The Wedding Trap (27 page)

Yes, what then? Her friend would be distressed to hear she was not at the peak of health. But no matter how Eliza hated dissembling, she would tell a lie if it was the only recourse. The promise of an afternoon spent in Kit’s arms was too wonderful to pass up, so no matter the price, she would find a way to pay.

“I shall convince her not to stay,” she told him. “Violet has been looking forward to the outing since the invitation arrived. She and Adrian can take the children along, you see. Given that, I do not think she will be too hard to persuade.”

“Then Friday it is.” He covered her palm with his hand and gave a light squeeze. “Now, if I am not mistaken the next set is about to begin and your dance partner is heading this way.”

She glanced across the ballroom and saw that he was correct, Lord Maplewood was striding toward them in a direct line.

“A shame I have to let him claim you,” Kit murmured just moments before the other man arrived. “She is all yours, my lord,” Kit greeted, relinquishing her hand. “For now anyway.”

Feigning illness a couple afternoons later didn’t prove terribly difficult for Eliza, since by the time Friday arrived she was a true bundle of nerves.

Inside her bedchamber, she pleaded the excuse of a headache, her fingers trembling faintly in her lap.

Violet’s eyes immediately filled with concern. “Oh, you poor dear. You do look peaked. Is the pain very terrible?”

Eliza winced, guilt plunging deep and sharp as a blade. Touching a pair of fingers to her forehead, she glanced down. “Hmm, I confess I am not feeling my usual self.”

That was the truth anyway. Ever since she and Kit had arranged their assignation, she hadn’t felt
usual
at all.

“We should cancel,” Violet said. “I’ll stay home.”

“No, please, I’d feel horrid if you didn’t go to Richmond Park today.” Horrid and disappointed, she thought with a fresh twinge of remorse. “I’ll lie down for a while and be good as new by the time you return.”

Would she and Kit be lying down during their “lesson”? She shivered at the bold images the idea conjured in her mind.

Violet wrinkled her pale blond brows. “I’m not sure, you look flushed all of a sudden. I shall worry the whole time I am away.”

Drat my annoying propensity to blush,
Eliza scolded herself.

Struggling to control her reactions as well as her wayward imagination, she rushed to reassure her friend. “You have no cause to fret. It’s nothing more serious than a headache, and your being here will make no difference to my recovery. Please, go on or I shall come with you, after all, if only to make sure I haven’t ruined your day.”

“You could never do that.” Violet patted Eliza’s hand. “Very well, then, I’ll go. But I insist you let Agnes brew you some tea, and make a compress for your head.”

“Of course.”

With a last worried look, Violet allowed herself to be persuaded to leave.

Flopping back onto her pillow, Eliza blew out a sigh of relief. Seconds later, the butterflies in her stomach began fluttering their wings again, anticipation rising at the knowledge that soon she and Kit would be together.

Alone.

A brief, racketing clamor echoed through the house as Violet, Adrian, the children and their nurse made their way out the door and into their coach. After their departure, a peaceful calm descended. Tucked snuggly under a cotton throw, pillows stacked comfortably beneath her head, Eliza let Violet’s maid and her own abigail bustle around her, offering tisanes and compresses and soothing words of comfort.

Miserable with guilt, she nearly worked herself into having a real headache. But once she had been thoroughly tended to, and left to rest quietly on her own, her “symptoms” quickly disappeared. Forcing herself to wait, she remained in her room. When she heard the door open half an hour later, she kept her eyes shut and pretended to be asleep, knowing it was only her maid peeking in to check on her.

Once the girl had gone, Eliza tossed the coverlet aside and leapt to her feet, edgy anticipation tingling through her system in a balmy rush. Creeping out of her room, she closed the door with a soundless click and started down the hallway.

If she was lucky, no one would realize she was gone. And if they did discover her absence, she would simply tell them the truth—that she was feeling better and had gone to the library.

