Eliza felt the starch leaching out of her spine as Nicholas held her, kissed her, drove her relatively mad with desire. She wondered if her hair was on fire or her lips flamed, as urgently as his hands and mouth soothed them. Eliza reminded herself to breathe, unknotting her hands and moving them from her lap to his shoulders. The fabric of his jacket was as lush as his kiss. Everything about Nicholas Raeburn was polished and diamond-bright, matching the stone in his ear.
She could kiss him there as he had her, but with her luck she’d swallow the earring and spend the rest of the night in hospital. Best just to concentrate on the usual kind of kiss, the sweep of tongues, the softness of inner cheeks, the occasional click of teeth. His mouth slanted over hers in complete possession, and for once Eliza did not want to get the last word in—or any words at all.
She could see why women would toss away their virtue to a man like Nicholas Raeburn. He was so very good at what he was doing, easing her against him, peppering her throat with tiny kisses, touching her with mere fingertips that made her toes curl. Who knew that her scalp was so sensitive? She’d brushed her hair every day for over twenty years, and never had she expected to shiver.
Her linen blouse was hot and itchy against her awakened skin, and any moment she might choose to pull it over her head and present her corseted torso for Nicholas’s delectation. No—she couldn’t go that far, but how she wanted to. This kissing business was all very fascinating. No wonder girls were warned against it, for one thing certainly seemed to lead to another.
Eliza was too dizzy to sit up, and it was such a relief when Nicholas tipped her onto the feather mattress. Her head hit the pillow, but the kiss was uninterrupted. Nicholas lay at her side, taking care not to crush her. Crushing her did not seem like such a bad idea to Eliza, but he was displaying remarkably gentleman-like behavior, merely stroking her bare shoulder. He’d managed to release the rest of the hooks on her blouse. She’d had nowhere near the trouble with his shirt and waistcoat, which, unfortunately, he was still wearing, along with his jacket. There were altogether too many layers of fabric between them, but Eliza recognized that as her fault.
She had said she wouldn’t take her clothes off, but had made no similar demands to Nicholas. Idly, she wondered if she could pull his sleeves down from this position. Doubtful.
She would take what she could get, and right now she felt inordinately greedy. His chest was smooth and warm, his nipples intriguing.
Kiss.
Kiss.
Kiss.
Was it three kisses, or just intensity, a variation and deepening of the first? Eliza forgot to count. Her breasts strained against her chemise. She yearned for Nicholas to do something about them, but his attention was fixated on her wool skirt. He was bunching it up—
She came to her senses through a thick veil of regret and pushed him away. “No! You mustn’t.”
He blinked. “I’m just going to kiss you, Eliza.”
“You can’t mean to kiss me there.”
“Oh, can’t I?” He wore a wicked grin, looking even more piratical than usual. He folded back her skirt and petticoat with neat precision, edging his way down the bed.
“Lift your bottom, Eliza.”
She was too shocked to do anything but obey. He untied her drawers and tugged them down to her knees. “Lovely,” he murmured, his breath tickling her belly, and began to kiss her as promised.
This could not possibly be correct. Or proper.
Wasn’t that what she wanted? One night of impropriety? Tomorrow she would be—
Gone. Gone. Completely, utterly gone.
Eliza had no clear idea what he was doing but she had never in her life felt anything like it. His mouth was hot and decadent, his fingers infallible. He held her in place as if she would want to escape. Not bloody likely.
There was no sound in the room save for the hiss of the coals and her own ragged breaths as a coil within her tightened. Every inch of her was affected by his ministrations. Her nipples peaked and calves clenched—even her nose tingled. This was unbearable. All the languor from the original kiss was gone and now Eliza was on the cusp of destruction. Her temples throbbed, the blood crashed like ocean waves in her ears. This wasn’t right—she feared she would disappear in a cloud of brimstone any minute.
Nicholas chuckled at her agonized cry and continued to twist his tongue around her center until Eliza thought she couldn’t bear another second. This torture had to stop. Her curiosity was more than satisfied and now she knew what was possible between a man and a woman beyond the usual.
And then his thumb—or some finger—pressed into her pubic bone, circled, and the hated tension miraculously snapped. Eliza was vaulting, pulled up to unsuspected heights. Nicholas forced her again and again to lift upward, riding on endless waves of pleasure, his wicked kiss continuing as she sobbed her relief. Heat flowed beneath her skin until she longed to tear every item of clothing from her body and his.
