All's Fair in Love and Seduction Page 6

  “Where shall we go first?” Miss Smith spoke to no one in particular as she surveyed the museum, her eyes round with wonder.

  “Why don’t we start with the King’s Library?” Miss Rutherford suggested when it became apparent neither he nor Lord Stanfield would offer up any themselves.

  Miss Smith looked at him and then at the baron. “If my lords are in agreement?”

  Derek jerked his head in a nod. But after the museum, they had a house to see with neither Miss Rutherford nor Stanfield in tow. But that was something Miss Elizabeth Smith didn’t know. At least not yet.

  Just as they began their walk toward the first wing of the building, Cartwright—he recognized his friend’s voice instantly—called out from behind.

  Miss Rutherford froze, inhaled a sharp breath as color leeched from her face. She collected herself a heartbeat later, her shoulders pushed slightly back, her chin raised the barest fraction of an inch.

  His friend wasted no time in making his way to them. They exchanged silent nods upon his approach. To the women he offered a deep bow with the overly polite greeting of, “Miss Smith, Miss Rutherford.” The nod he directed at Stanfield was cold, a tenuous hold on civility.

  “Miss Rutherford, Lady Windmere has received word that Lady Armstrong is about to deliver. We will be leaving for Devon within the hour. ”

  Miss Rutherford eyes rounded in a mixture of concern and excitement. “So soon? Oh, but yes of course.”

  “I will escort you home.”

  At this, Miss Rutherford sent the baron a concerned look, who appeared impervious to the exchange and the resulting effect. As if Cartwright didn’t pose a threat to Miss Rutherford’s affection. The notion was laughable.

  “Lord Stanfield?” Miss Rutherford prompted.

  “Oh, yes. Cartwright, I will escort Miss Rutherford home.”

  “My carriage is close by and I’m on my way there,” Cartwright replied tersely.

  “I will instruct my driver to take you home, Stanfield,” Derek offered. The man certainly wasn’t going to remain with them, not with Miss Rutherford rushing off to be there at the birth of Armstrong’s first child. Stanfield could do nothing else but accept his offer unless he wished to hire a hackney home as they had all come together in Derek’s carriage.

  Stanfield gave a grudging nod and ten minutes later, the trio had departed.

  Now blessedly alone with Miss Smith, Derek directed his full attention at her, his elbow crooked. She peered up at him, her eyes uncertain perhaps a little afraid. He suppressed a smile and asked graciously, “Shall we?”

  “Di-did you have anything to do with that?” she asked after a pause, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. Elizabeth was quite sure he had. It simply couldn’t be a coincidence.

  His frame shook with laughter, drawing her gaze up to his.

  “Even I could not foresee the precise timing of Lady Armstrong’s child readying itself to enter the world. Really, Miss Smith, you think too much of my abilities. Am I now a mystic? A sightseer?”

  Elizabeth understood just how ridiculous she sounded, but she just knew he’d had a hand in this even if she could not say exactly how. She also knew she was in a heap of trouble. He had that look in his eyes. The same look that had kept her on edge these last two weeks. An unabashed want that mirrored her own.

  From their first kiss, she had known this was how it would be between them, that razor sharp awareness and a hunger that grew with every word, every touch and every look exchanged. And now with Charlotte gone, Elizabeth would have to cope on her own. Be strong in spite of herself. Things did not look promising.

  They toured the museum the next several hours, taking in the royal collection of books in the King’s Library. They moved on to see the Rosetta Stone before concluding their visit with the statue of the Great Winged Bull. He impressed her with his superior knowledge, speaking with great authority on the subject of Egyptian hieroglyphs and various other topics.

  She also discovered his love of reading was as great as her own. At that, some of her anxiety eased, Lord Creswell conducting himself like a perfect gentleman. He was solicitous in his touch and respectful in his manner, never once stripping her bare with his gaze.

