WidowsWickedWish (3 page)

“Yes,” she agreed. “Justine was what, four when her mother
passed?”

“Five.”

“That must have been difficult for her. And for you, of
course.” Olivia looked away, her gaze falling to the boy sleeping in her arms.
“I imagine it still is.”

“Justine barely remembers her mother,” he replied after a
pause.

“Surely not,” Olivia said. “At five she must have been quite
attached, must have a treasure trove of memories stashed away.”

He watched as she tightened her arms around her son,
bringing him closer against her, before leaning down to plant a kiss upon his
wispy curls.

“Elizabeth wasn’t the most demonstrative of mothers,” he
explained carefully.

“I find it odd,” she murmured.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Oh, I don’t know… I guess I don’t understand mothers who do
not hold their children close to them… Not that I am saying…I wouldn’t dream of
suggesting…”

Jack smiled sadly when her words trailed off.

“I think it is more odd, and I mean odd as in rare, to see
mothers who do hold their children close,” he whispered as he watched her
cuddle her son.

“Yes,” she said softly. “They don’t know what they are
missing.”

“Was Palmerton…?” Jack found himself unable to continue. It
was none of his business what kind of father the earl had been, or what kind of
husband.

“No,” she said. “He was as I imagine most fathers
are…distant. It’s funny. Do you know that Beatrice, Lady Easton, and I share a
father?”

Surprised by the question, Jack nodded.

“Good, that saves a bit of awkwardness,” Olivia replied
without an ounce of shame.

“What is funny?” he asked.

“I suppose it’s not truly funny, but when Beatrice and I
talk of him, we might be talking about two different men, two different fathers.”

“How so?” Jack remembered the Earl of Hastings as a kind man
with a rumbling voice and a booming laugh.

Olivia looked down, her hand absently caressing her son’s
cheek. “Father was kind, but he wasn’t the sort of father to play with us, to
get down on the floor and join in our games. We saw him every day, when he was
in Town, but we didn’t spend time with him.”

“And Lady Beatrice had a different relationship with him?” Jack
prompted when she stopped speaking.

“She called him Papa,” she answered, meeting his gaze once
more. “He taught her to ride and to shoot. They played draughts and then later
chess together. He carried her upon his shoulders across the fields. Held her
hand, tucked her in at night.”

Jack said nothing, simply looked at her and waited.

“I’ve often wondered if it didn’t have something to do with
his feelings for our mothers,” she continued. “Father loved Mary, worshiped
her. My parents could barely tolerate one another. Perhaps that love just
naturally encompassed the child they made together.”

Jack thought about that, thought about what it said about
her marriage. Before he could tell her that it didn’t hold true for his own,
Mary walked into the parlor.

“We’ve meat and cheese and soup in the dining room.” She
looked at Charlie asleep in his mother’s arms and smiled. “Let me take the
darling up to his room.”

Olivia relinquished her son with one final kiss on his cheek
and whispered “Thank you, Mary.”

Luncheon was a festive affair with Fanny and Justine talking
and laughing together. Rather than a long rectangular table as most homes had,
Idyllwild’s dining room was graced with a big round table. It fit the wide room
and the family that ate around it. Jack had finally realized that there were no
servants in the house. The diners passed big platters around, and set up a line
of bowls that Olivia scooped soup into and passed back around.

“There’ll be snow again soon,” Tom announced.

“Can we go back up the hill before it starts?” Fanny asked.

Olivia looked across the table at Jack, waited for him to
nod, and asked Justine, “Would you like to go sledge riding with us?”

“Can I?” She looked at her father expectantly.

“How many sledges have you got?” Jack asked Olivia.

“There’s two more in the barn,” Tom answered.

“Don’t even think about it!” his wife scolded.

“Now, Molly,” he replied with a chuckle. “I’m not so old I
can’t hike up the hill.”

“Well, I’m too old to be nursing you when you break your
fool neck,” she said with a scowl that was destroyed by the teasing light in
her eyes.

“If he breaks his neck, you won’t have to nurse him, Molly,”
Fanny pointed out. “He’ll be dead.”

“Good Lord, Fanny,” Olivia cried. “Wherever did you learn
such a thing?”

“I don’t know. I just learned it,” Fanny told her mother
with a negligent wave of her hand.

“Is that true, Father?” Justine asked in astonishment.

“I believe Lady Frances is right,” Jack replied around a
laugh. Olivia was in trouble. The girl was too smart for her own good.

