ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories) (117 page)

              Lisbeth was still the absolutely charming child she had been, save for the fact that she had managed to cure her of that terrible lisp. It seemed as though the minor error in her speech had been brought on by a sudden attack of unexplained nerves after the death of her mother, and with a year's worth of elocution lessons, Lisbeth had morphed into sweet little Elizabeth. Her eyes had taken a year to lose that desperate hunger, as if everyone in her life was going to leave her constantly. She was stronger now, more independent, and still the most lovable child Lady Olivia had ever encountered.

              But it was only in Buxley's case that Olivia knew just how serious her situation had become. He had experienced a growth in the past year that left him at least a head taller than his tallest sister, and he began to look like the oldest child in the family. When visiting him in the stables one day, a task that had left him stronger, leaner, and been a consistently positive portion of his life, he asked Olivia what would happen if she ever received a proposal from another man.

              Olivia had laughed. “Why Buxley, you know I have no gentlemen callers. My life is here, with you and your sisters now.”

              Buxley patted the gray-spotted mare on her nose and she whickered softly, bending her gentle head to brush against his face. “I know you are now,” he said, reaching into the special pocket on his work breeches for some oats, “But what happens when Elizabeth comes out?”

              What would happen, indeed?

              Although she assured him that she would be with the Worchesters for as long as they needed her, Olivia had to admit Buxley made an excellent point. There would be a time when the youngest child would be grown; a quick mental calculation put her at the ripe old age of thirty three when that occurred, and a sudden cold sweat overtook Olivia unexpectedly. What came after the Worchesters? Would she find another family, and then another, until she was too old to be relatable as a governess anymore? Or, far worse, would she be forced to go back to London after all, seemingly defeated despite all of the progress and wonderful changes she had effected in the past year in the lives of others?

              Perhaps she first realized it when the duke himself had suggested that she visit her aunt in London. Always one to stand on formality, he had arranged for Mrs. Huxting to call her into his study on one particularly rainy afternoon. There was always rain in these parts, and it was doing strange things to Olivia's mood. As she settled into the straight-backed chair across from the duke, Olivia felt a sense of foreboding. Was this where it all ended? Not certain what made her think of such a thing, Olivia still prepared for the worst. She tucked a strand of the wavy brown hair she always wore up now behind her ear and surreptitiously cast a glance at her employer.

              His hands, square-tipped and strong, drummed against the mahogany of his desk; that was the first sign of nerves that Olivia had ever seen from him. Mrs. Huxting had stood behind her at the doorframe, silent and stoic as ever.

              “It has come to our attention that you are not entirely happy here,” said the duke without preamble, and Olivia's heart jumped.

              “Whatever makes you say that? And who has noticed this?” she asked, hardly daring to drag her eyes away from his hands.

              “Why the children and I, of course,” replied the duke, genuinely surprised. “You have made us all so happy here, and we cannot stand to see you anything less than joyful with us.”

              “So you are letting me go?”

              She allowed herself to look up at him, and caught sight of his eyebrows as they skyrocketed into his hairline. Concern creased his face, and it warmed it gently, as if she had somehow managed to stoke a fire nearby. She had seen that look cross his face often, but only when it came to his children.

              “Lady Olivia,” he said, sliding a paper off of his desk and reaching out to hand it to her with his strong, capable hands. “I have written to you aunt to see when she would have a week or so to entertain you, and she has written me back that in a fortnight, she will be able to have you for the same amount of time.”

              Olivia took the paper from his hands, opened it, and looked up at him in complete shock. A sudden burst of warmth and relief came over her and she realized how incredibly fortunate she was to be in the company of such a generous man.

              “You look so relieved, Lady Olivia,” commented the duke, “I half-expected you thought I was giving you notice,” he finished with a small smile.

              Olivia shook her head, not daring to say out loud that was exactly what she had been thinking. She took the coach to her aunt's and spent two wonderful weeks with her aunt and Mildred. Magically, she managed to remain sequestered enough that no news of Ben and Cynthia Soothley reached her, and she arrived back at Worchester Abbey refreshed and revived. She had managed to sidestep all of her aunt and Mildred's curiosities about the duke, although her aunt had given her many a knowing glance; she had managed to ignore those just as successfully.

              When she returned, she was expertly waylaid by Mrs. Huxting and Buxley, who insisted she see the new colt Buxley had birthed over the fortnight she was away. It was a delightful sight, those slender legs buckling under the weight of newness, and Olivia found it completely charmed her, head to toe. But there was an air of conspiracy about the two, and the mystery was solved only when she was allowed to enter Worchester Abbey once more, to find it transformed.

              Gone was the air of doom and emptiness. In the place of all of the dark curtains and draperies were beiges and creams; all of the broken bits and pieces were plastered and rebuilt, and Olivia began to see what Worchester Abbey must have looked like long ago, when everyone in it was happy.

              “Do you like it, dear?” asked Mrs. Huxting kindly.

              “Oh yes!” cried Olivia, hardly daring to believe her eyes. “But whatever prompted such a transformation?”

              The older woman looked at her as if she had gone slightly mad. “Why you, dear.”

              Olivia scrunched her forehead. “What do you mean?”

              Mrs. Huxting had a smile playing over her lips, a rare occurrence for the formidable lady. “You have brought so much joy into this house over the past year, Lady Olivia, so they just wanted to show you how much they appreciate you. You have one final surprise awaiting you in your bedchamber.”

              Olivia felt her heart beat fast as she approached the closed door of the room that had once seemed so lonely and was now more familiar than home. She knew it could have been none other than the duke who had effected all of these changes, and she had to wonder at the fast pacing of her heart as she imagined what lay in wait for her behind that door.

