The Wedding Trap Read online

  “Take your time,” he called, but she was already gone, scurrying out the door as if a pack of tiny dogs was nipping at her heels. Shaking his head in continued amazement at his unprecedented discovery, he sank into the chair once more, and crossed his booted feet at the ankle.

  Cheeks as hot as if they had been doused with lamp oil and set ablaze, Eliza hurried down the hallway, the herb book clutched tightly to her bosom. She knew if she let herself stop and consider what had just occurred, she would collapse into a puddle of misery.

  Oh, the shame! The mortification! How was she ever going to face Kit again? How would she ever look him in the eye without thinking about that scandalous book? Without remembering his expression when he’d found it and opened it to see all the ribald depictions.

  Yet she had to admit that once Kit had had a moment to overcome his initial shock, he had not been condemning, not the way she might have expected. Even Violet would have had a difficult time accepting the situation, and she certainly wouldn’t have laughed the way Kit had done, at least not so quickly.

  But gracious, what must he think of her? That she was a horrible, lascivious person, that’s what. Oh, why had she given in to her darker impulses and taken the book? She’d only succumbed to the temptation yesterday when she’d found the volume still inside the drawing room escritoire and been unable to resist. Why, she’d hardly had a chance to look at it again. Stupid to have put it in her night table where anyone might see, she berated herself. But then, she hadn’t expected anyone to look inside her nightstand.

  Her maid was very good about respecting Eliza’s personal papers and belongings. Actually, the girl had little use for books, shaking her head whenever she thought herself unobserved, mumbling about how many there were, and how they littered every spare corner of the room. So if her maid had happened upon the little green book, she wouldn’t have thought a thing of it, wouldn’t have even had the urge to peek inside.

  Kit, on the other hand, was a fount of inquisitiveness, ever eager to peek.

  Feeling a little ill, but determined to follow through on her promise to tend Kit’s injury, Eliza forced her feet onward toward the kitchen. Perhaps the labor of mixing and heating the herbal fomentation would prove distracting enough to take her mind off her humiliation.

  Back in Eliza’s bedroom, Kit couldn’t help but consider the encounter just passed.

  Who would ever have imagined, he mused, that formerly shy, reserved Eliza Hammond had those sorts of hidden cravings churning within her? Who would have considered she would be anything but aghast to view such an explicitly sexual book? But apparently she’d been curious enough to take the volume, and hide it here in her bedroom so she could peruse the concupiscent illustrations at her leisure.

  His loins stirred, remembering the kissing lesson they had shared, recalling the delicious fervor of her untutored touches and caresses. Yes, she was passionate. Or would be anyway with the proper instruction.

  What a pleasure, he considered, to give her more love lessons. But no, he shouldn’t let himself think that way. Hadn’t he already warned himself against getting involved in such treacherous tangles? Yet if she was curious to explore that side of her nature, might she not turn to another man?

  A memory flashed of her kissing Brevard. His fist tightened, lip curling up in a sneer at the image. Damn, he thought. Was she hoping Brevard might tutor her in the amorous arts? And might the viscount be willing to oblige her, even if his intentions were as honorable as he claimed? If she gave Brevard a little encouragement, why would he resist? She wasn’t a girl in her first blush of youth. At twenty-three, Eliza was far more tempting fare, even if she was still an unwed, inexperienced maiden.

  He was mulling these thoughts over in his brain when he heard her footfalls in the hallway.

  She walked into the room, a plain, blue china bowl in her hands, a towel draped over one arm. He noticed that she was careful not to meet his gaze as she approached, nor as she set the contents of his treatment onto the nightstand.

  “Lean your head back, please,” she murmured.

  Without a sound, he complied, settling his head comfortably against the high padded back of the wing chair.

