Surrender to a Wicked Spy (16 page)

She hesitated, her breath quickening. Her nipples turned to stone beneath his teasing fingertips. "Ah… might I not have both?"

He chuckled at her greed and slid his longest finger inside her. It slipped in readily, for she'd gone moist in a matter of moments. He took her small gasp into his mouth as he drove slowly into her, in and out. After a moment, she began to ride his hand's motion, thrusting her pelvis toward him, then back, then forward again.

His vision glazed as he thought about how she might ride him someday, grinding hard against him as he drove himself deep. She moved her lower body faster, her urgency escaping her in small cries as she lathed his hand in dampness, until he felt her climax tighten her flesh about his probing finger. He didn't stop there.

Using her wetness, he slid another finger alongside the first and pressed within her slowly but not tentatively. She wriggled in surprise. "Take it," he ordered softly. "Take everything I give you."

She nodded, still breathless from her orgasm, and permissively held still while he drove into her again and again, first slowly, then faster. At last she could bear it no more and began to move on his hand. Dane wrapped his other arm around her waist to balance her against her own frenzy and lowered his mouth to one exposed nipple, then the other, sucking them rigid while she bucked in his grasp.

She climaxed again, great heaving shudders that sent her knees right out from under her. She sagged in his embrace. He pulled his hand from her, drying it on her petticoat as he let her skirts fall. Then he tugged her bodice up and stood her on her feet.

She was breathing hard and her hair had fallen from its pins and her face was flushed—and he thought she may have bitten her bottom lip at some point, for it was plumped and pink. It only made him want to make her climax again.

She must have caught the look in his eye, for she backed a step and held up a hand. "No, please…"

He took one long step and caught her to him. "I can make you take back that 'no,' " he growled playfully.

She dropped her forehead to his chest. "I know you can," she said, still breathing hard. "But the clock is about to chime for dinner and I haven't changed yet—"

There was a rattle at the doorknob of the outer room. It separated them like a spark. Dane turned away to adjust his aching erection within his trousers and Olivia quickly rolled up the clever case with the rods inside it.

She had just latched it shut when Petty entered. "What gown do you wish, my lady—" She stopped short when she saw Dane. "Oh, so sorry, my lord!" She began to back from the room.

Dane smiled at the girl, although Olivia noticed he kept his hands folded before him. He was obviously striving for a casual air, for she'd never seen him be so friendly with one of his staff. He was usually most businesslike. "What is your name, girl?" he asked Petty.

Petty bobbed and shot a triumphant look at Olivia. "I'm Elspeth, my lord."

Dane nodded. "A lovely name." He turned to Olivia. "Don't you think so, my dear?"

Olivia wished she could tell him what he did to impressionable young girls with his smile and his looks and his form and his easy compliments. What he did to her as well, for that matter.

"Indeed," she replied. "So it must be Elspeth and Leticia? And Henrietta, of course." She turned to Dane. "Did you realize that you employ Elspeth's younger twin sisters as well?" She smiled fondly at the maid, whose eyes shot sparks back at her. "And what a hardworking trio they are."

Dane smiled at her proudly. "You already know my staff well, I see, right down to the housemaids. Well done."

Olivia cast Petty a triumphant glance of her own before she bobbed her own little curtsy. "Why, thank you, kind sir!" Then she gave him a little push. "Now, I must prepare for dinner. If I'm not mistaken, Proffit is gnashing his teeth in impatience even now."

Dane rolled his eyes. "Proffit's a genius, but he will fuss so." But he went, with a bow to her and a distant nod to Petty.

Olivia turned to look at the maid. "Elspeth? Really? I should think you'd prefer to be called that instead of Petty."

Petty scowled. "Don't think my preference matters much. My mum named us all such pretty names, and my da never uses them." She shrugged. "So no one does."

She reached into Olivia's wardrobe and selected a pale green silk. It was prettier than the deceased gray silk and had a much more flattering neckline. Olivia suspected the modiste, driven past her last nerve, had simply disregarded Lady Greenleigh's specifications.

Mother did tend to have that effect on people.

"That handsome Lord Dryden is dining with you again, my lady."

