-14-

Eliza

Eliza's head had nodded towards her chest somewhere between the paragraphs detailing the instincts of newborns to suckle at their mother's teats and certain ladies being too refined to nurse their own children. Mr Darwin's book was not providing her with the wealth of new information she'd hoped for, rather, she found herself inclined to agree with Doctor Bell as to the worthiness of the tome. It contained a few points of discourse but was mostly a catalogue of things anyone with half a brain already knew.

She was abruptly startled out of her doze by the chamber door slamming against the wainscotting. The book slid from her knee, landing open face down. Lord Linfield's spry form appeared out of the gloom and lurched towards her. His hair was standing practically on end, and his cheeks and nose were both ruddy, making her wonder if he'd just encountered Cedarton's white lady.

It was apparent from the whiff of alcohol about him once he got close enough that this wasn't the case. He stopped, and peered down his rather sharp nose at her, and barked, "Where is he?" before scowling in a fashion that caused his chin to disappear inside the folds of his cravat.

"Excuse me?" Eliza retrieved the borrowed book from the carpet, then rose, clutching it as if the leather and parchment might lend her strength. When a man barged into one's chamber unannounced, it was rarely for savoury reasons. "Wh-where is who?"

Linfield's drink-addled brain must have comprehended her misapprehension for he took a deliberate step back from her person, chewing on his ruby-stained lips.

"Jamie."

"Who?"

"Jamie… James… Jem. Mr Whistler." He spat the latter at her like an insult. "Where else would he hide but here?"

Hide? What the devil was he hiding for? "Well, I'm sorry to tell you that he's not here. There's only your wife and I, as you can plainly see."

Linfield blinked. His scowl grew as his gaze darted about the room. Clearly, he expected to find Jem secreted behind a curtain, or perhaps slotted under the bed alongside the chamber pot.

"But!" he blurted when it became apparent neither were the case. Why he'd ever imagined it so, she couldn't imagine, but then, drink-addled men often assumed things erroneously. Her father had always seemed to imagine he had a surplus of coins when in his cups, rather than a mortgaged house and five children. He'd always believed he was the best tenor in the county too, when in fact he could barely hold a note and was a baritone, anyway.

"There's just the two of you here?" His eyes narrowed again.

"Aye," she confirmed. "Just me and Jane."

"Hm." His nostrils thinned to snake-like slits. "She's fine?"

"Huh?" Startled, she found him throwing a look towards the bed, and a rather softer one than she'd previously seen him give Jane.

"Sleeping," Eliza ventured. Jane was still yet to wake. Fine wasn't something she felt she could commit to. "When she wakes, I'll tell her you looked in on her."

"You will?"

"Of course."

He rubbed his eyes while Eliza failed to stave off a yawn.

"Whistler's not been here at all?"

"No." He hadn't. Leastways, not since before dinner, and she was bright enough to know when to spare unnecessary details.

He hmm-ed a bit more. "Felt sure he'd be here."

"I'm afraid not."

"I'll leave, then, and seek him elsewhere. We're having a game."

"Ah. Well, he's really not here. I've not heard anyone pass by either." Actually, that wasn't wholly true, she'd heard Betsy a while back, idling about and taking her time over whatever task Mrs Honeyfield had presumably given her to do.

Linfield, it seemed, had already exited the conversation. He turned on his heels and marched back towards the open door.

"Goodnight," Eliza called after him. He did not return her adieu.

What a strange, strange man her friend had married. It was hard to know what to think of him. At least on this occasion he had found some measure of interest in Jane's welfare. Perhaps he wasn't such a villain after all, simply peevish over having a bride thrust upon him. She knew she wouldn't care for such a thing. It was bad enough when Freddy got it into his head to include her in his matchmaking schemes. Thankfully, he was truly atrocious at it, so she'd been spared the irritation of finding herself beset by suitors. Although her brother's incompetence was a shame for Caroline and Maria, who were both very much in love with the idea of being in love.

