Not Quite Darcy (24 page)

When Jennie Jerome entered the small room, complete with adoring retinue, Eliza felt a sudden wave of shyness come over her. She tucked herself and her overloaded plate up against the wall. It was to no avail.

“You came after all!” Jennie swept over toward Eliza, her red-gold skirts rustling loudly. “Eliza, correct? Eliza Pepper.”

“Yes, quite right.” Eliza curtsied deeply. Jennie returned the curtsy, then looked just past Eliza's shoulder. “Oh, William. Er, that is…allow me to introduce William Brown.”

“Mr. Brown.” Jennie dipped again.

“The ball is—well, fantastic!” Eliza blurted. “All the flowers? You must have made a few dozen florists very happy.”

Jennie gave a burst of laughter. “Oh, I am so glad you came. Your American-ness is quite refreshing.”

“Miss Jerome?” An older gentleman handed a plate loaded with delicacies to Jennie. He was quite handsome, but his bushy,
olde-tyme
curling mustache reminded Eliza of a barbershop quartet and she had to stare at her plate to hide her grin.

“Thank you. Please allow me to introduce you. Lord Randolph Churchill, Miss Eliza Pepper and Mr. William Brown.”

“Pleased, I'm sure.” Lord Churchill bowed from the waist.

Jennie eyed Eliza's own overflowing plate. “Have you tried the lemon tarts? They're from a bakery near St. Paul's. I can't get enough of them.”

Eliza lifted the pastry to her lips and took a bite. It was flaky and a delicious balance between sweet and sour.

As the rest of the partygoers filled their plates and stirred their tea, Eliza and Jennie chatted between themselves.

When their plates were nearly cleared, Jennie glanced down at Eliza's wrist. “Oh dear, Miss Pepper, you've lost your dance card. Shall I get you another?”

Eliza winced and leaned in, speaking to Jennie in a low voice. “I lost it accidentally-on-purpose. I really don't want to dance with anyone but William, you see, and it seemed like the easiest way to do that.”

Jennie clapped her hands together, delighted. “A brilliant solution. I should do that with Randolph.” Laughing, she took a large, most ungenteel-sized bite of lemon tart. She began to choke almost immediately.

“Jennie?” Eliza stepped toward her. “Are you okay?'

Jennie stumbled backward, knocking over a small table. A plate of delicate sandwiches crashed to the floor.

Jennie clasped her throat with one hand.

Lord Churchill took over immediately. “Pat her on the back!” Without waiting for anyone to follow his orders, he spun Jennie around and began to strike his palm between her shoulder blades.

But his efforts were for nothing. Jennie continued to choke, making high-pitched frantic sounds. Her eyes were wide and panicked.

“Harder!” one of the other gentlemen shouted. Lord Churchill struck her back more forcefully with a
thut thut
. His red handprints blossomed on Jennie's back instantly.

“Do something. She'll lose consciousness!” A different gentleman shouted.

“I'm trying.” Lord Churchill supported most of Jennie's weight with one arm while he pounded her back with the other.

Eliza rushed toward them. “Not that way. The Heimlich,” she screamed. Lord Randolph paid her no more attention than he might give to a fly buzzing about the room.

“Dislodge it with your fingers,” someone shouted. “Open her mouth!”

“No.” Eliza grasped Jennie's arms and tried to wrest her from Lord Churchill's grip. “I know what to do. It's why I was sent here, goddammit. You've got to let me do this.”

Eliza tugged, but Lord Churchill gave no ground at all.

“Give her to Eliza.” William stepped forward.

The formerly stuffy lord gave William a look of abject panic and tried to shove him away. William spun at the last moment and landed against the cakes front-first. He turned and placed a firm hand on Lord Churchill's shoulder.

Jennie continued to make desperate gasping sounds. They were growing fainter by the second.

“She could die!” Lord Churchill's eyes went wide with terror.

