Pretty Poison (19 page)

Veronica sidled up next to Nick where he leaned against a stone pillar. She brushed her shoulder against his upper arm before leaning forward to look out over the balustrade. It was no accident that she angled her body so that her backside rose in the air for his perusal.

Nick kept his eyes on Emily as she walked around the snow goddess, straightening the drape of the robe here and there. Was it his imagination or was Bernice pulling the robe down to expose one round shoulder?

“Good Lord,” Veronica purred, glancing over her shoulder to look at him. “What on earth can be taking them so long?”

“Emily does nothing by halves,” he replied with a smile.

Veronica let out an exasperated huff when she failed to draw his attention away from the ladies kneeling before their goddess, heads bent as they fiddled with something at the base, shoes perhaps.

“We’re nearly finished!” Lucinda Davis cried merrily.

“You may pay homage to the Goddess of Winter!” Bernice sang out, her voice husky with laughter.

“About time,” Veronica muttered as she straightened from her provocative pose and tucked her hand around Nick’s forearm.

The group of tipsy judges and snow artists traipsed through the snow toward the ladies and their snow woman. As they neared, Emily tossed a wig of curling red hair over the goddess’s head and walked around adjusting the long tresses to spill around her shoulders and back nearly to her waist. Nick immediately thought of Emily as she’d looked last night standing in the doorway to his bed chamber, her fiery hair cascading all around her.

The party goers converged on the ladies, circling around their snow sculpture until they stood in startled silence before her.

“Oh. My. God.” Lady Margaret was the first to speak.

Her words started the rest of them talking and laughing and oohing and ahhing.

Nick was struck completely speechless.

Snow Goddess, indeed.

They’d used Lady Bernice as the model. The wig obviously belonged to her as it was the exact shade of her hair. Spiraling curls fell in abandon around the snow lady’s shoulders and trailed across arms adorned in the long voluminous sleeves of the lavender robe that barely covered one shoulder and hung artfully off the other to the elbow. They hadn’t bothered with fingers, instead allowing the robe to hang down beyond where hands would have been, as if the garment was slowly slipping right off the woman’s majestic form.

The robe gaped open to the waist, revealing a delicate blue silk corset trimmed with creamy lace and ribbons. Perfectly round breasts overflowed the flimsy garment, giving the appearance that one deep inhalation might cause them to spill right out.

The ladies had belted the robe lightly around a tiny waist where the middle snow ball met the bottom snow ball. The result was a flow of silk over luscious hips and legs, pooling in the snow at her feet. Her bare feet. The ladies hadn’t been putting shoes on their goddess when they’d been on their knees before her. No, they’d been carefully carving three perfect little toes of one foot and two on the other and a pair of well-turned ankles. Nick followed the feet up over two long slender legs, a hint of two dimpled knees and the shadow of her thighs before the robe once more covered her.

Now Nick knew why they’d draped the robe over the snow figure before they’d begun to carve her. They had only carved those parts of her that would be visible. The hidden parts likely remained round balls of packed snow. Very clever.

He dragged his eyes up and smothered a laugh. Cherries. They’d split a cherry in half to form a perfect little bow of an upper lip and mauled another into a full rounded lower lip. The Goddess of Winter was clearly blowing a kiss to her worshippers.

Two bright peridot gems served as eyes, complete with impossibly long dark lashes. They’d carved her a straight patrician nose and high cheekbones.

With only seven objects and just over two hours the ladies had transformed three balls of snow into a sensual, half-naked woman.

“Amazing,” Nick breathed.

“Do you think so?” Emily asked as she appeared at his side, her gaze in front of her on the startlingly erotic figure she had helped to create.

“Oh, yes,” he replied but his eyes were no longer on the snow lady, they were firmly on the flesh and blood lady beside him with her wild curls tumbling from the old wool hat she’d crammed onto her head and her cheeks rosy from the cold.

“My hat’s off to you,” Veronica whispered. “Who would have thought three innocent ladies could have even imagined such a thing, let alone brought it to life?”

“Bernice Sutton!” The Duchess of Martindale joined the group, caught sight of the snow goddess and screamed in shock. “Is that your… And your… What were you thinking?”

“Now, now, Rose,” Charles Calvert soothed as he wrapped one arm around the lady. “It’s perfectly innocent. Nothing more than art.”

“But…that’s her…” the dutchess stammered in mortification.

“Hush, Rose,” he murmured as he led the lady away.

