The Nude (full-length historical romance) (41 page)

Ducky twisted away from Sir Donald and sauntered over to Severin. She pressed her hands against his chest. “Are you prepared to offer me a better deal, my lord?” In a slow, smooth motion, she moistened her lips.

Severin mutely stared at her slender fingers stroking his superfine navy coat. Not a glimmer of interest sparked, not even a quickening of his steady heart rate. In fact, his thoughts strayed back down the trail to where Lady Lauretta had been left stranded in the middle of the path. He really should return to her.

Ducky reached up and was poised to demonstrate her seductive skills on his lips when Severin took a step back. “I was merely looking to be of assistance to a lady in distress.” He sketched a bow. “I see now I am indeed intruding. My pardon.” He turned on his heel and made haste back down the darkened forest path.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” a soft voice whispered from behind him.

What in the world
?

Severin spun around and planted his hands on his hips as he stared down at Lady Lauretta. She was pouting. Her dark brown ringlets bounced in the warm spring breeze.

“I am beginning to believe Sir Donald is naught but a rogue. Here he is found flirting shamelessly with that lady while openly courting Lady Constance. Shame.” A smile sneaked into her expression. “I am thrilled, however, that I am not in Lady Constance’s position.”

“You-you followed me?” Severin sputtered, still not quite believing that the innocent Lady Lauretta had just witnessed Ducky’s outlandish behavior. The Cyprian had nearly kissed him!

“Yes, I followed you. I wasn’t about to be left all alone alongside that deserted roadway. Do you think I’m daft? I knew very well why you turned the carriage off the social circuit. Lord Ames,
you
were looking to kiss me again . . . like you did in the picture gallery.”

Severin shook his head and started back toward his phaeton. Lady Lauretta looked much too pleased with herself. She should be scandalized at the very least.

“You were planning to kiss me?” She sounded much less certain now.

Did she really wish to know the answer to that question?

“I say.” He heard her stomp her foot in the dry dirt. “I will not return to the phaeton until you answer me.”

Severin smiled as he slowed his step. “Perhaps a little,” he said.

“Perhaps a little? What kind of answer is that? What does
perhaps a little
mean?
Perhaps a little
, indeed!”

Severin turned around then. Lady Lauretta’s cheeks glowed. The chit was enjoying herself. He suspected she hid an adventurous nature behind that veil of innocence she wore. Perhaps it was time someone helped her discover the extent of that delightful character trait.

“Why don’t you come here and find out what I mean?”

Lady Lauretta considered Severin, her expression grave. “I should think it is the gentleman’s duty to come to the woman,” she murmured before slowly crossing the distance between them. “Shall I place my hands on your chest? That lady with Sir Donald, she was going to kiss you, was she not? She placed her hands on your chest.”

Severin could feel the heat of a blush rising to his face. Lady Lauretta should not have witnessed that. She should not even know such women exist.

“Yes,” he said, and had to quickly clear his throat. “Yes, do brace your hands against my chest.”

“Like this?” She had also risen up on to the tips of her toes and tilted her head.

“Yes, like that,” he said, sounding a mite strangled. He drew the pad of his thumb over her gentle brow. This woman was everything he desired.

“Sweetest Lauretta, I will kiss you now.”

What kicked in his chest when his lips touched her full mouth was not raw lust but something much worse, much more final. Slowly he drew back.

Lady Lauretta protested with the most endearing little cry.

Severin swallowed hard. His hands, he was amazed to find, were trembling. “Lady Lauretta,” he said, “I believe I must call upon your papa in the morning and make this all very formal.”

Her smile faded a degree. “What ever do you mean?”

Severin sunk down to one knee. “Marry me, Lauretta. With your keen artistic eye and depth of knowledge combined with my salesmanship, we will make quite a pair, you and I.”

“We will?” Her frown deepened.

“I am not a rich man. Like your Sir Donald I am up to my ears in debt, though I am slowly making headway on that front. I am not one to waste my funds, I will have you know.”

“Sir Donald is in debt? But he dresses in all the latest fashions.”

“So do I.” The ground was becoming uncomfortable. A pebble was jabbing into his knee. “It is an illusion, living on credit, a grand illusion. Will you consider marriage to me?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Do you enjoy kissing me?” he shamelessly asked.

“Oh, yes,” she glowed as she answered.

“And do you find me pleasant to look at?”

“More than pleasant.”

“Do I bore you? Does my conversation put you to sleep? Do you think I am an awful dullard?”

“Oh, yes, terrible.” Her smile returned.

“Would you mind being a partner in my enterprise? We could find young artists and help them to develop their talents.”

“Oh, I would enjoy that.” She paused while pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Partners, you say?”

“Partners.”

“In that case, I think you should call on Papa this evening. There is no reason to dally, my lord.” She sprung herself into his arms. And gave him an enthusiastic kiss that upset Severin’s balance, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Elsbeth looked content as she ascended the wide, curving stairs to the suites that evening with Nigel at her side. The damning tension that had been keeping her from talking with him had apparently thawed. For the first time since their marriage, they’d spent the afternoon together. And had talked about important matters, picking apart every detail for Friday’s upcoming ball. They’d also spent time discussing the smugglers and Charlie and even—very briefly—Dionysus. But that wasn’t what was making him smile. It was that they’d talked about how the frail clouds that brushed across the sunny sky made them both feel wistful or how sneaking a treat from the kitchen made them both feel like a giddy child again. And they’d laughed.