“Yes, which is why you should give Eliza a chance.” William pulled Jennie from the older man's arms and helped hold her upright while Eliza wrapped her arms around Jennie's middle and clasped her hands together.

Oh god, I hope I paid enough attention in that Red Cross babysitting class.

Adrenaline flooded through Eliza and she yanked her hands upward as hard as possible. Jennie only jiggled in her arms. Again, Eliza thrust her arms against Jennie's stomach, nearly pulling her off her feet.

“Guh.” Jennie croaked as a large chunk of lemon tart came out of her mouth and sailed across the room.

Eliza's trembling legs collapsed, spilling both women to the floor in a heap of red and green gowns. William and Lord Churchill rushed to their sides and helped the ladies to their feet.

“Are you…quite all right, Jennie?” Lord Churchill's face held not a trace of stuffy Englishman and was rather filled with tender concern.

“I am.” Jennie's voice was raw and her breath came in gasps. She turned to face Eliza. “I don't know how you knew what to do—but, oh dear god, I rather think I owe you my life.”

Eliza leaned against William for support. “I'm glad I could help.”

“Lord, this is going to be the talk of the town, isn't it?” Jennie looked chagrined. “The uncouth American heiress choking. They'll have an all-new reason to despise me.”

“I can assure you,” Lord Churchill said, “the tonne will hear nothing of this.” He cast a threatening eye at the others in the room. “Perhaps you'd like a moment to recover, Jen…Miss Jerome?”

“Yes, I believe I'd like that very much.” Jennie reached over and squeezed Eliza's hand. “We must talk later. I cannot thank you enough.”

Eliza only nodded in response. Too numb to speak. Surely, this very moment had been her reason for going back in time. Her mission. She didn't quite have the energy to figure out the importance of Jennie Jerome, but there was no doubt the whole thing had centered around her.

And now what?

As the crowd made their way out of the room, she looked over to William who was watching her quietly, in his William-way.

“Well, that was…unexpected,” she said.

He looked at her solemnly before speaking at last. “You were amazing, Eliza.” The top half of his formal wear had a dusting of cake and he had bits of frosting in his hair.

She laughed and the mood lightened immediately. “I thought you were going to have to open up a can of whup-ass on His Lordship for a minute there.”

He grinned at her. A bit of icing clung to his eyelash and he wiped it away.

“Can we leave, William?” she asked. “I know the ball has just begun but…I'd rather just be back home, if you don't mind so much.”

He reached out for her hand and held it to his lips, then bestowed a reverent kiss. “You've read my mind, darling.”

The carriage ride went by in a blur. Dozens of conflicting thoughts buzzed around inside Eliza's adrenaline filled head. William didn't seem to mind. He simply held her hand tightly as the carriage clattered its way back home to Hampstead.

Once they entered the Brown's home, they walked up the main steps, still hand-in-hand. At the top of the stairs, she released his grip, stepping down the hall toward her room.

“I'd hate to have our night end so quickly, Eliza. I need to see to Mother and arrange for Davy to return the nurse to her home. But once that is taken care of, it would be lovely if you could come to my room for a bit.” William seemed suddenly unsure.

“Oh, yes, William. Of course.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I just want to stop by my room first and get rid of these uncomfortable shoes. Should ten minutes be enough time?”

He smiled. “Quite.”

Eliza went to her door and lifted the latch. When she entered, she couldn't miss the new addition. It was the largest thing in the room and propped up against her bed. The gilt-edged mirror from the antique shop. She took tentative, trembling steps toward it.

A note was fastened to the upper right corner and something was written in the same script as the three rules:
Congratulations
.

She could return home now. Her mission was over. A success.

Tonight? Now? The Repairmen couldn't even wait for a day? They couldn't have chosen more cruelly.

She leaned her back against the door and wept.

Chapter Twenty-Five

William paced the length of his room. Each time the house gave the slightest creak, he shot a glance toward the door—hoping it was Eliza.

