Just Another Lady (Xcite Romance) (2 page)

He was burying her in generosity, Elinor thought helplessly. Coals of fire on her head. And what did she have to offer him in return?

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘Mother would love that, I know.’

‘And you?’

All she had to offer was acquiescence. ‘Of course. It sounds delightful.’

‘And I may kiss my bride-to-be?’

Elinor felt her heart beat harder, faster; felt as if a small flame was burning inside her. For the first time in years, she was suddenly reminded of that hot summer day when she had thought, for a few exciting seconds, that Lucius might kiss her. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

Lucius moved across to her, and took her hands in his, smoothing his thumbs over her palms. Her skin tingled where he touched. He pulled her in towards him, close enough that Elinor could feel his warm breath against her cheek. She realised she was trembling slightly, and hoped that Lucius would not notice.

‘And now,’ Lucius murmured, ‘I do this ...’

He took one of his hands from hers, and cupped it around her cheek, tilting her face towards his. For the first time in their relationship, Elinor found herself too shy to meet his eyes, and she shut hers. She had a strange urge to press herself closer to him, so that their bodies melded together; but before she could do so, he had bent his head and pressed warm, masculine lips to hers. They clung to the contours of her mouth for a second before he let go, stepping away. Elinor blinked, and opened her eyes, shaken by her reaction to the kiss.

The kiss. A kiss. Elinor had been kissed for the first time, and by Lucius Crozier. A faint blush spread over her cheeks, and she turned away to prevent Lucius from seeing it. It took her a couple of seconds to compose herself, then she spoke. ‘That ... that was ...’ She paused, uncertain of what word to use to describe the experience. ‘Nice,’ she offered.

‘You flatter me,’ Lucius said dryly.

‘I mean …’ But Elinor sighed and did not finish the sentence. She did not have the vocabulary for what had happened. ‘Never mind.’

‘Indeed.’ Lucius changed the subject. ‘Well, I have your consent for your marriage, but I believe it is traditional to get the consent of a lady’s parent to her betrothal. Usually, of course, it is the father, but in the present circumstances – perhaps I could have a private word with Mrs Everton?’

‘No.’ The word came out more sharply than Elinor had intended. ‘It’s not – I mean – she isn’t well. She isn’t receiving.’ The clichéd words slid off her tongue.

‘Are you ashamed of me, Elinor?’

‘Of course I am not.’

It was not, after all, Lucius of whom Elinor was ashamed, but herself. It would kill her mother – almost certainly literally – to know that her daughter had sold herself in order to acquire medical care for her. Not that Lucius would be as crass as to say, nor even imply, any such thing, of course, but Elinor felt that this was one conversation best dealt with herself. More objections followed thick and fast in her mind: she could not bear to think of Lucius seeing the state of any other room in her house, and most particularly the one bedroom which she and her mother shared. Nor could she stand and listen to Lucius give fallacious reasons for his offer of marriage: nothing but a conviction that he loved Elinor dearly would allow Mrs Everton to agree to their wedding, and Elinor suspected that the very sight of this smart, handsome gentleman alongside impoverished Elinor Everton would make it obvious that this could not be a marriage of love. King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid was but a story, after all. How Elinor herself would deal with the conversation, she did not know; that, however, could wait for another time.

‘Please,’ she said quietly. ‘Let me do it.’

He bowed ironically. ‘Your wish is my command, of course.’

He left without kissing her again. Elinor couldn’t help but see this as an omen.

The bedroom was small and dark, and there was mould on one of the walls. Elinor cleaned it off regularly, but as regularly it grew back. Her mother lay in bed, the pallor of her skin evident in the dark room. Elinor felt her heart contract as she looked at her.

‘Mamma,’ she said quietly.

Mrs Everton’s face was lined with pain, but she summoned up a smile for her daughter. ‘Hello, darling.’

Elinor crossed the room, and sat on the side of the bed, taking one of her mother’s claw-like hands in her own.

‘Mamma, I have something to tell you.’ She saw her mother’s face contract.

‘Bills?’ her mother said wearily.

‘No, not this time.’ Elinor forced a smile on to her face. ‘Something a lot nicer than bills, dear. In fact …’ She took a big breath. ‘… I’ve got some rather exciting news.’

She was rewarded by the look of interest which took years off her mother. For a second, Elinor could see the young vibrant Mamma of her youth.

‘Tell me, then,’ Mrs Everton encouraged.

Elinor swallowed. She had practised the lines time enough before coming up to speak to her mother, but somehow the words wouldn’t form with the ease they had when she had not had her mother’s wan face in front of her. All the practised sentences fled from her.

‘I’m getting married,’ she said bluntly.

