A Man Above Reproach (29 page)

“You are really making a valiant effort to stop me,” she replied, putting her lips to his stomach. She feathered kisses on the patch of hair below his belly button. He shuddered. She felt a moment’s hesitation, for she had never actually done this before, though she had heard enough talk to be convinced that she would not embarrass herself. She felt powerful, seeing the way he was plastered to the chair. She loved that she could inspire that kind of desire in him.

“I
should
stop you.”

It was a wisp of a sentence, barely even there.

“You should,” she agreed, yanking his pants down further and taking his length in her hand. His forearms gripped the chair. She flicked her tongue, experimenting, and his arms tensed further. There was something so erotic about the way the veins came out in his forearms. She let her hair fall over his stomach as she leaned down.

“Ana—really—I cannot take th—”

She took him in her mouth and he stopped talking, collapsing into what sounded like nonsense punctuated with moans. She teased him with her tongue as she moved her mouth up and down slowly, trying to find what degree of speed tortured him the most. He had stopped protesting. His dark eyebrows were drawn together as if they were painted sharp across his forehead.

“Shhh,” she scolded, drawing back. “You will give us away. Am I doing this right?”

He laughed, a short burst of disbelief.

“Yes, my lady. Oh, yes.”

She let her fingers wander as she put her head back down to his groin, and he shivered when she touched the smooth planes of his skin. She was as fascinated by the exploration as she had imagined. She planned to do everything she had fantasized about in their time apart, everything that she had promised herself she would do if she got him back. It would take a lifetime to discover him. His breath was coming
fast now, his bliss stifled into desperate whimpers filled with the fear of discovery.

“You must—stop,” he pleaded, grasping her shoulders. She looked up at him, biting her lip. “I cannot, I will surely—”

His words trailed off and he pulled her up next to him as he found his release, clutching her away from his torso, murmuring into her neck. She smiled into his hair, the smell of the tresses she had missed so much that she had not yet washed the pillowcase he had slept on at the Paper Garden.

“Good god,” he swore. He looked up at her, his eyes mad and staring. He was panting and he said the two words as if they were the very last in the language to survive. He shimmied the breeches back up his hips and curled against her.

“You are trying to kill me,” he sighed.

Ana extracted herself from the embrace and crossed to a full-length mirror. She had held up surprisingly well during the antics. She looked presentable again with just a few pins, lip color, and a handkerchief from her reticule.

“You should probably change, duke,” she grinned.

“Harpy. How I have missed you.” He got up and hugged her from behind.

“Well, do not leave me again.”

“The same goes for you.” He kissed her forehead. “But let us not forget that you have a lecture to give. There is a ladies’ retiring room two doors from the library, should you require.”

“Thoughtful of you.” She squeezed his arm. “Will I see you after reading?”

“I will come to the Garden tonight, after I speak with the duchess. I need to tell her that she will be the dowager soon.”

“Oh, Eli.” A feeling flooded through her that did not have a precedent. It had to be the promise of a better future, she thought. “I cannot believe this is actually happening.”

“You must,” he said, placing his lips on hers a final time before easing her toward the door. “Now, go preach your sermon. The ladies await your wisdom.”

He paused, a giant grin on his face.

“Naughty girl.”

She closed the door on his smirk and resisted the urge to skip down the hall.

Elias, the patron saint of hovering in doorways, stood just inside the library. He had changed and come back downstairs, a little calmer. He had a definite sense that he was the luckiest man in the world. His mother scowled when he entered the room, but he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall all the same. It was his home, when it came down to it, and no one could tell him he could not occupy his own library. Not now, not with his beloved Ana standing at a podium, so enchantingly nervous and unsure. He would not miss this.

He tried not to look at her with hunger as she stood there, but he could not help endeavoring to catch her eyes as she shuffled through her papers. Ana spotted him as she rifled and a frown flashed across her face, which only made him smile more. It was evident that she would rather not have him there.

She had a false start and cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, ladies. Thank you once again for having me here. As you all know, I am Analise Quail, the author of the book that you read and discussed. Lady Alessandra has asked me to read some passages, so I shall begin…”

She looked down at the paper as she read, but an odd expression appeared on her face when she said the words.

“One should not be treated like a prize stallion when joining hands in marriage. It is no more of an honor to be chosen for one’s beauty than to be selected for one’s fortune. These are things that tarnish and fade. If true happiness is to be achieved by both parties, it must be founded on a mutual respect and admiration, not just attraction or a business transaction.”

Her voice faltered.

“I do apologize. I have never read this aloud to such a large group of people.” She fanned herself with one of the sheaves; Elias was astonished to see her unconfident. After a moment, she went on.

“Ahem. The gap between working class women and the nobility is not as deep as we think. It is possible to feel sympathy for the plight of all of our sisters, whether comfortable in estates with cold husbands or shivering in brothels with lechers. Often, these men are one and the same. It is preposterous for us to be chained to these fates, with no way to fulfill ourselves by our own means. Do not think that I say all men are bad men—”

Her eyes darted to him.

“—but some think themselves above reproach.”

The rest of the room got a different meaning from the sentence. Elias put his head down so that if any of the ladies turned they would not see his amusement. In his mind, he saw the copy of the book that was still upstairs—those words, meant as a challenge, signed by this impossible woman, using fake initials. The wave of gratitude that she loved him was palpable.

