Chapter Fifteen
The dark enveloped her almost immediately. Combined with the roaring sounds of storm and water, the effect was disorienting and she paused after several steps. A chill raced across her nape and something dangerous swirled through her core. Fear. Excitement. Expectation.
She had to forcefully remind herself that despite the clandestine nature of the moment—and Bridget’s insistent comments about hunger, yearning, and seduction—the reason she’d requested Waring’s presence was not personal in the slightest.
It was about the necklace. Nothing more.
“Lady Eleanor.”
Her name, spoken in the now familiar rich tones and casual cadence, caused a shiver of awareness to snake down her spine.
It was amazing, really, that she heard it at all considering the continued roar of the Cascade and the added sounds of mechanical movement she could hear now that she was around the rear of the display.
But the viscount’s low voice easily threaded through the noise.
She turned in place to him standing several steps away in a dense thicket of trees.
He looked every inch the rogue in that shadowed wood. But there was more she sensed in him here that she hadn’t noticed in the glittering ballrooms and drawing rooms of society.
There was a different sort of ease in his manner.
His broad shoulders were even less rigid.
His stance more confident and relaxed. At the same time, his expression…
appeared somehow both more intense and more comfortable.
There was a different sort of self-assurance in his gaze and the half smile that curved his mouth.
As though covert meetings such as this were a regular and welcome occurrence for him.
How many women had he met in similar circumstance for very different reasons?
As soon as the question slid through her mind, Eleanor tensed. She didn’t want to know.
Realizing that he hadn’t moved upon seeing her, Eleanor started toward him. She’d requested this meeting after all, she may as well do what she’d called him here to do.
She stepped silently across the soft ground, doing her best to appear poised. But as she approached him, his manner subtly shifted. The curve of his mouth twitched and his gaze—though still intent and piercing—darkened.
She suddenly recalled the way he’d looked at her in her garden when he’d lifted his hand to her face and murmured something about courting her.
A tingling rush of heat arced through her, ignited a frisson of sensations across her nerves before she reminded herself that that had been a show for anyone watching.
But no one was watching now…
Was she mad to think this was a good idea?
Too late.
She joined him within the dense copse of trees, releasing a breath as she murmured softly. “Lord Waring.”
His voice was just as quiet as he replied, “I wasn’t certain you’d be here.”
“Of course I’m here. My note said I’d be.”
Amusement flickered across his face. “Right. It also said you’d changed your mind.” He paused and lowered his chin. “About the necklace, I presume?”
Eleanor nodded. She found it difficult to think and speak coherently. The darkness and whispers felt too intimate. She’d hoped the privacy and being out from under the gaze of society would make it easier to speak to him.
It didn’t.
Instead, she seemed to feel everything so much more intensely. Her trembling went deeper, the swirling was heavier, the hum beneath her skin even more tingling and searing.
What did she think she was doing? Who did she think she was? Why did she think she’d be capable of engaging with a handsome, charming man in such a clandestine way?
“What is it you wished to tell me, my lady?” he asked, dipping his head toward hers. His warmth and the soothing scent of sandalwood drifted around her.
More heat angled through her core. Her skin grew flushed and her stomach twisted wildly. Feeling lightheaded, Eleanor drew a shaky breath then licked her lips. “I…uh.”
Dammit. She sounded like a nitwit. All she had to do was say what she knew about the tragic wedding of legend, but she’d seemed to lose the connection between her mind and her tongue.
“Are you all right?” he asked in concern, taking a small step forward as his hand lifted to the side of her face.
At the light touch of his fingertips across her cheek and along her jaw, she closed her eyes. A powerful shiver coursed over her skin. When his fingers came to rest gently against her nape and his thumb brushed the pulse in her throat, he paused.
“Your heart is racing. Take a slow breath with me.”
He drew an extended inhale, deep into his lungs, expanding his chest with air before slowly, deliberating releasing it.
So slowly it just barely disturbed the wisps of hair at her temple.
After his third exhale, she realized she’d matched her breath to his.
And each breath she took seemed to expand inside her, providing the space for everything that had gotten so tightly knotted to loosen and unravel.
A few more breaths and she felt like she’d regained herself enough to open her eyes again, only to catch her next inhale on a gasp when she saw how close they stood to each other.
With his head bent toward hers, she looked directly into his eyes.
Her skirts brushed against his boots and at some point, she’d lifted one hand to grasp his wrist where his hand wrapped warmly around the side of her throat.
Her fingertips rested against his pulse.
It was a terribly intimate position. Indecent. Improper.
Lovely. Safe. Exciting.
“Better?” he asked, his voice low and softly graveled.
Eleanor’s fingers tightened instinctively around his wrist and her lashes fluttered briefly as she nodded. She still wasn’t quite capable of reclaiming proper use of speech.
His smile widened, shifting from a subtle amusement that curved just the corners to something else, revealing a flash of teeth as the upper arches curled with a wickedness that weakened her knees.