  When they tumbled into the carriage in the early evening, Elizabeth had convinced herself she could trust him to keep his hands—and all parts of him—to himself.

  The waning rays of the sun heralded dusk, shrouding the carriage in darkness. Lord Creswell sat across from her, his figure cast in a shadow of gray and black. Except to ask her if she’d enjoyed the visit, he remained silent. Which wouldn’t have been all that bad had she not known he was watching her. She could feel it. And the same tension she’d fear would derail her efforts came back, humming in the air stronger than before.

  Some minutes later, the barouche came to a halt beside a townhome; a red-brick edifice that soared three stories high.

  “Why have we stopped here?” she asked. Who lives here?

  “It’s a property I’ve just purchased. I thought you’d like to see it, perhaps offer your thoughts. You will be residing here, after all,” came his smooth reply.

  Elizabeth peered out the window and then back at his shadowed face. If she couldn’t see him, she couldn’t read him and therefore wouldn’t know whether to trust him. But a far more dire situation than that was she didn’t trust herself.

  “I would prefer we come back another time.”

  Coward.

  No, simply self-preservation.

  “Really, Miss Smith, does the thought of being alone with me fill you with such fear? In any case, the groom needs to tend the horses. Come now,” he cajoled, “I promise I won’t bite.” His tone did nothing to reassure her. He sounded sensually sinister if two such words could be put together in that way.

  Elizabeth collected herself, pushing back her shoulders and swallowing hard. No one could mistake his statement for anything less than the challenge it was. She could do this. She wasn’t so weak, so completely lacking in control.

  But then, one could expect to resist only so much temptation and Lord Derek Creswell was undeniably temptation incarnate.

  “Ten minutes.” That should be time enough to take a quick tour of the house but surely not time enough for anything grievously untoward to occur.

  “As you wish.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice and her apprehension mounted anew.

  The first thing Elizabeth noticed upon entering the house was that they hadn’t been greeted by a servant; not a butler or a footman or even a housekeeper. The sound of silence echoed throughout the empty halls.

  “Where are the servants?”

  “I haven’t staffed the house as yet. I wanted your opinion of it as the sale is not yet final.”

  Had he not just told her he’d already bought the house? The warning bells in her head held a discordant ring. In her logical mind she knew nothing would happen to her that she did not want. Unfortunately, her problem was she did want. She wanted so badly her desire for the viscount kept her up at night and had her touching herself under the covers in ways that the mere thought brought a rush of heat to her face. Mr. Richard Smith’s virginal daughter pleasuring herself. The notion was absurd!

  “Perhaps, we should come back during the daylight and that way I can see it properly.”

  “Come let us look at the rooms upstairs,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he urged her toward the staircase.

  Elizabeth looked up at him, her protest poised on the tip of her tongue when she saw the lust in his eyes. But that wasn’t what gave her pause; it was the glimmer of satisfaction in making her wary and nervous.

  By God, he knew she wasn’t about to just let him have his way with her. Certainly not before they married. So what was his game?

  “And is that where you hope to seduce me?” Her parents would be appalled had they heard her. She was astonished anything in that vein was able to pass her lips.
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  Lord Creswell didn’t respond until they reached the first door on the third floor.

  No doubt a bed was on the other side of that door.

  He turned to her. “If I may be frank, Miss Smith…Elizabeth.” He spoke her name, soft and low, and somehow her name on his lips sounded more intimate than a kiss. “I am a man who likes to leave nothing to chance. If I am to court and marry you in such unfashionable haste, I would like some assurance that you and I suit when it comes to the intimacies of the marriage bed.”

  At his words, lust in its most pure form accosted her. Parts of her went soft while other parts became rigid, pinpoints of pleasure to come.

  No. No. No. There would be no pleasure of any sort. Not for her and definitely none for the viscount.

  “So you would like us to have marital relations outside the sanctity of marriage?” she asked in a voice she barely recognized.

