Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils) Page 7

  “You are now supposed to reassure me that I am neither old nor a bitch,” Eleanor told him quietly as they performed the march steps to start the dance.

  “Am I?” Hil inquired as he completed a slow pirouette.

  “Are you no longer playing the gentleman?” she inquired, copying his previous movement. “A gentleman would tell me that I am more desirable than those young girls who naturally draw the eye.”

  “You sound as if you are envious, Mrs. Fairchild.”

  They now stood beside one another facing opposite directions, their left arms raised over their heads, their hands joined. “Of course I am envious, Sir Hilary. For what is youth if it is not to be mourned?”

  “Mourned, Mrs. Fairchild? Has youth died, then?”

  “Mine has,” she answered with a wry twist to her lip. “With my past.”

  This was the first time he’d heard her speak with bitterness. He made a show of inspecting her from the tips of her dancing shoes to her artfully styled hair as he placed his hands on her waist in the dance. “My eyes do not deceive me, Mrs. Fairchild.”

  “Do they not, sir?” Her voice was definitely tinged with amusement.

  “No, madam, they do not. And they tell me that you are still in the flush of youth.”

  “Not the first blush, then?” she asked teasingly.

  Hil regarded her with a raised brow. “I seek and offer truth, Mrs. Fairchild, not flattery.”

  “That is too bad,” she answered. “I could use a little of the latter.”

  They moved closer, their hands on one another’s shoulders. He obliged her. “I could not resist the lure of your beauty,” he said quietly. “You have mesmerized me all night.” She stumbled and he gripped her arms tightly to help her regain her feet and to pull her closer. “Your intellect, your wit, the challenge you present, it is a siren’s call to me.”

  She said nothing, but he saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest, surely more than the steps of the dance warranted. Her cheeks were a becoming pink again, and he found it enchanting. Had any other man made her blush like that? He didn’t think so.

  “Tell me that you do not feel the same,” he whispered into her ear as he circled her slowly, thankful that the steps of the dance hid his furtive wooing.

  “I do not feel the same,” she said breathlessly.

  “The lie falls uneasily from your siren’s mouth,” he told her. She didn’t stumble, but her pause spoke volumes. “I have studied desire,” he continued, “and I see the symptoms in you.”

  “It does feel a little like you’ve given me a disease,” she agreed calmly, though the pulse beat rapidly in her elegant neck. “Perhaps it is a discussion for another time, when we are not surrounded by other dancers.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed. She visibly relaxed for a moment. “But I think you like the thrill of defying the rules,” he told her. Her gaze flew to his in alarm. Whether at his words, or the fact that he was correct, he wasn’t sure. “Your appearance, your conversation, your very presence here tell me that you will not be constrained by society’s rules any longer,” he continued. “You long for the chance to break free.”

  “And a dance with you offers me that freedom?” she asked, her sarcasm evident.

  “No,” he said. He wrapped an arm around her waist as they stood side by side, facing opposite directions again. She followed suit, sliding her arm around his waist, and they turned as one, first in one direction and then, after a pause, in the other. The heat of her pressed against his side was a delicious torture. “But an assignation would,” he whispered. “It would give you the freedom to indulge your desires,” he told her, hoping his words were seducing her as surely as his kisses would if she agreed. “I believe freedom is your siren call,” he continued, “as you are mine.”

  She huffed, in annoyance or amusement, he wasn’t sure. “Are you trying to seduce me, Sir Hilary, by comparing me to an evil mythical creature that lured good men to their deaths?”

  “Not working?” he said, disappointed and showing it.

  “Try something else.”

  His gaze shot to hers and he saw the challenge there. His hopes were reborn from the ashes and he decided to try the direct approach. “Meet me in the garden.”

  “After this dance,” she agreed, and he grinned as he spun her into the final turn of the waltz.