The familiar scents of leather and beeswax greeted her when she entered the room, but today they offered none of their usual comfort, her senses too overwrought for such plebian consolation. Glancing upward, she spied the second-story reading loft with its carved walnut balcony and balustrades, and its elegant trio of arched mullion windows. Sunlight spilled down in a glittering curtain of gold, blocking her ability to see whether or not Kit awaited her above. Crossing to the spiral staircase set along the rear wall, she began the climb upward.

Once there, she walked along the balcony, her thin, fawn leather slippers quiet against the polished wooden floor, her gown of leaf-green spotted muslin whispering a sibilant song around her legs.

For a moment she thought herself alone. Suddenly she heard a faint tap and caught a glimpse of movement as Kit stepped into full view.

Smiling a roguish welcome, he extended a hand. She placed hers inside, quivering when he brushed a leisurely kiss across her knuckles. “Well then, are you ready to begin, my little wren?”

Chapter Sixteen

Knowing Eliza as he now did, Kit had expected her to be a bit nervous. And when the anticipated time of her arrival came and went and she had not appeared, he’d wondered if perhaps she had changed her mind about meeting him and decided to remain inside the chaste confines of her bedroom.

He hadn’t realized just how disappointed he would have been at her absence until she stood before him, her wholesome beauty stealing the very air from his lungs, firing a lusty hunger that raged in his bones and blood.

How, he wondered incredulously, had he ever found her ordinary?

Holding out a hand, he smiled, exultant when she laid her own within his grasp. After exchanging a few words of greeting, he led her forward to the small sitting area he had prepared for them. Wanting her relaxed and comfortable, he had spread out a blanket picnic-style on the carpeted floor. Atop that, he had heaped masses of plump throw pillows, gathered from the nearby sofas and chairs.

“My goodness,” she said on seeing the unique arrangement. “Are you expecting us to sit on the floor?”

His lips tilted up on one side. “That was the general idea. I wanted you to feel at your ease.”

“Oh, well, it appears comfortable enough. I’ve just never sat on the floor before.”

“Not even as a child?”

She furrowed her brow. “Perhaps as a very little girl before my parents died. I know I certainly never sat on anything but the furniture in my aunt’s house.”

“Then it is time you expanded your boundaries. That is what today is about, is it not? Learning and experimentation.”

Her lashes swept downward, her tone low and unusually throaty. “Yes, it is.”

He raised her hand and pressed another warm kiss upon its top. “Remember, no shyness allowed. Relax. It’s not as if I’m going to bite you. Well, no more than a nip here and there.”

Her eyes widened as she checked to see if he was teasing. Then she surprised them both by laughing. “I trust it won’t hurt.”

“You’ll feel nothing but delight, I promise.”

Helping her onto the blanket, he sat down beside her, making sure she had a pair of pillows at her back. Once her comfort was assured, he reached behind himself and drew forth a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. Next came a pair of wineglasses and a plate with a selection of fresh fruits and sweetmeats.

She laughed again. “Count on you, Kit, to never forget the food.”

He gave her a solemn look. “Food is one of life’s most sensuous pleasures. A fine meal tempts all of the senses. Touch, smell, sight, taste…”—he paused and popped the cork on the wine—“even sound. Added to the act of lovemaking, food can create a truly transcendent experience.”

Tipping the bottle, he poured a liberal splash of sweet, white Sauterne into each glass before passing one to her. Savoring her reaction, he watched as she bent to breathe in the delicate, flowery bouquet of the wine, stilling her before she had a chance to drink.

“Allow me,” he said.

Imprisoning her gaze, he dipped the tip of one finger into his glass, then brought it out again, a single drop clinging to his skin. Before she had any idea what he intended, he reached out and dampened her lower lip, painting across her soft skin with a deft touch.

Eliza shivered visibly, her mouth glistening and tremulous. Leaning forward, he hovered for an instant with their mouths barely a breath away, then glided the edge of his tongue across her lower lip to capture the flavor of the droplet, and a hint of her own taste as well.

