Читать книгу Regency Temptation - Christine Merrill - Страница 16

Evie was beautiful. Sam had known that already, of course. He had never seen her decked in finery. He had thought her lovely in a simple day frock, but tonight she was magnificent. The silk of her ball gown was as blue as her eyes, and as smooth as her hair. A necklace of gold and diamonds lay, like a collar of stars, about her lovely white throat.

Perhaps Thorne had been right all along. Even without the complication of blood, the creature that stood before him could not have been his. The necklace alone was worth a year’s salary. He could never have afforded to put it there. And to her, it was nothing more than her mother’s necklace that she had never been old enough to wear. With St Aldric, she would have this and better. A different jewel for every month of the year and a room full of ball gowns to wear them with.

With the duke at her side, the picture was complete. He was tall, handsome and nearly as golden as she. He smiled at her as though it was an honour for him to have won her. They were like two pieces of statuary, designed to complement each other. As a duchess, she would glitter, as she did tonight, from without and within. She was already so bright that it hurt to look upon her.

Yet he could not seem to stop. Once he had fulfilled his promise to her, he would be gone for good. If memories were all he had for sustenance, he would burn each detail into his brain so that he might never forget. As he waited to be presented to the happy couple, he did his best to mask the hunger he felt for her and arrange his face in an expression of brotherly pride.

‘Sam.’ She reached out and took his hands in hers.

‘Evelyn.’ She leaned in, presenting her cheek to be kissed. He could not very well avoid it without looking silly. He leaned forwards as well, kissing the air a scant inch from her skin. Even then, his lips tingled as if a spark sizzled between them, bridging the gap.

‘It is so good to see you here. I feared you would not come.’ She whispered it in his ear as he leaned close to her. When he leaned back, she searched his face with worried eyes. ‘It has been almost a week.’

Since he had very nearly ravished her in his rooms. He still woke each night from a dream where the ending to that interlude had been different and he had felt her gasping in passion beneath him. ‘I promised I would be here, to celebrate your happiness.’

‘That is most kind of you,’ St Aldric said. He was still at her side, quietly possessive.

‘My felicitations to you as well, your Grace.’ He bowed, feeling stiff and awkward.

‘Thank you, Doctor.’ St Aldric was better at managing a gracious response.

Evie was staring at the pair of them, as though hoping that there could be anything more than cordial dislike between them.

‘And now, if you will excuse me?’ Sam raised a genuine smile at the thought of escaping. ‘I must not keep you from the other guests.’

There. He was through with the first challenge. Now he must manage a few hours of courtesy and then he could be on his way again. But when Evie was involved, nothing was ever that easy. Was it just because she was the hostess that she seemed to be everywhere he turned? Or was she actually following him through the gathering, showing up where he least expected her, to flash a smile or blow a kiss?

Each time, he turned away, pretending that he did not notice, or had not seen, or was too busy in conversation with another to speak to her. At last she caught him standing alone by the dance floor, with no excuse to avoid her.

‘Dance with me.’ She was holding out a hand to him, sure he would come to her, as he always had, and swing her easily in his arms.

‘I do not think that is wise,’ he replied. Just the thought of touching her made his palms begin to sweat.

‘Dancing, not wise?’ She laughed. ‘Is that your professional opinion? I assumed that such harmless exercise would be recommended by a physician.’

‘You know that is not what I mean,’ he said in a harsh whisper, glancing around to be sure that no one else could hear.

She gave him a coquettish flutter of her fan. ‘I really have no idea. If you mean something specific by the refusal, you had best tell me directly.’

‘If you truly mean to marry St Aldric, I think it is unwise for the two of us to dance,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘My commitment to him has not stopped me from standing up with every other man in this room. Save yourself, of course. You have been avoiding me.’

‘I have not,’ he said, wishing that it was not such an obvious lie.

‘I am sure that St Aldric has no objection to it.’

‘What he wishes does not concern me.’ And now he sounded like a jealous fool.

‘If not him, then whom? What reason could you possibly have that would prevent you? If people notice you avoiding me, they will wonder. And they will talk.’

Now she had trapped him. She was probably right. Someone would remark at how strangely he behaved around her. Above all else, there must be no talk.

She continued to pressure him, sure that he could not refuse. ‘I am open for the next waltz. Stand up with me and stop being silly about it.’ She gave him a sly smile. ‘It will be over before you realise and, I swear, no harm shall come to you.’

‘No! Not a waltz.’ He’d said it too loudly and a matron a few feet away gave him a sharp, disapproving look. But the idea was simply too much to bear. ‘I will stand up with you, if you insist. But let it be some other dance.’

‘All right,’ she said, giving him a disgusted sigh. ‘La Belle Assembly. It is starting now. And we will stand up with St Aldric and another, so you need have no fear of upsetting him.’