Any man would have been alarmed by the events of the night, but that wasn't what was eating away at William's inner calm. It was her strange demeanor after the event that sparked that flame of dread within him. Eliza had seemed not merely distant. She seemed sorrowful.

He reached into his pocket to check his watch. Nearly midnight. She'd been in her chambers for at least twenty minutes. Twice as long as they'd agreed upon. Perhaps he could just check on her. That wouldn't appear too terribly desperate, would it?

He was only human, after all, and fear was a cruel master. He stepped quietly down the hall and to Eliza's room. Once he was at her door, he didn't hesitate, but gave the wood a light tap. There was no response, so he knocked a little louder.

In an instant, he flashed back to the night of the play, when he found her unconscious on the floor. Panic pulled at him like a riptide. He began to lift the latch just as Eliza opened the door, but only a crack. “What is it?”

“I…uh, well I grew worried about you for some strange reason.” He tried to peer over her shoulder, but she stepped out into the hallway. She looked even more distraught than she had during the carriage ride.

“Yes, everything is fine.” She stared at the floor with wide eyes and looked anything but fine.

He reached out to take her hand and they walked to his room in silence. Once inside, he closed the door and turned to face her. “Is everything truly all right, Eliza? You look a little shaken.”

When she didn't respond, he felt something twist cruelly in his chest. “Tonight's events were about more than they appear, weren't they? Tell me the truth, won't you please? It's really the only way—for both of us.”

“Okay,” she said, looking at him through watery eyes, “but…let me hold you while we talk.”

He gathered her into his very willing arms and she pressed her cheek against his chest before she began to speak. “Remember when I told you about my mission? My reason for coming here? Lancaster and York and all that stuff that was so impossible to believe?”

William smoothed his hand down the back of her head, trying to remain calm while his heart beat a frantic rhythm. “I remember.”

“Well, I think saving Jennie Jerome was what this whole thing was about.” Her small hands gathered fistfuls of his dress shirt. She trembled violently. “I don't just think, William. I know.”

“Your mission here is—finished?”

She took a step back and looked at him, her hands still gripped onto his shirt. “I'm sure of it. Yes.”

“Will you leave me, Eliza? Do you think…” Something tight and cruel closed around his throat, leaving him unable to complete the sentence.

“I don't know. I had a choice to leave tonight and I didn't. Couldn't.” She released his shirt and cupped her hands around his chin. “I don't know if I'll always be given choice in the matter, but while I can, I choose to stay.”

“Could I ask something of you?” He wrapped an arm about her waist and tugged her closer.

For the first time since the Jennie Jerome incident, she wore an expression of something other than sorrow. She appeared to be a little surprised. “Yes. I don't believe you've ever asked a favor of me before.”

“If you must leave, would you say goodbye first? Would you give me that?”

Her green eyes burned with sincerity. She nodded, and it took her a moment to speak. “I promise.” Her voice trembled. He'd never heard her sound quite so broken. A tear slipped down her cheek, and he brushed it away with his thumb.

“You smell like cake, William.” She gave him a watery smile.

“I suspect that is because I am wearing a great deal of it.” He returned her smile and squeezed her hand. “First Uncle Thomas and now myself. Men near you seem to have a propensity for becoming covered in dessert.”

He felt a flash of victory when she smiled, a genuine smile this time. “How about we get you cleaned up?”

Her hand still entwined with his, she led him toward the washstand. After pouring water into the basin, she dampened a washcloth and began to dab at his face. He closed his eyes. She began to clean his neck and he lifted his chin.

She unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. “It's all down inside your collar, too.” When she ran the washcloth across his collarbone and down his chest, it felt like a balm, the heat of her reaching in to heal his battered heart. Her touch had done so since she'd first arrived in his world.

“This reminds me of the night you cleaned my wounds after my first failed boxing match.”

She smiled. “I remember that night very well.”

“As do I. It was the night I first realized I was in love with you.”

