Page 27

He was relieved when the conversation turned to Cox, who had to answer a similar bevy of questions. Eliza dutifully turned her attention to the man, and Simon allowed himself the pleasure of looking at her profile.

Half agony, half hope. Did she see a way forward for them, or was she simply being impulsive, again?

A footman asked if he was finished with his soup, which forced him to look away from her.

Another footman set a plate of roast beef in its place.

Something touched his foot beneath the table.

It was her foot. He glanced over at her to make certain, and she smiled at him, heat smoldering in her gaze.

This was too much. He was all agony at this point. Still, he did not pull his foot away from her reach even as he redoubled his efforts to concentrate on his food.

By the time the meal was finished, he’d decided that he needed to confront her.

He waited. She had to stop looking at him so obviously.

The women retired to the drawing room, and Devonworth offered the men cigars at the table.

Simon accepted and rose to his feet to watch the women leave.

The men stayed in the dining room for about ten minutes until Cox asked about a painting they had seen earlier in the upstairs corridor.

When Devonworth offered them a closer look, Simon declined and remained in the dining room to finish his cigar.

Left alone, he stayed on his feet and walked to stand behind the closed door, silently counting the seconds.

To get upstairs, the men would have to pass by the open door of the drawing room.

Eliza would see that he hadn’t accompanied the men.

He gave her exactly thirty seconds to make an excuse and find a way to come back to the drawing room.

The door opened on the count of thirty-two.

The skirt of Eliza’s blue dress preceded her into the room.

She paused inside the door and he grabbed her arm and pulled her completely into the room.

The door closed and he pressed her against it, holding his hand over her mouth to silence her gasp of surprise.

“I knew you’d come,” he said.

She smiled behind his hand and he let it drop between them. He couldn’t not touch her, though. His hand found hers of its own accord. “Of course I came.”

“Half agony, half hope.” He recited her words back to her.

“You didn’t write me back,” she admonished him gently.

“Why did you write it?” he asked instead of answering her accusation.

A pretty blush stained her cheeks. “It’s true.”

“What do you mean by hope?”

She took in a breath and her free hand came up to his face.

The backs of her fingers pressed his cheek.

He had to fight not to lean into her touch.

“I meant the hope that I would see you again, but it’s become more…

” She let out a ragged breath. “Sometimes I think of you and a future where we are together.”

He clenched his teeth to keep from leaning into the absolute pleasure that her words evoked in him. He reminded himself that they hardly knew each other, so ideas like those had no place between them. When he was certain he could control himself, he said, “That can never happen.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. Her body shuddered in a sigh. After a moment, she looked up at him. “I know, but I wake up thinking about it. I lie in bed at night and think of you.”

It was subtle, but a shift happened with those words. Her eyes dilated and there was a husk in her voice.

“And what do you think of?” He wanted to kiss her. That he could do. He could give her stolen kisses. He leaned forward, the rose scent of her teasing his nostrils. He wanted to find the source of it. Was it her hair? A bit of perfume she dabbed on her neck?

“You,” she whispered. “And me.”

“And what are we doing?” He was so close now he could feel her breath on his lips.

“Touching.”

He cursed softly. The allure of her was too much.

He kissed her, his mouth pressed to hers, seeking the heat of her.

She parted beneath him and he brushed his tongue against hers.

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat that nearly undid him.

He needed more of her, more of this, more of everything.

His hands went around her and pulled her against him, the hard boning of her corset digging into his fingers.

She deserved better than this, better than a door at her back and an overly eager man at her front, but he couldn’t concern himself with such things right now.

As soon as her fingers plunged into his hair and held him to her, he was lost. He was at her mercy.

Whatever she wanted, he would give to her.

“Eliza,” he whispered, taking her precious face between his hands and drawing back only far enough to look at her. She was beautiful, her eyes heavy lidded but as mischievous as ever. The light teased out hints of gold in her irises.

“What are we doing?” he asked. Even as he questioned it, he didn’t pull back from her. In fact, he settled his hips against her, the rigid swell of his cock pressed firmly against her soft stomach. She writhed subtly but enough to make sparks of pleasure skate up his spine.

