The Wedding Affair (15 page)

In the moments when her attention was diverted, one of the bridesmaids had begun to entertain the rest with a cruelly accurate imitation of Andrew’s voice as he’d left them at the door of Halstead that afternoon. “Yes, indeed,” she drawled, “my horse Dobbin is my very best friend, don’t you know.”

Suddenly all urge to laugh was gone; how dare this privileged young woman make fun of someone who was unable to strike back? Kate was about to intervene when she realized that for once, the duke had obeyed his mother—at least it seemed the gentlemen had sat over their port for only minutes before coming to join the ladies.

The bridesmaids weren’t expecting them so soon—especially the one who, with her back to the door, was so caught up in her performance that she didn’t notice the newcomers. “Don’t you think I even look like my horse?” she asked earnestly. Her voice was slightly husky, with a wicked similarity to Andrew’s accent. “He’s the more handsome, of course.”

The girl standing next to her gave her a hard poke. The bridesmaid turned round so fast she lost her balance and stumbled into Lady Daphne, who said something under her breath about clumsy oafs.

Andrew laughed. “You’ve quite a gift for mimicry, Miss… what was your name again?”

The erring bridesmaid flushed a most unbecoming shade of scarlet and dropped a ragged curtsey.

Kate was nonplussed. In one lightning-fast stroke, Andrew had disarmed the young woman’s jest while making clear she wasn’t important enough for him to remember her name.

“Well played,” Lady Stone murmured. “How I wish I’d had a bet riding on the outcome of that little stunt!”

Andrew Carlisle was in no need of Kate’s meager attempts to defend him. In fact, she thought, she could do worse than to learn from the master.

***

Without Kate’s cheerful chatter and Maggie the housemaid rattling around as she carried out her duties, the cottage seemed very quiet. Or perhaps, Olivia admitted, the silence was inside her head and came from the oppressive knowledge of what she had committed herself to do. She managed to behave normally through the evening, but only because she knew the duke would be too busy with his guests to arrive on her doorstep anytime soon.

She helped to give Charlotte her supper, tucked her in, and offered a story. Her little girl considered. “Tell me Cinderella, Mama.”

Olivia wanted to howl at the irony of her choice. A heroine wearing rags, a hero who possessed even more arrogance than wealth… How could anyone over the age of three believe two such different people could ever achieve a truly happy ending? “How about the lady and the duke instead?” she muttered. “Only the names and the ending have changed.”

Charlotte shook her head firmly and put her cheek down against her mother’s breast to listen. By the time Cinderella dropped her slipper as she left the ball, Charlotte was sound asleep—and Olivia was delighted not to have to once more recite a happy ending that was so foolishly saccharine.

Olivia settled the little girl against her pillow and looked across the room to where Nurse was sewing by firelight, hemming a new pinafore for Charlotte to replace the one ruined by grape juice. Where she’d found the fabric, Olivia didn’t know—and she wasn’t about to ask.

After tonight… or, more accurately, after the next week… things would be much easier. She would focus on that.

She took her hair down to brush and braid it, and changed into the nicest nightgown she owned—which wasn’t saying much, she realized as she gave the garment a good inspection. The once-fine lawn fabric had grown limp with age and multiple launderings. She put on a dark wrapper and went downstairs to check that the fire was banked and the house secured.

And to wait.

It seemed an age to Olivia before she heard the soft neigh of a horse. A little later, she caught the hushed sounds of footsteps in the garden and opened the door.

The Duke of Somervale loomed up out of the night. For a moment, as his shadow swayed in the light of her single candle, he seemed supernaturally large, and she quailed at the thought of giving herself to him. If he swooped on her…

He paused on the step. “I found a shed at the bottom of the garden for my horse. There was even hay there.”

“Stale, I’m afraid, since I’ve had no horses here since I moved in.”

“He’ll manage well enough—and will appreciate the rations in his own stable. Do you ride?”

“I used to.”

“My sister is arranging an outing tomorrow. You must join us.” He stood very still, looking at her.

Checking out the bargain he’d made, she thought. The candlestick trembled in her hand.

He took it before the wax could spill over her wrapper and blew out the flame. “Come outside with me. The stars are beautiful. It’s a very fine night.”

She was too startled to object as he took her hand and led her back to the secluded nook where they had toyed with tea that afternoon. Despite the overhanging branch, the stars were indeed beautiful—like a scattering of gems on a field of black velvet. She was startled to see that on the ground, over the patch of moss, he had laid a thick blanket he must have brought with him.

“Come and sit with me,” he said. “Not the most elegant of furnishings, but more comfortable than the chair you offered me this afternoon.”

She laughed, and in the faint starlight she saw him smile.

The blanket was soft, though it smelled of horses. A moss-covered hump underneath formed a natural pillow, so she lay back to better study the night sky. “I never learned their names.” She pointed at the brightest of the stars. “What is that one?”

“Some other night I’ll teach you about stars.” His voice was thick as he stripped off his coat and boots and stretched out beside her.

Olivia studied his face, suddenly all sharp angles in the dim light. Her breath caught in anxiety. Could she go through with this?

But there was no choice left now. Whatever she wanted no longer mattered, for a man who had come so far would not be denied.

Still, his kiss was unexpectedly gentle, as soft as a spring shower, and she relaxed a little. Lying here next to him, with the scent of roses and moss and grass and horses and hay, was pleasant.

He braced himself above her and kissed her with what seemed infinite patience. He tasted her as if she were a dessert too rich to gobble—nibbling at the corners of her mouth and teasing her lips with the tip of his tongue until she relaxed and allowed him to explore.

