Kathryn Caskie (19 page)

Grace gave one last fretful glance at her beloved, then, with her chin nearly resting on her chest, she entered the shadowed passage leading to the Featherton box.

Turning, Eliza started back down the staircase. When she neared the bottom, she steadied herself against the rail and looked up to search for Lord Hawksmoor. Instead, she saw Magnus, standing only ten feet away no less, his brow drawn deep in a scowl.

Lud!
Whirling around, she put aside all notion of speaking with Lord Hawksmoor and scampered back up the treads as fast as propriety would allow.

When Eliza reached the top, she threw a frantic glance over her shoulder. Magnus trailed her and was not a dozen steps behind.
Perdition!

Her slippers barely touched the floor as she rushed down the dark passage toward the Featherton box. She would be safe there. Surely he wouldn’t dare intrude—not after the way Grace had berated him earlier.

She hurried around the curve, taking a quick glance over her shoulder again.

She’d barely turned her head forward again when she plowed right into a heavyset gentleman standing before the entrance to her aunts’ box. “Oof!”

She bounced backward off his belly. Her feet tangled in her short train and she hit the floor hard—again. How she wanted to scream!

“Oh, sakes alive!” The startled gentleman grasped Eliza’s arm and assisted her to her feet. “I do beg your pardon, miss.”

“Thank you. Oh no. Please,” she muttered as the man continued to fuss over her, waving his handkerchief ridiculously while trying to brush carpet fibers from her gown. “Do not concern yourself, sir—
really.”
Eliza batted at his hands. “Please stop, sir. I am
fine
for goodness sake!”

She swung her head around. Magnus was closing fast. There was no chance of escaping inside her aunts’ box now. Snatching up her skirt, she rounded the man’s substantial girth and dashed madly down the passageway.

“Eliza, wait,” Magnus called in a raised whisper.

She didn’t bother to turn around. Peering down the dimly lit corridor, she edged past the gaggle of patrons and rushed down the passage.

The corridor ended at a narrow door. Unlike the other doors leading to the boxes, this one was devoid of all ornamentation.

Taking a deep breath, Eliza tugged at the pull. The hidden hinges squealed, the door opened and she slipped into a midnight black passageway.

Her breath seemed amplified as she ran down the narrow hall, as did the sound of the performance. Her path must somehow have taken her backstage.

There was a whine of metal behind her. Eliza spun around, her eyes wide yet blind against the darkness.
The door.

“Eliza,”
came Magnus’s low voice.

Frantically, Eliza searched for a place to hide. She stretched out her arms and ran her fingers along the walls on either side until she felt the outline of a door. When at last her hand brushed the cool metal of a door pull, she eased the handle down and stepped into a room as black and soft as thickest velvet.

“Eliza?” she heard Magnus call. “I only want to talk. Dinna run from me.”

She stood silently in the dark until her eyes began to burn. She was acting like a child avoiding punishment. At the very least, she owed Magnus an explanation for her behavior.

Cautiously, Eliza groped her way toward the door, but when she reached for the latch, she felt only stacks of cloth. The door had to be near. Her grasp on direction could not be so askew.

She plunged her hand through piles of fabric, hoping to find the door or even a bare wall, but there was nothing but swathes of wovens in every direction.

This was unbelievable. She was lost in a nest of cloth. A whimper of frustration burst from her mouth.

“Eliza?”

Thank God, he’d found her. “Yes. I am here, Magnus. I cannot find the door.”

“Dinna worry, I’m coming.”

Step by small step, Eliza moved toward the sound of his voice, but tripped over a heavy bundle on the floor. An avalanche of cool silk cascaded down around her.

She tried to stand, but could barely move. “Blast!” she was as tangled in fabric as a fine chain in a cluttered jewelry box.

“Eliza? Are ye all right?” His voice sounded concerned this time.

“Yes, but I’m caught. I need your help.” She had yet to even see Magnus and already embarrassment scorched her cheeks.

The mechanical turn of the door handle drew her gaze blindly to the left. “Magnus?”

“Aye. Where are ye?”

“Here,”
she squeaked. “Down here.”

“Stay still. I’ll get a candle from the outer passage. I canna see a bluidy thing in there.”

