Silver Splendor (33 page)

Then his arms enfolded her and she knew nothing could be more right. Their mouths met in an impassioned kiss, full of promise, ripe with love. She parted her lips and his tongue explored her with a fierce sweetness that left her quivering. Her hands slipped inside his shirt to follow the muscled shape of his shoulders. Breathing hard, he moved his mouth downward, kissing her cheeks, her jaw, her throat. Through the nightgown, his palms weighed the fullness of her breasts.

“I’m glad you came to me,” he murmured.

“I gather it wasn’t proper behavior for a lady.”

“Proper be damned,” he said, and his silken hot glance made her shiver. “The Countess of Hawkesford may do as she desires.”

“Nicholas…” She gasped as his fingers found the tender joining of her legs. The flimsy nightdress was no barrier to the invasion of his caress. Dissolving against him, she felt the world slide away, leaving nothing but the two of them, nothing but the beating of his heart against her palms, nothing but the fever flaming inside her.

“I love you,” she breathed into the salt scented skin of his neck.

His arms crushed her close, lifting her to him as he carried her to the bed. “I love you, too, Elizabeth,” he muttered. “I’ll make you happy. You belong to me now, forever, for always.”

She gloried in his possessiveness. The hot pressure of his arousal against her belly spoke more of his hunger for her than mere words could express. In a storm of urgency they made love, celebrating their new life. She opened herself to him, heart and body and soul, giving and receiving. The magic in his touch aroused her, building her need to a height so dizzying Elizabeth teetered on the brink of falling. She heard the hoarse rasp of his breathing, smelled the musky scent of his sweat, felt the straining muscles in his back.

“Nicholas… Nicholas.” Again and again she moaned his name as the ecstasy bore her higher and higher. She could think of nothing beyond the spiraling urgency to kiss and caress, nothing but the powerful rhythm of his hips
_,
until at last the shuddering release burst upon them.

Sated, they lay together as their breathing eased and their heartbeats slowed. He rolled to the side, bringing her with him so that she lay half draped over his body, her cheek resting against his chest, her hair cloaking his shoulder.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered, his hand seeking the gentle curves of her back. “We needn’t go to Yorkshire tomorrow. We could travel to the Continent instead, lease a villa in Nice, make love all day and all night.”

Temptation wrenched her willpower. She tilted her head to gaze at him; his face was darkly handsome against the white linen pillows, his hair charmingly ruffled. Reluctantly she said, “I’d rather go off alone with
Iron,
Nicholas, you know I would. But first I need to learn why someone wants me dead.”

He gathered her hard against him. “That’s precisely why we shouldn’t go. It’s far too dangerous.”

“Shall I sit back and wait for him to strike again?”

“We don’t know for certain that it’s a ‘him.’ That’s what bothers me. We know so little.”

She brushed a kiss across the shadowy bruise on his jaw. “Please understand, Nicholas. Meeting my real father is something I need to do, for my own peace o mind.”

Eyes half lidded, he stared at her. She felt the force of his thoughts, sensed the battle waged within him. A length he said, “I intend to stay by your side every moment.”

“Yes.”

“I mean it, Elizabeth. You’ll grow weary of me dogging your heels.”

“I doubt that, my husband.” Smiling, she shifted over him, relishing the roughness of his body hair against her breasts and thighs. “I doubt that very much, indeed.”

They left the next morning from King’s Cross Station. Settling into the plush confines of a first class compartment, Elizabeth felt excited and pleasantly worried. Fog swirled around the people who scurried along the platform. A man paused to peer into their window and Nicholas imperiously waved him on.

“That’s rude,” she chided.

His fingers circled her wrist, his thumb caressing the delicate inner skin. “If we’ve a stranger staring at us for the next nine hours, I can’t kiss you as I please.”

The rough velvet promise in his voice sent a ripple of longing through her. “You mean the proper Earl of Hawkesford would seduce a woman on a train?”