Only then did his hand move to her wrapper, untying the belt and spreading the garment wide to expose the almost sheer fabric of her nightgown. Slowly he unlaced the bodice. Her nipples peaked as a whisper of cool air passed over them, and he palmed her breast to warm her, watching all the while.

An arc of heat ran all the way from the nipple, where his thumb lazily traced the rosy aureole, down between her legs, and she felt herself flush with embarrassment. He gave a soft chuckle and let his hand slide down over her ribs, her hip, her leg, and then back up under her nightgown. His touch was firm and masterful—he was claiming every inch of her as his. He explored her calf, her knee, her thigh. She let him spread her legs, though she bucked despite herself when he rested his palm over her mound.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, and kissed her deeply once more as his fingertip slid slowly inside her. He found a most sensitive spot, and she mewled in protest. “Has no one ever touched you there before, my dear?”

He sounded surprised, and Olivia felt a wash of uneasiness as he withdrew his hand. What if he found her inadequate? Surely these were things a fallen woman should be familiar with. “I’m not much of a mistress, I fear,” she confessed.

He smiled. “I assure you I do not feel the lack.” He laid her palm against the front of his breeches. His erection strained the fabric, and as she felt the size of him, Olivia trembled. But a mistress had duties… Uncertain of what to do, she rubbed a little, and he pulled her hand away.

She was instantly chagrined. “I’m truly sorry. You must tell me what you like—and what you don’t.”

“I like
that
far too much to let you continue just now.” He released himself from her. Though the night was not chilly, Olivia shivered without his strong warmth beside her. He drew her wrapper up around her shoulders.

“I don’t understand.” She felt breathless. “I thought…”

He knelt between her legs, and she subsided. At least she knew now what to expect, and she braced herself for his invasion.

But instead of settling on top of her, he spread her knees wider, his hands warm against the sensitive flesh at the top of her thighs. He stroked the slit of her womanhood with his thumb, and Olivia arched at the unexpectedness of his touch.

“That’s the way,” he whispered. “I want you wet and hot and eager when I take you.”

Olivia tried not to sigh. As if he could simply command such a thing… as if she could produce such a response from sheer determination. Since she had only a vague idea of what he was talking about, how could she meet his desires?

So at this, too, she was bound to be a failure. She wondered how long he would wait before he realized what he asked was impossible. And would he be angry then?

He bent his head, and at the first flick of his tongue, she arched up from the blanket. “You’re exquisitely sensitive,” he murmured, and the vibrations of his voice sent a rumble through her belly as though the earth was moving under her. She tried to pull away, but he held her, and ever so gently he licked.

The delicate little nub of flesh quivered under the pressure of his tongue. Gradually she relaxed as she came to believe that however odd the sensations he was creating—however odd that he wanted to touch her
there
, and in such a way!—she would be safe from harm with him. And yet, at the same time, pressure was building inside her, and there was nothing relaxing about it. The conflicting sensations puzzled her.

He stopped for a moment, and she jerked up off the blanket. He laughed and went back to caressing her.

She felt empty, hollow, and lonely, but she knew what would make her feel better. Even as she marveled at the idea that she wanted to be possessed—to have him inside her—the need grew beyond bearing. She fumbled again, trying to reach for him, and when she could only capture his shoulder, she tugged at the fine linen of his shirt, trying to pull him up to her.

He left her then, and she was bereft for a moment until she realized he hadn’t abandoned her but was only unfastening his breeches. She tried to help, running her fingertips over him to find the lacings, and he gave a breathless murmur and pushed her hand away. A moment later he stretched out on the blanket beside her, and as she turned to him, he rolled onto his back and lifted her over him.

His penis—hot and thick and urgent—nudged between her legs and found her opening, and he clutched her hips. Olivia tried not to think about the size of him, and how he would thrust into her—but he didn’t press. Instead he raised her slightly and said, “Take your time.”

She wriggled a little, and he groaned. Slowly, she settled down over him, taking him inside her inch by inch, feeling his heat sliding deeper inside her and meeting her own, filling her slowly and easily.

So that was what he had meant when he had said she should be wet and hot. It seemed she could do as he asked after all. And as for eager—she felt herself tighten around him, urging him deeper, and met his gaze in wonder.

His hands moved upward to cup her breasts as the full length of him slid home inside her. Her wrapper nestled closely around them like a cocoon, a dark shadow against the blanketed moss.

Slowly, he thrust and retreated, thrust and retreated, and she caught the rhythm and rode it, shifting a little to increase the sensation. Her mouth was dry, her throat tight, her breathing harsh. Something very important, she knew dimly, lay just out of her reach…

“You learn quickly.” His voice was hoarse. “Come for me, Olivia.”

An instant later, she knew what he meant—knew what she had been striving for. He held her hips and ground himself up inside her and held steady while she came apart as her climax took her. She cried out and threw her head back, arching against him.

When she collapsed, limp and sated, he stayed still for another few seconds before he rolled her under him. She could feel both his hunger and the tautness of his control, and she urged him on until his restraint broke and she welcomed the violence of his thrusts. Before he was finished, she was calling out along with him as another climax rolled over her.

Minutes passed before she could breathe again without gasping, and she thought from the way he lay across her that he was having some trouble getting air himself. When he shifted his weight off her, she was reluctant to let him go. But he didn’t go far. He snuggled her against his side and said, “Next time we’ll do better.”

“Better than that?” she asked doubtfully, and he laughed and kissed her, and suddenly her body was thrumming again to his touch.

Seven

Could there really be so many shooting stars on a single evening, Simon wondered, or were his eyes going bad? Probably just his eyes, he decided, for nothing else seemed to be working right, either, in the wake of the most powerful orgasm he could remember. His brain was fuzzy and his muscles were limp, too.