Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (22 page)

He laughed and swung her up so she was held high above him, her hair draped around them like a tent.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, his eyes dark with passion.

"I don't know," she replied.

Her body thrummed and ached. Her eyes feasted upon his beauty stretched out beneath her. Unconsciously she moistened her lips, and he let out a shuddering sigh.

Slowly he lowered her, showing his strength, until he could lick at one nipple, already swollen with desire. She arched her back and moaned. She seemed to have no control over her actions any more.

"You're hungry," he murmured. "I'll feed you if you promise not to bite."

When he lowered her she kissed him for the first time of her own volition. His hands moved firmly on her back and on her round buttocks, pressing her down against him. He had said she was hungry, and indeed, she felt as if she was trying to consume him utterly.

Then he rolled them over. Slowly he slid his fullness into her, and she felt every inch. Places she had never known came newly alive. She discovered the food he had promised, the union she had really been seeking, and the pleasure she had thought not for her.

She had never imagined such feelings to be possible. There was a need that was the need of the whole world, and a pain that was exquisite pleasure. There was a place that she feared and intensely desired to visit.

Lost in this strange land, she panicked, threshing her head "I can't... What...? Please!"

And he gentled her and took her over the peak. She had never even dreamed of what she found in that swirling void. She clung to him as the only reality, his riotous breathing matching hers, his flesh in her mouth and beneath her clutching fingers, his pounding heart thudding next to hers.

As reality returned they lay together. Eleanor dreaded separation. How could they ever part? She felt as if something vital would be lost. Eventually, however, they moved apart, and he gently pushed the damp tendrils of hair from her face the better to see her. She had no fear of what he would find. She had no need to pretend.

"It is like that every time for a man?" she asked.

"In a way, but not really," he said, his finger tracing her jaw. "You are beautiful, my wife."

He had never called her that before.

She was trying to think of something equally significant to say when he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Looking down at him a lump came to her throat. She could tell from his face the devils were back. What had she done? What had gone wrong?

She laid a hand on his chest. Now it seemed perfectly natural to touch him any way she wished.

"Nicholas? What is it?"

He covered her hand with his but did not reply for a moment. Then he turned to look at her, no laughter at all left in him.

"Eleanor," he said, tightening his hand over hers. "Remember this. You are the most important person in my life. I'll try never to hurt you. I'll fail, but at least I'll try."

She pulled her hand free and let a finger trace lines of love on him. "I suppose we all hurt other people now and then, no matter how good our intentions."

His hand came over hers again, stilling it. "Remember," he insisted, "that I do care."

"Of course," she said soothingly. "And I care, so I will forgive these hurts you threaten me with."

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. His face, however, was even bleaker than before. Eleanor felt a chill begin. She was losing a battle here and yet had no idea of what was going on.

"I will hold you to that promise of forgiveness," he said, and then slipped out of the bed.

Eleanor wondered for a moment if he was going to confess his mistress. She hoped he was. She could forgive him, and then all that would be over with. He clearly did not need the woman now.

But he shrugged on his robe and went into his dressing room.

Eleanor was again left to try to make sense of it all. For a little while she had thought it was all going to come right, that they had found the way together, but it was not so. It was surely better now, but not as perfect as she sensed it could be.

She sighed and told herself not to expect too much too soon. Today they had laid a foundation upon which they could surely build a palace of delights.

* * *

Lord Middlethorpe found Nicholas on his doorstep before he had finished breakfast. He shared the meal with him.

"Problems?" he asked, filing a coffee cup for his friend.

Nicholas sighed. "I think I have stepped blithely into a quagmire, Francis. As far as I can tell, this quixotic plot is real, and Therese is proving to be as easy to handle as a freshly caught eel."

Lord Middlethorpe laughed. "I must confess there seems some justice in you coming up against a woman you cannot instantly beguile."

Nicholas crumbled a piece of bread to nothing. "It's no laughing matter, Francis. What am I to do about Eleanor? I made love to her this morning."

It was not just the subject but something in his friend's tone that made Lord Middlethorpe redden slightly. "Surely that is not remarkable?"

Nicholas looked directly at him. "Yes it is. I'd decided, since I'm obviously going to have to spend more time wooing Therese, damn it, that I should leave Eleanor strictly alone. There's something repugnant in going from a mistress's bed to a wife's. But I simply found myself... I'm not used," he said fiercely, "to being out of control."

Francis knew that though Nicholas had a potent appetite for love, he never took women lightly and always treated them with respect. He could, after a fashion, understand his predicament. "Will you give up the business, then?"

Nicholas was destroying yet more bread and eating nothing. "How can I? Can I face the consequences if this damned plot should succeed?"

"Surely Melcham can find some other way of breaking it?"

Nicholas realized what he was doing to the bread and looked at the remains of the roll in exasperation. "I intend to go to him today to discuss it, but I fear there's no other way. Therese is the only connection to the leaders we know of as yet. He's tried a direct approach, and even some harassment, but nothing has worked. She's making it clear that, for some reason, she will only deal with me. I'm likely to turn into a Bedlamite!"

