TuesdayNights (26 page)

Aware of the doctor listening to their every word, he said, “I must assure you that I am not in the habit of accosting pretty young ladies in their gardens so early in the morning. Or any time, for that matter,” he added when he realized, too late, how his apology must have sounded.

Allowing a smile, Olivia bit her lower lip. Last night he said I was beautiful, and now he thinks me pretty, she thought, her embarrassment changing a bit.

Jeffers cleared his throat loudly and they all turned to look at him. “Dr. Ashcroft, may I present the Honorable Michael Cunningham’s new wife, Mrs. Cunningham,” he stated formerly.

A huge smile replaced the quizzical expression that had resided on the physician’s face for the past few moments. “Ah! Newlyweds. No additional explanation is necessary,” he said with a wink and a wave of his hand. Olivia’s blush darkened to a deep red and Michael visibly swallowed, his face reddening as well. “Mrs. Cunningham, you have a sprained wrist,” Dr. Ashcroft announced proudly. “I’ll put some arnica on it and wrap it up for you. Keep your arm dry. You’ll need to stay off it for a few days,” he gave a pointed look at Michael as he made the proclamation. “And if you have ice, put some in a glass and hold it against your wrist. Helps with the swelling,” he said curtly. “Then add some brandy and drink that. Helps with the pain.” He had the wrist bandaged even as he was explaining what he was doing. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be off,” he said as he closed up his black bag.

“Thank you, Dr. Ashcroft,” Michael said, relief evident in his voice. “Jeffers will see to your compensation.” The two men couldn’t leave quickly enough for Michael.

The butler nodded and ushered the doctor out of the parlor leaving Michael standing next to the settee. In the uncomfortable silence, he motioned to her arm. “Does it hurt?”

Olivia moved the arm experimentally. “No,” she replied with a shake of her head, knowing that if she tried to bend her wrist, she would probably give away just how much it really did hurt when Michael saw her wince.

He nodded. “We’ve certainly made an impression on Dr. Ashcroft,” he murmured, a sigh following his statement.

Olivia smiled, wondering what the doctor must have thought regarding how she sprained her wrist. “Indeed,” she answered with a short giggle.

Seeing her amusement, Michael took a breath and allowed his smile to match hers. “Whatever do you suppose he was thinking we were doing in the garden?” he wondered absently.

“Sowing seeds, no doubt,” Olivia replied with a hint of amusement.

Plowing, Michael countered to himself, wishing he had been doing it.

When Olivia looked up, she caught sight of his flushed face and wondered what he might be thinking just then. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, noticing he appeared somehow different in the morning light. The planes of his face were not nearly as severe as in the evening lamplight, and his nose appeared straighter. The slight bend near the top of his nose reminded her that it had been broken at some point in the past; she remembered him telling her family of the bare knuckle fight when it occurred.

“Well enough,” he lied. He couldn’t exactly tell her he’d been awake most of the night due to a constant erection. And how many times had he left his bed and made his way to his bedchamber door with the intention of going to her room? “And you?” he wondered.

“Very well, thank you. And ... thank you for putting me to bed last night. I ... I must have fallen asleep. The bed in the blue room is divine,” she added with a smile.

Of course it is, he thought. Any bed with you in it would be divine. “Jeffers said you were waiting to have breakfast until I could join you,” Michael ventured hopefully. He actually hadn’t planned to eat at home but thought to get something at a chocolate shop on the way to his solicitor’s office.

“Well, yes, if you can spare the time. You look as if you are leaving for an appointment, though,” she replied as she indicated his greatcoat. Her eyes suddenly widened. “Or church,” she whispered when she realized it was Sunday.
No wonder the doctor was up and already dressed!

Michael smiled and shook his head. “Even though it is Sunday, I must see my solicitor this morning. But I can certainly have breakfast with you before I go,” he offered, not bothering to explain just why he was about to see his solicitor. Marriage required certain plans be made and certain accommodations be put into place for his wife’s future. He held out his arm in an effort to assist her from the settee.

Olivia remembered the basket of cut flowers and the fallen shears in the garden. “I should get the flowers into water,” she said as she took his arm and allowed him to lift her up.

