The Wedding Trap (31 page)

Brevard’s arm tensed beneath her hand, but before he could respond, a familiar voice entered the fray.

“I am sure the lady will reveal her choice of husband when she is ready to do so, and not a minute before,” Kit said, his tone carrying a hard, implacable edge she had never heard him use. “You can read the engagement announcement in the paper when the time comes, Pettigrew.”

The disdain in Kit’s words carried like the smack of a glove across the other man’s gaunt cheek. For a second, a malevolent light flickered in Pettigrew’s obsidian gaze, then vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

“Lord Christopher,” her cousin said with false warmth, “a pleasure as always.”

“If you say.” Kit made no effort to greet the other man as good manners dictated.

“Obviously you feel I have overstepped, but I meant nothing untoward. As Cousin Eliza’s closest relation, I am merely concerned for her future welfare and happiness.”

“Oh, I am sure you are,” Kit said, his words dripping with sarcasm. “And still lamenting the loss of your mother’s money as well, no doubt.” He leaned forward, tall and intimidating despite the fact that he and Pettigrew were of a similar height. “Whatever wild permutations are rumbling around inside that head of yours, you can put them away. Eliza and her wealth are out of your reach. She refused you once, and she won’t be entertaining your unwelcome advances again.”

“You wound me, my lord. I merely stopped to converse and reacquaint myself with my cousin. Surely I have a right to speak with my own family?”

“You’ve spoken to her. Now be gone.”

An unnatural flush colored Pettigrew’s usually pallid complexion, his upper lip trembling. “I should call you out for your insulting behavior and the accusations you have made about myself and my intentions.”

Kit crossed his arms over his chest, clearly amused. “Want to fight, do you? I shall be happy to oblige. Brevard here can act as my second.”

The viscount gave a firm, tacit nod of agreement.

“So, what shall it be?” Kit dared. “Pistols or swords? Either choice makes little difference since I am proficient at both. Or if you’re worried about dying, we could meet in the ring at Gentleman Jackson’s. I am sure I could provide you entrée, since I know you do not hold a subscription.”

At the mention of violence, alarm squeezed inside Eliza’s chest. “Oh, Kit, please, stop. Do not do this.”

Without glancing her way, he reached out and patted the hand she had laid on his arm. Otherwise, he kept his attention centered on her cousin.

“Well, Pettigrew? I am waiting.”

To Eliza’s dismay, she saw that Kit was not the only one waiting. A small cluster of ladies and gentlemen had congregated and were pretending, not very successfully, to be minding their own business, when in actuality they were riveted to every word.

Visibly bristling, Pettigrew puffed out his scrawny chest and thrust forward his bony chin, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a buoy. Just when everyone was beginning to wonder if he might actually be foolish enough to agree to meet Kit, he growled low, spun on one heel and elbowed his way through the crowd.

“Appears his threats are as empty as his pocketbook,” Kit quipped in a voice loud enough to carry.

Their audience tittered and made a couple of choice remarks. Since the interval was about to end, they had the grace to quickly disburse and return to their seats.

Once the corridor stood deserted, Kit turned to Eliza. “Are you all right?”

She had not thought herself affected, but now that the entire encounter was over, she began to tremble.

Seeing her condition, Kit gazed at Brevard. “As you can see, Miss Hammond is overset. If you would be so good as to inform my brother and his wife of our departure, I shall escort Miss Hammond home.”

“There is no need for you to leave. I shall be fine,” she told Kit.

He shook his head. “You won’t be fine with half the audience watching you for the remainder of the evening. You know how quickly word spreads. Let me take you back to Raeburn House. Adrian and Violet can handle any uproar that follows. Since weathering their own scandal a couple years ago, they’ve grown quite skilled at quashing unwanted talk.”

“Winter is right, Miss Hammond,” Brevard urged. “You would only cause yourself unneeded grief if you remained. And most likely by the time you awaken tomorrow, there’ll be some new fodder for everyone to start chewing on, and they will forget all about yours.”

She worried her lower lip with her teeth, then nodded. “Very well. But please tell the duchess not to be alarmed and to stay for the rest of the play. I do not wish to be the ruin of her evening.”

“You won’t be,” Kit assured her before turning to the other man. “Thank you, Brevard, and good evening.”

She tossed a weak smile to the viscount. “Yes, thank you, my lord. Pray give my regards to your sister and Miss Twitchell.”

With a nod and a farewell, Brevard bowed, then strode away.

Kit offered her his arm. “Come, my little wren, let us away.”

She set her hand on his sleeve and together they departed.

Chapter Eighteen

Outside the theater, Kit took the coach seat opposite Eliza and waited while the servants closed the door and made ready to set the vehicle in motion.

All evening long, Kit had kept his distance from Eliza. At first, he’d fleetingly considered attending the theater with the rest of the family, but had known the wiser choice would be to sit with his friends across the gallery, instead of inside the box with Eliza. Being so near her, he knew he might give in to the temptation to steal a quick touch or two, a craving that lately was beginning to border on obsession.

So he’d contented himself by watching her instead, gratified to catch occasional glimpses of her watching him back from across the darkened venue.

But during the interval, when he’d come upon Pettigrew publicly accosting her, his intention to remain discreetly in the background had vanished, his only thought to come to her aid and erase the expression of distress from her face.

Now as they sat together alone in the coach, he was doubly glad he had.

The coach lurched slightly as the driver flicked the reins, giving a command to send the team forward. As soon as the horses were moving, so was Kit, levering himself up and across to sit beside Eliza.

Curling an arm over her shoulders, he pulled her close. “Feeling better?” he asked.

She nodded. “I am now.”

“Then what are these shivers?” he admonished gently, rubbing soothing fingers across the strip of bare skin that lay between the edge of her short, silk sleeve and the top of her elbow-length glove.

