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  • Carnal Knowledge Ch. 08

Carnal Knowledge Ch. 08

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Dear readers, thank you so much for your lovely comments and encouragements. I can't tell you how much they mean to me. I hope you will enjoy this new chapter with Rockdale and Eliza.

Much love,

Emmeline

*****

The last thing Rockdale wanted, or expected, to see upon re-entering his bedchamber was Lady Pelham sitting in a large armchair by a cheerily burning fire. She regarded him with one raised eyebrow.

He stared back at her, irritated to feel a flush of unaccustomed embarrassment rise up his neck.

"To what do I owe this unexpected early morning visit?" Rockdale asked, fighting the urge to be sure his banyan was closed properly. If his aunt found an eyeful of a man's cods distasteful then she ought not to be sitting in his bedroom before breakfast.

Lady Pelham inclined her head, somehow managing to appear regal dressed in a frilly and beribboned white dressing gown covering every inch of skin from chin to floor.

"Your valet was kind enough to get a fire going to dispel the chill in here. I had hoped to converse privately with you this morning, but I see..." She glanced toward the bed, still undisturbed. "You haven't managed to find the bed as yet...your own, at least."

A muscle ticked in Rockdale's jaw. For a moment he entertained the idea of counting to ten as Eliza had recommended.

"What I do in my house is none of your affair," he said, struggling to keep his patience. "I am not a naughty schoolboy to be scolded."

"Perhaps you shouldn't act like one," she retorted. She gestured toward the balcony doors. "Sneaking into your room at dawn? You've been tupping that young governess, I have no doubt! For shame, Rockdale."

Temper ignited in a flame of hot anger in his gut. "You have forced yourself into my home, and now you force yourself into my private chamber...to berate me? I am a grown man and you are not, and have never been, my mother."

Her face leached some of its color, and she turned to face the fire burning in the grate for a few moments. "Though she was ten years my elder, I loved my sister so dearly." The viscountess smiled faintly. "You have your mother's eyes, you know. But none of her endearing personality, I'm sorry to say."

Rockdale folded his arms across his chest and regarded his fingernails. "Shall I get dressed? I'd hate to catch a chill waiting for you to finish."

"Why bother now? I'm sure you've been cavorting in the nude all night."

"I wonder if you're taking your ire out on me, Aunt Louisa. Has Pelham been disciplining the maids with a strap to their bare arses again?"

Lady Pelham's eyes narrowed. "How old is that governess? Seventeen? Eighteen?"

"Miss Lockhart is nineteen, and she is not your concern."

"What are you going to do after you've put a babe in her belly? Are you going to be raising a bastard in your nursery? Or do you plan to cast them to the side when you're finished?"

Rockdale felt the heated flush of irritation drain out of him replaced by an icy fury. "You have overstepped yourself, Lady Pelham."

Her back ramrod straight, his aunt stared at him broodingly for a moment then sighed. "I suppose I have. My dear mama and papa begged that old horse's arse Rockdale, your grandsire, to raise you when your parents died. But the old bastard wouldn't even permit us to see you." She looked down for a moment. "He made you into what he was...arrogant, cold-hearted, and selfish."

She shook a finger at him. "One day you'll regret not treating your only family with more regard. Other than your children, Caroline and I are all you have left."

"Yes, yes, I'm Satan's spawn and I'll die alone, sobbing regretfully into my glass of whisky." Rockdale rubbed at his temples where a headache brewed. "Aunt Louisa, why are you here in my chamber at such an ungodly hour?"

Lady Pelham sniffed. "I want to know why you object to the prospect of Caroline marrying Atherton. The matter is practically settled already."

Despite the early hour, Rockdale found himself wishing for a stout drink. "I discovered the cad in my wife's bed, but I will not relive the event with you," he said tightly.

Her lips pursed then she shrugged. "It's unfortunate, but affairs do happen."

"That may be so, but you can rest assured, I'll be speaking to Pelham about the character of this so-called suitor of his daughter."

"Don't you dare, Rockdale! You're going to ruin this opportunity for Caroline. She deserves to marry well."

"She deserves someone better than the likes of him."

"The beau monde used to say the two of you were scoundrels cut from the same cloth."

"They were right," Rockdale agreed. "And this is why Caro shouldn't marry him."

She stood up, frills and ribbons quivering with indignation. "But he has changed and matured where you have not," she said. "This is not your decision, nephew! I'll thank you to stay out of the matter."

