The Uncatchable Miss Faversham (23 page)

    Knowing how little could be concealed by his skin-tight pantaloons, Nathaniel crossed his legs and adjusted his sodden coat, very much aware of her presence opposite him, of the intimacy of this situation, the two of them sitting together in this dark, closed carriage with no chaperone and no one to see if he should choose to kiss her again.

    To compound the problem, she was holding her damp hem just above her ankles to dry it, the sight of those slender ankles and feet enough to remind him of what else lay beneath her disturbingly diaphanous opera-gown.

    He could not understand this woman. Damn it, she was as yielding and pliant in his arms as any man could hope for, yet she would be neither his wife nor his mistress. Not that he wished for the latter.

    Once, he had felt that every eligible gentleman in London must have vied for – and in a few cases, been granted – the honour of warming her bed. At least, that had been her whispered reputation in the gentlemen’s clubs.

    He knew himself to have been mistaken about that now. From what he had seen of her with Lovett, she was no loose skirt. No, it must be marriage or nothing.

    Yet harsh words had been spoken on both sides, and he was not sure how to repair the damage without leaving himself open to further rejection.

    The memory of his first proposal was still fresh in his mind. Battle-scarred but still very much a boy in man’s clothing, he had offered her marriage with the arrogant defensiveness of youth, and her reaction – not merely refusing him, but immediately running away to London as though horrified by the prospect of such a life - had knocked him flat. Surely he dared not risk such humiliation again. If he were to renew his offer, and she refuse, the blow to his heart and pride must be such that he would never recover.

   
No other woman has ever had this effect on you. Admit it, and don’t be such a bloody fool. Ask her to marry you.

   
He was just steeling himself for the prospect of another excoriating, slap-in-the-face rejection when Eleanor turned her head from her contemplation of the streets and smiled directly at him.

    ‘We’ll be there soon.’

    He could barely reply, knowing that the moment was slipping away from him. He felt off-balance, a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, his cravat suddenly too tight.

    ‘It would appear so.’

    Her next words startled him with their directness. ‘You must come in and dry your clothes. I cannot allow you to continue on to your hotel in that condition.’

    ‘I beg your pardon?’

    ‘Oh, I see. You would rather catch a chill?’

    His eyes narrowed. What game was Miss Faversham playing now? Even in the dimly-lit interior, he could see the feverish look on Eleanor’s face, a strange, unfamiliar glitter in her eyes as she shifted restlessly on the damp seat of the hackney. The sight made him uneasy.

    ‘I will survive a little rain, I believe.’

    She had removed her long white opera-gloves and was dragging them through her hands, her gaze fixed on his face. ‘You ... you do not wish to accept my invitation, then?’

    He frowned. What the devil did she mean? Reviewing the possibilities, which were narrow indeed, and more than surprising, his heart began to thunder.

    ‘
Invitation
?’

    Mutely, she nodded.

    ‘But what of your servants? What of my sister and Miss Carter? It would be impossible for us to … retire … together without being seen.’

    ‘I don’t give a damn if we are seen or not,’ she replied tightly, then gave an odd little laugh, her hands stilling in her lap at last. ‘What must you think of me, my lord? Propositioning you like some ... Oh, some shameless lady of the night! But in truth, I am heartily sick of these rules that bind us so rigidly. Aren’t you?’

    His jaw clenched. ‘Yes.’

    ‘For those old women to say,
one kiss and you must be married
! Well, forgive my plain speaking but it is all nonsense. No, and I shall not obey such outmoded rules any longer.’

    Her voice had dropped to a husky whisper. She leant forward, the skin of her breasts glistening, almost close enough for him to touch, and he heard the tremor behind her words.

    Was that uncertainty in her voice? Excitement?

    ‘We two have done far more than kiss, have we not?’ Eleanor gave him a lopsided smile, almost pleading. ‘Even if I blush to remember that night we spent together, it was an
adventure
and one which I should dearly love to repeat.’

    He stared, caught off-guard and unsure how to reply, though his body stirred inexorably at the passion in her voice. Could it be true? Was the Uncatchable Miss Faversham indeed offering him the free, unfettered use of her body for the night, or was this yet another of her sophisticated jeux d’amour?

