Deveric strode through the door, bundled up in a form-fitting coat, cheeks red with cold. He was taking off his gloves when he spied Eliza and stopped mid-stride.
“What are you doing here?” He eyed her up and down.
“And what are you wearing?” His tone indicated disapproval.
Eliza pulled the robe more tightly across her body. Although, really, the robe was thick, and in her opinion, the chemise she wore underneath was practically the same as a day dress—not exactly a Victoria’s Secret type garment. Nobody could see anything. So why was he freaking out? And why was he here, anyway, so early in the morning, looking so damn luscious?
Where have you been? she wanted to chide, even as her eyes drank him in. Cat couldn’t have done a better job of creating the perfect man for her, eye candy-wise, at least. The stubble gracing his face rendered him a little less perfect and a whole lot sexier to Eliza. She wanted to run her fingers over his chin, touch his upper lip, slide her hands across his cheeks.
She wanted to devour him.
His eyes fixated on her, burning into her, and her cheeks grew warm. What would he do if I walked over there and kissed him? At that thought, her ears, and other parts, tingled, and she shifted uncomfortably on the stool.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He didn’t say anything, just crossed the room and stood right in front of her, appraising her. He didn’t seem to notice the cook and all the other maids had stopped working and were watching this exchange in fascination.
Eliza did.
She looked down at her lap. This would be so much better if they were in private. She didn’t like being the morning’s entertainment. On the other hand, Deveric was here. In front of her. And looking at her as if she were the cherry tart he’d asked for.
He reached out a hand, smoothing it over the side of her lip. Her skin came alive, shock reverberating through her at his touch.
“You’ve been sampling Rowena’s tarts, I see,” he said, showing her the tip of his finger, on which the crumb he’d wiped off her face rested. His green eyes smoldered as they bore into hers.
Eliza’s mouth dropped open, and from the stirring in the room, she could tell Deveric’s actions startled the servants, too. It was a surprisingly intimate touch, here in the kitchen.
“Yes, they are exquisite. I’m afraid I’ve eaten two or three.” Idiot! Why are you confessing how much you’ve eaten? Do you want to draw attention to the fact that you’re not a dainty little thing like his sisters?
“Have another. You’ve grown too thin.” He frowned, scanning her up and down. “Have you not been eating?”
Eliza gaped at him. Too thin? I’ve never been accused of being too thin!
“I’m not as accustomed to some of your dishes,” she managed to get out, glancing at Rowena guiltily. “Not that everything hasn’t been wonderful,” she assured the cook. “I’m just used to other kinds of food.”
Rowena looked unsure whether she should say anything. At Deveric’s glower, she quickly turned back to her bread dough.
“I’m sure if you let us know what you want, Rowena can make it for you,” he said, his voice gruff. Or was that husky? His eyes devoured her, and she nearly forgot to breathe.
I want a hamburger. Pizza. Chocolate chip cookies! And you.
She sat up straighter, letting the robe fall open. “I’m fine, Your Grace, but I thank you for your concern.” She put her shoulders back, bringing her breasts forward. Brazen hussy, her mind screamed. But she’d better start pressing her advantage if she were going to get anywhere with this man, and her advantage was her boobs.
Sure enough, his eyes drifted down. Not much to see through these layers of fabric, but at least I’ve got his attention. Moira moved within her field of vision, momentarily distracting her. The maid’s eyes bulged, reminding Eliza they were not alone. Her shoulders shrank down again. She wasn’t used to playing the seductress, much less with an audience.
“Shall I escort you back to your room, Mrs. James?” Deveric asked.
Eliza took a quick drink of cocoa to mask her astonishment. Moira dropped a pan.
“Uh, what?”
“There are matters we need to discuss,” he said, his voice all business. “And surely you need more sleep.”
“Um, okay.” She stood up. He’d told her himself it was unacceptable for a man to take her to her bedroom, but then again, this wasn’t any man. This was Deveric. This was the Duke of Claremont. And this was his home. If he wanted to escort her to his bedroom, she didn’t think the servants would say a thing. Truth be told, the way her body was shaking, her pulse racing, her skin tingling, there was no place she’d rather be but in bed with him. Right now.
The lust setting her aflame both astounded and thrilled her. It wasn’t as if she’d become asexual after Greg had died, of course. She’d had feelings and desires, especially knowing what lovemaking was like. But she’d stuffed them down. Though body consciousness admittedly played a part, she’d realized she didn’t want to be intimate with anyone she didn’t love enough to be with forever.