"As you've so kindly stayed out of mine?" he asked caustically. "Damned if I will."

***

"Mademoiselle, you must not move," the seamstress admonished.

"Ouch! Well, stop jabbing me with pins, and I won't," Eliza answered crossly.

The petite dressmaker harrumphed and muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath.

Eliza sighed and tried to remain still—no mean task standing on a wooden box in one's shift while a glaring French woman measured, draped and pinned in a furious flurry of movement.

The afternoon sun streamed in through the large window of Eliza's new bedchamber. The draperies had been shoved wide to accommodate Madame Bissette, who demanded bright lighting to envision her masterpieces.

"I need only two modestly-cut dresses," Eliza informed the milliner. "And dark colors would be best."

"His lordship says you should have many dresses," she countered. "And beautiful undergarments..." She paused her pinning and slanted a sly look upward at Eliza. "I think he must be your paramour, mademoiselle."

Eliza turned her face away, shame and embarrassment heating her cheeks. "Of course, he is not my lover," she lied. "He is simply...generous. I plan to repay him for the expense, of course."

Madame Bissette raised one slim eyebrow. "Men are never generous without reason."

The dressmaker stepped back and assessed Eliza with a critical eye then shook her head. "Your giant bosoms will ruin my exquisite designs," she said mournfully.

"I don't need exquisite designs," Eliza told her with gritted teeth. "I need serviceable, plain dresses fit for a governess of young children."

Both females looked up, startled, when Rockdale strode unannounced inside the room.

"Do not listen to Miss Lockhart, Madame Bissette. She can choose two dresses of her own preference, and the rest are to be approved or chosen by me."

Still smarting from their parting early that morning, Eliza scowled at him, her arms crossed over her breasts. "You cannot barge into my room while I'm being fitted!"

He opened his mouth to reply, and she stayed him with a finger. "Don't even spout that usual rubbish about it being your house," she said tartly. "Even you must bow to propriety on occasion."

She noticed the dressmaker had frozen, eyes wide, gazing up at Rockdale.

Rockdale regarded Eliza narrowly for a moment, and Madame's eyes grew even wider.

Suddenly, the earl burst into deep laughter that slithered round Eliza like a feathery caress that raised the fine hairs on her arms.

He swept into a low, courtly bow. "So sayeth the queen," he intoned.

Eliza sucked in a surprised breath when he swiftly crossed the distance between them, grasped her waist with both hands and drowned her burgeoning protest with his mouth. Hard and demanding at first, the kiss turned coaxing and sweet, jumbling her thoughts.

Her senses seemed to spring to life whenever he touched her, and despite their rapt audience, she felt the languorous tingle of desire between her legs, and her nipples peaked against the thin muslin of her shift as though begging for his caress. She sighed and laid a limp hand against his lapel.

Finally, he lifted his head, and she noted though his wicked smirk was fully in place, his breathing was not quite steady.

Still holding her close, Rockdale murmured, "And to the queen I say—propriety can be damned." He trailed a lazy finger down the curve of her breast.

Grimacing, he released her and lifted his finger to his mouth. "And he repents in thorns that sleeps in beds of roses," he quoted wryly and peered down at the bead of blood on his forefinger.

Annoyed with the quickening of desire still pulsing through her body, Eliza longed to set the cocky bastard down a peg or two.

"Oh, poor man, did you find one of Madame's pins?" she cooed then added with some asperity, "I think you're going to find I have lots of thorns."

A smile spread slow and devilish across his face. "Your thorns won't deter me, darling. Besides, I have one as well, and I can hardly wait to give you a big prick later."

Her mouth snapped shut, and she flushed, glaring at him.

Rockdale chuckled softly. "Remember what I said, Madame—consult with me before you leave today."

"But, of course. It shall be as you say, my lord," the modiste said with a simpering smile.

Rockdale turned back to Eliza. "Our guests wish to have tea al fresco on the garden terrace and take a stroll afterwards around the estate grounds. When you're done here, retrieve the children and join us."

Eliza wanted to snatch the paper of pins away from the dressmaker and plunge a fistful into his chest. "Yes, master," she replied with all the false sweetness she could muster.

Rockdale grinned. "Now, you're getting into the spirit of things, Miss Lockhart! Carry on, ladies. Au revoir, Madame."

Whistling a jaunty tune, he exited the room, leaving an awkward silence in Eliza's chamber.

"Well, bugger me," Madame Bissette remarked at last, staring at Eliza with hard speculation.

