Silver Splendor (29 page)

When her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, he teetered on the edge of exploding. He fought desperately to restrain his ardor, wanting her pleasure before his, and his limbs shook with the effort of holding back.

Her black hair spilled in a glorious tangle over the white linen pillow. He nestled his lips there, chanting love words, strewing kisses over the salt tanged skin of her temples and throat. Their bodies rocked together in harmony, the tempo ever rising. He felt a convulsive shudder run through her; she clutched at his shoulders, her head moving back and forth on the pillow. The breath left her lungs in a low moan of fulfillment and the throaty whisper of his name.

Fierce joy surged in Nicholas. He felt himself swell and throb with the relentless approach of his own climax. The moment to withdraw had come. Yet still he delved into her, unable to stop himself, unable to part from her. A primal urge washed over him, the urge to bind her to him with the essence of life. It was more potent than his resolution, more powerful than his will. They were man and woman, one body and soul united in an age old act of creation. Crying out her name in ecstasy, he poured his seed into her fertile womb.

His breath came in searing gusts. His heart pounded in exhausted passion. His weight settled over her small body.

Only then did Nicholas realize what he’d done: he, who had always approached life with logic, had lost control of all reason. He felt shaken to the core. He’d acted dishonorably, exposing Elizabeth to an unconscionable risk. In his mind he saw the vivid image of her body blossoming with his child. Yet when he searched himself for remorse, he found only a deep, abiding satisfaction.

Sighing, she stirred beneath him. He shifted slightly, pillowing her head on his shoulder, shaping her silken body to his long length. “Precious, precious Elizabeth,” he murmured into her hair.

Against his throat, he felt her smile. “I used to think you were cold and haughty,” she said.

“And now?”

She tilted her face to gaze at him, a saucy sparkle in her eyes. “I believe, my lord, that beneath all that noble arrogance beats the heart of a lusty peasant.”

He laughed, his hand sliding down skin as smooth and flawless as a camellia bloom. “My words come back to haunt me.”

“As well they should,” she retorted. “You ought to have let me become your mistress weeks ago. Think of all the time we’ve wasted.”

His heart chilled. Mistress: that was the role of her choice. So often lately, he’d thought about marrying her. Their lovemaking had solidified his feelings on the matter, made him certain he wanted Elizabeth as his wife, to share his life and bear his children.

Doubts choked him. Would she be content with an affair if she truly loved him? Was her interest in him more physical than emotional?

She frowned, her lovely eyes full of concern. “Nicholas? What’s wrong?”

Suddenly he didn’t want reality to intrude on the magic of this night. Tomorrow was soon enough to discuss the future.

“I was thinking,” he said huskily, his fingers drifting along the curve of her breast, “about how much I love you, and there’s nothing wrong in that.”

Her breath came out on a sigh, a sound he captured with his lips. They touched, kissed, caressed. The world dissolved into a perfect blend of emotion and sensation. Sure and strong, he pressed her against the bed. Like a camellia bud unfurling its petals to the sun, she opened for him, soft and moist and ready. They came together once more, in a sweet, surging rhythm that sent him soaring to the heavens, that set her crying out his name.

The aftermath left him drowsy with contentment. Elizabeth uttered a serene purr as she molded herself to the hard curve of his body. The glow of the gas lamp enclosed them in a private island, a place of beauty and softness. From somewhere intruded the faint sound of a clock chiming the hour of three. Nicholas felt a reluctant stirring of duty. Soon he must escort her back to her own room. At dawn the servants would be up and about, and he would not take the chance of anyone seeing Elizabeth leaving his quarters. Her reputation was more important than his own pleasure.

There was no need to hurry yet, though.

He drew in a breath of air scented with the musk of their lovemaking and the entrancing essence of Elizabeth. Her eyes were closed, her breasts lifting and falling in slow rhythm. He watched, fascinated. He had never seen a woman sleep before, had never before felt any inclination to linger after fulfilling his physical needs. Now he ached to remain entangled in Elizabeth’s arms, meshed with every part of her life.

Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek against the silken strands of her hair. A boundless sense of well being enfolded him. No harm could come of indulging himself for a few more moments.