Maria fancied having a host of suitors, while Caro was all for having her heart broken and then mended by the arrival of a handsome prince.

Eliza closed the door and secured the latch. Whatever that had been about, she had no desire to experience a repeat. Thus, she was prompted to secure the entrance via the dressing room too. Really, it always made sense to lock one's door when staying in a strange place, but she hadn't thought it a necessity when she was nursing the lady of the house.

She was about to fall back into the chair by the hearth when a knock turned her attention to the armoire. Heavens, there was another entrance she hadn't accounted for.

Eliza cautiously grasped the handle and pulled. For a moment, all she revealed was inky darkness, then a hand reached out and tugged her into the passageway beyond. Here, in a pocket of light formed by a stubby candle, she was finally able to see the figure holding her.

"Jem!"

"Who else?"

"In this place, I'm sure it could be anyone or anything."

"Did you think me a ghost?"

His hold on her was far too warm for that. She imagined a spectre's touch to be chill, that there would be no vitality about it. And while she was sure such an encounter would make her heart race, it wouldn't be akin to having Jem's breath on her skin.

"Lord Linfield was here looking for you."

"Yes. I overheard you. Thank heavens he didn't think to open the wardrobe."

"Were you spying on me?"

"Eliza, of course not. The passageway seemed a good place to make myself scarce. I'd rather avoid his lordship's company for the moment."

"Don't you care for his games?"

"No. Not presently. Not so much. Eliza… I didn't know if you'd be awake. I wouldn't have lingered if you had been asleep, so I pray you won't think me horribly creepy."

"I don't think that. Though standing watching me sleep would definitely have been odd."

"I'm glad you are awake. I found something. Something peculiar." He described the details of the cobwebbed room to her and the dolls' house he'd found there. "What do you think it all means?"

Eliza shook her head. "That someone means Jane ill, but that's hardly a revelation. I'm certain that maid wasn't responsible for the fire."

"Linfield?"

She'd felt almost as certain of his guilt earlier as she'd been of Edith's innocence, but now... "There's plenty of reason to suspect it, but I don't know, Jem. Something doesn't feel right, especially after what you've just said of that strange room. Maybe I just want to think better of him. To believe that Jane hasn't landed in such grim circumstances. He asked after her, almost seemed concerned, but I'm still not sure he cares much for her."

"That could change. They hardly know one another."

She nodded, but swiftly turned it into a shake. "You're saying that, but you don't really believe it."

"I don't know, Eliza. I think there are some things they need to figure out between them, and maybe then they'll learn to rub along together well enough. Lady Linfield seems very amenable."

"She is. Very. She's a delight. I cannot understand why he can't see that."

"We're often blind to what's in front of us. Plus, it's taking him a little while to adjust to his new circumstances. Eliza, his sire did compel him to make the match, and who among us likes doing what our guardians tell us to do? Is it then really any wonder he's somewhat resentful?"

"Jem, you're agreeing with me. Do you see what I mean about the notion of him being the guilty party feeling wrong? You started out arguing it was him and wound up defending him. Then again, you are his friend."

"That's a stretch. I'm his tutor."

"A little more than that, I think."

Curiously, his whole posture, from shoulders to shins stiffened as if he were bracing for horrible news.

"Jem, you're practically his social equal."

That startled a laugh out of him. "Sorry! Hardly. Eliza, he's the son of a peer. I'm the orphaned nephew of a minor baron. I told you earlier, I'm a dreadful prospect."

"You did." She fingered the silk of his cravat. "And I told you I'm not looking for a husband." She lifted onto her toes then, while also pulling him down to her and brushed a kiss to his lips.

"That you did."

"Why would I want to be pinned down?"