“I’m for another hot toddy!” Mr. Boone bellowed and soon the rest of the gathering started across the snow-covered lawn back toward the house. Only Nick, Emily, Bernice, Lucinda and Parker One remained.

“What was our wager?” One asked, his eyes fixed on the Goddess of Winter.

“I believe it was my pin money against your allowance,” Emily replied as she leaned against Nick and he wrapped his arm securely around her waist.

“For how long?” One asked, finally tearing his gaze from the illusionary woman to look at Emily.

“I receive my pin money quarterly,” she answered straight-faced.

“Quarterly, you say,” he groused. “Damn it, but that’s a small fortune.”

“Not so small,” she contradicted.

“How much?” he asked.

“I’m guessing Emily’s quarterly pin money exceeds your allowance,” Nick interjected.

“What am I to live on?” he cried.

“I think we can work something else out,” she offered.

“How’s that?” One asked.

“Have a word with your brother,” she explained. “Surely you can convince him to seek his fortune elsewhere.”

One glanced at Lucinda Davis, who was walking around the perimeter of the snow lady with Bernice, their heads close together, their laughter carrying on the winter wind.

“I’m not certain he’ll listen to me,” One replied with a frown.

“I have the utmost faith in your ability to talk him around,” Emily assured him with a smile.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Somehow Nick made it through dinner and a raucous game of charades without pulling Emily into his arms before the entire party of guests. It was a near thing when she stood in the center of Lady Margaret’s parlor pantomiming juggling oranges, her perfect little breasts bouncing gently beneath the peach silk of her gown.

With a flourish she pretended to catch the oranges in her imaginary apron, her bare hands lifting her skirts nearly to her knees. Smiling and batting her eyelashes she held out one piece of imaginary fruit to Jamison.

“Nelly Gwynn, the orange girl!” Lucinda Davis cried as she leapt to her feet, her eyes alight with laughter.

Emily bowed to her friend then smiled brightly at the assembled players.

“How on earth did you figure that out so quickly?” Bernice demanded. “All she did was juggle for thirty seconds and flirt with Jamison!”

“That’s just what Miss Gwynn did to entice King Charles,” Lucinda replied. “And really, if you don’t mind my saying so, Lord Jamison, if your hair was long and curly you’d look just like the portrait of the king that’s housed in the London Museum.”

Jamison gave a slight nod at her words, a small twist of his lips evidence of his amusement.

Bernice swept her gaze over Jamison where he stood leaning negligently against the wall beside the fireplace, a tumbler of brandy in one hand, the other slowly stroking over the weathered wood of the mantel.

Nick watched his friend lift a brow at the lady’s perusal. Bernice tilted her head, her eyes fixed on the harsh contours of Jamison’s face. From where Nick sat not five feet away, he could see the tremor that ran down her spine, could even hear the rasping breath she drew, before she gave her head a small shake and turned away.

He thought, not for the first time, that Jamison possessed remarkable self-control. He’d been resisting the lady for years when Nick knew full well she was his greatest desire. He was not certain as to the reason for his friend’s refusal to accept what Bernice so obviously offered, but he had his suspicions. He shook his head in regret at the man’s ferocious pride.

He turned away to find Emily studying him with a soft smile from where she perched on the arm of her father’s chair. She locked her gaze with his and he felt a familiar jolt of desire. Her eyes promised, her smile beckoned and when she rose to her feet, her skirts billowing around her, Nick’s breath hitched in his chest.

“Goodness,” she murmured around the hand she lifted to cover a small yawn. “Romping around in the snow all day was quite exhausting.”

“Surely you’re not retiring?” Lucinda asked in surprise, her eyes shifting to the tall clock in the corner. “It’s not yet gone nine.”

“I’ve a mind to ride to the village in the morning,” Emily answered. “There’s a lovely bakery just off Bloom Street that makes delicious scones and I’d like to eat one fresh from the oven.”

“I’ll ride with you,” Bernice offered as she too made her way toward the door.

“I’d be happy for your company,” Emily assured her, wrapping her hand around her friend’s bent elbow and giving her a gentle squeeze. “Lucinda, will you join us for a morning ride?”

“Oh, yes, how lovely,” Lucinda replied happily. Good manners forced her to turn to Veronica who sat beside her on the settee. “Will you ride to town with us?”

“Why not?” Veronica replied with a wave of her hand before turning to Mr. Kildare. “Mr. Kildare, would you and Lady Dillon like to join our merry party?”

“Katherine?” he looked toward his sister.

