Liz Carlyle - [Lorimer Family & Clan Cameron 02] (30 page)

However, if the end of his engagement had been a bad dream, Cicely’s death had been a nightmare. Following Elliot’s refusal to honor the betrothal, the gossips had whispered that Lord Howell’s niece had removed to the country to nurse her broken heart, which had been so cruelly ravaged by the overly proud, newly invested marquis of Rannoch. Of course, London society loved to relish and embellish a scandal, and Elliot knew that his determined efforts to kill Godfrey Moore had only fanned the flames.

The obvious fact that by the time Elliot had returned from his father’s funeral, Cicely’s condition had been readily apparent had not kept the
ton
from blaming him for abandoning his pregnant fiancée. Precisely how she had come to die less than a month later, Elliot did not know. Nonetheless, she had purportedly been found in a squalid flat, dead of blood loss. It was widely rumored that Cicely had tried without success to rid herself of the child, and Elliot had little doubt that it was true.

Sir Hugh had merely stamped his foot in rage, insisting that it must be plain to anyone who could count that Elliot had scarcely been in town long enough to leave any chit that far gone with child. Nonetheless, after her death, the vile rumors had persisted, driven as much by Elliot’s refusal to renounce them as by his newfound arrogance and treacherous moods.

The rain had changed directions again to spatter back against the tower wall, and Elliot was dismayed to see that his coat sleeve was now soaked. With a soft hiss, he pitched his cheroot into the night and pulled shut the window. It rasped against the casement with a dull scrape of ancient metal. Ah, the past. His heart had been young and foolish then. He had hurt, and he had lashed out. But what was done was done, he knew. Questioning the past could not undo the damage.

He was suddenly quite weary, his unslaked lust all but forgotten. He pulled his watch from his waistcoat and glanced at it. Evangeline was not coming. He had hoped he had tempted her beyond resistance. That perhaps he had given her cause to regret her hasty rejection of his proposal or, at the very least, cause to come to his bed. But it was half past eleven, quite some time since they had stood in a tangled embrace on the terrace, and the household was long since abed. What would he have done, he bitterly considered, had Evangeline accepted his offer of marriage? Simply prayed she would not notice his full name on the marriage license?

Damn it, it was time he went to bed himself. With a sigh of resignation and regret, Elliot shrugged off his damp coat and began to undress.

From her position in the narrow stone corridor, Evangeline heard the window scraping shut. Three times she had lifted her hand to knock, and three times let it drop to her side. Beneath her bare feet, the stone was cold, and she shivered despite her nightdress and wrapper. She had been so certain of what she was about mere hours ago, yet now she was not sure. Not sure at all.

She had put off ascending the curving tower stairs until she was confident that Etienne and Winnie were asleep, or at least otherwise occupied. The time had seemed interminable, and as it passed, her resolve had weakened. It was an irreversible step, this uncertain thing she so desperately contemplated, and it would forever alter her friendship with Elliot. Yet at the memory of his touch, and the deep ache of longing it stirred inside her, Evangeline lifted her hand again, and this time she rapped softly on the thick planking of the ancient door.

Elliot opened the door to see Evangeline standing in the shaft of weak lamplight that shone from his bedchamber. Bare feet peeked from beneath her nightclothes, and though her expression was uncertain, the purpose of her visit was obvious.

Wordlessly, Elliot pulled her inside the room and into his arms, pushing shut the door with the heel of his boot. “Evie.” His hand molded to the small of her back and stroked up and down as his mouth sought hers. There seemed to be no need for conversation. For better or worse, all that needed to be said had been said on the terrace, and Elliot put aside his hurt and let desire take hold once more.

Her lips trembled against his as he kissed her with his eyes and his mouth open, devouring her. His shirt billowed loose from the waist of his trousers, and as he pulled her hard against him, he felt Evangeline twine one arm around his neck. Her tongue felt like warm satin as it slid willingly into his mouth, and Elliot thought he knew, and was prepared for, his body’s response. But when her free hand slid beneath the linen of his shirt to touch his naked flesh, he quivered. Raw need fisted in his stomach like a sharp, sweet pain.