They were on their fourth foray down the hill when the first
big wet flakes began. By the seventh trip the snow was falling thick and fast.

Jack knew that he should have taken his daughter and left
with the first flakes, but he hadn’t said a word. Justine was having the time
of her life and he was loath to end her fun. And if the weather forced them to
remain at Idyllwild, so much the better. What better way to begin his campaign
to win the countess than to spend the night under her roof?

Olivia had donned another pair of trousers, well-worn and
snug. As she trudged up the hill in front of him, he was given glimpses of her
delectable round backside. Forget making them illegal, it should be mandated
that ladies wear trousers!

“This is the last ride down,” Olivia told her daughter,
bending down to look into her face.

Jack nearly groaned at the sight of her ass in the air. He
felt heat envelop him, felt his groin tighten.

“I’ll ride with Justine.” Fanny took the rope for the sledge
from her mother. “You ride with Mr. Jack.”

Olivia looked around, clearly searching for Tom Jenkins.

“He stayed below,” Jack said.

“Oh, well, all right.” She turned away to make sure Fanny
was secure on the sledge in front of Justine, that the older girl had a firm
hold on the younger, before giving them a gentle push. They glided down the
hill, their laughter ringing out in the wind.

“Charlie’s going to be awfully upset he missed this,” Olivia
murmured before turning to face him once more.

He placed the sledge at the edge of the hill and stood back
to allow her to climb on before sitting behind her. He wrapped his arms around
her waist and pulled her snug against him. She came willingly, without a word
of protest.

“Ready?” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, knowing his
warm breath caressed her neck, laughing when she shivered.

He flexed his thighs on either side of her, gave a quick
lunge and they were off. He pulled his legs up beside her, cradled her hips between
them. His arms tightened and lifted until they rested just under the swell of
her breasts. Olivia sucked in a breath, her back rigid, and Jack wondered if
he’d gone too far too fast.

“Relax, Olivia,” he murmured into her nape, brushed his lips
over the dark curls beneath her cap, and smiled when she subsided and leaned
back into his chest.

They flew over a boulder and sailed through the air before
landing hard. Olivia bounced off the sledge and landed with her bottom on his
left thigh. He pulled her quickly back between his legs but the movement
shifted them far to the right just as they hit a particularly slippery patch. The
sledge careened off the well-worn path and rushed through the high snow.

Jack was blinded by the spray of soft snow that flew up from
the front of the sledge. He tightened his arms around Olivia and groaned when
she grabbed onto his thighs.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he called as the sledge was once more
airborne. Olivia let out a muffled shriek as they landed and the sledge slid
out from beneath them.

Jack twisted with Olivia in his arms, taking the brunt of
their landing. They rolled through the snow bank. When they came to a stop Jack
found himself lying above her, his weight pinning her to the ground. Her legs
were tangled with his, her thighs embracing his hips.

Jack looked down at Olivia, watched as she licked her lips,
blinked against the falling snow and then closed her eyes. Her lashes fanned
her pink cheeks. Her lips tilted up in a slow smile. Jack didn’t think, he
simply leaned down and captured that smile with his lips. He kissed her gently,
softly, exploring her lips with his own. And she kissed him back. Shyly,
hesitantly. He slanted his head, absorbed the sensation of the new angle, and
caressed her with the tip of his tongue.

With a soft sigh, Olivia opened to him. Jack moaned,
suddenly on fire for the woman in his arms. His tongue swooped inside, dancing
across hers, retreating, only to delve in once more. He cradled her head in his
hands as he thrust his tongue into her waiting warmth again and again. He
couldn’t get enough of her. She tasted like sunshine, she tasted like heat.

Jack was lost in her kiss. Good Lord, he’d forgotten a kiss
could be like this, equal parts tender and wild. Timidly at first, then with
abandon, Olivia kissed him back. She followed his tongue, rubbed hers against
it, moaned as he increased the pressure of his lips.

With a groan Jack thrust his hardening cock against her soft
flesh, dragged his length along her heat, and gloried to feel her tilt up her
hips to receive him.

“Mama!” Jack and Olivia heard Fanny’s voice at the same time
and broke apart. He looked down into her eyes and saw desire in their silvery
depths. He felt her warm breath caress his face, felt her breasts rise and fall
against his chest.

Jack released her and helped her to her feet just as Fanny
immerged through the curtain of falling snow.

“You turned off the path when you should have gone straight,”
Fanny said with a giggle.

“I’ve been going straight all my life,” Olivia replied as
she joined hands with Fanny. “Sometimes a lady just has to careen off the
beaten path.”

