He moved closer, slowly and temptingly, as if he worried about frightening her away. As her gaze scanned his fine features, from the day’s growth of beard that made him seem much older, to those firm lips, up to his brilliant green eyes, she had to remind herself that she was not here to kiss and caress but to give him information.
“Patience visited you?” she asked.
He nodded, pausing near the fireplace, too far away for her to touch him. She felt his absence as if they were in two different rooms entirely. “You’re sure you’re well?” he asked, returning to the subject. This was true concern, not the manipulated empathy her husband gave her during their courtship. The realization warmed her.
“Patience noticed my bruising?”
He nodded again, moving closer to her, so close she could smell the starch and lemon soap on his clean shirt, so close she could see the concern in his green eyes. His attention traveled her face, pausing on her upper right cheek. Slowly, he reached out, brushing his thumb over the barely noticeable bruise. She wavered, her body drawn to him like a flower to sunlight. She wanted to sink into the man, wanted to press her lips to that pulse beating at the side of his throat and forget.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, swallowing hard.
His arm dropped to his side, the concern in his gaze turning to anger. “What happened?”
She shrugged, clasping her hands together in front of her to keep from reaching out to him. Anxiety, pleasure, desire… she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. “Someone saw us.”
When his face paled, she waved her hand through the air, dismissing his worry. “Nothing that could be proven. Still, he didn’t like that I had tarnished his reputation.”
“Bastard,” James seethed.
She blinked, surprised by the emotion upon his face. Only Fanny had dared to say the truth about her husband, only Fanny had dared to care. No one else took her side, not even her own family. The sudden burn of tears had her looking away.
“What are you doing to provoke him, my dear?” Her mother had asked in a whisper, as if Eleanor’s complaint would bring shame to the family. Her mother had actually put the blame on her, telling Ellie to calm her wild, wicked ways. She’d known then that she could tell no one the truth.
“Your husband is a demon,” he seethed.
Husband. She shivered at the sound of the word. She would no longer call the man her husband. She couldn’t without feeling ill. In her eyes they were no longer married. He had betrayed her one too many times.
James rested the sides of his hands on her face and kissed her, softly, gently. “I’d kill him, if I could.”
“Don’t say that.” Her voice quivered with pent-up desire and fear. “You’d only end up in prison when you don’t belong there.”
“What can I do?” he whispered, resting his forehead to hers. “Tell me.”
You can tell me this is not the ruse of a whore, she wanted to say. You can tell me you truly do care about me, only me. “You can make love to me.”
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, searching for the truth. “Are you sure?”
“I mean it.” She gripped his hands tightly. “I need to forget him. To know passion, even if once. That moment in the garden didn’t satisfy me, it only made me want you even more… completely.”
He was silent.
“James, will you?” She pressed his hands to her heart. “Will you show me passion? Will you erase the memories of my past?”
He didn’t respond, merely drew her forward and crushed his mouth to hers. She opened for him, and he took full advantage, his tongue sweeping over hers in a devastating kiss that left her weak and light-headed. All worries were gone. Any despair vanished.
“I’ve been dreaming about this,” he mumbled against her mouth.
As had she, every night since meeting him. Eleanor moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck and finding comfort in the strength and vitality of his body. When he scooped her up and carried her toward the bed, she didn’t utter a word of protest. Her slippers fell from her feet, and she knew her clothing was soon to follow. There was no one else in the world. Nothing else mattered.
He laid her gently upon the soft coverlet, then stepped back. Slowly, so very slowly, his long fingers moved down the buttons of his waistcoat. It was a seductive show, but she wondered if he was giving her time to change her mind. He untied his cravat and tossed it to the chair.
Over the years she’d become quite adept at shutting down her mind while her husband rutted her like an animal. She’d sunk into a numb state of nothingness that had allowed their mating to be bearable. But with James she felt alive. With James she didn’t want to be numb. She wanted to feel every touch, every kiss. When his shirt came off, her heart thumped so madly she thought it would break free. Nerves, desire… she wasn’t sure which to focus on.
He paused, his hands at the waistband of his trousers, the only thing he still wore. “What is it, Ellie?”
“Nothing.” She swallowed and looked at the ceiling. She’d thought her husband handsome, but James put Lord Beckett to shame. His body was all muscle and hard planes. Not an ounce of fat marred his perfect form. Eleanor took in a deep, trembling breath. She needed a moment, merely a moment to regain control of her nerves. She could do this… she would do this. She jumped as James settled on the edge of the bed.
“Ellie,” James said softly. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
She nodded, humiliated when tears stung her eyes. Blast it, she wouldn’t cry in front of him. She never cried and she wasn’t about to start now. Furious with herself, she swiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands.
“But… you’re nervous?”
She nodded again. He was so damn gentle. She felt like a bloody innocent, a debutante. She hated not having control of her own feelings. She might not have any say in her life, but she sure as hell had always been able to control how she reacted to it. Until now…
James was silent for a long moment, those kind green eyes watching her, seeing so very much that she didn’t want him to see. Not even with her husband had she been this vulnerable. She shivered, crossing arms over her chest.