  “You’ve been so skittish of late. If I hadn’t already kissed you, I think you didn’t like to be touched. When I marry, it’ll be for life and I have no desire to saddle myself with a wife who cannot perform satisfactory in that area.” Lord Creswell turned, his back to her as he faced the chamber door. But on his face, she glimpsed the barest hint of smile.

  So that was how he thought to get around marrying her. He thought she’d cry off, refusing to enter his philistine game of sampling the goods.

  For several long seconds, Elizabeth said nothing, allowing him to believe she was grappling in indecision. His hand released its grasp on the handle of the door and he straightened as if ready to claim victory.

  “Very well, if that’s what it will take to ease your mind—ease both our minds—let us proceed. But I must have your assurance that once we’ve established that we suit, um, in that way, we will immediately announce our betrothal and set a wedding date.”

  Elizabeth took great satisfaction in watching Lord Creswell’s entire form stiffen and his hand still in mid-air. Slowly, he angled his head over his shoulder to regard her, incredulity flashed briefly in their blue-green depths. “You are in agreement?”

  Feigning the stalwartness of that of a virgin about to be sacrificed for the good of God and country, Elizabeth gave a tremulous but firm nod.

  “And if we do not suit, what then?”

  Did his voice sound a mite strained?

  “I have a feeling we shall suit very well.” She gave him a bright smile. “Shall we proceed, my lord?”

  Chapter Eight

  For an instant, he looked panicked; an expression that probably did not sit comfortably on his face. He then drew a breath, turned and pushed open the door. Elizabeth followed, certain that in any moment, he would surrender as gracefully as a gentleman defeated should.

  Given the supposed lack of servants, a lamp on the bedside table was surprisingly lit, lighting the luxuriously furnished room. It contained a large four-poster bed, a wardrobe, a marble-topped vanity and a chest of drawers and smelled freshly cleaned.

  Elizabeth proceeded him into the bedchamber remained by the door observing her, studying her with the quiet concentration of a chess player evaluating the board and determining his next move.

  He didn’t think she would go through with it. Elizabeth could tell that by the faintly cunning look in his eyes.

  And perhaps she would not had she known in that very moment, he wouldn’t allow it to go that far.

  The viscount didn’t intend to make love to her, of this she was certain. They were locked in a game of who would blink first.

  Abruptly, he closed the door and Elizabeth turned toward the bed, unwilling to watch his approach, terrified she’d lose her nerve. But she could sense when he stood behind her, still for a moment as if just breathing her in. He smelled of musk and soap and him.

  She started when his hands came up and his fingers brushed her nape. It took her a moment to realize he was removing her necklace. His touch was warm and light and her senses went wild.

  “I want you naked with not a thing between us.”

  The warmth of his breath feathered her ear. Her nipples peaked as if he’d laid the flat of his tongue on them. Her center grew moist just thinking about him putting his hands on her, parting her, rubbing her.

  This had to stop.

  “Beautiful.” His praise came out on a breath.

  “The necklace?” she asked, intending to tease but her voice cracked too much to carry off such levity.

  “That too.”

  If she turned her head, he would kiss her. She could hear it in the cadence of his breathing and the way he now crowded her, so close his waistcoat brushed intimately against her satin clad back. And how she wanted him to kiss her. But of course she could not. She couldn’t allow this to go further.

  “Turn around.”

  Elizabeth gave an involuntary shiver. It wasn’t a request. It was a graveled order, velvet over melted steel.

  Like a marionette controlled by the master manipulator, she turned slowly unable to stop herself. She’d thought of naught else since they’d last kissed. Anticipation thrummed through her as she waited, forcing her hands to remain at her side. Just one kiss. It wouldn’t go beyond a kiss.

  Derek lowered his head, his mouth drawing ever closer to hers. “I want you,” he said in a voice fashioned to make a woman instantly wet between her thighs. He fitted his mouth to hers.

