Forbidden (Scandalous Sirens) (13 page)

She felt his other hand on her bare ankle, sweeping up beneath the fabric. It was hot against her flesh, cupping her calf, caressing her and sending heated spikes of pleasure coursing through her. She moaned as his hand slid higher, over her knees, to stroke the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. Delicious surges wracked her body.

His lips and tongue were hotly plundering her mouth, searing her lips. She melted against him, pliant and utterly biddable to his every desire.

A knock sounded at the door.

Reality slapped Elisa in the face. Dear God, she was sitting on Vaughn’s lap, kissing him, her arms twined tightly around his broad shoulders as though she were drowning.

She jumped up.

“Yes, who is it?”

“Marianne, madam. I have a tray of tea and biscuits for you.”

“I don’t want it. Take it away, please,” Elisa called out.

There was a hesitant silence.

“Yes, madam,” Marianne finally replied.

Elisa turned to face Vaughn where he sprawled on the bed, with lazy half-shut eyes.

“You should go before he comes looking for you,” she said in a strangled voice.

He lifted a dark brow as he took her hand in his and slowly brought it to his lips. Elisa’s heart beat in triple time when his lips touched her burning skin.

“Do not do this to me,” she said under her breath. “We cannot be lovers. You know that as much as I do. Rufus knows something is going on between us. He only requires proof and we are at his mercy.”

He shrugged. “Let him call me out. I shoot straighter than he does.”

If only she could be so unconcerned!

“Why would you deny yourself something you’ve been wanting for far too long?” he added, sitting up. “We are good together, Elisa.”

She wondered how he could read her so clearly. Slowly, she felt her will slip away under that smoldering stare. “I have my reasons,” she whispered.

He stood up, which put him too close to her. But before she could step away he grasped her shoulders and turned her around.

She found she was facing her cheval mirror. The image she beheld was fascinating. She stood in front of Vaughn, in her blue riding habit, her bodice unfastened and the shape of her legs clearly outlined beneath the fabric.

Vaughn was sweeping her hair up into one hand, gathering it. He twisted it into a coil and rested it on her head. “Look,” he said, gazing at her eyes in the mirror. “This is what the world sees of you.”

With her hair up, she looked as she normally did. Proper. A lady.

He let her hair fall and it swung about her shoulders and face, a tangled mess.

“This is what I see when I look at you,” he added, his voice low, sounding right next to her ear. His hands settled on her hips, cupping them. Then they slid down, at an angle, to rest over the junction of her thighs and she drew in a startled breath. “I see everything,” he added.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, fighting the renewal of need in her.

His eyes, in the mirror, were dark as they stared into hers.

“Look at me, at us,” he told her. His left hand slid up across her abdomen, lifting higher to cup her breast through the fabric. “Tell me we are not supposed to be together.”

She could not deny it. In the mirror she did not see a wicked woman. She saw two young people who went well together, who looked like a couple.

She watched with her breath stilled as his hand slid through the opening of her bodice, and cupped her other breast beneath the velvet. As his fingers slid over her aching nipple she was unable to stop her head from falling back with abandoned sensuality, or her hips from thrusting. His hand, splayed across her abdomen, applied a gentle, wonderful pressure and she felt him against her buttocks, hot and hard, contained still, but throbbing powerfully.

His hand emerged from her bodice and lifted to her mouth. His fingertip touched her mouth. “Suck them,” he ordered and his voice was hoarse.

She obediently opened her mouth and watched as his fingers slipped inside. She sucked, bathing them with her tongue. Then he reached back inside her bodice and anointed her nipples with her own juices. The slight chill of the moisture crinkled the aching tips into hard tight nubs and sent a bolt of pure white excitement to her aching, slippery cleft.

Her head fell to rest on his chest and she could feel herself thrusting her breast into his hand, encouraging him, just as her hips were pushing against him.

The knocking at the door was startlingly loud.

Vaughn’s hand grew still beneath her gown and his eyes met hers in the mirror.

“Yes?” Elisa called, her voice weak and husky.

“My lady, is everything all right?”

“My maid. Marianne,” she told Vaughn in a whisper. She lifted her voice. “What now, Marianne?”

“I am worried for you, madam. You have had a fall and you have been locked up in your room for ages and ages. I would speak to you, ma’am and reassure myself you are all right.”

Elisa sighed heavily. “She will not leave until she sees that I’m fine.”

He smiled slowly. “Which means I must leave?”

Elisa nodded and pulled his hand from her gown.

“My lady!” Marianne’s voice was taking on a shrill-like quality that would soon wake the dead.

“Marianne, I’ll be right there,” Elisa called out, her voice cracking with unrestrained emotion. “You have to go,” she said, turning to face Vaughn.

He moved to the window.

“Sweet dreams, Elisa,” he said softly, then without another word he slipped out the window and was gone.

With a steadying breath Elisa smoothed out the coverlet that still held the imprint of Vaughn’s body. Running her fingers through her hair, she walked slowly to the door, her heart racing with an excitement that, after Roger’s death, she thought never to feel again.

How could she possibly consider sending Vaughn from Farleigh Hall when he made her feel this way?

Chapter Eight

“Elisa!”

Opening her eyes, Elisa squinted against the early morning sun that spilled through the lace at the window, casting her room in a golden, dappled light.

“Elisa!” Her name was bellowed once again, causing her to jump and sit upright, and bring the covers to her chin.

It was Rufus and she could hear his clumping footsteps in the hall outside her room. A heartbeat later the door swung open and thudded against the wall.

