Chapter Twenty-One

The musicale was as dreadfully dull as Eliza had expected it would be.  Well, the music was dull, but the gossip was rampant, especially as news had just reached Town that Lady Diana Saintwood was now officially Lady Diana McKenna, the Marchioness of Hallstone.

The couple had eloped to Gretna Green, much to the shock and surprise of just about everyone.  Eliza had expected it, however.  Or at least she had hoped her friend would break with tradition and forego the extravagant church wedding.  Such an affair did not suit Diana and it certainly didn't suit her half-English, half-Scottish marquess of a husband either.

Now, practically every woman Eliza encountered, from the most innocent of young misses to the most seasoned of society matrons wanted to know all of the latest on-dit from Eliza herself.  As if she had been present when the couple made the decision to elope.

She hadn't been.  But she had been spying on them, though she did not say that.  Instead, Eliza merely smiled and replied that Diana and Lachlan were a splendid match and knew what they were about.  Eliza also made certain that everyone knew that Diana's parents, Lord and Lady Westfield, approved of the match.  And of Lord Hallstone.

Eliza did not add that she wished for much the same outcome to her life as Diana had found - wedded to a man who loved and adored her.  She also did not add that she envied the love her friend had discovered very much, instead pasting a sunny smile on her face and praying that she could get through this night without whapping someone over the head with her reticule.

She was still smiling through clenched teeth when Nicholas appeared at her elbow, effectively chasing all of the nosy busy-bodies away.

"Well.  That was rather effective at clearing away the crush around you," he said, surveying his handiwork with a rather satisfied smile.  "So many bloody females that I could barely see you."

"Nicholas!" Eliza scolded quietly.  "Hush.  There are ladies present.  It does not do to swear."

He shrugged.  "My apologies."  Then he eyed her oddly.  "I never took you for a missish sort, Brat."  Honestly, the chit continued to surprise him.  But in a good way, he supposed.

"I am not," she replied with a huff.  "But I am still a lady."  She paused and licked her lips before lowering her voice even further.  "Despite what we have done together."

Instead of responding, Nicholas offered Eliza his arm, which she took, pushing down a shiver of delight as she rested her delicate hand on his muscularly powerful arm.  She needed to gain better control over herself and her emotions.  This was to be a brief, uncomplicated affair.  She had assured Nicholas that she could handle such a thing.

She did not wish for him to discover that her heart was becoming inexorably involved in the entire affair.  Or that she was having doubts about how she would go on once she was forced to let him go at the end of the Season.  If not before.

Finally, when they reached the refreshment room - which was blessedly almost empty, save for a few delicate young things in pastel gowns who hurried from the room in fear the moment Nicholas entered - he released her so that he might place some pastries on a plate for them to share.  A footman standing guard over the table - for Lord Bixton was ever so tight-fisted with funds - did not say a word as they approached, but merely tightened his lips in clear distain.

"Still have a taste for the sweetmeats, Brat?" Nicholas asked, humming as he did so.  As if he didn't have a care in the world.  "I know that you used to adore anything with sugar in it that your cook could whip up."  He gave her a sexy, dangerous smile.  "The sweeter the better, as I recall."

Eliza had no idea what Nicholas was going on about, but she smiled politely in return as a society matron bustled into the room, obviously informed by the young ladies who had left that The Bloody Duke was about.  And with a female.  The dragon was probably waiting for Nicholas to deflower Eliza where she stood.

"Yes, Lord Candlewood," Eliza replied, just loud enough for the would-be chaperone to overhear.  "I am still quite fond of sweets.  You remember well."

Then she turned and gave the matron what she hoped was a charming, sunny smile.  However, when the woman turned a ghastly shade of white and scurried from the room, Eliza could not understand what had just happened.  Until she felt the heated presence of Nicholas behind her.

Whirling around, Eliza poked him in the chest.  "What did you just do?  Have a care, Nick, as I still have a reputation to maintain!"

He casually raised a single shoulder in one of the biggest displays of ennui Eliza had ever witnessed.  "I smiled at her.  That is all."

"I am fairly certain that was not all," Eliza retorted, though when she thought about it, she decided that perhaps the idea of The Bloody Duke smiling at anyone was enough to send a matron running.  After all, his smiles were usually followed by either a threat or violence of some sort.  Oftentimes both.

Gathering the plate, along with two cups of punch, Nicholas gestured for Eliza to proceed him through an open door to their right.  She had no idea where the door led, but since everyone else had gone to the left - and into the ballroom that was currently being used to host the musicale, she had a fair idea that he wanted to be alone with her.

