A Visit From Sir Nicholas (26 page)

He turned the vase over in his hands. "Regardless of the effort of the craftsmen or the rarity of the clay, if a piece had so much as the tiniest imperfection, it would be shattered and discarded." She stared. "I never imagined you would collect
pottery
."

"Imperial Ming dynasty porcelain," he said firmly. "And I did not set out to collect it. A small collection came into my possession as payment for a debt, and I found the history and the beauty of it fascinating and quite compelling." He shrugged. "And it's a valuable investment."

"As is this house."

"Exactly."

"Investment." She snorted in disbelief. "I don't believe you for a moment. I believe you bought this house for one reason and one reason only."

"Location?"

"Exactly. It's located directly next to my house."

"You live in a very nice neighborhood."

"It was a very nice neighborhood," she snapped.

He studied her curiously. "Did you mean it when you said honesty was a condition of your proposal?"

"Absolutely."

"Very well then. Let me be honest. In the next few minutes I fully intend to take you in my arms and carry you up the stairs and into my bedchamber."

"I don't want to be taken in your arms and carried up the stairs and into your bedchamber. I want to talk about why you've purchased the house next to mine. I want to know exactly what your intentions are in doing so."

He continued as if she hadn't said a word. "Once there I intend to disrobe you in a very slow and methodical manner."

"Nicholas." The man was impossible to ignore.

"I shall begin with your dress, of course." He sipped at his brandy, his gaze intense. "Lovely gown, by the way. It flatters the green of your eyes."

"Thank you," she murmured, pushing away the images his words produced. "That's all very well and good, but—"

"While in the process, I shall run my mouth lightly over your bare shoulders. Kiss the curve of your neck and that charming spot at the top of your spine."

His voice was low, and she could almost feel his hands upon her. "You intend to do that, do you?"

"Indeed I do. You will scarcely note that your dress is now a puddle of silk around your feet. Next, I shall peel your petticoats slowly down the length of your legs."

"Nicholas." In spite of her resolve, the word was more a sigh than a protest. "Stop." He ignored her. "Then I shall turn my attentions to your corset. Blasted nuisances, to my mind. I don't know why women put up with them. Although there is little I find more attractive than a woman clad in only a corset. In addition, there is something quite intoxicating about loosening the laces of a woman's corset—your corset—and feeling your body relax with relief against my hands, your skin through the thin fabric of your chemise warm against my fingers."

"Good Lord, Nicholas." She downed the rest of her brandy, knowing, even as its liquid burn slid down her throat, that the liquor was not to blame for the heat washing through her body. And it was exceedingly warm in here.

"Your corset will drop discarded to the floor, and you shall scarcely notice, far too intent on the feel of my hands over the delicate material of your chemise and your drawers. Caressing your breasts, sliding down the curve of your waist, over your hips and across the swell of your stomach to the point where your thighs meet and—"

The glass slipped from her hands, bounced on the carpet, and settled at her feet. He tossed back the remainder of his drink and set his glass on the closest available empty spot. She swallowed hard.

His gaze shifted downward to her toes, then back up, in a slow, deliberate manner, as if she were already unclothed, as if he were already running his hands over her naked body.

"Nicholas." Her voice was as unsteady as her insides. "In the interest of honesty, I must say I have never heard such things spoken aloud, and, in spite of my forward manner last week, I am thoroughly shocked, and furthermore, as it has been rather a long time since I have been with a man, I don't think," her voice faltered, "I can possibly bear to hear about your plans for another moment without flinging myself at you."