Sam’s eyes narrowed. ‘It is not from fear of him that I refuse you.’

‘Fear of me, then?’ She gave a toss of her head. ‘That does little to improve my opinion of you.’

The letter had been a lie. She did not need moral support to make this decision. She merely wished another opportunity to torment him. He seized her hand with no real gentleness, as he had done when they were children, and dragged her towards the centre of the room. ‘Come on, then, brat. The sooner it is begun, the sooner it will be done. Then you must leave me in peace for the rest of the night.’

He had been right. This had been a mistake.

She had thought that a public temptation might force a commitment out of him. At the very least, it would give her one last chance to be with him. But this was not the memory she wished for. It was too painful.

They shared the set with St Aldric and his partner, a lady of great beauty and little wit, but she was a skilled dancer and little more was required of her now. They traded bows and curtsies, and the dance began.

Sam swung her to a place opposite him and circled. And though he followed the steps to the letter, it felt as though she was being stalked by a wolf. In comparison, St Aldric’s pass was easy, relaxed and confident. He smiled at her, enjoying the dance, enjoying her company.

She turned back to Sam, who was watching her too intently, a frown upon his face. His eyes bored into hers, taking in her every movement to the point where it became alarming. And past the frown and the beetled brow, she saw the truth.

Jealousy. Frustration. Rage. It was not distaste that kept him away. He wanted her as much as he had on the day that they had kissed.

And now she danced with St Aldric again. In his eyes, she saw nothing of importance. He possessed her already, or very nearly did, and thus he was thinking of something else.

But each time Sam took her hand, it was as if he never meant to let it go. The release was stiff and graceless, as though he’d forced his fingers open to let her escape. He was gritting his teeth in concentration. He did not need to count the steps, for he seemed to have no trouble keeping track. His posture was rigid, as though he suffered pain at each touch of her fingers.

Yet he could not seem to get enough of it.

When they finished, she allowed him to escort her back to the place they had been standing. Then he walked away without a word.

She stood for a moment, in indecision, then she followed, out of the ballroom and through the halls of the house, to the place she knew he must go.

It was dark in the garden, smelling of night-blooming flowers and the beginnings of the still heat that would drive the ton to Bath or the country. They had not bothered to light the yard, so no one had strayed from the house. But someone who was familiar with it would need no light to find the garden bench under the elm. He was there, of course, a dim outline against the darker bark of the tree.

She sat down beside him. He did not acknowledge her presence, so they sat in silence for a time, not wanting to spoil the moment. Then he said, ‘You promised, Evie. You promised that it would not come to this if I stayed.’

‘You were right, before, when you said we could not waltz.’ If they had, she’d have made a fool of herself, clinging to him on the dance floor. If she was in his arms, how could she do else?

He sighed. ‘You feel it as well, then? I hoped perhaps you had been spared and that the other day, in my rooms, had been an aberration.’

She nodded, wondering if he could see. ‘If it is not possible to master the feeling, then perhaps we should not try.’

He did not move to look at her, sitting as still as he had when she’d joined him. ‘You do not understand. Not truly.’

‘I understand that there are scant minutes left, before my choice is irrevocable. If there is any reason to change my mind, I will take it.’ She reached for his hand and squeezed it, hoping that he would feel the urgency.

‘You must trust me to know what is best for you,’ he said with his best physician’s tone, ‘And I tell you that there is no reason for you not to marry St Aldric. In fact, I insist that you do.’

‘Why must you keep playing the tiresome older brother?’ she said with an amazed shake of the head.

‘I have not done it enough in recent years.’ he replied. ‘You need someone to talk some sense into you, since your father cannot seem to manage it.’

‘Sometimes, I wonder if you are just thick, despite all your fancy education, or if you are joking with me. You know that brotherly wisdom is not what I want from you.’

‘What else can I offer?’ He sounded so hopeless, she wavered between pity and annoyance. It seemed that if she wanted words of love, she would have to speak them herself.

‘Let me put it plainly, since you refuse to. I love you, Sam. I always will. I wish you to offer for me. But you are pretending that you do not understand. Please, Sam. Please. Declare yourself. I will speak to Michael, and to Father.’ She gave his hand another urgent squeeze.

She shifted her body, ever so slightly, towards his and turned so that their faces were only inches apart—and suddenly they were kissing in a moonlit garden. In an instant, it was as it had been in his rooms.

She tried to remember where she was. And when. There were people waiting for her in the ballroom. And a man who wanted nothing more than to make her his bride.

But she could not stop wanting the man who would make no promises. There were so many things wrong with the moment that she could hardly enumerate them.

So she thought of none of them and opened her mouth.

She could hear the rustle of her own satin gown as he crushed her body to his and feel the rapid flutter of her tongue in his mouth. His circled to still it, filling her mouth with the taste of him.