“If… if,” she stuttered, an impediment that she had had as a child and thought she’d conquered. “If I don’t go through with this, I fear I will die inside. I’m already half there, James.”
“All right.” He reached toward the chair near the bed where he had divested himself of his clothing and picked up his cravat. She didn’t understand his intentions until he lifted his hand, the material dangling from his fingertips. “Tie me.”
His words utterly shocked her, and she’d thought she was beyond surprise. “Wh… what?”
“Tie my hands to the headboard.”
The command was sinful; then again, she was at a brothel, so what had she expected? She stared at the cravat hanging from his fingers… tempting her. Lord Beckett had bound her up once, merely another way from him to control her. It had not only been humiliating, but terrifying. Although the idea sent a wicked thrill through her body, she would not humiliate James.
“No.” She shoved her hands into the bed and sat up, struggling with her blue-and-ivory skirts. She was drowning in a mound of material, and her corset was so tight she could barely breathe.
“I mean it.” He lay down, stretching out beside her, vulnerable, comfortable, trusting. A wave of hair had fallen over his forehead, his green eyes like soft moss. He looked very much like an elegant gent, waiting for his love. A weight of emotion settled heavily against her chest. She felt humbled, and at the same time she was terrified. She wanted no person’s life in her hands. She jumped from the bed, only to grip the post when her legs nearly gave out.
“I won’t let you do this to yourself,” she whispered, clinging to the bedpost.
“Ellie,” he whispered, “I trust you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
He quirked a light brown brow. “Will you abuse me?”
&nb
sp; “Of course not.”
“I trust you, Ellie.” There was no merriment in his gaze, no mocking laughter. He was utterly serious. “Tie my arms, and you’ll be in complete control. I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”
She took her lower lip between her teeth, confused. “You’re serious?”
“Quite.”
She’d been abused and humiliated by her husband. Yet in this small space with James she felt more vulnerable than she ever had before, and she didn’t understand why. All she knew was that she couldn’t leave here without knowing the truth, and when he kissed her, when he touched her, she knew. She understood. Everything made sense.
She swallowed hard and reached for the tie. “Very well.”
He lifted his arms, his biceps flexing as he rested upon the pillow. James was all sinewy muscle, in much better shape than her husband, and seeing his bared chest didn’t exactly put her at ease. He could so easily overpower her if he wished.
Even as fear and uncertainty ate at her nerves, she couldn’t deny that pulse that throbbed low between her thighs. That pulse he’d awakened in the garden only a week ago. Their gazes clashed and held. Slowly, she approached him, as if he was a wild cat she feared would attack just when she’d dropped her guard. At the bed she paused, uncertain.
“Straddle me,” he said softly. “Come here, and straddle me.”
She placed his cravat between her teeth, then reached around, found the clasp upon her skirt, and undid it. The material fell down around her hips. Perhaps it was her imagination, but his green eyes seemed to darken. She stepped out of her skirts while undoing the buttons of her bodice, ignoring the tremble of her hands. She was putting her trust in a whore. The insanity of her decision was not lost on her. But she’d married a lord and look how well that had turned out. Obviously the station of one’s life did not determine his trustworthiness.
She shrugged her bodice off and tossed it to the chair where his clothing lay. For this moment, this hour, she was free. Her husband had no idea where she was; no one did. Wearing only her shift, stockings, and corset, she crawled onto the bed, her knees sinking into the downy softness. James did not flinch, he did not stiffen at her approach, but she didn’t miss the rapid beat of that pulse in the side of his neck.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered.
She flushed at his compliment. She’d heard it too often for the words to mean anything, yet coming from James she couldn’t ignore the tremor of appreciation. Not bothering to respond, she lifted her shift just enough so she could straddle his lean hips. Her inner thighs pressed to his, and even through her stockings and his trousers, she could feel the heat of his skin.
“You will have to get used to my compliments,” he warned.
She grasped his wrists, growing annoyed. She didn’t like compliments, and she knew she would most likely never see James again, so his comment was pointless. “My husband told me often how beautiful I was when he was courting me. The word has lost its meaning.”
She leaned forward, realizing only too late that she was placing her bosom near his face. It must be done, and she would not react like a naïve virgin. With trembling hands she tied his wrists to the spindles of the headboard. He pulled, testing the bonds. But seeing him tied only made her panic. The urge to flee overwhelmed her, and she jumped away, stumbling from the bed. He did not look worried by her sudden departure; he didn’t seem concerned.
“You aren’t going to leave me here, are you?” He gave her a gentle smile. “It would be quite humiliating.”
As she stood there she realized with some surprise how very much he trusted her. “No. Of course not.”
“If you do not like compliments about your beauty, I will think of others.”
She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. She felt cold, unsure, confused. “Such as?”
He titled his head, resting it against his biceps. “Such as how much I admire your strength.”