She glanced at him, as if she was about to say something, then looked away quickly. “Perhaps we should get you out of these dirty clothes,” was all she said.

He stood up, but before he could finish unfastening his shirt, her fingertips were there in his place, slipping the buttons loose. He closed his eyes, both lost and at peace under her tender ministrations. After shrugging off his coat and shirt, he stood bare-chested before her.

“Now your shoes,” she said. There was no possibility that cake had managed to find itself inside his shoes, William knew. But then, he wasn't such a fool to think this moment had much to do with cake at all.

He heel-toed his boots off. Before he could decide quite what to do about removing his trousers, she'd already begun to unfasten them.

She slid his trousers to the floor. He stepped out of them and into her arms wearing only his under drawers.

“Eliza, you need to know my intentions toward you. That my honor would never allow—”

She silenced him with a tender kiss. “We don't need to talk of that. Not tonight, please. I know you and I know exactly what kind of man you are.”

She lay her head against his chest. Her hair tickled his skin and he had to hold his breath to keep from moaning.

“I don't ask for promises,” she continued, “though I know you'd give them. Truth is, neither of us knows what the future holds and it breaks my heart a little to think of it. William, when I arrived here, I was told something. Time is short. Make it count. I want you—I want this. We don't know what the future holds. We don't even know who holds the future. But we know we have tonight. Let's make it count.”

Oh, god yes.

She turned her back to him, then looked back over her shoulder. “Would you unfasten my gown? Dora had to help me into this, and I'll never manage on my own.”

“Certainly, love.” He slipped her buttons free and she eased it off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. Beneath her gown, she wore the thinnest of white cotton chemise and bloomers. She lifted her gown carefully, as though it was a sleeping child, and draped it over his bedside chair. William simply sat on the bed, watching her with a kind of stupefied wonder.

When she returned to him, she leaned down to brush her lips against his. He deepened the kiss and she melted into him, her soft breasts pressing against his chest in a way that made his thinking foggy. He leaned back a little farther and she crawled onto his lap, straddling him. Eliza hadn't stopped kissing him, however. Her warm mouth nipped and lapped along his neck and he shuddered in response.

His growing erection responded to the pressure of her bottom pressed against him. When he shifted his lap, she wriggled against him in response. He groaned.

Beneath her thin cotton chemise, the tip of her nipple peaked the material. He bit his lip, longing to slide his fingertip across that delicious nub, to taste her there. He felt her watching him and looked into her eyes.

“Darling.” He had to ask again. He had to be sure. “If you're absolutely sure that—”

She reached up and placed her warm fingers along his jaw, tugging gently so he met her eyes. “I've never in my life been surer about a thing. Just for tonight, we're going to leave the rest of it outside this room. The future, the impossibility of us. Just for this one night, can't we have what we both want?”

Holding her waist with both hands, he moved her forward in his lap, dragging his erection along the length of her bottom in the process. Once his mouth was positioned directly in front of her breasts, he kissed the tip of her nipple through the thin fabric. She made a delightful cooing sound and tangled her fingers in his hair. As he continued to suckle and nip at her breasts through the material, he toyed with the hem of the garment as well as his shaking fingers allowed. Before he could move to slip it over her head, she climbed off his lap and pulled her chemise over her head. She then shimmied out of her bloomers and returned to him, naked. She perched upon his lap as if it was the most natural thing in the world. God, she was a miracle.

“You're beautiful, love,” he managed to say before his mouth and fingertips began to explore the soft curve of her breast. He glanced down to her bare stomach. It was such an intimate, raw feeling to see this part of her body. He slid his fingertips across her waist, dipping into the indention of her navel.

He kissed a line down her throat to her breasts. His kisses deepened. Lips and tongue teasing the hard peak of her nipple. When his teeth joined to nibble and suck at her sensitive flesh, she bounced up with an, “Oh!” He stopped immediately and pulled back, his breath coming in short gasps.

“Have I…did I hurt you?”

