Forbidden (Scandalous Sirens) (4 page)

As he straightened she dared risk another quick look into his eyes and was astonished to see a sad shadow there, a hint of hurt behind the bland, cavalier pose.

“Oh, Vaughn,” she said impulsively. “I’m glad you are to stay a while.”

He smiled and when he spoke his cynicism was more than apparent. “You stand alone in that gladness, madam, but thank you.”

Without another word he turned and left the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

“Insolent brat! How dare he threaten me!” Rufus pulled himself up to the table again. He motioned for the footman to pour him yet another drink. Already he’d been through one bottle and was now working on another.

The ugly consequences of excessive drinking were more than familiar to Elisa.
 
Rufus’ drinking was a trait her husband had shared. Elisa reminded herself yet again of the reasons she had agreed to this marriage. Her son Raymond was worth any discomfort.

“Come, play a song for me,” Rufus firmly suggested, standing up.

Elisa willingly followed him through the archway into the adjoining drawing room where she took her seat at the piano. The grandly formal room was as proper and soulless as the rest of the house, but while she sat at the keyboard she could forget her surroundings.

Perhaps she could forget Vaughn, too.

She began to play, letting her mind drift. It was a struggle at first, for she kept returning to the puzzling questions and danger Vaughn’s arrival at Fairleigh Hall created. But moment-by-moment the music wove its spell and her heart calmed. The well-worn daydreams she had spun of a rosy future filled her mind—gentle summer days spent caring and raising Raymond, loving him, watching him grow…

Soon the sounds of snoring filled the room. Unwilling to risk waking Rufus, she played for another half-hour. Only when she was certain he was soundly asleep did she rise silently from the piano and leave the room.

With her mind and body quiet, she felt the true depths of her fatigue. She had gone for long months now holding the tension inside her, for when hopelessness, despair and frustration took away her courage, the tight coil of tension was all that kept her on the path toward her dream.

Wearily, she climbed the cold stone stairs to the first floor and turned right toward the west wing where the guest quarters were located. The west wing was smaller and older, but Elisa had been drawn to the charming rooms from the first. Warming southern sunlight lit them for most of the day and the prevailing breezes would cool the rooms on hot summers’ nights.

Rufus, thank goodness, occupied a much grander and larger suite in the east wing. Apart from two guest bedrooms—

Vaughn was using one of those rooms
, she realized with a jolt

—apart from the two guest bedrooms, Rufus’ suite took up the rest of the wing on that floor.

Elisa locked the door against all and any unexpected entries. Her maid, Marianne, was already waiting. She helped her undress and slip into a cool silk nightdress and peignoir. Elisa had learned to appreciate the sensuous, hedonistic feel of silk against her bare skin when married to Roger. In the security of her own private rooms, where there wasn’t the remotest risk of anyone being able to raise the accusation of impropriety against her, she continued the indulgence. Then she sat in front of the mirror.

“I hear his lordship’s son is quite handsome,” Marianne said, while pulling the pins from Elisa’s hair.

“Indeed, he is.”

“All the maids are aflutter over his appearance. They say he hasn’t been home since he was but a child. Most of them had no idea he even existed.”

Usually Elisa had no interest in such gossip, as she knew firsthand how hurtful it
 
could be. But her interest had been piqued, so she did not try to change topics as she would normally have done.

“I actually overheard one of the scullery maids say she would slip into his bedroom tonight.” Marianne shook her head. “Can you imagine?”

Yes, Elisa could easily imagine stealing into Vaughn’s bed, but she wouldn’t dare admit it to anyone, even Marianne whom she trusted completely. That other women might be similarly tempted was an unpleasant fact she had overlooked until then.

Her mood abruptly slid from calm peacefulness to a fermented sourness. Elisa dismissed Marianne with a firm goodnight as soon as the woman had put away the dinner gown. Finally alone, she methodically began brushing her hair, barely glancing at her reflection. Then she caught a glimpse of herself and became still, staring at her reflection in shock.

Her blue eyes were dull, as though the very life had been squeezed from them. Her face was pale, her cheekbones stark from the weight she had lost since Raymond had been taken from her. Her spirits had been low since then, but she did not think her melancholy would be so plain for the world to see.

She ran a trembling hand down her face. The last thing in this whole world she wanted was to be dependent upon a man. Her solitary life at Greenwood Manor in Perthshire, the only estate Roger’s family hadn’t taken from her, had been one of contentment. Raymond had also loved the little hunting lodge that at one time had served as a playground for Scotland’s aristocracy. It was her solace, but she had no money with which to maintain it.

Now she had the chance to live in the country again and though it was not the small manor in Perthshire, it was shelter away from people and the society that had banished her. And she would get Raymond back. Rufus’ reassurances were enough to keep the hope and excitement alive in her. Oh, how she missed Raymond! He would be ten years old next month and this would be the sixth birthday they had not celebrated together.

With a quick motion, she wiped at the tears that stung her eyes and sent a plea to God that he might assist Rufus and deliver her son to her soon.

She knew sleep would not come easily tonight. Vaughn’s arrival had upset her predictable world and now her thoughts were chasing each other endlessly in her mind.

A book might pass the time until sleep arrived. One of the untouched old volumes in Rufus’ pristine library would allow her to escape to other fantastic worlds, living adventures vicariously through the characters.

She rose to her feet and slipped silently from her room. There was no danger of meeting anyone. At this time of night everyone else would be tucked into their beds in the servants’ quarters, or asleep on the other side of the house. She could slip down to the library and back without being seen, if she was cautious and quick.

