Miss Goldsleigh's Secret (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Henry guided her down the winding halls at a fast clip. Olivia held up her skirts with one hand, almost running to keep up with his long strides. “Where are you taking me?”

“What difference does it make? Eden.”

Henry paused at the French doors, opened them wide and bowed to her, throwing his arm to the side to usher her out to a garden.

“Yes, Eden,” Olivia agreed, a smile in her voice.

Hidden by tall brick walls on three sides, flowers ran riot. The colors were stunning in their contrast, greens and oranges, yellows and purples, blues and reds. They were all intermixed and in no discernable pattern. This was a garden tended by someone who loved wild things.

Holding hands, they walked through the paths. Olivia’s free hand outstretched at hip level, palm out, feeling the tips of the purple foxgloves, the little bell-like flowers hanging from the tall stems tickling her fingers. Henry waited while she paused to smell the aroma from the carpet of creeping thyme. It released its scent with every footstep, its tiny white and lavender flowers seeming to cover the entire ground except where sweet, green clover rolled across the earth. The hypnotic hum of the bees working through the thousands of flowers, pollinating along their way, rose above the garden. The eastern wall was covered with ivy, the base dotted with irises, their faces lifted towards the sun. As he led her deeper into the wildness, they found peonies with ruffled petals that made giant hot pink and white pompoms, and she bent to take in their smell.

“Oh, Lord Dalton,” she said, and Henry cursed her use of his formal title—still. “Is this your doing?”

“I must give all the credit to my grandmother.” He couldn’t help grinning when he thought of his father’s mother squatting in the sunshine, her giant floppy hat shading her face, gloves on her manicured hands and a giant smudge of soil smeared across her cheek. “She’s been working in this garden since she became the marchioness after she married my grandfather at seventeen. She never wanted a perfect sculpted garden like the rest of the ladies of the
ton
.” Olivia smiled at him and nodded her understanding. “Ah, here is my grandmother’s favorite.”

Henry gestured to the right at wine-red gladioli, some stretching as much as two feet tall. There were thirty or forty of them, and they were stunning in their majesty. “
Gladiolus byzantinus
,” he said, using the Latin name.

“My!” Olivia breathed. He was certain she was as awed by the flowers as he had always been. “Why just the one color?”

“Because they are the most beautiful, I guess.” Henry shrugged. “And they are unexpected.”

“This whole garden is unexpected.”

Henry slowly turned, taking in his grandmother’s garden. “I think she chose this particular spot because it’s far away from the main part of the house. She hides out here, you know.”

Olivia smiled at him, a breathtaking display of beauty to rival the garden. “Who is she hiding from?”

“All those silly girls.” Henry’s high voice and flippant hand gesture was a spot-on impression of his grandmother. “My sisters aren’t interested in gardening when there is socializing to be done.”

“Is she here all those times they think she’s napping?” Olivia asked with a conspiratorial grin on her full lips. He knew how those lips would taste, how they’d feel.

“If she’s missing, you can bet your pin money she’s holed up out here.” Henry’s hand itched to touch her. “I’m not sure any of them even know about this place. I think the girls assume she naps twelve hours a day.”

“Well, that’s only fair.” Olivia glanced around the garden as if she was looking for his grandmother now. Henry knew they were alone. Everyone else waded around the parlor, knee-deep in list making and planning. “You have your own lair to hide out from the world.”

“I do.” Henry turned his body toward her. Hair came loose around her face, the wheat-colored curls framing her jawline and brushing against her neck. A neck that begged to be nuzzled. “Although it seems every time I turn around, there is a nymph in there digging through my papers or reclining on my sofa.”

Olivia blushed, and Henry’s desire escalated, his breath quickening in response.

“Let me show you my favorite place.” He retook her hand and led her down a different path. They wound past the haphazardly arranged flowerbeds with their glorious blossoms open and basking in the late morning sunshine, until they reached a giant willow tree in the far corner. Using his forearm, he raised the drooping leaves and branches, making a passageway underneath. Olivia smiled shyly while she ducked her head and entered the cavelike space under the willow branches. The area was surprisingly spacious and deliciously cool. With the branches hanging back down, no one could see inside. They were completely hidden.

Henry followed her underneath. He snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her back flush with his chest. His groin twitched in anticipation.

“Oh, this is sublime,” she whispered. The sense of quiet and secrecy under the tree compelled them to keep their voices low even though they enjoyed complete privacy.

“I know,” he murmured into her ear, meaning more than the scenery. He exhaled against the exposed area of her nape, causing the tendrils gathered loosely there to flutter against her skin. “I used to build forts under here when I was a boy.”

