Until You (15 page)

Ashleigh couldn’t hold back the tiny moan of pleasure that escaped her lips as Nicholas gently kneaded the sensitive flesh of her breast, and she arched up against him wantonly.  She felt his lips move across her cheek and then trail along the length of her throat, slowing working their way downward.  She tangled her fingers in his hair, uttering a tiny gasp as he pulled down the shoulders of her gown, freeing her breasts from the confines of her bodice.  She made no move to stop him; she didn’t want him to stop.

As Nicholas’ lips made their way across her delicate skin, he inhaled the glorious scent that he could only define as her.  He knew that for as long as he lived, he would never forget the seductive fragrance that clung to her skin as if it were a natural part of her.  When his lips finally reached her breasts, he gently swirled his tongue around one taut crest, before drawing it slowly into his mouth.

The heat of his mouth sent shock waves rippling through Ashleigh’s body.  She and Tiffany had read about such things in some of their furtively acquired novels and had been shocked, awed and slightly disbelieving of the carnal pleasures that had been described.  But now, now she understood.  It felt good, so very good.  Instinctively, she moved against him, reveling in the newfound pleasure of the intimate caress, as well as the delicious feel of his manhood pressing hot and hard against the juncture of her thighs.  It was sinful, but oh so glorious.

When Ashleigh began to move beneath him, the subtle motions were nearly his undoing.  With his free hand, he reached for her skirt, drawing it upward.  His fingers brushed against the thin layer of fabric that covered her thigh, moving slowly upward toward the ribbons of her drawers, as he nudged her thighs further apart with his knee.

Suddenly they were jolted as the carriage slowed and made a sharp turn.  Despite his sensual haze, Nicholas knew that they had just turned onto the long drive leading to the Marquis of
Melborne’s
country home.  Instantly alert, he wrenched away from Ashleigh in one swift movement, stifling a groan of pure frustration.  He looked down at her, lying beneath him like one of Perrault’s nymphs, her eyes unfocused and glazed with passion.  God he wanted her.

“Nicholas?” Ashleigh breathed, pushing herself onto her elbows, trying to rouse herself from her passion-induced stupor.  

Sprawled wantonly atop the seat, her lips kiss swollen, her magnificent breasts bared to his gaze, she was every man’s fantasy come to life.  “Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath, as he reached out and grasped her shoulders, jerking her upright, and then yanking her gown back up to cover her nakedness.  What the hell was wrong with him?

Ashleigh wanted to sob in disappointment as Nicholas hastily straightened her clothes and then deposited her none too gently upon the opposite seat a moment later.  She opened her mouth to say something, but the look on his face stopped her cold.

“Not one word,” he growled, his tone deadly serious.

Ashleigh watched mutely as he turned away, her emotions spinning out of control as she went from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows in a matter of minutes.  What she relished, he clearly regretted.   

They sat in tense silence as the coach wheels quickly ate up the remaining distance to the Marlowe’s front door.  Nicholas cursed himself a thousand times over.  He hadn’t given her enough credit.  He should have known better, for unlike so many other women of his acquaintance, Ashleigh’s intelligence was as remarkable as her incredible beauty.  Christ, the little vixen had almost succeeded in seducing him.  Another minute and he might well have pulled down her drawers and drove his traitorous cock into her welcoming sheath. 

As they rolled to a stop, Ashleigh raised her hand in entreaty.  “Nicholas?”

“Don’t!” he said, his voice as severe as the expression on his face.

She blinked back tears.

He remained impassive and unmoving, refusing even to assist her from the vehicle when the door was opened by one of the Marlowe's footmen. 

With one last lingering glance at Nicholas, Ashleigh took the footman’s proffered hand and stepped down from the coach. 

He knew he couldn’t reveal how much he truly wanted her, how greatly she affected him.  He couldn’t give her that power, he wouldn’t.  He made his tone deliberately harsh.  “Goodbye, Lady St. John, I will be sure to give Isabelle your regards.”  Despite his anger, he felt like a heartless bastard as he watched her stiffen, but he knew that it was for the best, even if she didn’t.