              She opened it to find that her room was now done in light green silks and satins, and that a wonderful new bed beckoned her to sleep. She walked all around it, skimming the four posters and striped canopy with the tips of her fingers, smiling to herself.

              “Do you like it, Lady Olivia?”

              Olivia turned to find little Elizabeth, her hands clasped together, standing at her door. She rushed over to the child, wrapped her in her arms, and cried out, “Oh, dear heart, I love it! Was it all your idea?”

              “Father's,” snuffed the little girl against her neck.

              It was then that Olivia became aware of another pair of eyes on her, and when she lifted her head up, she made direct eye contact with the duke. She caught him, unexpectedly, in a moment of rare vulnerability.

              The way he looked at her knocked the breath clean out of her body. There was a heat in his eyes mixed in with a tenderness she had always known was in him, but had never dared to dream could be hers, even for a moment. She knew it must have been something about the combination of not seeing her for several weeks and the image of her holding his youngest daughter in her arms, but what caught her most off guard was that something inside of her was responding to the sight of him in a most unexpected way.

              For in that moment, she wanted to drop everything and run to him. To cradle his dark head in her arms and comfort him the way she had comforted his children. To kiss that full bottom lip and run her hands over his hollowed-out cheeks. To trace the lines of his face with her fingers and call him her own.

              Lady Olivia Knightbridge realized, with a sudden start, that she was quite in love with her employer, the Duke of Worchester Abbey.

              And there he was, holding out a hand to help her to rise to her feet.

              “I am glad you like it, Lady Olivia,” he told her, his voice just slightly hoarse. She could tell he was suppressing a deep emotion of some kind. “We have all missed you so.”

              She felt the jolt of electricity enter her skin as surely as she knew the sun rose in the morning. And that is when she went tumbling, head over heels over body and soul, for the man who wanted nothing more than to do her a kindness.

              It was a long time before all the children were put safely to bed. After Elizabeth had finally curled up her toes, Olivia considered her reflection in the mirror. The clear green eyes and waves of hair that framed her face so perfectly. She had never considered herself lovely, but now she was seeing herself as the duke might have seen her, and she considered what she had never considered before. How tired she looked, how easily ravished. She had given her heart and soul to the Worchesters, and now, it seemed, she was truly giving her heart to the paterfamilias, as well. She reached out and touched one fingertip to her reflection, imagining it was him. She could see the image of him behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face into her neck. She felt at once powerful and completely desolate, for it was the juncture between what she wanted and what could never be. A man easily ten years her senior, a man who she suspected felt the same things for her as she did for him, but recalling the pain she had felt with Ben, who she had also thought this way about, she was terrified to risk anything. And there were more people involved this time; should there be pain, it would no longer be only her own. Elizabeth, Katherine, and Buxley all stood to lose something, and she would not do that to them. Would she?

              It was then that there was a gentle rap at her door and Mrs. Huxting came in to announce that the duke was requesting her presence in his study. Olivia's heart nearly did a somersault straight out of her chest. It seemed there was no end to the surprises this night.

              She entered his study like a ghost, a spectral being that just appeared. “You wanted to see me,” she stated. She felt like she was drifting, rootless from the source of everything that could have possibly held her down in the mortal world. He looked up from his writing, his eyes dark and intense.

              “Olivia,” he said, and then stopped to clear his throat. “Lady Knightbridge, please, sit.” He gestured towards one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire that his valet had stoked. It crackled high, and Olivia stared deep into its flames until spots swam in front of her eyes. Her chest rose and fell as the duke paced before her; uncertain of herself, she did as he suggested and sank into the folds of the chair that threatened to swallow her whole. “You have much been missed by the children these past weeks,” he began, then stopped short again, as if he wanted to say something, but could not bring himself to.

              It was Olivia who found boldness in the warm embrace of the chair in the dark room. “Just the children, duke?” There was no mistaking her implication, and she found courage in her daring words. The duke himself looked sharply up and just as sharply, settled himself into the chair across from her. She imagine his pulse beating just as wildly as her own, could feel that they were on the cusp of something from which there was no return. She looked at him, and a hunger filled her, a hunger which may not have been becoming on a gently bred young lady, but made perfect sense to her. His eyes, his face, the wild curls of his hair—she wanted to touch it all.

              He raised his eyes and looked at her. “Not just the children.”

              “Who then?” It was almost a whisper. But it rang louder in the duke's dark study than if she had shouted it.

              “Me.” His voice was hoarse, and they both were stunned.

              It was a most sensual moment. When the duke's dark eyes settled on her face, she felt herself come alive under his touch. It was almost palpable, the way he traced the line of her jaw, the curvature of her lips. Her body felt lighter, more voluptuous somehow, as if by the touch of his eyes, she blossomed from a jilted girl into a woman. There was nothing in his look to suggest anything but an appreciation for the way she looked. She licked her lips instinctively, and ever so slightly arched her back, wondering if she could have the same effect on him that he had on her. At the barely audible intake of breath, so light she may have imagined it, Olivia was filled with the secret thrill of success. It was sensual because she felt the full weight of her womanly power in the secret depths of her belly, and knew that she had the prerogative to wield it.

              She rose from the deep seat of the overstuffed chair and heard the rustle of her skirt as it fell to the floor. As she crossed the room to the tumbler of water that stood on the mahogany table on the duke's left, she felt his eyes follow her. The smallest movement, a dip of the hip, a rise in her bosom as she breathed, seemed to electrify the moment. She turned her back to him to pour herself a crystal glass of water and did not see him move. So it was quite a shock to her system when she suddenly felt the warmth of his hand, so much larger than hers, close over hers.