And she was not about to object.

It had been far too long since he had kissed her.  Nearly an entire day at least.

Not to mention that with every day that passed, the end date for their affair was growing nearer.

Eliza wanted one more night in Nicholas' bed.  She would have asked for two but that would have been greedy.  So she would settle for one.  She would not ask for more.

Once inside the room, Nicholas gently closed the door behind them and locked it.  Unlike the night at Fairhaven, this night was clear and lovely, the moon and stars shining down from high above, flooding the room with a silvery light.  It was, dare she even think it, utterly romantic.

Even if it was just the music room.

As she moved among the plants and around the pianoforte to reach the window, Eliza could feel Nicholas behind her.  Stalking her.  She relished it, the delicious feeling of being wanted.  Desired.  She had known so little of the feelings in her life that now, even if he merely wanted to use her body for their mutual pleasure, she would not object.

When Eliza drew to a stop in front of the large, sweeping multi-paned window of the music room that overlooked the gardens far below, Nicholas was only a few steps behind.  She waited for him to catch up and when he did, he placed his hands on her bare shoulders, caressing the soft skin and setting up an ache deep inside of her belly.

"It is lovely, Nick," she said, feeling a need to fill the ensuing silence.

"Not as lovely as you, Izzy," he quickly replied, placing a relatively chaste kiss on the back of her neck.  Well, chaste for him anyway.  "That gown is lovely on you.  Sapphire does wonders for your coloring."  Another kiss, this one between her shoulder blades, was a little less chaste.  "It would look even lovelier on the floor of my bedchamber."

Eliza sighed.  "Nicholas.  Stop.  We risk getting caught each time we do this.  I know you do not want to bear the consequences that would bring."

When Nicholas pulled her back against him so that she could feel the hard press of his erection on her backside, she was not surprised.  "It seems I cannot help myself, Brat."  Then he ground his hips a bit, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.  He was aroused.  For her.  "Feel what you do to me."  He reached around, encircling her waist with his hands, the heat of him nearly burning her skin directly though the fabric of his gloves and her gown.  "I need you, Eliza.  Now."  Then he kissed that tender spot where her neck and shoulder met and she was lost.

Turning in his embrace, Eliza smiled up at him.  "Just this once more, Nick.  Then we must be more careful."  Still, she said it with a smile as she pressed her body into his, loving the feel of him against her.  When he reached out and pulled her closer, grinding his hips against hers so that his hardness met her softness, she moaned, a long, throaty sound that was pulled from the very depths of her.

Her passion awakened, Eliza reached for Nicholas, twining her arms around his neck and pulling his head down for a passionate, all-consuming kiss.  Eliza knew that it would never be like this with another man, this all-encompassing fire that threatened to burn her to ash where she stood.  There would never be another man to make her knees quiver or her limbs quake.

For her, there would only ever be Nicholas Rosemont and she had been a fool to believe otherwise.

The realization had come to her that afternoon as Theresa finished her hair, winding the golden strands into an elaborate, upswept confection that left her neck bare.  Perfect for Nicholas' kisses.  As she had stared at herself in the mirror, Eliza had seen not the quiet spinster that had been looking back at her from the depths of the glass for so long.  Instead she saw a sensual, desirable woman, one who longed for a life of her own.  A life with a husband who worshiped her in bed every night as if he could not get enough of her.

A husband like Nicholas.

It was then, as tears had begun to pool in her familiar, oddly colored eyes, that the entire truth of her situation crashed down around her.

Eliza was in love with Nicholas.  All the different parts of him, from the Bloody Duke to the boy she remembered from so long ago to the man who would have happily killed somebody for her in a disreputable coaching inn and not thought twice about it.

She wanted to wed him, bear his children, and make a life with him.  In short, she wanted the fairy tale.  And when that did not happen - for she knew good and well that now that her courses had come, it would not - she would be crushed.  And when Nicholas left her in a few weeks time, she would surely die.

But that was for the future.  Another time.  Another place.

For the moment, there was this.  Eliza and Nicholas.  His mouth on hers.  His hands exploring her body.  His body inside of hers.  Making her feel.  Giving her pleasure.  And she could no more deny him than she could cease to breathe.

"Just this once more, Nick," she whispered as he picked her up, her bulky skirts getting in the way of his movements as he carried her to the pianoforte bench.  "Then we must begin to be more careful."

"So says you," he retorted gently as he tugged down the top of her bodice to lave at her breasts.  "I say we continue this as long as is feasible."

