Silver Splendor (19 page)

He cheeks heated. “Those episodes were all coincidences. Today ought to have proven I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“It proves nothing. From now on, you’re to remain in this house and out of trouble. Do I make myself clear?”

Without flinching, she met his icy eyes. “I do not take orders from you unless they pertain to my role as art instructor.”

A moment of charged silence flashed between them. The anger on his face sparked a wild flare of satisfaction inside her.

“I’ll not allow you to put your life in peril,” he said with quiet menace, “even if I must assign you a twenty four hour guard.”

The color faded from her cheeks. “You wouldn’t dare.” But the unfaltering chill of his gaze told her otherwise. “I’ll do as I please. You forget, your lordship, I’m not yours to command.”

Head held high, she marched toward the door of the library. No more than two steps past the desk, she felt his hand clamp around her upper arm. He swung her to face him, blazing anger melting the frost from his eyes.

“I warned you once before, Elizabeth,” he said in a low voice. “If you refuse to behave the lady, I won’t feel obliged to treat you like one.”

Pulling her against him, he pressed his mouth to hers in a punishing kiss that caught her by surprise. For one wild moment Elizabeth stood immobile within the hard embrace of his arms. She parted her lips to protest and his tongue invaded her mouth. A shocking thrill sped through her, a sudden sweeping magic that wove an irresistible spell over her raw senses. The intimate assault robbed her of reason and she abandoned herself to his rough, arousing kiss. If this was Nicholas’s idea of discipline, she wanted more.

She steadied her trembling hands on the warm wall of his chest. His tangy taste and male scent pleased her, she who had always regarded sight and touch as the most vital of the senses. Gliding from pectorals to biceps, her fingertips absorbed his classically carved strength. She longed to see the drama of his body without the barrier of clothing, to feel the artistry of his bare flesh beneath her palms, to depict the strength of his muscles in bronze. When he rubbed his hips to hers, a small sound of delight burst in her throat. His lips gentled, yet the softening sparked an even more turbulent fire inside her.

His hand moved in slow circles over the base of her spine; the other stroked her nape beneath the thick fall of her hair. Mesmerized by the intensity of his kiss, Elizabeth felt the hunger for artistic creation ebbing. In its place a new appetite awakened, the need to feel his hands tracing the curves and valleys of her body, as if he were the sculptor and she the clay.

Seeking to bind them closer, she wound her arms around his neck and explored the texture of his hair, the perfection of his face. His heart beat a strong, swift rhythm against her breasts. He smoothed his palms up her back and down again, shaping her to his firm form until she felt like clay in his hands, ready to be molded into vibrant life. Dear God, how could she ever have thought him cold?

A fever gripped Elizabeth, filling her with more energy and excitement than even sculpting could ignite. The warmth seemed centered in her belly, slowly spreading outward to her breasts and thighs, swelling into a heavy throbbing ache. Time and place whirled away; all that mattered were the heady sensations curling inside her and the sweet pleasure of sliding her body against his.

Nicholas lifted his mouth and rested the shaven sleekness of his cheek against hers. His hands tensed around her shoulders as he exhaled a deep breath that stirred her hair and disturbed her blood.

“God!” he muttered hoarsely, his voice sounding strained, desperate almost if she could trust her scattered senses. “My God, Elizabeth.”

Abruptly he thrust her away. His eyes dark and turbulent, he snapped, “Can’t you ever react the way you’re supposed to?”

Pivoting on his heel, he strode out of the library.

Elizabeth winced as the door slammed shut. Knees wobbly, she sank onto a velvet hassock and gazed numbly at the shelves of leather spined books, the scattered sofas and twin globed gas lights. Astounding, how she could feel so lightning struck, yet nothing around her looked singed.

She skimmed an unsteady finger over her lips. A kiss. Such a tiny word could never encompass the flood of wild emotion ebbing within her body. She’d wanted Nicholas to go on kissing her, forever and ever, teaching her where the restless yearning within her could lead.

Can’t you ever react the way you’re supposed to?

A knot swelled inside her throat. Nicholas had meant to chastise her, not reward her. He had been angry and appalled by her response; a lady wouldn’t have exhibited such passion. Why couldn’t he accept her for herself?