She flushed, looking away. It was worse than hearing about her beauty. If she’d been strong, she would have broken her engagement when she’d realized something was a little strange about her husband. If she was strong she would find a way to leave him even now.
“I admire your desire to help others.”
She sighed. She’d helped no one but herself. She hadn’t even fought for her lady’s maid when her husband had fired her years ago. Knitting scarves for orphans from the safety of her parlor was hardly saintly.
“Most of all I admire your ability to thrive under extreme circumstances. You would do the queen proud.”
“I am related to the queen’s second cousin,” she blurted out.
He did not react to her. “Undress, Ellie.”
His face was serious, so utterly serious. Damn it all, she was tired of feeling sorry for herself. Her hands trembled as she undid the clasps holding her corset together. If she was in charge, completely and utterly, why did her entire world seem off-balance? She tossed her corset to the chair and drew in her first full breath since dressing that morn. Besides her husband, no male had ever seen her in her underclothing.
“Your shift,” James said, his fingers wrapping tightly around the binding that held his arms in place. It was then that she realized he was attempting, very hard, to control himself. He wanted her, desperately, passionately. Only then did she allow her gaze to travel down his muscled chest, following that narrow trail of hair down his flat belly and to the very area where no woman dare look. His erection pressed hard and long against his trousers. The sight of his cock made her mouth go dry.
He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Ellie grew warm, a heated flush of desire pumping through her veins. He could not touch her, but dear God, she wanted to touch him. Her body thrummed with need, her heart with desire.
“Good God, you’re beautiful,” she said, the same thing he had said to her only moments ago. She meant it. He was stunning. Magnificent. And it terrified her. The attraction between them was unmistakable, palpable. And she knew if they consummated their relationship, she would only grow fonder of the man.
The entire time his gaze was on her face. He did not flirt with her, he did not leer at her as most men would have. No, he merely looked at her with affection, with need and desire. “I will not do or say a thing you don’t want. You’re in charge.”
And she believed him. Hell, she completely and utterly trusted him. Slowly, she climbed atop the bed and straddled his hips once more. With trembling fingers she reached for the hem of her shift and drew the material over her head, tossing it to the ground.
James sucked in a sharp breath but did not say a word. His attention dropped to her ivory breasts, trailed down her flat stomach, and landed at the nest of blonde curls shading her femininity. And Eleanor let him look. Let him take in his fill, knowing he could not touch her even if he desperately wanted to.
With tentative fingers she reached out and drew her hand down his torso, through the thin line of crisp hair that trailed toward the waistband of his trousers. His stomach muscles jumped, his thighs grew harder, and his eyes closed in pure wonder.
At the waistband of his trousers, she paused. “I’m going to take off the rest of your clothing now, James, and you’re going to let me.”
He didn’t respond, merely clenched his jaw so tight that she could hear his teeth grind. His entire body was tensed and coiled, every muscle straining against his skin. He wanted her terribly, but he trusted her to set the rules. Eleanor smiled a relieved grin. Perhaps, just maybe, she could enjoy lovemaking after all.
James was rather sure he was going to die of want. He could not take his eyes off Eleanor as she fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. He even found her lack of experience a heavy aphrodisiac. When the buttons popped open and his cock sprang free from the tight confines, he almost cried out in relief. Ellie stared at his erection in utter fascination. He wasn’t sure if she was confused, surprised, or nervous; he only wished she would touch him. His fingers flexed, tightening arou
nd his bindings as he resisted the urge to break free and touch her. Completely and utterly at her mercy, there was nothing more painful, nor more intoxicating.
“You’re much larger than my husband,” she whispered.
He would have laughed if he hadn’t noted the fear in her voice. “A woman’s body is very accommodating if prepared.”
She gave a jerky nod, trying her best to trust him, but he could see the wariness in her gaze. When she reached for his trousers and gently tugged them down his legs, he helped her by lifting his hips. It was all he would do while tied to the bed. They were both utterly naked, just as he’d wanted. She sank back on her heels and slowly studied his body, pausing once more at his cock. James had to resist the urge to groan. She was killing him with her gaze, destroying him with her touch.
“You say I am beautiful, but you are, James.” She reached out, resting her warm hand on his belly. His stomach muscles jumped to life, his cock swelling so that it moved against her thigh. She did not pull back as he expected. Instead she brushed her fingers down the trail of hair that led to his groin.
“Lean, golden body. You practically glow in the firelight.” Her fingers paused at the base of his cock. James gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to lift his hips and beg her to touch him.
“You’re lovely. The sort of man people should paint and admire.” She skipped his erection and ran her hands down his muscled thighs, through the crisp hair on his legs.
“You are killing me, do you know that?” he whispered gruffly.
She smiled, a beautiful, angelic grin that had his heart flip-flopping. What the hell had happened to him? He’d never been so utterly on the brink of losing control with a client. Yes, first it had been the sadness in her eyes that had attracted him. He’d merely wanted to make her smile. He couldn’t deny that the more time he spent with her, the more fascinated he became by her charming wit. But now… now he found he respected her, damn it all, he liked her.