The Wedding Trap (25 page)

At the thought, his brows bunched into a fearsome knot.

Eliza heaved an audible sigh. “Very well, but you can’t tell her I have it.”

Her.
Relief surged through him. At least the mystery person was female. “Tell whom?”

She hesitated for another long moment. “Violet.”

Surprise jolted him like a thunderbolt. “
What!
You mean this book belongs to Violet?”

“Well, it does now, though it originally came from Jeannette. She gave it to Violet as a gift.”

“Good God.”

“Jeannette thought Violet and Adrian might enjoy—” Eliza broke off, her face flushing again, crimson as a vine-ripened tomato. “Well, never mind what she thought. Violet refused the book, so Jeannette put it in a drawer in the drawing room and…well…um…”

“You took it?”

At her nod, he burst out laughing, groaning moments later at the jab of pain that slashed through his abused cheek.

Her look of embarrassment turned instantly to concern. “Oh, you’re hurting, aren’t you? You need that poultice and here we are jabbering away about incidentals.”

He raised the thin, green volume. “I would hardly call this book
incidental.
”

“Nevertheless, you need something on your poor battered face,” she said, obviously eager to change the subject. “Your cheek looks even more swollen now than it was when I first saw you. L-let me go down to the kitchen to put something together.”

“I told you before, I’ll do fine on my own.”

“N-no, sit. Wait. Please.” She raced across to the bookshelf and gathered up one of the books on herbs. Looking in a great hurry to be gone, she moved toward the door. As she passed him, her gaze flickered uneasily toward the slender volume he still held in his hands.

“You won’t tell her, will you?”

He shook his head. “No. It’ll be our secret.”

“Then would you please put that back in the drawer?” she asked.

“What I should do is confiscate it, but I suppose that would be a bit like closing the stable door after the horse has galloped off.” Giving her one last amused look, he set the book inside the night-table drawer, then slid it closed.

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” he called, but she was already gone, scurrying out the door as if a pack of tiny dogs was nipping at her heels. Shaking his head in continued amazement at his unprecedented discovery, he sank into the chair once more, and crossed his booted feet at the ankle.

Cheeks as hot as if they had been doused with lamp oil and set ablaze, Eliza hurried down the hallway, the herb book clutched tightly to her bosom. She knew if she let herself stop and consider what had just occurred, she would collapse into a puddle of misery.

Oh, the shame! The mortification!
How was she ever going to face Kit again? How would she ever look him in the eye without thinking about that scandalous book? Without remembering his expression when he’d found it and opened it to see all the ribald depictions.

Yet she had to admit that once Kit had had a moment to overcome his initial shock, he had not been condemning, not the way she might have expected. Even Violet would have had a difficult time accepting the situation, and she certainly wouldn’t have laughed the way Kit had done, at least not so quickly.

But gracious, what must he think of her? That she was a horrible, lascivious person, that’s what. Oh, why had she given in to her darker impulses and taken the book? She’d only succumbed to the temptation yesterday when she’d found the volume still inside the drawing room escritoire and been unable to resist. Why, she’d hardly had a chance to look at it again. Stupid to have put it in her night table where anyone might see, she berated herself. But then, she hadn’t expected anyone to look inside her nightstand.

Her maid was very good about respecting Eliza’s personal papers and belongings. Actually, the girl had little use for books, shaking her head whenever she thought herself unobserved, mumbling about how many there were, and how they littered every spare corner of the room. So if her maid had happened upon the little green book, she wouldn’t have thought a thing of it, wouldn’t have even had the urge to peek inside.

Kit, on the other hand, was a fount of inquisitiveness, ever eager to peek.

Feeling a little ill, but determined to follow through on her promise to tend Kit’s injury, Eliza forced her feet onward toward the kitchen. Perhaps the labor of mixing and heating the herbal fomentation would prove distracting enough to take her mind off her humiliation.

Back in Eliza’s bedroom, Kit couldn’t help but consider the encounter just passed.

Who would ever have imagined, he mused, that formerly shy, reserved Eliza Hammond had those sorts of hidden cravings churning within her? Who would have considered she would be anything but aghast to view such an explicitly sexual book? But apparently she’d been curious enough to take the volume, and hide it here in her bedroom so she could peruse the concupiscent illustrations at her leisure.

His loins stirred, remembering the kissing lesson they had shared, recalling the delicious fervor of her untutored touches and caresses. Yes, she was passionate. Or would be anyway with the proper instruction.

What a pleasure, he considered, to give her more love lessons. But no, he shouldn’t let himself think that way. Hadn’t he already warned himself against getting involved in such treacherous tangles? Yet if she was curious to explore that side of her nature, might she not turn to another man?

A memory flashed of her kissing Brevard. His fist tightened, lip curling up in a sneer at the image. Damn, he thought. Was she hoping Brevard might tutor her in the amorous arts? And might the viscount be willing to oblige her, even if his intentions were as honorable as he claimed? If she gave Brevard a little encouragement, why would he resist? She wasn’t a girl in her first blush of youth. At twenty-three, Eliza was far more tempting fare, even if she was still an unwed, inexperienced maiden.

He was mulling these thoughts over in his brain when he heard her footfalls in the hallway.

She walked into the room, a plain, blue china bowl in her hands, a towel draped over one arm. He noticed that she was careful not to meet his gaze as she approached, nor as she set the contents of his treatment onto the nightstand.

“Lean your head back, please,” she murmured.

Without a sound, he complied, settling his head comfortably against the high padded back of the wing chair.

