CHAPTER FIVE PRACTICE IN TEMPTATION #3
“You are a member of the Mercury Club,” she said.
Gabriel’s body grew subtly still beside her.
Carrow seemed pleased by the directness. “I have visited.”
“I am told the club possesses an excellent antiquities collection.”
“It possesses several excellent collections.”
“Yet its doors remain closed to women.”
“Not all women.”
The viscount’s attention moved over her gown. Eleanor did not cover herself or look away.
Instead, she smiled faintly. “Only those sufficiently interesting?”
“Or sufficiently discreet.”
“I have always found discretion easier when rewarded.”
Carrow laughed. Gabriel’s hand settled upon the back of her chair. Eleanor felt his presence behind her like heat.
“The Feast of Hermes is next week,” Carrow said. “You would find it amusing.”
“I rarely trust a man’s definition of amusement.”
“Then allow me to demonstrate.”
He took a small card from inside his coat and handed it to her. A winged staff appeared upon the front, while the reverse contained a date and a single Latin phrase. Eleanor accepted it without examining it too closely.
“An invitation?”
“A preliminary courtesy. The upper gallery requires a separate token.”
“What occurs there?”
“Private transactions.”
“Literary auctions?”
Carrow’s eyes narrowed slightly. Gabriel shifted behind her. Eleanor kept her smile.
“I heard the phrase in Florence,” she said. “An English collector claimed he purchased a disputed manuscript through a London club.”
“Collectors exaggerate.”
“Rakes also exaggerate, but society continues inviting them to dinner.”
Gabriel made a soft sound that might have been laughter. Carrow’s suspicion eased.
“The upper gallery contains manuscripts, letters and private editions,” he said. “Objects that do not benefit from public catalogues.”
“Can a companion attend?”
“With the correct sponsor.”
His gaze moved briefly toward Gabriel. Then back to Eleanor.
“I am hosting a private supper after the performance. A smaller company. Better wine and no sopranos.”
Gabriel spoke before Eleanor could answer.
“Mrs. Grey has another engagement.”
Carrow glanced at him. “She has not said so.”
Eleanor placed one hand lightly upon Gabriel’s sleeve. The touch was not restraint. It was a reminder. She looked at Carrow and allowed the silence to lengthen until he leaned slightly closer, waiting.
“Your supper sounds dangerous, my lord.”
“I had hoped so.”
“I fear I must decline.”
“Another engagement?”
“Not precisely.”
“Then perhaps you might reconsider.”
Eleanor smiled as though the possibility remained alive somewhere beyond reach.
“I should dislike to discover that your reputation promises more than your hospitality can provide. It is kinder to us both if I preserve the uncertainty.”
Carrow stared at her. Then he laughed and bowed.
“You refuse more elegantly than most women accept.”
“Practice improves nearly everything.”
He thanked her for the conversation, promised to send further details concerning the Feast and departed with the expression of a man who believed rejection had increased his chances. Gabriel remained silent until the curtain rose. Eleanor placed Carrow’s card inside her reticule.
“Well?” she whispered.
“You encouraged him.”
“I refused him.”
“You allowed him to believe the refusal was temporary.”
“You taught me to reject without humiliating him.”
“I did not expect you to enjoy it.”
She glanced toward him. “Is enjoyment prohibited?”
“No.”
“Then your concern appears personal again.”
Gabriel looked toward the stage. The opera began. He did not answer. Eleanor smiled into the darkness.
* * *
Rain began before the final curtain. It struck the carriage roof in a steady rhythm while Gabriel and Eleanor travelled away from the opera house through streets shining with reflected lamplight.
The curtains had been drawn for privacy, and a small lantern swung near the ceiling, moving shadows across the dark leather interior.
Eleanor sat opposite Gabriel. For the first several minutes, neither spoke.
The silence felt different from the one they used during translation.
It carried the memory of Carrow’s invitation, Gabriel’s interruption and the way his hand had rested possessively upon her chair.
He looked out through the narrow gap beside the curtain.
Eleanor removed one glove. Then the other. Gabriel’s gaze dropped to her hands.
“You should not have encouraged Carrow to pursue you,” he said.
She placed the gloves beside her. “I wondered how long you would endure silence.”
“This is not a lesson in conversation.”