From underneath her lashes, she cast him a glance. “I am a little cold, I guess.”

“Here, then, let me warm you up.”

Without further warning, he lifted her off the seat and onto his lap, setting her snuggly against him, his arms wrapped tight. “Ah, now, this
is
better.”

She wiggled for a moment in obvious surprise, her bottom brushing against him in a way that drove a rush of longing straight to his loins. As if she knew exactly what sort of difficulty she’d put him in, she stopped squirming, but her efforts came too late.

He couldn’t complain, though, enjoying the sensation of holding her so near. On a quiet sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Stroking her arm, he gave her a light kiss. “Relax, sweet. You’re safe.”

“I know. Just as I know I was never in any real danger, it’s only that he’s so very dreadful.”

“That he is. A wart on the world’s backside. But Pettigrew is gone now, and I don’t want you worrying about your cousin bothering you anymore. I’ll keep you safe.”

Snuggling closer, she slid an arm around his waist. “I never did thank you for stepping in the way you did. I think Lord Brevard was about to try, but—”

“But he doesn’t know what a snake your cousin is, or what a coward. I guess everyone in the Ton will know now.”

Eliza raised her head to meet his gaze. “Philip was furious, Kit. You oughtn’t to have goaded him the way you did.”

“I wouldn’t have been in any real peril, I assure you, even if he had mustered the nerve to fight me.”

“Oh, I know that. I was only concerned that if you killed him, you would end up having to flee the country, particularly considering the number of witnesses there were to the event.”

Kit stared at her for an instant before tossing his head back on a hearty laugh. He was still chuckling moments later. “That’s what is so enchanting about you, Eliza, you’re always so delightfully honest. It’s a refreshing quality that few people possess. Promise never to lose it, my little wren, no matter how old you may one day grow.”

A dreamy smile blossomed across her lips, her cheeks glowing with a pleasure visible even in the tenebrous interior of the coach. “I promise,” she murmured, her voice solemn and husky.

The humor inside him faded as quickly as it had come, desire stirring once again to life. Tightening his hold, he reached up and stroked the warm, satiny skin of her cheek, before roving downward in a gradual glide, tracing the slender column of her throat as he went. At the base, he curled gentle fingers against the underside of her jaw, then tipped back her head to position it for his kiss.

He dusted his lips across one cheek. “You said something about wanting to thank me.” He bent to pay homage to the other cheek. “I believe I know just the way. Why don’t you show me what I’ve taught you and exactly how much you’ve learned.”

With that invitation, he waited, earning his reward seconds later when she buried her fingers in his hair and dragged his lips down to hers. As Eliza plundered his mouth with impressive thoroughness, Kit realized she had indeed learned a great deal under his tutelage, her touch sending his senses reeling, turning his brain to mush.

Like she always did, Eliza experienced a blaze of emotion, a sizzle in her blood that by rights should have sent up sparks. Toes curling inside her satin evening slippers, she poured every ounce of passion and skill into her embrace.

His tongue tangled with hers in a wild dance, dynamic and intense, showing her that her efforts were proving effective. Groaning, he slid his hand lower to cup her breast, rubbing the taut peak of her nipple through the delicate silk of her gown.

Shifting on his lap, she encouraged him to take more, and to her profound delight, he did. Tugging down a sleeve and one side of her bodice, he freed a single breast, giving it a tantalizing squeeze before raising her up enough to fasten his mouth upon her willing body.

The pull of his lips and teeth and tongue against her sensitive flesh sent her skyward. Needing desperately to touch him, she reached under his coat and waistcoat to pluck frantically at his thin lawn shirt. Unable to find bare skin, she contented herself by stroking him through the cloth, relishing his heat and the firm shape of his hard, male muscles.

Growling, he suckled upon her more deeply, even as he reached down a hand to drag her skirts high. Up moved his fingers, gliding as they had that day in the library, along the length of her calf, over knee and thigh. He caressed her leg and hip for a full span of minutes, but instead of withdrawing this time, he continued on.

Stroking her inner thighs, he made her shudder, her eyes closed in hot, dreamlike bliss. Seconds later, her eyelids popped wide as he inserted a finger inside her in a way she had never imagined she might ever be touched.

“Oh, dear God,”
she whimpered, crying out as he began to finesse her there, deep between her legs. Claiming her mouth again, he caught the tiny moans and sighs and panting groans that issued from her throat, the sounds completely out of her ability to control.

An ache built where he caressed her, escalating higher with each subsequent inner stroke. Just when she thought it couldn’t possibly feel better, he added another finger and thrust inside her, deep and slow, taking his time so she could adjust to the added width.

She arched and gave a shout, the noise muffled inside his mouth. No longer capable of forming a coherent thought, she lay utterly helpless in his arms as he stroked her to the breaking point. Grasping at the cloth of his shirt, she hung on as if in peril for her very life.

A cry rang from her lips when the crisis came, her whole body shaking as a burst of blinding pleasure spiked through her, fierce and profound as a lightning bolt, singeing her blood and bones and sinew.

Panting for breath, she clung to him as the tremors of delight gradually began to subside. Only then did she become aware of Kit’s own physical state, the length of him pressed like a hard rod against her bottom. Acting on pure instinct, she curled slightly to one side then reached a hand between their bodies.

His flesh leapt at her touch, even through the satin of his evening breeches. He bit his lip to restrain a groan, squeezing his eyes closed in an expression that was a mix of ecstasy and agony, as she traced the shape of his rigid arousal.

He lowered his hand and covered hers, patiently but firmly showing her the exact manner in which he wished to be touched. Gladly obeying his direction, she caressed him, amazed at the differences in their bodies, and the similarity of their response.