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  Still, he stopped.

  “You’re a beast.” This, she hissed.

  He kissed her neck, sending delicious shivers dancing over her skin.

  She was so close. So close.

  “Darling, I just wanted to give you something to think about while you consider dress patterns.”

  Eleanor boggled. “How on earth will that help me select dress patterns?”

  His grin was fiendish. “It will encourage you to select dresses that are more easily removed.” Oh dear. He was right about that. “Here we are.” The carriage rolled to a stop at Madame Fourtenouy’s and Ethan vaulted out the door before John Coachman could drop the steps. He held up a hand. “My lady?”

  Eleanor took his hand, but tentatively. They were, after all, in the middle of town. It wouldn’t do for anyone to witness a familiarity. When her feet were firmly planted on the ground, she tried to pull away, but he held tight. He didn’t release her until she glowered at him and growled, “Pennington!”

  He chuckled and followed her into the store, looking terribly out of place surrounded by fripperies and furbelows. Like a lion, he dominated the space. And like the predator he was, he captured the immediate attention of all the attendant prey. Every woman in the room froze in the midst of their conversations and stared at him.

  Flames lit in many a female eye.

  And it occurred to Eleanor that perhaps it was not Ethan who was the predator after all.

  Madame Fourtenouy abandoned the customer she was assisting to rush to the door to greet them. Or, more to the point, to greet Ethan. “Monsieur. Welcome.” She raked Eleanor with a cursory inspection, but it was dismissive at best. “’Ow can I ’elp you?” Her accent was thick and rather affected. Eleanor could tell because her French accent, when she attempted one, was equally overdone.

  Ethan waved a regal hand in Eleanor’s direction. “The lady would like to order some dresses.”

  Madame Fourtenouy’s gaze traversed her person, wincing slightly at the sight of black bombazine. “Ah, oui. But of course. Some’sing colorful?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” They spoke at the same time. Eleanor frowned. “Pennington. I’m still in mourning.”

  Madame Fourtenouy’s face fell. Visions of the small fortune she’d been considering wafted away. She clapped her hands several times in succession and a girl ran out of the back room. “Oui, Madame?”

  “Giselle. Show the lady to the pattern books. Monsieur shall come with me.” She tucked her hand into Ethan’s arm and tugged him away. He shot a panicked look over his shoulder and Eleanor laughed.

  Madame Fourtenouy would have him for breakfast. And frankly, it served him right.

  In the end, she bought three new dresses—more than she should have—but the first two were necessary and the third, a lovely lavender trimmed with delicate gray lace, was far too exquisite to resist. What Ethan was doing—while she searched the patterns for something tolerably attractive in black, which was easily removed—she had no clue. But he seemed to have survived the ordeal. When he emerged from the back room, with Madame Fourtenouy fluttering close behind, he had a smile on his lips. It didn’t fade as he handed her into the coach.

  Eleanor glanced at the package he held. “What on earth did you buy?” But he didn’t respond. Well, other than to smile even more.

  He insisted on sitting by her on the way back to Darlington, draping an arm over her shoulder and toying with a strand of her hair until she despaired of her coiffure. But he didn’t tease her, or torment her to passion.

  The odd thing was, he didn’t need to. Just sitting there by his side, with his long hard thigh rubbing warmly against hers, had her imagination roiling and her body preparing for his invasion.

  Therefore, it was quite the disappointment to see Helena and James waiting for them at the top of the stairs by the front door when they arrived at the estate.

  Eleanor was gratified to see her friend appeared to be feeling much better. Her cheeks were pink and a light danced in her eyes.

  “There you are,” she gushed, tripping down the stairs to embrace Eleanor in a great hug. She ignored Darlington’s reproach. His bellowed careful could have been nothing but a wisp of the wind. “What took you so long? You’ve been gone forever.”

  “Not so long—”

  Helena took Eleanor’s arm and tugged her up the stone steps and into the foyer and through to the sitting room where a tray awaited them. “Come along. Come along. Don’t dawdle. It’s time for tea.”

