CHAPTER 20
The week passed in a whirlwind. Eva barely had time to sketch, what with excursions into the City and visits to the dressmaker.
Madame Tissot, the fashionable modiste recommended by Mr. Geraldson, normally expected several weeks to complete a ball gown.
For a duke, however, she made exceptions.
Three of her seamstresses were put on the gown as soon as Eva chose the style and fabric.
At the daily fittings she watched the ensemble come together.
Sarah and Rebecca insisted on accompanying her each time. Their excitement exceeded hers. She realized that they all would be attending that ball, she in person, but they in their imaginations.
She did not see Gareth very much. He escorted them to the theater one night, and his brother Lord Ywain joined them.
He arranged for them to visit the magnificent library of a marquess he knew, and the art collection of an earl.
One evening they all went to Vauxhall Gardens and sat in a little box eating ham before strolling the grounds and watching the entertainment and fireworks.
Some days, though, they only met at dinner.
Finally, the day before the ball, she found some time for herself.
After returning from Madame Tissot’s and the final inspection of the gown, she begged off further shopping with Sarah and Rebecca and returned to the house.
Up in her chamber she drew the drapes back as far as possible so the cool northern light would saturate the chamber.
She collected some objects into a still life that she posed on a table near one of the windows so the light hit the composition from the left. Settling down, she began to draw.
Soon her observations absorbed her, and the smooth movements of her crayon on the paper entranced her.
“Has it come?”
She looked up. Gareth stood near her shoulder.
“The gown? Is it here? I had hoped to see it.”
“It will be delivered tomorrow morning.”
“I will have to wait until tomorrow night now.” He stepped closer and angled his head to see her drawing.
“It is just that still life there. Not complicated, but form is form, and there is no such thing as enough practice.”
“I expect that is true.”
He hovered at her shoulder, watching her.
She felt him there right behind her chair.
His warmth, his energy—while he escorted her around town, there were others with them, diluting his effect somewhat, but at least distracting her from it.
Now, in the silence she felt the air grow heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged desire. She wondered if he felt it as well.
Perhaps it was different for him here in London where he was in his element.
He had many friends here. They greeted him in the park and about town.
Men stopped to chat and women smiled from a distance.
His charm opened many doors, even for her.
She doubted every visitor to London toured an earl’s fine art collection, or paged through a marquess’s priceless illuminated manuscripts.
She strove to concentrate on her drawing, but his proximity tormented her. “I do not think I thanked you for the gown.”
“It is not from me.”
“I only accepted it because of you. It was very exciting, having a gown made and being told not to count the cost. It was kind of you to do all of this for me.”
“I will enjoy seeing you in it, Eva, and only regret the gift could not be mine.”
Because that would imply things, even though they both knew there was nothing to imply now. What a muddle society’s rules made of things.
She set down her crayon and closed her sketchbook. She could not bear sitting here like this, with him so close.
He indeed stepped away from her.
“There is still time for a turn in the park, I think.” He went to her chamber door. “Would you like to join me?”
“Don’t.” The words emerged without thought. “Please, don’t leave.”
He gazed down on his hand, gripping the door’s latch. “You have me at a disadvantage, Eva.”
“I know. But I do not want you to leave. Then I will be here alone, thinking, remembering . . . ” She stood and put down her book and crayon on her chair.
“What do you want from me?” He sounded exasperated.
“I am not sure. But I do not want to walk with you with all those people about. I am always sharing you now. We have had little time together, the way we did in Langdon’s End.”
He faced her. “We were lovers then. This is how it is when you are friends. You often see each other in the company of other friends.”
She went over to him. “Must it be that way? Can’t we have time such as we did in the garden last week? My time is poorer when you are gone, and only half-joyous when there are others with us.”
“Poorer? Poorer?” He strode into the chamber.
“Eva, you demanded a promise from me, and I have kept it. However, I am a madman when I am with you. Can you even imagine what hell this has been? I do not just miss your company, damn it. I hunger for you. I walk around insane with lust while I play the visitor’s guide and the good neighbor.