Efficient as a nurse, she draped the towel beneath his chin and over his shoulder to catch any potential drips, then lifted the poultice from the bowl. “This may feel quite warm for a few minutes, but the heat should ease the ache and relieve a measure of the stiffness. I’m having a fresh slice of beefsteak sent to your room for later to help draw out the worst of the bruising. I want you to keep the meat on your face for half an hour minimum.”

“I’d rather have it cooked and served with a hearty glass of port,” he quipped.

“It will do your wounds no good in your stomach. Now, close your eyes.”

He did, then drew in a sharp breath seconds later as she placed the linen-wrapped pouch against his injured face. A rush of heat flooded over his skin, prickling slightly, the pungent mix of herbs strong in his nostrils.

“What’s in this?” he asked.

“Some ground mustard seed and crushed nettles, among other things. Violet keeps a well-stocked herb cabinet for just such occasions.”

Grunting, he relaxed as the initial discomfort subsided, a pleasant warmth spreading over his skin and seeping deeper into the muscle.

“Better?” she said, her voice as gentle as birdsong.

“Hmm, yes.”

“I brought some gauze toweling to help secure the poultice in place. If you’ll keep holding it against your face, I’ll be back in a moment.”

She shifted slightly, the side of her leg brushing against his thigh. Reaching upward as she directed, he covered her hand where it lay atop the poultice, effectively sandwiching her palm in between. But instead of letting her slip free, he held on, curling his fingers around her wrist.

Kit opened his eyes and caught her in his gaze. “You’re still feeling awkward about the book and you have no cause.”

Flinching, she glanced away. “I am fine.”

“You are embarrassed,” he stated, “and you needn’t be. Curiosity is part of the human condition, as are feelings of lust and desire, all perfectly normal and natural, even for ladies.”

Her gaze flashed to him, then away again. “Let us forget about it.”

“We can try, but it’s easier to just be honest and open. You and I are comfortable together these days, are we not?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts and no dissembling.”

“I should get the gauze.”

“In a minute. First I want to know something. Did you like kissing Brevard in the garden the other night?”

Eliza jumped as if he’d poked her with a toasting fork.
“What!”

“I saw the pair of you. How was it?”

She tried to pull her hand free of his grasp, but her efforts only made him tighten his hold. “
How it was
is none of your concern,” she replied.

“Better than my kisses? Or worse? I assume you were conducting an experiment, just as you told me you might.”

“Kit,” she admonished.

“Eliza.” He gave her a small half smile.

“It was…I was…yes, I let him kiss me. And yes, I wanted to know what it was like. There is no crime in that.”

“I didn’t say there was. So? How was it?”

She paused for a long minute, plainly deciding whether or not to refuse to speak. “It was nice.”

“Nice? That doesn’t sound terribly thrilling.”

“It was
very
nice. Lovely, actually.”

“Lovely, hmm?”

Kit didn’t know if he liked the sound of
lovely,
aware the word could mean anything from banal to sublime.

Maintaining his hold on her wrist, he drew his thumb across the inside of her palm in a long, slow sweep. His spirits rallied in response to her answering quiver, and again when her lips parted on a small, involuntary inhalation of breath. His gaze traced the shape and texture of her mouth, noticing the color, pink and silky and lush, like summer roses in full bloom.

Without pausing to consider his actions, he set a hand on her hip and toyed with the gently rounded flesh he discovered there. “And was my kiss
lovely
too?”

Her eyes darkened, turning silver. “It was…”

“Yes?”

“Different.”

“Different?”

“Than his. I can’t describe in what ways.”

“Then mayhap you require another kiss to refresh your memory. That way you’ll be able to judge more effectively.”

Sliding his hand downward, he cupped the lithesome fullness of her bottom, giving the pliable feminine flesh a gentle squeeze. Seconds after, he tugged her forward and drew her head downward so he could capture her lips.

Even with the poultice pressed to his cheek, he was skillful enough to manage the task, plundering her mouth with a gentle thoroughness that quickly drew a humming whimper from her throat. Gathering her nearer, he gave himself over to the rush, her scent a heady perfume clouding his brain, her touch an enchantment that made him forget all about the ache in his face, and concentrate instead on the one now lodged between his legs. Knowing he was playing with fire, one that could blaze from a spark to a conflagration in mere instants, he permitted himself one last ravishing kiss, then set her gently from him.

Eliza swayed and reached out a hand to steady herself. “Gracious.”

“I completely agree.” Easing the poultice from his face, he set it aside.

“You should keep that on,” she urged.

“I believe I’ll manage now without it. You have my thanks, since I do feel better, though perhaps that is more an aftereffect of the kiss than the compress,” he added with a smile.

Her already flushed face pinked even more. When he made to rise, she stepped back.

Kit climbed to his feet. “I should be going. I fear I’ve tarried in your room far longer than I ought, especially considering what just occurred.”

She nodded, the slight glaze of desire still shimmering in her eyes. “Oh, don’t forget. Put the raw beefsteak on your wound. It should help draw out the bruise and aid in faster healing.”

“Once again, my gratitude for your concern, little wren. Your wishes shall be my own.” He took a step toward the door, then paused. “Eliza.”

“Yes?”

“One last thing. If your curiosity persists and you find yourself tempted to experiment further in the realm of the physical, don’t go to Brevard, or any of your other suitors. You and I may not be meeting for daily lessons anymore, but I am still your mentor.” Reaching out, he stroked the edge of a knuckle over the delicate curve of her cheek. “If you wish to have more lessons in love, you need only say. I shall teach you whatever it is you care to learn.”

Her lips parted, her gray eyes widening in obvious amazement.

With a last smile, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door, leaving Eliza unmoving and stock-still in the center of her room.

Chapter Fifteen