Let the Night Begin (21 page)

When she finally released him, Reign pulled her to her feet and kissed her, heedless of the taste of
himself on her lips. He tugged the pins from her hair with deft fingers, bringing the heavy mass tumbling loose around her shoulders.

“Turn around,” he ordered. She did, and he set those fingers to work on the fastenings of her gown. Within seconds the bodice sagged around her arms. Olivia turned around so that he could shove the offending fabric to the floor as she tore at the hooks of her corset. He helped her with those as well as the gown pooled around her feet. He tossed the corset across the room as she struggled out of her combination, shredding the delicate linen in her desperation to be naked against him.

Finally, she stood before him in nothing but her stockings and garters. He pulled her against him and she gasped as her flesh met his. Rough yet smooth, hard yet supple, he was the most delicious thing she had ever felt.

“The first night I met you I wanted to feel your skin against mine,” he whispered against her ear. “You ruined me for any other woman.”

Smiling, Olivia rubbed against him, delighting in the velvety texture of his body hair on her flesh. “Good, because I would so hate to have to kill any other woman who dared touch you.”

Reign laughed. She shivered as his warm breath caressed the side of her face and neck. Closing her eyes, she sighed as his lips followed the same path.

His fingers combed through her hair, massaging her scalp and neck with firm, gentle strokes. The
winding heat inside her increased with every touch of his fingers, every brush of his lips. Her cunny was hot and wet, aching with the need to be filled by him.

“I want you,” she whispered softly, rubbing her cheek against his temple. “So badly.”

His response was to turn her toward the bed and lower her onto the mattress. Propping himself above her, he smoothed the hair back from her face, while the lone light in the room cast him in a golden light.

Reign smiled tenderly. “Thank you.”

Her gaze locked with his, as a slight frown wrinkled her brow. “For what?”

His hand slid up her thigh. The muscle there quivered at his touch and she lifted herself into his palm. She wanted him to touch her, stroke her. He brushed his lips across one of her nipples, sending a sharp thrill racing through her. “For coming back to me, no matter what the original motivation was.”

“Oh,” was all she could say, robbed of speech as he traced the tip of his tongue around her nipple, causing the already puckered flesh to tighten and ache for more.

“You incredible man,” she murmured, as his hot, moist mouth drove her to distraction. “I don't deserve you.”

“No,” he agreed, moving his head to the other breast. “You deserve better.”

Hot tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, leaving a scalding trail as they trickled into her hair.
You're wrong.
But she didn't say the words aloud, knowing she would start sobbing if she did, and she would rather die than ruin this moment. She arched against his mouth instead, and gave herself over fully to the sensations he aroused within her.

Reign knew he had struck a chord emotionally with Olivia. Her silence spoke louder than any words ever could. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know that she thought he was wrong to think so highly of her. When this night was over, and they had nothing but the rest of their lives to concern themselves with, he would endeavor to make her see herself as he did.

Olivia moaned and arched her hips against him as his fingers trailed down her belly to the humid apex of her smooth thighs. Her thighs parted readily for him, requiring no coaxing—not that he'd thought she would.

Her body jerked when he slid a finger into her tight wetness. Her hot, greedy flesh gripped him so tightly, so sweetly, his cock swelled to full erection in anticipation. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she undulated beneath him.

Christ, he loved the feel of her tight little nipple in his mouth, her juices on his fingers. Loved the taste of her skin, the sounds she made when he nipped lightly with his teeth.

He suckled her flesh until her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at his scalp. Her hips churned now, pressing her mound against the heel of his hand as he thrust two fingers inside her. He knew what she wanted, even if she didn't say it.

His mouth left her breast as he inched down her strong, soft body. He kissed the soft flesh of her rib cage, traced the edge of her navel with his tongue. He pressed his lips to the soft curve of her belly, rasping the soft flesh there with the stubble of his jaw. Olivia gasped softly in response.

Poised between her legs, braced on one elbow as he continued to stroke her, Reign nuzzled the damp thatch of sable curls, breathing the salty scent of her deep into his lungs. Her hips jerked, bringing a satisfied smile to his lips.

