Three Proposals And A Scandal Part 9

"I promised you'll keep your virtue."

Frantically she pressed back on his arm until her gaze met his. His face was flushed and his lips full from their kisses. But his eyes remained steady.

"Marianne?" he asked as if the pause had contained an entire conversation.

She managed a nod. "I don't feel very virtuous."

Elias smiled and pressed his lips to hers. His hardness jutted into her hip, but his kiss was sweet. When he was forceful, the fire stirred her caution. She had no defenses against tenderness. On a surge of crushing emotion, she answered his kiss with every drop of unspoken love in her heart.

Because that emotional surrender was so much more significant than physical need, she didn't close her legs when he began a slow exploration. She shook as he gently traced her delicate folds. His long fingers found a place that sent unfamiliar sensation ripping through her.

She cried out and her hands clenched against his shoulders. "Elias?"

"This is for you, my love." His voice soothed while his hand played fiendish music on her body.

Lost in a fog of carnal pleasure, she closed her eyes and twisted to bury her face in his chest. He was breathing harshly and his heart thumped hard beneath her ear. He stroked her again and a tremor shook her. She'd never felt like this before. She liked what he did, but every touch set her thirsting for some mysterious end.

She wriggled against his hand in a futile quest for ease, then m.u.f.fled another cry when she felt a subtle pressure. He'd slid a finger into her body. That should seem bizarre. Instead it felt like an invitation to heaven.

When he stroked deeper, a liquid surge greeted him and she whimpered into his shirt. She felt hot and restless and needy. This was like torture.

He continued until she wanted to curse him. Then through frustration, something new started to spiral inside her and she quaked in his hold. On and on he went, tormenting her with cruel pleasure.

She felt stretched on a rack. If he didn't stop, she'd shatter into a thousand pieces. If he stopped, she'd die.

Higher and higher. The end perpetually out of reach.

In the s.p.a.ce between one searing breath and the next, she pitched forward and toppled over some invisible cliff. All that exquisite heat flashed into a peak so clean and pure and transcendent, she flung free to fly through the burning stars.

Chapter Ten.

The foul weather persisted the next day. When Elias arrived early for breakfast, Jonas sat alone over a plate of sirloin and eggs. He grunted to his host and bypa.s.sed the steaming chafing dishes on the sideboard, heading straight for the coffee. When sleep had proven elusive, he'd sought refuge in the brandy bottle. Not enough to deaden physical or emotional frustration, d.a.m.n it, but enough to give him a sour stomach this morning.

He was relieved that Jonas was his sole companion. Richard would expect some attempt at conversation and Elias was in no mood for Baildon or Tranter or Desborough. Jonas was usually disinclined to small talk. This morning, he seemed disinclined to any talk at all. Which suited Elias down to the muddy ground.

Elias brooded over his steaming coffee, sifting last night's astonishing events, trying to decide what the devil he did now. Was his encounter with Marianne in the music room a beginning or an end? He had no b.l.o.o.d.y idea.

Marianne would probably sleep late. After she'd found her pleasure, he'd read the glorious peace in her eyes. In all his life, he'd never seen anything as beautiful as the woman he loved half-naked and finding joy at his hand.

Her shy wonder had made that pa.s.sionate abandon all the more poignant. Poignant and arousing. No doubt she'd slept like an angel in heaven. He'd remained awake, hard, needy-and stewing over the fact that she was no more likely to marry him than she'd ever been.

For half an hour, the two men sat in silence. Jonas made his way through a pile of correspondence at his elbow. Elias stared moodily through the closed French doors to the tumbling rain and wondered whether he could bear to stay in England and watch Marianne become Lady Desborough.

Eventually Elias realized that his host had stopped reading his mail and was regarding him with the familiar sardonic gleam in his eyes. That scarred face was often described as inscrutable, but Elias knew Jonas well enough these days to catch mockery-and to resent it.

"What the deuce is your problem, Hillbrook?" he snarled.

A derisive smile tilted Jonas's mouth, but his response surprised Elias. "I've got to check the flood levels and make sure any livestock we shifted to higher ground is safe. Want to come with me?"

Elias's gaze returned to the sheeting rain outside. "It's pouring cats and dogs." He paused. "No, elephants and carthorses."

His host's attention didn't waver. "Yes."

"You expect me to brave the storm and mire and wind blowing straight down from the pole?"

"Interested?"