It was then that the room erupted.

“The men will find this insulting!” A voice from the crowd chirped.

Ana only smiled. “Men like to be insulted.”

There was a sea of open mouths around him, but when Elias turned to look at his mother, she was nodding in sage agreement.

“This book should be burned,” said an older woman with a bitter, pinched face. “It is an uncommon scandal and you will be arrested, Miss Quail.”

“It is only sense,” Alessandra protested. Once again, Elias felt a swell of pride for his young sister. “Nothing Miss Quail says is harmful to anyone. With a little effort, it can be employed.”

“This sort of reform tends to be contagious,” a woman lounging on a chaise said. “What is next, Miss Quail, the rights of servants?”

Analise considered. “Well, that would not be a bad thing—”

“It is all nonsense!” Lady Worthington interrupted. “Drastic changes like these will never come about—people are set in their ways. It is the way things work.”

“It does not have to be,” Alessandra sniffed.

“My daughter is right,” the duchess intoned. Alessandra puffed up with pride; she was not used to her mother saying she was correct. “Miss Quail’s book is not farfetched. It is reasonable.”

Elias was surprised to find that he was in a family of radicals. If Father was still alive, neither Alessandra nor Sophia would have said such things.

“I have a proposition for you, Miss Quail,” the duchess went on. “Might you be interested in speaking to a wider circle of ladies? I will sponsor you, of course, and gain entry into fine houses. I would be interested to see the reaction.”

“Speaking engagements? With you?” Analise faltered and her eyes flashed to Elias. He tried to telegraph reassurance, but she grew paler and her forehead grew shiny. “My apologies… with you, Your Grace?”

“What I am offering, Miss Quail, is my patronage. I know you have not had a London debut and I would agree to usher you into
society, lend my respectability, encourage your ideas… perhaps we can even find you a suitably high-minded husband.”

“I. I, oh, Your Grace—I mean no disrespect… but—”

Ana’s hands slipped off of the podium and she teetered in a strange way. It was enough to spur Elias to the front of the room. It was good that he did, because by the time he got to her she was on her way to a dead faint. She sank like a sack into his arms and the whole group of ladies gasped. Alessandra shot to her feet.

“Take Miss Quail to my room, Duke,” she said, springing into action. “Ladies, I regret that this afternoon will be cut short, but I shall make it up to you at another time.”

She barked some orders to maids, for smelling salts and water. Elias was supporting Ana, but she was unconscious. He did not know what had come over her, but it did not matter. Panic coursed through him as he lifted her off her feet. He carried her down the hallway, his mother and sister marching behind him.

Ana woke up to the entire family of Lennox hovering in her still-blurry vision.

“Is she waking up?” Alessandra asked, wafting the salts under her nose again. “I think she’s waking up.”

“Thank the heavens.” This, soft, from Elias. He stood a little behind the two women, the worry lines evident in his face.

Ana blinked.

“I fainted,” she said.

“Yes,” the duchess confirmed in a shocked voice. “In my library! And those ladies likely have it halfway across the city by now!”

She took the glass of water Alessandra handed her, grateful for the coolness. She had fainted. It was the only proper reaction to what the
duchess had proposed: accept the patronage of the Lennox family and therefore be something of their pet, shuttled around to society, but held at arm’s length. The duchess wanted to marry her off! Her ideas, heard by people in positions of power, but at the expense of Eli’s affections. Doomed to watch him from afar for the rest of her life. It was not a choice she could make.

“Whatever came over you?” the duchess asked.

“I am sorry, Your Grace,” Ana sat up a bit, ignoring the lingering queasiness. She might as well get the truth out of the way. “I am fine—I simply—I must decline your offer. I must be frank and I shall take all the blame, but… I cannot do it. I cannot accept your gracious offer. I am in love with your son.”

Elias stepped back, surprise coloring his whole face.

“I cannot bear the silence any longer,” she continued, “and I assure you he has not acted in an untoward manner, but it is the reason I cannot fulfill your request. I am flattered and appreciative of your notice, but if I accept your patronage, it will forever divide me from Elias.”

The duchess was unruffled. She studied Ana, who resolved not to squirm, but spoke to Eli without turning.

“How long has this been going on, Duke?”

“Months, Mother. It is—she is—the piano player from the gossip pages.”

“Ah,” the duchess said, putting things together. “I feel that I should have figured that out, really. Well, Lennox? Is this mutual?”

“Very much so.”

He smiled at Ana over his mother’s head. Her heart expanded, but compressed back as she waited for the imminent verdict from Her Grace.

“Forgive my ignorance of the state of affairs, Miss Quail. But what is the problem here? Are you in some way unsuitable?”

“I am unsuitable in most ways, Your Grace. As you already know, I was employed at a brothel. Though I did not take money for my affections, it is true nonetheless. I am far too outspoken to be a duchess, I suppose, but you are aware of that.”

Sophia snorted. “You will find that trait to be useful, I think. What else?”

“My father was a notorious lecher. You may well know him in infamy from your youth in Staffordshire. He was a merchant who petitioned for a peerage and was granted a baronetcy. George Quail.”