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Chapter Eight
There was no reason for her to be here, Eliza thought somberly in Clifton’s office as the assembled company discussed the likely goings on in the parlor upstairs. The group seemed confident things would go well, some more than others reluctant to admit as such. Ashford and Clifton seemed particularly grumpy, but nonetheless agreed. Dalton was well on his way to respectability from the looks of it.
Meaning that she was no longer needed.
Eliza wasn’t sure why she was upset again. It had only been yesterday that he’d rejected her, after all. But this seemed more final in a way. No longer would he have any need to seek her aid, nor were they likely to run into each other alone. He did not want an affair, wanted to keep her as far away from scandal as possible. So, she had to leave. Preferably now, before the tears started, and she made a fool of herself in the middle of Clifton’s study. “Well, I must be off. I think I am correct in assuming that tonight’s meal plans have shifted.”
“Must you?” Lady Amberwood replied with a disappointed frown.
“I’m afraid so.”
“You did not want to wait for the others to return?”
“No, I cannot stay out much later. I have a busy day of planning tomorrow.” And a busy day of trying to get over a certain viscount. It was still a shock that the man had gotten under her skin so quickly. She could swear it had only been a handful of weeks ago when she’d promised to punch him in the nose. Amazing how things could change after only this short time. No wonder Lady Clifton and the Duchess had fallen under his spell so easily. No, Eliza chided herself inwardly, that had been different. Dalton had made his intentions perfectly clear concerning her, and only she was to blame for these stubborn, lingering feelings.
The time between saying her polite farewells and maneuvering through The White Heather to reach her carriage had felt like an eternity. Thankfully, Clifton had sent her with a footman to guide her through the back halls instead of the main floor. She would not have appreciated the added attentions of the patrons within, who would have no doubt remembered the masked redhead that had conversed so heatedly with James. Even the staff she passed, having likely heard all about the great ruckus by now, were barely able to conceal their curiosity. Though she trusted Clifton’s word that his staff were the most discreet in all of England, the worry of her identity leaking remained strong. Dalton denying her and still stirring up a scandal in spite of the pain of it would be a blow too far. She only breathed a sigh of relief once the carriage door slammed firmly shut with her ensconced inside. Eliza ripped off her mask once more and resisted the mighty temptation to do the same with her garish wig, messy hair be damned. She leaned back, resting her hand over her eyes and attempting to settle the crying fit trying to worm its way out of her. A tear or two slipped out regardless, much to her embarrassment. This upset was patently ridiculous. They’d never had any sort of relationship beyond his impromptu visits and never would. And yet, the thought of never seeing those playful blue eyes try and fail to hide his vivid emotions, or those lips attempt to fumble their way through one social grace or another sent a wave of melancholy the likes of which she hadn’t felt in a long time. Perhaps it was merely the stress of the ball making her so maudlin, for that was the only explanation she could give to this sudden, ardent attachment.
After another few moments of centering herself and dashing away a few extra tears, Eliza noticed that her carriage had yet to begin moving. In fact, when she stopped to concentrate, the muffled baritones of her coachmen arguing with someone were sounding outside. “What in the world?”
Just when she was about to poke her head out to investigate, the door swung open. Lord Dalton stood beyond the threshold, his eyes wide and face flushed. “Hello. Might I join you?”
“How dare you, sir!” Her coachmen came blustering to the interloper’s side, but she held up a hand before he could grab him.
“It is alright. I know him. Take us home, of you please.”
Her servant looked like he wanted to argue, but nonetheless acquiesced. “Yes, Milady.”
“Well,” Eliza gave Dalton a pointed stare, even as she thought her soul might fly out of her body at the sight of him. “Are you coming in or not?”
Dalton started at her words as if she were the one causing this jarring and impromptu interaction between them. “Right away.” He took a wary glance around them before hopping inside and all but collapsing on the bench across from her, the carriage lurching into motion not long after.
She watched him straighten his windswept hair with mild bemusement. “You seem to have misplaced your hat again.”