His callous words pierced like daggers as they drifted clearly over her shoulder.  With stalwart determination, Ashleigh squared her shoulders and then strode up the stairs and into the house without looking back.
 Fine,
she thought to herself, let Lady
Taryton
have him.  He isn’t worth the effort! 

Oh who was she kidding?
  The thought of Nicholas making love to Isabelle
Taryton
made her want to retch.  She wanted to sink to her knees in the middle of the Marlowe's front foyer and burst into tears, but she was a St. John, and St. Johns were made of sterner stuff than that.  So instead, she greeted the butler with a false smile and after learning her friend’s whereabouts, made her way directly up to Tiffany's bedchamber.

Walking into Tiffany's familiar pink and white chamber, she encountered her dearest friend and several of the Marlowe’s housemaids busily unpacking the numerous trunks that Tiffany had brought back with her from France.  Glancing about, it appeared that Tiffany had received a complete new wardrobe while abroad, which was somewhat surprising, considering Tiffany's father wasn’t known for his generosity, especially towards his only child.  Unfortunately, Tiffany’s mother, a kindhearted woman with a quiet disposition, had passed away three years earlier.

When Tiffany noticed Ashleigh standing in the doorway, she dropped an armload of frilly undergarments and rushed over to embrace her.  They hugged and laughed as though they hadn't seen each other in years, rather than months, and then finally settled themselves upon a dainty, pink and white striped settee to talk.  Then, for the next hour Tiffany eagerly regaled Ashleigh with all of the details of her stay in France. 

“Despite all of that, I couldn't wait to come home,” Tiffany admitted as she finally began to wind down.  “I never knew how much I would miss England or you,” she said, reaching out to affectionately squeeze Ashleigh’s hand.  “In any event, that’s enough about me, now you must tell me what you have been doing while I was away.”

Ashleigh hadn’t mentioned her current living arrangements in the note she’d sent to Tiffany, so she quickly filled her in on her grandfather’s unexpected trip, and the arrangements he had made with Madeline Leighton. 

“I cannot believe you are staying with the Dowager Duchess of
Sethe
,” Tiffany gasped.  “Even
I
know that she is one of the most powerful and influential women in Society.  Whatever is she like?  Tell me everything!”

“Well, she is actually very sweet and extremely intelligent, not at all haughty or arrogant as I had feared,” Ashleigh began.  “She has been ever so helpful in preparing me for my debut as well.  She even hired the most sought-after
modiste
in London to fashion me an entirely new wardrobe.  I dare say that with my new gowns and all of the new clothes you have brought back from Paris, you and I shall be turned out magnificently when we arrive in London for our Season. 

“How wonderful!  We shall dazzle all of the eligible young gentlemen with our new finery,” Tiffany proclaimed, smiling brightly.   “Oh, and speaking of gentlemen, what of the duke?  Is he in residence?”

“He was.  But he has just now returned to London.”  Recalling their last few minutes together, Ashleigh felt a sudden warmth rush to her cheeks.

“Good heavens are you blushing?” Tiffany demanded, her eyes going wide as saucers.

“Oh Tiffany, I have so much to tell you, though I am not exactly sure where to begin.”

“Start from the beginning of course, and don’t leave
anything
out,” Tiffany insisted, and then listened in rapt attention as Ashleigh did just that. 

Well nearly anyhow, for some things, such as their encounter by the stream and the minutes leading up to her arrival at the Marlowe’s, were a bit too personal to reveal, even to her best friend.  

“So what are you going to do now?” Tiffany asked, clearly intrigued by everything that Ashleigh had told her over the past half hour.

“That’s just it.”  She heaved a heavy sigh, feeling utterly dejected.  “I have absolutely no idea what to do now.  And since Nicholas has taken himself off to London, I don’t know that there is anything more that I
can
do.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, eyeing Tiffany curiously.

“Brace yourself,” she began, with a dramatic eye roll.  “Father is taking us to the theater in London, tomorrow night.”

