A Most Unconventional Match (27 page)

Damp, replete, she collapsed on his chest. Never had she felt such closeness with another being, nor journeyed with him to such a place of wonder. Snuggling against him, Hal's heart pounding a lullaby beneath her ear, she drifted to sleep.

Some time later, deep in the night, she awoke to feel Hal's mouth at her breast, his hand stroking between her legs. Shamelessly she let them fall open, giving him access, her murmurs urging him on. After bringing her back to the peak of arousal, he moved over her, supporting his weight on his arms as he guided himself into her and stroked deeply. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, arching upwards to take him deeper still as the force of his passion drove her into the bed until they shattered together, his hoarse voice crying her name.

The sky outside her chamber window had lightened to the blue-black of approaching dawn when she next awoke. She looked back to find Hal propped on one elbow, smiling at her in the moonlight.

‘Dawn soon. Leave now before servants stirring.'

‘Not yet!' she protested, pulling his head down for a kiss. Obligingly he opened his mouth to her, tangled his tongue with hers. She reached down, amazed to find him already fully erect. Kissing him deeply, she stroked from thick base to silky tip, until, groaning, he rolled her on to her back and entered her in one smooth move.

Now he teased her, gliding his full length in, then slowly withdrawing completely before sliding in again. One, twice, a third time he brought her to the edge and held her there until, sobbing, she shattered. The last time, with a few powerful strokes, he drove deep and cried out with his own completion.

This time she did not doze off as he kissed the dampness from her eyes and face, then rolled her over to lay her on top of him while he stroked gentle fingers over her back, her arms, her thighs, her bottom.

She could have lain there for ever, utterly content. But all too soon, he rolled her over and withdrew. He placed a finger on her lips to still her whispered protest and rose from the bed.

Lying back against the pillows, she admired his magnificent nakedness. ‘You should never wear clothes.'

Laughing, he pulled on his breeches and walked back to the bed. Sitting on the edge, he caressed her breast with one hand while the other rubbed her belly, then delved down to stroke between the damp curls beneath. ‘Nor you,' he said, leaning over to give her a kiss.

Though she did her best to distract him again, he broke the kiss and walked back to pick up his shirt. ‘Must go now. Servants up soon.'

He was right, of course. Though Gibbons, who most likely had come to her chamber some time last evening to help her disrobe, probably already knew of their rendezvous. Doubtless the news would be all through the servants' quarters by breakfast.

Good thing she'd already discharged Sands!

Accepting the inevitable, she climbed out of bed and threw on a dressing gown. ‘I'll see you out.'

Hand in hand, they tiptoed through the silent house, down the service stairs to the back door. On the threshold, he turned back to give her a lingering kiss. ‘Elizabeth,' he murmured in a voice of wonder.

‘Dearest Hal,' she whispered back. Then watched the shadow of him, dark against the faint pink of the coming dawn, as he walked toward the mews and disappeared into the night.

H
ours later, gloriously tender in places, Elizabeth came fully awake to see bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Goodness, the household must have been up for hours! She sat up with a start, astonished that Gibbons—or David, who always rose early—had not been in to rouse her.

As she rang for her maid, she felt a blush rise. She was still wondering what and whether to explain when the maid walked in.

‘A lovely morning, isn't it, madam? I told Miss Lowery and Master David you'd not slept well and needed a bit more rest. I trust now you are well rested!' she added, giving Elizabeth a shy smile.

Elizabeth's blush deepened. ‘Yes, thank you. And thank you for explaining my…late rising to the household.'

Gibbons nodded. ‘He's a wonderful gentleman, ma'am. After you been so cast down, 'tis a pure pleasure to see you looking happy. I wish you both well!'

‘Oh, but he hasn't said…'

‘He will,' Gibbons assured her. ‘The gentleman adores you. It's in his eyes when he looks at you. It's not just lust, like that other one.'

‘You think so?'

‘I know so,' the maid said firmly.

Oh, that the maid's assessment of Hal's intent was as accurate as the one she'd made of Sir Gregory's! Elizabeth thought as Gibbons helped her dress.

But after the maid left, Elizabeth's excitement began to subside and the doubts she'd suppressed last night bullied their way into consciousness.

By succumbing to her overwhelming physical need for Hal, she had learned nothing more that what she already knew—he desired her. But did he love her? She had only Gibbons's intuition to support that view.

If he didn't love her, what had she just done?

As she realised the full extent of her indiscretion, a gasp of dismay escaped her. By seducing Hal, she had forced him into a position in which, whether he wished to or not, he might well feel obligated to propose to her. Honourable through and through, unable to support telling the smallest mistruth, he might not be able to reconcile with his conscience having bedded a lady barely three months widowed without offering to make an honest woman of her.