He had never felt this with any other woman. She was the other half of his soul. At first he had thought her a simple obsession, a sensual fascination. It had taken exactly two days to realize that this incredible woman was meant for him. He would never cease to worship her, never fail to be amazed and humbled by her. He didn't just want her; he needed her. For the past thirty years he had been dead inside, and for centuries before that as well. He only truly felt alive when he was with her.

He brushed his lips against those curls, feeling the dampness there. He slipped his fingers out of her, lifted them to his mouth and licked the wet
ness from him. Salt and honey and musk flooded his tongue.

“Do you want me to eat you?” he asked softly, trailing his gaze over her luscious body to finally meet her heavy lidded stare.

“Yes.”

He dragged one finger down the plump cleft of those drenched lips. “Do you want to come on my tongue?”

She shivered. “Yes.”

A low groan broke free of Reign's throat as he lowered his head. His fingers parted her slick flesh for the invasion of his tongue. He wanted to hear her pants of pleasure, wanted her to grind her body against his mouth as orgasm ripped through her.

He worked her into a frenzy with his tongue, licking and sucking, even nibbling ever so gently, concentrating on the rigid nub of her clit. She quaked every time his distended fangs brushed her sensitive walls, clutched at him with her fingers and her thighs.

When she came, it was with her hands pushing his face into her, bathing him with her juices. She cried out, her moans a symphony to his ears. He lapped at her greedily, drunk on the taste of her. It wasn't until she went limp that he lifted himself from between her thighs. Rock hard, his cock ached to finish what his tongue had started.

Olivia lifted herself on her elbows, her strong
features flushed with the rosy glow of satisfaction. “I want you inside me.
Now
.”

“Roll over,” he told her, his voice low and rough in his own ears.

She went eagerly, rolling onto her stomach to reveal the long line of her spine and full curve of her buttocks to his appreciative gaze.

He nudged one of her knees up to the side, opening her thighs and angling her so that she leaned partially on the opposite hip. The position opened her body to his, and as he guided the head of his cock into her awaiting wet heat, he closed his eyes with a sigh. Olivia replied in kind.

The angle of her hips made the friction between them acute. Her sweet round buttocks cushioned his hips as he thrust into her. Her back was warm against his chest as he curved his knee into hers. The tight grip of her sex around his and the soft encouraging moans slipping breathlessly from between her lips heightened the hunger in his blood.

Tossing back her hair, Olivia glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression so arousing he almost came right then. Instead, Reign gritted his teeth and reached under her lifted hip. His fingers parted the soaked curls between her thighs to caress the sensitive crest his tongue had savored moments earlier. He stroked it ruthlessly, drawing a sharp gasp from the woman beneath him.

The rhythm of his body matched that of his busy fingers, thrusting in as his fingers stroked up.
Olivia rocked against him, lifting her buttocks to his pelvis before pressing down on his hand.

“Do you love me?” he asked, purposefully easing the pressure of his fingers, denying her what she wanted.

He could feel her body tensing, could feel the tremble of her thighs as she tried to bear down on his fingers. She was close to climax.

“Yes.” She gasped as he thrust hard, plunging deep within her. Then he pulled almost all of the way out, torturing them both by keeping only the head of his cock inside her. “I love you. I've never stopped loving you.”

Satisfaction more potent than sexual release washed over him, filling him with a peace he had never felt before.

And then she pressed back against him, taking the entire length of him into her once more in one swift motion. “Do you love me?”

Buried inside her so swiftly, coupled with her admission of love, broke what was left of Reign's control. Ruthlessly, he rubbed her with his fingers as he thrust deep inside her.

“Yes,” he growled against her ear as her fingers closed over the hand between her legs. “Liv. Beautiful, Liv. I love you.” She rode his cock and fingers with abandon, sending them both over the edge and into the swirling oblivion of orgasm.

Afterward, they lay together, sweaty and sated on tangled sheets. They talked about insignificant
things, shared humorous memories and laughed together in the darkness.

