Page 29

Chapter Nineteen

“ G ray was right,” Spencer muttered as soon as they entered Everdawn House. His fingers closed around Eleanor’s wrist before she could step toward the staircase. “I do yearn for you, and I am tired of pretending I do not want you in my bed.”

Before she could even react, he tugged her toward him, her startled look frozen as his mouth closed over hers. Her gasp was swallowed immediately by his kiss. It was not their first, nor even their second, but it caught her off-guard nonetheless.

The kiss chased away any hesitation she had and made her relax in his arms as he backed her up against the wall. One of his hands landed on her hip, pinning her in place. He pressed his body against hers, and the groan he let out made her knees buckle.

It was the sound of a man tired of holding himself back.

Her hands moved on instinct, one burying itself in the thick mane of his hair to keep him pressed against her, and the other cupping the scarred side of his face. Her fingers traced the ridges of his scar, and she waited for him to pull away with a growl. But he didn’t.

He nipped her lower lip, making her gasp, and he used the opportunity to plunge his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. Her muffled moans spurred him to press closer to her, his breath short between kisses.

He kissed her so hard that she swore the walls around them faded away, and the hand on her hip drew slow circles, teasing her.

Eleanor knew that neither of them was ready to openly acknowledge what was budding between them. However, neither was content to ignore it. A clashing of contradictions that turned into an explosive passion as their mouths hungrily claimed one another.

Against her, Spencer’s body was firm and hard, all broad strength and certainty, as if she could fall against it and know she would be supported. That was how he made her feel—she would never have to worry about not being caught.

“I cannot stop thinking about how you felt that night in the conservatory,” Spencer murmured against the corner of her mouth, before kissing his way to the curve of her cheek and the line of her neck.

His fingers were already tugging at the laces of her dress, and she found that there was not one ounce of protest on her tongue.

“Not simply your body against mine, but how you felt…” His fingers on her hip slipped to the inside of her thigh. “ Here .”

Eleanor’s breath caught. Delicately, she lifted her hips, seeking the hard bulge she had felt in his breeches that night. Sure enough, it brushed against her thigh.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes rose to her husband’s. The low light from the candles danced across his scar, but she didn’t care how much it stood out. She didn’t care about it all except the terrible story it told, and while she wanted to hear it, her pressing need took over.

Spencer’s eyes were hooded, lingering on her mouth. Then, they moved further down to her neckline. To where her breasts rose and fell with every heavy breath.

He swallowed, lowering his lips to her breastbone. He pressed a featherlight kiss to it, but at that moment, something snapped inside him. He groaned, grinding harder against her, kissing her more fiercely, mapping the swell of her breasts.

His hands slid up her waist to cup her mounds, and she gasped at the sensitivity of her skin as he showered it with his attention. He pulled down her neckline until a nipple sprang free, and closed his lips around it.

Eleanor let out a muffled cry, and he made a warning noise against her skin.

“We ought to—” She broke off as he flicked his tongue against her nipple. “We ought to retreat to your chamber.”

“We ought,” he agreed, but he only pulled her flush against him till her back arched off the wall.

His length pressed against her thighs, and she ached to simply yank up her skirts and learn just how much more pleasure he could give her.

She moaned at the thought, but his hand quickly found the base of her throat and curled around it. Spencer slid his palm up her neck, tilting her head back so he could push his fingers into her mouth.

She wrapped her lips around his digits quickly, sucking on them as he kissed his way over her chest and back up to her neck. His other hand was already moving to the spot between her legs, his jaw clenched.

“I do not know how much longer I can restrain myself,” he grunted, his voice so low and deep that it sent shivers through her. “I want to—I want to claim you.”

Eleanor’s eyes met his, dark with desire. She made a show of sucking on his fingers for another moment, wondering what he would do next. His fingers fell from her mouth with an audible pop .

“You know I am already yours to claim. You heard what Mr. Gray said about your moods.” Her voice, although breathless, turned teasing. “You may prove they can provide a good time.”

“Not for your first time,” he all but growled. “I will never hurt you.”

“It is not pain,” she whispered. “It is a more intense pleasure you can show me. You have never hurt me once, and I will always trust you. I already do.”

