The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (78 page)

“I am not afraid,” she whispered. Her lips quivered ever so slightly as she pressed herself more firmly against the far stone column.

“You believe I will attack you?” Certainly she didn’t think he’d—

“A-attack me?” she breathed.

Ah, she did
.

Her gaze shifted toward the bridge, the only way out of the ruin, and back to where he stood blocking the way.

“I promise that you are safe with me,” he said as he stepped to one side, careful to keep his distance while opening up her escape route. “I spoke with Lady Dashborough. Lady Waver mentioned that she arrived the same time as you. I hope she—”

“Did she leave?” Elsbeth asked before he could explain. “She told me she planned to leave.”

“I’m sure Lady Dashborough told you a good many things she now regrets.” He couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered how easily the good Lady Dashborough came into line. “She would not dream of leaving
my
house party.”

The news didn’t seem to cheer Elsbeth in the least. “This bodes to be a very long week.”

“And pleasant, I hope. I am pleased you decided to attend.”

“You gave me no choice! You conspired to set my own family against me!”

Despite her fierce scowl he couldn’t help but take heart from her sparking anger. Where she was standing, at the far end of the ruin, the sunlight streamed in and bathed her in the most ethereal light. She could have been the warrior, Athena, returned to earth as lithe as a deer and as strong as a lioness.

A sudden surge of lust nearly stole Nigel’s breath. He wanted this goddess to come to life, this picture of perfection, but he had no idea how to win her. The goddess standing in his garden was as real as the water in the ponds. She would be staying in his home and sleeping in one of his beds. The thought was staggering.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

“Doing what?”

“Staring at me
like that
.” She clutched the locket at her throat. “Like you’re hungry. It makes me uneasy.”

Well hell, that was the last thing he wanted to do. “I only wished to speak with you. I was curious to know how you fared after your encounter with Lady Dashborough.” His voice was purposefully neutral, though he felt anything but neutral toward her and the whole bloody situation.

“I’m fine. Lady Olivia has convinced me that my uncle would be most upset if I showed up at their London town house a few days after leaving.”

“That is a—what did you say? Baneshire is in London?” Her uncle, a very well respected member of the
ton
, was to play a large role in the reformation of Elsbeth’s good name.

“He sends his regrets. He had every intention of attending. But at the last minute found it impossible to leave Lady Baneshire alone. She’s been gravely ill for some time now, you must know. He insisted we come, though. He sent an army of footmen with us to guard the carriage.”

The unplanned change of topic worked well to smooth the worry lines from Elsbeth’s brow. Her tone strengthened and turned quite clipped and frosty. If only the change in topic would do the same for Nigel, and his lust for her could be so easily forgotten.

“Lord Baneshire will be missed.” He took a step toward her. He caught a whiff of her perfume, a sweet orange scent in the cool breeze.

“Stroll with me in the gardens,” he said, and instantly cursed himself for sounded imperious. He had rather hoped his invitation would have sounded as accommodating as George’s had when he invited Olivia to accompany him through the gardens.

“I should return to the guest chamber, my lord. I am still in my carriage dress.”

True, she was dressed in a heavy dark blue gown, suitable for traveling. There was a smudge of dust on her cheek, a tiny matching hat sat askew on the top of her head, and a few pins were coming loose, letting the random blond strands of hair escape from the tight styling.

“Very well,” he said, but he was not ready to leave her company. He tilted his head and smiled at her. “Perhaps you can do one thing for me before you take your leave?”

Her gloved hand shot out. “You wish to touch my hand again, I suppose.” Sapphire blue eyes smoldered from behind her steady lashes.

“Please, Elsbeth,” he said. He drew off his hat and tossed it aside so he could drag his hand through his hair. This was going to be a very long week indeed. “You have no need to feel a duty to placate me. And I promise you there is no reason to fear me. The only two things I will insist upon is that you accept my assistance in restoring your reputation, and that you do not attempt to uncover Dionysus’s identity.”