She stroked the side of his cheek and smiled widely. “No, William. That was a sound of pleasure. You're doing wonderfully. More than wonderfully.”

“Ah, not a sound of distress. It's very difficult to know, Eliza.”

“When you're seeking to bring me pleasure, I love everything you do. All kinds of touches are delicious. Even the ungentle ones. A bit of pain can be pleasurable too. But to make you feel more comfortable, how about we have a safe-word?”

“A safe-word?”

“Sure. A word that means ‘Stop what you're doing.' Everything else that I might say in the heat of passion means you're doing fine. But if I say the safe-word, and only the safe-word, then you know I'd like you to stop.”

He bit his lip and thought for an instant. “I rather like this idea. What word should we use as this safe-word?”

She needed a word that she'd never use. Something that was the opposite of sexual pleasure and the first thing that came to mind was, “Uncle Thomas.”

William winced on instinct, then burst into laughter. “I believe that you've found a most effective cure for arousal.”

“Not too effective, I hope.” She trailed her fingertips along his thigh while her mouth delivered a line of kisses across his chest. Leaning down, she kissed his flat nipple very delicately at first, then began a series of enthusiastic nibbles and licks which caused him to rock his hips upward.

“Your kisses produce a certain reaction in me.” His voice was a sigh.

“I know.” She traced his erection. “Maybe it's time to get rid of these old-tyme boxers? You're kinda overdressed, William.”

She rolled off his lap and lay on the bed. Completely unclothed as she was, her hair fanned out upon the bed, her breasts glowing from kisses—his kisses—she looked like a creature from another world. A goddess. A miracle, so bright to his eyes that it almost hurt to look at her directly. He'd imagined her totally unclothed before but this was quite beyond the weak conjurings of his mind. He willed himself to keep breathing. He was a patient man, but good god, there were limits.

He stood and removed his drawers as quickly as he could manage, then joined her on the bed, sitting on the edge near her waist.

“I should wonder very much if you would mind…” He could feel his damned cheeks heating up. He felt a breeze of relief sweep through him when her fingers tangled in his hair.

“Whatever you like,” was all she said.

“It's just that your navel is so lovely. I should like very much—”

“Whatever you like,” she repeated.

He leaned down and greeted her navel with a chaste kiss. She cooed her approval. His eyes and fingertips traveled farther down her lovely body, along her hips to the apex of her thighs and her lovely tangle of curls. His hand froze for a moment, hesitating and she wriggled in response.

“There too,” she said on a sigh.

He laid his head on her hip, kissing her thighs. Tentative fingertips exploring the juncture of her thighs.

“Mmm, William,” she said. Something about her saying his name gave him boldness. He touched her pink folds, but gently, so gently.

“I'd heard that a woman resembled a flower, but I had no idea. You're beautiful, Eliza. Bright pink and so lovely. Like delicate rose petals blooming for me.”

“William, you're not going to quote Shakespeare to my vagina, are you?”

He had to laugh. This was so like his love, to bring joy to even the most serious of moments. He scooted up the bed to see her wearing an impish expression. He kissed her smiling mouth.

“‘O, my Luve's like a red, red rose, that's newly sprung in June,'” he said. “It's Robert Burns. Not Shakespeare. And you mustn't rush me, love. I want to savor the best night of my life.”

“Best night of mine too,” she replied. “But I think you know that.”

“Darling.” He didn't know how to begin, but it had to be said. “As much as I would love our joining, I have to wonder about the possibility of you becoming pregnant. If I were to…”

“Not to worry. There are safer times in a woman's cycle. It's a very safe time for me now. Besides, those things are left outside the door tonight. Remember? Make love with me.”

He sank down next to her, kissing a line along her throat, across her breasts. He tried to go slow, he did, but she kept urging him to greater boldness, with words and those impossible to deny hip movements. When her fingertips trailed a line along his cock, he nearly came undone. She stroked it softly and pulled him toward her warm center.