“
Your
father is taking
us
to London?"  Ashleigh asked in stunned disbelief.  “But why?”

“I haven't the faintest idea,” Tiffany responded honestly.  “I was just as surprised as you are.”

“Are you sure he means for me to accompany you?”

Tiffany nodded.  

Ashleigh’s mind was spinning.  Why had the marquis suddenly taken such an interest in his daughter she wondered?  New clothes, a trip to London, and to take them both to the theater; it was so unlike him.  Oh well, she mused.  It really wasn’t her place to question the marquis’ motives?  However, for Tiffany’s sake, she could only hope that his intentions were good.

“Perhaps your duke will be at the theater as well.”

“He is hardly
my duke
,” Ashleigh replied, somewhat morosely.  And he never would be if it were left up to him.

“Not yet perhaps, but he is sure to come around eventually,” Tiffany said optimistically, reaching out to grasp her hand.  “You are such a wonderful person, Ashleigh.  Surely he will come to see that, just as you have glimpsed the kind of man he really is.”

“I hope you are right.” 

“Of course I am.  Now let’s find something for us to wear.”  Standing up, she pulled Ashleigh up with her and then headed for the armoire that was now filled with her new gowns.  “It’s a good thing we are the same size, for I have the perfect gown for you to wear.  If Nicholas Leighton
is
at the theater tomorrow night, you my dear friend are going to dazzle him.”

When Nicholas arrived at his London home, he immediately closeted himself away in his study, hoping that if he focused on business, it would keep him from dwelling on those less desirable thoughts he struggled to keep at bay.
  
Seated behind his desk, he perused the correspondence that had been delivered in his absence, and one item in particular instantly drew his attention.
 
Picking up the sealed envelope, he noted the return address.
 
It was from the Watson Agency and he knew exactly what it held, the monthly report on the investigation into his mother’s disappearance.

In the years since he’d secured the services of Mr. Stanley Watson, one of England’s foremost private investigators, the letters had all been woefully similar, for there were no longer any new leads to pursue.
 
Even after he’d first hired Mr. Watson years earlier, the leads had been few and far between, and all had proved ultimately fruitless.
 
It was as though
Lysette
Leighton had simply vanished from the face of the earth.
 
As he gazed at the thin white envelope, he told himself he didn’t care.
 
He’d only begun the investigation to bring some form of closure to his family; it wasn’t as though he actually cared about his mother’s whereabouts, or so he tried to convince himself each and every month when the damnable missive was placed upon his desktop.
 
Though he’d never admit it aloud, he did care, and it infuriated him.
 
He didn’t want to care, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life wondering why she’d abandoned him, why she’d chosen another man over her own children, but he did dammit.
 
Despite himself, he wanted answers.

With a sigh of resignation, he broke the seal and extracted the single sheet of paper.
 
After scanning the brief paragraph, he carefully refolded the paper, and then unlocking the drawer on the bottom right-hand side of the desk, he added it to the thick stack of documents that resided within.

Leaning back in his chair, he absently cast his gaze about the room.
 
Damn but he needed a distraction.
 
Perhaps a visit to one of his clubs would do the trick.
 
It sure as hell couldn’t hurt.

The following evening, as the Marlowe’s carriage pulled to a stop outside of the Theatre Royal, Ashleigh was a bundle of nerves.  Wondering whether or not Nicholas would be attending the theater that evening had been plaguing her nonstop, but even worse was the thought that he might be there with the lovely Countess of
Dragmore
on his arm.

As the marquis led her and Tiffany up the steps and into the lobby of the elegant theater moments later, they were awed by the opulent surroundings.  Enormous crystal chandeliers were suspended from the high ceilings and ornate crimson and gold furnishings were strategically placed throughout the great hall.  The room was filled with a profusion of elegantly clad ladies and gentlemen, and several young women, dressed in matching crimson and gold gowns, walked throughout the animated crowd bearing trays laden with champagne-filled crystal flutes.