Elizabeth awoke to the pearl gray of dawn. With sleepy eyes, she blinked up at the sapphire bed hangings; her leg brushed against something firm and warm.
Nicholas.

The fine linen bed sheets whispered as she turned to gaze lovingly at him. He slept on his back, one arm flung across the pillow, the other at his side. Watery light seeped through a chink in the curtains to wash him in silver. His rich brown hair lay in charming disarray, his cheeks sculpted in shadow by the bristly growth of beard. He looked as imposing in slumber as he did awake. Yet his sternly classical features were gentled by the same dreamy quality she had seen in him last night, a softening that made her wonder if he, too, had undergone the same mystical change she felt deep within herself, the feeling that her life had shifted onto a new course.

A welter of emotions awakened inside her. She felt an excitement akin to starting a new sculpture and speculating how the finished piece would look. She also felt uncertain and scared, uncertain of where to go from here and scared at her inability to see the pattern of her future.

How much of the change could she attribute to Nicholas and how much to the shocking revelation Owen had thrust upon her?

Restless, Elizabeth slipped out of bed, and burgundy silk slithered to the opulent blue rug. Picking up Nicholas’s robe, she noted the small darkened spot of blood. Strange how people carried on so about a woman losing her virginity. She didn’t feel she’d lost anything, but gained something precious.

She clutched the dressing gown to her bare breasts. Did Nicholas really mean to hide their relationship beneath a cloak of propriety? The possibility troubled her. Though she didn’t wish to flaunt their intimacy, she felt proud of their love, proud enough not to care about the whisperings of a few busybodies.

Obeying impulse, she slipped on the robe; the garment was ridiculously large, the hem brushing the floor. She tied the fringed sash around her waist and folded back the sleeves. The silk embraced her like a lover, its faint masculine aroma reminding her of Nicholas.

Turning to the bed, Elizabeth’s eyes absorbed the splendor of his naked body. He said he loved her. Those cherished words shimmered in her mind like newly cast bronze. His image was sketched upon her soul; now the urge to duplicate his beauty on paper burned inside her, stronger than ever before.

In glancing around for paper and pencil, she spied a gold framed photograph on a table. Curiosity made her step closer and pick up the picture. A stiff looking older man stared balefully at her; at his side stood a prim, pretty lady. Nicholas’s parents, no doubt. In their faces she could see echoes of Nicholas, the noble hauteur of his father, the fine features of his mother. Sympathy tugged at Elizabeth. From the little she knew of his childhood, he had been raised by nannies and then shipped off to the stern taskmasters of boarding school. Her upbringing had been radically different, nurtured by two loving parents.

With a pang, she remembered Owen telling her tales at bedtime, cuddling her close during a thunderstorm, admiring her first attempts at art. Her heart felt torn between pain and understanding.
Give yourself time.
Nicholas’s advice comforted her.

She set down the picture and resumed her search. The bedroom was much like the man who lived here: elegant and austere, yet with a subtle warmth. The distinctly masculine decor included a sumptuous marble fireplace, navy wallpaper with thin gola stripes, a discreet scattering of vases and lamps.

Over a fine rolltop desk, a gas lamp still flickered, shedding light over an opened ledger and the pen that lay across the neat columns of figures. A sheaf of paper filled a cranny inside the desk. She drew out a piece, heavy cream stock embossed with the gold seal of a soaring hawk.

Quietly Elizabeth angled the mahogany chair toward the bed, then sat down, curling her bare feet beneath her. She searched the desk for an inkwell, but found none. In dawning delight she realized she held a fountain pen, a pen that carried its own supply of ink within the slim gold barrel. Trust the Earl of Hawkesford to possess the latest invention.

His handsome form lay dark against the tangle of white linens. In smooth strokes she sketched the flowing line of his flanks, the perfect proportions of his biceps and pectorals, the sleek refinement of his head and face. Her thighs tingled as she recalled the supple strength of his arms around her, the snug feel of him inside her, his groans of gratification, his whispered words of love. Her mother had told Elizabeth of the sex act, had wistfully hinted at the happiness a man and a woman could share. Yet Elizabeth had never imagined such supreme ecstasy, such remarkable closeness.