“Not just any woman… my wife. Since the moment we met, I’ve had the very devil of a time behaving properly.”

She caught her breath at the look in his eyes — soft yet scorching, warm yet wicked. A small shock vibrated inside her. She belonged to him now. The thought left her blissfully happy, yet dizzily confused, as if she were hurtling headlong into unknown territory.

A whistle blew. Grateful for the distraction, Elizabeth pressed her face to the window as the train chugged slowly away. Mist enveloped the cramped brick houses with dark, sagging roofs, the drab factories with chimneys belching forth smoke. The train stopped several times to take on more passengers, and gradually the rows of tenements thinned and the fog began to lift. The buildings of London gave way to grassy meadows and woodland parks.

Turning to remark on the scenery, she saw Nicholas’s head rolled back against the leather seat, his eyes closed, his long legs stretched out. She pulled a pad from her traveling bag and began to sketch. The scratching of her pencil was barely audible over the noise of the engine and the clack of the wheels. She felt at peace, rocked by the rhythm of the train, content in the presence of her husband.

After a time he shifted, his firm shoulder brushing hers. “Where do you find the energy to work?” he grumbled. “You exhausted me last night.”

She laughed. “Perhaps you inspire my creativity.”

“What are you drawing?” He plucked the pad from her lap and stared at the sketch. “Your mother,” he said softly. “Lucy Templeton Hastings was a beautiful woman — It’s uncanny how closely you resemble her.”

“Whenever I’ve had a spare moment, I’ve been trying to reproduce the pictures in the sketchbook that was stolen.”

He flipped through the pages. “You seem to have had great success. What was she like?”

“Gentle, kind, never lost her temper… unlike me.” Elizabeth smiled wryly, then nibbled on the end of the pencil. “Nicholas, do you suppose the same person who’s after me also took that sketchbook?”

His face hardened. “It’s too big a coincidence to think otherwise.”

“But why? Why would someone want sketches of my mother?”

“I’ve wondered that myself,” he said slowly, flicking a glance at the pad. “Perhaps this person mistook her for you. You do nave the same luxurious black hair, the high cheekbones, the delicate nose.”

As he caressed each part he named, his touch made her shiver deliriously. “You’ve met the duke and his family,” she said. “Who do you think is the likely suspect?”

Setting aside the sketch pad, he seemed to hesitate. “It isn’t for me to prejudice you against your relations.”

“Then how am I to find the culprit?”

His mouth drew into a strict line. “You’re to find nothing, Elizabeth. Enjoy your visit with the duke and leave the detecting to me.”

She bit back an indignant remark. “Be reasonable, Nicholas. I might catch something you miss. Don’t you want to identify this person as swiftly as possible?”

His dark brows drew together in a frown. Gradually the stern set of his face softened. “Very well, then. You’ve already met Drew. He’s a self indulgent womanizer. That’s why I didn’t want Cicely within a mile of him. During the six weeks he was in town, he ran up gambling debts all over London.”

“Do you suppose he thinks I might lay claim to part of his inheritance?”

“Precisely. Philippa, his mother, might think so, too. She’s an ingratiating sort, hovers around the duke, anxious to please him.” He grinned. “I remember thinking you would have laughed. When she flapped her arms she looked rather like a skinny bird.”

“I’m sorrier and sorrier that I missed that tea.”

“Serves you right for gallivanting all over London without me.” His fingers twined with hers. “The Duchess Adelaide was harder to read. She didn’t say much, just sat there placid as a plow horse. But it stands to reason she might resent you. After all,” he said, his voice gentling, “her husband had an affair with your mother… I’m glad to say.”

Troubled, Elizabeth studied him. “But that was over twenty years ago.”

“Some people have long memories. Until we know more about the sort of person she is, we have to assume she could be cold blooded enough to hire someone to hurt you.”

“But why now? If she hated me, why wouldn’t she have acted when I was born?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps she resents you because you’ve grown up to look so much like your mother.”

Elizabeth shivered. “She would have to be mad.”

