Here she was again, half-undressed and half-witted, sitting on Nicholas’s lap and wanting—
What? He’d asked her and Eliza had no answer.
She’d vowed after last night that they were done with their experiment. She’d received more of an education than she expected, and it would have to be enough. Perhaps it would have to last a lifetime, since it was unlikely she’d find another man to do such a thing to her.
It—the kissing down there—couldn’t be common, could it? She would have to ask Oliver.
Lord, what was she thinking? She couldn’t possibly discuss such a personal thing with him. She’d never hear the end of his teasing.
“What are you thinking? You’ve gone quite cold.”
Well, Eliza was cold—there was no fire in the little studio stove and the window was still open. She had helped to remove her blouse and her chest was there for all the world to see.
“No doubt you would tell me I’m thinking too much. That I should just throw up my skirts and have at it,” she said bitterly.
“Eliza! I would never be so crude. Nor would I ever take you against your will. I’m sorry if you’ve suffered in the past few days. I’ll make it right to you, I swear it.”
He sounded so earnest. “I don’t see how you can, Nicholas. Look at me! I’m sitting in your lap like some harlot, and the horrible thing is, I don’t want to get up. My corset feels so tight I’d like to tear it off, or better yet, have you do it. I want to kiss you until I can’t breathe. I don’t care if a hundred Miss Scullys accuse me of impropriety, because I want to be improper! I hate you, Nicholas Raeburn!”
Eliza was as startled by her outburst as Nicholas seemed to be. He looked adorably confused, and she wanted to hit him on his aristocratic nose.
No. It was not his fault he unsettled her so, and he’d been hit enough.
“I was just fine when I arrived on Lindsey Street,” she continued, “perfectly content with my lot in life. And now, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never fainted in my life until I came here, you know—not once. Now I’ve fainted twice in a handful of days. I think I would be better off if I just blacked out permanently and pretended I’d never met you!”
“Eliza, Eliza.” He was brushing away the useless tears that she was incapable of controlling. What a mess she’d gotten herself in. She glanced over at the gigantic portrait and shuddered.
“I’ll destroy it,” Nicholas said, noticing her revulsion. “I never even meant for you to see it. I would have altered it before the exhibition, you know, but somehow I couldn’t stop when I started. You—you took over.”
“I did no such thing!”
“But you did. It was as if you were right there, urging me on. Whispering all sorts of things that, quite frankly, were most out of character for you. It comes close to being my best work, even if it’s not finished, but I don’t want to cause you further distress. Really, Eliza, I—I value you and your good opinion of me. I’m truly not the libertine you think I am. I mean, I suppose I used to be—”
“Oh, be quiet,” Eliza said, and kissed him to stop his lips from moving so pointlessly. They were meant for better things.
Oh yes, she was ruined. There wasn’t an ounce of sanity to be mined from her mind. His mouth was delicious and warm, his arms strong around her. Her breasts threatened to pop from their restraint and she wished they would. Then Nicholas could see how inaccurate he’d been, but perhaps kiss and touch them just the same to rid them of this dreadful anxiety. How silly—breasts could not be anxious. It was Eliza who was anxious and yearned for more. Perhaps she could hint.
She placed her thumbs flat on Nicholas’s coppery nipples, then swiped across them. Eliza must have done the thing properly, for he drew an agonized breath in her mouth, then almost savagely plundered, the kiss taking on intense concentration. He thrust beneath her, his erection unmistakable.
She felt like a pastry being gobbled up, no crumbs saved for later. Every place he gripped tingled—who knew a shoulder was so vulnerable? At last his hand found its way to the top of her corset and she groaned. Taking the sound for permission, he unhooked a few inches, loosening the diabolical thing. Nicholas reached in and stroked over the thin cotton chemise. Eliza wished he’d touch bare skin as she was. Her breasts felt swollen. Anxious, she reminded herself, and she smiled in the middle of the kiss.
“What’s so amusing?” Nicholas asked, his voice raspy.
“I am. I’m a bit of an idiot.”
“That makes two of us, Eliza.” He pressed a nipple between his fingers with supreme gentleness, and she thought she might weep again. “What are we doing here?”
“I’m not sure. Must we describe it? I don’t think I have the words for this, either.”
“You do know where this is leading.”
