Pretty Poison (17 page)

Chapter Twenty

There was in fact dancing after dinner that evening. And the following evening, as well. For all that Lord Jamison said he did not enjoy dancing, Emily found him to be a surprisingly graceful dancer and a talented conversationalist.

“So, you believe that more men should be given the vote,” Emily asked in amusement as they circled the small dance floor while Parker Two and Lucinda Davis played a duet on the pianoforte. “But you do not believe that all men, or any women, should have that right?”

“Not all men are capable of making a rational decision as to the leadership of the nation,” he replied.

“And none of the women?” she demanded in exasperation. “No wonder you are single, sir, as you clearly hold my gender in little regard.”

“I hold most of the world’s population in little regard,” he replied and there was that tiny tilt to his lips that masqueraded as a smile.

“Why is that?” she asked curiously.

“I’ve seen a lot of the world, and met a great many of its people,” he answered promptly.

“And found the lot of them lacking?”

“Most, anyway,” he agreed.

“I wonder that you can be bothered to go out at all, that you don’t simply barricade yourself in your home with only your own exalted person for company.”

“I do attempt it, Miss Calvert, I assure you. But alas, someone or other is always dragging me out into society.”

Emily laughed up into his almost smiling face and caught Nicholas watching her from across the room where he stood with Oliver and Joan.

The dance came to an end and Lord Jamison led her over to join them.

“Miss Calvert,” Nicholas bowed over her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles sending heat racing up her arm.

“Mr. Avery,” she replied before turning to Joan. “I hope you are feeling better, my lady.” Joan and Oliver had been noticeably absent from the festivities for two days. Word had been passed around that the lady was suffering from a slight head cold, but Emily believed they simply wished to be alone together to bask in the miracle of their coming child.

“I am, thank you,” Joan replied with a shy smile.

“Mr. Avery, how kindly you have cared for your lady.”

“Alas, I do what I can,” Oliver replied with a chuckle.

“Good Lord, the two of you act as if you’re the only two people in the world to make a baby,” Parker Two exclaimed as he joined their group.

“Behave yourself, Two,” Emily admonished. “Just because you’ve a cold heart doesn’t mean the rest of the male population must follow suit.”

“You wound me, Miss Calvert,” he replied

“And while we’re on the subject,” Emily went on. “Quit following Miss Davis about. It’s quite embarrassing for the rest of us to watch you chase after the lady.”

“How is that any relation to the subject of my cold heart?” Two demanded in confusion.

“It’s quite unsporting of you to thwart her burgeoning friendship with a certain other gentleman by constantly demanding her attention,” Emily replied, warming to the subject. “And furthermore, you might explain to your wayward brother that if he manages to get under the Nasty Baggage’s skirts, he’ll have to marry her.”

They all turned to where Parker One was sitting beside Miss Ogilvie in the window alcove, his eyes riveted to her bosom in a low cut gown of pale blue while the lady prattled on and on about God knows what.

“Quite right,” Two exclaimed as he turned to stride across the room to rescue his foolish brother.

Lady Dillon began a waltz on the pianoforte, her brother standing beside her turning the music pages.

“Miss Calvert, I believe this is my dance.” Nicholas held his hand out to her.

“Why yes, Mr. Avery, I believe it is,” she agreed with an exaggerated curtsy.

“I have barely seen you the last two days,” he said as he whirled her around the small dance floor, deftly maneuvering around Emily’s father and the duchess.

“I seem to recall you pulling me into a linen closet not two hours ago,” she replied with a laugh.

“Well, yes, apart from that.”

“And last evening I danced two waltzes with you.”

“And refused a third.”

“You know perfectly well what three waltzes would suggest.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m thinking you intend to skip the courtship and move right on to a hasty wedding,” she replied in mock dismay.

“If I had my way, we’d be married by special license before this house party ends,” he agreed and while his lips smiled his eyes were serious.

“I realize you are in a rush to replenish the Avery family fortunes,” Emily replied with a teasing lilt in her voice.

“Hang the family fortunes,” Nicholas retorted. “I’m in a rush to get you into my bed.”