“I was in a hurry to catch you. I almost lost my head when Sophie told me you’d left.”
“And what did you need me for? From the looks of it, your talk with Lady Clifton and the Duchess went well.” In fact, the man across from her looked almost invigorated. There was a lightness around his person that she’d never sensed before, and it made his bizarre accosting of her all the more a mystery. “I was under the impression that our acquaintance was at an end.” As bitter as that uncomfortable reality made her.
Dalton only grinned at the reminder of their horrid conversation yesterday afternoon. “Oh, that? You see, Francesca told me some rather sagely advice and I—oh, what am I doing over here?” Before she could even blink, Dalton swept across the carriage in a wave of bergamot, plopping himself mere inches from her person.
“My Lord,” she could only sputter as his frame loomed over her.
“Things have changed.” His head dipped, and Dalton kissed her before she could even think up a reply to the shocking words. Her thoughts entirely fled as his lips caressed her mouth, a shiver of arousal stirring in her belly as his hands grasped her waist. She could only stare, dumbstruck, when his mouth left her. “I’ve changed my mind,” he muttered.
There was no doubt as to what he referred to, and the elation that coursed through her at the words was almost embarrassing. But she was far too gone to care about appearances. “I am happy you came to your senses.” There was nothing sensible about it. If anything, this sudden change of heart would be just about the foolish thing she’d ever indulged someone in. But when Dalton only replied by smothering her mouth once more and tracing his tongue along her bottom lip, nothing seemed to matter anymore. With an excited moan, Eliza wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to meet him. Every stroke of their tongues sent another pinprick of pleasure down her spine. She became dimly aware of the feeling of air hitting her bare thigh and wondered when exactly he’d begun bunching her skirts. She parted her legs with a pleasured sigh against his mouth, bucking her hips as his hand roughly cupped her. Her quim throbbed as his fingers swirled over her folds in frenzied, uneven strokes while they all but devoured each other with their mouths. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more, and Eliza was well aware of how little precious time they had. She pushed his hand aside and tore her mouth away, only a little amused by his disappointed huff.
Her companion frowned. “My Lady, what—”
She put a ginger hand on his lips with a mild grin. “Hush, Dalton.” Careful not to lose her balance due to the swaying conveyance, Eliza hauled one leg over his waist and perched herself on his lap.
“James,” he breathed as she pushed his coat aside to work on the buttons of his waistcoat. “Use James.”
“Then you must call me Eliza,” she replied after making short work of the buttons and moving on to his shirt. She bit her lip at the sight of his bare torso, running a finger down the length of his muscled abdomen. She stroked her hand along the bulge of his arousal, delighting in the sound of his low moan.
“Oh, yes,” he mumbled as she popped the buttons breeches. “Please. It’s been so long.”
Eliza took his shaft in her hand, taking pleasure in the sight of his hooded eyes as she stroked him. Her center ached with impatience, only growing worse when he reached up a hand to cup one of her breasts through her dress. She rose and rubbed his head along her entrance with a shiver before sinking down to take him fully. His cock was hot and thick inside of her, and she squirmed her hips at the delicious, long forgotten sensation of being filled so completely. She rolled her hips with a low hum, bracing her hands on his shoulders. He leaned back into the squabs, flushing and panting as the pace increased. The sight of him so discomposed only increased her arousal, each slick thrust of her hips bringing her closer to the edge. Her center tightened around his shaft, and Eliza smacked a palm over mouth to cover her shriek as she climaxed.
“Get off me, darling, or I’ll spend inside of you,” James gasped out, clutching her hips and pushing as his cock pulsed inside of her. She managed to lift herself just in time as he cried out, his seed spurting onto his abdomen. The carriage stopped, and Eliza was glad for the impeccable timing. She hoped the sway of the journey had been enough to hide what they had been about. James seemed unbothered, resting a casual hand on her hip and threading his fingers through his rumpled hair. “Well then. I do believe that was the single most eventful carriage ride of my life.”