“Delicious,” he murmured, leaning back. “Now it’s your turn.”

She blinked, her eyes darkening to silver. Her hand trembled on her glass, making him fear for a moment that she might spill the wine. Then she steadied herself and slowly dipped a finger into her glass.

Desire swelled within him as he waited in a sudden fever of anticipation for her touch. He didn’t exhale until she made contact, her caress one of innocent, unstudied seduction. The drop of wine flowed in a cool, wet slide against his warm, dry flesh. Without thinking, he caught the tip of her finger between his lips and drew it into his mouth up to the knuckle, sucking upon her as if she were as sugary sweet as a peppermint stick.

Kit nearly groaned, feeling each pull all the way to his vitals.

Eliza appeared to feel it as well, a concussive glaze of desire spreading through her eyes. After a long minute and one final tug, he let her finger slip from his mouth.

She stared at him, obviously amazed that so simple an act could have the power to evoke such a profoundly physical reaction. “They didn’t do that in the book.”

He raised a brow and smiled. “That type of book tends to focus on the basic rather than the sublime, and though such literature has its uses, there’s a great deal more to the art of
l’amour
than the fundamental act itself.”

Needing to moisten his throat, Kit drank a mouthful of wine. Eliza followed suit, sipping more slowly, her gaze locked upon his as she swallowed. Darting out her tongue, she licked her lips.

Hunger pounded through him, urging him to kiss her and kiss her hard. Instead he reached toward the small plate waiting not far from his elbow.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

“My eyes? Why?”

“Because I am going to feed you. Lean back and once your eyes are firmly shut, you are to eat and tell me what you taste.”

Eliza gazed at him again, then sank deeper into the feather pillows at her back. Obediently, she lowered her eyelids and waited.

This lesson, she mused, was nothing like she had expected. From the moment she sat down on the blanket next to Kit, he had kept her surprised and off balance, held her teetering on a blade-sharp edge of craving and desire the likes of which she had never imagined.

And he hadn’t even kissed her yet!

Heat scalded through her, immediately chased by a shivery cold, her breathing unsteady while she awaited his next move. Moments later, something slippery and cool brushed across her bottom lip.

“What is this?” His words held a faintly teasing quality, his tone deep, dark and delectable, like a cup of the most incredibly rich cocoa ever brewed. She struggled to focus on the task at hand rather than on his nearness.

She considered the texture, tried to catch a hint of fragrance, but the soft whatever-it-was against her mouth remained a mystery. “I don’t know.”

“Come now, this is an easy one. Something you’ve eaten often.”

He rubbed again, grazing her upper lip this time, then her lower. Despite the touch, she was perplexed. Why hadn’t she paid better attention to the fruit and treats on the plate? Because she’d been too busy thinking about all the soul-stirring things Kit was going to do to her. And so far, he had not disappointed her.

“Here, taste it and you’ll know.”

Parting her lips, she let him feed her. Round and slick, the treat was light and unexpectedly firm. Biting down, a sweet, tangy squirt of juice filled her mouth.

“A grape,” she declared after she swallowed. “It is a grape.”

“Hmm, and so it is. Here, let me have a sip.”

Bending across, his mouth claimed hers, playing in a lazy exploration that teased and cajoled. She sought to return his kiss, meeting his tongue as he dipped inside to gather the flavor of the fruit in a most thorough and pleasing way.

“Tasty,” he said, easing away. “Something else now, I think. Eyes closed,” he warned.

She quivered and waited. She didn’t have long before he pressed another selection against her lips. Unlike the grape, this delicacy wasn’t cool, nor was it slippery, an almost flowery fragrance teasing her nostrils.

Fruit of some kind, she concluded.

“Take a bite,” he urged.

She did, sinking her teeth into what seemed like living velvet. Peach pulp and juice flooded her mouth in a sugary wash, enchanting her senses. Chewing and swallowing, she tried to catch every drop but a single one escaped, sliding over her cheek. Reaching up, she moved to wipe away the errant drop.