The Wedding Trap (29 page)

She chuckled softly. “Do you know how to act as a lady’s maid?”

“I’ve had a bit of practice in my time, enough to do the job properly,” he said, moving around behind her. With a skillful hand, he reached for her laces. “Seems a damned shame to conceal those beautiful breasts of yours, though, since they truly are magnificent. Then again, it will only give me something to look forward to, wondering when I shall next feast my eyes upon them.”

“Kit!”

Laughing and clearly unrepentant, he skimmed a kiss over one bare shoulder, then proceeded to cinch her in. With her dress once more in place, he stood, then reached down a hand to lift her to her feet. Plucking at her coiffeur, he set her hair to rights, then brushed a hand over her skirts to free them of wrinkles.

“Good as new,” he pronounced.

To return the favor, she gave his waistcoat a tug, then reached up to straighten his neck cloth.

Finished, she brushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “When shall we meet again?”

“Hmm, I am eager too, but we shall have to see. I suppose it would look odd if you started coming down with lots of unexpected ailments.”

She nodded. “Yes, it would be suspect. Violet would insist I see Dr. Montgomery, sure something is dreadfully wrong.”

Sliding his arms around her, he pulled her close. “Perhaps I will surprise you, then. That way you’ll never know when a kiss might be waiting just around the corner.”

Her mouth grew suddenly moist in anticipation.

Bending his head, he kissed her, long and lingering.

“My thanks for a most exquisite afternoon,” he said after their embrace ended. “I shall cherish it always.”

Her heart leapt. “As will I.”

“Hurry on to your room before you are missed, if you haven’t been missed already. Oh, and here—” He broke off, crossing to a nearby shelf. Reaching up at random, he pulled out a book. “Take this.”

She glanced at the title. “A treatise on theoretical calculus?”

He tipped his head in surprise, then shrugged. “You like improving your mind, don’t you?”

“Yes, but even I don’t like math.”

He chuckled and kissed her hand. “That makes two of us. You’d better be on your way.”

Clutching the book to her chest, she did as he bade.

Kit enjoyed the sway of her hips as she walked to the spiral staircase and down, disappearing from view. On the floor below, she reappeared, pausing to glance up and back to see if he was watching.

He was, unable to keep himself from approaching the railing. Raising a hand, he offered her another smile to send her on her way. She smiled back, showing him a flash of her pretty teeth before she turned and hurried away, lithesome as a young girl.

An odd pressure squeezed in his chest.

How was it, he wondered, that she grew more lovely with each passing day? And her skin, she glowed as if illuminated from within. Had their lovemaking given her that radiance? Added the vibrant shine to her eyes?

He knew he’d brought her pleasure, her every kiss and sigh one of open, artless delight. She’d certainly returned the favor, her innocent, unguarded touches scalding him to the core. Even now, unsatisfied desire held him in its merciless grip, demanding to be slaked. Halting their coupling had been a near thing, every fiber of his being insisting that he take her, sheath himself deep into her willing flesh. But by a force of will he hadn’t known he possessed, he had ended their interlude.

So much for keeping things light,
he mused with an ironic twist to his lips. Turning around, he strode toward the scene of their mutual seduction. Scooping up an armful of pillows, he moved to replace them in their original locations.

Just as he’d halted their lovemaking today, he ought to call a halt to this whole affair. Already she tempted him more than he’d dreamed possible. More, if he was honest, than any other woman he’d known.

But infatuation could be a powerful motivator, dare he say a compulsion, and even as he considered the idea of telling Eliza there would be no more lessons, he knew there would be. The thought of doing without her kisses, forgoing her caresses was simply unbearable. And so he would continue their loveplay despite all the dangers inherent in the plan.

Perhaps he was making more of the risks than need be. He’d controlled himself today. He could control himself again, could take both of them to the edge of the precipice, but no further.

He hoped so anyway.

Chapter Seventeen

“Is your headache improved?” Violet asked the next morning over breakfast.

Eliza set down her china teacup with its delicate banding of blue and gold stripes. She blotted her lips with her napkin. “Oh, yes, I am completely recovered.”

“Good. I am relieved to know you needed nothing more than a quiet afternoon here at home to feel yourself again.”

Eliza smiled then bit into a slice of toast spread with butter and marmalade. She wouldn’t exactly say her afternoon had been quiet or that she felt precisely like herself, but there was no need to tell Violet that.

With an appetite she found surprising considering the flutters still trembling inside her belly from yesterday’s tryst, she ate a forkful of eggs. She swallowed them, together with the juicy confession that hovered on the end of her tongue. She was dying to tell Violet about her and Kit, but knew such secrets were best kept to herself.

Instead she listened while her friend regaled her with stories about the outing to Richmond Park. The children, it seems, had especially enjoyed the excursion, the twins running and tumbling in the fields, stopping at a pond with their father to exclaim over the frogs they desperately wanted to catch and bring home.

Eliza interjected an occasional question, but let Violet do the majority of the talking. Despite her interest in “everything she’d missed at the park,” her thoughts drifted time and again to Kit and their assignation in the Raeburn House library.

She shivered again just to remember.

Kit had said he would surprise her. How long, she wondered, would she be forced to wait?

Not long, she was thrilled to discover when Kit happened upon her in the hallway that afternoon and pulled her into an alcove for a quick but heated embrace.

From that moment forward, she never knew when he might steal her away for a few clandestine kisses, a few savory caresses. She began to live on a knife’s edge—one side a slice of heaven, the other a sort of hell.

And always he took care, making sure that neither of them were seen together in anything but chaste circumstances, either at home or in public.