Eliza nodded. “We cannot go that far, Nicholas. I really would hate you then.”
He sighed, then shifted her off his lap to the cushion. “Then we need to stop now. I can’t guarantee I’ll be a gentleman much longer.”
“Oh. You’re right, of course.” Did he hear her disappointment? She looked down at the gaping corset, saw the pink flush that washed over the tops of her breasts, felt the ache inside.
“I—I’m sorry,” Nicholas said. He appeared to be in pain also, his lips quite white.
She cupped his cheek, and her palm tickled from the auburn bristles. “Oh, don’t be. This is my fault entirely. I kissed you again. You are a very bad influence on me.”
He didn’t smile as she meant him to. “This is my punishment, I presume. For all my years of intemperate living.”
“I don’t want to punish you! All young men sow their wild oats.” Eliza recalled what Oliver had told her the other day, and added, “Some more than others. You are an honorable man, Nicholas Raeburn, no matter what the newspapers say or what some people think.”
He waved a hand in the direction of the street. “I don’t care about any of that. Sunny is the only person I want to impress. And maybe you, just a little.”
“I’m more than impressed, and that’s the trouble.” Nicholas had affected her without even trying. He must be a genius at seduction after his Continental travels, and he hadn’t even turned on a quarter of his charm with her.
And Eliza had been charmless most of the time. Judgmental and tiresomely prudish. It was a wonder he wanted to kiss her anywhere at all. Paint her. He’d made her truly beautiful, if she discounted what she was doing to herself in the portrait.
He reached over and hooked the front of her corset. Pulled her chemise strap up and found her balled-up blouse. It would require ironing, but Eliza was not going to ask Mrs. Quinn to do it.
“If I want to keep your respect, there shall be no more kissing, Miss Lawrence,” Nicholas continued. “I’m not strong enough to resist you. Even when you’re not physically present, you egg me on to foolishness.” He tilted his head toward the canvas in the corner.
“Don’t destroy it,” Eliza said. “There must be some way you can fix the—the face.” She said nothing about her fingers and what they were engaged in.
Nicholas shrugged. “Maybe, but my heart’s not in it. It was as if I was possessed this morning.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’m a wreck. I can’t believe that awful woman saw me like this.”
“I’m sure she enjoyed the sight deep down. Not every old maid gets to see a shirtless, tattooed gentleman sporting a day’s worth of beard. Some might say you’re somewhat hard to resist yourself.”
He stood. “Well, I should get cleaned up. I’ll head for the Evensong Agency once I’m presentable. Straighten out this little misunderstanding.”
“Are you well enough? Do you want me to come with you?” Eliza hoped he’d say no. She was afraid she’d wilt completely under Mrs. Evensong’s gray-spectacled gaze. Mrs. Evensong would somehow know.
“No. Sunny enjoys your company, and you won’t be here all that much longer. I won’t muck it up, I promise. Your reputation will be restored and your job secure.”
Eliza wondered if in fact that was what she really wanted.
Nicholas left her seated on the sofa. Some of the stuffing was spilling out of the arm, and Eliza absently pushed it back in. The room was bathed in dimness as a hard rain fell squarely on the skylight. She turned her attention to the painting, amazed that he could have accomplished so much in so short a space of time.
She picked up a sputtering candle and stepped close. Individual brushstrokes were visible; a hair from the paintbrush was stuck on her right knee. Gingerly she pulled it from the canvas and held it between her thumb and forefinger. An odd souvenir from this morning. She let it spiral to the floor.
Even unfinished, the work was stunning. Eliza thought of the much smaller portrait of Sunny’s mother and noted the similarities in technique. Yet there were differences, too. Nicholas had blurred the lines, but the colors were as rich, the patterns dizzying. Eliza knew nothing about art, but even untutored, she was moved.
Or would be, if the subject matter weren’t so very embarrassing, her wicked pleasure—or the faux Eliza’s—so very obvious. Nicholas was talented; there was no question.
Sighing, she straightened the sofa cushions but left the rest of the room untouched. Nicholas seemed particular in the organization of his equipment, all his brushes lined up by size. She blew out the candles and turned off the electric lights, and the room was plunged into a filmy gray darkness, almost as if it were underwater. Raindrops chased themselves down the glass dome. It was turning into a filthy day, though a little piece of sunshine lurked in Eliza’s heart.