Pretty Poison (18 page)

“Emily, you are beautiful,” he said, leaning back to meet her eyes. His calloused thumbs drifted over her breasts, found her nipples and circled the stiff peaks, over and around until she sucked in a fractured breath, her head falling back.

Then his mouth was on her breast, open and wet, his tongue flicking over her nipple and she arched her back, offering herself to his hungry mouth. He pulled her nipple into his mouth, suckled her and drew his teeth lightly over her flesh.

“Nicholas,” she cried, her hands grasping his head, pulling him hard against her. “Please, oh please… I need…”

“I know, love,” he murmured before transferring his attentions to her other breast. He sucked hard on her, his mouth ravenous, his tongue and teeth tormenting her until she was squirming on the seat, her legs opening wide, her hips lifting in search of relief.

Emily reached down and tugged the belt that held his robe closed but Nicholas reached down to halt her frantic movements.

“Have you ever seen a naked man?” he asked then shook his head with a muffled laugh. “No of course you haven’t.”

“I’ve seen statues,” she offered. “Please, I want to see you.”

Nicholas released her hands, allowed her to untie the knot and part his robe, to push it off his shoulders to the floor. Emily looked down. His manhood jutted out from a nest of dark curls and even in the dim light of the fire she could see clearly that those statues had nothing in common with the sight before her.

“Good Lord,” she breathed in awe. “That could not possibly… I mean you… We could never… It would never fit.”

“It would,” he assured her with a broken chuckle. “It will, but not tonight.”

With a trembling hand, Emily reached out and touched the engorged tip, running her fingers lightly over the surprisingly soft skin. Before her eyes a pearly drop of moisture appeared and without conscious thought she scooped it up on her fingertip and brought it to her lips.

Nicholas watched her, his eyes wide and unblinking.

She flicked her tongue out and caught the drop. Closing her eyes, she savored the slightly salty flavor. She knew what it was, of course she did. She bred horses, after all. She knew the little drop of moisture held his seed and if he poured it into her body they would likely make a baby.

“Jesus, Em,” he groaned and she opened her eyes to find him watching her with the most amazing expression on his face, part surprise, part tenderness and part hunger.

Then his arms were around her once more, pulling her forward to the very edge of the chair, her legs spread open and his erection only inches from her woman’s opening. For one heart stopping moment she thought he meant to push his way inside her, to stretch her and fill her, to pour his seed into her.

But no, he had promised and she trusted him.

Nicholas fit his hips between her thighs, his shaft rising hard against her core, the velvety head resting on her belly. Emily moaned at the delicious heat of him, at the intimacy of flesh upon flesh.

Nick kissed her mouth again, his tongue delving deep, swirling around hers, setting up that wonderful rhythm she could not resist. Unable to hold herself still, she shifted her hips, pressed forward and up against his manhood.

“Oh, oh,” she moaned against his mouth as heat rushed to her center, spread down her legs, up her belly, to her breasts pressed to his broad chest. She shifted downward, dragging her aching flesh over him and sucked in a sharp breath as pleasure speared her.

Nicholas’ breath hitched, his hands on her hips tightened, before dropping to her bottom, to clasp her and lift her against him. He thrust up, then down and up again, harder, firmer against her, and the friction, the heat of his movements had Emily thrashing awkwardly against him, as need overcame her.

“Please,” she moaned, not sure what she needed, only knowing that he could give it to her.

He leaned away from her, dropping her back onto the chair and Emily cried out at the loss of contact. “Please, Nicholas, oh please,” she begged, her voice low and throbbing.

He moved his hand down between her legs, his long thick fingers dipping into her curls, then lower, over her folds, parting her. He drew one finger up and down, lightly caressing her, over and over, before finally coming to rest on the nub hidden in her curls.

Emily cried out at the contact, bucked her hips forward and he pressed down on the sensitized flesh, his finger circling around and over. Shudders wracked her frame and she gripped his shoulders.