Reign held Olivia against his chest, stroking her hair as she related an incident from her youth in which she and two friends tried to help the gamekeeper on a local estate try to capture an escaped piglet. He laughed as she talked about how slippery the animal had been to hold on to. At that moment, when amusement softened her voice, and it felt as though they were the only people in the world, Reign was certain that there had to be a God and that He was good.

Because this was surely heaven.

“W
hat in the name of God is that?” Olivia demanded when she saw what Reign had attached to her corset. They were in her room and he was helping her dress for the evening's intrigue. “Is that metal of some kind?”

“Yes.” Holding the formerly delicate corset in both hands, he came toward her, his fingers dark against the pale fabric. “Put it on.”

Dubious, Olivia took the undergarment from him. He had ruined her only demi-corset, the other having been destroyed when she was shot. “It's not going to be very comfortable now.”

“Shag comfort.” He pointed at the thin plate of metal that would cover her left breast and part of her chest. “Where are you vulnerable?”

She batted her eyelashes. “Everywhere you touch me, sweetheart.”

His expression didn't lose much of its gravity when he grinned at her, but it lost enough. “Arse. Where are you vulnerable as far as someone who would want to kill you is concerned?”

“Heart and head.”

He nodded at the corset. “That will help protect your heart. I expect you to take care of your head.”

She would never have thought of such a novel device. “What about your heart, is it protected?”

“Were I the poetic sort I could say that you alone wield the power to wound my heart, but you know I'm rot at such pretty talk.”

“I don't know,” she said, her throat tight. “You did a fair job of it just now.”

Reign leaned forward and kissed her forehead. When he straightened, he patted the left breast of his waistcoat. “I have a similar plate right here.”

And she had foolishly wondered why he was dressing up to confront Dashbrooke.

“Are you worried?” she asked as she slipped out of her robe and reached for the drawers laid out on her bed.

His hot gaze raked over her nakedness with frank appreciation. “No, but neither am I stupid.”

Olivia said nothing as she fastened the drawers around her waist, but her fingers trembled enough that he noticed.

“We'll get him, Liv.” He helped her into the corset. “We'll rescue James.”

It wasn't James she had been thinking of. “Why did you forgive me?” she demanded. “You knew what I had done and you weren't angry.”

Hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. His face was grave, his gaze tender. “I was
mad as hell that you took off on your own. Livid that you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth, but there was never a choice of forgiveness. You did exactly what I would have done.”

“But you trusted me.”

He laughed at that—not cruelly, but with great gusto. “Sweetheart, I told you that I knew from the beginning you were up to something. I was waiting for you to stick the knife in my back the whole time.”

How the hell should she feel about that? “But you slept with me.”

“You slept with me.”

“You initiated it!”

He laughed again, and she hit him—right in the metal plate over his chest. It stung, damn him.

Reign pulled her to him in a fierce hug. “I do love you, Liv. You know that?”

“Yes.”

“I knew if you betrayed me that it was my own fault, but I was hoping you'd have a change of heart.” He released her. “You did. Now, get dressed and let's go kick Dashbrooke's arse.”

Olivia did as he asked, and quickly. Sometimes a woman just had to stop questioning and be grateful for what she had been given. This was one of those times. She was going to stop fretting about herself and Reign and turn her attention to something far more grievous—getting James away from Dashbrooke, and whatever evil he had in mind.

Five minutes later she had laced up her boots and was jogging down stairs to meet Reign and the other men. The servants had been released from the day's duties early and there was no one outside of their little band of warriors left. Reign didn't want anyone in the house tonight, just in case the Order had a few surprises in mind.

She was the last of their group to enter the study. Reign, Reggie, and Watson were pleasant enough, but Clarke watched her like he might a viper.

“Can I depend on you?” Olivia asked him. At his puzzled look, she continued, “If I need someone to watch my back tonight, can I depend on you, or should I look elsewhere?”

The gray-haired man looked at Reign before he responded, an action that rubbed every last nerve she had raw. “You can depend on me. Tonight.”

“That's all I need.” She met his gaze with a challenging one of her own. He was right to dislike her for what she had almost done to Reign, but if he thought to cow or intimidate her, he was a fool.