The expressions which crossed her mother’s face were indescribable. Hope, suspicion, worry, interest …

‘I don’t understand.’ Mrs Everton’s hand tightened on Elinor. ‘How can you? To whom? Oh – not the doctor!’ – this last in a voice of woe.

Of all the responses Elinor had expected, this was the last, and she actually laughed out loud. ‘Mamma! How can you?’

A fit of giggles overtook her, and her mother joined in. For several minutes their laughter rang round the room, and Elinor thought that if her prospective marriage did nothing else, it had been worth it for this moment alone. Finally, when they calmed down a little, her mother spoke.

‘Well, if it isn’t the doctor – and frankly, my dear, we hardly see any other gentleman for you to become engaged to – who is it?’

Elinor took a deep breath. ‘Lucius Crozier.’

The lines of worry returned around her mother’s face. ‘Darling …’

Elinor interrupted her hastily, her words flowing out, she hoped convincingly. ‘Yes, Mamma – isn’t it wonderful? He came round … I mean … Well, you know we’ve always been close, and–’

It was her mother’s turn to interrupt. ‘I know you’ve always argued,’ she said dubiously.

‘I’ve always wanted him.’ There was a desperate truth in Elinor’s words. She’d wanted him to be around when she was younger; later, she had wanted something very, very different from him. The memory of today’s kiss still lingered in her breasts, in a dampness between her legs. She didn’t know precisely what she wanted of Lucius, but she knew she wanted more.

‘Then I am happy for you.’

Elinor watched the worry lines fade once more. The honesty of what she said had been what swayed her mother; at the same time, she was glad Lucius had not been present to hear her. This was to be a marriage of convenience – for him! – and the least suggestion that she would hang around him like a wayward puppy seeking attention would send him running in the opposite direction.

Nevertheless, she woke in the middle of the night, sweaty and throbbing, thinking of Lucius.

Chapter Two

IT WAS HER WEDDING day. Elinor wasn’t certain what one was supposed to feel on one’s wedding day: perhaps the gnawing anxiety was normal. If so, it was the only thing which was normal about this day. It was hard to believe that in several hours time she would no longer be Miss Everton, but Mrs Crozier. Her heart leapt a bit at that thought, and she reminded herself severely that this was not a marriage of love, but of convenience. If she had to be in love with her husband-to-be, it was something to keep private. He did not want her love, and she could certainly do without the complications her feelings might bring in their wake.

She got up, and went over to the closet where her wedding dress hung. The beauty of the garment still made her gasp in disbelief that she might wear such a thing. It was white, with golden stitching decorating it. Elinor looked more ruefully at the underclothing: she was still not sure how she would ever manage to get dressed.

The morning passed in a blur. Lucius’s money – Elinor would always think of it as “Lucius’s” money, even when they were married, she thought – had paid for more servants; and Elinor and her mother were already living at Rocklands; a far cry from their previous home. There were plenty of people to bustle round, therefore, and Elinor was at the centre of the bustle at all times. She spent a bittersweet half hour sitting with her mother, whose health would not allow her to attend the wedding, to the great disappointment of them both. But the doctor’s visits had become more regular, and Elinor could see traces of colour returning to her mother’s cheeks. It was easy to feel certain that she had done the right thing in accepting Lucius’s offer when she saw Mrs Everton’s health improving daily. When she left her mother, however, time seemed to pass in a flash. She was to be “given away” by a cousin of Lucius’s: not a usual proceeding, but the Evertons were remarkably short of family, and their recent poverty had made them, if not literally friendless, close to it. Elinor had played with Lucius’s cousin on many an occasion in their youth; he was a gentle, sombre man – not exciting, perhaps, but reliable. Elinor had learned to rate reliability high over the last few years. So many “so-called” friends had melted away as the Evertons’ finances dwindled; and in the last few years, Elinor had had more than her fair share of the “excitement” of not knowing where the next penny would come from.

So she found herself walking down the aisle towards Lucius. Her corset was tighter than anything she’d ever worn before; it rubbed against her breasts, making her nipples pointy and hard. There must have been perhaps fifty people in the church, but Elinor had eyes only for one: Lucius. He stood by the altar in a costume that looked as if it were moulded to his body, and for a second Elinor had to blink, trying not to think about what it was that his clothes were covering. The vicar spoke the first few words of the ceremony, and Elinor realised she was trembling, though whether with fear or excitement she was not sure. A short while later, she walked back up the aisle, Lucius at her side, with the knowledge that she was now, indeed, Mrs Crozier – Lucius’s wife.

After a wedding “breakfast”, where Elinor talked and laughed with an ever increasing sense of unreality, the guests began to disperse. Evening drew on, and it was not long before Elinor found herself alone, with her husband, in their (their! Elinor had never before thought that it was such a meaningful word) bedroom. Lucius smiled at her, and Elinor forced herself to smile in return; it was clearly not a great success, as he asked, ‘Are you scared?’