He flattened his palm on her aching flesh, applied heavy pressure, rubbed up and back until Emily thrust her hips against his hand.

“Yes, yes,” she panted and he must have known what she craved even if she did not. Emily felt his finger probing, pushing into her then retreating, before dipping inside once more.

“Christ, you’re so tight,” he groaned, capturing the moan that escaped her with his lips as he eased his finger deeper inside her body.

She spread her legs, placed her feet on the floor and tilted her hips up, wanting more, more of the pressure of his rough palm, more of his thick finger inside her.

Nicholas gave her more, slowly thrusting and withdrawing, again and again, until Emily was mindless with pleasure, her hips undulating in time to his invading finger, spasms of exquisite tension shivering through her.

She moaned, arching her neck, sucking air into her starving lungs. “Please, Nick, please… Give me… I need…”

“I know what you need,” he growled, his mouth hot against her throat. “You’re so close. Come for me, Emily.” He nudged his palm firmly against her, pushed his finger deep into her core and Emily came apart. She felt as if her entire being shattered, pits and pieces flying about the room, ricocheting off the walls. She cried out, her back bowing, her hips twisting, her inner muscles clenching his finger as she soared to the heavens.

She fell forward against Nicholas, her head landing on his shoulder, her arms wrapping tight around his back. She panted there with one of his strong arms locked around her, his finger still inside her, his sawing breath blowing against her neck.

“Emily, love,” he whispered, his voice tight with unsatisfied desire.

“Nicholas,” she sighed as she leaned back in his arms, her eyes darting down to his arousal. With a trembling hand she reached down and curled her fingers around his pulsing shaft. “Show me how to please you.”

He placed his hand over hers, tightened her grip and dragged her hand up and down his length. Emily picked up the rhythm, grasped him firmly and caressed him until his hips were lunging forward and back in counterpoint to her caress and his chest was heaving. She turned her head and kissed his neck, laved him with her tongue, nipped him with her teeth. She dragged her open mouth down to the tendon where his neck and shoulder met and latched on, as he had done to her.

“Ahhhh,” he groaned, pumping wildly into her hand.

“Yes, my darling,” she whispered against his hot skin as she felt the tremors that raced through him, felt the growl that started in his chest and erupted from his lips, just before he shot his seed into the air and onto her stomach.

“Emily…ah…love…” he gasped between choppy breaths.

Emily pulled him against her, wrapped her arms and legs around him and caressed his back in long sweeping strokes. He collapsed against her, his arms locked around her back and his face pressed against her shoulder.

Chapter Twenty-One

Nick was just finishing an enormous breakfast the following morning when Emily walked into the dining room. His eyes drifted over her from her shining hair pulled into a loose bun at her nape to her sparkling eyes and smiling lips. She wore a ridiculously demure pale pink dress with long sleeves that hugged her arms and a waist cinched so tight he could easily span it with his hands. Into the bodice of her gown she had tucked a swath of creamy lace. To hide the scar he had seen twice now, but of what origins he was still ignorant.

He wondered if she wore the prim pink dress in some sort of effort to counteract her wanton behavior the previous night. If so, he could have told her that was the oldest trick in the book. If anyone at the house party suspected she’d come apart in his arms the night before, that dress surely confirmed it.

“Good morning,” she called out merrily as she rounded the table to the buffet laid out in front of the tall windows. “And a beautiful day it is, to be sure. I’ve a mind to build a snow woman on the front lawn.”

“That sounds like great fun,” Lucinda Davis cried, clapping her hands together.

“A snow woman?” Veronica Ogilvie drawled with a sniff.

“Indeed,” Emily replied. “Snow men are child’s play. It takes a real winter artist to build a snow woman.”

“I must disagree with you, Miss Calvert.” This from Parker One, who tried so hard to imitate his sardonic cousin that Emily laughed. “It seems to me that a woman’s figure lends itself quite naturally to a snow effigy.”