His mouth slanted over hers in a bruising, hot kiss. When he pulled back, he was already pulling her skirt up to her hips.

“I will lay you down in my bed,” he swore. “But I must touch you. I fear I will lose my wits if I do not bury my fingers inside?—”

A door further down the hallway opened, and Eleanor gasped at the intrusion, barely having time to whirl away and fix her dress. Her heart leaped into her throat as Spencer tore himself from her.

“ What ?” he bit out.

The man who entered the hallway was not a servant, nor was he in uniform, but a simple, dark blue shirt and breeches. His face was young but worried as he looked between them.

“Nathaniel, do we have a meeting?” Spencer beckoned him forward. “Why are you here? I ordered you to watch over my sister.”

He adjusted his tailcoat, and Eleanor masked her satisfaction at the fact that she affected him so much that he lost his composure so publicly.

“No, Your Grace,” Nathaniel replied. “I was waiting in your study to report on…” His eyes flicked to Eleanor.

Spencer nodded. “You can speak in front of my wife.”

Warmth bloomed inside Eleanor, both at the possessiveness in his voice and the fact that he was doing what he had promised: keeping his walls lowered.

“It’s about Lady Charlotte,” Nathaniel began.

Spencer’s demeanor immediately shifted, his shoulders stiffening and his voice growing sharper.

“I was keeping watch over the cottage, as instructed, but I noticed a man lingering around the periphery of the estate. I tried to apprehend him the first time, but he slipped away. I assumed I had scared him off, but then he returned a couple of days ago. I wanted to send word, but I worried that my letter would fall into the wrong hands. Lady Charlotte and Lady Montagu are currently safe and being watched by the rest of the men you stationed there, but I knew I had to alert you right away.”

Eleanor’s heart rate quickened. She expected Spencer to push her away, to tell her that this conversation was not for her ears. She stepped forward, ready to demand to know her friend’s whereabouts, especially if she was in danger.

When she spoke, her voice shook with panic. “Now, will you tell me where?—”

But Spencer already rounded on her. “I shall have a bag packed for you. We are going to Aversham to collect my sister.”

Her argument died on her tongue as he gave her a look of understanding. They were finally one unit. He was finally trusting her.

Eleanor wasted no time rushing to her chamber, all their kisses and promises of intimacy forgotten.

Aversham was located on the farthest corners of the London countryside, close enough to Everdawn that Spencer would have been notified quickly if anything had happened to Charlotte, but far enough that he was comfortable with the distance between her and the city.

However, he was not sure he would ever be comfortable with her location, no matter how far from Lord Follet he sent her.

Beyond the carriage window, the sun was dipping toward the horizon, and dark clouds gathered overhead.

Spencer’s body was still alight with how he had ravished Eleanor in the hallway, his mind still whirling with the prospect of how ready he had been to take her.

“Aversham,” Eleanor muttered next to him. “All this time, Charlotte has been a stone’s throw from London.” Spencer went to argue, but she was already laughing in disbelief, shaking her head. “I understand why I could not visit her. I still think I should have known, though.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and watched as her eyes flitted to the scar on his face and then away, barely flinching when she beheld it. He noticed that; she simply considered it part of his face. He saw the questions in her eyes, but she never once pried.

He fixed his gaze on her, his voice low and soft. “Why do you never ask how I got my scar?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I… I suppose that I never thought it was my business. I was curious, yes, but I have tried to keep my questions about myself and Charlotte. I did not want to pry.”

“You are very good at prying,” he countered with a small smile.

“Would you have told me? If I had asked you, would you have told me how you got it?”

Spencer thought about that. He thought about the man he had been a few months ago—weeks ago, even.

A man who had been dragged from his former life, still angry at the world yet trying to fit into a society that seemed intent on shunning him.

Trying to repair a fractured relationship with his sister, desperate to save her the way he could not save Anna.

“No,” he finally answered. “At least not back then.”

“And now?”

He held her gaze. “I promised you lowered walls.”

He reached for her, and for once he did not stop himself from cupping her cheek in his hand. He swallowed, not used to displaying affection so casually, but he saw the motion through.