The Wedding Affair (31 page)

What should really terrify her, Kate thought with her last fragment of reason, was the fact she was neither shocked nor frightened, but eager. She wanted to find out what came next. Her skin was on fire, and if she could have managed to take her hands off him, she might have torn off her clothes herself.

The library door swung wide, creaking just a little. By the time the butler was fully in view, Kate and Andrew were standing several feet apart. She didn’t know whether she had moved or he had. She felt a flood of relief that sanity had returned.

But her relief was mixed with another emotion—one she didn’t want to study too closely.

“My apologies, sir, Miss Blakely,” Greeley said. “I believed the room to be empty and came in to extinguish the lights.”

Kate’s voice was—miraculously—steady. “We’re just leaving, Greeley. Carry on with your duties.”

She was crossing the hall with her head high when Andrew caught up with her. “I was right, Kate. We are not so different after all. You
are
an adventurer—in the ways that really count.”

She shrugged. “An interesting sensation, I suppose, but that is all. Hardly something I care to repeat.”

He laughed softly. “Then we shall not repeat ourselves but go forward instead. You will let me know, will you not, when you’re ready for the next stage of the journey?”

***

Olivia reached for Simon’s hand and tipped the sapphire stickpin into his palm. He looked down at it and then up at her. “This is yours, Olivia. You—”

Stung, she said fiercely, “Don’t you dare say I earned it!”

“I would not insult you in such a way. This was a gift—a symbol of a promise.”

“Well, that
symbol
nearly undid me tonight when I dropped it in the drawing room. If your mother had gotten a better look…”

He smiled slowly. “You were carrying it with you, my dear?”

“What else am I to do with a valuable piece of jewelry? Leave it lying on my dressing table for any chance intruder to find?”

“If you’re giving it back because you have nowhere safe to keep it, I shall hold it in trust until you can safely possess it once more. Or would you prefer something else instead? It is not a lady’s jewel and would have to be reset before you could wear it. And though the sapphire would look lovely against your hair, it’s not at all the right color for your eyes.”

“I am not bargaining for a replacement.”

He didn’t seem to be listening. “An emerald clasp, perhaps. Or a pair of hair combs.”

Olivia shivered. “Not combs! I mean what I say, Your Grace. I never should have let you leave the trinket with me, and I never want to see it again.”

He turned the jewel over in his hand. “Never? Now that seems harsh, my dear. To say I can’t wear a particular jewel because you are offended at the mere sight of it—”

“I didn’t mean anything of the sort, only that I want no more responsibility for keeping your jewels safe.”

“I own I am glad the stickpin has come back to me, for it has always been a particular favorite. Now, however, I will enjoy not only a treasured bauble but a lively memory as well.”

She tipped her head back and stared up at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes. You said you dropped it in front of my mother?”

“Very nearly.” Once more, Olivia felt the sheer terror of the moment. “And if you dare to say
that
only adds to its charm, I’ll take it back and stab you.”

He laughed and tucked the stickpin safely away. “Now may I take you downstairs, Lady Reyne?”

She picked up her lamp and put her hand on his arm. “Part of the way, perhaps. It would be obvious if you came to my room.”

“True enough,” he mused. “A risky business for you, smuggling a gentleman in and out of a bedroom right at the head of the main stairs. One would think my mother had planned the location for you, rather than arguing against it. At any rate, I have a better idea.”

Olivia stopped walking. “If you have some sort of mad notion of taking me to the duchess’s bedroom, I won’t do it.”

“My mother’s? Why would I…”

Olivia wished she hadn’t said anything, but his quizzical gaze demanded she give him an answer. “No. I meant your wife’s room.”

He took advantage of the pause to draw her close. “Since I have no wife,” he said against her lips, “one room is as good as another.”

“No, it isn’t. I suppose you won’t understand, but you must not defile the room reserved for your wife by taking a mistress there. You may not care now, but someday when you bring a wife to that room, you would regret the memories.”

“Then let’s go to my room.” His mouth moved with aching slowness over her temple, her cheek, her throat. “I would have given it up for you.”

“No,” Olivia said tartly. “You would have offered to share it with me.”

He smiled. “True enough. I honestly don’t care where we go, Olivia my sweet, as long as we make love. In a bed, without interruption.” He planted his feet wide apart and pulled her into him, clamping his thighs securely against her legs, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her until she forgot how to breathe. “And more importantly, without delay.”

Olivia couldn’t deny the thrill she felt with the evidence of his desire pressing against her. Her own heartbeat had speeded up. There was something compelling about his urgency—and the risk of being discovered added an extra level of excitement.

But she realized to her own surprise that down deep she didn’t believe the danger was real. The duke would not be caught, for a man of his experience would have planned everything, avoided any possibility of exposure… She was perfectly safe in his arms in whatever bed he chose.

“Your room is closer.” His voice was hoarse. “Or else I’m going to take you right here. It’s up to you.”

For a mad instant she considered. “There’s no bed here,” she pointed out, and reluctantly peeled herself away from him to lead the way down the stairs.

He stopped her halfway down the last flight and blew out the lamp she carried. Then he went ahead, walking as silently as a cat, to peer around the landing. “It’s safe,” he called softly, and she tiptoed down to him as he stood just outside her bedroom door. “Your maid won’t be waiting?”

Olivia shook her head and pushed open the door. She didn’t know how they got across the room to the bed, but she thought she was the one who lost her footing and overbalanced them. The duke twisted as they fell, so she landed on top of him.