"What happened to your French accent?" Eliza asked dryly, trying to regain her composure and scattered wits.

"What happened to 'he's not my lover'?" she retorted.

"Love," Eliza answered, lifting her chin, "has had naught to do with it."

"Who needs love with one such as him to warm your bed?" Madame asked prosaically, beginning to remove the pinned and draped cloth from Eliza.

"The earl is smitten with you; I can scarcely believe it," she continued with a slight scowl. "You must be more intelligent than I first thought...or perhaps it is merely your giant bosoms."

"Oh, well, thank you, Madame." Eliza rolled her eyes upward.

"Do not thank me yet, mademoiselle," the modiste said. "Wait until he sees you in one of my magnificent ensembles. You will be completely irresistible!"

"Well, bugger me," Eliza grumbled under her breath.

***

Eliza found herself almost wishing to be perched back on Madame's wooden box after half an hour of tea and refreshments on the terrace. Lady Pelham was noticeably absent, and a ladies' maid slumped in a small chair near the terrace doors, apparently serving as chaperone.

"Mother said the air outside was too brisk for her," the earl's cousin Caroline explained. "I hope she isn't feeling poorly. We may have to postpone our departure tomorrow if she isn't well."

"I'm sure she's fine," Rockdale said in a grim tone.

"I noticed Madame Bissette leaving the house earlier," Miss Pratt remarked. "Her shop has gained quite an illustrious reputation in London, and she charges an extravagant amount for her designs. I have three of her frocks, you know," she said, flicking her eyes at the earl. "It's truly amazing you were able to get her to come all the way out here for your daughter."

She turned to the young girl, who was crumbling a scone in her plate. "Did you enjoy picking out new dresses with Madame, Lady Anna?"

"I suppose," Anna replied without interest. "Miss Lockhart, may Nicholas and I go play now?"

Rockdale frowned. "Anna, Miss Pratt is speaking to you. She is a guest in our house, so please answer her question politely."

Anna's cheeks turned red. "No, Miss Pratt, I did not care for picking out new dresses. Madame Bissette refused to let me pick any of the colors I liked, and she stuck me with a pin...twice. She wouldn't let me look through her sketch books, even though I asked nicely, and she said some things in French that I think were bad words. And then, she said she mustn't spend too long with me because she needed to attend to Miss Lockhart."

A dead silence ensued at the small table after the lengthy spill of words. Anna's mouth folded in a mulish line that Eliza knew did not bode well.

Eliza fought to keep her expression coolly unaffected and prayed that for once Rockdale would keep his mouth closed.

"Madame Bissette fitted you as well, Miss Lockhart?" Caroline asked, her eyes bright with interest.

"Yes, actually," Eliza answered. "Madame was kind enough to allow me a couple simple dresses." Stretching the truth a bit, but mostly true, she thought.

The other ladies relaxed, apparently seeing this as hardly more than charity from the dressmaker.

"Children, why don't we go entertain ourselves for a while the earl chats with his guests? Will you excuse us, my lord?" Eliza smiled pleasantly and rose from the table.

Rockdale's brow furrowed, but he nodded his assent.

She followed the children to an open area where the flagged stone terrace extended in a broad curve before leading in a series of short stone stairways down to the formal gardens.

With an impish smile, Nicholas produced a leather ball from his jacket pocket. Eliza lifted a brow but said nothing when he tossed it to his sister.

Hands behind her back, Eliza strolled slowly while the children began an impromptu game of catch. She admired the gardens with their orderly beauty, determined to not look back at Rockdale and his lady guests. The lot of them could go jump in the estate pond for all she cared, she thought irritably.

Perhaps she truly wasn't cut out to be a lowly governess, she mused with a sigh. It had been all she could do not to shove a cream cake right into Miss Pratt's haughty nose.

Willoughby, the earl's gardener, ambled into view, pruning shears in hand. Eliza waved to him, glad to see a friendly face. He beamed and waved back then turned to speak to someone behind him, pointing at Eliza.

The figure stepped from behind the shrubbery, and she recognized him as the earl's secretary, John Willoughby. He touched his father on the shoulder before turning to climb the stone steps, his eyes upon Eliza.

Eliza bit her lip as he approached; Rockdale's unreasonable ire over the gardener's son remained all too clear in her memory.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lockhart," he said, doffing his hat politely.

"Good afternoon, sir," she replied, taking a hopefully indiscernible step backward in order to put more physical distance between them.