  Chapter Six

  After the dance, Eleanor had excused herself and retreated to the retiring room, while Sir Hilary slipped out a side door to the garden. He’d told her he’d wait for her just beyond the fountain, where the light from the house would be dim. She was to wait a few minutes, until supper was underway, and then slip out the same door to join him.

  Her heart was racing. This was by far the most risqué thing she’d ever done. She’d never had a season as a young girl and so had never shared kisses or anything else with a man in a garden. There’d been only Enderby’s grasping and grabbing and heaving. She shuddered. She couldn’t imagine Sir Hilary acting as Enderby had. Sir Hilary was a graceful dancer, his movements very precise, as one would expect. She rather thought his lovemaking would be the same. He would know just what to say and what to do and it would be very precise and … civilized. Surely he’d studied desire enough to know how to please a woman. Everything else about Elizabeth Fairchild’s life was so different from the old Eleanor Enderby, and Eleanor wanted this to be different, too.

  She wasn’t expecting incandescence, but a pleasant interlude would be more than acceptable. Perhaps Sir Hilary was correct, and indulging their obsessions would put an end to them. At least on his part. She very much doubted that one interlude with him would be enough for her. He was everything she’d dreamed of as a young girl, and nothing she’d known as a woman.

  As instructed, she walked sedately out of the retiring room, headed for the supper room. Moving slowly, she made sure no one was about, and then she slipped down a hallway to her left and out the door at the end into the garden. The night air was cool, almost cold, but she didn’t mind. The ballroom had been quite overheated. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her hands on her chilled skin as she moved off toward the fountain. Luckily there was a path strewn with pebbles to keep her dancing slippers clean. She was very much enamored of these slippers. She loved almost all the clothes that Harry and Roger had insisted on buying for her. They were so different from what she’d worn with Enderby.

  Suddenly a man stepped out from behind a tall bush and she gasped. Sir Hilary grinned, and his teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “It isn’t often I get to surprise you,” he said.

  “I do not like surprises,” she told him firmly, her heart hammering.

  He wrapped his arm around her, warming her as he urged her deeper into the garden. “Liar,” he said softly.

  He was right. This passion between them was a surprise. She’d thought she’d never want a man in any way, ever. But apparently Enderby had not ruined that for her. She let Sir Hilary lead her back to a secluded corner of the garden; there was a bench there, and a tree growing near the brick fence. He let go of her and leaned his back against the tree.

  “You are very quiet,” he observed, watching her closely. “That is unusual.”

  “Actually it is, or was, quite normal for me until recently.” She wanted to kick herself for bringing up the past, but it had been much on her mind as she slipped out for this assignation.

  “I like to listen to you talk.”

  “Do you?” she said, standing there awkwardly, cold again. “Did you bring me out here for more conversation?”

  “Conversation of another kind,” he answered, and there was something about his voice that made a shiver chase down her back. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. “But only if you’d like to … converse.”

  “I’m afraid this is a topic of discussion I’m unfamiliar with,” she said apologetically, glad to speak in euphemisms. She felt gauche and untried compared to his urbane sophistication. “This is my first assignation with a man in
a garden.”

  “Then I had better make it a good one,” he said. “I’d hate to be the cause of your disappointment.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, relieved. “That means the duty is yours. I abdicate all responsibility.”

  He laughed, but it was low and seductive, and more than slightly dangerous to her peace of mind. She shivered again. “Duty? Hardly. This task will be pure indulgence.” He stretched out his hand and simply waited. She understood what he wanted. If she took his hand, she was giving him permission to do whatever it was he had in mind to do. If she didn’t, then this was an assignation that wasn’t. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves and took his hand. It was perhaps the most courageous thing she’d ever done and she was rather proud of herself.

  He tugged gently, reeling her in, and she went, though she felt a little faint, probably from her racing heart and the fact that she was holding her breath. Instead of giving her the passionate embrace she’d been expecting, and fearing a little, too, he wrapped both arms around her and rubbed his hands up and down her back. “Better?” he asked quietly. “It’s cooler out here than I anticipated.”