“No thank you, dear,” she replied. “But perhaps you will bring a scone back for me?”

“It seems we are to be a party to the village,” Emily said to the room at large. “Won’t the rest of you accompany us?”

Murmurs of assent and dissent followed her slender form from the room.

Nick delayed his leave-taking in order to alleviate any suspicions, wasting an hour in a lackluster game of billiards with Jamison who was even more somber than usual. He allowed himself to be drawn into Lady Margaret’s study for a nightcap with his hostess, his father and Charles Calvert. It was after eleven when he finally retreated to his room, half expecting to find Emily waiting there for him.

Alas, he found his room empty, his bed turned back and a low fire burning in the hearth. He stripped and washed at the basin his valet had left for him, the water still warm. Donning his dressing robe he made his way quietly into his dressing room and through it to Emily’s. Her door was open, the room beyond dark but for the glow of embers in the grate.

He walked over to her bed to find her sleeping peacefully under a pale yellow comforter. She was on her side, facing him where he stood looking down at her. She’d pulled her hair into a long braid that trailed across the pillow behind her. One small hand was tucked under her cheek, the other resting on the edge of the mattress, her long elegant fingers dangling over.

Nick smiled to see her sleeping on the very edge of the huge bed and wondered if she’d often shared her bed at home with her sister. It seemed likely. She had a huge heart, and arms all too willing to wrap around a person, offering comfort and compassion.

He shrugged out of his dressing robe, tossed it over a chair and crawled under the covers to settle on his side behind her. Carefully easing his arm beneath her pillow and under her neck, he scooted her back, away from the edge and into his arms.

“Mmm,” she murmured, her lashes flickering.

“Shhh,” he whispered against the back of her slender neck as he draped his other arm over her waist, tucking her more firmly against him.

They were separated only by the thin cotton of her night gown, a pristine white garment with neither lace nor ruffles that was twisted around her thighs. He’d never understood how anyone could sleep in such a garment. He’d attempted night shirts only to awaken in a tangle of cotton bunched around him uncomfortably.

When they were married, she’d sleep naked in his arms, he thought as he relaxed onto the pillow, buried his nose in Emily’s warm nape and closed his eyes. He thought back over the day, over the laughter and merriment Emily had given them all with her impromptu snow figure competition. He suspected she’d made that wager with Timothy Parker intending all the while to garner his assistance in saving Lucinda from his brother’s clutches. Hell, she’d probably planned the entire thing before she’d come down to join the group for breakfast.

He remembered telling Lady Margaret that her niece was bossy. He hadn’t known the half of it then. She was so like her aunt, although he guessed she’d not like to hear it. There was some strange element to their relationship, some sort of strain between them. It was clear they loved one another, although he suspected it had crept up on them unawares. All those months ago in London, Margaret had seemed to find her niece a vexing creature, one she had to tolerate in order to see the lady’s fortune given over into the hands of her lover’s son, and inevitably into her own.

And Emily? How had she found her aunt during those weeks she’d been ill after her journey? When she had failed to fit in with the
ton
, to win his regard, when the papers had named her the
Sleeping Wraith
, what had she thought of her aunt? Had she resented the lady’s machinations? Had she been too ill to recognize them?

Whatever had transpired between aunt and niece after they had retreated to the country, whatever accident had occurred to mar Emily’s tender flesh, it had clearly altered their relationship. Margaret still wanted to see her niece matched to her lover’s son, but Nick knew she would not force Emily to marry. Even had the lady not told him so, he would have known it. There was something oddly tender and infinitely protective in the way she looked at her niece now. Nick suspected Emily possessed scars beyond those that marred her pretty pink flesh, and that Lady Margaret felt in some way responsible for them.

He wished Emily would simply explain the mystery to him. He’d seen her physical scars twice now. He hadn’t a clue as to the extent of the emotional ones she carried and he wondered if she’d born them before crossing the Atlantic. Just as he wondered if they weren’t at the root of her fear that he would not be a faithful husband to her. And it was fear. He’d seen it in her eyes that morning in the stables. He’d also seen a desperate hope.

He wasn’t at all certain how to convince her that she could trust him to love her, to remain true to her for all the days of his life. Words would not be enough. He must show her.

As he drifted to sleep with the woman he loved warm in his arms his last thought was that if she would only share her secrets with him, he would finally know how to win her trust.