  It was time for lunch, actually, but Eleanor didn’t make the correction. There was something about Helena’s manner, something manic and elated that stopped her. “Helena, what is—”

  “Oh, do sit. And you too, Pennington. Did you have a nice time in town? How lovely. I can’t wait to see them.”

  Eleanor was possessed of the notion that Helena was having this conversation without her. The impression was reinforced when Helena thrust a cup into her hand. An empty cup.

  Behind them, Darlington chuckled. “Do tell them, dearest. I cannot bear the suspense.”

  Ethan cleared his throat and adjusted the legs of his trousers. “Tell us what?” He accepted an empty cup as well.

  Helena plopped onto the divan and beamed at them, one after the other. She fairly glowed. “I wasn’t feeling well this morning.”

  Ethan nodded and poured himself a cup of tea, though it was wholly improper. But he poured some in Eleanor’s cup too, so she forgave him. She sipped the tepid brew and moaned a little as it bathed her throat.

  “Yes, I remember, darling.” It was scant hours ago. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Oh, much.” Helena reached out a hand to her husband. He took it, gave it a lingering buss. They gazed at each other for a long moment. And then Helena whispered, “We’re going to have a baby.”

  At that moment, Eleanor was quite thankful her tea was not scalding hot, for her nerveless fingers released the cup and the liquid spilled all over her lap. “Oh! Oh.”

  Ethan stepped in and saved her, handing her a linen napkin while at the same time crowing, “That’s wonderful. Darlington, you old sod. Congratulations.”

  The two men slapped each other on the back, as men are wont to do. By the time they’d finished, Eleanor had recovered from her shock and managed to mop up most of the tea.

  She stood, the sheen of tears blurring her vision. “Helena. How wonderful.” She was aware of a sweet, sharp happiness in the region of her heart as she folded her friend into a long embrace. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Helena pulled back and studied Eleanor. “Are you sure you’re all right? I know you’ve…” She trailed off. “You’ve always wanted children.”

  “And one day, I’ll have them. Yes, I’m all right. I’m delighted. Beyond delighted.”

  “We will, of course, have to cancel the party.” This announcement came from Darlington, who made it matter-of-factly.

  He blinked with something akin to shock when both women spun on him and bellowed, in tandem, “What?”

  “We will…cancel the party?”

  Helena bristled. “We shall do no such thing.”

  “But darling. You’re fragile.”

  Eleanor glanced from Darlington to Helena and then back to Darlington again.

  Oh. He was serious.

  Despite the fact Helena seemed about as fragile as a Valkyrie.

  Her eyes narrowed, glinting with a martial light. She blew a breath from puffed out cheeks. “We are not canceling the party.”

  “Helena—”

  “Nonsense, Darlington. It’s your birthday.” This, she cooed. Well, it was something of a coo. Also something of a snarl. Eleanor had never heard the like.

  Darlington threw back his shoulders in an attempt to make himself appear larger. More dominant, perhaps. “I neither want nor need a party.”

  Helena ignored him. “And what about Eleanor? This is her first chance to…” Her attention flicked to Etha
n and she closed her lips tight.

  Guilt speared Eleanor at Helena’s attempt to hide the sordid truth from Ethan. It was not necessary. Not anymore. But there had hardly been a chance to confide.

  “Besides, everything that needs doing is already done. Or, practically. And the guests are already on their way. We’ve sent invitations for the ball to all of our neighbors, for mercy sake. And I am not fragile.”

  Darlington stepped closer. “Helena—” The domineering man from earlier, reared his head.

  Helena’s glare slapped him down. She crossed her arms over her chest and tipped up her chin. “We are having the party. And that is final.” She shot a triumphant look at Eleanor and swept from the room. Darlington followed, sputtering and muttering and valiantly attempting to state his case.

  Ethan watched them go and then sat on the divan at Eleanor’s side. He poured her more tea. “I do wonder how that will turn out.”

  Eleanor chuckled. “I predict Helena will win.”

