The Nude (full-length historical romance) (7 page)

But her feelings didn’t signify. Nigel relished challenges, the more impossible the better. And
he’d
never met a proper unwed lady who wasn’t either moon-eyed or near to swooning in his presence.

Disdain—now that was a novel experience. Terrifyingly so.

The carriage pulled to a halt and the door swung open.

He took one more whiff of the sweetly scented handkerchief before jamming the cloth into his coat pocket and leapt from the carriage with the confidence of a man prepared to take on the herculean task of holding up the world.

The game was on. He’d seduce Lady Mercer—she was a widow after all—save her reputation
. And distract her
until he
could destroy
all evidence of Dionysus’s existence.

Molly pulled back the curtains, sending an overly bright beam of sunlight streaming into the large bedroom. Elsbeth groaned and buried her head within the soft folds of her down pillow.

“No use ’iding, milady,” Molly drawled. “Lord Baneshire is already calling for ye to meet ’im in ’is breakfast room. An invitation ’ad been delivered yesterday. To a party, milady.” She hummed an unrecognizable tune as she bustled noisily about the room.

“You’re dropping your H’s again.”

“Forgive me, milady. It’s just the excitement ’as me tongue slippin’,” She bobbed a curtsy and blushed. “
Here
is a pretty gown, milady.” She’d tossed open the wardrobe and quickly produced a bright pink morning gown. The intense color made Elsbeth draw in her breath.

After a year of donning black gowns, the array of brightly colored gowns her uncle had insisted she have made still
had the power to take her breath away
.

Molly laid the gown across the foot of the bed, then stood back and smiled. “I pronounced me ach’s nice an’ clear that time, I did.”

“Yes, Molly, you did. You are a gem.” Molly, the youngest daughter of the Mercer’s smithy, was by no means trained as a lady’s maid. Mercer’s housekeeper, Mrs. Brucket,
had
gasped and sputtered so much when Elsbeth brought the sturdy young woman into the house, everyone present feared the poor housekeeper was suffering from a fit of apoplexy.

“I will have to inform his lordship about this,” Mrs. Brucket had threatened once she’d caught her breath. A knowing gleam had darkened her eyes. The housekeeper’s threat did nothing to deter Elsbeth even if the threat of her husband’s anger had given her reason to pause.

The danger of not acting
had been
simply too great.

Georgette, the lady’s maid originally assigned to her, had been much more interested in pleasing Lord Mercer than attending to any of Elsbeth’s needs. Georgette’s seductive presence, jealous rages, and seemingly innocent lapses in memory proved to be a dangerous combination.

After the girl had created a situation where Elsbeth was “discovered” by Lord Mercer alone in her bedchamber with one of the estate’s footmen—the consequences Elsbeth shuddered to remember—she knew, for her own safety’s sake, that Georgette had to go.

Molly, a plain girl, strong and silent, became her saving grace. The younger woman, proud of her new position, had quickly assumed the role of Elsbeth’s keeper. Together they persevered against Lord Mercer . . . and his violent rages. She doubted she’d have been able to survive without her lady’s maid’s unbreakable cheerfulness, strength, and friendship.

“Well?” Molly scoffed. “Are ye planning on commentin’ on the gown or no?”

Elsbeth shook her head to clear away those shadowy memories. “Yes, of course, that pink gown should suit.” Not that she could fathom what manner of dress she should choose to tell her uncle of her plans to refuse Lord Edgeware’s summons to attend his house party.

Less than a quarter hour later, she made her way downstairs and paused in the doorway of the breakfast room. The stormy weather had broken sometime during the night, and the sun poured into the windows filling even the corners of the room with a warm light.

And that was where she found
him
—the demon himself dressed in gentleman’s finery—standing in front of the sideboard, grinning from behind sparkling onyx eyes, and spooning a serving of eggs onto his plate as if he were in his own home.

It wasn’t by the farthest stretch of one’s imagination a decent hour to be visiting. How dare he make such a breach of etiquette and enter her home?

And what in blazes had he said to Lord Baneshire?

“Good morning, Elsbeth,” her uncle said. He was clearly beside himself with excitement. “Please, join us.” He motioned toward the empty chair next to his wife. Even her wan cheeks held a blush of color as she smiled upon the gentleman who looked too young to be a marquess.

Elsbeth felt no need to be taken in by Edgeware’s dashing looks, which were a good deal more striking in this morning’s bright sunlight than in the dim light of the dreary day before. He was too handsome by half
. A
nd by the arrogant way he held himself
, she could tell
he knew the havoc his stunning good looks could do to a lady’s knees.

He turned toward her. His expression became serious as he gazed at her for a moment with a smoldering under-look that made her think of dark carnal desires. Repressed desires.

Her breath caught deep in her chest.

Lord Baneshire missed their sinfully improper albeit silent exchange as he rose from the table. “Edgeware, please allow me to present my niece, Elsbeth, the dowager Countess of Mercer.”

“My lady,” he said smoothly, “the Earl of Mercer was your husband? My sympathies.”

She blinked twice, still feeling somewhat unbalanced and uncertain of the feelings his simmering gaze was provoking. Purposefully provoking, no doubt.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Elsbeth!” her uncle gasped, his brows rising sharply.

“I beg your forgiveness, Uncle, Lord Edgeware,” she said, carefully avoiding the Marquess’s gaze. The tingling that spread through her belly must have been sparked by those seductive eyes of his. She stared at her satiny kid slippers instead. “I meant no insult. It is just that I’m unaccustomed to receiving guests so early in the morning, and in the breakfast room. Is this a new London custom I’ve not yet been made aware?”

