NOT JUST A WALLFLOWER (7 page)

No, it was Eleanor herself who had intoxicated him this evening. Whose every word challenged him. Who had aroused him earlier, causing him to swell and throb inside his breeches, just by watching her lick the juice of the pineapple from the swell of her lips, until Justin had desired, hungered, for the sweet taste of those lips for himself. As he still hungered.

‘Well, does it feel like a game?’ he repeated as she didn’t answer.

Her little pink tongue moved moistly across her lips before she finally responded in a breathy voice. ‘Not any game I have ever played before, no.’

‘Good.’ Justin gave a hard, satisfied smile. ‘And would you like to know what happens next in this particular...game?’

‘Your Grace—’

‘Justin, damn it!’ He glared down at her, watching her face as he pressed his thighs against her, only to give a low and aching groan in his throat as pleasure immediately shot hotly down the length of his arousal.

Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘Justin, are you all right?’

‘Do not look so concerned.’ He gave a strained smile. ‘It may not appear so, but I assure you it is pleasure I am feeling, not pain.’

Ellie eyed him uncertainly now. ‘Pleasure?’

Strange, because when she had secretly observed the stallion and the mare together in the stable yard, it had seemed to her as if the stallion were in pain, head tossing in agitation, eyes wide and wild, as he snorted and stomped on the cobbles beneath his hooves as he strained to get close to his quarry.

The terrified mare had seemed to fair no better, pinned restlessly in place as she was beneath those thrashing hooves, her silky neck bitten several times as the stallion mounted her, squealing and trying to move out from beneath him as that thick rod between his back legs disappeared inside her body, before being thrust in again, time and time without end it had seemed to Ellie, before she could stand to watch the wild coupling no longer and she had run crying from the stables in search of her mother.

Muriel had wiped away her tears, of course, soothing her fears as she explained that the mare had not been in pain as she had thought, that it was merely how baby horses were made, and that the mare would be happy enough when her foal was born in the spring.

It was in the course of that conversation that Ellie had added a codicil to her earlier conviction that she would never marry any man she did not love and who did not love her. Observing the stallion and mare together, Ellie had known that she could never be intimate in that way with a man she did not love and who did not love her, either. It was too personal, too carnal, too—too wild, for her to ever contemplate such personal intimacy taking place with a man whom she merely
liked.

Justin’s expression softened slightly as he obviously now saw, or perhaps sensed, her uncertainty. ‘You do not believe me?’

‘I—I do not know what to think, or say...’ A slow shake of her head accompanied the hesitancy of that denial.

He grinned. ‘Well, that is certainly a novelty in itself!’

‘You are laughing at me again.’

Justin sobered, glittering gaze fixed intensely on the pale oval of her face. ‘What would you like me to do with you?’

She caught her bottom lip between small pearly white teeth, nibbling that tender flesh for several seconds before her chin rose in challenge. ‘I believe I should like for you not to treat me as a child.’

He smiled. ‘Oh, I assure you, Eleanor, at this moment you are far from appearing as a child to me.’

She nodded. ‘Then you will please tell me what happens next in this game?’

Justin drew in a sharp breath. ‘Usually the gentleman now nuzzles his lips against the lady’s throat. Like this.’ He suited his actions to his words, enjoying her perfumed and silky skin against his lips.

She gave a soft sigh even as she arched her throat to allow him easier access. ‘And next?’

Justin continued to taste and kiss that tender column. ‘Next he perhaps dares to venture a little lower...’

‘Lower...?’ Her breath caught and held, causing the fullness of her breasts to push against the low neckline of her gown.

‘Here.’ Justin trailed a path of kisses down to that magnificent swell, feeling himself grow even longer, thicker inside the confines of his breeches, as he tasted her breasts with his lips and tongue and breathed in her intoxicating, heady perfume.

* * *

Ellie heard another low and aching groan, only to realise that it was she this time who was making that sound, that the feel of Justin’s lips and tongue against her swollen and heated flesh, the slow thrust of his throbbing hardness against the juncture between her thighs, did indeed give her pleasure. A hot and burning pleasure that coursed through the whole of her body, causing the rosy tips of her breasts to swell, and increasing the dampness between her thighs. ‘I—oh...!’ she gasped low in her throat, her back arching instinctively, as that slowly thrusting hardness against her thighs rubbed against a part of her there that also felt swollen and oh, so sensitive.

‘Do you like that, pet?’ he asked gruffly as he continued to kiss her breasts even as he slowly moved his thighs against hers a second time.

Ellie drew in a sharp breath. ‘I—do—not—know.’ The thrill of the sensations currently coursing through her body were so completely new to her, felt so strange, but not unpleasant, a mixture of both a shivery and hungry ache, and heated pleasure.

