The Nude (full-length historical romance) (20 page)

“She’ll soon be found, and she will be found safe,” he said. “I promise that.”

She released the door handle she was holding and chewed her bottom lip. She tilted her head up toward him. “I know you don’t mean me any harm. I mean—” she said and stopped, frowning. “The Baneshire family doesn’t need another scandal. If this were to get out—”

“No one will ever learn of this.” He crossed the hallway and drew her into his arms. “I won’t allow it.”

He felt her muscles loosen as she snuggled against his chest. Her arms tentatively reached around him until she was holding onto him as if for dear life.

“I should never allow myself to feel safe while alone in a hallway with a man,” she whispered against his neck. “But with you, I do.”

“You are
painfully
safe with me,” he said with a groan. For all the world he wanted to kiss her, but he held back. Men frightened her. That he was beginning to understand only too well . . . and it was beginning to appear as if her unhappy marriage to the Earl of Mercer was at the root of that fear.

She gazed up at him and, with a halting motion, ran the tips of her fingers along the side of his face. “You’re different from the others, I think. You’re rather like a pleasant dream on the verge of wakefulness, not quite understood yet comforting.” She blinked back a bright sheen of tears that had flooded her eyes. “If only I could just wake up into a dream and know that Lauretta is safely tucked into her bed and that my social ruin and . . . and . . . my marriage were nothing more than ghastly figments of an overactive imagination.”

What she needed more than his passion or his lust was his strength. So he tightened his arms around her. “I’m right here. And you can trust that I’ll do everything in my power to make your life whole again.”

Holding her near and not acting on his desires was torture. She was too real, too close. She broke through all his carefully laid barriers, and this time he couldn’t ignore it. He covered her mouth with his and fed her the strength of his longing . . . and Dionysus’s longing. The erotic energy that had been nipping between them swirled into a liquid heat, rising up through them as their lips mated.

She pressed her body against the length of him, molding to him. Her soft lips parted at the pressure of his tongue and she moaned when he slowly explored past her lips.

He guided her until she was pressed up against a wall. He planted his hands on the plaster just above her head to keep his hands from roaming over her body. As difficult as it proved to be, he kept a tight rein over his desires, afraid he might frighten her flaring passion away.

And it was passion, as alive and hot as his own, that answered his exploring kisses. She nipped his bottom lip. Dear Lord, who was this woman in his arms? She was nothing like the feminine ideal of perfection that had lingered in his dreams for nearly a decade. This woman was real.

“I wouldn’t dare trade this moment for even the sweetest dream in the world,” he whispered. Immediately he knew he’d made a tactical mistake. She peeled her lips from his. The passion that had been so real a moment ago was gone.

“Lauretta.” She wiggled away from the wall. The dreamy passion in her eyes had been replaced with panic. “We have to find her.”

“Of course.” His lower half was screaming for him not to give up so easily. He was being ruled by lust and had started this seduction in the hallway even though he’d known finding Lauretta was their priority. “As I already promised,” he said tightly. They continued down the rather quiet, narrow corridor, each resuming the task of opening doors on either side. “I won’t ignore this attraction between us.”

“Later, we will discuss this—” Elsbeth gasped. “Lauretta!”

Nigel peered over her shoulder into his portrait gallery in time to see Severin pull away from Lauretta and jump to his feet. Even in the yellowy light, Nigel could see how the young woman’s lips were as swollen as Elsbeth’s and her cheeks brightened from Severin’s skilled kisses.

“Severin?” he said, his temper building in concert with Elsbeth’s agitation. “Do you care to explain yourself?”

“Do not speak,” Elsbeth said, throwing her arms wide. “I cannot bear to hear your voice.” She paused just long enough to scowl at Nigel. “Or yours, my lord.”

Severin backed quickly away while Elsbeth approached as assuredly as a harridan with a weapon. Without another word, she snatched Lauretta up from the small bench in the middle of the gallery and bustled her out the door.

Nigel followed until Elsbeth turned a corner. He then returned to the gallery and closed the door behind him.

“So, Severin.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Tell me. Do your tastes now run toward young innocent maidens?”

Severin, intelligent man, seemed to sense the danger he faced and took a step back. “Really, Edgeware, this isn’t what you think. We were merely discussing art and artists.”

* * * * *

Elsbeth paced her bedchamber. A silvery moon sent a chilling beam through the floor-to-ceiling window. She’d sent Olivia and Lauretta to their beds in the adjoining room without allowing Lauretta to explain herself or her actions.

She didn’t care to know, for whatever had happened, which didn’t appear to extend beyond a few kisses, was not nearly as bad as what could have happened. And what could have happened was what had Elsbeth worried.

Charlie, Dionysus, and Lord Ames, they were all dangerous in their own way. And, as was proved tonight, they were dangerous not only to herself but also to those closest to her. Attending this house party without the protection of her uncle was beyond foolhardy. She couldn’t protect Olivia or Lauretta from those men. She should have never thought she could. Years of marriage should have taught her better.

When, in the past six years, had she ever proven she could protect herself from the men in her life?
When
?

Even now, even after Edgeware had boldly declared for a second time his intention of seducing her, she felt her resolve slipping. His words, his touch, his blasted presence was driving her out of her mind. Only an hour ago, he’d nearly brought her to her knees with wanting him, and she hadn’t a clue how he’d managed it. Something about him made her feel young and innocent again, as if the child who’d once blindly fallen in love with Dionysus’s paintings had miraculously sprang back to life.