  “Hmm.” His response was vague, which drew her attention. A certain heat flared in his heavy-lidded gaze.

  She shifted, suddenly restless. “What?”

  “We’re alone.”

  She tried very hard not to smile. “And?”

  “And there’s a little something I want to share with you.”

  “A…little something?”

  He chuckled at her tone. “That something is not so little. It’s something else entirely. Come to my room.”

  “Ethan. It’s the middle of the day.”

  “Come to my room. Tell your bothersome maid you are napping and come to my room.”

  And heaven help her, she did.

  Chapter Six

  It was rather an absurd sight, Ethan dressed in an elegant morning suit, taking the stairs two at a time balancing the tea tray as he went. The mysterious package from Madame Fourtenouy’s was tucked under one arm. Eleanor hurried to catch up with him. My, he was in a rush.

  “Why are you bringing the tea tray?” Her question was rather breathy, and not only because of the exertion of running up the stairs. She was breathless at the thought of being alone with him again.

  Oh, certainly he had sated her—several times—since last night. But he had also roused her again. The effects of his brazen teasing in the coach on the way to town still gnawed at her—had all morning. Thoughts of him, his hands, his lips, his cock, seethed.

  He shot her a grin over his shoulder. “Sustenance.” The glint in his eyes sent lust racing through her.

  They came to his room and he nodded at the door. At the unspoken command, Eleanor turned the knob. After they passed through the portal, she closed the door with a sharp snick.

  “Lock it.”

  A responding wash of slickness dampened her thighs.

  He set the tea tray on the table, tossed the package onto the bed and fixed his focus on her. His Adam’s apple bobbled. “Dear God, I’ve wanted you all morning.”

  Eleanor was warmed by this declaration. She lived for five years with a man who had never once said such a thing. Never once made her feel this way.

  Never once made her feel.

  It was as though she was coming alive. Emerging from a cocoon. And she loved it.

  Her grin was uncontrollable. “Sir. I believe you have had me all morning.”

  His brow lowered. “Not for hours. Come here.”

  She tipped up her chin. “And if I don’t?”

  “I would have to…punish you.” Was it her imagination, or did his voice catch on the word? Her heart certainly did.

  “P-punish me?”

  He came closer. “Oh, yes.”

  “And how would you do that?”

  He came closer still. “I would torment you. Make you ache for me. Make you beg.”

  She flounced to the window, making sure to swish her hips in a saucy manner. His nostrils flared as she passed. “Really? I don’t believe you have the discipline to do so.”

  His snort ended in a cough. “I beg your pardon?”

  Toying with the silky drapes, she cocked her head to the side, impudently inspecting him. “I said, I don’t believe you have the discipline to torment me. Think about it Ethan. A woman writhing with passion, naked on your bed, begging for it. A woman within reach… How long could you hold out? How long could you deny yourself?”

  His cheek bunched. She licked her lips at the sight. She was arousing him with her taunting words. Arousing herself.

  “Suppose she was tied there.” Eleanor’s lashes fluttered. She couldn’t bear his scrutiny as she exposed the darkest fantasy lingering in her soul. “Suppose she was wet and ready.” She brushed a finger over her hard nipple. Delighting in his sharp intake of breath, she stroked again. “Suppose she was at your complete mercy.” She tightened her hold on a tender peak and tugged. “Suppose you could take her at any time.” She let her hand fall. He stood there, mere feet away, eyes trained on her, burning. “How long could you resist?”

  He swallowed heavily. His jaw clenched. His muscles locked. When he spoke, his voice was velvety soft, with a thread of steel. “My lady, shall I show you discipline?”

  Her response was a mere glance. She could manage no more. Surely not words.

  Fortunately, it was all the consent he required.

  Ethan stepped toward her in something of a daze. Good lord. Had he ever been this aroused? He was like a wild animal, a beast closing in on a quivering morsel. And quivering, she was. But as he closed in on her, she didn’t back away. Didn’t even drop her defiant gaze. Something feral stirred in his gut. It felt like satisfaction. Bone-deep, delirious satisfaction.

