Derek abandoned his seat and took the one next to her, which caused her to slide across the leather seat and practically hug the door.
“Watch that you don’t tumble from the carriage,” he said in mock warning. “Come closer, there is enough room for both of us here. Remember, you will have to suffer me much much closer.”
Miss Smith eased from the door to turn wary eyes to him. “I’m well aware of what will be required of me in marriage.”
Derek lifted a brow. “Then tell me. I am particularly interested as it relates to our marriage bed.”
Elizabeth let out a gasp. A glance at him revealed even, white teeth between a crooked smile and hooded eyes. But he didn’t appear the least bit amused. His direct stare demanded an answer.
“Pardon?” She couldn’t help the squeak in her voice as the word emerged.
“Was I faulty in my speech?”
Elizabeth marveled that he could keep his expression deadpan.
“I would like you to tell me what it is you must do in the marriage bed.”
His question was-was so beyond the realm of social acceptability when it came to conversations between an unmarried man and woman, Elizabeth would not be surprised if the Gentleman’s Handbook didn’t fall from the sky and knock him senseless.
“My lord, I have no intention—”
“I hope you will not lie under me as stiff as a board. I like my bed partners engaged and enthusiastic.”
Elizabeth could only stare at him in mute horror. She’d admit to being only slightly aroused.
His mouth curved but it could not be considered a smile. He made a soft clicking sound with his tongue. “If I’m to be your husband, Miss Smith, you will have to grow accustomed to my frankness.”
Before she could so much as utter a word, he closed the distance between them with a swiftness that transfixed her.
“You must also grow accustomed to my touch, to my kiss,” he murmured, sharing a breath with her before he took her mouth in a kiss that stole the air from her lungs.
Dizzying was the only way she could describe the touch of his lips on hers, the skillful way his tongue stroked hers. For several seconds she did nothing but feel while another kind of heat warmed her from inside to out.
In no time at all, he released her from the shackles of her pelisse, freeing him to stroke her from her waist to just below her breast. Thoughts of stopping him came and then vanished on a wave of pleasure too intense to be denied.
Dropping her head back against the squab, Elizabeth returned his kiss with a reckless abandonment that surprised her. With his facile tongue, he showed her how to use hers with the same devastating effect. She mimicked his slow thrust, their tongues entwined, sliding, stroking. He emitted a groan that sent a myriad of tremors through her body as he dragged her onto his lap.
His hand took another tortuous tour of her torso until it once again rested lightly beneath her aching breasts. She wanted him to touch her there. Her back bowed, her breast offered up to him like a banquet.
“Tell me what you want,” he urged, breaking the kiss.
Even with lust fogging her senses, Elizabeth could not. She could never bring herself to be so bold.
At her pause, his hand traveled up and stroked her hard nipple through the silk of her day dress.
“Yes,” she said, panting.
He kissed that so sensitive place where her neck joined her shoulder. His lips then went onto explore her jaw, her chin, her cheeks until he reached her bottom lip where he took her mouth in one last deep and drugging kiss. Slowly, as if trying not to startle her, he set her from his lap, straightened her bonnet that had become askew in their embrace and took his place on the seat facing her.
“We have arrived,” he said in way of explanation.
Elizabeth immediately pushed aside the curtain of the window closest and saw they were back at her cousin’s residence. She couldn’t even remember if they’d actually gone to the park. But yet here they were.
Derek did not deal well with thwarted desire. But as he hadn’t been about to take the delectable Miss Smith in the carriage, that was precisely the state he found himself in when they returned to the house. A footman met them at the door. In silence, they followed him into the foyer.
He turned to her. She had taken an inordinate interest in the marble floors, unable or unwilling—he wasn’t sure which—to meet his gaze. A hasty goodbye and mumbled excuses trailed in her wake as she escaped up the stairs, hands trembling, skirts flying.
She was shaken; completely unnerved by the intensity of their passion. She should be. The very same thing had given him reason to question whether he wanted a way out. The desire between them crackled and hissed like a fire that threatened to blaze out of control unless they fought to keep it contained.
But did he want it contained? He was even less certain he wanted all that passion unleashed on another man.
Another man? Is that how he now saw her potential suitors in the span of only one day of actually meeting her?
“Lord Creswell, may I have a word before you leave?”
Ready to make his departure, Derek halted and turned, his hat and gloves still in hand. A glance behind him, revealed Millicent Rutherford, the Countess of Windmere, standing in the middle of the foyer. He’d thought her lovely when she’d come out six years before and after three years of marriage and two children, she was even lovelier, tall and slim with the most beautiful, expressive eyes. At the moment they appeared concerned.
“Lady Windmere,” he said in greeting, and made his way toward her.
“I pray you had a pleasant drive?” she said, when he reached her side. They turned and as if by tacit agreement, entered the drawing room.
“I did.”
“And things are well between you and Elizabeth?” A subtle, ladylike probe into his private affairs.
He gave a rueful smile. Her concern for her cousin was expected. No doubt Rutherford had told her his edict of marriage had been met with something less than joy.
“I wager we will muddle through this well enough.” One way or another.
“You are a true gentleman. Thank you.” Lady Windmere took his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Things have not been easy for Cousin Margaret these last several years. That’s Elizabeth’s mother. I don’t know how she would handle such a scandal.”
“Where is she from, your cousin?” he asked. He knew practically nothing of her except the taste of her lips, the firm softness of her breasts, how she felt pressed up against him.
“Penkridge. It’s a tiny village in Staffordshire. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
Derek stilled. Not only had he heard of the town but he’d had cause to go there six winters ago. That’s when the past rose up to sully the present. Margaret. That had been the name of the mother. The bank draft had been made out to Mr. Joseph Smith, a local solicitor of meager means and three daughters. He knew only the name of the eldest—the calamity had given him good cause to never forget it—Madeline.
“Her father, what is his occupation?” He strived to keep the urgency from his voice.
The countess shot him a surprised look. She knew him well enough to know he wasn’t the sort to stand on ceremony and was a man who would never judge another by his station in life. “Cousin Joseph is a solicitor. But I don’t believe he retained his practice since he came into the barony.”
For several seconds Derek remained silent, schooling his features as he endeavored not to give any indication of how great an impact what she’d just revealed had on him.
He’d been duped, played for the veriest fool. And the irony did not escape him that he’d been nearly caught in the same trap he’d helped his brother escape years before.
Now the younger sister had him on the hooks and thought to reel him in with the ease of an accomplished fisherman. She told him she’d be ruined if he did not marry her, her family’s name dragged through the gutter that was the ton’s gossip mill.