    All his sexual instincts told him to kiss her now and think later. But his mind warred with the powerful urges of his body, reminding Nathaniel that he did not want this woman as a pleasant souvenir of his stay in London, but as his wife.

    His memory flashed back to that abortive night at Sallinger’s Folly. Finding her quite alone and at his mercy there, he had intended to seduce her, then had thrown her aside. Abruptly he realised the reason for her hesitation, the trembling insecurity with which she bit her lip, watching him.

    She feared his rejection.
Just as he feared hers.

    ‘Eleanor,’ he began, then cleared his throat, his voice too embarrassingly husky to continue.

    He must not forget who she was, the reputation that had dogged her for years. This was not the moment to be placing his heart in the hands of a woman who might take great pleasure in destroying it, not least because of the way he had humiliated her at Sallinger’s Folly.

    A well-named place, he thought bitterly, his gaze scanning her eminently desirable form, so close in the dark swaying carriage.

    ‘Yes?’

    He shook his head, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. She had made him an offer and was awaiting his reply.

   
To hell with it!

   
‘Are you completely and utterly certain this is what you want?’ he asked her.

    ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But I can see no other way ahead. Unless I am to ... to
burst
!’

    His smile was dry with understanding. ‘That bad, is it?’

    ‘It would appear so.’

    He leant forward and took her mouth.

    Eleanor gave a little gasp at the unexpected suddenness of the kiss, her whole body stiffening as though she would have drawn back. Then her arms swung around his neck, embracing him while her lips responded to his with an answering passion.

    He cupped her face between his hands, closing his eyes against the darkness, putting aside all the bitterness and disillusionment he had felt around her in the past. And he sensed, or guessed, that Eleanor too was leaving herself open in a way she had never done before, the usual barriers she put up against society quite fallen.

    They had kissed many times before, both in passion and in anger, but this time Nathaniel felt a strange new energy between their two bodies, leaning into each other across the intimate space of the carriage.

    They were both shocked when the hackney coach swayed to an abrupt stop, and the Jarvey called out hoarsely, ‘Berkeley Square, guv’nor!’

    The reality of her offer hit Nathaniel as he took in her white face and sudden comprehending gasp. He took her hands between his and chafed them gently, trying to warm them up.

    ‘Nell, you don’t need to do this. I can easily return to my hotel and – ’

    But she shook her head, pulling free from his hands and dragging her white opera-gloves back on. ‘No, you don’t understand.’ She glanced out at the smart facades of the houses, most of them respectably shrouded in darkness now. ‘Tell the driver to pull round to the mews.’

    He did as she requested, frowning as he sat back and stared at her. ‘Why the mews?’

    ‘I know where the key to the servants’ entrance is kept,’ she said, and there was an unexpected devil in her smile. ‘You see, I need not be ruined at all. Unless dear old Shearsman is still up, that is, prowling the halls.’

    ‘Shearsman?’

    ‘My butler. But he’s likely to be in his room by now.’ She bit her lip. ‘I daresay he will be up most of the night, awaiting my return. Poor man.’

    The driver had stopped partway along the mews, his shout more disapproving this time. Reputable ladies did not alight from carriages with gentlemen in back alleys, and her cheeks flushed as she guessed what the horrid man must be thinking. Though indeed it was no more than the truth.

    Nathaniel handed her down from the carriage and paid off the driver, turning to help Eleanor cross the filthy alley, her flimsy new gown held high to avoid brushing the rubbish.

    She glanced up at his scarred profile and felt oddly safe in his company, even while her heart was racing at the thought of the risk she was running.

    If one of the servants should see them ... !

    Something scuttled away in the darkness and she gave a little cry, then half-smiled at her own foolishness. ‘A rat, that’s all.’

    Nathaniel steered her into the back yard of her house, through the unlocked gate – often left open, as she knew perfectly well, for the earliest deliveries of the day – and to the servants’ entrance, the stout wooden door always kept locked after dark. She only hoped that no busybody had taken it upon him or herself to draw the heavy bolt across as well, leaving them out in the dark.