Eliza wanted to argue but the sensations he was creating in her already aching breasts raced to the very core of her, damping her drawers and making her ache desperately for him.

He licked the column of her throat, placing more hot, wet kisses on her skin.  She was afraid that he would mark her, but in this, as in all things, Nicholas was still consummately in control.  Yet when he scraped her delicate flesh with his teeth and then let out a hiss of immediate remorse, she wondered if he was, in fact, as in control as he wanted her to think.

"I need you, Izzy," and it struck her that need was not love.  But it was a type of want.  A sort of desire.  And for a woman like her, that was likely all she could expect from a man like Nicholas.  "Now.  Do not make me wait."

It was a command and in other circumstances, Eliza hated to be commanded.  But not now.  Not in this and especially not with Nicholas.  "Take me," she commanded back in return and was gratified when he shifted her so that she could straddle his lap, reaching through her drawers to find the slit there that would allow him access to her womanhood.  "Make love to me, Nick.  Please.  I need you, as well.  I need to feel you."  And she was rewarded when Nicholas lifted her up and with unerring skill, slid her down onto his cock, filling her so deeply that she came immediately.

Make love to me, Nick.

As Nicholas showed Eliza how to ride him in his position, he did his best to block out the words she had just spoken.  He did not want to hear them.  Love indicated that hearts were involved.  And his was not.  Hers most likely was not either.  It was just a slip of the tongue.  At least he prayed that was all it was.

For he could not give her the love she desired.  If that was what she desired.

So many secrets still lay between them, ones he had never had any intention of revealing to her.  They were his secrets and his alone.  His crosses to bear.  She should not have to suffer them with him.

Yet, how could he wed her and not speak of what still lay between them?  Then again, if she knew, she would likely not want to lay eyes on him ever again.  And that he truly could not bear.

Thus, he was rather in a bind.  One of his own making, but a bind nonetheless.

Except that he wouldn't think of it tonight.  At least not when his cock was buried deep within her sweet, wet heat, clenching around him as she rode the first wave of release.  This was about the pleasure the two of them could give each other and nothing more.

The morning was for everything else.  For now, it was still night.

With a groan, Nicholas thrust his hips upward, driving harder into Eliza as she moved down, her soft mound meeting the base of his shaft with each thrust.  He swiveled his hips, grinding upward and pushing himself in as deep as he could, wanting to reach the very heart of her.  To claim her as his.  For the idea of another man touching what he now claimed as his own enraged him.

Why that particular thought plagued him at the moment he did not know, but Nicholas did his best to banish it from his mind.  Yet it lurked there, refusing to disappear into the depths of his hell of a mind from which it had sprung.

Instead of giving the idea further leave to torture him, he drove harder, until he was practically lifting Eliza up before sliding her back down, using his body to guide hers as he slammed into her.  She would most likely be sore in the morning but he did not care.  In fact, if anything, Eliza seemed to relish the roughness, arching and squirming like a cat as he fucked her.

For that was precisely what this was.  It was fucking.  It was not making love.  He prayed that she understood the difference.  Yet a part of him whispered that he was, in truth, claiming her as his, using his legendary prowess as a lover to make certain that she was ruined for all other men.  He had attempted the same thing with Ellie and had failed.  But with Eliza?  He would not fail.  She was his and no other's.  He could see it in the very depths of her soul.

Nicholas could feel her feminine sheath tightening around him again, her body coiling with tension as she rapidly approached release once more.  Unthinking, he bent down and took her swollen nipple in his mouth, biting down until she cried out in the most pleasurable of pain.  Then he swallowed that cry with his own mouth, drinking in the pleasure contained within her kiss as if it was a physical thing.

So close.  He was so close.  But she was not there yet.  And this time, he was determined that they would come together.

Reaching down between them, he found her nub, already slick and swollen.  She gasped his name, begging him to stop, but he pressed on, his fingers stroking and pressing there until she began to buck hard upon his lap, her body quaking and trembling in his arms.

"Come for me, Eliza," he whispered as he continued thrusting hard and fast, his hips moving so rapidly and the bench squeaking against the floor so loudly that it was a wonder all of the assembled guests did not come running to see what the ruckus was.  "I need you to come with me."

Then he pressed harder one final time and Eliza shattered, her body arching and twisting as wave after wave of pleasure flooded her.

Nicholas followed right behind, giving one final, hard thrust deep into the core of her while he groaned her name.  And this time when he spilled his seed inside of her, there was a part of him - still small but yet larger than before - that wished he could get her with child before the Season ended.  Then she could not leave him.  And he would never be forced to tell her the truth.  About anything.