‘You would like to think so,’ Elinor shot back, a little unfairly.

In all honesty, she was terrified. Lucius had already completed his part of the bargain: her mother was getting the best medical treatment there was. Elinor’s part of the agreement was yet to come. Starting here, alone at night with a gentleman who would expect ... if truth be told, Elinor would have to admit that she did not quite know what it was that a gentleman expected of his bride. She knew how she’d felt when he’d kissed her: an almost uncomfortably tumultuous feeling in her stomach; a tightening of her nipples, a strange dampness between her legs. But kisses were one thing: what happened in a private bedroom between man and wife was something entirely different. And she did not know what it entailed.

‘Undress for me, Elinor.’ Lucius’s voice was a tone lower than usual, the look in his eyes almost burning her with its heat.

‘I ...’ She felt her cheeks reddening with two separate emotions. ‘I can’t.’

‘Oh, I think you’ll find you can,’ purred Lucius.

She bit her lip and glared at him, indignation winning over shyness. ‘No, I mean I can’t. I literally can’t. This wretched corset is too damn tight for me to unfasten. It took two abigails to get me into the thing, and frankly I can’t imagine that I’m ever going to be able to get it off.’

She saw Lucius’s mouth quirk with amusement. ‘I see. I will be happy to ... ah ... assist you when necessary.’

Elinor reminded herself, not for the first time, that obedient and dutiful wives did not tend to slap their new husband around the face. However tempting that might be.

‘If you could unfasten the dress,’ she said grimly, turning her back to him to present him with a row of small, creamy-white buttons.

The feel of Lucius’s fingers running down her spine made Elinor want to shiver. Even though she was protected by layers of clothing, the knowledge that he was stripping her – that shortly she would be naked in his company – made every touch tingle with what Elinor had to acknowledge to herself was excitement as much as embarrassment. As he unfastened the final button, she wriggled impatiently and the dress fell in a pool at her feet. The petticoat she could divest herself; the corset, however, needed Lucius’s aid to remove. Elinor could feel his breath warm against her neck as he teasingly took his time to undo the strings. When at last it expanded around her, Elinor took what felt like the first decent breath since that morning, almost moaning her relief.

‘You looked beautiful in it,’ her husband (her husband!) murmured in her ear, ‘but even more so out of it.’

He pushed it off her shoulders, so that she stood dressed only in the light cotton shift in front of him. As he turned her to face him, Elinor was suddenly made all too aware of her semi-nude state compared to Lucius’s full dress. She could feel her nipples peaking against the cloth, almost begging for Lucius’s touch.

‘It’s a little cold,’ she said, taking a hasty step backwards and looking towards the huge bed. ‘Um ... I think I’ll ...’

‘You want me to come to bed?’ asked Lucius, smiling.

Do not show fear. Do not show fear. ‘When you are ready to do so,’ she said coolly.

‘I am tempted to request that you perform the same task for me as I did for you,’ Lucius said, ‘and assist me with the removal of my clothing. But perhaps that can wait for another day.’

Another day. Elinor was reminded once more that this was life now; she was married to Lucius Crozier for the rest of her days. Up until that moment, she had been just thinking about getting through the wedding itself, and now the wedding night. But there would be tomorrow – and tomorrow – and tomorrow. Was it better or worse that she desired the man?

With that thought, she slipped towards the large double bed, shivering as her heated body came into contact with the cold sheets. Lucius had begun to strip, and Elinor was torn between shyness and a desperate wish to watch. Her eyes apparently discreetly lowered, she yet managed to gaze as he removed the first few layers of clothing. Suddenly she was finding it hard to breathe again. This time, she had no corset to blame for her state; but somehow the sight of Lucius’s slim, muscular body was having a similarly constricting effect on her lungs. And then ...

‘Oh,’ she whispered, as Lucius stood naked before her, his manhood standing tall and proud and – ‘It’s so big.’ Elinor couldn’t drag her eyes away from it; it captured all of her attention. Were all men so – so well endowed, or was it just Lucius?

He strolled towards the bed. ‘Do you like what you see?’

Elinor had no mind for anything but the truth. ‘Yes.’ Her fingers trembled as she reached out her hand towards his erection. ‘May I?’

He had a half-smile on his face as he nodded. Elinor wasn’t sure whether he was laughing at her, or merely pleased by her response. Almost she didn’t care. She stroked his manhood with the very tips of her fingers, scared to damage him, to make something change, to make that beautiful jutting erection fade away in front of her.

He laughed. ‘A little harder, Elinor; you tickle.’

She looked up at him from the bed. He looked happy, uncomplicatedly so. ‘Like this?’ She ran her fingers harder down his erection.