“Jeffers can see to them until you’re ready to do your ..,” Michael replied, waving his other hand into the air as he had done with Jeffers. “The arrangement in the hall is quite exquisite,” he added with a nod.

Pausing in mid-step, Olivia regarded him. “You’re not teasing me?” she half-questioned, wondering just how sincere he was with his compliment.

“I am not. In fact, I don’t usually tease,” he said carefully, watching her reaction. Or do I? he wondered suddenly. I am not teasing about the flowers. “You should know that about me. Edward is the one who delights in teasing.”

Nodding her understanding, Olivia said, “Thank you.”

Edward paced in front of the fireplace in his bedchamber, his anger at his friend building with each pivot he made. If Michael had learned to fence with a modicum of skill instead of spending his time sparring at Gentlemen Jackson’s, Edward would have challenged him to a duel that very night over dinner, and then seen to it the cur was poked full of holes before he could even raise his sword in defense. How can the man treat his wife so shabbily? Sprains her wrist in a gardening accident? How dare he! And how can he continue to keep the woman’s sister as his mistress? he wondered, ignoring the sudden thought that he might be a bit jealous of Michael’s circumstances.

Michael Cunningham was no rake. Even before his arrangement with Eloisa, he wasn’t a frequent visitor to brothels. Nor had he an arrangement with any other mistresses that Edward knew of.
He’s probably never even bedded a virgin,
Edward thought, suddenly wondering if that might have something to do with the man’s behavior toward Olivia.

Although Michael had claimed he didn’t want to marry, at least not at this point in his life, Edward never believed the proclamations, thinking that they were merely made in self-defense to a mother who tried too hard to find him a suitable match.
Like my mother,
he thought suddenly. Now that there was a second heir to the earldom, Edward knew he could marry Anna.

He wondered where she was now, wondered what she might be doing. And with whom. The last thought had him grimacing as he imagined her in the arms of another man. Perhaps he would hire someone to find her if his efforts to do so in New Bond Street failed. And then he could send her a letter ...

Shaking himself from his reverie, he turned and passed the fireplace again, vaguely aware of the dying embers. Perhaps he could do something to make Michael see the worth of the woman he had wed. Certainly Michael felt something for Olivia. He claimed he did. Edward was sure he’d seen it when Olivia walked into the library; there was an instant there when his friend’s guard was down, when he was expecting someone else and instead his wife had entered and the sight of her had taken the man’s breath away. And didn’t Michael always look forward to his trips to Sussex? And not just because it gave him an opportunity to visit his own childhood home in the Horsham District?

So, what would make a man like Michael take notice of his wife and realize her worth? Perhaps he already knew and simply took her for granted.

Or, perhaps, he showed her so little regard because he had never had to fight for her.

Harold Waterford had seen to it that no other suitors could seek Olivia’s hand. He had made sure the gel was available when Michael was ready to be wed. By not having to compete for her affections, Michael hadn’t dealt with other admiring gentlemen. He hadn’t experienced the emotion that would make him truly appreciate Olivia Waterford.

Jealousy.

The man had never been jealous!

Well, I’ll make him jealous, Edward thought suddenly. I’ll make him love her. Or, at the very least, feel affection for her, he thought, his determination growing.

Edward stopped and stared into the dying fire, his plan forming in his mind’s eye. He may punch me in the jaw, he thought for a moment. He might even kill me.

He’ll at least hate me until I can explain myself.

After the broken jaw heals, and I can speak again.

The cons of the plan built up one by one until he had nearly talked himself
out
of intervening. But before he retired for the night, Edward had a very clear idea of what he could do. Taking a seat at his escritoire, he took up a quill, dipped it into the ink bottle and began writing a note on his finest stationery. My dearest Olivia ...

Chapter 27

Monday He Awakens Her Slowly

April 17, 1815

At some point in the middle of the night, Olivia pushed the bed covers off her body. Still uncomfortably warm, she unbuttoned the front of her nightgown and pushed the fabric off of her right shoulder as she lay on her left side, her sprained wrist protected under the pillow. The cool night air of the nearby open window caressed her skin, and she drifted back to sleep.

