Authors: Regina Carlysle
“Stop it!” Eliza cried. “I loved it! I loved what you did to me, but all this has made me weak. I want you over and over again, but with that wanting, I lose myself.”
Understanding swept through him. He smiled and drew her face to his. “The first thing I ever saw of you was strength. Impossible strength for a woman.”
“For a woman?” She arched her brow and managed a scowl through her tears. A soft hiccup spoiled the effect.
“No,” he chuckled. “You mistake my meaning, love. I thought you the bravest of women for your diatribe against Lord Stanhope. I thought then that you were a woman of mettle. A woman of strength.”
Eliza turned and propped herself upon an elbow. “So do you understand why I felt the need to rob them at the point of my sword?”
With delightfully wicked thoughts of what he would do to her next, he smiled. Then with a jerk of his body, she was pinned beneath him. “I am not like your parents, Eliza. Yes, you should be soundly spanked, but I cannot fault your heroism. You did what you thought best, despite how misguided you were. Your heart was in the right place. But here I am to save you from yourself.”
He laughed out loud.
She punched him in the arm. “How dare you? Do not ever laugh at me.”
“I can because I am your husband, but, darling, you must realize that your actions were not that of a proper lady.”
“I did what I felt right at the time. Perhaps I went about everything incorrectly, but in retrospect, I know that I accomplished much as well.”
Gazing at his passionate wife of only a few hours, Nicholas frowned. “Please tell me that you’ve forsaken this quest of vengeance?”
Eliza stared at him for many seconds then finally smiled. “You’ve said you will support Charlotte House, and I believe you. The women there need our support, but my father was right. I can deal with these injustices with money. I assume that since you have boatloads of money, you shall not tell me nay.”
Feeling grateful to the gods of besotted bridegrooms, he buried his face in her wealth of hair and whispered, “How you delight me, my sweet. All teasing aside, surely you must know that I shall support your causes as I hope you will support mine. Two strong-minded people such as we can accomplish much. Together, we shall be invincible.”
Leaning over her, he gazed into the deep violet of her eyes. She had the sated look of a well-fed kitten, and he smiled as a sense of peace blended vibrantly with sensual need. Since her taste was addictive, he took her lips, pressed her back into the pillows, and wallowed in the profound ecstasy of having her in his arms
Floating on the tail of a lovely dream, Eliza felt warm, strong flesh surrounding her, lifting her. Sighing softly, she turned her head and burrowed against his chest. His heart beating against her ear pulled her gently from sleep and into the beautiful reality of being held by her husband.
Fluttering her lashes sleepily, she felt them graze the hair on his chest and smiled in naughty remembrance. Helplessly, she stirred, feeling the disappearance of her warm cocoon as cool air sifted over her naked body. The contrast of Nicholas’s warm flesh and night air caused her to loop her arms about his neck with the need to get closer.
“You are as wiggly as a harnessed bee, my love,” he whispered. “Be still now and let me care for you.”
“Care for me? What do you mean?”
“You shall see,” he answered as he carried her across the room and back into the luxury of his bath. The room was fragrant and warm with rising steam. While she’d slept, he had drawn another tub of water. The candles still flickered softly, though sunken fatly within layers of melted wax.
“What have you done, Nicholas?”
He brushed a kiss across her forehead and carefully stepped into the steamy pool. “You must be sore from loving, and I am simply doing a husband’s duty.”
“But I am not so—” She gasped as he sank into the water with her, halting her words, shocking her into silence. “Ah, this is heavenly,” she murmured. Turning her eyes upward, she gazed into his beautiful face, felt the measure of her heartbeat quicken. “Tell me how you would know this?”
He gave her a bland look and lifted one black brow. “I read extensively.”
Immersed in comfort as she was, she let her curiosity rest and simply enjoyed the moment. “Well,” she admitted, trailing her hand through the silvery water, “you were correct. This is heaven.”
“Just the bath?” He filled his large hands with water and let it rain over her bare chest. Spreading his legs, he pulled her gently into the space he’d made. Drawing her back to his front, he bent his head to sip liquid drops from her shoulder. “I do not know about you, but I have already experienced a bit of heaven this night.”
Taking a fat sponge in his hand, he dipped it into the warm water and bathed her breasts.