‘Hmm, then perhaps we should continue until you do know.’ Justin nibbled deliciously on the swollen flesh above her gown, his hips arched into hers as he continued that slow and leisurely thrusting.

And each time he did so Ellie felt that same pleasure, that swelling and moistness between her thighs becoming more intense as she now moved restlessly against him, seeking, wanting, oh God, aching for she knew not what...!

Her hands reached up to grasp tightly on to those impossibly wide shoulders, steadying her, anchoring her, even as she arched her thighs up to meet his thrusts, her breath now coming in short, strangled gasps. ‘Please! Oh, Justin, please do not torture me any longer!’

* * *

Justin drew back slightly as he heard the anguish in her voice, knowing by the glazed look in her eyes, the flush to her cheeks, that she was close, so very close to orgasm. An orgasm, that in her innocence, she was completely unprepared for.

An innocence which he had been seriously in danger of shattering!

It took every effort of will he possessed to place his hands on her shoulders and pull away from her, feeling like the bastard he undoubtedly was as he saw the bewilderment in her expression. ‘And it is for this reason, my dear Eleanor,’ he drawled with deliberate lightness, ‘why you would do well never to arrange private trysts with gentleman such as the Earl of Braxton!’

Chapter Eight

E
llie blinked dazedly, wrapping her arms about herself as she felt suddenly cold, bereft, now that the heat of Justin’s body had been withdrawn from her, that chill entering her veins, and then her heart, as she saw the expression on his arrogantly disdainful face, and realised that the past few minutes had been all about teaching her yet another of those ‘lessons’ in how to
not
behave in society.

Physically roused he might have been, but it had been a controlled and deliberate arousal on his part, and obviously nothing like the unbelievable pleasure Ellie had experienced when he had kissed and caressed her. No doubt even the proof of his arousal had been deliberate on his part, as a way of showing her just how little she really knew about men, and the weakness of her own body in responding to them, while he seemed to have put the whole incident behind him as if totally unmoved by it.

Her arms dropped back to her sides as she drew herself up stiffly, determined that this arrogant duke should not see the humiliation she now suffered for having allowed herself to become so aroused by his deliberately intimate caresses. ‘It seems I have reason to thank you once again, your Grace—’ she gave him a cool smile ‘—in that I shall now know in future exactly how to deal with any gentleman who might attempt to take such liberties with me.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You will?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Ellie shot him another saccharine-sweet smile even as her hand rose in an swift arch before making sharp and painful contact with one of his arrogant cheeks. ‘Tell me,’ she continued calmly once he had straightened from the recoil of that hard slap, ‘is that suitable punishment for such familiarity, do you think?’

Justin eyed her appreciatively as he slowly ran his fingers against his now-burning cheek. ‘I am sure that it is,’ he finally answered her drily.

‘Good.’ She stepped away from the door to straighten her gown. ‘I believe it is now past time that I rejoined the dowager duchess in the ballroom.’ She raised her brows as she gave a pointed glance towards the closed door.

Justin could not help but admire her coolness, in both her actions—painful as that forceful slap upon his cheek might have been!—and her demeanour. She looked, he decided, as he stepped forwards to open the door to allow her to sweep past him and out into the hallway, every bit as regally disdainful at this moment as his grandmother when she was least pleased with him.

Eleanor paused to turn in the hallway. ‘I trust I may safely assume that you have no more “lessons” for me this evening, your Grace?’

‘You may,’ he confirmed, having already decided that he had attended his grandmother’s ball for quite long enough. Far too long, in fact, when he considered how close he had been, just minutes ago, to making passionate love to Eleanor Rosewood in his grandmother’s library!

Nor was that passion completely dampened even now, this distant, haughty Eleanor equally, if not even more challenging, than the defiant one of a few minutes ago. But it was a challenge Justin could not, dared not, allow himself to take up. Even if the uncomfortable throbbing of his unappeased shaft might demand otherwise.

As he already knew, there was an easy solution to that last problem. Instead of seeking one of the women here tonight, he would go to one of the houses of the
demi-monde,
settle on one of the pretty and willing woman to be found there and satisfy those demands in that way. Without expectation on either side. More importantly, without complication.

For it was quickly becoming obvious to Justin that his desire for Eleanor could become—indeed, if it was not already—a serious complication in his life.

* * *

‘Royston?’

Justin, having already instructed Stanhope to bring his cloak and hat, with the intention of leaving Royston House following that less-than-satisfactory incident with Eleanor, now closed his eyes briefly before slowly turning to face the gentleman who had halted his departure. ‘Richmond,’ he recognised pleasantly. ‘Forgive me, I had not realised you were here this evening.’