The dream resumed where she left it. There was a warm, pleasant sensation of being cradled, of being held protectively whilst her head was tucked into the hollow of a neck, her back pressed against a man’s chest, her thighs resting against stronger thighs. Even the bottom of one foot touched on another larger one. She sighed and wrapped her right arm around the larger one that held her, her hand resting softly on fine linen fabric of a shirt sleeve as her fingers caressed the softness.

Her body stirred as her bare breast was slowly covered by warm fingers, their touch so light her skin tickled and the nipple hardened to a small pebble. The sensuous caress continued, a fingertip gently circling her nipple, teasing it until it ached to be held and suckled. Turning her body slightly so that the hand could hold her breast completely, she was pressed further into the body behind her, and she smiled and sighed. She was aware of a kiss on her hair, of another on her ear lobe, another on her bare shoulder. Warm breath washed over her collarbone, the light kisses leaving behind just a hint of moisture that cooled her hot skin. The large hand moved to encase her entire breast, holding it and lightly rubbing until she felt desire rise from deep within her.

Her breath quickening, she realized her entire body ached for something more; the space between her thighs felt hot and wet, and it begged for attention. There was a light pinch on her nipple, and she inhaled sharply. She dare not stir more for she was sure if she did, she would awaken from the dream again and not be able to recapture the incredible pleasures that coursed through her body with every stroke on her breast.

A shiver passed through her as the fingertips made their way to the side of her other breast. There was a whispered sound near her ear that she finally heard as beautiful Olivia. Arcing her back just a bit, she gasped as another wave of pleasure rose and subsided. This is a most wonderful dream, she thought as she felt the kisses again. She purred and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him, the soft musk, a light whiff of sandalwood, the very faint odor of brandy, the scent of citrus laundry soap. Lifting her hand from the linen sleeve, she caught the side of his head, burying her fingers in a soft wave of silken hair.

Hair?

Her eyelashes fluttered and she slowly opened her eyes.

“Please, do not scream,” she heard whispered in her ear before lips gently kissed it, bit it lightly. Turning her head slightly, she caught sight of Michael as he lifted himself onto his elbow to peer down at her with a look of adoration.

Olivia wondered if she was still dreaming, but when he leaned down to kiss her on the corner of her mouth, she closed her eyes and smiled. “Good morning,” she whispered, slowly allowing her fingers to drop from the side of his head.

“Good morning, indeed,” Michael whispered before he kissed her on the mouth, a quick but thorough kiss that left her breathless.

“Did you ... did you sleep here all night?” Olivia asked, wondering when the dream had ended and the reality began. She was suddenly aware that he was dressed in a shirt and breeches, but his feet were bare.

Shaking his head, Michael sighed. “Just an hour or so,” he replied, his eyes drifting down to her bared breast and shoulder. Even when she knew that he saw them, Olivia did not try to cover herself. “I was about to leave for Gentleman Jackson’s, but I wanted to check on your wrist, and I wanted to ... to see you before I left.” And I’m seeing more of you than I thought I ever would, he thought happily, his lips settling onto her shoulder to place a kiss there.

He bent down and suckled her hardened nipple. Olivia arched her body up and gasped as the incredible shivers of pleasure waves rolled through her body. She was ready to beg for him to take her. She wanted the sensation to continue. She wanted to feel his body pressed against hers with nothing in between them. She wanted to touch him and make him feel these very same sensations. She wanted him to do something about the ache that had developed between her thighs, the sensation of throbbing that seemed to demand he touch her there. And as he pushed her nightgown away from her other breast and placed his mouth over the nipple, she thought that perhaps this morning he would take her maidenhead. Her body seemed to shudder at the thought, as if it knew what was about to happen even before she did. “If I’d known it was you in my bed ...” There was a sharp rap at the door. “I would not have ...”

One moment Michael was pleasuring her with his mouth and tongue and a hand trailing down the front of her body, and the next, he was up and out of the bed, cursing softly as he moved awkwardly to the door.

