All's Fair in Love and Seduction (12 page)
“I played here as a child. Lord and Lady Templeton are as close to me as family. I practically grew up with their son,” he responded, with a brief look down at her.
With those words, Elizabeth no longer wanted to hang the very lovely Marchioness of Templeton in effigy. His explanation certainly explained the easy familiarity between him and the lady of the manor. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere no one will interrupt us,” came his cryptic response.
She nearly pulled back then. Interrupt them from doing what? Did he intend to…do anything untoward? Here of all places? The thought did
not
arouse her or fill her with wicked anticipation.
He must have taken her hesitation as trepidation for he tightened his hold on her hand, angled his head down slightly and whispered in her ear, “Trust me.”
Trust him as much as he trusted her? That was reason enough for her to leave that instant. But she didn’t. She stayed because, ironically, she did trust him.
Seconds later, he pushed open the door to a room and ushered her inside. A quick glance around revealed a room really the size of a rather large closet furnished with a small writing desk, one solitary bookshelf, a cushioned armchair and a reading gas lamp. The lamp was unlit but light poured in through a passageway from the adjoining room. Elizabeth gathered this was the antechamber to the study or library.
Derek released her hand, removed his gloves and quickly lit the lamp. With deft efficiency, he fished into his jacket pocket and pulled out a key, which he used to open the desk drawer. The contents of the drawer now had Elizabeth’s focused attention. She watched as he picked up a sheaf of papers—no more than four in number—and handed them to her.
In dull surprise, she looked down at the papers filled with bold masculine scrawl now clasped in her hand and then back at him. “What is this?” she asked.
His mouth curved and his eyes seemed to light from within. Elizabeth didn’t think she’d ever seen anything quite as beautiful as his smile.
“With that report you are ensured Lady Danvers will never breathe a word of what she witnessed that evening in the garden. She will in fact
never
be a threat to your reputation whether you marry or not. I will even go as far to say she could see you prancing about as naked as the day you were born and would never speak a word of it.”
The individual words, Elizabeth understood, but together they colluded to confuse her and send her mind into a tailspin. And not because she was daft
but
because the notion didn’t seem possible. “What did you—? How could you have—? Do I even want to know?” She stared blindly down at the papers in her hand. Her mind registered dates and Italy and the name Vincent.
He laughed softly and smiled tenderly.
“Let us just say Lady Danvers is anxious that a certain Vincent Trifoli remain in Italy. He has more than a passing resemblance to her son and heir, Steven. They became acquainted forty-five years ago, just ten months shy of the earl’s birth.”
“The Earl of Danvers?” Elizabeth asked in a hushed voice.
Derek nodded.
And the dowager had had the nerve to lecture
her
on morality? It was beyond the pale, yet somewhat satisfying to know that the dowager couldn’t lord the incident over her anymore.
But that meant… She furrowed her brows. Why had he gone to the trouble of digging up the dowager’s past?
“But why would you do that? You never intended to marry me. I thought you
wanted
to see me ruined.”
He flinched at that. Reaching out his hand, he grasped her wrist and pulled her inexorably closer. In silence, he slowly peeled the glove from her hand and dropped it on the desk beside his. He then did the same to the other.
“I’m sorry. I was wrong,” he said, his voice deep and low. He drew her into his arms.
Elizabeth went stiff. He had been wrong about so many things. “Wrong about what precisely?”
“Your sister. I spoke with my brother and he admitted to bedding her,” he said grimly.
Madeline. He was sorry about her sister. That had been the one thing she’d understood—his loyalty to his brother. She was happy he’d learned the truth but—
“I have something for you.” He released her and moved toward the bookshelf.
Elizabeth immediately missed the warmth of his arms.
From one of the upper shelves, he retrieved a glossy wood figurine measuring approximately a foot and a half in height.
“You once asked to see my work and asked if I ever sculpted people. I told you only if I found them interesting enough. Well no one has interested me more than the subject of this one.” He offered the carving to her.