For a moment her shoulders bowed, then Elizabeth sat straight on the hassock. Curse Nicholas Ware and his inflexible standards. First he’d wanted her to be his mistress. Then he’d wanted to make her a lady. Now he wanted her to be dishonest. To veil her feelings and douse her passion. Stoicism might be something
he
excelled at, but it was not a skill
she
aspired to attain!

Had Nicholas indeed been so unaffected? For a short time he had seemed as enraptured as she, lost to the turbulent sensations in their bodies and soaring emotions in their souls. Of course, Elizabeth thought crossly, a
gentleman
was permitted to feel erotic pleasure. Only the lady was supposed to stand there like a cold marble stature.

Resolution firmed her chin.
She
would not hide behind prim femininity and polite manners. She would accept the role Nicholas had once offered her. One kiss was not enough; she longed to unlock the rest of the mystery.

And Nicholas would be her key.

“Oh, pooh!”

Turning to look at Cicely, Elizabeth ceased kneading the mass of clay on the worktable. “What’s wrong?”

“I simply can’t get this ear right,” Cicely said, frowning at the half formed bust of Kipp on the pedestal. “It’s driving me mad.”

“Blimey,” Kipp said, craning his head to see. “You mean I been sittin’ ‘ere so long fer nothin’?”

Elizabeth smiled as she wiped her clay smeared hands on her apron. Though Kipp grumbled, he was a changed lad compared to the hapless urchin Nicholas had rescued two days ago. The afternoon sunlight flowing through the conservatory’s glass roof burnished Kipp’s clean black hair. She still felt a faint shock of amazement to view him as a well scrubbed youth clad in smart blue and gold livery with buckskin trousers.

Cicely made a face. “Oh, do hold still, Kipp. I’m having a difficult enough time without you wriggling all over that chair.”

Walking over to examine the bust, Elizabeth immediately spied the problem. “The whorls of the ear should be shallower than in real life,” she said. “Remember, clay doesn’t have the luminosity of living flesh. The ear needs only the hint of a hollow, otherwise it ends up looking like a chasm.”

“Keep it simple… why can’t I remember that?” Absently swiping at a strand of chestnut hair, Cicely left a clay streak across her cheek. “So what do I do now?”

“Fill in those hollows and rework the ear.”

Cicely dolefully eyed the bust. “Do you really think it’s worth the effort?”

“Of course. You’re preserving Master Kipp for posterity.”

Kipp scratched his hair. “Fer wot?”

“For the future,” Elizabeth said.

The boy jabbed a thumb at his lapel. “I got me a future ‘ere, workin’ fer the earl.”

“And for me,” Cicely chided. “So just sit quietly until I correct what I’ve done wrong.”

“Don’t get discouraged,” Elizabeth said, giving the girl a quick hug, mindful of her own clay stained hands. “You can’t expect perfection on your first try.”

Kipp restlessly swung his shiny top boots. “Mr. Greaves’ll tan me ‘ide if I ain’t back to the mews on time.”

“He’ll do nothing of the sort,” Cicely said, arching an aristocratic brow. “I persuaded him to spare you for an hour, and you’ve still fifteen minutes left.”

“Aw, ‘urry it up… please, yer ladyship, ma’am.” Clasping his tidy blue lapels, Kipp thrust out his thin chest. “I got grander things to do these days than sit ‘ere like a lump.”

Smiling, Elizabeth returned to the worktable. As she kneaded the clay in preparation for sculpting, she felt her insides go as soft and supple as the substance in her hands. Kipp’s newfound sense of importance was due to Nicholas’s generosity. The more she reflected, the more she could see that hidden beneath the earl’s cold mien lay a tender heart the right woman could nurture.

Ever since that shattering kiss two days ago, she’d felt the burning urge to reform his rigid beliefs, to find more chinks in the armor of his indifference. But to her frustration she hadn’t seen him, not even when she’d made a special effort to attend dinner. The earl was busy, Lady Beatrice said, involved in affairs at parliament and in his own business interests.