His hand was at the back of her neck and he hesitated, stroking once, carefully, so as not to disarrange the curls. Then he smoothed over her neck, her shoulders, her throat, and very carefully slipped inside the bodice of her gown.

The man she loved was touching her breast. She caught her breath and held it, giving him more room to touch her as he kissed. His hand was gentle, even as his mouth was not, warm on her skin, his fingertips barely touching the puckering tip as his teeth grazed her lips and his tongue pushed deep, retreated and returned.

If this was what he wanted from her, she would gladly give it. Her legs trembled and her centre was wet, as she knew it would be when the time was right to join with a man. If she had the nerve to touch him, as she had in his room, she was sure that he would be hard for her and just as eager as she felt.

Her hands were beneath his coat, on his waist. It was improper, but wonderful. She slipped them under the bottom of his waistcoat and could almost feel his ribs through the linen of his shirt.

In response, his fingers closed on her nipple and tugged. She gasped, biting at his lower lip, wanting more. He must give it to her. He simply must. She needed his tongue on her breast, and his body in hers, so that they might be one in flesh, as they had always been in spirit.

Her hands dropped lower, clutching him firmly by the backside. And she pulled herself upwards, forwards, into his lap. And for just a moment, she felt the bulge of him pressing against her through her gown. The trembling seemed to come from inside her now, like the expectant rumbling at the beginning of a storm.

He pulled himself away from the kiss and whispered into her ear. ‘Is this what you want from me?’ He thrust his hips against her.

She nodded eagerly, digging her fingers into the muscles of his body and pressing herself against the hardness, praying that this was the answer he wanted, the one that would make him continue.

‘Because it is what I want from you,’ he said. The hand that caressed her breasts squeezed to the point of pain. ‘It is what I have wanted from you since my first desire. To taste your body with my mouth. To push myself into you. To spill my seed.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, closing her eyes. ‘Yes. Yes.’ She could imagine him there and the moment of helpless surrender when she became his.

‘This is what I want,’ he whispered, his breath in her ear even hotter than his kiss. ‘And it has nothing to do with a romantic declaration, or a marriage. I want to have you, right now, here in the garden, naked like Eve. I want to use you for my pleasure, without a thought to what is right or good.’

He was making something that would be wonderful sound sordid. But she wanted it all the same.

The hand that had been at her waist pressed her head to his mouth so that he might continue to whisper, ‘I want your body, Evie. That is all. I want to ruin you. I want what I want. I do not care if it destroys us both. That is why I left you six years ago. And that is why I must leave now.’

And then he pushed her away, out of his lap and on to her side of the bench. The night air had grown cold. She could feel it against her exposed breasts and the constriction of the bodice pulled low under them.

‘Compose yourself. And then go back into the house and find your betrothed.’ His voice was as cold as the air, passionless. ‘As I have told you before, I am not the man for you. Marry St Aldric, Evie. Please. He will care for you. I cannot. But you must stop this pointless hoping that there will ever be another choice.’ He stood then and walked away. Deeper into the garden or back into the house? She was not sure.

She tugged the bodice back into place and laid a hand against her cheek, waiting for the blush to subside. If she sat here a while longer, she would be as cold as he was, but not as emotionless. She was angry.

Sam Hastings was all she had ever wanted. She had tricked him into coming here and followed him like a fool, only to be refused again. He had brought her to the brink of fulfilment. And then he’d delivered nothing more than threats and speeches, like some Drury Lane villain.

Did he not realise that she might have taken some pleasure in the act that he found so base and unworthy? Her body still seethed with desire. It was as if she was waiting for some gift that only Sam could give her. He had shown it to her, held it close and then snatched it away at the last minute. Then he behaved as though she was the one who was cruel.

Well, it would not happen again. Tonight, she would make her choice once and for all. She would go to another man and would never turn back. At least St Aldric would not reject her without even trying to love her.

She would tell herself that what she felt for Sam had been a childish infatuation. And now, as he claimed, it was nothing more than lust. Neither of those things had a place in her future. She would leave the memories of the good Dr Hastings in the nursery where they belonged.

And some day she would revisit the memory of this night and find it as brittle and faded as a dried flower. She would look at her children, hers and Michael’s. And she would wonder why she had ever been so silly as to want another man.

But not today. Today it would be difficult. She thought of St Aldric and his many good qualities. And, slowly, she felt the ardour subside. Michael was handsome. He was kind. He had an excellent sense of humour. When he saw her, he would walk towards her, not away. And there would be a smile on his face that showed promise and a joyful anticipation of their future together.

She stood and took a breath. The air was clean and cool, and if it smelled of a man’s cologne, it was probably just her imagination. Then she straightened her dress and went back to the house.