“Mmm. Though skeptical about the entire process, I must admit to being pleasantly surprised.” Turning her head, she gave him a lazy grin. “Do not look so cocky, Nicholas, or so self-satisfied. You might make me regret my honesty.” Dipping her fingers in the water, she flicked droplets into his face. “Besides, I am still not convinced marrying you was the right thing.”
“Ah, love, it is far too late to worry about that now. You have been well and truly loved. But I have been wondering if too much pleasure might prove a dangerous thing. I anticipate so much happiness that I might just cock up my toes from a surfeit of lust.”
“Hmm.” She turned completely in his arms and blatantly brushed her bare breasts against him, grinning shamelessly when he groaned and laid back his head on the rim of the bath.
Twining her arms about him, straddling his lap to rub languorously, she whispered seductively against his kiss-swollen lips, “I always wondered how it might feel to strike you dead, husband. Theoretically, of course. Perhaps it is time to plan your demise. Death by desire. What do you think, hmm?”
Chapter Fifteen
While Park sipped his drink, he watched, amused, as Edward, Lord Stanhope, wrestled open another bottle of port. Already, two empty bottles lay like dead soldiers on the litter-strewn floor. Edward’s lips were pursed with drunken effort, his face flushed from the overabundance of drink.
“Need some help, friend?” Park drawled as he set down his glass and gathered the cards that lay scattered upon the table.
“I have it,” Edward mumbled as he managed the task. With an unsteady hand, he poured another drink, only grunting as the heavy red wine splashed like blood over his white shirtfront. He drank thirstily and sighed. “Ahh. More port?”
Shaking his head, Park held his fingers over the top of his goblet. “No, I’m afraid one must keep a steady head on his shoulders if he is to win against you.”
Edward laughed loudly. “Whist has always been my game. Keeps me living in the lap of luxury. Note the princely accommodations.”
Edward’s words were in jest considering the state of his paltry rooms in the Stephen’s Hotel. The Bond Street establishment, which served as quarters for army officers or bachelors-about-town, was a far cry from the lovely townhouse he had once owned.
All of society knew how far he had dropped from his elevated status as a wealthy man. It was a well-known fact he lived off his winnings at the gaming tables. None of that mattered to Park. His fact-finding mission tonight required he suffer the man’s company and already he tired of Edward’s whining and complaining about his loss of stature.
As he rambled on incoherently, Park fingered the thin scratch along his cheek and cursed Beatrice Fitzgerald for putting it there. Furious with him, furious with the failure of her son, she’d lashed out upon news of the Duke of Weston’s nuptials.
Married over a week now, Nicholas and his bride wallowed in their wedding bed while Park had been left to seduce Bea out of her wild raging. Their plans irrevocably altered, he worked like hell to pacify her, to convince her of another plan.
The bitch!
He absently nodded at something Edward said while his mind raced over details of their new venture. If Nicholas were to die before Eliza conceived, the dukedom and all the riches associated with the title would be his for the taking.
On the odd chance Nicholas’s murder failed, there was always blackmail. If his suspicions were true, Eliza was a thief. What would Nicholas give to keep her pretty neck from stretching on the gallows?
“I should have killed her like the other one.” Edward lurched from his chair, knocking it over. Lost in his own intrigues, the outburst surprised Park. “That bloody bitch, Eliza, should have been silenced long ago. I took care of her sister and I should have dispatched her as well. Stupid twit, Charlotte. I’m glad I killed her,” Edward raged.
Hm. A confession.
“I am quite sure she deserved it,” Park murmured, staring absently into his empty goblet. “You did push her down those stairs, did you not?”
“Damned right! Do it again, too, if I had the chance. Eliza, haughty bitch that she is, ruined everything, though. I could have made another match, found another heiress, but no, the foul temptress made me a pariah in society! Should have killed her just as I murdered that ever-cowering sister.”
“Did you try? To kill your former sister-in-law?” Park arched a brow, marveling at the stupidity of any man who got in his cups and blurted out his deepest secrets. How easy it was to manipulate this man.
“’Course, I did. I am no fool. Twice, I tried, but failed both times. Both times that uppity Duke was there to save her. Now they have married, and my life is still ruined. Even revenge has been denied me.”