  Efficient as a nurse, she draped the towel beneath his chin and over his shoulder to catch any potential drips, then lifted the poultice from the bowl. “This may feel quite warm for a few minutes, but the heat should ease the ache and relieve a measure of the stiffness. I’m having a fresh slice of beefsteak sent to your room for later to help draw out the worst of the bruising. I want you to keep the meat on your face for half an hour minimum.”

  “I’d rather have it cooked and served with a hearty glass of port,” he quipped.

  “It will do your wounds no good in your stomach. Now, close your eyes.”

  He did, then drew in a sharp breath seconds later as she placed the linen-wrapped pouch against his injured face. A rush of heat flooded over his skin, prickling slightly, the pungent mix of herbs strong in his nostrils.

  “What’s in this?” he asked.

  “Some ground mustard seed and crushed nettles, among other things. Violet keeps a well-stocked herb cabinet for just such occasions.”

  Grunting, he relaxed as the initial discomfort subsided, a pleasant warmth spreading over his skin and seeping deeper into the muscle.

  “Better?” she said, her voice as gentle as birdsong.

  “Hmm, yes.”

  “I brought some gauze toweling to help secure the poultice in place. If you’ll keep holding it against your face, I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She shifted slightly, the side of her leg brushing against his thigh. Reaching upward as she directed, he covered her hand where it lay atop the poultice, effectively sandwiching her palm in between. But instead of letting her slip free, he held on, curling his fingers around her wrist.

  Kit opened his eyes and caught her in his gaze. “You’re still feeling awkward about the book and you have no cause.”

  Flinching, she glanced away. “I am fine.”

  “You are embarrassed,” he stated, “and you needn’t be. Curiosity is part of the human condition, as are feelings of lust and desire, all perfectly normal and natural, even for ladies.”

  Her gaze flashed to him, then away again. “Let us forget about it.”

  “We can try, but it’s easier to just be honest and open. You and I are comfortable together these days, are we not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts and no dissembling.”

  “I should get the gauze.”

  “In a minute. First I want to know something. Did you like kissing Brevard in the garden the other night?”

  Eliza jumped as if he’d poked her with a toasting fork. “What!”

  “I saw the pair of you. How was it?”

  She tried to pull her hand free of his grasp, but her efforts only made him tighten his hold. “How it was is none of your concern,” she replied.

  “Better than my kisses? Or worse? I assume you were conducting an experiment, just as you told me you might.”

  “Kit,” she admonished.

  “Eliza.” He gave her a small half smile.

  “It was…I was…yes, I let him kiss me. And yes, I wanted to know what it was like. There is no crime in that.”

  “I didn’t say there was. So? How was it?”

  She paused for a long minute, plainly deciding whether or not to refuse to speak. “It was nice.”

  “Nice? That doesn’t sound terribly thrilling.”

  “It was very nice. Lovely, actually.”

  “Lovely, hmm?”

  Kit didn’t know if he liked the sound of lovely, aware the word could mean anything from banal to sublime.

  Maintaining his hold on her wrist, he drew his thumb across the inside of her palm in a long, slow sweep. His spirits rallied in response to her answering quiver, and again when her lips parted on a small, involuntary inhalation of breath. His gaze traced the shape and texture of her mouth, no
ticing the color, pink and silky and lush, like summer roses in full bloom.

  Without pausing to consider his actions, he set a hand on her hip and toyed with the gently rounded flesh he discovered there. “And was my kiss lovely too?”

  Her eyes darkened, turning silver. “It was…”

  “Yes?”

  “Different.”

  “Different?”

  “Than his. I can’t describe in what ways.”

  “Then mayhap you require another kiss to refresh your memory. That way you’ll be able to judge more effectively.”

  Sliding his hand downward, he cupped the lithesome fullness of her bottom, giving the pliable feminine flesh a gentle squeeze. Seconds after, he tugged her forward and drew her head downward so he could capture her lips.