“Three round balls, you mean,” Emily asked archly. “You show your inexperience, sir.”

Charles Calvert barked out a jolly laugh and Viscount Talbot roared with glee as the young ladies blushed and giggled.

Emily waited until the two gentlemen had calmed to add, “With snow people, sir.”

“I’m quite certain, Miss Calvert, that I can create a snow man more worthy than your snow woman,” One said with a quirk of his brow.

“That sounds remarkably like a challenge,” Lady Bernice retorted, her pale green eyes dancing.

“I’ll wager my pin money against your allowance that we can create a most delectable snow lady that will put your snow rake to shame,” Emily taunted.

“We?” Bernice asked, her brows lifted in surprise.

“We shall divide into teams of three and may the best snow person win.” Emily turned to Lucinda. “Are you with us, Lucy?”

“Oh, yes!” she answered.

“I say, I’ll take Nick and Jamison on my team,” Parker One responded.

“I’m afraid you will have to do without me,” Lord Jamison replied, rising to his feet. “I intend to take Major out for a good hard ride.”

“Nick?” One turned to his friend.

“I’m in,” Nick replied, watching Emily closely. She was staring down at her plate piled high with rashers of bacon, kippers and coddled eggs. Her lower lip was caught in her teeth, her forehead furrowed. She was clearly calculating how to best them in the challenge.

“I’ll join your team,” Ollie volunteered after ascertaining that his wife would rather watch from a chair on the porch with a hot brick at her feet.

“Here are the rules,” Emily stated as she looked up to meet One’s gaze. “First, we are limited to three snow balls placed one atop the other. After they are in place we may carve and mold them to whatever shape we like but no additional snow may be added.”

“Of course,” One agreed.

“Secondly, we are limited to seven non-snow objects with which to decorate our snow figures, none of which can fully cover any ball.”

“What say you, Margaret?” Charles called out to his sister. “Shall we show these young guns how it’s done? Andy, you in?”

“By Jove, let’s!” Nick’s father cried as he jumped to his feet.

“Not bloody likely,” Margaret replied.

“If you’ll have me,” Mr. Boone offered. “It’s been years but I still know how to make a right honorable snowman.”

“The final rule is that once you dress your snow creature, you may not remove any articles of clothing or accessories.” Emily raised her voice to be heard over the chatter that had erupted around the room.

Veronica looked around, spied Mr. Kildare and arched one blonde brow in question. He gave her a decisive nod before turning to his sister.

“Oh, Lord no,” Lady Dillon replied with a tinkling laugh. “You’ll have to find another third.”

“I’ll join your team,” Miss Endicott exclaimed. “What fun this will be.”

Veronica rolled her eyes at the girl’s enthusiasm and Nick had to wonder why she’d wanted to make a team at all.

After everyone had finished their breakfast they trooped back to their rooms to bundle up in their warmest clothing before congregating on the wide front porch.

“Which teams shall build ladies and which gentlemen?” Miss Endicott asked.

“If we cannot determine their gender upon completion, we’re all in real trouble,” One drawled, prompting the girl to break into shocked giggles.

Emily smiled at the girl while Veronica once again rolled her eyes. Nick was never more pleased that he’d had the good sense to choose Emily than at the moment. A lifetime of Veronica Ogilvie’s constant eye rolling and catty remarks would surely have driven him right around the bend. To the loony bin.

“Who’s to judge our snow creations?” Charles Calvert asked as he bounded down the steps and sunk in the snow to his shins.

“Why those of us with the good sense not to prance around in the stuff,” Margaret replied.

Nick and One and Ollie wandered off to the north of the house where the land was flat and the trees sparse. He turned to find Emily, Lucinda and Bernice trudging up a small hill, their heads bent close as they planned their strategy.

“We haven’t a man to roll the balls so the hill will do the brawny work for us,” Emily explained.