Reign had regard for her pride. Some men found bold women abrasive and unattractive, obviously her husband was not one of them. “Clarke and Watson will follow us on horseback. They'll clear the grounds and sneak in while we divert Dashbrooke and his followers.”

Olivia turned to Reggie with a faint smile. “I hope you are not bothered by heights, Reggie.”

The freckle-faced young man shrugged. “I
cannot tell you. I've never been any farther from the ground than the third-floor balcony at my grandmother's house in London.”

Reign clapped him on the shoulder. “Might want to keep your eyes closed then, boy.”

They wasted no more time on small talk after that. After reviewing what plans they had, Clarke and Watson left, leaving the rest of them to make final preparations. The five of them were all agreed on their goal—free James and capture Dashbrooke.

And keep Reggie safe, of course. Olivia didn't want to believe that Dashbrooke might harm his own son, but Reggie and Reign had no problem entertaining the idea at all.

Reggie wanted to fly with her instead of Reign—not because he trusted Olivia more, but because he suffered from the common male malady of thinking that touching another man for longer than a brief, manly hug, might somehow make him a pederast.

Reign winked at the boy. “Don't blame you at all, Reggie I'd take her over me any day.” Then, with an evil grin, “Just watch where you put your hands. It's a long way to the ground.”

The young man didn't seem to know whether to take him seriously or not. Olivia rolled her eyes. “Just put your arms around my neck, Reggie, and hold on.” He did as she instructed and once she was certain he was ready, she wrapped her own
arms around his waist and lifted them both into the sky.

Flying with a passenger wasn't new to Olivia, as she had flown with James many times, but it was odd to hold a veritable stranger so close and share such an amazing aspect of what she was. Fortunately, Reggie proved to not be afraid of being so high in the sky. In fact, he gawked around so much that Olivia was certain he was going to smash his skull against hers. Fortunately, he didn't.

It wasn't until they arrived at the house in Haddington that the gravity of the night's intrigue fully sank in. James's life, and Reggie's as well, might end tonight if she—they—weren't careful.

Reign must have seen some of the terror in her eyes as they stood on the step awaiting entry, because he pressed a hard kiss to her forehead and gave her cold hand a gentle squeeze. “It will be all right, Liv. I promise.”

Reggie, who stood behind them, placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. “My father knows James is the only thing keeping you from ripping his throat out. He won't hurt James if it can be helped at all.”

Oddly enough, the young man's words helped a little. Olivia smiled her thanks.

The door opened to reveal George Haversham. The moment his gaze fell on Reggie, his face lit up in relief. He didn't speak, however, merely stepped aside so that they might enter.

They followed Haversham through the foyer. As they walked, Reggie stepped in front of them, making it look as though he truly was their prisoner, and also providing a bit of shield against whatever weapons his father might have.

Brave boy.

Olivia's gaze swept their surroundings, searching for anyone or anything that might be concealed and waiting to strike. She saw nothing, heard nothing. She didn't even smell anything, other than the boys in front of her. All other sounds and scents were fainter, coming from deeper within the house, and from the sound of it, one room.

Turning her head, she met her husband's gaze. He smiled at her—the smile of a man not accustomed to losing, who intended to win. Without words he told her not to be afraid, that they were the ones with the power here, not Dashbrooke. She had to believe in that.

Haversham led them down a wide hallway, lined with portraits and landscapes of various size and age. The wedgewood-blue paint needed a fresh coat and wooden planks beneath their feet were rubbed smooth with wear. It was a quaint little house, if not a tad shabby. Hardly a villainous lair at all.

“Reign, Olivia,” Dashbrooke cooed as they walked in. “Thank you for coming.”

The bastard was sitting on a divan like a bloated pasha, looking far too smug for Olivia's liking. He was flanked by at least a dozen men, all of whom
were big and muscular; warriors dressed in black and ready to protect their master.

“And you've brought m'boy back as well.” Dashbrooke's gaze narrowed on his son. “You don't seem any worse for wear.”

Reggie lifted his chin, and Olivia felt a swell of pride for the boy. “They didn't hurt me, Father.”