“You’re not nearly as soft as a mattress,” she whispered, and he rolled until she was under him, pressed into the featherbed and unable to move. She looked up at him in the firelight, and the harsh beauty of his features made her insides melt with longing. She struggled to free herself, and he let her go—but she moved only enough to tug at her skirt.

“Does taking off your clothes feel like a waste of time?” he muttered, and at her nod, he laughed. “Then we are in agreement.” He raised her skirt, released the fastenings of his breeches, and answered the aching need inside her with a hard, deep thrust.

Their coupling was fast and tense, and for a moment Olivia gloried in the ferocity of her own needs, the throbbing and painful dark side of passion.

But something black hovered at the corners of her mind, swelling out to smother her desire. Something shrieked in her ears, growing louder until she couldn’t bear the sound. She went rigid in his arms, tried to push him away, and uttered a single tiny sob.

Instantly, the duke’s hold gentled. “I’ve hurt you. My sweet—”

“No.” Olivia could only gasp. “Not really. It was just… memories.”

“Memories? Tell me.”

How foolish of her. She tried to concentrate, letting herself feel the heat of him still fully sheathed inside her. But the magic had flown.

He seemed to know that too. He withdrew, very slowly as if giving her every opportunity to protest and draw him back—but she could not. Still, Olivia felt both bereft and guilty.

The duke kissed her temple and drew her gently against his side, almost in the same way she had cradled Charlotte against her body the night before to soothe the child. “Memories of Lord Reyne, you mean,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“The sorrow is mine. In my clumsiness, I reminded you of…”

“No!” She wiped away tears with her fists, suddenly anxious to take away the heaviness in his voice. “You
weren’t
clumsy. And I wanted to make love this time. I truly did. I don’t know what made me stop. Perhaps just because it was so fast… so hard…”

“You’re saying Lord Reyne raped you,” he said flatly.

“No.” Olivia’s voice was quiet. “He was my husband. He had the right.”

“The right of a husband to make love to his wife carries the responsibility to make the act of love pleasant for her. He was obliged to seduce you, not to take his own satisfaction without concern for yours.”

Olivia’s eyes filled with tears again. “You’re really very special.”

“Get up.” He rolled off the bed and pulled her to her feet.

“What—?”

“Don’t look at me as if I’m about to beat you.” He turned her around to face the bed and began undoing the ties at the back of her dress. When the garment was loose, he lifted it over her head and bent to kiss the exposed skin of her shoulder where her chemise ended.

Olivia couldn’t bear his gentleness. After what she had done…

Slowly he removed her petticoat, unlaced her corset, released the painfully creased folds of her chemise, slid off her slippers, and gently rolled down each stocking to her toes. “Where will I find a nightgown for you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“Then you’ll sleep in your shift tonight.” The bedclothes had been turned back partway, and he tucked her gently underneath the blankets. “Rest well, Olivia.”

Olivia clutched at his neck. “Don’t go. Please—stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m sorry. I have no right to demand. But…”

“Just until you go to sleep, then.” He took off his brocade jacket, and she held up the blankets invitingly. He slid underneath and turned her away from him, spooning her into his body with her back pressed tightly against his chest.

She snuggled back against him and felt his erection prodding her bottom, reminding her he had not been satisfied. She nudged him a little and felt his penis stir against her.

“Stop it, Olivia. You’re feeling guilty because we didn’t finish, but there’s no need.”

“No.” She turned over to face him. Her breasts, under the soft lawn of her chemise, brushed his chest. “It’s not guilt. I just… I
want
to finish.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

She closed her eyes and looked into her heart. “Yes, I do. I want to be free, Simon. Free of those memories.”

He was very still for an instant. “I like the way you say my name. Say it again.”

Feeling suddenly shy, she whispered, “Simon.”

He kissed her. “And again, for I want you to remember who is in this bed with you.”

As if she could forget! “Simon,” she said, and this time she let a tart edge creep into her voice. “Stop talking now and get to work.”

He kissed her long and softly, and she shifted impatiently against him. He toyed with her breasts, licking and nibbling. Curious, Olivia let her hand wander down his chest and across the flat stomach until her fingertips brushed against his erect penis. How could something be both so rigid and so velvety smooth at the same time?

He seized her wrist. “You can explore some other day. Tonight you’re not going to hurry me, Olivia. I won’t make that mistake again.”

His caresses grew to a torment. When he held her legs apart and kissed her, she felt a gush of warmth. “Hold still,” he said. “If you can.”

She twisted her hands into the sheets, but she couldn’t remain motionless under his gentle assault. Soon—though not soon enough for her—she shuddered in a more powerful release than she could have imagined, her body quaking through waves of sweet agony. “Simon,” she gasped. “I never dreamed…”

He watched her in something like awe and then poised himself above her. “Would you like another, Olivia?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and as he once more slid inside her, she gave a little murmur of sheer satisfaction and tilted her hips to pull him deeper within her until she had her fill.

This time was just as hot and intense, but slower—achingly slow sometimes, as he stroked her. When she was once more on the brink, he reached down and thumbed the sensitive button of her clitoris. She arched against him with a shriek, and as she tumbled over the edge, he thrust once more and joined her in the maelstrom.

She drifted a little, warm and secure in his arms. “Have you made love in every room in this house yet?” she asked sleepily.

He kissed the top of her head. “Come to think of it, I haven’t. But what a very good idea.”

“What about this room? Have you visited any previous guests here?”