So do not ask me to attend on you in private and provide amusement so your time is not poorer. ”
“I do not need amusement. I don’t. I need—” She reached out and placed her palm on his chest. Warmth. She needed warmth. She closed her eyes and savored the connection under her hand.
“Eva, you are in grave danger of being ravished, and honor be damned. Remove your hand and step back.”
She opened her eyes and looked at her hand.
“I cannot remove it. It is stuck.” She moved it across his chest, under his coat.
“Oh, look. It can move. Not totally stuck. Just too heavy to lift, I suppose.” She caressed up, over his shoulder, feeling all the bones and muscles that gave it such an appealing form.
He suffered it, showing more stoicism than she wanted.
What happened to honor be damned? She stepped closer, so his scent filled her head.
Her lips hovered an inch from his chin, tantalizing him.
She smoothed her hand down between them lower yet.
His stomach tensed when she passed over it.
His erection brushed the back of her hand.
She closed her fingers around it through his trousers.
“Damnation, Eva.” His fingers stretched through her hair, holding her head against his chest. He turned her head so her face angled up.
He claimed her with a kiss full of the hunger he spoke of.
He throbbed in her hand, getting larger and harder.
She embraced him with her other arm, and skimmed her fingertips down until they traced the hard swell of his bum.
Her arousal spun through her hotly, colored with the contentment of returning to a familiar place. Once again. There can be little harm in that.
Their bodies entwined, joined by reckless passion and desperate kisses and grasping embraces.
She wanted more. More closeness. She pulled his coat down and he shrugged it off.
Her own garments annoyed her. She wanted him totally touching her, his skin on hers and his body overwhelming her.
She broke an arm free to try and reach back to unfasten her dress.
“There is no time.” He pushed her so she fell onto the bed. He knelt beside it and lifted her skirt and chemise. “Come here. Closer.”
She knew what he intended. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I will scream.”
“Cover your mouth.” He moved her himself, lifting her hips and shifting them to the bed’s edge.
She did not resist. She did not want to.
She parted her knees and waited breathlessly for the first kiss.
All of her waited—urging, yearning, throbbing.
When it came, she groaned with relief, then with astonishment at how the sensations destroyed all sense.
Again she moaned. It turned into a begging cry.
With her last bit of sanity she pressed her palm against her mouth.
She made no noises to be heard after that. They stayed inside her. Making her frantic. The pleasure built and built, and her eyes teared from the intensity. The scream of her release also remained inside her, multiplying its effect, lengthening the exquisite pitch of delirium.
She reclaimed the world and opened her eyes. Gareth stood in front of her, hot-eyed, aroused, overwhelming her with the power of his sex. She pushed herself up and reached to release his lower garments. When they dropped she caressed his phallus.
“Kiss me. Do you understand what I mean?”
For a moment she did not. Then she looked up at him.
He flipped her over. “I am too far gone, anyway.” He made no more requests. He gave no instructions. He moved her as he pleased, until she knelt low with her hips high. He pushed up her garments again, until he exposed her bottom and legs.
He made her wait. He caressed her bottom.
“It is hell that I want you so badly.” He pressed his erection between her thighs, but not in her.
It touched and pressed that most sensitive spot.
She gritted her teeth to try and control the shudder of need that screamed through her.
“When you are dancing at the ball, remember how you feel right now, Eva. Remember the bastard who can make you weep with desire.”
He entered her, taunting her with his slowness. Again and again he tantalized her until she did weep, silencing the sounds with the bedclothes. Then gentleness disappeared and he took her harder than he ever had, until another release crashed through her in a cataclysm of howling sensations.
She collapsed on the bed. He did not. Sounds penetrated her stupor. She looked over to see him locking the door. He returned and sat on the bed.
“Damned boots,” he muttered. He pulled them off. He shed his shirt and trousers, then turned and unbuttoned her dress.
When they were both naked and lying side by side, he began the passion again.
* * *