The Reluctant Governess (19 page)

Nicholas's expressions flit from one thing to the next like a jerky moving picture reel. Her hand remained uplifted and untouched. Feeling a little foolish, she dropped her arm and clasped her hands together in her lap.

Spurned
. She was the one who usually did the spurning, not that she'd had frequent opportunity. She had been right to trust Nicholas—he was too much of a gentleman to take her up on her offer. It seemed he
was
giving up his wicked ways. He'd been conscience stricken most of the day. One day she might thank him for his restraint, but tonight his rejection was a bitter pill to swallow.

He cleared his throat, then mumbled something unintelligible. Eliza stood up, slipping off the coat. “Never mind. I've been silly, haven't I? I'll just go to my room, then.” Alone.

“Wait.”

Shivering, she clutched his coat to her chest. “Yes?”

“You do me too much honor, Eliza. If you're sure—if you're really sure—I'll come to you in half an hour.”

Half an hour! He may as well have said tomorrow—she was likely to lose her nerve in the next thirty minutes. So could he.

She shook her head. “No. Now is preferable. Right now.”

“That smacks of impulsivity.” His smile was fleeting.

“Yes, and I'm never impulsive. One should take advantage while one can.” She stepped across the grass between them. It was only a few feet, but she was falling hard from her pedestal.

He was mad. Or she was mad.

It was probably a bit of both.

It had been a struggle for Nick to be witty and carefree at dinner. Reliving his youthful hijinks for Eliza's benefit had stoked his own doubt and reminded him that he'd been far too casual about obeying the rules for years now. He'd been selfish. Reckless. The very fact that Sunny
could
be his child was a mark against him. It was one thing to take risks on the canvas or behind the camera for art, but quite another to create, then jeopardize another's life.

Now Eliza was asking him to be casual again with her ridiculous proposal. And he couldn't say no when it was so very obvious he should. Eliza wasn't like Barbara or his other inamoratas who understood the way of his world. He would hurt her—not just physically—and he didn't want to.

“Now?” The one syllable was heavy on his tongue.

Her icy hand squeezed his in reply.

He could walk her upstairs, then dash across the hall and bolt his door. By the gods, he was a coward. He didn't want to take advantage, as she put it. Tomorrow she would come to her senses and how awkward it would be to have her back at Lindsey Street passing out solicitor's cards.

No. He'd deal with Daniel himself if he came.
When
he came.

“This is most unwise,” he managed, though his feet were moving over the French door's threshold.

“Perhaps. Best not to talk about it.” Eliza gave him a dazzling smile that rivaled the electric chandelier above. The servants paused from their work and bowed as they passed through the dining room.

Where did this cheerful hoyden come from? He stopped her at the foot of the staircase. “I think we should. Why have you changed your mind? Do you feel sorry for me?” Nick didn't need a pity fuck, particularly from an inexperienced virgin.

Her smile wavered, then vanished altogether. “It—it just seems like the natural progression of things,” she said in a small voice.

Anyone could hear them. Nick was a fool for beginning this conversation in a public area of the mansion, but he had to know.

“Do you think you love me, Eliza? For you know, you shouldn't. I'm not worth it.”

Worse and worse. He sounded so damned needy. Of course he was worthy of being loved—everyone had some shred of good within, even Daniel Preble. The key was being able to love back, something Daniel was incapable of.

Did Eliza love him? Could Nick love her? They barely knew each other, even if they had been trapped in the Lindsey Street fortress together. Two against the world.

Against each other for most of the time. Nick had rather fond memories of their arguments.

“No one has said anything about love,” Eliza said, looking down at her feet. She was still wearing her high-button boots beneath her Regency dress.

“I think someone should,” Nick countered. “You're a very respectable woman, Eliza, much too respectable for me. I've lived a life—well, I needn't go into all the lurid details. You can probably imagine.” He lifted her chin, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. “You should save yourself for your husband.”

Ah, that got her attention. There was a flash of irritation on her face—
there
was his Eliza.

“I don't want a husband.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “So you've said. But never say never.”

“ I value my independence, and I can support myself. What do I need a husband for?”