Dazed, Elizabeth accepted it, her fingers registering the smoothness of the shiny surface. It was a woman bedecked in a lovely ball gown, her head angled over her shoulder. The lace on the gown had been intricately carved as were the combs decorating her hair. She was slim and slightly full in the breasts, and the face…the face was undeniably hers. It was beautiful.
Her breath hitched, her hands began a violent trembling and her eyes grew wide as her gaze flew up to his. Tears burned the back of her eyes.
“This is how I first saw you, peeking at me over your shoulder. That image has remained ingrained in my mind since.”
“Derek.” His name came out choked as emotion seared her throat.
“I don’t want you to marry me for fear of ruination. I want you to marry me for the same reason I want to marry you. For love.”
Elizabeth didn’t have the capacity to speak. At least not with any proficient articulation. She was buffeted by too many emotions, all of them overwhelming. She let out an uneven breath.
“I will be forever grateful that Lady Danvers is the biggest gossip in all of Christendom.”
She smiled despite the tears beginning to fall.
“That,” he glanced pointedly at the wood carving of her, “is yours only if you agree to marry me. If you refuse me, I will have to keep it as it will be all that I have of you.” He wore his vulnerability on his face, his eyes exhibiting a caution she’d never seen before, his voice low and uncertain.
Carefully and with undue care, Derek extricated
his gift
from her trembling hands and placed it on the desk. It was then she noticed the adhesive plaster wrapped around his index finger.
Instantly concerned, she asked, “What happened?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He chuckled softly and held up his finger. “It’s just a nick from the carving knife. I gave myself three days to finish and I succeeded with only minor war wounds.”
Elizabeth’s vision blurred as a sob wracked her frame. He immediately enclosed her in his arm and she buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, melting into the hard contours of his body.
He leaned down and pressed a possessive kiss against her lips. “I was your first—”
A heartfelt apology.
“—and I want to be the only man in your life.”
A heartfelt declaration.
“Will you do the honor of agreeing to be my wife?”
A proposal.
She let out a shuddery breath. “Oh,” she said in a small voice.
Keeping her in the tight circle of his arms, Derek sank into the chair behind him, tumbling Elizabeth into his lap.
He quirked his brow. “Oh? That is all?”
Elizabeth found it hard to speak, now distracted by his erection pressing up against her bottom. She choked down a sob.
“
Shhh
, my love,” he said gently wiping a tear with his thumb.
Elizabeth had never
felt
so much in all her life. Her feelings were just too big, too extraordinary, too exhilerating.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Her acceptance.
And then she kissed him.
Epilogue
Elizabeth came slowly awake to the familiar press of an erection against her bum. She pressed back to gauge the level of his willingness—her husband's readiness was never in question.
A rumbled groan sounded from behind her as strong hands gripped her hips and brought her naked form flush against his equally naked front. His chest hairs gently abraded the soft skin of her back. With his hands still holding her hips in place, he pressed his erection into her, his breath harsh and labored near her ear.
Elizabeth didn't even try to hold back the moan that slipped heedless from her lips—could deny him nothing not even the sound of her pleasure. Moisture collected at her center readying her for his possession. She couldn't remember once in their eight month marriage when she hadn't been.
Months ago, she’d stopped being amazed how she could crave Derek's touch so intensely and want him with such frequency. She just accepted it for what it was as one in the many ways they expressed their desire and love for each other.
"Good morning. Lift your leg," he urged, his voice passion drugged.
Elizabeth eagerly obliged him, raising her leg inches before Derek took control.
Sometimes he would linger, running his fingers languidly down the length of her thigh before reaching her knee. This morning he was impatient, sinking into her in one smooth thrust, filling her to capacity. Impaled, she could only whimper and moan at the sheer pleasure of his possession.