Stunned at his sudden departure from the bed, Olivia clutched the top openings of her nightgown together and lifted herself onto an elbow. “Michael?” she spoke aloud. But even as she said it, she realized he had already left the room. In the doorway stood a very stunned Sarah, whose fair complexion was turning a splotchy crimson.

“Oh, Mrs. Cunningham, I am so very sorry,” the dresser spoke as she raised her hand to her mouth. She had seen the flash of annoyance in Michael’s eyes and his state of half-dress.

Olivia fell back onto the bed and moaned softly. “From now on, Sarah, I’ll ring when I’m ready to get dressed,” she said, trying not to sound too cross with the servant as she quickly buttoned her nightgown under cover of the bed linens, her left wrist complaining as she did so.

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl replied, biting her lip as she entered the bedchamber. She waited a moment before coming further into the room and closing the door behind her. “I’ve a message for you from Mr. Seward.”

Still flat on her back, Olivia considered the words and furrowed a brow. “Mr. Seward?” she repeated, finally reaching out a hand to take the folded notepaper from the dresser. She took a moment to admire the cursive writing on the outside. O. Cunningham. She flipped the note and stared at the elegant wax seal that held the corners of the paper together. Odd, she thought as she broke the seal, unfolded the paper and read the missive. My dearest Olivia, For the brief time you have graced our household with your presence, I have felt both great joy at your accomplishments and great despair on your behalf. I have for you a gift and news I must share. Please grant me an audience this afternoon in the library at 4 o’clock. Yours very truly, Edward.

Olivia stared at the note for several minutes, rereading the handwriting and wondering at its meaning. Despair on your behalf? she thought, her frown increasing on each reading.

“It is bad news?” Sarah asked as she stood waiting for her mistress to give her orders. “Mr. Seward seemed quite ... unsure when he asked me to give it to you.”

Shaking her head, Olivia folded the paper and set it on the night stand. “I am not sure, either,” she murmured as she moved to get off the bed. She caught the scent of Michael as she moved and inhaled deeply. Her entire body shivered at the thought of him and how he’d held her that morning. What a glorious way to wake up, she thought, her good mood returning. “I think I shall go shopping today,” she announced suddenly, remembering the invitation to the Harvey ball. “I need a ball gown.” And a dressing gown.

Sarah nodded and hurried to the clothes press. “Your navy walking gown, perhaps?” she suggested.

Olivia smiled. “That will do fine.”

The shingle above the storefront of the modiste was painted in gold gilt, the name Madame Suzanne’s in a script that suggested quality and femininity. Behind the window stood a mannequin decorated with a blue and gold walking ensemble, and surrounding it were swags of silks and satins in a dozen colors. Olivia stood before the store in New Bond Street and saw her reflection in the glass before she willed herself to go in and ask about a ball gown.

Madame Suzanne was arranging the skirts of a dinner gown on a sewing mannequin as a seamstress was pinning the arms into place. Upon seeing Olivia, she stood and curtsied, greeting her new customer with a warm smile. “Good morning. I am Madame Suzanne. Have you come for a special gown?” she asked without a hint of the French accent so many of the modistes used when addressing customers. She moved to lead Olivia further into her shop, giving her customer a quick perusal to see if she could determine the woman’s age, the likelihood she would actually order a gown, and how much she could afford. The modiste’s cropped hair, stylish gown and the ostrich feather arcing out of a band around her head indicated she favored a modern mode of dress.

“Good morning,” Olivia replied, her gaze sweeping the small shop. Unlike the modistes in Bond Street, this one had dozens of dresses already made up and displayed on the walls and in racks. “I am in need of a ball gown,” she said, her heart pounding in her chest. Why am I so nervous? she wondered, chastising herself for being intimidated by the thought of having someone besides herself or her mother make her gowns.

There was a good deal of pin money stuffed in her reticule that would more than cover the cost of the most extravagant gown the modiste had on display. “And I’ll need a dressing gown, as well,” she added, remembering she really should answer her bedchamber door wearing something more than a night rail.