“You’ll have to show Warren. He would love it.”

“If I show Warren, then I can’t sneak you under here and have you all to myself.” Henry nibbled at her ear, teething the lobe and tugging gently.

Olivia shivered, causing pleasant tingles across his body. “Oh, I guess not.” She leaned her head to the side, giving up the tender skin of her neck to his ministrations. “That would be a shame.”

“Ummm-hmmm.” Dalton’s tongue was too busy tracing the outside of her ear and skating along the pulse points to her shoulder to form words. He released his hold around her waist, lifted his hands to her cap sleeves and gently pulled until the neckline of her dress fell from her shoulders and exposed the sensitive skin there, her chest bare to the rise of her breasts.

Olivia sighed, a sweet contented sound that spoke volumes of how much she enjoyed his attentions. He raised one hand and trailed his fingers up and down her throat, the satin of her skin cool in the shade.

Olivia found her voice. “Thank you for…” his teeth scraped along the tendon in her neck, “…trying to rescue me,” she finished. “It was a bit…” She paused, searching for the right word and failing while he distracted her with his tongue. He traced her spine as it appeared out of her hairline and then disappeared into the back of her dress, a moist line left in its wake.

“It was a bit what?” he whispered in her other ear.

“What?” she asked.

Henry loved how he distracted her. “You didn’t complete the sentence.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t even care.” She sounded as breathless as he was, her chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths.

His face nudged her chin back so he had access to the front of her throat. He still stood behind her, his hands now cupping her breasts and kneading them gently.

“Do you still entertain ideas of running away?” His voice was low and gravelly, hoarse from want. Oh, did he want.

“If I am, will you keep trying to persuade me to stay?” She leaned against him, tossing her head back to rest on his shoulder. His fingers lowered her bodice by teasing fractions, and he enjoyed the tantalizing, slow reveal of her flesh.

“I believe my fiancée is flirting with me.” He chuckled against her skin. Her dress slipped further, almost low enough to expose her hard nipples to his gaze. When she inhaled sharply at another gentle nip to her ear, the flushed circles of areola rose over the silk of her gown. Henry released a sigh of appreciation.

“Your fiancée,” she repeated. Henry suspected that wasn’t the easiest admission for her to make, but it was one step closer to intimacy, one step closer to calling him by his Christian name. He needed to convince her to relinquish her desire to always be in control, to let go and let him take care of her, of everything.

***

One more careful inch and her breasts fell free of her gown, her chemise with it. A gentle breeze came through the branches to caress her skin. Delicious.

Dalton raised a hand to her mouth. “Open,” he commanded. He slid one thick thumb past her obedient lips. Her womb tightened almost painfully as she instinctively sucked on his thumb. His groan sent a wave rushing through her, and she pressed against his chest, feeling his strength behind her and around her, his masculinity surrounding her. He pulled his thumb loose and caressed her pebbled flesh with his damp digit, the cool air causing her skin to pucker even more. His hands commanding and greedy, she felt his gaze watching her as he toyed with her breasts, lifting and molding them, rolling the tender flesh between his fingers. All the while, she gripped the legs of his pants behind her. She fisted the fabric tightly in an effort to stay upright.

When his hands smooth down her belly, she gave up the effort to stand. He sank with her to the carpet of clover and thyme, the sweet-smelling grasses mingling with the scent of their arousal. He laid her gently on her back, her hair coming loose from the pins, forming a pillow behind her head. He stretched his long body out next to her, raised up on one elbow so he could look at her face.

He inquired again, a roguish smile hinting he already knew the answer. “Are you still considering running away?”

“No,” she responded shyly. When had that happened? Was it during the conversation with his mother, or had she decided now, under the willow tree?

“What convinced you?” He wasn’t looking at her face anymore, his attention drawn to her breasts and his fingers, caressing and teasing.

“Your kiss convinced me.”

“Which kiss?” he asked. “That rather tame one last night, or this one?”

Dalton slid his hand under her neck and lifted her to his mouth, his lips taking hers greedily. His tongue caressed hers, the sensitive skin of her breasts abrading the wool of his jacket. His kiss possessed her, its power and mastery demanding she relinquish sensual control. Olivia moaned with a potent need she was too naïve to slake.

“Olivia,” he breathed against her mouth after he finally broke the kiss.

She combed her fingers through his hair. “Kiss me again,” she whispered, urging his mouth back to hers.

“I want to kiss you everywhere. Here and here and here.” He placed gentle kisses in a few exposed places he must have known she would appreciate.