“You said your parents were happily married. I should think you'd want the same for yourself.”

She shrugged, nearly spilling out of the gauzy bodice. “They were lucky. I may not be.
Your
parents weren't.”

No, they jolly well had not been. They'd been as ill-suited to each other as he was to Eliza.

But once, there must have been something, some sort of understanding and desire between them. Nick's father had chosen a tenant's daughter to be his baroness. Nick was convinced his mother had married not only for the elevation in her position—if she hadn't cared for her husband, she would not have been half so angry at his peccadilloes.

Mistaking his silence, she pushed his jacket at him and turned away. “Look, forget everything I said this evening. We're both overwrought. I'm certainly not going to beg you—”

Letting his coat fall to the floor, Nick pulled her into his arms and crushed her words away with a punishing kiss. Yes, he was overwrought. Hard as hell watching her skin and hair shimmer under the lights at dinner. Tired of being good, or his version of good. She wanted him, or thought she did. Well, he wanted her as well.

Eliza responded to his kiss with all the fervor he could hope for. She pressed her body to his—God, but she was soft and smelled like heaven. Nick wanted to take her right here at the foot of the stairs, or against the wall or even on the hall marquetry table, but some good sense prevailed.

Breaking the kiss, he stumbled over his jacket and Eliza clutched his shirtfront. Generally, he wasn't so clumsy. “What am I to do with you?” he asked, straightening the bodice of her gown.

“The usual thing, I believe. Usual for you, anyway.” She retrieved his coat and folded it over her arm.

“Eliza—”

She raised a hand. “Don't. Not another word. No more warnings. No more excuses. We will do this thing properly and we will enjoy it.”

If he laughed, would she be offended? She sounded like a—like a—like a governess!

“Very well. You know best.” He followed her meekly up the stairs, watching her derriere sway beneath the silk pleats of her gown. If she had second thoughts tomorrow, it wouldn't be his fault. Nick would do everything in his power to give her a night to treasure.

A
night. Nick wondered if it would be enough. He'd fantasized about Eliza's body almost from the moment he met her at his door, all starch and snappishness.

She turned mid-step and he nearly bumped into her. “My room or yours?”

He'd dismissed the borrowed valet before he came down to dinner. There might be some poor little tweenie waiting for Eliza, though. Tubby's house was a masculine enclave despite the delicate furniture, and no one was much accustomed to waiting on women.

“Mine.” There might be old socks on the floor, though Nick doubted it. Tubby's valet knew what was what.

She nodded and proceeded up the stairs, hesitating when she reached the top. Three corridors branched out in front of them.

“This is ridiculous, but I don't remember which hall we're on.” Her voice shook just a little, belying her earlier bravado.

Nick took her hand. It was still so cold, but nothing would stop him from wanting it anywhere on his body. “This way.”

They walked in silence past the dim electric sconces that failed to light the shadows away. Nick's door was standing open, the bed turned down, the socks absent. A fire was rumbling in the grate beneath an elaborate chimneypiece carved in the Grinling Gibbons tradition. He closed the door behind them and turned the key. “Here we are.” By the gods, he sounded stupid.

Eliza presented her back to him. “Can you undo the hooks, please? You know what a time I had.”

Yes. It had been amusing to stand outside her door and listen to her curse. He'd been so tempted to go in to help her, but then they never would have gotten downstairs to dinner.

Nick made quick work of the fastenings, and the gown slid over her hips and straight to the carpet. Eliza wore nothing—nothing—underneath it. If he'd known that, he would have been unable to swallow a single morsel of food.

He could barely swallow now. The sweet curve of her hip and rounded bottom rivaled any classical painting he'd ever seen. And when she pivoted to face him, he lost his breath. Her breasts were plump and high, her nipples peaked. Nick realized she was much more finely made than the blowsy portrait he'd worked on just this morning. She raised her arms and removed a pin that anchored the classical coronet on her head. She could have gone to a fancy dress party tonight as a Jane Austen heroine.