Any doubt Evangeline might have felt seemed to have dissolved in the wake of their passion. Her hands were on him, certain and needful, and Elliot reveled in her touch. He pulled her across the room, through the pool of lamplight, and onto the bed. At the adjacent window, a hard rain beat a strong cadence against the whorled glass. Without taking his lips from hers, Elliot urged her backward into the bedcovers, his right knee bent to the mattress.

Slowly, he pulled back from her, trailing fervent kisses down her throat. He walked to the side table, lowered the lamplight to a mere flicker, then returned to sit on the edge of the bed.
Too fast,
he thought. He was pushing her too fast.
Too slow,
argued the hungry voice in his head. Elliot pulled in a ragged breath and leaned forward to rest his forearms across his thighs. He stared at the floor. “Evangeline—are you sure?”

She answered by coming up onto her knees behind him and sliding her hands beneath his shirt once more. Her palms were cool and strong against his fevered flesh. With surprising ease, she dragged the fabric up and over his head, then set her mouth to the curve of his collarbone. “Elliot,” she whispered against his skin, “I’m sure.”

It was the touch of her hand and the sound of his name that did it, evoking in him the same ache that had seized him that first day he had come to Chatham, desperate and angry, in the cold, driving rain. In the hall, she had laid her hand against his arm, and he had looked down into her gentle eyes, and the painful yearning had gripped his heart and reached down into the pit of his belly. Sweet, sweet agony. It had to be right to make love to her now.

Swiftly, he undressed and turned to press Evangeline down into the softness of his bed. He stretched his length out along hers, feeling the curve of her hip against his. Almost reverently, he lifted his hand to the close of her wrapper and opened it, pushing away the fabric to reveal the sheer lawn of her nightrail. In the near darkness, Elliot imagined he could see the firm, dark areolas of her full breasts. He reached out and found them, already hard with nascent desire.

Beneath his touch, Evangeline trembled, then moaned. “Make love to me, Elliot,” she whispered in the darkness.“Now, please.”

“Ah—yes, Evie,” he answered, moving his hand to the other breast. “I will. But slowly. You are special. Something to be savored.” He lowered his mouth to suckle her, drawing both fabric and nipple greedily into his mouth, and was thrilled to feel Evangeline arch with sudden pleasure. He laved each breast in turn, over and over, finding himself strangely humbled by her soft sighs of delight. She was so passionate and eager. Unlike any other woman he had known, her emotions felt pure and uncomplicated. When he felt her hips begin to move, he impatiently pulled up her gown and slid his hand along the inside of her thigh.

Slowly, he took his mouth from her breast and drew back to look into her eyes. His vision had adjusted to the darkness, and he gazed at her as he slid his hand higher, to the joining of her thighs. Evangeline’s head was tilted back, and already one hand was fisted with pleasure in the bedcovers.

“Evie, look at me,” Elliot whispered, and her chin came down, and her eyes opened wide to meet his. “I want to watch you when I touch you, sweet.” Propped beside her on his elbow, he pulled deliberately closer and speared his fingers into the nest of curls between her legs. “Mine, Evie?” He gave a gentle tug, watching in the darkness as she nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Remember what I said then, Evie? I take what’s mine.” So saying, he plunged one finger into her and felt the sudden tightening of her feminine sheath. She cried out softly, already warm and ready. But not yet, Elliot cautioned himself. He drew back and heard her whimper, then slid two fingers deep inside. Again, she arched off the mattress, and Elliot began to move inside her. Slowly he began to brush the ball of his thumb up and across her sweet nub, already hard with need. She whimpered again, and Elliot felt the pull of her muscles against his fingers.

Gently he moved his hand on her and returned his mouth to hers, repeating with his tongue every stroke of his fingers until Evangeline writhed beside him. He swallowed up her little cries of pleasure as she pressed against him, instinctively seeking a release he knew she did not yet comprehend. Pulling back to watch her face as she neared the edge, Elliot could sense the growing tautness of her body, tight as a bowstring. Finally, he felt her tension snap, and Evangeline began to convulse in his embrace.