  Even with the poultice pressed to his cheek, he was skillful enough to manage the task, plundering her mouth with a gentle thoroughness that quickly drew a humming whimper from her throat. Gathering her nearer, he gave himself over to the rush, her scent a heady perfume clouding his brain, her touch an enchantment that made him forget all about the ache in his face, and concentrate instead on the one now lodged between his legs. Knowing he was playing with fire, one that could blaze from a spark to a conflagration in mere instants, he permitted himself one last ravishing kiss, then set her gently from him.

  Eliza swayed and reached out a hand to steady herself. “Gracious.”

  “I completely agree.” Easing the poultice from his face, he set it aside.

  “You should keep that on,” she urged.

  “I believe I’ll manage now without it. You have my thanks, since I do feel better, though perhaps that is more an aftereffect of the kiss than the compress,” he added with a smile.

  Her already flushed face pinked even more. When he made to rise, she stepped back.

  Kit climbed to his feet. “I should be going. I fear I’ve tarried in your room far longer than I ought, especially considering what just occurred.”

  She nodded, the slight glaze of desire still shimmering in her eyes. “Oh, don’t forget. Put the raw beefsteak on your wound. It should help draw out the bruise and aid in faster healing.”

  “Once again, my gratitude for your concern, little wren. Your wishes shall be my own.” He took a step toward the door, then paused. “Eliza.”

  “Yes?”

  “One last thing. If your curiosity persists and you find yourself tempted to experiment further in the realm of the physical, don’t go to Brevard, or any of your other suitors. You and I may not be meeting for daily lessons anymore, but I am still your mentor.” Reaching out, he stroked the edge of a knuckle over the delicate curve of her cheek. “If you wish to have more lessons in love, you need only say. I shall teach you whatever it is you care to learn.”

  Her lips parted, her gray eyes widening in obvious amazement.

  With a last smile, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door, leaving Eliza unmoving and stock-still in the center of her room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The beautiful voice of the opera singer soared through the room, lithe and majestic as an exotic butterfly floating on a silken breeze.

  Yet Eliza scarcely heard the perfect notes, her thoughts tuning out the aria, just as they had tuned out all the elegantly attired ladies and gentlemen seated around her inside the Fitzmarions’ ballroom.

  All she could think about was Kit.

  Kit’s words. Kit’s kiss. Kit’s undeniably provocative invitation. Even now, hours later, her heart still fluttered in wonder and astonishment. Had he meant it? Did he really wish to experiment—with her? To give her—what had he called it?—more lessons in love?

  From the enthusiasm of his kisses there in her bedchamber, she rather thought he did mean it. She could scarcely credit that dashing, debonair Lord Christopher Winter might actually desire her.

  After so many unnoticed years and unrequited dreams, she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the notion, telling herself she must be imagining what he’d said, cautioning herself to stop being a ridiculous ninnyhammer, and put the whole thing out of her head. But improbable as circumstances might seem, she knew she hadn’t conjured the interlude, the blue and purple bruises that mottled Kit’s cheek and jaw proof enough of that.

  So then, what was she to do?

  Say nothing and go on as before?

  Or say yes, and take him up on his tantalizing offer?

  Her body tingled at the thought, simmering both with nerves and with something else, something darker, the kind of urges that had led her to this pass in the first place. Yet what a delightful pass it was if it meant sharing further intimate pleasures with Kit.

  How far might he take those pleasures? How far would she let him? How far did she dare? And if it was true that he wanted her, desiring her with the same interest and depth of passion he displayed with his other ladyloves, what then could she expect?

  Would their interludes amount to nothing more than a mild flirtation? A few innocent kisses and caresses shared in some dark, quiet corner, rushed and playful, meant only as a dalliance? An instructive tease, as it were?

  Or might his new interest in her lead to more, lead deeper? Was it possible, with the right incentive, that he might come to care for her? He liked her already—she felt confident of that—but could he love her? If she tried hard enough, could she make him want her, need her so much that tumbling into love would be the easiest, most logical next step?