"Then let the flinging begin." His voice was as low and as intense as his dark eyes. Any doubts she might have had, any second thoughts, any considerations as to her conditions or the future vanished not merely with his words but with the look in his eyes. Smoldering with desire exactly as she remembered from years past and from her dreams, but there was more, something deeper, a yearning that went beyond simple passion. A need of the soul that matched her own. She stared at him for a moment and then was in his arms. His lips crushed hers with a need too long denied. Her mouth opened to his in a welcome born of urgency and desire. He wrenched his lips from hers and kissed the corners of her mouth, her closed eyelids, her temples, as if he needed to taste every bit of her. She gasped and clutched at his shoulders. Her head fell back and his mouth explored the length of her neck and her throat. His tongue trailed a path to the valley between her breasts, and she cursed the voluminous skirts and petticoats that kept her body from his.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth back to hers. To pillage and ravage and claim him as her own. His hands caressed her shoulders, and she shivered at his touch on her bare skin. His hands moved greedily over her back, and he fumbled without discernable success with the fastenings on her bodice.

She wanted to feel his naked flesh hot against her own and she had already waited far too long. Impatience and unrelenting need seized her, and she yanked his neckcloth free. She pushed his jacket over his shoulders and he shrugged it off. She tore at the buttons of his waistcoat until it opened and tugged his shirt free from his trousers. He pulled both over his head in one fell move and tossed them aside.

For a moment she could do nothing more than stare at his naked chest, firmly muscled with a triangle of dark hair trailing downward over his abdomen to disappear into his trousers. His shoulders were broader than she'd realized, his waist nicely narrow. All in all the man was certainly not a creation of his tailor. She drew a deep breath and rested her hands on his bared chest.

His muscles tightened beneath her touch and he groaned.

"Damnation, Elizabeth."

Without warning, he whirled her around and deftly unfastened the tiny hooks at the back of her dress with a speed and efficiency unknown to even the most skillful maid. Precisely as he had promised, it dropped to her feet in a puddle of green silk. He tugged at the ties of her petticoats, and one by one they slid to the floor. His hands wrapped around her corseted waist and he pulled her against him and nibbled at the crook of her neck. She felt his arousal hard against her buttocks, separated from him only by the thin fabric of her drawers. His hands slipped upward to cup breasts supported by stays, and she marveled at the way they seemed to be a perfect fit in his hands. He moved to loosen the ties of her corset, and her patience snapped.

"Good Lord, Nicholas." She twisted to face him. "If we wait until we're rid of all of these blasted clothes it will be another ten years."

"Not while there's breath in my body," he muttered and pulled her back to him. She met his lips once more and reveled in the taste of him. His hands caressed her derriere and she pushed her hips tighter against his. She could feel his desire and his heat, solid and straining against the material that still separated them. She shifted to slide her hand between his body and hers and fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. He groaned and pushed her hand aside. He unfastened his trousers and let them fall to the floor. His manhood sprung free against her, and without thinking, she ran her fingers over it. He slipped his hand between the legs of her drawers and found that part of her that was wet and wanting and aching with need. She jerked at his touch, then pushed against his fingers. His hand explored and fondled and stroked, and she moaned with the exquisite sensations his touch produced. Her hand tightened on his member, and it throbbed beneath her touch. And his moans matched hers. Without warning, he shifted, grabbed the top of her leg, and lifted it to wrap around his, opening her up to him. She guided him between her legs and he slid over her in a teasing, enticing fashion that heightened her arousal. She sucked in a hard breath and flung her arms around him as she pressed herself tighter to him. He was hard and hot and she was wet and slick against him. He slid back and forth between her legs, and with every movement she rocked against him.

He wrapped one arm around her waist and supported her buttocks with the other, then skillfully lowered himself to sit on the sofa. She straddled his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. Her gaze locked with his. His eyes were dark with need and promise and something more than mere prurient desire and unbridled lust.

"Nicholas." She reached forward and brushed her lips against his. "You do realize I have not done this for a very long time?"

"Yes, I know," his lips murmured softly against hers. "And you do realize I have wanted you for a very long time?"

She brushed aside any tinge of hesitation. "As I have wanted you." She straightened and poised above him, her gaze never leaving his, then slowly lowered herself onto him. She was tight and he was larger than she'd thought: still, she slid down the long length of his shaft with an ease wrought by her own excitement and a yearning far too long ignored until at last her curls meshed with his. For a long moment she savored the feel of him inside her, a physical fullness she only vaguely recalled and a sense of completion she remembered only from her dreams.

