“Nicholas,” she whispered in wonder, knowing that Mrs. Oliver needed to add at least one more chapter to her book.
Nicholas moved higher, still pressing kisses to her hip, her belly, her ribs, his movements as powerful as those of a predator. Eliza smiled, knowing she would be glad to be his captive. He laved her nipple, making it taut again, then grazed it with his teeth. “Yvette,” he growled with satisfaction and Eliza recoiled in shock.
Yvette?
Yvette?
She braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. He looked sleepy and dazed, his slow smile making her heart leap despite his utterance. He studied her breasts with obvious approval, then reached to cup one with his hand, his intention more than clear.
“Who is Yvette?” Eliza demanded fiercely and Nicholas blinked, lifting his gaze to hers. He frowned, as if puzzled. A horror then dawned in his expression, that change more than sufficient to send Eliza stumbling from the bed.
She knew in that moment that Yvette was the woman whose company had convinced him to linger abroad for so long, the one who had captured his heart and left him despondent, the one so fool as to cast such a man as this aside.
Eliza had no desire to even be confused with such a witless creature.
“I am not Yvette,” she whispered with heat, then seized her robe and raced to the door. She was well aware of the weight of Nicholas’ gaze upon her, just as she was of the fire in her cheeks. Once again, she was conflicted, both mortified by her own reaction and savoring the tide of pleasure he had loosed within her.
Mercifully, there were no servants as yet in the corridor. She retreated to her own chamber and to the bed, pulling up the covers as if she had been there all night, alone.
Her heart was racing, though, and there remained a slick heat between her thighs. More than that, she felt a languid satisfaction that was all new. She thought of Nicholas touching her with such surety and her breath caught.
But Yvette. Eliza rolled over and thumped her pillow hard, even as a chambermaid slipped into the room to light the fire. She feigned sleep, fuming all the while.
How could he?
Nicholas could not restrain his good temper.
He doubted Eliza shared his mood and he knew he owed her an apology. But it would be no reward to Haynesdale’s hospitality to seduce that man’s sister in his own home.
The simple truth was that he was so encouraged by the return of an ability he had once considered to be innate that he could not keep from whistling.
Nicholas Emerson’s confidence in the world and the future had been restored by one erection, his first in many years, and the elation of that change in circumstance could not be denied.
There were implications from the return of his abilities, too, ones that could not be overlooked. For if Eliza truly had feelings for him, and he had the ability to father the children she desired, then his future might be rosy indeed. Nicholas could only hope of the opportunity to explain himself and regain her admiration.
She was a marvel, an angel of mercy, a goddess and one who had healed him. He could think of no better reward than to serve her with all of his ability for the rest of their lives.
And so, he whistled.
He had no doubt that victory was not yet complete. He suspected there would be times when all did not respond as expected and he knew his nightmare was not yet banished. But Nicholas was encouraged as he had not been in years, and that was sufficient indeed.
The lady in question entered the breakfast room just as he was finishing an excellent meal. In point of fact, he would have found any meal excellent on this particular morning, but this had been a very good breakfast, particularly one served at so late an hour.
“Whistle again and I will strike you,” Eliza warned through her teeth and Nicholas could only smile. She granted him a dark look. “That, sir, is almost as grievous a reaction.”
“I do apologize, Mrs. North,” he said, bowing low to her. She eyed him skeptically but tightened her lips and served her breakfast. Farrell bustled about, ensuring that she had all she desired, then cleared away Nicholas’ plate. Eliza sat down at the opposite end of the table and cast Nicholas a poisonous glance before pouring her tea.
“Who is Yvette?” she demanded once Farrell had closed the door behind himself. Her gaze was steely and Nicholas could only admire that she was so forthright.
He might be engaged before noon.
“There is no Yvette,” he admitted easily.
Eliza frowned. “But…”
He moved to the chair alongside her and dropped his voice low. “You had to leave before you were discovered in my bed, lest much be made of your presence there. Assumptions would be made, Mrs. North.”
She arched a brow. “Assumptions that were not made as a result of your utterance.”