‘Your grandmother was kind enough to invite me.’ The older man nodded as he strode across the hallway to join Justin near the doorway. ‘I rarely attend these things, but no one refuses an invitation from the Dowager Duchess of Royston,’ he added ruefully.

‘No.’ Justin’s reply was harder than was warranted as he thought of the inconvenient, and deeply irritating, request his grandmother had made of him some days ago, regarding Eleanor Rosewood.

‘You were just leaving,’ Richmond stated the obvious.

Justin affected an expression of boredom as he smiled. ‘There is only so much of the simpering misses and the over-eager young gentlemen that I can tolerate in one evening, even to please my grandmother.’

Bryan Anderson did not return his smile. ‘I particularly noticed one of those young ladies as you danced with her earlier.’

‘Indeed?’ It was Justin’s standard non-committal reply when he was unsure as to what it was the other person wanted from him. For, much as he liked Bryan Anderson, the only young lady Justin had danced with this evening had been Eleanor, and he was completely out of patience if Richmond was yet another middle-aged widower wishing to court her. ‘I believe you are referring to my ward, Miss Eleanor Rosewood?’

‘Just so.’ Richmond ran an agitated hand through his prematurely white hair. ‘I—would it be impertinent of me to enquire as to her exact age?’

‘It would, yes.’ Surely Eleanor was too young for him?

The earl’s eyes widened as he realised what his question had sounded like to Justin. ‘No, no, Royston, it is nothing like that. Miss Rosewood is far too young for my interest,’ he assured hastily. ‘I just—if not her age, would it be possible for you to tell me who her mother is?’

‘Was,’ Justin corrected guardedly, having absolutely no idea, now that Richmond had assured him so positively he had no marital intentions towards Eleanor, what this conversation was about. But he felt sure, from the intensity of the earl’s mood, that it was something which would further add to the complication Eleanor had already become in his life. ‘Eleanor’s mother was married to my cousin Frederick and, if you recall, he and his wife were both killed in a carriage accident just over a year ago.’

The earl gave a thoughtful frown. ‘Frederick’s wife was previously Muriel Rosewood...?’

‘I believe I have just said so.’

‘I had no idea... Of course, I have not been much in society for many years, and but even so I had not realised—’ He broke off with a shake of his prematurely white head.

‘Look, Richmond—’

‘Would you mind very much if I were to accompany you to wherever it is you are going?’ The earl now looked at him appealingly. ‘I would very much like to talk with you more on this subject, and here and now really is not the time or the place.’ He looked pointedly at the attentive Stanhope, only to wince as several overly raucous young bucks also emerged from the supper room, glasses of champagne in their hands.

They all fell silent, however, the moment they were treated to a single infamously reproving lift of one of the Duke of Royston’s eyebrows. ‘Perhaps you are right, Richmond, and we should discuss this some other time?’ Justin turned back to the earl. ‘I am, however, presently on my way to a...private engagement, so perhaps we can make an appointment for some time tomorrow? In the afternoon would be best for me,’ he added, thinking about spending a night of unbridled passion in some willing woman’s bed, before making his leisurely way back to his own apartments in the late hours of the morning, and spending several hours sleeping off those excesses in his own bed.

The other man drew in a sharp breath. ‘I suppose it could wait until tomorrow...’

‘Best to do so, then.’ Justin said. ‘Perhaps we might have a late lunch together at White’s?’

‘As I said, I would rather we spoke on this matter in private,’ Richmond insisted. ‘Three o’clock suit? At your rooms?’

Justin looked taken aback. ‘Now see here, Richmond, I do not—’

‘Tell me, have you seen or heard any more of Litchfield?’

Justin’s patience, never his strongest quality at the best of times—and this evening could certainly not be called that!—was almost non-existent as Richmond’s conversation became even more obscure. ‘As it happens we met him quite by accident whilst we were out riding in the park earlier today.’

‘We? Miss Rosewood was with you?’ the earl asked anxiously.

‘What on earth does it matter whether Eleanor was with me or not?’ Justin snapped.

‘Everything! Or perhaps nothing,’ the earl said vaguely. ‘Did—is Litchfield now acquainted with Miss Rosewood?’

‘I did not feel inclined to introduce the two of them, if that is what you are asking!’

Richmond sighed his relief. ‘That is something, at least.’

‘What does Eleanor riding with me earlier today have to do with the unpleasantness which exists between myself and Litchfield?’

‘I shall not know the answer to that until we have spoken together tomorrow.’