She wanted nothing more than to marry him—but not because he felt forced to ask for her hand. How could she determine his true feelings? If she put aside modesty and bluntly asked him after he'd already decided they must wed, he would doubtless return the expected answer.

Since there was no question that she had deliberately driven him beyond the power of resistance, it might even appear that she'd set out to entrap him. He might think her no better than his mama, who'd spent years trying to manipulate him into wedlock.

The thought sickened her.

But if she dismissed or made light of what they'd done to forestall a forced proposal, it might seem she was a lightskirt who could casually seduce a man mere months after her husband's death. Feeling used and dishonoured, Hal might despise her.

How was she to face him?

Anxious, irresolute—and already aching for Hal—Elizabeth sank down on the sofa in her sitting room and put her face in her hands. She couldn't begin to express the wonder, the joy of intimacy with him. Yet by claiming that one night of bliss, she might at the same time have ruined their friendship and any chance of a future together.

In a fog of bemusement, Hal had ambled home. Blissfully sated after long weeks of frustration, he fell into bed and slept deeply.

Awaking at noon, exhilarated, he marvelled again when he realised that the night he'd spent with Elizabeth had been real, not just a vivid repetition of his recurrent dream. He wanted to throw on some clothes and race back to her, shouting his love to the rooftops.

But in the lucid light of day, his initial euphoria faded. When he went to see her today, how would she receive him?

He'd tried, really tried, to resist her. But with her hands caressing his arms, his chest, all thoughts of protest had stuttered and died…even though the last functioning bit of his brain warned that succumbing to her was a very bad idea.

That caution had been as effective as a puny rivulet meeting an onrushing ocean tide. Overwhelmed in a flood of desire, he'd thought only that if she truly wanted him, instead of the words he dared not speak, he would show her with hands, mouth, body how much he cherished her.

Now he worried that the intimacy had come too soon. She'd not been widowed long enough to fully recover from the emotional blow of losing a man she'd truly loved. Lonely, grieving, she'd been longing for the closeness and comfort she'd lost.

Would she regret having found that in his arms? Would she feel he'd taken advantage of her vulnerability and now despise him for it?

Perhaps he should go down on his knee today, make real the scene he'd imagined any number of times and beg her to become his wife. If he did, would she think he offered for her only because she'd compromised them both? If she accepted, would it be solely to restore her sense of honour?

He loved her so desperately, he was almost ready to take her on any terms. Almost. But if she didn't really love him, if she accepted him out of a sense of duty or obligation, how long would it be before he saw on her face the same scornful, pitying look so often visible on his mother's countenance when she gazed at him?

It would be like having acid eat away at him from the inside to live with her disdain. Better that he say nothing and have her think him a cad than propel her into a marriage with a man she didn't want and couldn't respect.

Did she love and respect him? If he asked for her hand and she accepted, she would certainly affirm that she did. How could he know for sure?

Some time before he called on her this afternoon, he had to figure out what to do. After ringing for Jeffers to bring him some ale, he went to his desk, took out another sheet of paper and sharpened his quill. For the next hour, he poured his anguished longing into yet another sonnet.

Several hours later, Hal drove to Green Street. In his pocket, the lines crossed and recrossed, was the current draft of his poem. Perhaps, since he was much more eloquent in writing than he was in speech, he ought to give it to her, though he didn't think he'd yet captured his feelings and desires clearly enough. Perhaps after he saw her, he'd return home and work on it some more.

Neither was he yet sure whether or not to declare himself. He'd finally decided to see how Elizabeth behaved when she received him and take his cue from that.

Then he was at the entry to her parlour, some stranger announcing him. He walked into her presence and as always, for the first few moments simply let the beauty and wonder of her wash over him, his heart nearly bursting with love. It took all he could do to prevent himself from falling to his knees before her right that moment.

Then she saw him, blushed—and turned away. Hal's hopes and heart sank.

Searching for some innocuous greeting to mask the intensity of his feelings, he said, ‘New butler?'

‘Oh, yes.' She finally looked back at him and smiled nervously. ‘Sands…decided to retire. I engaged another one—all on my own,' she added proudly. ‘I am becoming quite decisive, am I not? Speaking of which, would you tell me more about the potential patrons you discovered? You mentioned you would last night, before we…' Her voice trailed off and her blush deepened. ‘Anyway, I'm eager to hear what you learned.'

This was his opening. ‘About last night—'

‘No!' She held up a hand, cutting him off. ‘Let's…let's not discuss that just yet. It wouldn't be wise to say things we think we ought to, things that cannot easily be unsaid, until we've both had time to reflect.'

‘Wouldn't make you what Sir Gregory wanted,' Hal replied, compelled to assure her at least of that.