"Hm," he mused, and fastened his hands around her wrists. "Why indeed?" With no effort at all he edged her backward into the wall, where he held her trapped, with her wrists raised to either side of her head. "I mean, there's nothing fun about that at all. Nothing distracting, or inspirational." His breath buffeted her cheek as he bent his head while holding her gaze. His lips skimmed shy of her mouth then down the side of her neck to the hollow at its base. "No, you definitely wouldn't want to be pinned in place by a man. Teased… Tormented… Think how appalling it would be if he kissed you." His lips grazed her skin, sending prickles of excitement flowing out from that point of contact. "Stole not one kiss, but two… Took certain liberties with one's clothing." He drew the pin holding her dress front at the shoulder from the fabric with his teeth and dropped it to the floor. Then did the same to the other shoulder. Beneath, the two sides of the dress fastened with a simple drawstring. Below it, she wore only a chemise and simple waist petticoat.

"Jem!"

He kissed the top of her right breast.

"What are you doing?"

"Pinning you down. Playing the rake. Don't tell me you've never attended a ball and wondered what it would be like to feel lips on your skin… a hand beneath your skirt. Your sisters, your brother, the other guests… they're only a few steps away. We could be caught at any time. There's just a simple door between us and scandal."

That was more or less true of their current situation. If Jane woke… If Linfield returned and demanded entry.

"Tell me to behave and I will. Or don't…" His grin grew as salacious as it was broad. "Please don't."

"Jem," she returned, nervousness making her own smile extra wide. "I don't… I don't want you to stop. Please, don't stop!"

The touch of one person's lips to another's oughtn't to be so distracting. It chased intelligent thoughts from her head, trapping her in a world of sensations, where all that mattered was the next touch, and the next. She strained against his grasp, but he wouldn't release her. His fingers curled against the pulse points in her wrists. She could hear the thunder of her own blood in her ears.

"Are you going to be a good girl if I release you?"

"What are you going to do?"

He tugged open the bow resting between her breasts. Her chemise was of the drawstring variety too and opened just as easily. The tip of his tongue touched her skin, making her gasp. Then his mouth closed over her nipple.

Mr Darwin's book hadn't included any mention of the pleasure of having a man's mouth wrapped around one's nipple. It stole her voice. Made her blood sing. Heaviness pooled between her thighs. It was the sort of ache that made her lean into his heat and made her disobedient. Instead of keeping her hands where he'd set them, she tangled her fingers in his hair and held him in place against her breast.

Damn, that felt like nothing she'd ever felt before. Better than syllabub, or the feel of the sun on her face. Better than sagging into a chair after a long hard day, tired but relieved to have survived all that had been thrown at her. Even better than having him fill her mouth earlier.

"Jem," she cried, not wanting him to stop, but simultaneously seeking to lift him to her.

"Eliza… I… still… think I… owe you a favour… or two." He punctuated his words with movement, each subsequent kiss alighting on a different part of her body. It shocked her when he planted the last of them on her bare thigh above the garter holding her stockings up. He'd bunched her petticoat and dress. "You gave me something precious earlier. I've been thinking all afternoon about returning the favour."

His attention slid further up her thigh.

"I wonder, Eliza, are you as familiar with this concept as you were with fellatio? It has a Latin name too."

"I've heard the term," she squeaked, sounding far more girlish and innocent than she normally did.

"Ah, so it's a thrill you've yet to enjoy."

"I don't raise my skirts for any old fool."

"Just for this one," he muttered, but he looked up at her, and his eyes were shiny even in the gloom. "I can smell you, and it's damn near driving me insane. I'm going to lick you. I'm going to taste the split of your pussy. Fuck you with my tongue."

"Is that—"

"It's safer than the alternative."

"But what if I want the alternative? If it's your prick I want, not your mouth, or your fingers. What if that's what I want to feel?"

"Shh, shh!" He reached up as if to cover her mouth and stop her making such a demand, but he was on his knees, and she was a tall woman. His hand found her bared breast instead and took possession of its fullness.