Her golden braid tumbled down her back and Nick's fingers itched to unravel it. But he also wanted to suckle those nipples and kiss her mouth and cup her mons. Too many choices, all of them urgent.

“Well?”

“Well what?” he croaked. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, his throat constricted.

“Either say something about my glorious nudity, or start taking off your clothes. I feel silly just standing here.”

“You are—you are exquisite. Incomparable. I wish I had my camera.”

Eliza waggled a finger. “We'll have none of that. No photographs for posterity. I'm not going to be pinned up on the bathroom wall for anyone to see.”

“Of course not!” The very thought of exposing her beauty was an anathema. Eliza was his alone—he wouldn't share her with anyone. Nick struggled with the buttons of his waistcoat but his hand felt as if it belonged to someone else.

“Here, let me. At the rate you're going, I'll catch a chill.”

“Minx.” Where was the pretty prig? Gone, and good riddance. Nick stood like a statue while Eliza's nimble fingers divested him of every article of clothing in record time. By the gods, he was being seduced down to his toenails by her eager innocence.

And when she dropped to her knees, he was light-headed, sure that if there was a fainting couch in the room he'd be on it. She looked up at him, blue eyes wide and mischievous.

He awoke from his stupor. “No. As much as I want you to, no. This night is for you.” He pulled her up and touched her lips.

She captured his finger and brushed it away. “Can't it be for us both?”

“It will be. Believe me, it will be. Eliza, you cannot know how much I want you. Well, perhaps you can—I don't usually walk around in this state. But are you absolutely sure? We've come this far, but we need not go any further. Think.”

“No more thinking. I can't when I'm around you anyway.”

Nick held her against his body, skin to skin. The floor lurched beneath him, as if he stood in an earthquake field. The hair lifted from the back of his neck, and he was hot and cold and undeniably confused.

A kiss might clear his mind—what was he waiting for? An engraved invitation? Eliza had made her intentions crystal clear as she melted in his arms, her lashes shyly tickling his chest. He nuzzled the top of her head, breathing in citrus. She placed her palms on his shoulders and lifted her face.

He was lost. It was she who guided him to the bed, she who tipped him backward onto the sheets. She who climbed atop him and kissed him, she who clasped his hand and drew it to her breast. Eliza made him forget the order of events he'd skillfully plied for a decade. There was no order to any of it, no rhyme but plenty of reason to explore her wet core with a finger, to nip her shoulder, to whisper pledges when he wasn't drowning in her kiss.

If she heard him, she gave no sign, her body just skimming over his so lightly she felt insubstantial, like a golden apparition. Nick needed more.

He'd never breached a maidenhead before, had never wanted to. But now, knowing Eliza was giving him this gift, he was humbled and almost afraid. He'd sworn to give her pleasure, not pain. She hovered above him, his cock tortuously close to her entrance.

If he let her take control, she could determine how deep. How hard. Contemplating the logistics was an Eliza-like thing to do—he smiled through the kiss at his foolishness. Lord, he might spill before she even sank upon him, he was that aroused.

Nick guided himself so that he touched her velvet inner flesh. She stilled—even the kissed stopped mid-tangle. Eliza raised her beautiful face, and Nick could see the tears welling.

“Oh, sweetheart, I can't bear to see you cry again. We'll stop.”

She gave an ineffective slap on his chest. “No! I'm crying because this is so—so—extraordinary. I'm just not sure what you want me to do.”

Everything
, he thought.

“First and foremost, relax.” Nick knew she was ready even if she didn't; her honey had coated two fingers.

She rolled her eyes. “You don't ask for much, do you?” she said, her voice shaking.

“I'm going to put myself inside you. Get up on your knees and slide down when you think you can, just a bit at a time.”

“Wouldn't it just be better if I came down all at once? Get it over with? It's like getting an inoculation, isn't it? The anticipation is so much worse than the actual poke itself.”

Nick couldn't do anything but laugh. The rumble started deep in his chest, and before he knew it, tears were in
his
eyes. “You have a great deal to learn about lovemaking, Miss Lawrence.”

“You'd better hurry up and teach me, then, Mr. Raeburn.”

And Nick proceeded to do just that.