Olivia searched that sentence for some kind of snide subtext, but it was nothing but truth. "Yes, he's handsome indeed." She smiled to herself as she turned to let Petty unfasten her sprigged muslin. "Not as handsome as his lordship, however."

She heard Petty sigh. "No, indeed, my lady. Although Letty likes him better, but she's always gone daft over the dark ones."

Olivia turned her head to look at Petty over her shoulder. "Are we having a normal conversation, Miss Elspeth?"

Petty blushed and looked away. "Seems like." She shrugged. "Gossip was, you were going to fire us all and bring your own people in."

Olivia blinked. "My people are more than ready for their well-earned retirement. I don't think anyone here needs to worry, although Mrs. Huff is beginning to drive me mad."

Petty gasped. "Oh no, my lady! Mrs. Huff is right kindly, once you get to know her. She gave me and my sisters our positions as a favor to my mum. It's only her bones aching so that makes her cross. She's got the arthritimus real bad, she does."

Olivia bent to let Petty pull the fresh gown over her head. "I… ow… do… out… at."

Her head popped out the neckline. Petty was frowning at her. "What was that, my lady?"

Olivia smiled. "I know what to do about Mrs. Huff's… ailment." She couldn't bring herself to repeat Petty's mangling of the word, but she didn't want the girl to feel criticized, not when she was finally being almost friendly.

Olivia went to the writing desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. She inked her quill and quickly jotted down a list of herbs and ingredients. "Take this to Cook and have her make up a gallon of this tonight. Tell Mrs. Huff that she must wring cloths in it and lay them over her joints, and do it again as long as the mixture stays hot." She handed the list to Petty.

The girl took it hesitantly, seeming rather uncomfortable. "Yes, my lady, but…"

Olivia crossed her arms. "But Mrs. Huff won't have anything to do with it if it comes from me."

Petty nodded, her gaze on the floor. "Don't be angry with her, my lady. She's been keeping house for his lordship for ten years and she's afraid no other employer will want her with her joints so bad."

Olivia nodded. "What if you told her you got the recipe from someone else?"

Petty smiled slyly. "Like my mum."

Olivia grinned and dusted her hands briskly. "Now, what do you have in mind for my hair tonight? Something that won't fall out, I hope."

Petty slipped the list into her sleeve, then made a sour face. "Like it's my fault your hair won't stay pinned. Mayhap if you didn't spring about so…"

Olivia seated herself in the vanity chair, serenely confident that Petty would make her look wonderful. Now she knew that sour demeanor was just… well, it was just Petty, that was all.

In no time Olivia was dressed for dinner. She only hoped dinner could be dispensed with as quickly. She and Dane had a rendezvous planned tonight that just might change everything.

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Dane found it very difficult to sedately eat his dinner. He kept seeing Olivia with her head thrown back, fully dressed with only her nipples revealed, clutching his shoulders and giving her all to him without reservation.

The fact that an entire such night stretched before them only made the fork shake more so in his grip. He sat there, his cock still half-erect, his palms sweating, thinking of what more heights he could bring her to tonight.

That was not all. His own dark fantasies had begun seeping into his "education" of her. He wanted to command her to fall to her knees and take him into her mouth. The fact that his sensually obedient wife might just do it only further inflamed his imagination.

He let his gaze rest on Olivia's bosom across the table. The pale green gown showed off her soft pink skin to perfection, but the bodice was a mite too snug. Her abundant flesh pressed upward, as if she were going to overflow her neckline with a bounty of womanhood.

Dane's erection stiffened further. He'd once heard of a prostitute who would press her large breasts together and—

"… don't you think so, Dane?"

Dane jerked his head around to stare blankly at Marcus. "What?"

Marcus flicked a knowing glance at Olivia and her amazing bosom, then grinned. "Nothing. Never mind." He put down his fork. "Shall we skip the usual formalities and kick me out now? Or shall we play a few inattentive rounds of cards first?"

Olivia slammed napkin to tabletop with lightning speed. "Oh-so-sorry-you-must-go. Do come again soon!" She stood.