"Jem, come to me," she pleaded, wanting his arms around her, and his mouth on her lips not lower down.

"One taste. You'll let me have that, won't you, Eliza?"

She couldn't help holding her breath. She didn't precisely say yes, but she did nothing to stop him either.

He licked her right along her split as he'd promised. It made her tingle all over.

"Now come here."

"You're sure you wouldn't rather I stayed here?" he asked, cocking a brow.

The honest truth was that she wasn't sure of anything anymore. This man on his knees before her turned her ordered and methodical world into one of madness and emotional intoxication. "I want you to kiss me."

"That I can do." He kissed her pussy, exactly as he'd earlier kissed her mouth, teasing her lips open and pressing his tongue inside. Being touched there, it made her insides sing too hot. He was aware of that; she could feel the smile on his lips as he fed the flower of need blooming within her. Ruthlessly, he further awakened that ache. Now she understood it, why she saw women who'd sworn off ever lying with a man again birthing their fifth, or sixth, or thirteenth child. There was something so agitating, so distracting about what he was about. She couldn't help but groan. Those noises even escaped when she rammed the heel of her hand into her mouth.

"Ah, don't do that. Let me hear you." He rose and peeled her hand away from her mouth. His eyes were fiercely bright, ringed with a halo of desire. "I like hearing how I'm affecting you. Those noises are like precious gifts and a set of instructions rolled into one. How can I know if I'm pleasing you if I can't hear your purr?"

"My heart's thumping," she confessed.

"Eliza." He kissed her long and fierce, until she was almost insensible from the taste of him and clung fast to his head and back when he sought to speak. "If you won't let me kiss your cunny, then will you let me finger it?"

"I don't know what that means."

"I think you do."

He pushed his hand between her thighs. Eliza's breath caught as his fingers moved slowly upwards, sliding easily in the wet-heat of her arousal. He found the bud at the top of that avenue, causing her to damn near swallow her tongue.

"I think you've probably explored this devil's doorknob before, but it's always different when it's not your own fingers doing the tracing."

She couldn't hold it back and cried into his shoulder. Writhed and gasped at his perfect touch. No longer did she attempt to hide the sounds of her pleasure, but mewled over each gentle brush, and crooned when his strokes grew bolder, heavier. His touch wasn't quite so soft then. His thumb took over where his fingers had been, while his first two digits delved inside of her, then pumped back and forth.

"It's just a taste, just a taste for now, of how it'll feel when I'm finally inside you."

"Why not now?" She was too far gone in her pleasure to think of the ills that might result. Besides, there were potions she could brew.

"Reasons," he replied cryptically. "I don't want the first time I lie with you to be in a rat-run of a corridor with cold stone against your back. Eliza, you deserve better than that.

"What if I want that?"

"Eliza, I don't need to fuck you to bring you off. We don't need to cross that boundary tonight. Trust me. I want you, but fucking… Well, it's always a little cock-centric. I'd rather tonight was about your bliss."

His fingers stretched her again, but this time he curled them, so they brushed against the wall of her sheath. Here she discovered was a previously unknown pleasure-spot. Being touched there caused her to greedily rock against his thrusting hand.

Jem kissed her neck. She could feel the tickle of his cravat and collar against her breast and lower, her arousal dampening his shirt cuff. Something was building. She was teetering on the edge of it. The muscles in her cunny tightened around his fingers like they could squeeze further joy from him or perhaps trap him there so that he might always pleasure her.

"Let go, Eliza. Let me give you this, as you gave it to me."

She reached that precipice then and crashed headlong into the maelstrom beyond. She floated in that state of bliss but moments, but what momentous moments. Every cell seemed alive and united and every nerve sang. It was a taste of heaven, and she wanted more. "Jem," she rasped.

"I know," he gasped hot into her ear. "You're a goddess, and I know." He kissed her again as she rode out the last of her peak.

Then, he sucked his fingers clean.