Justin’s previous interest in spending a passion-filled night with a willing woman was now fading as quickly as his patience. ‘You are being very mysterious, Richmond.’

‘I do not mean to be.’ The earl sighed heavily, his face unnaturally pale. ‘It is just, having now seen Miss Rosewood, and realising that she is your ward, I feel I must—’ He stopped and ran an agitated hand through his hair. ‘Do not underestimate Litchfield, Royston.’ His eyes glittered with intensity. ‘I know him to be both a dangerous and vicious man and—we really must talk very soon!’

‘Very well.’ Justin acquiesced slowly. ‘My rooms in Curzon Street at three o’clock tomorrow.’

‘Thank you.’ Richmond looked relieved.

Justin raised that infamous brow once again. ‘And do I have your word that you will not attempt to approach my ward about this matter—whatever it might be—before the two of us have had chance to talk together tomorrow?’

‘Good God, of course you have it!’ The earl looked shocked at the suggestion. ‘I would never discuss this with her—God, no.’

‘I believed you the first time, Richmond,’ Justin smiled wryly as he turned to finally allow Stanhope to place his evening cloak about his shoulders before donning his hat. ‘Until tomorrow, then.’

‘Tomorrow.’

Justin’s mood was darker than ever as he walked rapidly down the steps to his carriage. What on earth could the other man want to discuss with him, about Eleanor of all people, that was so urgent and mysterious that Richmond had got himself into such a froth of emotion about it? And what did it have to do with Litchfield? Whatever it was Justin now felt almost as unsettled as Richmond so obviously was.

Perhaps he should not have delayed the conversation until tomorrow, after all? It had been sheer bloody-mindedness on his part that he had done so in the first place; being guardian to Eleanor had already caused enough chaos in his life for one week—good God, had it really only been four days since his grandmother had made that ridiculous request of him?—and, as such, Justin had been unwilling to allow her to disrupt the rest of his plans for this evening.

‘Where to, your Grace?’ his groom prompted as he stepped forwards to open the door of the ducal carriage.

Justin ducked his head as he stepped up and inside. ‘Curzon Street,’ he said wearily as he sank back into the plush upholstered seat. ‘You may take me home to Curzon Street, Bilsbury.’

Justin could see little point now in going on somewhere, or even in attempting to rouse his enthusiasm for any other woman, when his conversation with Richmond just now had succeeded in deflating any last vestiges of interest his libido might have had in partaking in such an exercise.

Damn his grandmother and her infernal interference.

Damn Richmond.

But, most of all, damn the irritating thorn Eleanor Rosewood had become in his side.

* * *

‘It is such a beautiful day, ideal for a drive in the park!’ Ellie smiled her pleasure at the outing as she sat in the open carriage beside Edith St Just during the fashionable hour of five and six. ‘So kind, too, that so many of your guests from the ball yesterday evening have stopped to pay their respects and comment on their appreciation of the evening.’

‘I would have been surprised if they had not.’ The dowager nodded gracious acknowledgement of yet another group of ladies as they travelled past in their own carriage. ‘Lord Endicott seems to have especially enjoyed the evening, if his enthusiasm today is an indication,’ she added with a knowing smile.

Ellie felt the warmth enter her cheeks, only to chuckle as she saw the mischievous twinkle in the dowager’s eyes. ‘He was very appreciative of your hospitality, yes.’ Charles Endicott, having stopped to speak with them just a few minutes ago, had also been most complimentary to her.

‘He is very appreciative of your own charms, child!’ Edith insisted. ‘As were many other gentlemen, if the florist’s shop of flowers that has been delivered to you today is any indication.’

The blush deepened in Ellie’s cheeks beneath her bonnet of pale lemon, a ribbon of deeper yellow secured beneath her chin, wearing a high-waisted gown of the same pale lemon, with another deeper yellow ribbon beneath her breasts. ‘I have never seen so many flowers all together, have you, your Grace?’

Edith’s eyes now warmed with humour. ‘I do believe I may have seen almost as many at least once or twice in my own youth.’

Ellie smiled as she realised she was being teased. ‘I am sure that you did. It is only—I have never received so much as a single bunch of freshly picked spring flowers from a gentleman before, let alone so many beautiful displays.’ The dowager duchess’s private parlour was awash with the vases of flowers that had been delivered throughout the day, following the Royston Ball the evening before. Half a dozen of them were for the dowager duchess herself, of course, sent by other society matrons, as acknowledgement of the success of the ball, but the other dozen or so were for Ellie alone.

Notably, she had not received so much as a single blossom from the Duke of Royston. Oh, no, that top-lofty gentleman would never deign to send a woman flowers, not even to his ward as a mark of the success of her introduction into society.