She was entranced. Lured by his smile and his eyes and his warm strength and his roguish confidence.
Bridget was right. She yearned.
For the darkness surrounding them. For his voice, his touch.
She wasn’t sure how he did it, but when she was with him, she felt less like a duke’s daughter and more just a woman. A woman with her own wants and expectations that had. nothing to do with her station in life. When the viscount looked at her…it felt like he saw her.
Gazing intently at her face, a new light entered his eyes and he brushed his thumb in a whisper-light caress over the pulse in her throat. Then he slowly brought his other hand to her waist. His palm was large and warm and subtly possessive as he slid it around to the small of her back.
She didn’t even consider resisting when everything inside her thrilled at the sensations he inspired as he brought her even closer to him.
Close enough to feel the sturdy brace of his thighs against hers as her breasts pressed against the firm wall of his chest. With the slightest pressure of his fingers at her nape, he encouraged her to tip her head back until her mouth lifted toward his.
“I’ve wondered what your lips might taste like,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “I’ve dreamed of it, alone in my bed, believing I’d never know…”
Eleanor’s belly fluttered in a chaotic dance.
Her gaze flickered to his mouth then back to his glinting, heavy-lidded stare.
She wished she could think of something to say, but her mind was a complete muddle.
All she could perceive was that he was going to kiss her.
And that was all she wanted in the world just then.
“May I…?” he asked gruffly.
Eleanor made a weak sound of assent.
As he lowered his head toward hers, her breath caught and her heart shuddered.
She allowed her weighted eyelids to drop over her gaze as she waited for the first touch of his lips.
His breath wafted gently across cheek and his hand tensed against her low back.
But just when she thought she felt the lightest caress against her lips, his entire body stiffened and his arm suddenly curled around her waist so tightly it stole her breath.
Lowering his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “Someone’s coming. ”
Icy heat rushed through her in a tidal wave. Her body froze in his embrace.
Was this how she was ultimately ruined in society’s eyes? Caught in a scandalous embrace in the wilderness of Vauxhall Gardens.
A new kind of panic rose within her and she tried to pull out of his arms.
But his grip tightened. “Shh. Don’t move.”
This time, she heard the iron thread of caution in his voice. It was more than concern for causing a scandal, and she recalled him telling her of danger surrounding the necklace and people watching.
A new kind of fear rolled through her then and she pressed more firmly against him.
Though his breath released in a steady exhale, he kept her close as he seemed to be listening and scanning the darkness around them.
She tried to detect what had alerted him, but all she heard was the mechanical roar of the waterfall and the rapid beating of her own heart.
Then a voice drifted from the darkness of the deeper forest behind her. The tones were heavy with malice and intent warning, but there was no disguising the cadence of her grandmother’s homeland. “You cannot keep it. You will give it to us.”
“Bloody hell I will,” the viscount replied in a scathing whisper, directing the words over her head as he drew her more to his side.
“Do not fight what must be done,” the voice warned in anger. “It will only bring blood.”
With fear rolling through her, Eleanor was torn between wanting to turn and see the threat behind her and pressing her face into the viscount’s cravat so she could pretend there was nothing there.
Instead, she remained frozen in place, tucked beneath the solid curve of Waring’s arm, her hand fisted in his coat, her gaze locked on the hard line of his jaw.
Waring shifted his stance, widening the brace of his feet just slightly as he replied, “I’m not afraid of a little blood.”
There was a heavy pause, then a harsh whisper, “Your lady might be.”
The viscount tensed to stone as he took a step forward, carefully pushing Eleanor behind him while keeping his arm around her waist. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, his tone suddenly hard as stone with a sharp and jagged edge that made her shiver. “She’s got nothing to do with this,”
The voice laughed. Even in her fear and shock, Eleanor could tell the sound was coming from farther away. Was the man retreating?
“She’s got more to do with this than any of us.” The last words were barely heard as the voice faded into the forest.
The viscount remained alert and unmoving but for the slight turn of his head as he continued to scan the woods around them.
Eleanor remained against his back, feeling oddly safe with his arm curled back around her and his broad shoulders blocking any threat.
She probably should’ve been more frightened than she was.
The formless voice had directly threatened her.
But along with whatever fear she was experiencing, there was also a calm certainty.
There was no longer any point in denying that she trusted Lord Waring. His intentions. His ability. His purpose.
She’d been right in her decision to tell him what she knew.
But something inside her suggested that telling him might not be enough.
She was a part of this. She’d known it before the man in the forest had even said so.
The connection had been forged the instant she’d seen the viscount’s drawing at Mr. Mishra’s shop.
Before that, even. In truth, it had started when she’d been a small girl, awed by the illustrations in Nani’s book.
It was a few more minutes before the viscount seemed to believe there was no further threat. Slowly his body softened and his arm started to loosen around her. Enough for Eleanor to take a step back, suddenly very aware of how intently she’d pressed herself to him.
After the menacing intrusion. And before.