Watching her come was infinitely satisfying, more so than his own release would have been. The thought surprised him as he saw her head tilt back and felt her insides pull and pulse around his fingers. It was a new experience for him, this unselfish giving of pleasure. He had thought only to prepare her for his body, but in so doing had found immense satisfaction. In the past, if a woman took pleasure in coupling with him, it had been incidental, not intentional. A woman’s satisfaction had never been high on his list of priorities. The need to give pleasure, this perplexing wish to give of himself, was disturbing in its intensity. But any fear was forgotten when Evangeline’s eyes fluttered open and she sighed.

Even as the sense of utter calm washed over her, Evangeline felt Elliot pulling away her robe and then lifting her as if she were no more than a child, to peel away her nightgown. Within moments, she was completely naked, and he was staring at her in a way that was raw and urgent. But not frightening. Or embarrassing. Not after what he had just given her.

Evangeline had not understood that the man brought that sort of pleasure to the woman. And certainly not in that sort of way. Suddenly, she was eager to learn more, and why not? She was with Elliot. She could give herself over to him. She could trust him. It was a joyous acknowledgment which made her desperate to please him as he had pleased her. She rolled toward him, slid one arm beneath him to embrace his narrow waist, and pulled herself closer to his warmth.

When fully nude, even in the dim lamplight, Elliot’s beauty far exceeded the near perfection she had seen while watching him at the pond. He was a big man, but beautifully formed, with wide shoulders and a lean stomach which plainly revealed that his clothing owed little to a tailor’s expertise. It was this glorious body that filled and shaped Elliot’s plain coats and ordinary trousers. His chest was broad and nearly smooth, with just the lightest dusting of dark, curling hair which trickled between his breasts, across his abdomen, and down his belly.

Suddenly, Evangeline wanted to caress him. In the near dark, she watched Elliot smile at the touch of her hand laid flat against his chest. With slow deliberation, she skimmed it downward over his midriff, across his taut stomach, then lower still. And then she touched him. His manhood lay hard and erect against his belly, and Elliot gasped as her fingers brushed the hot flesh.

“Ah!” he gasped. “Evie, so sweet!”

Evangeline understood. “Can I touch you? There?”

In the pale lamplight, she saw Elliot bite hard on his lower lip for a moment. “God, I don’t know,” he replied hoarsely. “Yes, I think so.”

Tentatively, Evie slid her hand back against his belly, feeling his flesh quiver now at her touch. Taking the weight of his shaft in her hand, she held him and felt the blood pulse hot and strong beneath the taut skin. His flesh was like velvet. Drawn tight over iron. She slid her hand back and forth again, reveling in the feel of power that lay just beneath the surface.

“Evie—stop!” His voice was an indistinct rasp. She pulled back her hand as if bitten, and Elliot came off his side and rolled on top of her, wedging himself between her thighs. She embraced him, sliding her palms down the taut, smooth length of his back and onto his lean buttocks, only vaguely aware of the deep, puckering scar on one hip.

“Evie, I have to have you,” he moaned. His hands came up to cradle her face even as he lowered his open mouth to hers in a kiss that was savage and unyielding. Roughly, he plundered her with his tongue, his shaft pressed hard against her belly, his powerful legs urging hers apart, his pelvis grinding her down into the mattress.

The weight of him alone was enticing. Instinctively, Evangeline urged her breasts and belly hard and higher against him until she felt his heavy manhood slide down between her legs to push against her entrance. And then his hands were beneath her hips, cradling her buttocks and easing them higher and apart. Suddenly, she felt him begin to sheath himself inside her, and she gasped.

In the dimness, she watched his eyes fly open wide. “Evie, sweet, I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.” But he did, sliding deep inside her with one smooth motion. A fast, sharp pain knifed inside her, and she must have cried out, because Elliot froze, then lifted himself incrementally away to look at her.

“Ah, God, Evangeline! I’m so sorry. I can’t—can’t help it.” He stilled himself inside her and dropped his head to whisper against her temple. “There—better?”

“Yes,” she whispered uncertainly, then more confidently. “Yes, better.”

Elliot uttered something that sounded like a visceral groan and withdrew almost fully. There was no real pain, just a deep, aching void where he had been. The worst was over, she knew. She was ready for him and wanted to give him pleasure as he had given her.