  And what of marriage? Family? She still wanted those things intensely. Should she race after Kit in the hopes of catching him, or resume her original quest to make a solid, achievable matrimonial alliance?

  Fear of failure made the blood cool in her veins. But even as she shrank away from the idea of taking this risk, she knew she could not let it go. Just as she had decided to put aside her fears and her shyness this Season, she knew she must pursue this chance no matter the potential cost.

  And honestly, how could she say no to the chance to have more love lessons from Kit? Only a fool or an ice princess would refuse.

  Despite her preoccupation, she weathered the remainder of the evening with an aplomb that apparently satisfied everyone’s expectations, and drew no attention to her distracted musings. Once again at home, she drew off her cloak and handed it to the waiting footman with a murmur of gratitude.

  Hearing all of them in the hall, Kit emerged from the salon where he had been entertaining himself with what he said was a deuced dull game of solitaire.

  “With this face,” he remarked, “I thought I ought to stay in for the evening rather than risk scaring all the ladies.”

  Violet cooed and clucked over him, while Adrian asked a pair of salient questions to confirm that Kit hadn’t landed himself in the boughs over some dispute. Reassured by his brother’s innocent explanations, the four of them repaired to the family drawing room for a light late supper. Violet excused herself soon after to go look in on the children. Adrian followed a brief while later.

  Eliza remained, slowly sipping her tea. She gazed across at Kit, feeling abruptly nervous in a way she had not felt around him in a very long time.

  Now that the moment was upon her, she didn’t know what to say. “How are you feeling?” she blurted in a soft voice that sounded tremulous even to her own ears.

  He gave her a quiet look, then carefully touched a pair of fingers to his battered cheek. “Not as badly as I would have done, I think, had I not had your cures.”

  “You used the raw beefsteak, then?”

  “Exactly as promised. I told you I would.” He smiled gently.

  Her heart kicked hard in her chest, quickening at the devastating flash of his sensuous lips and straight, white teeth.

  He drank a swallow of brandy.

  “Kit?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I have been thinking…about what you said.” She ran her fingers along the material of her skirt, pleating the fabric between her knuckles in spite of the fact that the dress had no
pleats.

  “About what?” His eyes twinkled like gemstones of green and gold.

  Was he teasing her or was he really not sure?

  She trembled, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “You know. What you said earlier about…experimenting…if I wanted to.”

  His eyes flashed again. “Ah, yes, that thing. And?”

  Her fingers pleated faster. “And well…I…” She stared at her shoes, unable to meet his gaze. “I think…that is…I…”

  “Eliza. Look at me.”

  Compelled by his command, she obeyed.

  “Don’t be shy,” he said. “You have no need to be, not with me. Not ever with me. Now, say what it is you wish to say.”

  She exhaled, the tight muscles of her shoulders and neck relaxing. Kit was right, with him she had no cause to feel shy, especially considering the intimate nature of the step she was about to take.

  Forcing up her eyes, she met his gaze. “I have thought about what you said, and yes, I want to.”

  His eyelids drooped slightly, a lambent light deepening the color of his irises. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Yes. When can we begin?” Suddenly she was breathless.

  His lips curved in a wry smile. “I wish I could say right now, but that would be far from wise. Why don’t you retire for the evening while I consider the best way to proceed.”

  “Oh,” she said, mildly deflated. “All right.” After a moment, she rose to her feet.

  He did so as well, as politeness dictated a gentleman do. Only it clearly wasn’t politeness that made him step near, nor what urged him to cup her cheek inside his palm and bend down to kiss her. Eliza quivered in delight as he tenderly crushed his lips to hers, stealing her breath and her willpower in the same instant. Suspended in his embrace, she was his to compel, his to command. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she let him have his way.

  Slowly, reluctantly, he eased back. “A little taste to tide you over,” he murmured, feathering her cheek with a last, lingering caress of his fingertips. “Sleep well, little wren.”

  Eliza shivered, knowing that tonight she wouldn’t be sleeping at all.