Despite genuine concern, Lord Middlethorpe could not resist it. "Serves you right for being such a wonderful lover," he said.

Nicholas Delaney threw the remains of a bread roll at his head.

Chapter 8

That afternoon, as Nicholas was once more engaged on business—Eleanor refused to believe the business could be Madame Bellaire after that morning—Eleanor was delighted to accept an invitation to drive with the marquess. She eyed his extremely high-perch phaeton with some misgiving, however.

"Is that vehicle safe?" she asked. "It looks as if a breeze would blow it over."

"Oh, ye of little faith. Not only is it an excellent design, I am an excellent driver."

It took all Eleanor's nerve to climb the ladder up to the seat, but she managed it, and then they were off, looking down on most lesser equipages like lords of creation.

"I suppose," she said, "the heir to a dukedom expects to roll through life at an elevation."

He laughed and flashed her one of his twinkling, seductive looks. "I occasionally find mere mortals worth the trouble of descent."

A part of Eleanor reacted to him. What woman could not? And yet she knew he did not have the power over her that Nicholas had, and she could dismiss the marquess of Arden from her life without a second thought.

Thought of life without Nicholas was utterly unbearable, and she missed a whole stream of Lord Arden's witty conversation dreaming about the delights of the coming night.

Still, Lucien de Vaux could not help but charm, and Eleanor entered her house later that afternoon humming a tune and swinging her straw villager bonnet by its ribbons. She saw her husband just descending the stairs.

"Nicholas!" She knew she had no chance of concealing the joy she felt, and so let it shine forth. Surely it could do no harm for him to know she delighted in his company.

Perhaps she was mistaken in that.

He spoke pleasantly enough, but the shadows were back in his eyes. If anything, they intensified at her greeting. "Eleanor. You seem to be in spirits. Arden been turning you up sweet?"

She could not see her way, and so she kept her voice cheerful as she spoke. "Of course, and I have had a delightful time. I can only hope your day passed as pleasantly as mine."

"I am afraid not," he said as they moved into the library.

She noticed uneasily that he did not meet her eyes but turned instead to study one of a pile of letters awaiting him.

"This tangled business is still going to take quite a bit of my time, I'm afraid." He turned the letter as if reading it, but clearly he was not. "A friend wishes me to acquire a property for him," he said, and suddenly he was facing her honestly again. Was this then true?

"When I agreed to the task," he continued, "it seemed a simple business, but the vendor is now being very demanding. I am having to pay almost constant attention to the matter. I feel committed, however. It is a matter of considerable importance to my friend."

"How tiresome it must be for you," she said lightly, wondering how this connected with Madame Bellaire. Perhaps he had not, in fact, spent all his time away with the woman. Perhaps he was using her place for the negotiations.

"Would it help your efforts," she asked, "if we were to invite the gentleman here and woo him with good food and company?"

His eyes sparkled with humor, but there was a twist in it. "A kind notion, but I'm afraid not. I have to go to the mountain, if you see what I mean, and my powers of persuasion seem to be the only key. But thank you for the offer."

He turned back to the pile of papers. "There are already a number of invitations for you, my dear."

"Yes," she said as she took the pile of cards he held out. "The aunts are being most assiduous in bringing me into fashion, and the Rogues assist when they are able."

"Good God. I can think of nothing worse."

She laughed and he smiled back more freely now they were on a safer subject. "It is a little nerve-racking at times," she admitted, "but I'm beginning to be able to pick and choose my friends. I am promised to the Lady Bretton's soiree this evening. Francis offered to escort me, but..."

"I have to go out tonight," he said quickly, "but I'm free tomorrow. I'll escort you where you will, or we could have a quiet evening by the fireside. Do you dine at home this evening?"

"Yes, but Francis is to join me."

As she went up to her dressing room she cursed that circumstance. After this morning she would delight in being alone with her husband. But now he was home, she assured herself, she would see a great deal of him even if he would be engaged about this business so much. She could endure his involvement.

As long as he was not with the Frenchwoman, she admitted wryly, he could spend his time in whatever way he wished.

Eleanor was in high spirits at dinner, and Nicholas seemed to take pleasure from that. They discussed the interesting Grand Duchess Catherine of Oldenburg, who had refused to stay at Carlton House in favor of Pulteney's Hotel; and the plans for festivities when the czar of Russia and the king of Prussia arrived to celebrate the victory against Napoleon. On their way to Lady Bretton's they were to drive by Carlton House to see the wonderful victory illuminations there.

Lord Middlethorpe watched Nicholas and Eleanor, enjoying the way their minds seemed at times to mesh as they shared a joke and noting with sadness the occasions when Nicholas recollected himself and drew back from a topic that could approach the personal. He could see no way to help matters.

As he and Eleanor drove off to Lady Bretton's he said, "I would not have minded if you had canceled this evening, Eleanor. I'm sure you would rather have the spent the time with Nicholas."

"Yes, I would," she said honestly, "but he expected that I would be engaged and so had already made a commitment of his own. A card party at Miles's, I believe."