Olivia arched into his exploratory kisses. She guessed there was more, surely there was more, and she wanted it all. Now. “Where else?” If he didn’t answer, she had a few suggestions—if she was brave enough to voice them.

Dalton cupped between her legs. A jolt of electricity danced through her, a gasp of intense pleasure, and her hips responded by pressing against his palm.

“Here,” he said gruffly. “I want to kiss you here.”

Olivia was shocked, thrilled, excited. She hadn’t even known that was done. She bit her bottom lip and returned his intense gaze. How did she go about asking for that? She was already wanton, lying hidden under this tree with him, half out of her dress, talking about his mouth doing forbidden things. She wanted him to do that particular thing desperately. Her lips formed the word
please
, but the only audible sound was the
s
at the end. Dalton groaned a deep, husky, inherently masculine growl and cupped her more firmly. If she felt this much sensation through all her clothes, what would his touch be like against her skin? His mouth? Lips? Tongue? She’d do almost anything to find out.

“I want you,” Dalton told her.

Olivia didn’t understand. “All right.” She granted him all the permission she thought he needed. Did he doubt her readiness? Her willingness? She arched against his hand in encouragement.

He groaned again, lowering his head to her breast, but instead of taking her in his mouth as she hoped, he rested his forehead against her, panting next to her skin. Confused and disappointed, she lay still beneath him, threading her fingers through the hair at the base of his skull.

“I want you so much, too much.” He released his hold of her and straightened out the fabric of her skirt, but the wrinkles wouldn’t relax. He kissed each breast, but then frustratingly he lifted the material of her dress up and covered them again. He planted a firm kiss on her mouth and sat up, reaching for her hand and pulling her up next to him.

“Are we through?” Surely not. She was on fire, every inch of her skin alive with awareness of him, and now he was stopping?
Bloody hell
.

“You are to be my wife,” he began, lamely. “I want your first time to be in a soft bed with silk sheets, not on the ground in my grandmother’s garden.”

“I don’t mind.” She pulled his face back to look at him. “Dalton, I don’t mind.”

“But I mind,” he told her vehemently, his ice-blue eyes intense. “We must wait.” He silenced her with another searing kiss when he sensed another protest from her. “I want you desperately, Olivia, but not like this.”

“Dalton,” she began, but he interrupted.

He grasped her face with both hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. “When you’re lying beneath me and I’m moving inside you, when you’re mine. You will call me Henry. Not Dalton. Not my lord. Henry. Do you understand? You will be my wife, and you will call me by my Christian name.”

He kissed her again to make his point. When he raised his head, Olivia was breathless, hot, desperate.

“Say my name,” he commanded her.

“Henry.”

He moaned at the word, and kissed her again.

“Henry,” she repeated.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dear Lord in heaven, why had she waited so long to say his name? Sometimes she let stubbornness rule, and many times—most times actually, this particular incident included—her stubbornness turned out to be pure folly. Was the effort to stay detached worth postponing this glorious inevitability? Keeping him at arm’s length satisfied no one.

Olivia believed Henry. She wanted to trust him more than anything. She yearned to be free of the responsibility to keep herself and Warren alive. The desire to be part of this family and to finish exploring her new feelings for her fiancée was enough for her to give up, give in, relent. The simple word, Henry, tumbled from her lips, and she was so handsomely rewarded she repeated it every chance she got.

“Henry.”

Blast the man and his annoying, innate goodness. He told her they should stop. He said they should wait two more weeks until they were married in truth. Only, once she’d made the decision to stop running, to trust he could protect her from her cousin, she didn’t want to be good. Proving her commitment to the marriage, to him, was more important to her than his blasted code. How ironic was it that his sense of honor was one of the most attractive things about him?

Her reward for saying his name was a toe-curling, mind-bending kiss. They had risen to their knees on the carpet of clover and thyme. A breeze ruffled the leaves of the willow tree. Olivia clung to him while he kissed her, grasping at his clothes and unbuttoning his waistcoat. She yanked up the linen shirt until she felt the smooth, heated satin of his skin.

Henry moaned when her palm settled on his rib cage, and he altered the tilt of her head and deepened the kiss. She had never expected lovemaking to be so all encompassing. Before, when her cousin had groped her, or she escaped the lecherous fondling of would-be pimps or others of that ilk, she’d never found a need to participate. Nothing about those encounters had been exciting, not on any level. Besides, those other men hardly seemed to expect or welcome her involvement. In fact, sometimes it seemed they were more excited by the fact that she fought them.