She was old-fashioned, to say the least, for her era. Magazines, movies and television shows intimated something was wrong with a person if they weren’t having sex every night. In multiple positions. Maybe with multiple partners. Even many of her girlfriends had no problem with one-night stands, or at least passionate short-term relationships. That didn’t bother Eliza. It just wasn’t for her.
But looking at Deveric right now, with his windblown hair and that damn stubble across his jaw, that tight-fitting coat and those breeches hugging his thighs, the thoughts filling Eliza’s brain were anything but pure, anything but patient. But I plan on marrying him, even if he doesn’t know it. That makes it okay, right?
Her eyes locked with his, the electricity pulsing between them so powerful as to almost be painful. With great effort, she pulled herself together, securing her robe around her before walking ahead of him to the door, aware with every fiber of her being of the magnificent male at her back.
Deveric put his hand at her waist as they walked as if politely guiding her in the right direction. Ha! He wanted to push her up against the wall and capture those sugar-sweet lips with his, wanted to wipe the taste of those cherry tarts from her memory and replace it with only memories of him, his mouth, his hands, his...
His body had betrayed him the minute he’d walked into the kitchen. He’d used every ounce of willpower he had—and thoughts, however brief, of his mother—to keep his desire from making itself obvious to everyone in the room.
His visceral reaction to her shook him to the core. One minute back in Eliza’s presence and he wanted to pull off that robe, rip off what lay underneath. He wanted to spread her across the kitchen workspace where Rowena kneaded bread, and knead Eliza’s body in similar ways, wanted to caress her flesh, molding it beneath his fingers, wanted to pound into her as the cook’s fists had pounded into the dough.
Desire raged through his veins as he passed through the kitchen door after her, her robe swaying back and forth over that delectably round derriere. Once they’d cleared the doorway and moved into a hallway farther off, he stopped.
“What do you do to me, Eliza James?” he murmured, yanking her to him before his lips swooped down over hers, his tongue invading her mouth as the pent-up passion of the last few weeks exploded through him. He lifted his lips momentarily, stunned and ashamed at his own actions, his own ferocity, hoping he hadn’t hurt her, but he had no opportunity to think beyond that, as she wound her arms up around his neck, running her fingers through his hair and pulling his head back down to hers.
He wanted to weep in relief. Her lips moved as eagerly over his as his on hers, and he rejoiced in the satisfied sounds she made. She ran her fingers across his cheeks, and then moved her hand down, sliding it over his neck, running it across his chest and around to his back. The other hand she kept laced through his hair, keeping his face locked with hers, but he wasn’t about to complain.
He moved his hand down, as well, fumbling through the open robe, desperate to reach her body. His torso pressed hers against the wall and he knew she could feel him, hard, pressing into her. But she didn’t retreat. She arched into him, returning his kiss, running her tongue over his lips and seeking entry inside.
He reveled in it, the desire this befuddling American exhibited. His fingers traced their way up over a breast, joy running through him as he took an entire handful in his grasp at last. He loved those breasts, the fullness of them. He wanted to bury himself in them and luxuriate in all of her flesh. Sliding his fingers across her clothed nipple, he heard her gasp as it hardened under his touch.
He lifted one of her legs, urging her to wrap it around him so that he could press more closely into her. She readily complied. His hips matched the rhythm of their mouths, an exquisite back and forth that had both of them murmuring small sounds of pleasure into each other. He reached for the buttons on her chemise, grateful they were in front, and had just slipped the second one out of its hole when a gasp roused him from his lustful fantasies.
Suddenly Eliza was pushing against him, and he looked at her, eyes hooded, momentarily confused by her switch in attitude, until he followed her wide-eyed gaze to his mother standing in the hallway, cheeks white and lips pinched as she glared at the two of them.
He instinctively moved in front of Eliza, as if to shield her from his mother’s attack, realizing belatedly that gave his mother an ample view of just how much he’d been enjoying the previous moments. Not that it lasted long; he shriveled under her baleful gaze.
“Claremont,” she barked, all starch and rage. “I expect better of you. One does not couple in a public hallway. And you. Trollop,” she fumed, vehemence radiating from her as she addressed Eliza. “Pack your bags. No woman of loose morals shall remain under my roof.”