Madame Suzanne regarded her for a moment, thinking that at least this customer was planning ahead for one ball this Season. “Will you be coming out this year?” she wondered, her eyebrow cocking expectantly.

Stunned, Olivia did not know whether to be flattered that the woman thought her young enough to just now be coming out or if the woman was teasing her. She did not have an escort or companion with her, after all. “I am far too old to be coming out,” Olivia answered evenly, trying to make her voice sound as neutral as possible. “And I am a married woman.”

“Oh!” the proprietor replied, apparently surprised. “Then you have the good fortune of marrying young!” she exclaimed happily. “Come, let me show you some samples of my work,” she encouraged as she continued to regard her customer. “Now, what kind of ball will you be attending?”

Olivia bit her lower lip. “I ... it’s at the Harvey’s,” she stammered, not realizing there might be different kinds of balls.

“Oh, but, of course,” Madame Suzanne said as a hand went to her chest. “Lady Harvey is blossoming with child and wanted to host her annual ball before her confinement.”

Glad to know the reason for the ball’s timing, Olivia nodded as if she already knew. “Then you’ll understand why I do not wish to outshine the hostess,” she hinted, hoping for a gown that would be elegant but not ostentatious.

“But, of course. Allow me to show you Lady Harvey’s gown. It is not quite finished, though,” she warned, leading Olivia to a back room where a sewing mannequin displayed an empire waisted gown of pastel yellow satin with cap sleeves of tulle. The gown had an overskirt of tulle and white ribbons that trimmed the skirt and bodice. A flounce with a hint of a train graced the bottom. “She’ll not be able to eat a thing. One drop and the fabric will stain,” the modiste complained quietly. “Now, for you, I am thinking a light cream satin ...”

Olivia followed Madame Suzanne back into the main shop and to a mannequin wearing the very dress she was describing. “Wear this with pearls or colored stones and cream kid dance slippers and you will be resplendent,” she stated emphatically. “Would you like to try it on?”

Studying the gown, Olivia decided she liked what she saw. But would Michael? she wondered. A memory of earlier that morning passed through her mind. “I do not wish the neckline to be too low, but a bit of décolletage would be appreciated,” she said with a lifted eyebrow.

Madame Suzanne regarded her for only a moment, a glint in her eye indicating she understood Olivia’s meaning. “We shall see to it.”

Olivia spent the next hour wearing the gown while standing on a wooden box. Three seamstresses pinned and positioned her as they worked their needles and thread and talked quietly amongst themselves. She overheard a comment about how unfortunate it was that Lady Worthington would not be wearing this gown for her wedding, but how fortunate it was that she discovered her fiancé’s extreme gambling debts before marrying the man and losing her entire fortune to a gaming hell. And there was mention of Lady Harvey’s dress still needing a bit of work because it was no longer large enough to accommodate her growing belly. Olivia did her best not to let on that she overheard anything the seamstresses said, even biting her lip when the youngest asked, “And did you hear that the Honorable Michael Cunningham has finally married? I hear his wife is quite pretty, but no one seems to know who she is or where she is from.”

“Viscountess Cunningham must be so relieved to see her son wed,” another one said. “Madame will have to ask her about her new daughter when she comes in for her fitting.”

Olivia inhaled sharply. “Lady Cunningham?” she whispered hoarsely, not intending for someone to actually hear her. If these seamstresses knew of the marriage, Lady Cunningham could certainly have heard something by now. And if Madame Suzanne was to ask her about her new daughter-in-law’s identity, what would Lady Cunningham say? How embarrassing it could be for Michael’s mother not to even know who her son had married, no matter that she was a formidable woman!

The seamstresses looked up from their work. ‘Why, yes. We’re very honored to have done her dress for this ball,” one said before she stuffed a cluster of pins between her lips.

“Seeing as how she usually only wears gowns made in Paris or Italy,” another said with a roll of her eyes.

“But I do not care how rich she is, I would not wish to be her daughter-in-law,” the third said as she continued to hem the ball gown, her thumb sporting a gold band with a garnet embedded in the gold. The others murmured their agreement. “But I still find myself wishing that I could be married to her son’s best friend. I miss Edward terribly.”