“Good thinking,” Bernice approved.

“But how shall we lift them?” Lucinda asked.

“We needn’t make the second and third balls too large,” Emily replied as they crested the hill and turned to look down. Nick’s team had already rolled their bottom ball to a good location not too far from the house. Da’s team appeared to be debating where to build their snow man. Veronica’s team had broken up and each was rolling a ball toward a stand of pine trees at the edge of the drive.

“Quite right,” Bernice said, drawing Emily back to their discussion. “We’re not building a heifer. Our lady shall be voluptuous but not fat.”

“Tall, with a lovely bosom and perfect child bearing hips,” Lucinda agreed.

“You shall be our model, Bernice,” Emily decided. She eyed the other woman, an idea taking shape in her mind. She giggled. Really it was too perfect.

“Oh, I like that,” Bernice agreed excitedly. “I’ve a wig with me we can use.”

“You wear a wig?” Lucinda asked.

“On occasion, when my Abby can’t get my hair to curl. It’s just lovely, very long with curls the exact shade as my own hair.”

“Have you a whale bone corset we could use?” Emily asked.

Bernice tossed back her head and laughed. “I do adore you, Em.”

“Oh but we couldn’t,” Lucinda squealed. “Surely you don’t mean to dress our lady in undergarments.”

“Think of it as art,” Emily replied. “We’ve all seen statues of scantily clad ladies. Our snow goddess will have all the essential parts covered.”

“Are you sure it’s proper?” Lucinda asked skeptically.

“Proper?” Bernice seemed to taste the word before replying, “Perhaps not proper, but she will be decent.”

“And there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind that she is a woman,” Emily added.

“We’d best hurry,” Lucinda suggested, casting her gaze down the hill where the other three teams were hard at work.

“Whatever for?” Bernice asked. “There is no rule as to how long we have to build our goddess.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right,” Lucinda agreed happily.

“And why allow the other teams even a hint as to our design?” Emily asked.

“Once they dress their boring snow effigies, they cannot change a stitch on them!” Bernice cried out, grasping Emily’s secret weapon.

The three ladies erupted into gales of laughter that traveled on the winter wind to reach the three teams below.

“What on earth are they waiting for?” One asked, looking back over his shoulder to the ladies atop the hill.

“They are under no time restriction,” Nick pointed out and as he said the words, Emily’s devious plot became quite apparent. No adding snow, no removing any of the seven non-snow objects. They’d all be finished with their snow men or ladies long before Emily, Lucinda and Bernice began to dress theirs.

“The little minx,” he murmured as he and Ollie hefted the middle ball onto the bottom.

Just as Nick had predicted, the other teams had finished their snow figures while Emily’s team was still busily carving snow from what appeared to be a tall snow woman draped in a pale lavender robe.

Nick stood back to appreciate his team’s dapper snow gentleman.

They’d dressed George, named in honor of the King, in a tall black top hat and gray silk tie, thereby alleviating the need for three black buttons down his chest. Instead they’d used two of those buttons for his eyes, placed a pipe under his sculpted mustache. They’d given him bushy sideburns and plump rosy cheeks. After all, there was no rule that said they could not make use of the red juice from the winter berries that grew in abundance near the copse of trees behind George.

One had carefully carved out the line of George’s short pudgy legs, and then created two small caverns at the base where they’d wedged in an old pair of shoes.

“An exceptional rendition,” One pronounced as he tilted the top hat just so.

“I say, let’s have a look at the others,” Ollie suggested.

As they approached Veronica’s team’s snow woman from behind, she appeared to be only three round balls. Nick could not hold back a crack of laughter when he stood facing their creation.

