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‘Thank you. But he is engaged with friends until the early hours,’ Maude said vaguely. ‘Still, I should not keep my maid waiting up for me.’ Eden came and pulled out her chair for her to rise and she smiled her thanks over her shoulder as she did so.
It happened so fast, came out of nowhere—there was no time to think. At one moment they were formal, she rising gracefully from her seat, he placing the chair to one side so her full skirts were unimpeded, the next she stumbled, her low French heel catching in the carpet rucked by the table, and she was in his arms.
Instinctively her hands went up for balance, fastening on his lapels, and his arms were around her, swinging her away from the low edge of the balcony, folding her against his chest. Her overwhelming sensation was of the scent of him: clean, warm male with a hint of an exotic spice mingling with starched linen and that green earth smell of olive oil.
‘You’ve been oiling your hair,’ she said, such a foolish thing to be talking of when she was strained against his body and he was looking down at her as though he was still ravenously hungry.
‘Yes,’ he said, half-laughing at her, half-serious, with a kind of confusion that seemed alien to him. ‘Maude?’
A question, a statement? A plea? She couldn’t tell. Nor, she realised with something like despair, could she pull away. He was going to kiss her. Too soon…
Eden felt the sensations wash through him, searching with his mind for his self-control like a man who has dropped something precious into a fast-flowing stream. He was going to have to do this, he was going to have to be the strong one, the responsible one. Maude was simply too innocent to realise what was happening here. She probably thought he was going to kiss her, a light good-night kiss, perhaps.
And instead she was a finger’s breadth away from being pulled down to the upholstered bench that ran around the box and ravished. He tried not to hold her so tightly, achingly aware of the force of his arousal, aware of the soft skin, the fragrance that rose from it, the primitive need to strip the silks and lawns from her body. What was it about this woman? He had never so much as flirted with a respectable single woman. She was a virgin, for God’s sake!
Under his hands she quivered and he realised his big hands were gripping her shoulders, the fragile bones trapped under his palms. But she made no sound and the pansy-dark eyes were watching him with something he was quite unable to read.
What had happened? He had thought after that first mistaken kiss that he was simply enjoying her company, the intelligent, amused comments, the sweet femininity surrounding him without any games being played, without any demands being made. Maude was a novelty, a woman he thought might actually become a friend and now—this.
This overwhelming desire came out of nowhere, oversetting him just where he thought he was strongest. He had believed that his will was firm, that his self-control was absolute, that his life was ordered, controlled, planned. And now here was this society chit reducing him to a mass of screaming, mindless need without so much as a flirtatious glance.
And this was not need he could take to some whore to slake. Oh, no, this was need for her, for Lady Maude Templeton, and he might as well desire the moon.
He had done harder things than this, Eden told himself, gritting his teeth and forcing his hands apart. Harder things, more painful things, although just at the moment, in the grip of this madness, he could not recall what they were.
Where had this come from? He was a sensual man, he knew that, knew he would never be celibate. But this lust for an innocent young woman he hardly knew? But he did know her, he realised, with the part of his brain that was functioning clearly. He knew her better already than any woman in his life, other than Madame Marguerite.
He managed to let Maude go, then caught her elbow as she staggered slightly, as though her knees were shaking. How long had he been standing there, holding her, drowning in those lovely, wondering eyes? ‘I’m sorry, did you hurt yourself when you tripped?’
‘No. No, not at all. So clumsy of me.’ She stepped away, apparently steady on her feet now, which was more than he felt. That damned dizziness again. ‘That will teach me to drink two glasses of wine,’ she added, sounding ruefully amused.
Did she not realise what had almost happened just then? Had she not seen how much danger she had been in? It seemed not. And he—what peril was he risking? He could not afford to find himself obsessed with the daughter of a peer, he could not afford the lack of focus that unrequited desire would bring. Or the retribution Lord Pangbourne would bring down on his head if his self-control slipped and he debauched the earl’s daughter.
‘Time to go home,’ Eden said, finding his voice emerged quite normally, not with the huskiness of the desperation he was feeling.
‘Yes, of course. My cloak…’ Maude gestured towards the shadows, then stood while he swung the heavy velvet around her shoulders. ‘Thank you. Now, where did I put my reticule? Ah, here it is.’ She seemed to Eden’s bemused eye to be quite calm, which could only mean she was very innocent, despite her assured air and her age, or completely impervious to whatever dubious attraction he had for other women, or both.
He held the door for her, then followed her out into the wide passageway, resisting the urge to take her arm, knowing he could not trust himself to touch her. She did, however, seem unusually quiet. Perhaps some sixth sense was making her uneasy. Eden walked beside her, racking his brains for conversation and finding none. And finding no possible excuse for not sending her away, breaking their contract, never seeing her again.
Eden seemed unusually silent, Maude thought as they made their way along the wide, deserted corridors and down the sweep of the stairs to the front lobby.
She looked up, seeing the hard line of his jaw, the dark shadow of his beard just beginning to show. Beyond she could see the head of the unicorn, thrusting out of the wall, its horn lowered, its nostrils wide. It had never seemed fierce to her before, or threatening, but now it did.
Someone materialised from the shadows, opened the door and whistled. Eden stepped out into the night, still not taking her arm, and the cold air struck her skin, making her realise just how heated she was. There were the sound of hooves on the cobbles and a carriage drew up.
Eden snapped his fingers at the groom, who jumped down and hurried to let down the steps and help
her enter. ‘Eden?’ she queried.
‘I will ride on the box.’ He shut the door and she was alone. Shivering slightly, Maude fidgeted with her cloak and tied the cord at her neck. There were gloves in the pocket and she pulled them on, feeling the need to cover as much skin as possible, as though that flimsy warmth would stop the fine tremor running through her.
Now she was alone she could think about those few crowded moments after she had stumbled and he had caught her in his arms. What had happened? She was not sure. She was not certain even how long he had held her, his strong fingers locked around her shoulders. She had stumbled, Eden had caught her—and for her the world had stopped on its axis.
But for him? He had been so still, his eyes so intent, his breathing hard. Had he felt the sensual shock that had gone through her? Or was it simply that he had found himself, late at night, with his arms full of young woman and it had taken a moment for him to control a man’s natural reactions?
But she did not want him to feel only desire, flattering though that was. She wanted his emotions involved, not his instincts. When they made love—she closed her eyes and shivered—she wanted it to be because he loved her. But Jessica and Bel had warned her that was not how men thought. And it seemed they were right.
Maude was still wrestling with her desires and her ignorance as the carriage slowed and stopped. When the door opened Eden was standing there, his hand held out to help her down. It seemed he was prepared to touch her now. The groom was already climbing the front steps to knock.