“I don’t know.” Her eyes were wide and earnest. “I just know that I can’t not think about you.”

He groaned and brought her lips to his. He devoured her.

Not kissing her wasn’t an option. He wanted to have her on her back on the table and only barely managed to keep his wits about him and stop from doing it.

Instead, he reached down and dragged up her skirt.

His fingers slipped easily underneath, across her knee, between her thighs.

He found the slit in her drawers, the fur guarding her sex, and her soft petals opening to his fingertips.

She was slick to the touch and swollen with need.

He pushed a little, the tip of his longest finger finding her heat as she yielded to him.

“Simon,” she gasped.

It wasn’t enough. He needed to feel her, to know the taste and salt of her skin. But this was all they could have. He pushed farther, her body enveloping the length of his finger, gripping him. The fit was so snug he almost groaned. She did cry out softly, and he smothered the sound with his mouth.

He glided out of her almost completely and pushed back in, rubbing the pad of his finger against the texture that made her hips bounce.

He’d give anything to be inside her. She flooded his hand with her need, the sound of his finger driving into her making him mad for her.

Withdrawing, he rubbed her clitoris, which was rigid and extended by now.

She rolled her hips, seeking more, his name falling from her lips.

He hadn’t meant to go so far with her. He’d only wanted to touch her, to get a small taste of what existed between them, but now that he’d reached this point, he found that he couldn’t stop.

He wanted, no, he needed to make her come apart.

She couldn’t be his in any meaningful way, but he could claim her with this .

She pressed her face to his chest, her breath coming fast and hard as she rode the pleasure he gave her higher.

He could feel it rising within her. He ground himself against her hip, his body throbbing and aching for release, but it was hopeless.

Already, voices were coming through the door.

Devonworth laughed at something Cox had said as they came down the stairs.

Simon let her go as if she’d turned into live flame in his hands.

She fell back against the door, panting, and her knees were wobbly.

Her eyes were dilated and glazed. Jesus, he wanted to drive himself into her right there in the dining room, to take her against the door and damn the consequences.

He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t take her future from her.

He kissed her parted lips before hurrying to the window that looked out over the side garden. He couldn’t see anything beyond his own feverish need as he took deep breaths and tried to beat back his own arousal. Blood rushed in his ears, nearly drowning out every other sound.

He’d never done something so foolish. He had no right touching her or doing that in Devonworth’s house.

He didn’t know what had come over him. She moved, adjusting her clothing and getting herself together, and caught his eye in the reflection of the glass.

He knew that he would do it again in a second if given the chance.

She had that power over him. It wasn’t a power he resented.

He wanted her to wield it. He’d savor it for as long as he could have her.

The door opened and Devonworth paused mid-sentence, his gaze roaming from Simon to Eliza and back again. Eliza opened her mouth, and he had no idea what she meant to say, because she ran out of the room instead of saying it.

Thankfully, Simon’s need for her had been thoroughly doused with her brother-in-law’s arrival.

He thought he managed to appear well put together when he said, “We should be going, Cox. Lord Devonworth, thank you for having us for dinner.” He held his hand, still slick with her need, behind his back.

“Cavell,” Devonworth said, a hint of warning in his voice. He suspected something, but he didn’t know anything. It was best to leave while he still could.

Cox said his goodbyes and Simon gave an abbreviated bow as he headed toward the front door.

He looked neither to the left nor the right; to see her again would tempt fate.

He didn’t draw an easy breath until they were outside moments later and climbing into the carriage they had borrowed from Montague Club.

“That bit o’ raspberry Eliza Dove.” Cox grinned. “There’s a story to tell there.”

“Stuff it, Cox.”

His friend laughed so hard the springs of the carriage shook with his humor.

Simon held his hand closed, her heat slowly dying on his fingers.

Had he been alone he would have tasted her.

Hell, had they been alone he would have spread her out on the table and feasted on her properly.

He nearly groaned at the mental image that evoked.

On his deathbed, he’d lie there and regret that he hadn’t seen her come apart in his arms.