“No,” he whispered, his voice shaking. His fists were clenching the linens and his every muscle was taut. He was sleeping, though, his eyes tightly closed and his lips pulled back in a grimace that bared his teeth. “No, no, no.”
He was also beautiful. He was almost nude, which granted Eliza a view of the lean power of his body. The moonlight favored him, touching his skin with silver and burnishing his hair, as if he was a divine being who had set foot upon the earth. She approached the bed from the side in shadow, her gaze locked upon his face, her heart twisting that he should suffer so.
It was a poor reward for his valor, never mind his service to Damien. The scar on his shoulder showed that he had paid more than sufficient price for his service.
She should have ordered a brandy for him this night, for surely he had endured enough for one day with Helena’s flight—but she had not thought of it.
Had he not requested one out of deference to her view?
“Nicholas,” she whispered and touched his shoulder. She felt him shudder, the ripple passing through his body to his very toes, then he seized her hand.
“No,” he whispered, but the anguish in his tone was lessened. He clung to her, as if she offered a lifeline, and Eliza perched on the side of the bed.
She clasped his hand in both of hers and whispered to him. “You are safe,” she said, hoping her tone was soothing and reassuring. “You are in England again,” she said, guessing that he relived a battle. “You are safe, Nicholas.”
He caught his breath and his eyes flew open suddenly, perhaps because she had used his Christian name. He exhaled shakily, his grip firm upon her hand. She watched him scan the chamber, his unfamiliarity with it as painfully clear as his terror, then his gaze landed upon her and she fairly jumped at the intensity of his stare.
“Eliza,” he whispered without comprehension, as if her presence made no sense at all. He frowned and shook his head.
“I am here, Nicholas,” she said, bending to touch her lips to his knuckles. “You are safe at Haynesdale Manor.” He stared at his hand where her lips had touched him, then studied her face.
He shook his head, then his eyes darkened, a shudder of horror passing through him again. “You should leave,” he whispered, torment in his very words. “You should not witness this.”
Whether he meant himself or believed her to be sharing his nightmare, Eliza had no intention of leaving. She cast aside her robe and eased into the bed beside him, wrapping her arms around him. Her sole thought was to comfort him, and aid him to endure the dream. He shivered and gasped, then turned his back to her, lost in the torment of his memories.
Eliza chose not to be deterred. She moved beneath the covers, pressing herself against his back and holding him close. One hand slid over his shoulder and beneath his head, while the other wrapped around his waist, landing on the solid warmth of his chest. She could feel the thunder of his heart. Emboldened by Mrs. Oliver’s advice, she flattened her hands across his warm skin, closing her eyes at the rush of pleasure that coursed through her. She thought he might pull away, but after a moment’s hesitation, he capitulated and surrendered to her embrace. His left hand closed over hers, holding it captive against his chest, and she felt his tears on her other arm.
“You are safe,” she whispered again, kissing the back of his shoulder.
“Badajoz,” he replied, shaking his head with vigor.
“Haynesdale,” she corrected, pressing herself against him. “I will not leave you,” she vowed and felt his hand close more tightly over hers.
They remained thus for what seemed an eternity, then she felt his breathing change, slowing just as his heartbeat did the same. The tension eased from his body as he slipped into sleep again, but Eliza did not leave him. It was comforting to lie with Nicholas, to feel his strength and his heat, to press herself against him. It was a forbidden pleasure but one that no one need know about.
She would stay with him, then slip away at dawn. She smiled at the realization that she would have another secret then.
Eliza did not want to sleep, but to savor each passing moment, to feel his each and every breath. She treasured the pulse of his heart beneath her hand and the weight of his hand over hers. What would it be like to be wed to such a man? What would it be like to lie with Nicholas every night of her life? Eliza could imagine little better, and she knew this night would feed her own dreams in future.
The moon moved slowly across the sky, the angle of its light changing as Nicholas slept in her embrace. Finally, when clouds were flitting across the moon, Eliza dozed, spooned behind the man she loved, content that she had kept his demons at bay.
At least for one night.
Chapter 11
Nicholas awakened to pearly grey skies beyond the generous windows alongside the bed. He didn’t immediately recognize the room, then recalled that he was at Haynesdale.
With a woman pressed against his back.
That was a surprise.
But there was no mistaking the truth of it. He could feel the softness of her breasts against his skin and smell her skin. Her breathing was slow and deep, evidence that she still slumbered, and her one hand was held captive in his own. When Nicholas glanced over his own shoulder, he was shocked to discover that his bed partner was Eliza North.
If ever there had been a moment that he had been glad of his inability to make love to a woman, this had to be it. He had no ability to soil her, and that was good.
All the same, he could not resist the opportunity to look upon her. Her hair was loose, unbound and falling in dark blonde waves over her shoulders and across the pillow. Her lips were soft and slightly parted in sleep, her dark lashes splayed across her cheeks. Her nightgown gaped open at the bodice and one perfect breast was exposed to his view.
And he had suggested that she was no temptress.