His hand tensed on hers. “The more I think on this, Countess, the less I like it. As soon as you satisfy your need to make the duke’s acquaintance, we’re returning to London.”

She had no intention of agreeing to
that.
“We’ll see,” she hedged. “Now tell me about the duke, please.”

He shot her a piercing look. “The first thing I noticed about Rockborough was his eyes.” Nicholas touched her cheek. “They’re the same rare shade of violet as yours. He seems rather old and frail, in body if not in spirit. Never travels anywhere without his doctor. In fact the duke had a mild asthma attack at tea and the doctor had to attend to him.”

“And his character?” Seeing his hesitation, she pressed, “The truth, please. He may be my father in blood, but I’ve no other attachment to him, at least not yet.”

Nicholas studied her pensively. “His enjoyment in life seemed to come from baiting his relations. And from collecting knives.”

“Knives?”

He nodded. “Hugh Sterling is a Connoisseur of medieval weaponry. Ostensibly that’s why he was in London, to visit an agent who buys for him at auctions.”

“Does the duke have a reason to wish me ill?” she asked in a low voice. “Would he resent the sudden reappearance of a bastard daughter?”

“A daughter who is now the Countess of Hawkesford.” Garnering her close, Nicholas pressed his cheek to her hair. “I can’t answer your question, love, but your appearance certainly changed
my
life.”

Elizabeth drew comfort from his warm strength. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his subtle masculine tang. Nothing could happen to her in his embrace. Life took on a glow that drove away dark motives and hidden resentments.

After a time his arms loosened. She shifted, turning her face to the window and her mind to the passing landscape. Alternately flat and rolling, the countryside was lushly green with farms and forests. The motion of the train lulled her as the scenery flashed past. What a change this was from the cramped and crowded streets of London and New York.

“Is the view more fascinating than your husband, Countess?”

She swiveled toward Nicholas. “Not at all… It’s just that I’ve never ridden on a train before.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Never?”

“When I was growing up, we hadn’t the money to travel. Owen and I had to scrape to pay passage to England.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “Those times are over now, Elizabeth. You’ll never want for anything again.”

She tenderly touched his cheek. “I don’t need money to make me happy, Nicholas. Only you.”

Suddenly he bent to rummage inside the covered luncheon hamper. “Perhaps this will make you happy, as well.” He handed her a heavy, string wrapped parcel.

“What is it?” she asked, her fingers sliding off the twine. The snowy paper fell away to reveal a thick, leather bound book.
“Gray’s Anatomy,”
she whispered, flabbergasted yet rejoicing to the depths of her soul.

Clasping the volume to her bosom, she raised misty eyes to Nicholas. He loved her enough to give her something she so dearly valued and he so clearly scorned. He was lounging in the seat, watching her, an anxious smile on his lips.

Her knees went weak. “Nicholas, thank you.” Hugging the book in one arm and him in the other, she brushed a kiss across his mouth.

His hands rubbed stirringly over her shoulders. “Just keep the damned thing away from my sister,” he growled. “She isn’t quite ready for it.”

Elizabeth couldn’t take offense; her heart felt too full. “You really do accept my work, then?”

“I want you to do whatever makes you happy.”

She searched his face. “And you won’t mind if I win the commission from Lord Buckstone?”

His grip on her tensed. Something flared in his gaze; his dark lashes lowered for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were a cool, banked gray. “Buckstone is only leading you on, Elizabeth. I doubt there really is a commission.”

The brooding edge to his voice gave her the impression he wasn’t being honest. “I don’t believe that. And neither do you.”

“I believe what I saw the night of the ball. This is all he wanted.” Nicholas shaped his palm to the fullness of her breast, then slid his hand downward, over her lilac silk traveling gown, to the delta of her thighs. “And this.”

The blunt gesture both aroused and annoyed her. Stiffening, she pushed away his hand and set aside the book, her pleasure in the gift dwindling. “That isn’t fair. Peter never once made an indecent suggestion to me.”