Otherwise, her days became alarmingly routine. Morning and afternoon calls, followed by parties, routs, balls and soirees. There were breakfasts and luncheons to attend, teas and musicales and an occasional evening at the theater or the opera.

Her suitors called upon her most afternoons, congregating in the salon before one of them, by prior arrangement, would have the privilege of escorting her for a carriage ride or a promenade in the park.

She spent one day with Viscount Brevard and his sister, who invited her, Violet and Jeannette to go shopping on Bond Street. Among the vendors visited, they stopped in Hatchard’s bookstore, where Eliza found a wonderful first edition of Burns’s poetry. Later, they concluded their excursion with a trip to eat ices at Gunter’s.

She did her best to enjoy herself—since this truly was the best Season she had ever known—but underneath every action, every thought, was Kit. He even stole into her dreams, leaving her aching and empty when she awakened to find herself alone, the object of her desire sleeping only just down the corridor.

But she counseled herself to have patience. She had waited for him this long, she could wait a while more.

Three weeks to the day after her first love lesson with Kit, she came down the stairs after breakfast and received the news that she had a gentleman caller.

“Lord Maplewood is here?” she repeated to March, knowing it was most irregular for the baron to call at such an early hour of the day. “Has the duchess been informed?”

The majordomo inclined his regal head. “Her Grace is aware of his arrival and asked that you go ahead into the salon. She shall join you both in a few minutes.”

Well, Eliza mused, if Violet thought she should entertain Lord Maplewood on his own for a few minutes, then it must be all right.

With a murmur of thanks for March, she crossed and entered the salon. To her surprise, the majordomo closed the doors behind her. She stared for a moment, a suspicious little frown between her brows, before turning to offer a cheery hello to her visitor.

Impeccably attired in a conservative, Wellington brown coat and trousers, his thick salt-and-pepper hair neatly brushed back from his temples, Maplewood came forward and cut her an elegant bow.

“My dear Miss Hammond, how good of you to receive me so early in the day.”

“But, of course, my lord. I am always glad of your company.” Sinking onto the sofa, she straightened her skirts, then gestured to a nearby chair. “Would you care to take a seat?”

He shook his head, twirling a small gold and amber signet ring around on his pinky. “My thanks, but I would prefer to remain standing, if you do not mind.”

“Not at all.”

Was he nervous? Eliza wondered. How unusual, since Lord Maplewood was one of the most stalwart, levelheaded men she had ever known. She waited quietly, deciding it best to let him speak first.

Around went the signet ring one more time before he looked up and met her gaze. “Miss Hammond…first let me tell you how deeply I have enjoyed the time we have spent together these past weeks. Of all the ladies I have met this Season, you are by far the kindest and most amiable. And lovely, of course,” he hastened to add.

Faintly bemused, Eliza inclined her head.

“I am not a man much given to flowery speeches, so I will speak plainly instead. As a widower, I am in need of a wife, and more importantly, a mother for my young daughter. You have expressed your affection for children, and I believe you would make an exemplary parent. I know Clarissa will love you.” He broke off and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I love you too, though perhaps I ought to have mentioned that first.”

The air whooshed out of Eliza’s lungs. Before she had a chance to recover or respond, Maplewood reached down and gathered her hands into his own.

“Miss Hammond,” he said, a warm look of hopeful entreaty in his eyes, “pray relieve my present anxiety and say you will marry me.”

Her head whirled.

She had not been expecting a proposal, though why she had not she couldn’t say, since Lord Maplewood had been one of her most dedicated suitors from the very first. He wanted to marry her. She was flattered, of course, but how should she answer him?

As little as a month ago, she would most certainly have said yes. Maplewood was everything she claimed to want in a husband. Considerate and kind, intelligent and educated, pleasant to look upon—well, really more than pleasant, since he drew rapturous sighs from the ladies whenever he happened near.

He was a good man, who would never berate or abuse her, who would do his utmost to provide her with every comfort and happiness she could want and who had no need of her wealth since he possessed an immense fortune of his own. Added to that was his daughter, a sweet girl by all accounts, who often earned a sad shake of the head from those who had known her late mother.

“Such a darling child,” they would say. “Such a dear woman, Lady Maplewood. A pure tragedy that she had to die so young.”

If Eliza married Maplewood, she would be the child’s mother, instantly fulfilling another of her most cherished dreams.

If only there were not a difficulty.

If only she did not love Kit.

And, in that instant, she had her answer.

“My lord,” she began, “you do me a great honor with your proposal. You are a wonderful man whose friendship I sincerely cherish.” Gently, she tugged her hands from his grasp. “But I am afraid I cannot accept.”

He blinked and straightened, disappointment clear on his features. After a moment, he seemed to recover his equilibrium. “May I at least have the satisfaction of knowing why?”

She glanced down at her hands. “I do not believe we would suit.”

A single dark eyebrow rose. “I beg to differ. I believe we would suit very well. We have similar interests and compatible personalities.” He paused and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “If this is because of Clarissa, because you are worried about taking on so much responsibility so quickly—”

“No, my lord,” she entreated, cutting him off. “This has nothing to do with your daughter. She sounds like a lovely child, obedient and sweet and most deserving of your obvious love for her. She is one reason why I would be tempted to accept you, but…”

“Ah, but…” He paced a couple steps across the floor. “Is it me? Do you find the idea of me as a husband unappealing?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then it is my ham-fisted proposal, perhaps? The fact that I did not stress from the start how great an affection I hold for you. If you would let me, perhaps I could persuade you.”