Emotion glowed within her. She applied herself to the drawing, pouring her heart into each movement of the pen. The nib scratched quietly across the paper. From time to time she glanced at Nicholas, checking details, the shape of his thigh or the pattern of his hair. The sketch came alive as her love gave her the ability to depict him with stunning accuracy.

One moment he lay sleeping. The next he was gazing at her, his powerful body poised on an elbow. Her hand went still and her pulse jumped.

“Good morning, love,” he said.

His husky voice caressed her. His eyes were laden with affection, dark silver in the dawn light. With lazy grace, he slid off the bed and walked toward Elizabeth. Her throat went dry. His naked body was the personification of proud male glory. No drawing, no sculpture, could do him justice, yet she felt compelled to try.

The tenderness on his face entranced her. Robbed of speech, she watched him stop beside her, brace one hand on the arm of the chair and lean closer until their warm breath mingled. His free hand cupped her jaw. The pen slipped from her fingers and rolled to the floor as her arms lifted to encircle his neck. His lips parted, playing over hers for an eternal moment, his tongue slow and sure. Elizabeth felt lost, lost in the promise of his kiss, lost to the need overwhelming her senses.

“You should have awakened me,” he murmured against her mouth.

“You looked so peaceful… I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He chuckled. “You disturb me without even trying. Feel how my heart is racing.”

Taking hold of her wrist, Nicholas splayed her fingers over his chest. Through the tangle of dark hair she felt his wild pulse beat, looked down and saw the swelling proof of his passion. Heat sizzled through her.

“We could always go back to bed,” she said breathlessly.

“My sentiments precisely.” He sighed against her temple, his hand seeking her breast, then reluctantly drawing back. “Yet we mustn’t delay. I should have returned you to your room hours ago.”

After pressing another kiss on her mouth, he straightened. His eyes flicked across her lap, started to lift, then fell again. He snatched up the drawing and stared at it. His body stiffened and his features hardened, like gently flowing water freezing under a sudden chill.

“What the hell is the meaning of this?” he asked, his voice ominously quiet, his fingers taut around the paper.

His aristocratic coldness baffled her. “I was drawing you —”

“For what purpose?”

“Purpose? I… I wanted to. I haven’t any other reason —”

“Don’t you?” Pain glittered in his eyes, a pain that bewildered her. ‘“I wish I could sculpt you in marble.’ You said that to me, remember? Last night, when I stood outside the conservatory with the police inspector, I saw the sculpture you’d begun of a nude man. That statue is of me, isn’t it?”

She felt a half guilty start. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about that.”

“When?” His voice was an anguished rasp. “After you’d used our lovemaking to study my body?”

“That isn’t true!” she said, hastening to reassure him. “If I didn’t tell you about the sculpture, it was only because I knew you would have forbidden me to do it.”

“So you slept with me instead.” In naked splendor, he paced before her chair, the drawing in his hand. “So you could examine all the physical details of your subject before you proceeded.”

His unjust accusation hurt. “You’re wrong, Nicholas. That isn’t why I came to you last night.”

“Then tell me this,” he said hoarsely. “Why was recording those details the first thing you did on leaving my bed?”

“I’m an artist.” She held out her palms in supplication. “I’m not always good with words. Drawing is my way of expressing myself, of showing you how I feel.”

He stood still as a stone carving; the starkness in his eyes stung her heart. “How
do
you feel, Elizabeth? Will you be content as my mistress?”

Her insides clenched into a miserable ball of confusion. He was giving her all an English earl could offer a woman of her class. Why did she find herself wishing for more?

She took a deep breath. “Yes, I’ll be happy. More than anything, I want to spend my nights in your bed.”

Unlike the ardor she had expected her declaration to elicit, he looked violently furious. His mouth compressed into a taut line. “And what about the days?” he demanded. “Will you forget me in favor of art? Is love making all you want from me?”

He savagely ripped the paper. Stunned, she watched his hands reduce the sketch to tiny bits that fluttered downward to lie pale against the blue rug.

Though her heart felt as shredded as the drawing, she lifted her chin. “Do you scorn my work so much that you would destroy it?”