Her experiences with Henry were very different. She wanted to touch him and smell him and taste him. It was more than obvious how much he enjoyed her involvement. Whether from his appreciative noises or the intensity of his kisses, she knew that her fiancé enjoyed her participation and what she did with her hands. A tentative foray with her tongue lit Henry up like a stifled firework. Her tongue slipped past her lips and, when she touched his tongue with hers, his muscles tensed, all his energy coiled, leashed, holding back to give her a chance to experiment. Braver, she stroked her tongue in farther, tasting coffee from his breakfast. Henry’s arms tightened around her waist and a smothered moan urged her on.

She loved the way the muscles of his abdomen tensed against her hands, and when she smoothed her palms farther up his chest, she brushed soft hair. His body felt so exquisitely different from her own. His was hard and square, the ridges of his muscles flexing under her hands. She wanted to see what she was feeling, but his clothes weren’t as accommodating as hers. There was no simple pushing down of his sleeves to reveal his chest to her gaze. Olivia withdrew her hands and pulled away from his kiss. In response she received a worried, slightly unfocused look from Henry.

She tugged at his jacket lapels. “Take this off.” Except he didn’t move. “Henry, take off your jacket.” That got her a sly grin as he rolled his shoulders while she pushed the fabric off his arms. The waistcoat followed, landing on the clover atop his jacket. That left the shirt. His mouth settled on hers again, and for several seconds she simply enjoyed the kiss, his fine, tailored shirt bunched up in her hands but forgotten as Henry’s kiss commanded all her attention. Eventually, the shirt came off over his head and joined the growing pile of clothing on the ground.

Her Henry was beautiful, perfect. She ran her hands over his skin, across his naked shoulders, along his arms hanging tense at his sides. The soft hair on his chest tapered down his stomach and into a thin strip that disappeared under the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers traced the tantalizing trail but stopped before they dipped into his pants.

She lifted her eyes to find Henry staring at her. Gone was the dazed look of minutes before, replaced by an intensity that made her swallow hard. “Henry?” He stared but didn’t speak. Was he angry? Was she too forward?

“Olivia.” One word. He fisted his hands. He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. “Oh God, help me.”

She bit her bottom lip and raised her hand to cup his cheek. “Are you all right?”

Eyes closed, hands still clenched at his sides, he exhaled in response. Olivia kissed him then. She slid her fingers behind his neck and pulled him down to meet her mouth. He didn’t resist, but it was obvious he was holding back, although he did nothing to stop her tentative exploration of his mouth.

The breeze brought the mingled smell of roses, grass and the sweet smell of crushed clover and thyme. A bird called in the distance, and in the quiet of the garden she could make out the sound of a distant cricket. Perhaps both called for their mates. Olivia had found hers. Henry would care for her. She had no doubts about that, and she wanted him to. Admitting that revelation to herself eased her mind. With the weight of the world off her chest, she was able to consider a life with Henry, and she was mildly surprised to find how much that idea appealed to her. He was an honorable man. It was evidenced in everything he did: the way he cared for his family and friends, his attention to Warren, his self-restraint with her under the tree.

Except the man heated her from the inside out, and regardless of what he thought she wanted, or what he thought was best for her, she wasn’t done with him yet. He’d mentioned something about tasting her before, and she wanted to explore that idea a bit further.

It wasn’t long before Henry was kissing her back. At first one arm came around to pull her to him, the hand still balled in a fist, but eventually both arms tightened, and his hands relaxed around her until his embrace had her crushed against him.

“Oh, Henry,” she whispered into his hair as soon as he broke the kiss. His mouth settled at her nape then in the hollow of her throat, skirting the top of her bodice. She knew what his mouth felt like on her breasts, and her nipples beaded into hard points at the tactile memory. He made no effort to lower her bodice this time. It would be her decision how far they would take their passion under the tree.

Without hesitation, Olivia slid the round pearl buttons through the moorings, one by one, until she had exposed her lacy chemise. Wiggling her shoulders until the sleeves drooped to her sides, she slipped her arms loose and her dress, free of any hindrance, sagged to the ground.

“You’re killing me.” His voice was husky and overflowing with want.

“If you stop now, you’ll kill me.” She ached for his mouth, her breasts heavy and tingling. When he hesitated, she guided his hand to her chest. She filled his hand, and when he lightly squeezed her nipple through the lace, a desperate whimper escaped her lips between panting breaths. Her head rolled back, leaving her neck and chest open to his mouth.

“Yes.” The word was barely audible. “Oh yes,” she repeated the words like a religious chant.

Silk and lace fluttered over her face, and her chemise floated to the ground next to his clothes. Finally, he gave her what she thought would complete her—his mouth on her bare breasts again, but his tongue didn’t sate her. He bent her, his arm supporting her back until she reclined half on the grass, half on her dress.