It seemed to Nick that he’d only been asleep for a few minutes when something woke him. He was on his back, the blankets lowered to his waist, soft, warm hands drifting delicately over his chest. He cracked his eyes open to find Emily kneeling beside him, her head bent as she watched her fingers comb through the curly hair surrounding his nipples.

Her head lifted and she met his sleepy gaze with bright eyes and a soft apologetic smile.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered, one hand resting over his heart, the other lifting to brush a wayward curl from her eyes.

“You thought you could put your hands on me and I would sleep right through it?” he asked in amazement.

“I thought that if I was quiet and gentle, you might,” she said as her eyes fell away again to sweep from his neck to his waist where the blanket was twitching and rising. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Don’t stop,” he said when she lifted her hands from him.

“I only wanted to explore,” she replied softly. Then her hands, her dainty hands with their long nimble fingers, were dancing over him once more, tangling in his chest hairs, skimming over his nipples.

“Explore all you want.” He fought to keep still, to refrain from capturing her hand and dragging it down beneath the blankets to where his cock rose insistently.

“You are so strong,” she murmured as her hands came up to knead his shoulders. “So hard.”

Nick held back a strangled laugh.

“Are your nipples as sensitive as mine?”

Emily didn’t wait for a response but bent and swirled her tongue around one tight bead. Nick’s hips twitched, his hardening shaft pulsed.

When she nipped him with her teeth he groaned, his hands fisting in the covers and his back arching off the bed.

“Like that, do you?” she asked, her breath a cool breeze on his hot skin, her voice a low musical drawl.

“Yes,” he growled.

“And this?” she asked as her lips closed around the nipple she’d been toying with. She sucked delicately, clasped his flesh between her teeth and swirled her tongue around and around.

“Emily,” he moaned, need clawing at him.

“I want to pleasure you,” she whispered as her hot mouth relinquished her prize, and she trailed kisses up his chest, around his neck, along his jaw to his ear. Gently she tugged on his earlobe with her soft lips and sharp teeth. “Will you teach me what pleases you?”

“You please me,” he breathed and finally allowed his hands to release the mangled covers and come to rest on either side of her tiny waist. He spread his fingers, encircled her until he held her clasped, his fingertips touching.

She rose above him, leaned down and pressed her open mouth to his, brushed her tongue along his bottom lip, drew it over his teeth, before fusing her lips to his.

Nick pulled her onto his chest, ran his hands down her back, over her lush round arse, and gripped the backs of her thighs, parting them, pulling them down to rest on either side of his hips. She relaxed onto him, her weight pulling her down onto his cock. He held her there, his hands firm on her thighs, and gently pushed up against her.

“Mmm,” she hummed into his mouth, squirming, rubbing her breasts against his chest, tilting her hips forward to meet the next thrust of his hips. She tucked her hands beneath him, gripped his back and drove her tongue into his mouth in perfect time to the movement of their bodies.

They found the rhythm they both craved and rocked against one another, her soft moans vibrating on his lips, her braid trailing over her shoulder and down along his side, tickling him like a kiss with each desperate lunge he made.

It was amazing. It wasn’t enough.

“Your gown,” he growled. “Take it off.”

As fast as lightening she rose up and straddled him, her lithe thighs tight on either side of his hips. She wiggled until she’d freed the gown from where it was bunched between their joined bodies. Whipping it over her head, taking the ribbon wound around the end of her braid with it, she sent the garment flying across the bed.

With trembling hands she reached beneath her to tug the blanket past his hips to his thighs. His freed cock sprang up, hard and heavy, resting against the curls between her legs. Slowly she lowered herself until she was seated high on his thighs with his erection flush against her warm flesh from the base nestled in the juncture of her thighs to the shaft pulsing against her belly to the engorged head resting at her navel.

Nick sucked in a ragged breath at the feel of all that warm soft flesh against the sensitive underside of his cock. His eyes rolled back in his head and a raspy growl flew from his lips when she leaned forward, her breasts with their hard little points brushing his chest, and her open mouth claiming his in a wet, wild kiss.

With her hungry mouth devouring his senses, she began to move, undulating above him in an attempt to capture their previous rhythm. Nick wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her down until she surrounded him, until his straining flesh was wedged between their bodies. He held her immobile on him, his hands drifting over her hips, her back, the indent at the base of her spine, the gentle swell of her bottom.

Her lips softened on his, she melted into him, onto him, around him.

“There’s no rush,” he whispered against her lips. “We’ve all the time in the world.”

“Yes,” she murmured even as her hips rocked against him and she arched her back to rub her nipples over his chest.