Elizabeth understood just how ridiculous she sounded, but she just knew he’d had a hand in this even if she could not say exactly how. She also knew she was in a heap of trouble. He had that look in his eyes. The same look that had kept her on edge these last two weeks. An unabashed want that mirrored her own.
From their first kiss, she had known this was how it would be between them, that razor sharp awareness and a hunger that grew with every word, every touch and every look exchanged. And now with Charlotte gone, Elizabeth would have to cope on her own. Be strong in spite of herself. Things did not look promising.
They toured the museum the next several hours, taking in the royal collection of books in the King’s Library. They moved on to see the Rosetta Stone before concluding their visit with the statue of the Great Winged Bull. He impressed her with his superior knowledge, speaking with great authority on the subject of Egyptian hieroglyphs and various other topics.
She also discovered his love of reading was as great as her own. At that, some of her anxiety eased, Lord Creswell conducting himself like a perfect gentleman. He was solicitous in his touch and respectful in his manner, never once stripping her bare with his gaze.
When they tumbled into the carriage in the early evening, Elizabeth had convinced herself she could trust him to keep his hands—and all parts of him—to himself.
The waning rays of the sun heralded dusk, shrouding the carriage in darkness. Lord Creswell sat across from her, his figure cast in a shadow of gray and black. Except to ask her if she’d enjoyed the visit, he remained silent. Which wouldn’t have been all that bad had she not known he was watching her. She could feel it. And the same tension she’d fear would derail her efforts came back, humming in the air stronger than before.
Some minutes later, the barouche came to a halt beside a townhome; a red-brick edifice that soared three stories high.
“Why have we stopped here?” she asked. Who lives here?
“It’s a property I’ve just purchased. I thought you’d like to see it, perhaps offer your thoughts. You will be residing here, after all,” came his smooth reply.
Elizabeth peered out the window and then back at his shadowed face. If she couldn’t see him, she couldn’t read him and therefore wouldn’t know whether to trust him. But a far more dire situation than that was she didn’t trust herself.
“I would prefer we come back another time.”
Coward.
No, simply self-preservation.
“Really, Miss Smith, does the thought of being alone with me fill you with such fear? In any case, the groom needs to tend the horses. Come now,” he cajoled, “I promise I won’t bite.” His tone did nothing to reassure her. He sounded sensually sinister if two such words could be put together in that way.
Elizabeth collected herself, pushing back her shoulders and swallowing hard. No one could mistake his statement for anything less than the challenge it was. She could do this. She wasn’t so weak, so completely lacking in control.
But then, one could expect to resist only so much temptation and Lord Derek Creswell was undeniably temptation incarnate.
“Ten minutes.” That should be time enough to take a quick tour of the house but surely not time enough for anything grievously untoward to occur.
“As you wish.”
She could hear the smile in his voice and her apprehension mounted anew.
The first thing Elizabeth noticed upon entering the house was that they hadn’t been greeted by a servant; not a butler or a footman or even a housekeeper. The sound of silence echoed throughout the empty halls.
“Where are the servants?”
“I haven’t staffed the house as yet. I wanted your opinion of it as the sale is not yet final.”
Had he not just told her he’d already bought the house? The warning bells in her head held a discordant ring. In her logical mind she knew nothing would happen to her that she did not want. Unfortunately, her problem was she did want. She wanted so badly her desire for the viscount kept her up at night and had her touching herself under the covers in ways that the mere thought brought a rush of heat to her face. Mr. Richard Smith’s virginal daughter pleasuring herself. The notion was absurd!
“Perhaps, we should come back during the daylight and that way I can see it properly.”
“Come let us look at the rooms upstairs,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he urged her toward the staircase.
Elizabeth looked up at him, her protest poised on the tip of her tongue when she saw the lust in his eyes. But that wasn’t what gave her pause; it was the glimmer of satisfaction in making her wary and nervous.
By God, he knew she wasn’t about to just let him have his way with her. Certainly not before they married. So what was his game?
“And is that where you hope to seduce me?” Her parents would be appalled had they heard her. She was astonished anything in that vein was able to pass her lips.
Lord Creswell didn’t respond until they reached the first door on the third floor.
No doubt a bed was on the other side of that door.
He turned to her. “If I may be frank, Miss Smith…Elizabeth.” He spoke her name, soft and low, and somehow her name on his lips sounded more intimate than a kiss. “I am a man who likes to leave nothing to chance. If I am to court and marry you in such unfashionable haste, I would like some assurance that you and I suit when it comes to the intimacies of the marriage bed.”
At his words, lust in its most pure form accosted her. Parts of her went soft while other parts became rigid, pinpoints of pleasure to come.
No. No. No. There would be no pleasure of any sort. Not for her and definitely none for the viscount.
“So you would like us to have marital relations outside the sanctity of marriage?” she asked in a voice she barely recognized.
“You’ve been so skittish of late. If I hadn’t already kissed you, I think you didn’t like to be touched. When I marry, it’ll be for life and I have no desire to saddle myself with a wife who cannot perform satisfactory in that area.” Lord Creswell turned, his back to her as he faced the chamber door. But on his face, she glimpsed the barest hint of smile.
So that was how he thought to get around marrying her. He thought she’d cry off, refusing to enter his philistine game of sampling the goods.
For several long seconds, Elizabeth said nothing, allowing him to believe she was grappling in indecision. His hand released its grasp on the handle of the door and he straightened as if ready to claim victory.
“Very well, if that’s what it will take to ease your mind—ease both our minds—let us proceed. But I must have your assurance that once we’ve established that we suit, um, in that way, we will immediately announce our betrothal and set a wedding date.”
Elizabeth took great satisfaction in watching Lord Creswell’s entire form stiffen and his hand still in mid-air. Slowly, he angled his head over his shoulder to regard her, incredulity flashed briefly in their blue-green depths. “You are in agreement?”
Feigning the stalwartness of that of a virgin about to be sacrificed for the good of God and country, Elizabeth gave a tremulous but firm nod.
“And if we do not suit, what then?”
Did his voice sound a mite strained?
“I have a feeling we shall suit very well.” She gave him a bright smile. “Shall we proceed, my lord?”
Chapter Eight
For an instant, he looked panicked; an expression that probably did not sit comfortably on his face. He then drew a breath, turned and pushed open the door. Elizabeth followed, certain that in any moment, he would surrender as gracefully as a gentleman defeated should.
Given the supposed lack of servants, a lamp on the bedside table was surprisingly lit, lighting the luxuriously furnished room. It contained a large four-poster bed, a wardrobe, a marble-topped vanity and a chest of drawers and smelled freshly cleaned.