“Are you sure? It’s only a couple more weeks.” He said the words his honor dictated he say, but it was obvious, both by his plaintive expression and the bulge in his trousers, what he hoped her answer would be.

“If I’m to be your wife, I don’t want to wait.”

“Sweet Jesus.” Henry breathed in relief and came down on her, settling his weight over her body. He kissed her again, but he didn’t stay there long. He spread open-mouthed kisses over her collarbone, taking his time on her breasts and eventually arriving at her navel. He licked a circle around it then dipped his tongue in the indention. Olivia fidgeted in frustration, her hips moving restlessly beneath him.

“You are so beautiful.”

“So are you.”

He kissed along the crease where her leg met her hip. For the first time since they’d started exploring each other she felt self-conscious. She realized how wet she’d become. Olivia made to sit up, but he gently pushed her back without breaking his concentration.

“Shhhh,” His breath feathered across her skin.

She squeezed her eyes shut and fidgeted. A moment later, they flew back open, and she sucked in a gasping breath. Her fingers settled in his hair, and her hips moved of their own volition. The sounds she made were unfamiliar to her ears except when she extolled his name over and over—in encouragement or mindlessness she had no idea. Suddenly the edge he’d been driving her towards appeared, and she dove into the abyss, falling and flying at the same time.

When she opened her eyes again, Henry’s grinning face loomed over hers. He’d himself of his boots and pants. When she smoothed her hands along his back, instead of encountering the wool of his trousers, she found warm skin and a well-muscled rear end.

“My,” she exclaimed, wide-eyed and breathless.

His grin grew in response, and he raised his eyebrows with a flirtatious tease. “You like that?”

Lord, she hoped that was a rhetorical question because other than a flirtatious reply, critical thinking was beyond her. “It’s not too bad,” she teased back. She wasn’t complaining, but, she was certain there was more to lovemaking, and she was ready.

“Are you sure?” The grin faded, and his beautiful face turned serious. Dark gold hair hung down in charming dishevelment. Her gaze followed the column of his throat and paused to take in the definition of his chest and the dusting of wheat-colored hair. Her eyes traced the trail of hair leading down his stomach to…

Oh my God.

He was huge. A shiver passed through her at the thought of
that
going
there
. Were all men like this, or was Henry extraordinary?

“I think so.”.

He bent and kissed her. While he invaded her mouth, his fingers found the secret place he had treated so lovingly moments before. She couldn’t control her body’s responses to him. Her hips rose as if to beckon him to her. She broke the kiss and gave a gasping scream when one finger slid inside her, gliding in and out, then he added another finger and her hips jerked, her bottom coming clear off the carpet of thyme.

“Henry,” she called to him. “Yes, Henry.”

His fingers left to be replaced by the smooth, bulbous head of his arousal. “Are you sure? I’ll stop now if you want me to.” But his eyes begged her to go on, his panting breaths in rhythm with hers. There was no way she was letting Mr. Honorable back under the tree now.

“No,” she implored.

“There might be some pain, but I’ll try to--”

“Henry,” Olivia interrupted. His unleashed power hesitated above her, barely touching her. She did her best to ground her hips to his, begging with her body.

He swooped down for a deep kiss, his tongue mimicking the motion he made with his hips, and at last he glided inside her. There was a momentary pang and then a feeling of fullness, completeness. He held as still as one of the marble statues in the garden just beyond the curtain of leaves secluding them from the world, his face starkly rigid.

“All right?” he asked against her cheek, strain evident in his voice.

“Um-hmm.”

His pelvis began a slow, steady rhythm, in and out, in and out. One strong hand slid down her hip and paused at her thigh. He pulled her leg up to catch her knee at his hip, allowing him to pump deeper inside her. Olivia’s hand gripped his biceps, her fingers digging into his flesh, feeling him flexing as he rocked back and forth.

He whispered in her ear mindless, senseless words Olivia didn’t bother to try to understand. Henry was truly a god, how else could this sensation be explained? His mouth found her neck, and he sucked lightly before gently nipping her skin.

“All right?” he asked.

“God, yes,” she moaned, her rapid breaths leaving her lightheaded. Or perhaps it was what he was doing to her. It didn’t matter—it was glorious. She saw the precipice again and wanted to throw herself off it, and she wanted Henry to come with her. “Yes. Yes.”

And she soared, tumbling over the edge to fly.

Henry slammed into her once more, twice, then he arched his back and groaned, his exquisite face raised to the heavens before he collapsed, his head buried in the crook of her neck.