A tense silence followed her less than sincere apology. She dared to chance a peek. The dark lord, as she was beginning to think of him, tilted his head and stared at her in the most aggrieving manner.

She tried again to decipher his expression. Amusement? Did he think of her and of her predicament as nothing more than a silly joke? A diversion to relieve a case of ennui?

“I was speaking with your uncle about my upcoming house party. I wanted him to understand that the invitation I’d issued yesterday was presented with the most heartfelt feelings of goodwill.” A smile curled his pursed lips, drawing her attention to them. “Please, do join us in the discussion.”

Her heart sputtered despite her efforts to hold rein over her control. Running from the room was beginning to look like a reasonable course of action. She didn’t want to gaze at his lips or remember the gentle way his hand had caressed her cheek in the carriage the day before. And she certainly did not wish to remember the pleasant dream his wicked self had marched into and made even more pleasant with fantasies of gallantry.

This marquess, no matter how refined, no matter how handsome, was willingly aiding Dionysus. No matter what, she could not overlook that fact. She simply couldn’t let her defenses be swayed. She grasped the doorframe and held her ground, remaining a step outside the breakfast room.

At least she hadn’t yet run away.

“Lord Edgeware.” Her tone could have frozen the flames licking the coals behind the grate in the fireplace. She stiffened her shoulders, finding her body trembling from just the thought of speaking against a man’s wishes, especially a man whose broad shoulders looked ready to burst through the material of his fashionably tight coat.

She gulped. Truly, she was a widow now, and though a poor relation, no longer beholden to any man. “Lord Edgeware,” she tried again before her conviction waned. In her experience men didn’t take well to having their wishes thwarted. Her gaze strayed to the rosette plasterwork on the ceiling. “I do thank you for inviting the Baneshire family and myself to your house party. I’m sure the attentions you’re giving Olivia and Lauretta will restore them to the positions in Society they so dearly deserve.”

She swallowed hard and hurried on. “And I am glad to see you here, in the breakfast parlor. For, my lord, it will save me the trouble of penning a note. Though I have given the matter a great deal of thought, I feel I must refuse your invitation. My presence will only remind the
ton
of the perfidy they believe true of me and will surely further taint how they view my cousins.”

Edgeware stood in the center of the room clutching the breakfast plate in his powerful hands and just stared at her.

“Elsbeth,” Lady Baneshire spoke in her gentle tone, “are you certain you are taking the wisest course of action?”

“The wisest course of action?” Edgeware said, his tone rising. “What she has suggested must be the most damnably idiotic notion I have ever heard.” He dropped his plate on the table with a loud clatter and took two broad steps toward her.

God protect her, the dark lord was going to attack her, here, in the Baneshire breakfast parlor! She crossed her arms in front of her chest and with a small cry of alarm backed away. Before she could gain any great distance, his hand shot out and clamped down around her arm, effectively trapping her.

“I’ll not have this conversation with you cowering in the doorway, looking like a frightened rabbit ready to bolt . . . my lady.” He pulled a chair out from the table and sat her unceremoniously into it. With his hand still trapping her arm, he dropped into the seat next to her.

“I cannot imagine what has gotten into our Elsbeth,” her uncle said, his complexion suddenly as pale as the white linen tablecloth.

“She is obviously suffering from a breakdown of nerves.” Edgeware’s unbreakable black gaze threatened to singe her. “The strain, the suffering from society’s censure must be taking a terrible toll. But you need not fear the outcome of the house party, my lady.”

Both Elsbeth’s aunt and uncle heartily, and loudly, agreed, both launching into lengthy speeches.

Edgeware chuckled. “It appears I’ve created some discord here,” he said, not sounding a whit sorry for it. Instead, he leaned in close and lowered his voice so she could barely hear him above her aunt and uncle’s excited speeches. “As I have already explained, I fully intend to restore your reputation . . . with or without your
cooperation, by the way
.”

She tried with little success to ignore him and, for that matter, to ignore the arguments her aunt and uncle were quickly offering up as reasons why she ought to agree to attend the blasted house party. And she found it impossible to ignore the warm hand still curling around her arm.

A man as self-important as Edgeware, a man so like her husband, could easily lose his temper and justify harming her. Though his grasp was surprisingly gentle, she dared not trust the dark lord. His eyes were as black as the devil’s heart.

She was barely able to stifle the whimper that tried to escape her quivering lips.

* * * * *

Lady Mercer stared, fixated on his hand, the hand gripping her slender arm. Her sapphire eyes turned as hard as the gems they resembled. A look of outrage tightened the fine features of her slender face, rushing away the wariness that had frozen her expression a moment before.

Nigel had to admit his actions bordered on the outrageous. But if he hadn’t grabbed her when he did, she would have dashed from the room, creating an impossible scene that may have trapped him into withdrawing the invitation to the house party altogether.

No, he could not allow that. Besides, he despised nasty, emotional scenes. They served no purpose other than to play havoc with his digestive system.

Lady Mercer brought her gaze up to meet his eyes. “Do what you must to serve whatever twisted version of justice you are seeking, but understand this. I vow I won’t stop until I’ve uncovered that demon you hide. Dionysus will not be allowed to continue his charade,” she whispered. A fire sparked between them as a deep flush deepened the pink of her cheeks.