Dashbrooke sneered. “They wouldn't have nabbed you at all if you had half a brain!”

“Where's James?” Olivia demanded, stifling a wince on Reggie's behalf. Hopefully Watson and Clarke would be here soon as well and they could get these boys out of here.

“Right here,” came a low, familiar voice.

Olivia's eyes closed. Just for a second she allowed herself to bask in the overwhelming relief of hearing her boy's voice once more, knowing that he was safe.

She faced him as he entered the room. There was another boy with him—Fitzhugh Binchley, she believed. They joined Haversham at the back of the room. The three of them didn't move toward Reggie, no doubt because of his proximity to herself and Reign.

Her husband was surprisingly closemouthed during all of this, but nothing escaped him, of that she was certain.

Olivia didn't care if it was risky or not, she went to James and drew him into her embrace. “I'm so happy to see you!”

He didn't hug her back, just stood there, wooden in her arms.

“Why didn't you exchange him for me like you were supposed to?” he demanded. No greeting, no expression of relief to see her as well. That wasn't right—not for a boy who should have been at least a little afraid.

She held him at arm's length so she could look into his big brown eyes. The accusation there might have been more cutting if it hadn't been mixed with obvious petulance. “Because I couldn't hand Reign over knowing what might happen to him.”

“What about me?” He struggled against her hold but she didn't release him right away. “Didn't you think about what might happen to me?”

“Of course I did.”

“He means more to you than I do.”

“That's not true, but Reign's my husband.”

“And a vampire. I'm just a human.” He sneered. “Just goddamn Food.”

She slapped him—not hard, but enough to leave a slight mark on his fresh cheek. “Don't you make me the villain, James! I don't know how they managed to trick you into going along with this scheme, but I know you weren't really abducted. You've been lazing around here with your friends drinking and playing cards while I've worried myself sick!”

He had the sense to at least look abashed, but not enough. And when he cast a glance at
Dashbrooke—an approval-seeking glance—Olivia knew the truth.

“You've been involved in this all along, haven't you?” Somehow, she kept her voice calm, even though her heart was breaking and she wanted to scream. “You knew Dashbrooke wanted Reign and why, and you didn't care. You knew I'd do anything, even crawl to Reign, to bring you home. Why? What promise did he make you?”

“The one you wouldn't,” her son—nephew—replied hotly. “He promised me immortality. He said I could finally be like you.”

The tone of his voice said much more than mere words. That he wanted to be like her—and in the same token be with her always—tugged at Olivia's heart. But not quite enough.

“And how did he plan to give you eternal life? Did he explain that? Did he think Reign or I would give it willingly? Or at all?”

James looked confused now, and cast another glance at Dashbrooke, who had lost his smug smile, but not the gleam in his piggish eyes.

“I'm not going to make you a vampire, James.” Olivia kept her voice low and controlled. “Don't you understand? He never intended to fulfill his promise to you, or your friends. All he wanted was me and Reign.”

“And now I have you” came Dashbrooke's triumphant cackle.

Olivia turned in time to see the other men in
the room pull pistols and knives from their clothing. More men came in from a side door; several carried swords and two carried what appeared to be nets, the threads of which glittered in the lamplight. Silver. She'd wager that all the blades were edged with the toxic metal, the pistols loaded with it. Reign stiffened, his body as tense as coiled wire, but he didn't pounce. He was waiting for them to attack first.

Her shoulders sagged, but just for a moment as she glanced at James. “You see?”

Defiance colored his cheeks and brightened his eyes. He did not want to accept any blame for this. He still did not understand. “None of this would have happened if you had turned me like I asked! I begged you!”

Was this anger she felt? Or pity? “And like a child, you schemed to get your way. Bravo, James. Obviously, I did an excellent job in raising you.” Then, wary and oddly calm, Olivia straightened her spine. She reached into the back of her trousers and removed a small blade from the sheath strapped there. Then, she whipped her hand around, flinging the blade through the top of a boot belonging to one of the men with the nets. There was a scream and a solid thud as the blade nailed his foot to the floor.