In amazement, Park watched Edward sink further into sniveling despair until at last, the man passed out from drink. Finally, as his rumbling snores filled the room, Park rose.
What a foul, disgusting, and stupid man!
Dragging Edward from the chair to his bed was a hellish task, yet Park accomplished it in record time. Brushing his hands together, he ran his gaze over the room till he found Edward’s writing desk in the corner.
It was as good a place to start as any other. There had to be some kind of record, something in writing that linked Eliza to Edward other than old family connections. After the incident at the Cock and Bull, Park had mulled over a number of possible scenarios and both he and Beatrice believed there must be some bit of evidence they could use to hurt the newlyweds. Blackmail was a dangerous game, and one must be certain, or nearly certain, of the facts.
“Ah, my beauty, come to me,” he whispered as he lifted a leather-bound volume from the bottom of Edward’s desk. Taking up a brace of candles, he set it on a small table near the fireplace and sank into a tattered wingback. Shutting out the snores coming from Edward’s bed, he thumbed through the vellum pages until coming to a series of dates last summer.
Reading the pages, he marveled at the nastiness of the man. For a certainty, he loved rough sex and apparently delighted in revisiting those times within the pages of his journal.
At last, Park came upon an entry detailing his robbery at the hands of a terrifying highwayman. He read the slobbering rendition of the manner in which Edward was rendered a cripple and studied the puckered pages that had, no doubt, been damaged by tears of self-pity.
Much to Park’s delight, Edward had even made a list of what had been stolen that night. Money, a silver flask, and a gold pocket watch were mentioned. Hmm. Raised stars lined with tiny diamonds adorned the top, he wrote. Inside, was an inscription from his dead wife.
Grinning at his find, Park tore the pertinent pages from the book and replaced it in the desk. Half his work was done, he reasoned, as minutes later he stepped into his coach. The watch was key. If Eliza had been exacting revenge for the death of her sister and had, in fact, taken the watch, she would still have it considering its sentimental value. All he needed now was proof that Eliza Delaford possessed that particular watch.
Grinning, he tapped the roof of the carriage to signal his driver and within seconds was en route to see his mistress.
* * * * * * * *
Deep in the night, Beatrice leaned on one elbow and pressed her naked breasts against his chest, smiling. “Such good work, darling,” she crooned as her hand trailed beneath the white sheet. Taking him in her hand, she gave Park a slow smile. “If this is all true, then we shall be quite rich from this bit of blackmail. Although, it is too bad that I cannot expose the wretch and his snobbish wife.”
She sighed deeply, then to Park’s dismay, released his rapidly hardening erection. Sitting up, she tossed her mussed hair over her shoulder. “But what shall we do about Edward now?”
Park looked at her and shrugged. “Kill him, I suppose.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, darling. In a more sober moment, he might come to realize that I have merely used him for information. It would work to our advantage, too, should Eliza be blamed for his murder since their animosity is well known. Yes, he must die.”
A slow grin spread over Beatrice’s face as she clutched her hands to her chest. Suddenly looking like a young girl, she clapped her hands and bounced excitedly. “Oh, please, Park! Let me do it! I want to kill Edward. Please, say yes! It shall be such fun!”
* * * * * * * *
The morning sun softly filtered through a web of gauzy lace and the scent of chocolate wafted sweetly through the room as Eliza stretched, smiling. Opening her eyes to the new day, she slowly turned from stomach to back knowing that Nicholas was already gone.
After only a week of marriage, she’d already learned a number of things about her husband. He preferred the left side of the bed, drank copious cups of coffee each and every morning, and he was an early riser.
Sitting up and drawing the sheets over her naked bosom, she smiled at the sight of his robe tossed carelessly over her nightgown at the foot of the bed.
Was this what marriage was all about? Yes, she supposed sharing the daily habits of life was a huge part of the mystery. Odd how such tiny things seemed to make her feel closer to him. Although he’d already gone downstairs for the day, his presence was all around her. His empty coffee cup sat on a table by his favorite chair. The razor that he used at least twice a day lay companionably beside her silver-backed brush. The room even smelled of Nicholas. The air, the linens. Even her skin bore the mark of him. Sensual and masculine.