He grasped her waist and guided her up and down, moving his hips in rhythm with hers. Her head dropped back and her eyes closed. She grabbed his shoulders, her fingers tightening on his flesh with every stroke, with the tension that swelled within her. The sofa beneath them creaked in protest. Or celebration.

They moved in measure with one another as though they had moved together always like this. As if their bodies were matched, made one for the other. In perfect rhythm, perfect harmony. As if their joining was inevitable. Fated. Meant to be.

Her fervor matched his with an aching sweetness that spread from her very soul and fired her blood and throbbed in her veins. She'd never known, had never suspected such passion. Pure and elemental and raw. Building within her, tighter and tighter, a spring coiling to a breaking point. Frightening in its intensity. Glorious in its power.

Nicholas groaned and heaved beneath her, thrusting upward in a powerful stroke. His body shuddered against hers and his heat spread through her. Her nails bit into his shoulders and her own body convulsed in an altogether unexpected and extraordinary manner that caught at her breath and stole her soul. And she screamed his name.

She collapsed against him and clung to him and buried her face in his neck. He held her tight as if he could not bear yet to let her go.

It struck her in some oddly rational part of her mind that while she had always rather enjoyed relations with Charles and had always considered that part of marriage quite pleasant, it had been nothing like this. Perhaps it was the illicit, forbidden aspect of being with Nicholas that heightened the pleasure. Or the desire they'd both ignored for a decade that deepened the experience. Or perhaps it had more to do with the fact that she'd never straddled her husband's naked lap. Indeed, she could count on one hand the number of times she'd actually seen Charles completely unclothed, and they'd never made love anywhere but their bed.

"Elizabeth?" Nicholas stroked her back in an idle manner, but a note of concern sounded in his voice.

"Are you all right?"

Was she? She wasn't entirely certain. She was somewhat shocked by her own wanton behavior as well as her body's response to his, and perhaps a little embarrassed by it all. And oddly enough, rather pleased with herself.

"Elizabeth?"

She raised her head and smiled into his eyes. "That was really… quite…"

"Indeed it was." He grinned. "Extraordinary."

"And it seems I am still… that is… well, you are…" Heat flushed up her face. His grin widened. "Indeed I am."

She scrambled off of him and got to her feet, at once grateful that her drawers and her corset, loosened but still on her, provided a measure of modesty.

He stood slowly. She had never thought of him as overly tall, and the impression of great height might well have been exacerbated by his lack of clothing. Nonetheless, it was rather daunting to be staring up at a man who looked very much like an ancient classical statue come to life. A naked ancient classical statue.

He caught her hands and drew them to his lips. His gaze met hers, his dark eyes simmered. "You are everything I have ever imagined. Everything I have ever wanted."

Her breath caught. "As are you."

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "I think my bed would be a much better place to continue." She tilted her head and studied him. "What makes you think I wish to continue?"

"Do you?" His voice was low and inviting, and a tremor of sheer anticipation shivered through her. She stepped away, hid a smile, and gathered up her clothes.

"Does this mean you do not?"

"This means I would prefer to have my clothes near at hand, as eventually I shall have to dress." She glanced at him and raised a wicked brow. "Your bed is upstairs, I presume?"

"Allow me."

He scooped her into his arms, bundle of clothes and all, and started toward the stairs.

"My slippers?" She clutched her clothes with one hand and waved absently with the other.

"Of course," he said gallantly, tossed her over his shoulder, scooped up the shoes, repositioned her, and continued as if nothing whatsoever had occurred.

Elizabeth stared at him. "That was quite impressive."

He smiled in an overly smug manner and started up the stairs. "I know."

"Do you think the servants will see us?"

"I don't particularly care."

"They're probably well used to seeing you stark naked carrying a half-clothed woman up the stairs."