The house was silent, the stone stairs cold under her bare feet. There was a lingering heat from the day in the still air which brushed against the silk of her peignoir like a breeze as she hurried across the foyer to the gallery. The wide gallery gave access to a number of rooms, including the library at the far end of the house, in the same wing as her bedroom. She slipped into the room and stood still for a moment, blinking, until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

There were tall, stately windows on three sides of the room and from most of them poured milky, glowing moonlight. It spilled on the floral patterned carpet and across the high-backed reading chairs and side tables. Typically, there was not a single book out of place anywhere in the room. Rufus was not an avid reader.

She moved towards the bookcases, but the ghostly light beckoned her and she drifted over to the window instead, drawn by the alien landscape the full moon painted beyond the glass. She rested her hand against the pane, staring out.

“My god, look at you!” The low curse was uttered from close by.

Elisa whirled, startled, her heart leaping hard and hot, her hand at her mouth to smother the shriek she gave.

Vaughn was rising from the depths of one of the chairs, his eyes riveted on her, sweeping her from head to toe.

She tried to calm her heart by taking a deep, steady breath, but it continued to patter on restlessly.
 
Vaughn in the moonlight was a dreamlike being that might have stepped straight from the pages of the books she favored.

He had obviously been sitting in the dark, staring out the window. His tie had been removed and lay over the back of a nearby chair. He’d taken off his jacket and waistcoat and the shirt was loosened. Even the top two or three buttons had been undone, revealing the powerful muscles and tendons of his upper chest, which she could see flex as he lifted himself to his feet. His skin in the moonlight was smooth, tanned and looked like it would be velvety to touch. The pants were form fitting, revealing strong thigh muscles that bunched as he stepped towards her.

She swallowed. No, her heart was not about to slow down.

“So this is what the real Elisa looks like,” he added softly, as he came closer.

She realized how he would see her—her silky nightdress stopped short of her ankles, revealing her bare feet. Her peignoir was made of the sheerest pink chiffon and would hide nothing of what she wore beneath, despite the ruffles and bows at wrist and neck. And her hair was down, brushed out and bereft of any ornament or cap.

She hastily gathered the peignoir’s collar in her fist, trying to draw it closer together.

“Vaughn! Why are you…I thought…I did not think anyone would be in here.”

He stopped barely a pace from her and she was forced to tilt her head to look up at him.

“Neither did I,” he admitted, his voice low. He studied her face, his expression giving nothing away. “By heaven, you are beautiful!”

Her heart gave a funny little jerk. “Don’t,” she said breathlessly.

“I don’t say that merely to flatter you with meaningless compliments.” His voice was low.

Alarm shot through her. A casual flirtation she could quash, but the thread of sincerity in his voice—that was something she did not have the skill to combat.

“I should leave…” she murmured, turning to go.

“Don’t. Not yet.”

“I must and you know it,” she insisted, looking over her shoulder.

He didn’t respond. He was simply looking at her. As he stood there wreathed in moonlight, his dark hair crowned with luminous highlights and his eyes shadowed and hiding his thoughts, she saw his chest lift as he drew a deep breath.

“You know there is something between us, then,” he said, moving towards her. “You felt it tonight, just as I did.”

Fear rushed through her, more powerful than the squeak of momentary alarm she’d just felt. Instinct told her that what might happen next would threaten everything for which she had worked and waited. She faced him properly. “Vaughn, please, I beg you not to pursue this.” She wished he would take a step or two backwards.

“I have sat here debating that decision myself,” he said. His voice was low, resonant. “I had decided prudence was wiser and despite tweaking my father’s nose tonight, I would have left for London on the morrow, but then you floated in here like a goddess in a dream. Elisa…” And his jaw flexed as if he clenched it briefly. “You are driving away my better sense.”

Held to the spot despite her mind whispering she should run from the room this instant, Elisa looked into his eyes. Green eyes. In the dark they appeared to be lit from within. They glowed with a radiance of their own, as if the power of his soul shone from them. Her body seemed to tighten up, the coil of tension settling low in her belly.

She found the words she needed. “Don’t do this, Vaughn. Please.”

“Then turn around and walk away,” he said.

He was so close she fancied she could feel the heat of his big body against her, warming the silk of her nightgown, caressing the skin beneath with a featherweight touch. Her breasts ached to be touched and she was aware of them thrusting against the silk. She could feel her tight nipples pushing at the delicate fabric and with each minute movement it stroked them softly.
 
Vaughn was so close he merely had to lift his big hands a few inches and he could touch them….Elisa looked up at him again. “God help me, I cannot,” she breathed.

And she heard his answering sigh.

His hands did lift then and very gently slid beneath the open front of the peignoir, lifting away the gauzy fabric. He cupped his hands around her waist, gathering the silk in against her.

She tightened her throat to prevent a gasp escaping her.

His hands were of a size that she could feel the tips of his fingers almost touching each other. They lay a sizzling imprint against her flesh there. The strong thumbs moved in a restless arc against her midriff, pulling the silk tight over her breasts. The taut fabric transmitted the sweeping motion of his thumbs to her aching, sensitive nipples and it was as if he had caressed the breasts themselves.

She couldn’t help it. She drew in an audible, shuddering breath.

“Your waist really is that small,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “I wasn’t sure, what with tight lacing…” He frowned. “Why do you bother wearing a corset at all? You certainly have no need of one.”

“A proper lady wears one.” Her own voice was thick with wanting, with demon desires. “Vaughn, the danger in this…if your father were to—”

“You’re in no danger with me, Elisa,” he murmured. “I just want a sample of you, a taste. To remember.”

He pulled up at her waist a little, as if he was about to lift her off her feet and bring her closer to him, and she bowed backwards instinctively. Her head fell back. The power behind his controlled, slow lift told her of the untapped potential of his body and she knew her own response was the equivalent of offering herself to him, but she was helpless to prevent it. She was mortally aware of his restless thumbs, barely a fingertip away from her breasts which longed for his touch.