Gazing at his pillow, still bearing the indentation where his head had lain throughout the night, she lifted from its surface a blood-red, long-stemmed rose. It had become his habit to leave such tokens each morning. In his heart beat the soul of a poet, and she couldn’t help feeling that she was privy to a very special secret. With his rake’s reputation, the entire polite world would be shocked at the extent of his romantic ways.
She rose from the bed, shivering, and drew on her nightgown just as Pandora came in and softly closed the door. She grinned. “Ah, good morn, m’lady. I see you have received another gift from your bridegroom.”
Gently brushing soft, rose petals against her lips, Eliza inhaled the fragrance. “Yes, it is lovely, is it not?”
As Pandora poured her a cup of chocolate, Eliza sat at her dressing table and began to draw a brush through her tousled hair. “Mmm. Thank you, Pandy,” she said as her maid set the steaming cup before her. It was hot so she took a careful sip. “Would you care for some?
“No, m’lady, but thank you. I took a morning cup with Rawlins in the kitchen earlier.”
Eliza lifted a brow and gave Pandora a careful look. “You have been spending a great deal of time with Nicholas’s man, have you not?”
To her great surprise, the ever-practical Pandora blushed scarlett from neck to forehead. Eliza laughed out loud. “I knew it! ’Tis something in the air, I suspect. Lately, both of us run about with ridiculous grins on our faces. I should not be surprised if we began to skip, rather than walk about like grown-up ladies.”
Pandora’s hand covered her mouth as she stifled her own giggle. “Love is grand, m’lady, and for a certainty, your handsome duke loves you. And if the look in your eyes is any barometer, I should say you feel the same.”
A feeling of unease raised chill bumps along her arms, and Eliza leaned closer to the mirror to study her eyes. “Does love make one look different, do you suppose? Or is this all just a beautiful illusion, one that a magician might conjure for a night’s entertainment? I truly feel changed, but I do not trust this feeling. Is there something wrong with me that I have trouble believing in happiness?”
The little maid patted her shoulder and sighed. “Sooner or later we must all believe in something. The world is not the terrible place you think it is despite what happened to Lottie. There are good people in the world and the Duke is one of them.”
“I pray you are correct. Lest you forget, I have been wrong before.”
Later, as she dressed for the day, Eliza lifted the lid of her black velvet box and drew out the gold, engraved pocket watch. The diamonds, twinkling like Christmas candles upon a tree, brought to mind the sweetness of her sister. Lottie had loved, had trusted, and what had it gotten her but the grave.
Replacing the watch and snapping the lid in place, Eliza resolved to not become lost in the past. What was wrong with her? Since marrying, her days had been filled with sunshine and teasing. Her nights were suffused with passion and warmth. She would not let herself become a whiny sort of female who was never happy with what life had given.
Resolving to put a happy face upon the day, she drew in a deep breath, and went downstairs.
After the delivery of important papers from his estate in Sussex, Nicholas poured over a report from his solicitor and struggled to find interest in the problems of crops, tenants, poachers, and a million other things associated with the running of a large property. It was, of course, the last thing he wanted to do today.
Memory of days and nights past curled through his brain like warm, sweet honey. Leaning back in his chair, he laid his head against the back and closed his eyes. Leaving his bed this morning had been nearly impossible. Did being married mean being a slave to emotion, to sexual need? He’d always been a man who needed his pleasure with an immediacy that bordered on obsession. How could it be that, with no more than a few words spoken, his heart, body, and soul belonged wholly to another? And it did.
Eliza was everything he wanted in a wife and more. She was passionate, yes, she was. But she was also intelligent and witty, and possessed a bright and fiery spirit. Somehow, she’d managed to wind herself around his heart like a beautiful vine, and he would have it no other way.
Finally setting aside the papers for another time, Nicholas rose and, leaning against the doorframe, stared out at the dew-dappled garden. Perhaps a picnic luncheon was in order for his bride today. They could ride out to Charlotte House for a long overdue visit then stop on the way back to London. They could dine and perhaps make love beneath some ancient oak.
“One can only imagine what has put that wicked grin upon your face,” Stephen drawled from the study entrance. He walked into the room, dressed casually, yet impeccably, in buff trousers, dark blue coat, and brown riding boots. His black hair had been recently trimmed, Nicholas noted, as Stephen doffed a dark beaver hat and hung it near the door.