“Oh,” Emily whispered on a fractured breath. Delicious tingles raced up her spine and she could feel her face flush.

“Allow me to come to your room tonight,” Nicholas said, his voice low and dark. “There is a connecting door through the dressing rooms.”

“There is?” she asked before the full import of his words penetrated. “You know I cannot.”

“I will not take your virtue,” he whispered. “There are other ways I could pleasure you.”

“There are?” she asked, intrigued by the notion, though not truly surprise. He’d had her writhing in his arms more than once, after all.

“Oh yes. Many ways. Let me pleasure you tonight.”

“Are there also other ways for me to pleasure you?”

“Ah, Emily, you have no idea.” His eyes were hot on her, his hand on her back pulled her closer. “Allow me to show all the ways we might enjoy one another before our wedding night.”

Emily was tempted, tempted by his words and the images that ran through her mind, tempted by the memory of the carnal kisses they had shared and the feel of his warm hands on her breasts. The music came to an end before she could form a coherent response to his request.

As he led her off the dance floor toward where her father and aunt stood together watching them, Emily felt anticipation run through her. If he knocked on the door that connected their dressing rooms, would she invite him in? She thought she just might.

But there was no knock on the connecting door. Emily sat in her big bed, her knees bent and her arms wrapped around her legs, waiting for the sound of Nicholas’ knock. She’d sent Tilly to sleep in the servant’s quarters, ignoring the girl’s knowing smile, and waited. She listened to the sounds of doors opening and closing up and down the hallway until the house was quiet. She stared into the low fire burning in the grate, her thoughts drifting back to that day in the stables when she had felt desire for the first time. She replayed every kiss and caress they had shared since then, every whispered word they had exchanged, until her skin grew hot and tight and her pulse leaped.

Finally she tossed aside the velvet coverlet and rose from her bed. She’d chosen her very best night gown, a thin concoction of lace and ruffles with a high neckline that flowed over her gentle curves, hugging her hips and dropping down to trail over her bare feet. Looking down she saw her nipples pebbled against the thin cotton. She reached for the matching robe Tilly had draped across the foot of the bed and stilled.

With a decisive shake of her head, she left the wrapper where it lay and walked across the chamber and into her dressing room, stopping before the closed door that connected to Nicholas’s bed chamber. It was cold in the small dressing room and she shivered as she placed her hand on the door knob. Should she knock?

No, she slowly turned the knob, her heart beat suddenly so loud she could hear nothing beyond it. She pushed the door open and peered into the dressing room on the other side. It was identical to her own, a narrow room lined with shelves and a long armoire, an ironing board against the far wall beside the open door that led into the bed chamber. Soft orange light beckoned her forward until she stood in the doorway, one hand nervously resting over her beating heart. Through the thin fabric of her night gown she could feel the circular rise of the jagged flesh between her breasts and the long thin scar trailing across her chest.

Nicholas stood before the crackling fire, his back to her, one hand resting on the tall mantel. He wore a burgundy dressing robe, the dark silk shimmering in the flickering light cast by the flames. His head was bent down as if he was gazing into the fire and Emily wondered what thoughts were going through his mind to hold him so still.

Unsure whether to call out to him, or to simply enter the room and close the door behind her, she waited.

His head came up and slowly, ever so slowly he turned from the fire to face her and she watched as his eyes lit with surprise and his lips tilted into the smallest of smiles.

“Emily.” His voice was low, reverent. He did not move, simply stood still and caressed her with his eyes, from her hair left loose to curl wildly about her shoulders to her bare toes peeking out from beneath her gown. He paused briefly on her breasts and she knew he could see her nipples pressed against the thin cotton, felt them tighten at the heat in his gaze. She dropped her hand from her heart and stood quietly before him as his gaze rose once more to her face.

Emily smiled as she took in his unruly blond curls standing in disarray as if he’d repeatedly run his fingers through them. She swept her eyes down past his thick neck and broad shoulders and across his wide chest revealed to her by the loosely belted robe. His feet were bare and Emily wondered if he was entirely naked beneath the sumptuous silk robe.