Dane leaped to his feet so abruptly his chair teetered behind him. "It was a pleasure to see you, Marcus." He never took his gaze off his wife's sparkling, eager eyes. "Go home now, if you please."

Presumably, Marcus left on cue. Dane neither remembered nor cared. All that counted was that in a matter of seconds he had Olivia alone in her bedchamber, the door shut and the green gown on the floor.

"Not the floor," she protested indistinctly—probably because his tongue was in her mouth. "It's my best."

Dane only growled and kicked it away. "S'too tight anyway," he muttered as he sucked on her neck. "I'll buy you ten more."

She shrugged and grabbed his shirttails. "You can buy a new one of these while you're at it—" She ripped the shirt up and off him, careless of the torn seams.

"I like your chest," she panted, stroking her spread hands over his pectorals. "You're like a stone wall, except where it ripples under your skin."

"I like your chest more," he said, panting as he divested her of everything but her stockings and garters. "No, leave those on," he said when she reached for her garters.

"Where's the box?"

"Did you lock the door?"

"I'll build up the fire."

"Why are you building up the fire? Come here!" Olivia blinked in surprise when Dane tossed the bed pillows to the carpet before the fire and stretched out there.

He looked like a decadent pagan god, lounging there with the orange firelight licking his golden skin and hair, wearing only black trousers. The room suddenly felt unbearably chilly where she stood clad in nothing but her stockings and garters.

She grabbed up the carved case and dropped to her knees on the carpet before him. "You must remove your clothing as well," she said primly. " 'Tis only fair."

He drew back, his inviting smile beginning to fade. "Olivia, I don't think—"

"No, I don't think you do." She crossed her arms.

His eyes nearly crossed. She was beginning to get a glimmer of how her bosom affected him. Tit for tat, after all, since his entire body affected her that way. A body she would very much like to see all of.

"If we are going to surmount—" Her own choice of words halted her. "I mean, rise above—" Oh dear, the image
that
provoked! She pressed the back of her hand to her heated forehead. Blast her ridiculous tendency to redden! She took a breath and tried one more time. "If we are to breach this—"

Dane fell back on the pillows, laughing. "You can stop now," he said with a smile. "I think I understand."

She tilted her head, smiling as she watched him laugh at her. She didn't care as long as he was truly laughing in this easy way, without a shred of his lazy, genial facade in evidence.

She flipped the catches on the case and let it roll open away from her. "Very well then. Time's a-wasting," she said crisply. She unwrapped the first rod. "I take it that this is the usual size?"

He blinked. "How would I know?"

She paused, caught by something carved into the rod. "Heavens, I think these are little people! And they're—" She looked up him with her eyes wide. "Can we do this?"

He snatched the rod away from her and held it close to the fire, peering at it. "Ah. Well, ah…" He swallowed hugely. "Yes, if you like." His casual air was not convincing at all. "I suppose so. Someday."

He cleared his throat, his laughter flown before the dark hunger that now sparked in his eyes. "You know, my lady, I'm striving very hard to pay attention to what you're saying, but…"

"But the night flies by." She flopped down on the pillows beside him. "Have at, then."

"Have at?" Dane leaned over her, stroking a finger down her cheek. "No need to be so dispassionate about it," he said softly.

She arched her neck, excited by the fierce desire gleaming in his blue eyes. "You know," she said dreamily, "when I'm with you, I couldn't be dispassionate if I tried."

His slow, knowing smile sent shivers through her. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it. She let herself be there, willing and trusting, for he was Dane. Strong, gentle, masterful Dane, who she knew would never hurt her, nor desert her, nor deny her.

That warm, protected place in the palm of her husband's hand was her home.

Dane smiled down at his willing bride. Her face shone with just the right amount of wifely affection. He'd done well, keeping matters amiable and light, attaching her fancy using her body's responses and not her heartstrings.

He took the ivory rod, warmed from his hand, and stroked it down the center line of her body, between her breasts and down over her belly. "Open," he commanded softly.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she did so, letting her thighs fall open compliantly. She obviously thought he meant to thrust the rod directly inside her. She would allow it, too, but that wasn't his intention at all. He suspected that the raised carvings of the rod had another use than merely instructional.