He foiled her intentions by moving even closer. "Miss Lockhart, I pray you will pardon my terrible rudeness, but I must speak with you alone. It is most important."

"Alone?" she echoed uneasily. "I'm afraid that I—"

His eyes bore into hers beseechingly. "You must think me quite forward, but I..."

Eliza took another step away, praying that somehow Rockdale wasn't observing their conversation. For all that he was and was not, she was quite sure the earl did not make idle threats.

"Mr. Willoughby," she began uncomfortably, looking away from him. "It isn't proper..."

"Eliza," he said firmly. Her head snapped up at his use of her given name. "Forgive me, but my father has confided in me something that I find quite disturbing." His hand fisted, and then he was the one to look away. "Do you understand what I am speaking of and why we need to speak somewhere alone?"

She felt the color drain away from her face. "I see."

The secretary's mouth twisted; their eyes met once more.

"This is a misunderstanding, Mr. Willoughby," Eliza said, striving to keep her voice steady. "There is nothing you and I need to discuss."

Nicholas' ball rolled to her feet, and she automatically bent to pick it up. The young boy skidded to a halt before them, his eyes moving from Eliza to the earl's secretary as though even he could feel the undercurrent of tension.

She handed the ball over to her charge with a small smile and restrained herself from smoothing the chestnut curl that had fallen over his forehead. He dashed away, lobbing the ball wildly at Anna.

Mr. Willoughby cleared his throat, and reluctantly she turned back to him. "I beg to differ, Miss Lockhart. I must insist that we discuss the issue privately. If not now, then later today."

Eliza sighed. "I will try," she said stiffly.

He nodded. "Meet me in two hours' time, in the lower gardens near the fountain."

***

"Don't they make the most fetching couple?" Miss Pratt asked brightly.

Rockdale forced himself to release his teacup lest he shatter the fragile porcelain.

"They do!" Caroline agreed. "I believe they have formed a tendre for one another. I find it rather sweet actually."

Miss Pratt leaned closer. "Lord Rockdale, I'm afraid you may lose your governess to a marriage proposal soon," she said with a sly smile.

Rockdale wanted to deny he had even noticed the pair but could not seem to stop himself from trying to sear a hole into his secretary's back with the force of his burning gaze.

But he could plainly see Miss Lockhart did not have the air of a flirtatious lady meeting an admirer, and this fact kept him at the table and attempting to converse civilly with his guests. If anything, Eliza appeared uncomfortable, and he had seen her back away from the man not once, but twice.

The earl drummed his fingers on the table. Perhaps he should make up an excuse to go over there—just to see if anything was amiss, of course.

"Let us take our tour of the estate grounds," Carolina suggested. "I have a grand idea! Shall we invite Mr. Willoughby along?"

"No," Rockdale said.

A short time later, the earl found himself escorting an animatedly chattering young lady on either side of him with Miss Lockhart, the children, and an unhappy ladies' maid trailing behind.

He frowned in annoyance, wishing his cousin and her friend would stop yammering so that he could better hear Miss Lockhart's husky laugh and the high-pitched voices of his son and daughter. He remembered kissing Eliza earlier with the seamstress looking on, and he smiled a bit recalling their spirited exchange of words.

"And do you believe she wore a ball gown to a musicale?" His cousin's voice broke through his thoughts. "It was the most outrageous thing I've ever seen!"

Rockdale sighed. Caro might have more fluff than brains in her head, but as his aunt had said earlier, she was family. This led him again to think of Miles Barlow, now Viscount Atherton. He would do all in his power to keep the blackguard from marrying his young cousin, he vowed.

Eliza laughed again, and like a man compelled, the earl glanced over his shoulder to see what had amused her. A sharp cry to his left jerked his head to the side.

Before he could steady her, Miss Pratt tumbled to the ground in a flurry of pale green skirts. She moaned low and reached for her foot, the lady's flipped up skirts displaying quite a bit of shapely, stocking-covered legs.

"Lydia! Good heavens!" Caroline exclaimed.

"What happened?" Rockdale asked, flabbergasted.

"My ankle," Miss Pratt said, looking up at him with tears shimmering in her pale-blue eyes. "I must have stepped on a loose stone...and then...oh, Lord Rockdale, I must have twisted my ankle."

He stooped down and ignoring her gasp, gently laid a hand on Miss Pratt's small ankle and probed. "Can you move it?"

She wiggled it a bit and winced. "I can, my lord, but it hurts terribly." She sniffed. "If you help me up, perhaps I can walk..."

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