She closed her palm and lowered her hand. For a moment her brows furrowed. “I don’t know…”

What she didn’t know, Nigel wasn’t sure. “I had hoped, though, to persuade you to agree to a chaste kiss.” Of course he had pictured the kiss blooming into something daringly passionate.

She appeared scandalized by his admission. “I would not enjoy it.”

“A challenge, then?” He stepped away from her. She looked ready to dive over the railing and into the pond to escape his wicked presence. “Now you will certainly have to agree to permit me to brush my lips with yours. For if you don’t, I will forever believe you find me lacking.”

With a look of outrage, Elsbeth charged toward the bridge. Nigel’s heart dropped as he watched her rush past him. Skirts raised, she made haste over the wooden planks and down several feet of the garden trail.

And then, much to Nigel’s astonishment, she stopped.

“How chaste a kiss?” she inquired over her shoulder.

“Our lips would touch.”

She took several more steps down the path before stopping again. “For how long?”

“For as long as you desire.”

She stayed frozen in the middle of the path with her back to him for several moments. Nigel was wise enough not to pursue her. Instead he held his breath while she considered the request, convinced she’d refuse. But like a skittish wren lured to a bowl of seeds, she slowly turned around.

“I will not enjoy it,” she said, but closed her eyes and puckered her lips.

As light as the spring breeze in the air, Nigel made a jaunty trail to her. Elsbeth stood stiff with her eyes tightly sealed. He didn’t dare wrap his arms around her for fear she might bolt again. So he leaned in close until his lips were a whisper from hers. “I will kiss you now,” he said softly.

He brushed his lips against her mouth. She stood unmoving, unresponsive. And yet, his desire grew. He flicked his tongue over her puckered lips hoping to soften them, praying he could draw her out.

She gasped, perhaps to protest. No matter, he took advantage of the opening and suckled her lower lip.

Instead of pulling away, she leaned in closer, her mouth drinking in the attention as if starving. She pressed a hand against his chest and returned his kiss passion for passion.

Nigel groaned.

Suddenly, she pulled back. “That is not the kind of kiss we had agreed to.” Her whole face was flushed, her breathing hitched.

“Did you not enjoy it?” he asked, knowing full well that he was the very devil for teasing her.

“Certainly not!” She turned on her heels and held out her arm. “I would thank you to escort me back to the house now.”

He gratefully placed his forearm under hers. At least she’d not run away. She was a proud woman and strong. He could admire that. “I must practice then, my lady. For a kiss should be most enjoyable for both parties. Perhaps you will give me pointers?” he said seriously, though a smile played upon his lips. He guided her back to the house while she remained silent.

“Your lips are most exquisite,” he said just before leaving her at the base of the grand staircase, knowing it would scandalize her. “I won’t be able to think of anything other than your sweet taste upon my mouth for the rest of the day.”

Chapter Eight

Elsbeth stood off to one side of the drawing room door and watched the ladies taking afternoon tea with the gentlemen gathered within. Everyone appeared so at ease. They visited and laughed freely with each other.

Her heart shuddered.

She’d never experienced such familiarity with her husband and his friends. Men, loud and often brash, simply could not be trusted. They needed to be watched as carefully as one would watch a thief around the household’s best silver.

She felt much more comfortable around the servants. That was where she had spent the afternoon, questioning the servants about Dionysus. Though they had expressed honest concern, every single one she’d questioned was either too loyal to the Marquess, or they truly didn’t know Dionysus’s secret identity.

She tended to think that it was the latter, that the servants simply did not know. The secret was that deep.

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” a voice whispered in her ear, startling the wits out of her. She nearly jumped to the ceiling before she whirled around with such speed that her feet jumbled beneath her, tossing her directly into his chest.

His
chest.

She felt his muscles ripple from beneath the layers of his clothing. Or was that just her overactive imagination at work? And that kiss in the garden. She couldn’t seem to keep from thinking about it. Or wondering if there would be a second one. Those unruly thoughts frightened and excited her all at once. She shouldn’t be having such thoughts about a man, especially not about a man who could turn her legs to jelly with the twitch of his lips.