  She was his. His woman.

  And she wanted him with matching fervor.

  But he wouldn’t take her. Not yet. A thrill shot through his body at the thought of what he would do to her, what he had prepared.

  She dared to question his discipline?

  They would see which one of them broke, begged first.

  Oh, he could throw her on the bed and spread her legs and shove his aching hardness deep into her womb. Yes. He could definitely do that. But he wouldn’t.

  He had discipline.

  He had plenty of discipline.

  “Take off your dress.” A guttural growl. Without delay she presented him her back. Now well practiced, he undid her buttons in a trice. He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him, yanking the dress off her shoulders.

  But wait. Discipline.

  He eased back, absorbed in the sight of the breasts he’d bared, encased, as they were, in a flimsy chemise. “Finish it.”

  She did so coyly, slowly, edging the dress to her waist, fluttering a doe-like glance at him every now and again. She shimmied her hips from side to side and the frock crumpled to a pile at her feet. She gasped and covered her breasts like a modest virgin shocked to be so exposed before a rampant male.

  Ethan bit the inside of his cheek. Damn it if the woman wasn’t attempting to tease him.

  Oh, this was war.

  And he was accustomed to winning a battle.

  He nudged her hand out of the way and traced the puckered skin surrounding her nipple. The bud became engorged, even as he circled it. He didn’t touch it, mind you. He merely circled it, the way a predator circles its prey. Weakens it. Prepares it for the kill.

  “Remove the chemise.”

  He had to look away. Not because he did not want to watch her alabaster flesh revealed in the light of day, but because he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear the sight. Not if he wanted to keep his sanity. Not if he wanted to win this bout.

  Instead he crossed to the bed and picked up the package from Madame Fourtenouy’s. Something she’d shown him in the back room with a suggestive wink and a far too familiar caress. He opened the paper and pulled out a long gray lace ribbon, which he dropped on the bedside table—that was for later. Beneath the ribbon lay a confection made of scarlet ribbon and lace—something so utterly feminine, Ethan didn’t even know what it was calle
d. But it had called to him, of a certainty, in the shop.

  One glimpse of the blowsy, sheer creation and his imagination had exploded. Well, nearly exploded.

  He’d reined in his enthusiasm and purchased the nightgown, if it could be called that, and the ribbon and left the shop. All the way back to Darlington he’d been plagued with lustful thoughts—all of them revolving around the prospect of getting Eleanor into his room and into this bit of froth.

  And now it was time.

  He turned to her standing there, still wearing the chemise, and raised a brow. “Eleanor…” A warning tone.

  “Yes, Ethan?”

  “I want you naked. Did I not make myself clear?”

  “No.” Her playful grin melted away at his glower. It was replaced by a softness, a sweet submissive mien he found intriguing. He edged closer, close enough to pluck at a nipple. Pulled her toward him, with the pressure on that peak. Naturally she complied, and quickly.

  He dipped his head to suck on her neck, then nibble, then feast, because he knew how she loved that. And yes, soon she was grinding her body against his.

  When she was panting, squirming, oh so close, he drew back.

  She blinked, bewildered. “Ethan?”

  “Your chemise.”

  She groaned and yanked it off. And stood before him. Completely naked. Exquisite. He let her stand there as he inspected her in silence. After a moment or so, she began to shift from foot to foot. Her hand lifted to cover her cunt but Ethan caught it. Held it out, away.

  “Don’t cover yourself. I want to see.”

  “But Ethan, it’s daylight.”

  “Don’t cover yourself. If I have to, I’ll bind your hands.”

  She winced. Her lips parted. A pink tongue darted out.

  Ethan leaned closer, whispered, “Does it bother you? Standing here, naked before me?” He took her bare breast in his hand, stroked her nipple with his thumb. “Does it make you feel wicked? Naughty?”

  “Yesss.” Her response, a low hiss, was accompanied by a quick shiver. He could tell she was close to orgasm. It would take nothing more than a casual pass over her weeping slit.