Elias glanced around the snug breakfast room with its blazing fire and dishes full of food he was yet to sample. Then he looked again at the quagmire outside. As if to emphasize the discomforts without, a gust of raindrops. .h.i.t the gla.s.s so hard they sounded like stones.

He surged to his feet. "By G.o.d, yes, I am."

With a groan, Elias collapsed beside Jonas who sat against the barn wall. It didn't matter that the dark, musty s.p.a.ce was almost as wet as outside. At least it was out of the gale. He was dripping and covered in mud. Jonas wasn't in much better state.

Wordlessly, Jonas pa.s.sed him a flask that turned out to be full of brandy. Elias took a swig, handed it back, and rested his head on the rough boards behind him. He was tired and soaked and freezing. Every muscle ached and he was covered in bruises. But at least hours of rescuing people and livestock had distracted him from his romantic woes.

Jonas had proven an unexpectedly congenial companion. Concise with instructions, good humored, taciturn. Elias had particularly appreciated this last quality. A day of action and limited conversation was exactly what he'd needed.

The thought that despite his physical discomfort, he felt better than he had in weeks made him laugh. Jonas turned to him in the gloom, one black eyebrow raised. "Nice to see you less blue-deviled than you were this morning. At breakfast you looked ready to slit your throat."

Startled, Elias met his friend's regard. "I didn't think you'd noticed."

It was Jonas's turn to laugh. "I've never seen a man more lovesick. Noticed? You d.a.m.n near put me off my poached eggs." He went on before Elias could object to the description. "If you want the Seaton chit, why don't you b.l.o.o.d.y well offer for her?"

Elias sighed and leaned his head against the wall once more. "I did. She won't have me."

"Really?" Jonas sounded considering rather than shocked. "I'd have said she likes you. At Cam's Christmas party, she looked at you the way Consuela looks at a currant bun."

"That was before Lord Baildon convinced her I was a heartless fortune hunter."

"Ah."

"Yes, ah. He's set on shackling her to Desborough." He shifted slightly until he could see Jonas's ruined face. "I thought you'd set up this house party so that they could settle the engagement."

Jonas's mouth turned down in wry amus.e.m.e.nt. "I set up this house party so that I could talk Baildon into selling me half of Hampstead. Any marital contracts are purely a side issue."

"So why are you encouraging me to pursue Lady Marianne?"

The black eyes glittered. "Because my wife is convinced you two belong together and I'm putty in that woman's hands."

Elias didn't think Jonas was putty in anyone's hands, but he'd long ago recognized the powerful bond between Lord and Lady Hillbrook. Watching them so happy together-and the similarly adoring Richard and Genevieve-had p.r.i.c.ked like a thorn under his saddle for the last few days. He didn't begrudge other people's contentment. It was just dashed hard to stomach when his own courtship failed to prosper.

Last night, Marianne had given him more than a rejected suitor had any right to expect. But the chance that nothing would follow, and more bitter still, that her sweet ardor would shrivel away if she married Desborough, made him want to punch something. Preferably Desborough's inoffensive face.

"It doesn't matter," he said grimly. "She's determined to obey her father and equally determined to see me as a scoundrel." Although perhaps after last night, that wasn't as true as it had been in London.

"Cheer up, man. The engagement hasn't been announced. You might yet convince her of your sincerity."

"How the h.e.l.l can I do that? The blasted money separates us like the Great Wall of China. If I say I don't want her dowry, it sounds like a self-serving lie." He paused. "I loved my brother, but I wish to heaven he hadn't left the family finances in such a mess."

"I didn't know Peter," Jonas said thoughtfully. "I wasn't accepted in society when he was squandering his patrimony. But you've got a good head on your shoulders. I've been watching your investments in the new industries. Once you've stopped feeling sorry for yourself, no doubt you'll find your way to both solvency and Lady Marianne."

The praise surprised Elias. He didn't make the mistake of dismissing the compliment. Jonas was renowned for his shrewdness-and his plain speaking.

Jonas rose and offered a hand. "We need to get back to the house or Sidonie will think we've been washed away. And I could use a hot bath and some food."

Elias accepted the a.s.sistance. "Thank you." He was grateful for more than just the hand up.

"Chin up, chum. All's not lost."

Strangely the conversation braced Elias's courage. Jonas was right. He didn't underestimate the forces ranged against him-princ.i.p.ally Lord Baildon and lack of fortune. But he had a few advantages, not least that Marianne had kissed him goodbye last night with an avidity that had singed his toes.