She stopped her pacing and stood at the window, gazing out into the darkness. A shadow crossed in front of a row of trees. She frowned.

There were too many intrigues going on in this accursed place, too many opportunities for mischief.

She should leave. That’s what she needed to do, escape. At first light she planned to see that Olivia and Lauretta’s belongings were packed up. By mid-morning they should be well on their way back to London. Her fingers involuntarily curled around the oval locket hanging around her neck. But she hadn’t needed the reminder.

Dionysus
.

He was still out there. And despite Edgeware’s assurances, he was still a threat to the Baneshire family.

Tonight
.

She lit a candle and pulled a wrapper on over her thin nightrail. Tonight, she would have her proof.

Sleep would be impossible. Nigel wasn’t even going to try. He shrugged off his evening coat and tore at the knot of his cravat until it fell free. Damnation! He flexed his stiff hand before undoing the buttons on his waistcoat. He’d punched Severin for no better reason than for causing a moment of embarrassment in front of Elsbeth—his paragon of perfection.

A sudden urge to paint overcame him. But he couldn’t give in to it, not while the house was bursting with guests. He wandered to the window, instead, and pressed his sore fist against the pane. Being so near her and yet so distant, was tearing holes into his sanity.

What the bloody hell?

In the moonlight, he watched as a shadowy figure darted from the garden path toward the cliffs.

Now there was a problem he knew exactly how to handle. He retrieved his pistol from a small wooden box sitting atop his dressing table. Come morning, he’d have one less problem.

* * * * *

Elsbeth eased the door to Lord Edgeware’s study open and held a small candle aloft as she poked her head into the room.

There was a stillness. A safe, undeniably empty, stillness.

She slipped inside, nudging the door closed behind her with the toe of her slipper. A few embers smoldered behind the fire grate casting a deep red glow into the room. She went straight to a large oak desk that was in front of a bank of windows and gave the top drawer a tug.

It didn’t budge. The whole desk had been locked up nice and tight. Not even a scrap of paper had been left sitting out on its shiny top. Undeterred, she set the candle on the floor near a keyhole and fiddled in her hair a moment, quickly finding a pin. Her husband had once snatched a hairpin from her hair and had used it to open the household liquor cabinet after she had hidden away its key. He’d made it look so easy, his fingers nimbly working the mechanism until a faint snap had signaled his success.

She felt fairly confident she could copy her late husband’s actions. After all, he’d never really been all that clever.

Crouching down behind the desk, she slipped the pin into the lock and fiddled with it, with absolutely no idea what she should expect to happen.

“Gracious,” she muttered aloud and sat back on her heels. “This is harder than it looks.”

The door swung open. She moved fast, snuffing the candle as she dove behind the desk.

“Come out from there.” Edgeware’s voice tore through the room. She remained perfectly still, praying he’d just leave. “I know someone is in here. I saw the candlelight from under the door and I heard your voice.” Edgeware sighed. “If you don’t show yourself, I vow you won’t leave this room unscathed.”

“Pray don’t hurt me,” she said very quietly as she rose from her hiding place.

“Elsbeth?”

“Though you have every right to—”

“What in the world—?”

“—do whatever you choose. You caught me in the act. I was breaking into your desk.” She cast a soulful glance down at her hairpin still sticking out of the lock.

“You were robbing me?”

“Not very well, mind you. Perhaps if I had more time. You see, it had looked so easy when my husband had—”

“Money?” He stepped into the room and passed in front of a moonlit glass-paned door. His shirt was open at the chest and he was wearing a dressing gown instead of his coat. “Are you in need of money?”

“You see, he had once picked a lock with a hairpin and . . .
what
?”

“I said—” he took another step toward her so that only the desk stood between them “—are you in need of money? You have but to ask. I am your servant in this and in anything else you desire.”

“
Money?
You thought I would rob you?”

He leaned over the desk and stared at the lock she’d been working. “Why else would you want to pry open the drawer that holds my strongbox?”

“Certainly not to rob you!”

Edgeware smiled at that. “Then why?”

She fought an urge to scream. “Because of Dionysus, blast it all! Because I need to know who he is! I need to know why he torments me. Why does he wish to ruin my life?”

His smile faded and his eyes grew dark, as dark and frightening as the bleakest of nights. “As I have already told you, he has never wished you harm, Elsbeth. I swear it.”

“That tells me nothing.” She bent down and plucked the hairpin from the lock and the unlit candle from the floor.

Edgeware circled the desk, blocking her escape. He spread his arms wide. “Then, I fear, I can tell you nothing.”

Oh, how she wished he would confide in her. No matter how hard she fought it, she felt drawn to him. They would make a good team. Together they could stop Dionysus from ruining any more lives. And, perhaps, they could share more kisses.

She quickly turned away and caught sight of a small marble status bathed in a pale beam of moonlight. The statue, sitting atop a round pillar in the far corner of the room, was of Dionysus, the Greek god of wine and ecstasy. The lithe figure reclined against a marble rock outcropping, his head thrown back, a lyre about to slip from his fingers. A diamond tear sparkled on the stone god’s cheek.