“Meet Miss Esperanza,” Veronica said, waving one gloved hand at the perilously top-heavy snow woman. Her breasts were enormous, encompassing the whole of the middle ball. A bright pink shawl hugged her rounded shoulders, dipping low to create a “V” where her deep cleavage showed. An emerald stone on a long chain dangled down that cleavage. They’d carved curving plump arms and hands clasped below her hefty bosom on what must surely be her waist. She wore a short gray apron and poking out below the ruffled hem were two legs as thick as tree trunks with dimpled knees over gray half boots.

Her round face consisted of two sapphire jewels for eyes and a slash of red for her mouth. He knew he’d seen Veronica watching him crush berries for George’s cheeks. On her head she wore a bonnet of pale pink straw and long trailing red ribbons.

“I say,” One exclaimed in a parody of shock. “Your lady is showing a shocking amount of leg.”

“That’s precisely what I said!” Miss Endicott cried.

“We were only permitted seven objects,” Mr. Kildare assured the lady. “I’m certain allowances shall be made for her shocking state of undress.”

“Your gentleman has no clothing on whatsoever,” Veronica pointed out, eyeing George’s portly presence. “But for the tie, that is.”

Both teams wandered over to watch Viscount Talbot wrap a bright green turban around the head of their team’s snow person. As Nick rounded the figure he saw they had draped a long swath of vibrant red silk around the middle ball, leaving openings on both sides for the sculpted arms of the pasha. They’d tucked the red silk under the arms so it looked to be wound across his massive chest. He also wore a long chain with a huge amethyst stone cut into the shape of a star. Nick stepped forward

“You didn’t,” he murmured around a chuckle.

“Good, God, you’ve given the man a pelt of dark swirling chest hair!” One exclaimed over Nick’s shoulder.

“I say,” Viscount Talbot boomed out as he tucked the end of the turban behind the snow pasha’s head. “All those hairs only count as one object, don’t they?”

“We plucked them all out of one fur muff!” Charles roared. “They damn sure only count as one object!”

Nick looked down to see Charles, Mr. Boone and his father had managed to carve a space down the middle of the bottom ball and given the man a wide-legged stance. A black loin cloth was wrapped around his waist and tucked between his legs. They had given the snow man quite a package in that loin cloth.

“That should do it,” Mr. Boone cried as he jammed a gold filigree broach into the turban just above the man’s forehead. Two eyes of black jet were set above high cheekbones, a beak of a nose and a slash of a mouth.

“I must say, sirs, you’ve done a splendid job!” Ollie said as he walked in a circle around the snow pasha. “Although, I believe you have eight objects.”

“What?” Charles and Lord Talbot roared together.

They all proceeded to count the various objects and sure enough, with the hair on his chest, Ali Baba was in fact adorned with eight objects.

Charles Calvert stepped forward and ripped the broach from the turban, shoving it into his pocket. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Or me.”

He shot a hard look at Veronica, accurately guessing that she was the only one who might tattle on him.

“I shan’t say a word,” she assured him archly.

As if on cue, nine weary snow artists turned toward the final snow figure at the base of the hill. Three lines of grass trailed down the hill, each shorter than the last. The ladies had faced their creation away from the house and the other teams’ building sites.

From behind, it was obvious the ladies had sculpted a tall curvaceous woman. They were currently wrestling some sort of pale blue garment around the snow lady’s torso while attempting to keep the flowing purple robe in place.

“Do not come any closer!” Emily yelled to them. “We are not yet finished with our goddess!”

“We won’t interrupt your work!” One yelled back.

“Not one step closer, Timothy Parker!” Bernice whipped her head around to glare at him.

“Bossy wench,” One grumbled.

“Come on up to the porch and partake of a hot toddy,” Lady Margaret urged the group.

By the time Emily’s team stepped back to appraise their handiwork nearly an hour later, Nick had availed himself of two hot toddies and handfuls of warm peanut brittle. Lady Margaret was clearly tipsy and she and her brother were singing old Irish ballads at the top of their lungs as the Duchess of Martindale and Viscount Talbot danced a jig on the snow-covered front lawn. Their collective antics had everyone in stitches.