“Please hurry.” She felt utterly ridiculous as she sat in the dark listening to the muted thuds of Magnus heading down the passage. For another minute she fumbled to free herself from the tumble of silks, satin, lace, and cording. Then, at last, she saw the flame of a single candle.

“Magnus?”

"Aye, lass. Stay where ye are. I’m coming for ye.”

Then, Eliza saw the flame move as Magnus’s dark silhouette lodged the taper in what had to be a sconce on the wall. She saw him turn and move toward her, then felt his fingers graze her breast. She gasped as his firm hands ran boldly down her sides to her waist.

Effortlessly he drew her from the tangle of fabric and lifted her to his chest, waiting for the twisted cloth to fall away before allowing her to slide slowly down his body to the floor. “Milady,” he whispered with a muffled chuckle.

“Oh, stop it, Somerton. I am sufficiently humiliated already.” And she had no one to blame but herself.

As her eyes adjusted to the candlelight, she realized she’d stumbled, quite literally, into the theatrical company’s storage room. Aside from the cottons, satins, and velvets piled to ceiling against every wall, there were several ornate costumes, in various states of creation, strewn upon a narrow trestle table in the center of the room.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she whispered, but in the dimness, her words seemed loud and harsh. Eliza brushed her hair from her eyes, realizing she must look a tumbled mess. “Now if you will excuse me—”

Magnus’s expression darkened. “Dinna be so hasty,” came his resonate reply. His fingers suddenly wrapped around her arm and pulled her against him. “I believe ye owe me an explanation.”

“An explanation?” she repeated.

His grip on her tightened. “Why wouldna ye receive me today? Why did ye go so far as to dive into a mountain of cloth to escape me?”

Oh, how she wanted to tell him—
everything.
But how could she explain? If he could only feel the turmoil inside of her every time she looked into his eyes, every time she felt his touch.

"What’s wrong, Eliza?” His breath brushed her cheeks.

She sucked in a breath and tried to clear her mind.

“I waited for ye in the parlor.” His hands ringed her arms, holding her firmly. I waited but ye sent Grace in your stead.”

Eliza sighed. “I did not
send
Grace. She took it upon herself to speak with you.” Twisting, she struggled to free herself from him.

Magnus tucked her arms behind her and pulled her firmly against him, knocking a whoosh of breath from her lungs.

“Eliza, we have an
arrangement,
do we not? I only sought to uphold my half of the bargain.” His tone was smoldering.

She looked up at him in confusion. Their so-called “arrangement” had nothing to do with this. Nothing to do with what she heard in his voice, saw in his eyes. Humiliation, anger, hurt, all flaring into something greater. Into
desire.

Breath rushed hot and violent from his nostrils, searing her cheeks. Her own breathing quickened involuntarily and her heart thudded within her breast. She fought to rein in her response to his nearness, to his overpowering maleness. But it was useless.

“You know why I didn’t receive you—why I cannot be alone with you,” she managed.

“Do I?” Magnus released her arm, catching her waist instead. Eliza wriggled, but he took her chin firmly in one hand and turned her face upward.

She had to get out of here. The looming darkness was making it too easy to forget what was right—making her
feel
everything and think nothing of propriety. She had to leave before something happened she’d later regret. She struggled again, but his arm held her against him as surely as a steel band.

“Why, Eliza?”

She pushed against the stone wall of his chest.
“Please.”

His hands fell away then, allowing her to depart if she so desired. But she couldn’t leave—not when he still held her by the heartstrings.

She backed away, until she slammed against a wall of fabric bolts. “Because this is no longer a game.”

“What do ye mean?” he asked in a low, resonant tone as he prowled ever closer.

“We pretended attraction, but we really weren’t pretending, were we?”

“Nay,” he said, closer still. His breathing was heavy.

“We wore ridiculous masks of love for all to see, but—” She stopped.

Magnus closed the space between them in a single stride. He slammed his hands on either side of her, pinioning her with his body. “What were ye going to say, Eliza?”

“N-nothing.”

“Then do not speak. But ye will tell me.” He grabbed her and pulled her roughly into his arms. He took her chin in his hand and turned her mouth up to his. Then, with a look of determination, he pressed his moist lips against her mouth.