Edgeware smiled down on her as he very gently set her back on her feet. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said softly.

Her face heated from embarrassment…and from that other emotion she was unwilling to acknowledge. She was forever making herself look the fool around him.

She quickly gathered her composure and turned a hard glare toward the devilishly handsome lord.

“What do you mean by saying I am dreadful?” she asked.

“Not you, dove.” His gaze flicked toward the drawing room. “
Them
. I despise such gatherings. One feels obligated to be in a perpetually cheerful mood and such obligations tend to irritate my nerves by half.”

He looked so miserable, so utterly put out, she couldn’t help but smile. Surely he was jesting. A man of his position and wealth must thrive on social gatherings.

“We must go in, you know,” he said. “My fortifiers—brandy, sherry, and port—are all on that sideboard…” He sighed. “On the far side of the drawing room.”

“Poor man.” His behavior was so unlike her late husband’s. Lord Mercer would have never bemoaned the location of his brandy. Instead he’d have plowed into the room, poured a snifter full, and ignored the guests if that was what he chose to do.

“I have a duty to my guests,” Edgeware said and heaved another deep sigh. “Perhaps if you stay close to me, we’ll both survive the ordeal.”

He wasn’t jesting. He was actually dreading this evening more than she. And he was looking to
her
to be his strength.

Amazing.

“If you smile like that all evening, I won’t notice anyone in the room but you,” he said. A wolfish gleam appeared in his black gaze. His eyes shimmered with a brooding hunger, the same erotic and almost tempting hunger he’d used against her defenses that afternoon in the garden. And just like in the garden, she couldn’t run away. Not from him…or herself.

“Thank you, my lord. But I have no need of support. I am perfectly capable of enjoying an evening with my peers.” This time when she turned, she did so with careful precision. Head held high, she marched into the drawing room. Alone. The laughter and giddy chatter abruptly came to a halt. All eyes turned to her.

She
did
need his support, damn his teasing ways.

She didn’t want to face his guests alone. She didn’t want to face them at all. They
knew
. Because of that horrid painting, they now
knew
. She could read it in their disapproving gazes. They knew she’d been unfaithful to her husband, the royal hero who’d bravely given his life in battle. Though she hadn’t taken comfort in another man’s arms in his absence—as some now believed—she
had
broken her marriage vows.

She’d denied the truth to her uncle. Denied it to herself, too. She hadn’t been a faithful wife. She’d withheld herself from him in the worst possible ways. A wife was bound by duty to love and honor her husband, no matter the hardships. And she’d done neither. The day word of his death reached her ears, she’d breathed a sigh of relief for being released from him, a man she despised.

Somehow Dionysus had seen through her stiff upper lip and silent nods. Somehow he knew of the dishonor lurking in her heart and was determined to reveal her secret to the world.

She had to stop him before he dealt another blow to her and her family’s reputation. There were too many secrets hidden beneath the pain. Society would forever shun her if they ever learned the full truth of her marriage.

With a brave smile that was anything but real, she stepped toward her cousins, who were, unfortunately, sitting on a sofa next to Lady Dashborough’s two daughters. Just as she was about to politely greet the lovely quartette of ladies, her gaze landed on a large painting hanging above her cousins’ heads.

And she froze.

Varying shades of purples and crimson had been blended to create a stunning sunset. The paint nearly glowed. The artist’s short bush strokes and heavy use of paint struck Elsbeth immediately.

Dionysus had painted the scene.

Even here, far away from the frivolities of London, he plagued her, underscoring the urgency of her task. Naturally, she’d expected it to be the case since Edgeware had baldly admitted to being Dionysus’s keeper. But even so, her heart wasn’t prepared to soak in the heartrending landscape.

A man, alone, with only his back visible stood on a rocky outcropping, a cape fluttering in the harsh wind. Other than the rocks and the vast expanse of the sunset, the landscape was barren. Utterly barren.

The raw despair bared in that scene threatened to rip open her heart. How could this be the same artist who wished to ruin her? How could he display such depths of feeling while being cold enough to seek to destroy her bruised and broken heart?