  Elizabeth automatically reached for the muscled hardness of his shoulders. The feel of him, the taste of his lips sent her already racing heart into a frantic gallop. Her lips opened wider to permit and welcome his searching tongue.

  The touch of his tongue against hers had her moaning. He emitted a sound between a laugh and a groan, then his hands were around her, cupping her bottom and pulling her solidly against him. She gasped at the feel of his erection at her center. She could feel him hard and thick through the layers of satin and Indian muslin.

  The wanton in her welcomed the undulation of his hips as he ground against her. He did it ever so slowly, like a man who knew how to draw out the pleasure for his mate and extract just as much in return. Elizabeth widened her stance, twining her arms around his neck, as she tried to get closer.

  “Damn, I knew it would be this good, feel this good,” he muttered darkly, almost as if he resented the fact.

  Elizabeth didn’t want him to talk. If he was speaking, that meant he wasn’t kissing her, and that she could not bear. And one kiss was all they could have.

  She brought his lips back to hers with a hard tug and nipped his bottom lip with her teeth, then went about soothing it with her tongue before drawing it into her mouth.

  She sucked. He had taught her this, that not only were such intimacies possible but so pleasurable. A harsh groan seemed to originate from the depths of his soul. It spoke of sweet agony and pleasure so acute, it couldn’t be tempered or contained.

  Time no longer held relevancy. They could have been kissing for seconds, minutes or hours, Elizabeth couldn’t be sure. She only knew she never wanted to stop, and she wanted his hands on her breasts—her bare breasts. The ruched peaks of her nipples threatened to bore holes through three layers of fabric.

  As if sensing her need, or perhaps acceding to his own, he began removing her gown, releasing the buttons securing it in the back with deft flicks of his fingers, while his mouth continued to devour hers.

  Elizabeth permitted it, welcomed the unveiling with an unabashed eagerness that should have made her heat with embarrassment. But as he pushed the blue bodice to her waist, then proceeded to loosen her stays, the slight chill wafting her bared flesh did nothing to cool the fire of his touch. Only when he had her upper body exposed did he lift his mouth from hers, his hooded gaze focused on her breasts with undisguised lust.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice throaty and raw.

  As if touched by the potency of his regard, her nipples tightened up further into two pointy rose pebbles of need. She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her. And she thought she’d have her wish
in the matter of seconds. But when his hand came up, it wasn’t to cup the weight of her breasts, but to take her hand in his. He walked backwards until the lean muscled back of his thighs hit the mattress. His eyes glowed with sensual intent as the candlelight by the bedside caught his handsome features in a luminous, liquid light.

  “Remove your dress.”

  It was the most darkly seductive order she’d ever received. She knew she should put a stop to this before they reached a point of no return. But the demands of her body overrode reason and she began pushing the dress from about her waist.

  Derek perched himself on the bed and watched her, his throat working convulsively when he swallowed, the vein at his temple pulsing in tandem with each exhalation of breath.

  Her dress landed in a rustle at her feet, soon followed by her lace-edged chemise. She didn’t allow herself to think, because in a situation such as this thoughts could be dangerous and chart the error of her ways. But in that moment, she didn’t want to be right or proper or strong in her will, she wanted to give into her body’s demands.

  However, when she was down to only her thin undergarments, she shot a nervous glance at him. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. He looked like a man mesmerized, so completely entranced, he’d slipped into another realm of reality.

  “The rest.” His voice scraped the floor of his throat. “Remove the rest.”

  Derek pushed aside the warring factions within him—his brain and his cock—forcing himself not to go to her and strip her himself. That wouldn’t do at all for he needed to remain in control.

  Somewhere between arriving at the house and standing in front of the bedchamber door, his conscience could no longer be smothered or shushed. And Derek found he couldn’t so callously seduce her and take her virginity. So instead, he’d challenged her, taunted her, certain her offended very proper virginal sensibilities would send her running pell-mell from the place.