And she melted helplessly against him. His muscles pressed down on her, his tongue urged her mouth open, tasting and caressing her, making her hunger for more. She shuddered and clutched him to her. Outside the room, the sounds of the play and applause of the audience dissolved into nothingness. She was lost in the darkness, bound by the intensity of her senses.

All she wanted was to touch Magnus. To be touched.

Magnus shrugged and she heard his coat hit the floor. At once she felt his burning palms on her own shoulders, pushing her gown’s lace sleeves down and away.

“Magnus,” she breathed.

Cupping her buttocks in his rough hands, he pulled her against him, forcing her to acknowledge the dark walk she was treading once more.

Lord, help her. What was she, an unmarried woman, doing? This was positively shameful. But the point of logical thought had passed. Her body and conscience had warred, and her body had won.

Magnus trailed his left hand down her outer thigh with exquisite tenderness, making her body flinch with expectation. Sliding his fingers behind her knee, he drew her leg up to his hip, then pressed the bulge of his erection between her thighs.

Eliza gasped with shock, but her body thrilled. Through the thin sarcenet of her skirt she could feel his heat, his hardness, against her. Against the one place where she seemed to need him most. Her body arched wantonly.

Magnus rammed against her. Eliza opened her mouth, but the sound was muted as Magnus crushed her lips with his own.

She wanted to surrender.

Consequences be damned.

She clung to him as he slid his right hand between them and rode it along the inside of her quivering, raised thigh. She felt his fingers push away her thin chemise and then softly brush the downy curls he found there.

His touch teased her, his wicked fingers seeking out and stroking the nub inside her gently swollen inner folds. His longest finger slipped up inside of her. Flinching with surprise, Eliza gasped against his mouth.

Magnus thrust his tongue inside her mouth where it swam with her own, as his fingers stroked her slippery curves, probed her far too intimately. Eliza drew her head back, turned it away, and squeezed her eyes tight as she pressed her hips toward him, forcing the pressure.

A tense heat built within her, winding her so tightly that she ached where he touched her. His fingers moved faster, plunged deeper inside of her as his thumb stroked her most sensitive place.

In a mounting frenzy, she instinctively ground herself against him. She sucked in a breath and held it, biting her lower lip lest she cry out. Suddenly, his other hand was at her breast, pulling the lace-edged sarcenet low. He slid his hot palm over her nipple and squeezed gently making her moan.

Stop!
her mind suddenly screamed.

Stop now before it is too late.
She brought her fist to her mouth as his hand played out its final notes. All at once, fire seemed to blaze through her and she cried out. Her hands flung out, fingers splayed against his chest, as a gentle warmth surged through her body. “Oh God …”

Eliza rode the drugging sensation downward, lowering her foot to the floor and slipping her hands behind Magnus’s back. She hugged him to her. “You’ve spoiled everything,” she whispered huskily. “I never meant to give you my heart. Never wanted to. But I have. Damn you, I have.”

Magnus leaned back as if stunned by her words. “What did ye say?”

A crash of applause broke the intimacy of the room.

Startled by the sound and knowing that soon the outside corridors would be flooded with people, Eliza stiffened. “The performance—it’s ended!” Her voice shook.

Magnus’s voice remained calm and even. “Yer aunts will be looking for ye.”

Her mind was still awhirl, her gown askew, and no doubt, in the light her face would be as scarlet as the ruby pendant at her throat.

She felt the sweet heat of his hands upon her as he pulled her chemise into place and repositioned her dress. She slid her gown’s capped sleeves higher on her shoulders.

"What will I tell them?” She twisted and shook to straighten her beaded overdress.

He bent and kissed her lips once more, softly, slowly, and her breathing slowed.

“Tell them ye met me in the grand saloon and we spoke. Nothing more. Just remain at ease and they will think nothing amiss.”

“You’re right.” Eliza nervously finger-combed her hair and felt for the door handle. When she found it and had just pressed the door handle, Magnus caught her arm.

“But this is far from over, Eliza.” His eyes blazed in the candlelight. “Far from over.”

And she knew he meant it.

Rule Twelve