Page 86 of A Literary Liaison
“Tell me,” she coaxed, intoxicated by this reversal of power. “Tell me what you need.”
Instead of words, Edgar’s hands found her waist, lifting her with surprising ease. “You,” he said simply. “Always you.”
To her shock, Edgar reclined fully in the copper basin, the warm water lapping at his chest, while Elisha’s knees bracketed his face.
“My beautiful, my love,” he breathed against her heat, his words vibrating through her core. “So perfect, so sweet…”
“Edgar—oh!”
The sensations were overwhelming—his warm mouth on herquim, the steam-filled air, his strong grip on her bottom while she gripped the edge of the tub… The sensation of his tongue swirling her quim while his mouth tasted her most intimate flesh… his moans reverberating through her core… only to realize he was pleasuring himself while driving her toward her peak… It wasn’t long before pleasure overwhelmed her and they crested toward their climax together. When release finally claimed them both, it was with cries that echoed off the chamber walls, unchecked and unashamed.
Afterward, they remained entwined in the cooling water, hearts racing and bodies trembling with the magnitude of what they’d shared. Edgar’s arms held her securely against his chest as aftershocks of pleasure continued to ripple through them both.
“We’ll need to refill the tub,” Elisha murmured eventually, earning his rich chuckle.
“Worth every drop,” he replied, pressing reverent kisses to her damp temple.
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “You’re a bad influence, Duke.”
Edgar’s smile was radiant as he drew her down for another kiss. “My revolutionary,” he murmured against her lips. “In every possible way.”
As they finally emerged from the tub, helping each other with towels and gentle touches, Elisha marveled at her transformation. She was no longer the cautious and uncertain woman who had entered this chamber. She was Edgar’s equal in passion, his partner in pleasure, his match in every way that mattered.
The Duchess’s Plans
Edgar stared atthe letter in his hands, his mother’s familiar script bringing both affection and dread in equal measure. The afternoon light streaming through the study windows of their Tunbridge Wells cottage seemed to mock the darkness of his thoughts as he read the duchess’ latest scheme.
Across from him, Elisha sat with her own unopened correspondence from Thornton, her green eyes fixed on his face with growing concern. How beautiful she looked in the golden light, and how completely unaware she was of the deception that was about to entangle them both further.
“It seems my mother has taken matters into her own hands,” he said, forcing lightness into his voice while his stomach churned with guilt. “She’s planning a house party to celebrate the completion of your novel and Mr. Steele’s.”
The irony was suffocating. His mother wanted to invite Mr. Steele—him—to celebrate a competition with Miss Lovelace. The web of lies he’d woven was becoming a noose, and he could feel it tightening around his throat.
Elisha’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “A house party? But I’ve hardly finished the first drafts.”
Edgar managed a chuckle, though it felt hollow. “That has never deterred my mother from seizing an opportunity for social orchestration.” His voice grew more strained as he continued to the trulyproblematic part. “There’s more. She’s asked me to extend an invitation to Mr. Steele directly, as apparently no one seems to know how to contact him.”
The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Of course no one could contact Steele—he existed only in Edgar’s imagination and carefully crafted letters. How was he supposed to navigate this latest complication? He couldn’t have Steele decline the invitation without disappointing his mother, but accepting would create an impossible situation.
“And what does your mother hope to accomplish through this gathering?” Elisha asked, her fingers fidgeting with her shawl in that way that told him she was nervous.
Edgar consulted the letter again, though he’d already memorized every damning word. “She’s quite explicit about her intentions.” He read aloud, hearing his mother’s imperious tone in every syllable: “‘This is not to be misconstrued as my blessing, Edgar. Rather, it’s an opportunity to assess the girl’s potential while she engages with theton. Moreover, it will allow us to gauge Society’s response to her presence. The main purpose of the gathering, however, is to celebrate the two most talked about authors in London.’”
Watching Elisha’s face pale at the clinical assessment made his chest tight with protective fury. Yet beneath his indignation lurked the uncomfortable knowledge that his own deception was far worse than his mother’s calculated schemes.
“I shall feel like a prized mare at auction,” Elisha said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself.
Edgar was beside her in an instant, taking her cold hands in his. “Elisha, this represents another step forward for us. This will bring us closer to a formal courtship announcement.”
If only it were that simple. If only he could tell her the truth without destroying everything they’d built together.
“Do you think Mr. Steele will accept the invitation?” she asked,and Edgar felt his heart stop.
The question he’d been dreading. How could he answer honestly when the truth would shatter everything between them? He rubbed his chin, buying time while his mind raced through possibilities. “I don’t know him,” he said carefully, hating himself for the continued deception, “but given his public rivalry with Miss Lovelace, he may find it rather trying to be surrounded by her acquaintances and admirers.”
The words felt like glass in his throat. How had what started as an impulsive defense of his ego evolved into this labyrinth of lies?
Elisha was quiet for a moment, and Edgar watched emotions play across her face—resignation, determination, something that might have been relief. “I suppose it is inevitable that we shall cross paths in Society eventually. Perhaps it is best to face that reality with you at my side. Might I extend invitations to Amelia and Steven as well?”