Nigel had discovered that his pragmatic Elsbeth had a cunning sense of humor. Like him, she found the high sticklers in society amusing. However, she was distressed that some powerful members of society believed their marriage was a sham and their living together as one of the worst scandals to ever befall London. He promised that no one would question his devotion to her or to their marriage vows after Friday’s ball.

Amazingly, after a day of sharing each other’s company, they only disagreed once. She had mentioned that the seamstress had made a terrible mistake when cutting the bodices.

“You have to agree,” she said as they neared the second floor landing. She put her hands just below her breasts, drawing Nigel’s gaze to the gentle swells that had the power to make his body come immediately to life. “All my gowns are cut shamelessly low.”

“Shamelessly?” he said with a laugh. “Your body is an artistic masterpiece, especially certain lovely parts that deserve to be worshiped. It would be a sin to cover them up any more than you already have.”

“Worship? Is that what you call what you did two nights ago?” she asked playfully. A bright blush stained her cheeks.

Feeling suddenly serious, he caressed the length of her silky arm. “You are a treasure I intend to cherish with every breath I’m given.”

“You are too pretty with your words,” she said, and swatted his arm.

“Then let me use my lips in a different pursuit.”

She gave a little squeal as he chased her up the last couple of steps to the landing. And then they stopped in front of his bedchamber’s door. Her smile faded as she seemed to realize where he’d led her. She reached for the locket she no longer wore.

“Your locket,” he asked. “Did you lose it?”

“No.” She sighed deeply. “I chose not to wear it anymore.”

She did?
“You did?” What secret had she kept hidden in that locket? “Why?”

“I grew tired of the trinket.” It was a lie. He was beginning to recognize the signs. He was learning how to read her body as clearly as he could hear her voice. When he reached for her, she tried to pull away from him, which didn’t make any sense. They’d been getting along so well today. He wasn’t ready to let it come to an end.

“The ball is tomorrow, Nigel. We should get a full night’s sleep. Do you not agree?”

Of course, he agreed. They’d plotted together in order to come up with a plan to draw out the killer. The ball could prove to be a very dangerous affair. They should rest and keep their minds firmly on the situation at hand.

“Come to my bed,” he said.

“I don’t think I should,” she said and dug her pearly white teeth into her bottom lip.

“I don’t believe you,” he said with a smile.

She blinked.

“Come to my bed, love.”

She shook her head and looked a trifle confused as her pretty blush deepened. “It’s a great leap of faith is it not, Nigel?”

“What is?”

“Trusting another person with your body and with your . . .”

Damn Lord Mercer
. “I will never abuse your trust, Elsbeth. I love you. I truly love you. You trust that I’m telling you the truth about my feelings, don’t you?”

He realized then that his poor, broken-hearted Elsbeth needed him to reach out to her. She needed him to love her and make her feel safe, secure. She needed a place where she could let her heart heal. She needed his love as fiercely as he yearned for hers.

Not wishing to continue this conversation in the middle of the hallway where a passing servant could disturb them, he took her hand and led her to his bedchamber, kicking the door closed behind him. He pushed aside the draperies surrounding his bed so he could sit at the edge of the bedding.

“Why did you say earlier today that you would trust me, and no one but me?” she asked as she wandered to the far end of the room. “Why me? I keep asking myself that question. And yet, I have no answer. I haven’t given you a good reason to trust me. What made you take that leap of faith?”

“You are my wife.” He could see right away that answer wouldn’t do. He could only imagine how living with a bastard like Lord Mercer would make the sacred bonds of marriage feel like the bars of a prison.

She paused from her study of knickknacks scattered on top of a dresser and peered over her shoulder at him.

“A man
should
trust his wife,” he said. “Just as a woman should be able to trust her husband.”

“But I haven’t proven trustworthy. I didn’t tell you about Mr. Waver or the information I discovered about Mr. Purbeck until this afternoon. Do you not wonder if I’m keeping any other secrets?” She picked up a comb from the dresser top and turned it over in her hand.

“If you are, I trust you have a good reason.”

“Even if that reason is to wish you dead?”

“Do you wish me dead, Elsbeth?” he said with emotion.

“I prayed for Lord Mercer’s death. My prayers were answered . . . eventually.” She dropped the comb and turned around.

“I would have prayed for his death if I were in your position, too. I don’t see that praying for release from an undeserved hell is so great a sin.” He steadied himself for an answer he might not want to hear. “Do
you
wish me dead?”

Her searching sapphire gaze pressed against his soul. “Not yet.”

He laughed and patted the quilted counterpane. “I suppose only a fool would hope a wife never wished her husband to the devil. Come, sit beside me. I’m bored of all this peacefulness between us. I think I would like you to kiss me again.”