    ‘The key?’ he asked quietly, trying the door.

    It was still raining, a persistent drizzle , drops of rain ruining her elegant headdress and running down the back of her neck. Keeping her voice equally hushed, aware that the servants sleeping within might overhear even a whispered conversation, she gestured to the generous ledge above the stable door.

    ‘Reach up and run your hand along the top of that door. There should be a key. Careful, it’s a little ... oh!’

    Nathaniel had lowered his hand from the top of the stable door, a key grasped firmly between long elegant fingers but his wrist soiled with dirt. His eyebrows rose as he examined the cuff of his expensive white shirt, now irretrievably black as well as damp.

    ‘Dirty?’ he supplied ironically.

    ‘I’m so sorry.’

    ‘No matter. Let us try it, shall we?’ He slid the key into the lock and gave a tight smile when it turned. ‘And we’re in.’

    Suddenly nervous, her mouth dry as she considered the enormity of her actions, Eleanor stood before the back door step without moving. Her gaze shifted over the darkened interior, searching every shadow in that narrow corridor as though she feared what lay there.

    Then his arm came around her waist again, and he half-lifted, half-propelled her stiff body over the threshold, his breath warming her cheek.

    ‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded. ‘Cold feet? It’s rather late for a change of heart. The wolf is well and truly in the house now, and he’s
hungry
.’

    Nathaniel shut the door softly behind them and locked it again, handing her the dirty black key, which was too large to fit into her reticule and had to be juggled in her hand instead.

    Then he nudged her forward, his smile barely visible in the dark corridor, a ghostly curve of his lips.

    ‘Come now, Miss Faversham, which way to your boudoir? After that little misadventure with the key, I badly need to wash my hands, which I very much fear could be mistaken for a coalman’s. And to get out of these wet clothes. Unless my discomfort is no longer of any interest to you?’

    She started, gasping slightly. ‘Of ... of course!’

    ‘Then could we possibly hurry things up?’ His quiet laughter mocked her. ‘I’m becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute.’

Eleanor closed her bedroom door and leant her damp forehead against it in the darkness. She was surely going mad, bringing a man up to her bedchamber. But at least none of the servants had seen them.

    ‘Candles?’ Nathaniel asked softly at her back.

    ‘On the mantel, I imagine. Or beside the bed.’

    She heard him throwing open her bedroom shutters and casting about for tinderbox and candles by moonlight. She ought to help, but she needed to think.

    No, he was right. It was too late for
thought
. She had made her choice back in the shadowy interior of the carriage. Before even that, perhaps. Sitting along beside him in the throbbing stillness of the theatre, she had began to conceive this daring plan, this adventure which could ruin her. Had already ruined her, indeed, through its very execution.

    What were the chances that he could leave her room undetected later tonight or in the morning?

    None, no chance at all.

    Her reputation was ruined, and that was the reality of her situation.

    Yet she found she did not care. Or refused to care until the morning. Tonight, she would do precisely what she wanted and damn the gossiping dowagers and disapproving noblemen of the beau monde.

    Her senses drenched in Handel’s swelling music, her eyes on Nathaniel’s ruined profile, Eleanor had realised what she intended to do after the performance, and had gasped aloud, glad no one could hear her over the singing from the gas-lit stage.

    With discretion, a gentleman might sow his oats wherever he wished.

    Why was it so reprehensible for a lady to experience the same physical desire as a man, and act on it?

    ‘Nell?’

    His fingers stroked gently down her back, raising a delightful shiver wherever they touched.

    She turned to face him, chin up, her face pale but resolute. Nathaniel thought she had never looked so beautiful, nor so blankly terrified.

    ‘So now you have me alone,’ she whispered. ‘Truly alone.’

    ‘Though not for the first time.’

    She blushed at his reminder, but did not drop her gaze from his face. ‘Nor even the second,’ she pointed out softly, and he knew she was thinking of that strange, difficult evening at Sallinger’s Folly when his foolish, hurt pride had not allowed him to accept her invitation to make love. There was a stiffness to her smile that told him how much she feared a second rejection. ‘What are your intentions this time, my lord?’