Rufus stood with his hands fisted at his sides, his face red from either temper or the effort of climbing the stairs and traversing the long west wing of the house—no doubt a rare occurrence.

“Good God, don’t tell me you couldn’t hear me,” he roared.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Elisa sat up against the headboard. “I did not hear you until just this moment,” she lied, knowing full well he expected her to come running.

He shut the door and walked towards the bed, his eyes never leaving hers.

A shiver ran down her spine when the mattress dipped beneath his weight and he sat down beside her.

She could smell whiskey on his breath. Had he brooded all day yesterday and this morning, building his temper?

He smiled a little and lifted a hand to her chin.
 
The small gesture surprised her, and made her heart skip a beat as she realized the existence of another awful possibility.
Please God, no
, she said in silent prayer. Surely he did not want to consummate their relationship before the wedding? Now was not the time, so soon before the marriage, and particularly in the light of day.

“You’ve dark smudges beneath your eyes again. You didn’t sleep well?” His expression was the picture of concern, yet she knew better. He was quizzing her.

“Actually I slept very well. I suppose my age is beginning to show.”

This statement seemed to please him for he smiled. “Well, it’s time for you to wake. I have plans for us today.”

Awkwardly, she cleared her throat.
 
She’d hoped to stay home…to spend time with Vaughn.

“What kind of plans?” she asked warily. Was he not going to chastise her for yesterday?

He merely shook his head. “It is a surprise, my dear.” And he remained steadfastly silent on the subject as he ordered her to get dressed in clothing appropriate for market day.

Accordingly, she called for Marianne and had her select a worsted wool traveling gown in dull brown, for the rain still fell in silent drips. She started to strip her bed gown off, then stopped, realizing Rufus was still there watching her intently.

She nodded toward the door and with a slight smile, he left the room with a comment about seeing to the carriage.

When she was dressed, she made her way slowly downstairs, wrapping a shawl about her shoulders. She hoped that Vaughn might appear, but only Rufus stood impatiently in the foyer, awaiting her.

Reluctantly, she let him lead her to the carriage waiting in the drive.

The surprise was an extravagant shopping expedition in the nearby town of Gillian. The cobblestone streets were filled with men and women marketing their wares, and lined on both sides were stores with quaint storefronts that beckoned one to come inside. Elisa found it ironic that Rufus chose the most elaborate carriage he owned to visit such a township whose clientele most likely boasted farmers, smithies and other artisans.

Rufus told the footman to stop at one such store, with a big window displaying bolts of cloth, draped artistically. “I’ve decided you need some new gowns,” Rufus said in explanation as he motioned her into the store.

They were immediately greeted by the proprietress, a buxom woman with dark hair streaked with gray and an adoring smile. Although Elisa had never met her before, the woman seemed to know exactly who they were. Rufus introduced her to Elisa as Miss Johnson.

She was puzzled. Rufus told her if she was in need of gowns, he would simply call in Mrs. Roland Gadfrey, an elderly woman who worked only for a few select clients in the district. What were they doing in this retail establishment? Why had Rufus not sent for the proprietress to come to them?

She was ready to question Rufus, but decided not to. He was already sitting in a chair, his hands propped over his cane, waiting for Miss Johnson to begin.

Miss Johnson went into raptures over Elisa’s tiny waist and perfect hourglass figure. “It is a pleasure working with such a perfect model,” she assured her.
 
She took a step back, her lips pursed together.
 
“I have a gown that would suit Madam perfectly.
 
The gracious lady who ordered it changed her mind regarding the color, which is understandable, as the lady in question is a brunette, and such a color would have been less than flattering.”
 
Miss Johnson smiled widely.
 
“But for Madam, it is just the thing.”

As she chattered, Miss Johnson pulled away tissue paper from a box and held up a deep purple day-dress, with white lace at the collar and sleeves, and shining gilt metal buttons on the bodice. The dress was spread across the counter for her inspection. The skirt was very full, obviously designed for many petticoats. The hem was a rich, box-pleated ruffle with a tiny row of lace at the top and small ribbon roses at every six inches, in a pretty pale green.

Elisa felt her breath catch. It had been so long since she had seen any new fashions. She studied the details, tallying what had changed, what was new...and, oh, the dress was so pretty!

“It pleases, madam?”

“It pleases,” Elisa murmured, reaching out to touch the dully, glowing fabric.

With a satisfied smile, Miss Johnson shepherded her off to a private room where she could try the dress on.

Two hours later Elisa walked out the door on the arm of her fiancée, wearing the purple gown. They had only had to take the waist in by two inches.

Elisa had chosen bolts of cloth and accessories to match and discussed styling details for five more gowns, which Miss Johnson had promised delivery of by the end of the month.

Taking her seat opposite Rufus, Elisa smiled at him. “Thank you. The dresses are lovely.”

“Nothing is too good for my princess,” he replied, his smile warm, yet it did not seem to reach his eyes.

Uncomfortable with his stare, she turned toward the window. “It is a lovely little town. Why is it we have never visited before today?”

“I thought it was time to get away from the manor. Vaughn is putting me on edge. I only hope that he bores easily and will soon be gone.” The words were sharp, and he watched her intently, as though gauging her reaction.

“What has he done to make you so uneasy?” she asked.

Rufus lifted a brow. “He seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Elisa’s stomach tightened and she managed what she hoped appeared to be an amused smile. “And you do not wish for your son to like me?”

“The boy can go to hell as far as I am concerned.” There was no misinterpreting the violent hatred he felt toward Vaughn.

“Why do you dislike him so?” The question was pushed out of her in reaction to the naked hatred on his face. She realized it was the first time she had ever asked him such an intimate question.