“No. It appears to be a lesson in jealousy.”
His gaze lifted.
“I am not jealous.”
“You interrupted before I answered him.”
“He was inviting you to a supper where half the guests would assume your presence indicated sexual availability.”
“I understood the implication.”
“You seemed entertained by it.”
“I was entertained by him.”
Gabriel’s expression hardened.
Eleanor leaned back against the seat. “Is this objection professional?”
“No.”
The honesty surprised her. It also sent warmth through her body.
Gabriel looked away again. “I did not anticipate how much I would dislike watching.”
“Watching what?”
“Another man believe he might have you.”
The words entered the enclosed carriage and seemed to reduce its size. Eleanor’s heartbeat quickened.
“You taught me to use desire without allowing it to control me.”
“I know.”
“You taught me to make a man feel selected.”
“I know.”
“You taught me that attention can be useful.”
“I know, Eleanor.”
“Then why are you angry?”
“Because knowing a thing in theory does not make watching it pleasant.”
The frustration in his voice stripped away the practiced rake and left something far more compelling beneath.
Eleanor studied him. His cravat remained precise, his coat immaculate and his posture controlled, but one hand had tightened upon his knee.
He had spent the evening pretending indifference while Carrow looked at her.
She remembered Gabriel’s mouth upon her breast, the hard length of him beneath her hand and his decision to stop before either of them found completion. He wanted her.
He also feared wanting her. The combination gave her a sense of power unlike anything she had known at her father’s table or in the lecture halls where men ignored her.
Yet the power did not feel like victory over Gabriel.
It felt like invitation. Eleanor rose from her seat as the carriage turned. Gabriel’s eyes followed her.
“What are you doing?”
She crossed the narrow space and sat beside him. Their thighs touched through layers of fabric.
“Correcting the distance,” she said.
“There was nothing wrong with the distance.”
“You disliked watching another man imagine having me.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened.
Eleanor turned slightly toward him. “What would you prefer?”
He looked at her mouth.
“Do not ask questions unless you are prepared for the answers.”
“You have said that before.”
“You have ignored it before.”
“Then consistency favours me.”
She lifted one hand and touched the edge of his cravat. Gabriel caught her wrist. Not painfully. His fingers closed around it with enough firmness to communicate warning and enough care to preserve choice.
“Eleanor.”
She looked at his hand. Then at his face.
“Do you want me to stop?”
His grip tightened.
“No.”
The word was rough. Eleanor leaned closer.
Gabriel kissed her before she reached him.
There was no instruction in the contact, no controlled pause or performance.
His mouth took hers with the frustration he had contained throughout the opera, and Eleanor answered with equal hunger.
She turned toward him fully. The carriage rocked beneath them, throwing her against his chest. Gabriel’s arm came around her waist, steadying and pulling her closer at once.
Eleanor gripped the lapels of his coat while his tongue moved against hers, demanding nothing she did not willingly give and taking everything she offered.
The heat of him entered her through every point of contact.
His hand slid from her waist to her hip. Eleanor shifted instinctively, placing one knee upon the seat beside him. Gabriel broke the kiss. His breathing was unsteady.
“Careful.”
“With what?”
“My restraint.”
Eleanor looked at him. Then she lifted her other knee and straddled his thigh.
Gabriel’s head struck the carriage wall softly.
For one astonished heartbeat, he stared at her.
Eleanor settled over his leg, her skirts gathered between them and her hands braced upon his shoulders.
The position was not yet indecent, but it placed the hard muscle of his thigh directly beneath the aching centre of her body.
She felt the contact even through her gown and petticoats.
Pleasure pulsed low inside her. Gabriel’s eyes darkened.
“Was that part of your plan?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“I should hate to believe you anticipated every method of destroying me.”
His hands settled upon her waist. Eleanor kissed him again. The carriage swayed, creating movement between her body and his thigh. The pressure sent a sharp, startling wave of sensation through her. She gasped against his mouth. Gabriel went still.
“You felt that.”
It was not a question. Eleanor’s face warmed, but she refused to retreat.
“Yes.”
His gaze moved over her. Then his hands tightened and guided her hips forward. The friction against his thigh deepened. Eleanor’s breath broke. Gabriel kissed the side of her neck.
“Again,” he murmured.