Need clawed wildly within her. He pulled almost out and then slammed back into her with enough force to make her toes curl and her knees to shake in his hands as he held her open for him. Her breath came in ragged gasps as he pummeled her, in and out, repeating the movements until her vision blurred.
With a sinuous arch of her back, she thrust her bottom back hard on a downward stroke. He hissed out a breath between clenched teeth as if in pain.
From there, things got wild and out of control. They labored like that for several minutes, the race to satisfaction, the promise of nirvana just strokes away.
When her climax hit, it ripped through her with the strength of a tornado, and defying gravity, flung her up to the stars. Only after she found her release, did Derek take his. With one final thrust, he spent himself inside her, her name a violent groan on his lips.
Elizabeth could barely catch her breath. Her skin was damp and rosy from exertion and satiation. She lay in her husband’s arms utterly spent.
Slowly he pulled out of her and pushed the length of her tangled hair over her shoulders. A soft kiss landed on her neck. She loved when he did this, loved basking in the afterglow. The scratch of his stubble had her reaching up with her free hand to lovingly rub his cheek.
“Was I too rough?” His lips coasted the shell of her ear.
“Never.” It came out sounding like a purr.
“No nausea?”
With a playful nip to her ear, Derek dropped his head onto the pillow. Elizabeth rolled onto her side to face him, propping up on her elbow.
She smiled down at him. “Not this morning.”
“Maybe I should always wake you like that.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted to her breasts.
She chuckled. “But you do.”
He continued to eye her breasts. “Do they still hurt?”
Before she could answer, he lightly brushed her nipple with his thumb until it pebbled. They had discovered she was with child the month before and now in the third month of her pregnancy, she was starting to see a slight rounding to her stomach.
“Not when you do that.” Her release only minutes before had rendered her practically enervated but his touch began a slow simmer of pleasure in her blood. But sadly, they didn’t have time for another bout of lovemaking.
“Derek, you know we cannot. There isn’t time. Charlotte would never forgive me if I came late to her wedding.”
“Good God, is that today already?” he teased. Elizabeth had talked of little else the past fortnight.
The marriage was to have taken place six months ago, but the death of Alex’s brother and heir to the duchy had made it necessary to move it forward so a year of mourning could be observed.
Lung fever had taken Alex’s brother Charles in a matter of weeks. But now things appeared to be better. Alex was slowly healing from the loss with Charlotte’s unwavering love and support. If any two people deserved happiness, those two certainly did.
Elizabeth and Derek’s own wedding had been held at St. George’s and was well attended by
ton’s
standards. No blood had been spilled when his brother and her sister saw each other for the first time in over six years. And he and her parents had buried the past upon Derek’s apology.
Elizabeth could happily say, it had been one of the most memorable and wonderful days in her life. And in six months, they would welcome the birth of their own child.
“If they are even half as happy as we are, they will be truly blessed.” She leaned down and placed a feather of a kiss on his lips, pulling back when he tried to take it deeper, hunger evident in his eyes.
He smiled, chagrined and then oh so tenderly ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “I count my blessings every day.”
Prologue
London, 1859
A hushed silence greeted Alex Cartwright’s arrival into an antechamber in St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Attired in navy frock coats, precisely knotted neckties, and light blue trousers, the Viscount Armstrong and Rutherford, the Earl of Windmere, were certainly suited up well enough for the occasion. At least in dress if not demeanor, for their faces held the grayish cast of men bound for the gallows. And Rutherford’s hair appeared as if it had been plowed more times than a seasoned whore.
Pausing just inside the threshold, Alex let out a dry laugh. “Come now gentlemen, it can’t be as bad as that,” he teased. “The occasion does not call for black dress or armbands. This isn’t a funeral you’re attending, but my wedding.”
Such a comment would have customarily elicited a wry smile, at the very least. Neither man blinked, and another silence the weight of a ship’s anchor descended upon the room, blanketing him in air as cold as London’s fog was thick.