Then he was moving, striding across the space that separated them to stand before her. Her eyes were even with his chest and she saw dark hairs curling across its breadth. Her fingers itched to tangle in those curls, to learn their texture, to discover the hard muscles beneath.

She raised her eyes to meet his and sucked in a startled breath at the heat in their blue depths. His mouth was a firm sensual line, his jaw clamped tight, lending him a countenance both fierce and unfamiliar. Before her stood a mysterious stranger and Emily felt a moment’s hesitation, a brief flicker of panic.

Until his familiar roughened hands cupped her face, tilting her head back as his lips found hers. He kissed her softly, his lips whispering over hers again and again until she opened to him on a quiet sigh, inviting him in. Nicholas angled his head, brushed his tongue along her bottom lip before dipping inside.

Stretching up onto her toes, she leaned into him, her hands grasping the lapels of his robe as shivers of longing rushed through her. She speared her tongue into his mouth, dragged it across his teeth.

With a low moan, he dropped his hands to her shoulders and hauled her against his chest, his mouth plundering hers as if he could not get enough of her. And she could not get enough of him, of his heat, of his unleashed passion. Pulling her hands from between their bodies, she wound her arms around his waist, gripping his back, kneading the muscles that bunched beneath her fingers.

Nicholas dragged his mouth from hers and peppered kisses across her cheek, along her jaw and down her arched neck, burrowing under the high collar of her night gown to latch onto her flesh. He suckled her, gently nibbled, soothed the sting with his tongue.

“Nicholas,” she moaned, pressing her breasts tight against his chest, rubbing her aching nipples against him. His hands dropped to her back, raced down her spine and grasped her bottom, pulling her firmly against him. She felt the proof of his desire against her stomach, thrilled to the knowledge that he was as hungry as she.

“Emily, I will not take your virginity,” he panted against her throat. “But I want to see you. I want my hands on you, my mouth on you.”

“Yes, yes, please,” she cried hoarsely.

He scooped her up and started toward the bed. “No, too dangerous.” Changing direction, he placed her on the big wing-backed chair by the fire and knelt before her. With firm hands he opened her legs, wedged his large frame between her thighs and captured her lips once more.

He kissed her deeply, hungrily, his tongue setting up a voluptuous rhythm that quickly had Emily scooting forward on the seat until she was pressed against him, his arousal hot and hard at the juncture of her thighs.

“Christ, Em,” he growled against her mouth.

Emily raced her hands down his back, cupped his hard backside and pulled him toward her, mindlessly rubbing her aching flesh against him. Pinpricks of light flashed over her closed eye lids, pulses of delight raced through her limbs to lodge between her legs.

Nicholas broke their kiss, leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, sucking great gulps of air into his lungs and whispering, “You’re going to kill me.”

“Please,” she implored, her hands restless on the silk of his robe over his buttocks.

His head lowered, his eyes met hers and he looked intently at her. “I promised I will not take you and I will not. Do not be afraid.

“I’m not afraid,” she replied promptly.

“I’m going to take off your gown and my robe,” he rasped as his fingers began to work on the tiny buttons that held her gown together. “I want to feel you against me. I want my co—my flesh on yours. I won’t put myself inside you. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, I trust you.”

He finished with her buttons, pulled her gown out from under her and dragged it up and over her head, before sitting back on his heels. Emily sat silently before him, her back straight and her hands resting on the cushioned arms of the chair while Nicholas looked at her, his gaze a hot caress sweeping over her from her tangled hair to her bare toes curled into the Turkish carpet at her feet.

He cupped her breasts, lifting them, separating them and she could feel his eyes on the angry round scar between them. She waited for him to say something, to ask how she had come by the unsightly mark. Instead he leaned forward, slowly as if giving her time to object, and touched his lips gently to her mutilated flesh, brushing soft kisses around the jagged circle and across the puckered line above her breast.

Emily drew in a ragged breath and opened her mouth only to snap it shut again. What could she say? How could she explain to the strong man kneeling before her that she was weak, that she’d allowed herself to drown in the pretty poison for months, that she’d nearly taken her own life for want of that poison?