His hopes received a boost when he and Jonas returned to a crowded hall. Their arrival brought the entire mismatched party out to hear about the flood. As Jonas's resonant ba.s.s detailed the situation, Elias found himself standing beside Marianne.

A happy accident, he thought, until her hand brushed his. Surprised and pleased, he glanced down. Her eyes, like everyone else's, were focused on their host who was describing the rescue of a farmer's family from the rising water.

"Can we do that again?" she murmured, bending her head so n.o.body would see that she spoke.

Shocked Elias hesitated before answering. She could only mean one thing. But would she be brazen enough to suggest a rendezvous?

Once more her fingers stroked his and for one blazing second, she raised her chin and their eyes met. Heat thundered through him and he swallowed against a surge of arousal.

"Please," she mouthed.

"I'll arrange something." He twisted his hand until he pressed hers under the cover of her yellow skirts.

She crossed to talk to Genevieve. He hoped n.o.body else noticed the pink in her cheeks. His hand burned from the fleeting contact. He remembered how last night her scent had clung to his fingers. He'd felt drunk on the fragrance.

His heart, bolstered with fragile hope since talking to Jonas, swelled with renewed confidence. Perhaps the future he'd believed out of reach wasn't quite as impossible as he'd imagined during the night's bleak depths.

Chapter Eleven.

Marianne could hardly bear to go through the motions of playing the perfect guest until she met Elias again. The glow of what he'd done to her last night had lingered all day. That breathtaking end to his caresses had left every muscle feeling like silk. Better than physical wellbeing was the certainty now lodged in her heart. She'd left herself open to him in every way and he'd justified her trust. Her father was wrong about Elias. He was a man of unshakable honor after all.

Last night, she'd been too overcome to tell Elias what she felt. But now, now she was ready to consent to become his wife.

She meant to marry Elias Thorne and defy her father.

Luckily at a country house party, strict standards of propriety relaxed. Back in London, arranging a private encounter would be more difficult. The sheer number of guests in the house aided intrigue. After dinner, the disparate group spread across the ground floor. Her father and his cronies, including Desborough, retreated to the library to swap endless hunting stories. The younger men played cards. Other guests pa.s.sed the evening with music or joined Sidonie for tea in the drawing room.

Marianne was making her way to the drawing room when a maid curtsied to her. "Begging your pardon, my lady, the gentleman asked me to give you this."

With shaking hands, Marianne accepted the sealed note and ripped it open. It contained two words. "The conservatory."

Wanton antic.i.p.ation spurred her. She slipped into the empty dining room and burned the note in the fireplace before setting out to meet Elias. When she hurried toward the annex, she hardly felt her feet touch the floor. Still she wasn't completely lost to propriety. She paused before the gla.s.s doors to the large room crammed with palms, ferns and orchids. Carefully she checked to see who was there.

Lamps lit the plant-filled s.p.a.ce to mystery. It appeared empty, but if Elias was here, he had every reason to keep out of sight.

Quietly she opened the double doors. Immediately she heard trickling water. Jonas's collection of exotic specimens surrounded her with a pungent tropical scent. Rain slammed against the gla.s.s walls and roof, while inside, the tiles beneath her feet were warm.

Her heart raced as she made her way through the greenery, past mosaic fountains and statues of strange heathen G.o.ds. Discretion kept her from calling and the weather m.u.f.fled her progress.

Finally she lifted a trailing vine heavy with waxy white flowers and saw a tall man standing in a clear s.p.a.ce, his back to her. Disappointment struck her so hard that she released a soft groan. The blond man turned from watching the rain on the gla.s.s and grinned at her as if she was a birthday gift.

"L-Lord Tranter," she said unevenly, retreating and b.u.mping into the palm tree behind her.

"Lady Marianne," he said ardently, catching her hand and bending over it. "Thank you for coming to me."

His lips on her skin made her recoil. After admitting that she wanted n.o.body but Elias, Tranter's touch disgusted her.

What on earth could she say to explain her presence? She couldn't tell him she'd come so quickly because she'd been in a lather to see Elias Thorne. "My lord, what do you want?"

He kept grinning, deaf to her lack of enthusiasm. "My dear Marianne, your modesty does you credit. Surely you've guessed how I esteem and admire you."

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

Tranter's words echoed Desborough's and before that, Elias's. "I'm...I'm grateful," she stammered.

One would think after all this practice, she could respond to a proposal without turning a hair. She felt as fl.u.s.tered as she had last week when Elias had declared his intentions.