That he hadn’t sought her out left Elizabeth uncertain and disappointed. Maybe he hadn’t been as affected by the kiss as she. Maybe his breath didn’t catch and his blood didn’t warm when he remembered holding her in his arms. Maybe he didn’t think about her at all.

Firmly she quelled the doubts swarming her mind. She had made her resolution and she would stick to it.

Closing her eyes, she drew in the loamy odor of the clay and thought of the clean scent of Nicholas’s skin. Feeling the smooth earthen texture beneath her fingers, she imagined stroking the sleek strength of his muscles. Hearing the harmony of the fountain, she recalled the beat of his heart, the swiftness of his breathing. An ache awakened deep within her belly. What if he did more than kiss her? What if he undressed her, touched her naked breasts —

“There you are, young lady,” he snapped. “Your behavior this time is reprehensible.”

Startled, Elizabeth opened her eyes to see the earl striding down the flagstone path. Her fingers froze on the clay; her heart leapt with joy. Sunlight polished the perfect planes of his cheekbones and warmed his well groomed chestnut hair. Yet even those hot rays could not melt the frosty fury on his face.

For one disconcerting moment, Elizabeth wondered if he’d read her lusty thoughts. Then she realized he was addressing his sister.

“I’d hoped you’d outgrown your childish behavior,” he said. “Sometimes you exhibit all the sense of a peahen.”

Cicely cheerfully met his ferocious gaze. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about, Nick.”

“Then allow me to enlighten you. As I was preparing to go riding this afternoon, I discovered a rather curious fact. My favorite pair of boots was gone. Further inquiry revealed a great number of other items missing from my wardrobe. Quinn admitted you’d cleaned out my dressing room, that you’d said I’d granted you permission to donate my old clothing to charity.”

Amusement flashed through Elizabeth; she’d never dreamed her tirade about London’s poor would bring
this
about.

“I didn’t know your valet was the sort to tell tales,” Cicely said lightly, though her gaze dropped to the front of Nicholas’s charcoal morning coat.

“Don’t equivocate, Cicely,” he said in a voice as hard as bronze. “You lied to him.”

She made a show of wiping her clay smudged fingers on the apron protecting her dress of sea green faille. “Oh, pooh. That prissy Quinn wouldn’t have let me into your hallowed chambers otherwise.”

“Wisely so, it would seem. I should confine you to the house for another two weeks.”

Worry swept Cicely’s face. “Please, Nick, don’t be angry. It was for a good cause.”

“Ah, so that excuses your rash conduct,” he said, his voice weighted with sarcasm. “How did you accomplish this heartwarming act of generosity without leaving home?”

Kipp slid off his chair by the fountain. “Er… ‘scuse me, yer lordship, yer ladyship. I ‘as to get meself back to work.”

“One moment, lad,” Nicholas commanded.

Kipp froze as if caught in stone like the satyr atop the fountain.

“I suspect my sister had an accomplice,” Nicholas said, shooting the boy a look. “Would you happen to know anything about this ‘good cause’?”

The boy hung his head and traced a crack in the flagstones with the toe of his topboot. “Aye, yer lordship, sir,” he mumbled. “‘Twas me, I ‘as to say, wot took the clothes to the poor ‘ouse.”

Blue eyes blazing, Cicely took a step toward Nicholas. “Don’t you dare scold Kipp. I accept full blame in this matter.”

Nicholas arched his brows. “At least you’re showing a sense of responsibility. A shame you didn’t do so
before
you gave away my most comfortable pair of boots.”

Kipp edged toward the ivy draped door. “Mr. Greaves’ll be lookin’ fer me.”

“Go on, then,” Nicholas said, without removing his glare from Cicely. “And in the future be cautious about involving yourself in my sister’s pranks.”

“Aye, yer lordship, sir.”

As the boy darted from the conservatory, Cicely thrust out her lower lip. “I don’t see why you’re carrying on so, Nick. I just wanted to help those starving people in Seven Dials and the Devil’s Acre.”

For the first time Nicholas aimed those glacial eyes at Elizabeth. “Seven Dials? Have you been filling my sister’s head with radical ideas?”