both had the full measure of the other. No lies. No games. It was also probably why when she looked at the infamous Duke of Candlewood, she saw Nicholas and not The Bloody Duke. With her anyway, he had never made any pretense about precisely who or what he was.

  Tonight his words and actions were merely part of the mask he wore for others to see. It was part of the pretense that would allow him to stay close to Stephen and ferret out his secrets. She knew up front that was his plan. As before, he had not lied. Once she remembered that, it all made perfect sense. His words, his actions, the false sense of jealousy in his tone. He didn't feel any of those things. He was merely acting as if he did. And she needed to play her part in the farce as well.

  So Eliza smiled up at Nicholas in what she hoped was a close approximation of the way Diana smiled at Lachlan and settled herself more fully in the duke's arms. "As you wish. Your grace."

  Decision made and the worries over his words gone, Eliza found that she was actually enjoying herself at a ball for once. Nicholas was an excellent dancer and he more than made up for her lack of skill. Together, they very nearly floated across the room, the toes of her satin slippers rarely touching the glided floor.

  The Chillton viscountcy was clearly doing well, as no expense had been spared in the decorations, the entire room having been done in silver leaf for the evening. That including the soaring Romanesque columns that bordered the room, creating small alcoves where candelabra glowed softly, their flames dancing in the warm spring breeze floating in from the terrace. The high ceiling sparkled with what looked like thousands of stars that had most likely been hand-painted by a team of talented artists over the past few weeks in preparation for the ball. Tufts of netting in the palest of pinks and blues had been scattered about overhead, making it appear as if light, puffy clouds were drifting by in the night sky. The edges of the ballroom were dusted in some sort of dark blue paint shot through with silver flecks, making it appear as if the ceiling stretched on forever, out into the vastness of space. And in the center of it all was a massive, glittering silver crescent moon that seemed to twirl lazily in place above the dancers.

  A more romantic setting, Eliza could not imagine and for a moment, she closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift. She imagined that the strong arms holding her were those of a true lover. That the hard, coiled muscles she felt against her body were for her and her alone to possess. She felt Nicholas' chest rise and fall, and imagined that he was truly the man she had dreamed of in her youth, one dark and dangerous and so full of mystery but also tenderness - for her anyway.

  She felt the heat from his body and let it warm the cold places inside of her, the ones that had been frozen since the otherwise bright and sunny day when her world had essentially stopped turning. Eliza imagined burrowing into the arms of a man at night, strong arms like these that promised shelter and protection from all that might harm her.

  If she pretended hard enough, Eliza could imagine feeling loved and cherished by a man like Nicholas. One who was stronger than her fears. Who could overlook what she had become in the years since Stephen had died. One who would not care that she had a brain and that she used it. One who would see her as pretty, even though she was not. And for a moment - this moment anyway - she allowed herself to believe that Nicholas was that man.

  Around and around they twirled, her body moving in perfect time with his, her steps becoming sure and certain, not clumsy as she had been earlier. The open terrace doors allowed the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine in to perfume the air, soft and rich with a hint of the exotic. She felt herself relax further into his embrace until she wasn't certain where she ended and he began.

  In this moment, they were not Nicholas and Eliza, but rat
her two lovers who had pledged themselves to each other for all of eternity. It was a nice fantasy. But it was just that. A fantasy. It wasn't real and even though she allowed herself to continue to float on a blissful cloud of serenity, deep inside, Eliza knew that when the music stopped, the magic would end. For this wasn't her reality. It was a game - one too important for her to lose her head in a fantasy. But for a singular moment in time? She did not see the harm in allowing herself to indulge. She merely had to be careful not to become lost in the illusion.

  When the final strains of the waltz ended, she slowly opened her eyes, only to see Nicholas frowning down at her, his normally handsome smile a dark slash of anger across his face. "Pleased with yourself, Brat?" he asked quietly, though there was true anger in his voice. She had not heard that from him before. At least not directed at her. "That was quite a performance you just gave, you know. As if we were truly on the verge of becoming betrothed." He was almost sneering now, and Eliza once more felt as if she had been slapped. Then, once more, she remembered the game.

  Except that this hot and cold pretense of his was beginning to wear thin. Still, she must endure. Very well. She would play her role as he dictated.

  Coolly, she slanted her gaze and looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes. "That was what you wanted, wasn't it? That we were to pretend that we were secret lovers who had been courting these many long months? Or was I incorrect? Your grace?" Again, she allowed her voice to fairly drip with sarcasm as she said the final two words, all traces of her earlier bliss wiped away. No, she should never forget whom she was dealing with. She might trust Nicholas with her life, but that did not mean she always had to like him. Now was one of those times that she did not.