  She nodded and hesitatingly rested her cheek on his shoulder. “I was cold.”

  “I’ll warm you up,” he said, and the innuendo was clear.

  “I have not been … warm, for some time,” she conceded, reassured that they were still using euphemisms and innuendo. “I wish you luck.”

  He chuckled, and she liked the feel of it rumbling against her chest and stomach where she was pressed to him. Inexplicably it relaxed her. “You challenge me at every turn. I like it.”

  For a moment she was assaulted by memories of all the times Enderby had found fault with her for challenging him. She blocked those thoughts, concentrating instead on the clean, fresh scent of Sir Hilary. She sniffed his jacket. “What is that scent?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “A new French scent for men only, by a fellow named Pinaud,” he said. “Do you like it? My acquaintances think I am a dandy for indulging.”

  “I like it,” she said, rubbing her nose on his jacket. She adored it. She adored him, actually, for not rushing her or belittling her inexperience.

  “May I kiss you now?” he asked quietly. She didn’t answer right away, still quite unsure of what she was doing. “The mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another,” he quoted Percy Shelley quietly. “No sister-flower could be forgiven, If it disdained its brother.” He was whispering quietly in her ear and his breath fanned softly against her hair. Her heart beat faster. She knew this poem. “And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea—What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me?”

  “Poetry?” she teased, a little breathlessly, not sure she could find him any more attractive than at this very moment. “I confess it is my weakness. ‘Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine, In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?’ ” she quoted back, though they had inverted the poem. It somehow seemed right, to do it wrong.

  “Is that a yes?”

  She nodded, biting her lip. He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head from his shoulder. His thumb rubbed her lower lip until she let go and then he leaned down and kissed her.

  It was … pleasant. His lips were soft and warm, his breath sweet, and she sighed and sank into his chest as she kissed him back. He continued to press soft kisses to her mouth, and when he gently sucked on her lower lip she giggled. She was shocked. She never giggled. She felt him smile against her mouth and she smiled back. It was fun to kiss someone while you were smiling. She gave in to her earlier urge and slid her hand up his chest and over his shoulder to the back of his neck, where she ran her fingers through those tempting curls. He snuggled her closer, spreading his legs and wrapping his arms around her. He was so warm; so tall and strong and wonderful.

  When he deepened his kisses, pressing more firmly against her mouth, she was ready for it. She wanted it. She wanted to know how he tasted. So she was the first to open her mouth just a little, the first to tentatively lick at the corners of his mouth, asking entry. He moaned and opened and she slipped inside and he was just as warm and soft and sweet inside as out. He tasted divine; he kissed perfectly.

  His arms tightened at the same time hers did. Instead of toying with his curls, her hand was now burrowed in the soft, thick hair on the back of his head, holding his mouth to hers. She had the other arm wrapped around his broad shoulders, holding tight. He made her feel delicate and petite and wanted. There was nothing rough or frightening in his passion, it was natural and unguarded and divine. For the first time she felt as if he had dropped all pretense and she knew the real Sir Hilary. She held the very essence of him in her arms. He’d pulled her up so she was on her toes as he took control of the kiss. Suddenly it was a desperate kiss, hungry and aching and pulling the passion up out of her until she was breathless and damp and on fire for him.

  Eleanor had never been more out of control in her life. While his passion didn’t scare her, hers did. What was supposed to be a pleasant interlude in the garden had turned into something much more. More than she’d planned on, more than she wanted, more than she could handle. She dragged her mouth away and he pressed his cheek to hers, his breath hot and heavy in her ear as he whispered, “Eleanor,” and she’d never heard her name said like that. As if she were air and water and everything he needed, as hungry, desperate, and aching as she was. He kissed her cheek and then trailed his mouth down her neck. Not a kiss, really. Just dragging his lips along her skin, the heat of his mouth replaced by the cool night air in its wake, making her shiver, until he stopped on the swell of her breast, just visible above her neckline, and kissed her there. Her breasts immediately began to ache like the rest of her, and she wanted to rip off the offending dress and bare herself to him, press his mouth to her skin and come undone.