‘Close your hand around me,’ Lucius encouraged. He reached down and touched her breasts through the light shift she still wore. ‘Like so.’ He grasped one of her breasts from beneath, curling his fingers and thumb around it.

‘Oh,’ said Elinor again, wondering what magical connection there was between her breasts and the secret place between her thighs, as lightning-like shivers ran from one to the other and back again, making her feel as if a fire had been lit within her. She slid her fingers around his manhood, and ran her hand up and down tentatively.

‘Mmm, like that,’ he said approvingly.

‘You’re beautiful.’ Elinor hadn’t intended to say the words aloud, but they came out without volition.

‘Sit up, Elinor of mine,’ Lucius murmured. ‘Let me help you off with that shift. Let me see you.’

Elinor’s tongue circled her lips nervously. ‘I – I’m not like you.’

Lucius laughed aloud. ‘I hope not! Come.’ He took his hand from her breast and hers from his erection, and Elinor almost moaned with disappointment. But he took her hands in his and pulled her to a sitting position. ‘Now,’ he instructed, ‘wriggle out of that shift.’

Elinor could feel her cheeks burning hotly as she obeyed her husband. She knew she must disappoint. If even half of the rumours were true, Lucius had slept with much more beautiful ladies – and many of them. How could Elinor Everton ... Elinor Crozier, she reminded herself ... compete? Nevertheless, she pulled her shift over her head, her breasts exposed, and the cotton sheet now the only thing protecting her modesty below the waist. Lucius sat on the bed next to her, and she was aware of his eyes raking over her, but she could not look up to meet his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips, deepening the kiss as she responded to it. She felt his tongue touch hers, then plunge into the depths of her mouth. Her self-consciousness forgotten, she reached up to wrap her arms around him, kissing him back as fervently as she knew how.

Time stood still. The kiss might have taken seconds – minutes – longer still. Elinor did not know and she certainly did not care, so long as Lucius was with her, touching her, caressing her, kissing her. He pulled her over on the bed so that they were lying together on it. Her hand tangled in his hair; his hand reached once more for her breast, whilst he laid one possessive leg across her two. It felt amazing. It felt – right. Elinor wasn’t scared any more, wasn’t embarrassed. All she cared about was that this warmth, this fire burning through her, should continue.

‘Please,’ she said, burying her head into his neck and breathing in the unadulterated musky smell of Lucius Crozier. ‘Please don’t stop.’

‘I don’t intend to,’ he assured her. ‘Indeed, I thought I might...’ He trailed one of his hands down her body, over her ribcage and down onto her belly. His fingers touched lightly, but to Elinor it felt as if they burned everywhere they touched. Then the fingers strayed lower, into the bush of curls between Elinor’s legs. A place no one had touched her before; a secret, magical place. Then lower still; and Elinor’s back arched involuntarily as Lucius touched a small nub of flesh beneath her curls. The feeling was intense, too intense to allow her to lie quietly, but at the same time it was incredible.

‘There,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Touch there again.’

Instead of touching it with the tip of a finger, as he had done the time before, Lucius slid his whole hand between her thighs, so that his palm rested firmly against that remarkable place. He moved his hand in tiny circles and the feeling, though less consuming, was building up inside her until Elinor thought she might expire from the flames inside her. And then his fingers dipped inside her, and she gasped, shivers and ecstasy taking her over as she rode on waves of fire to some distant, wonderful, horizon.

‘More,’ she whispered, her voice husky.

Lucius looked down on her, and stroked a tendril of hair away from her face with surprising tenderness. ‘This next will hurt, just a little,’ he said warningly.

‘I don’t care.’

He laughed. ‘No, my little vixen?’

He pushed inside her with a slow motion. Elinor gave a little gasp as she felt, quite intensely, something tear inside her. But the pain that Lucius had warned her of was less overwhelming than the pleasure which followed in its wake as he began to move. It was both too much and not enough, at the same time; Elinor wasn’t sure whether she wanted to beg him for more or to plead with him to stop, now, before she lost herself forever in a place she hadn’t known existed until now. It was beautiful – incredible – frightening: she felt the wet trickle of tears on her face.

‘Elinor?’ Lucius’s voice had taken on a deeper timbre; his blond hair was dampened with sweat. She had never seen him sweat before, Elinor thought inconsequentially. It made him seem more vulnerable, somehow.

‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed; and his movements became faster.

Elinor’s hands went up to grasp him, her fingers digging convulsively into his shoulders as he thrust inside her. She could hear the harsh sound of his breathing; her own breaths were quick and shallow and needy. Then, suddenly, Lucius gave a groan; she felt him spasm inside her, felt a warm wetness between her legs. For a moment it was as if the world stopped; then, he was rolling away, lying next to her, and she found herself staring at him as if she had never seen him before. He smiled at her.