Her smile turned genuine. ‘I know. You are everything that is honourable. Last night…last night was wonderful. Ill timed, perhaps, but I regret nothing.'

Enormous relief filled Hal. It wasn't the avowal of love he craved—but at least it appeared she wasn't going to send him away. ‘Sure?' he asked, desperate to make that point clear.

‘I'm sure. I should never regret it—unless it ruined our friendship.' Her expression turned suddenly tentative, vulnerable. ‘It…it has not, has it?'

Friendship. Happy as he'd been a moment ago to know he'd not sabotaged their relationship, a deep ache pierced him that she apparently considered what they shared to be nothing more. But, he told himself doggedly, friendship was at least a start. ‘Nothing ever ruin that.'

‘Good,' she replied and gave him a businesslike nod. ‘Then I should like to hear about the patrons.'

For the next few moments he told her about the successful merchants and financiers he'd consulted who'd expressed an interest in seeing more of her work when they next visited London with their families, with a view to perhaps commissioning portraits.

‘Told them not begin yet. Still think should consult Nicky, Sarah first. But work exceptional, should be shared.'

‘I deeply appreciate the interest you've taken in it.'

He shrugged. ‘Anyone recognise amazing talent.'

‘Only you have encouraged me to use it,' she noted.

He gave her a deprecating smile. ‘Some think that a mistake. Could compromise position in society.'

She shook her head. ‘During your weeks away I've had time to consider that. I've also been painting at a faster pace than ever in my life—and I love it. I would paint even if no one but myself ever appreciated my work. But I've decided I'm not willing to sacrifice the possibility of working at my craft in order to retain a place in a society in which I've never participated anyway. Yes, I shall talk with Nicky and Sarah about the best means to protect the family from scandal, but I'm determined to move forward. In fact, I should like to begin sketching at the Royal Academy immediately, if you can arrange it.'

Hal nodded. ‘Do whatever you want. In art—and everything. Whatever makes you most…comfortable.

‘And what would make you…comfortable?' she asked.

‘What you want,' he repeated. There, he'd come as close to a declaration as he dared. If she wanted him, she had only to say so.

In the long silence that followed, he waited, breathless, for her response.

Looking away, she said, ‘I'm comfortable as we are. I treasure your…friendship. I hope you know that.'

Friendship again. Hal's hopes, which had risen once more as she passionately expressed her thanks for his encouragement, plummeted. Friendship is better than a coerced marriage, he tried to assure himself. There was still the possibility of it becoming more.

Or, having tasted him, was she ready to use his services to launch her career and move on? The memory of Sir Gregory's taunt filled his head.

Surely he was more than a convenience to her. Hell and damnation, he didn't know what to believe. He only knew he ached for her in every pore of his being.

He wanted nothing more than to scoop her into his arms, carry her back to her bedchamber, make love to her for weeks, imprint her cries of ecstasy into his head until the joy of her passion convinced his lonely, battered heart that she truly wanted him. Not out of obligation or convenience or because propriety said she ought to accept him, but because she loved him—awkwardly speaking, unfashionable, overlarge Hal Waterman.

‘Should you like some tea?' she asked, breaking the silence that had once again stretched between them.

The sharpness of the pain in his chest convinced him that, for now, 'twas better to take himself off than to linger. Restlessly he ran his hands down his waistcoat, straightening the already perfectly arranged garment. ‘No. Thanks. If speak to warden at Royal Academy, must go now.'

She nodded rapidly. ‘Yes, of course. Thank you for calling. Please come again soon.' She held out her hand.

He gave her fingertips a lingering kiss, then, heart aching, made himself stride out of the room.

Trying not to weep, Elizabeth watched Hal walk out. For a moment, he seemed to hover near a declaration, but when she gave him the opportunity to speak out, he'd merely affirmed he would do what she wanted.

'Twas hardly the avowal of love for which she'd hoped. Friends. Could she be content with just that?

Maybe he still didn't want a wife. Maybe didn't want as his wife a widow so shameless that she'd casually seduce another man mere months after her husband's death.

But she hadn't read disdain in his eyes. His gaze still held a respectful, almost cherishing look.

Should she have let him speak about last night when he'd broached the matter? But if he did make her an offer because of it, she'd be forced either to refuse him, which she didn't want to do, or accept him without really knowing whether he was proposing out of desire or a sense of duty.

So she'd have to wait, and behave with propriety while she waited—when all she wished to do was lead him back to her chamber and experience the joy of last night over and over again. Restlessly she jumped to her feet and paced the room, pausing at the chair where he'd sat. She was trying to recall and analyse his expressions when a scrap of something beneath the chair caught her eye.