  She wrested herself away from him then, frightened by how powerful her feelings were. All her defenses were down, and she felt vulnerable and exposed. He’d done it, hadn’t he? He’d torn away her mask and revealed the real Eleanor, just as she’d feared. An Eleanor who was lonely and aching and needful. She became aware of voices in the distance and the glow of the ballroom through the windows visible across the garden. If she wasn’t careful, she’d lose all her inhibitions here in this chilly garden, and perhaps much more. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t this sort of woman. Passion had never ruled her before, and never would. “I have to go,” she said breathlessly. She lifted the hem of her skirt and spun around, but Sir Hilary grabbed her arm and stopped her.

  “Eleanor,” he said, as breathless as she. “Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

  She laughed—at herself, not at him. “Don’t be. It was an education.” She turned to face him. “But this is not what I expected, nor what I want. I’m sorry, Sir Hilary.”

  “Hil,” he said. “Call me Hil.”

  She shook her head. “There is too much intimacy between us already. I can’t do this. I just can’t.” She choked on her words, and this time when she spun around to leave, he let her go.

  * * *

  Hil waited impatiently in the Templetons’ drawing room for Eleanor. Last night’s garden encounter had left him longing for more with her, yet not sure it was possible. He needed to speak to her, to find out whether there was a chance. Why had she run off? What couldn’t she do? He’d tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep as he relived each moment, torn between arousal and dismay at her abrupt departure. For a woman of words, she’d had none for him before running off. Why must women be so inscrutable? A simple “I do not care for your company,” or “I do not wish to see you again,” would go a long way to settling a man’s mind.

  “Are you here to wreak more havoc?” Roger asked from the doorway, eyeing Hil warily.

  “Hardly,” Hil replied, his dry tone conveying his displeasure at such a question.

  “What did you say last night to cause E
leanor such distress?” Roger looked very serious.

  “Playing the big brother?” Hil asked, irritated most because he understood Roger’s protectiveness.

  “Yes. Answer the question.” Roger walked over to small bar table and poured a drink.

  “It is barely ten o’clock,” Hil admonished.

  Roger walked over and to Hil’s surprise handed the drink to him. “It’s not for me,” Roger said. “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  Hil took the drink and downed it. The fiery burn of the whiskey soothed his ruffled vanity. “What did she say? Exactly.”

  “She said, ‘I do not wish to see him.’ I don’t believe I can misinterpret that.” Roger’s sarcasm was unwelcome at that moment.

  “Tell her that I will wait all day. She owes me an explanation.” He wouldn’t be able to focus on anything at all until he had settled this with Eleanor.

  “She owes you?” Roger said incredulously. “Whatever for? Did she slap you? I would have liked to have seen that.”

  “Don’t be so bloody stupid,” Hil snapped.

  “Oh ho,” Roger said with a delighted grin. “She has you off temper. Can’t say I’ve ever known a woman to be able to do that. Trust Eleanor to accomplish the impossible.”

  “I went too far,” Hil confessed. He sounded angry, and he was. With himself. “I owe her an apology.”

  “What the hell do you mean you went too far?” Roger said angrily, all amusement gone. “What did you do?”

  “I kissed her.”

  “You had better keep your mouth to yourself,” Roger warned. “I’m not above thrashing you, friend.”

  “It was a kiss,” Hil dismissed. “A rather … intense kiss, but only a kiss, just the same.” He shook his head. “But to her, it seemed as if it were much more. I forgot, damn it. I forgot where she’s come from, what she’s doing here. She made me forget it all.” His hand was a fist at his side, his inner turmoil leaking out.