So this was what the girls whispered of in school. This flying, this rapture. This incomprehensible joy that crackled within, danced in her blood, rushed through her limbs. Eliza was smiling. Not an ordinary smile to be sure—she knew she was showing far too many teeth for a lady.
Perhaps she wasn’t a lady after all.
It had already been established that Nicholas Raeburn was no gentleman.
Thank goodness.
But goodness had nothing to do with what he’d just done.
For a fleeting second, she tried to imagine the Honorable Richard Hurst, Esquire, in such a position doing such a thing and failed. The thought was disloyal to Nicholas anyway—she should not be thinking of any other man.
Right now there was no other man for her. Probably never would be. Eliza would live out her life as a dutiful spinster, caring for her mother without complaint. She would go back to the Evensong Agency and forget about ever working for Sir Thomas and his artists’ colony. She would never be able to meet the man’s eye, for surely he would know what his friend Nicholas had done to her this night. Men discussed their conquests with one another, didn’t they?
Beasts.
Her smile evaporated. Nicholas Raeburn had ruined her even if he hadn’t quite finished the job.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
He had slithered back up the bed, his lips slick from their recent work. He looked damned pleased with himself. Eliza shuddered at what she’d allowed him to do and how stupid she had been. Like Pandora, she’d gotten much more than she bargained for.
Her throat was dry. “Nothing.” She tried to pull up her drawers but his hand came down over hers.
“Don’t. I want to look at you.”
He must have gotten an eyeful when he was down there already. A hot blush swept over her.
“You are so beautifully made—plump ivory thighs, golden curls, a perfect pink pussy. You taste like heaven itself.”
He sounded sincere, but Eliza was mortified. She struggled up. “Be quiet!”
“Don’t be ashamed. This is what women—what you—are meant for. A man’s pleasure and your own. Did I not satisfy you? I could swear I did.”
Satisfy was too weak a word. Her body was useless to her, her brain scattered, her nerves jangled. What was she supposed to do, thank him? She couldn’t, for then she would admit to her wantonness. Her complicity. Her desire to do this all over again no matter the cost.
She could not meet his searching brown eyes, looking instead at his twinkling earring. The diamond was the size of her pinkie fingernail. “This has been . . . a mistake.” She unfolded her skirts. She had been inspected thoroughly enough.
“I can’t agree.” What was Nicholas doing? Shucking his jacket and waistcoat, tossing them to the floor with the rest of his cast-off belongings. His tanned chest was now framed by his wrinkled white shirt and she stopped herself from touching him again with difficulty.
“Don’t shrivel up for me, Eliza. You were magnificent. Alive. In touch with your womanhood, meant to be kissed in all your secret places. You cannot tell me otherwise.”
Well, she could try to tell him otherwise, but her words would have a hollow ring.
“I have to go. Sunny will miss me.”
Nick shook his head. “I know my daughter. She sleeps like the dead. After all, she actually slept right through poor Maria’s last moments and never knew a thing. Does Sunny still kick? When she first came to me two years ago, I was black and blue for weeks.”
“You—you slept with her?”
“Don’t make it sound prurient. She was inconsolable to leave her mama. Even Maria couldn’t get her to stop crying. For some reason, I could.”
Of course he could. Nicholas Raeburn had a way with females, even if they were three years old.
“You said ‘leave,’ not ‘lose.’”
The muscle in his jaw leaped. “Barbara was dying. She didn’t want Sunny to see. The end was . . . not kind to her. I took Sunny away so her mother could protect her from the pain of it. Maria wanted to stay, but Barbara insisted she go, too, for Sunny’s sake. It was not a happy time. Why are we speaking of it now?”
Eliza didn’t know. They’d gone from bliss to tragedy, but every word out of Nicholas’s mouth made her like him a little more. He was every bit “Naughty Nicky,” yet there was a side of him the press would never see.
It was pointless for her to be swept up in his heroism. She would leave as soon as the new governess was engaged, and let that woman moon over her employer. Eliza was returning to her practical, prudent self. She was no longer the woman split apart by Nicholas Raeburn’s talented tongue. Now if only she could figure a way to pull her drawers back up and leave the room with some dignity.
“You need to put another bed in Sunny’s room. Your future governess deserves space of her own.”
“Noted.”
He sounded annoyed, but Eliza forged ahead. “And you also need to engage some day servants. Mrs. Quinn is overworked.”
“I’ve already thought about that, Miss Lawrence.”
Miss Lawrence. That was better, wasn’t it? They were getting back to firmer footing. Eliza was no longer a mindless imbecile, even if there was a faint ringing in her ears and her heart still thudded.