It was decided that Jack and Justine would spend the night
at Idyllwild. The snow continued to fall at an alarming rate. Inside, the
inhabitants and their guests relaxed in the parlor with piping hot tea and warm,
soothing brandy.

“So your family made their fortune in mining?” Tom asked.

“My mother’s family runs sheep, but yes, my father started
the mining operation more than twenty years ago.” Jack and Tom were playing chess,
their heads bent over the board. Their conversation floated across the room to
Olivia where she sat slowly rocking before the warm hearth, her hands
mindlessly rolling a skein of soft yarn into a ball.

“Father needs a son to inherit.”

Olivia looked up at Justine’s words. The girl was leaning against
the arm of her father’s chair, watching the game.

“Every man needs a son,” Tom said. “Now, my boy Harry, he
went off to sea. He’s sailed around the world and back.”

“I should like to go to sea someday,” Justine said. “To see the
world.”

“World’s a pretty big place,” Tom said. “I’ve seen parts of
it, only a bit mind you, but it’s good to travel, to see how others live.”

“Papa is going to take me to Italy soon,” Justine told him.

Olivia wondered if that would be before or after he found a
wife to give him a son and decided that Justine might have to wait a few years
to tour Italy.

Not that Jack would have any trouble at all finding a lady
to wed. He would make some lucky lady a very fine husband. But the getting of
heirs was often a long, drawn-out affair, as she knew well. It had taken her
eight years, a daughter, and two miscarriages before she’d finally, finally
produced the son Palmerton had so desperately wanted.

She’d paid a high price to fulfill her duty, one she’d never
have to endure again. The knowledge was both a curse and a blessing.

“He’s a fine-looking man,” Mary murmured from where she sat
beside Olivia in the matching rocker.

“Yes,” Olivia agreed as she studied the man in question.

He’d been a handsome boy, all those years ago when he’d
first joined Simon in a visit to Hastings Hall, tall and lean with his dark hair
clipped short. His face had been smooth, his blue eyes alight with mischief, a
smile forever curling around his full mouth.

At five and thirty, Jack Bentley’s visage was a testament to
all the years that had passed, to hours spent working outdoors, to the joys and
hardships he’d experienced. Fine lines fanned out from the corners of his blue
eyes and bracketed a mouth that was firmer than she remembered but no less
full, no less kissable.

As she’d learned just that afternoon.

Olivia replayed that kiss in the snow in her mind, surprised
anew at the intensity of it, at the passion simmering below the surface of
what, in truth, had been the hottest, wildest kiss she’d ever imagined, let
alone experienced.

“We’ll put Justine in with Fanny and Charlie,” Mary said.
“Jack can have the guest room.”

Olivia nodded absently. She hadn’t thought about the
sleeping arrangements. Mary’s plan would put Jack right across the hall from
her.

“Unless you’d rather put Justine in the guest room and Jack
can sleep with you.”

Olivia started in surprise, felt her face flush. “Am I that
obvious?”

Mary only shrugged in response, but her eyes twinkled.

“I’ve been thinking,” Olivia began.

“I thought you might be.”

Olivia opened her mouth, closed it again.

“Come now, dearest, what thoughts have put a blush on your
cheeks?” Mary asked with a fond smile.

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” she replied, bending down to hide
her embarrassment. “I just… Once upon a time I saw a man and woman sneak into
the stables behind Hastings House. I watched that man pull the woman into his
arms, heard them whispering and laughing together before they kissed with
shocking abandon.”

“And?” Mary prompted when she fell silent.

“And I wished that just once I could be so wicked as to
unleash a man’s desire.”

“Surely Palmerton desired you.”

“My husband desired an heir.” Olivia forced aside her
embarrassment and met the other woman’s eyes. “I’ve heard women talking of
passion, of the pleasures to be found in a man’s bed and wondered what all the
fuss is about.”

“And marriage did little to enlighten you,” Mary replied
gently.

“Palmerton did not…that is to say I did my duty by my
husband and he did his by me,” Olivia replied.

“Duty,” Mary repeated.

“Perhaps I am simply not a woman to feel passion.” Even as
she spoke the words, she doubted them. There had been times at the beginning of
her marriage when she’d felt a whisper of pleasure when Palmerton had come to
her bed, when she’d wished he might kiss her a bit more, touch her gently,
before rolling on top of her and joining their bodies.

And Lord knew, she’d felt passion up on that hillside when
Jack slanted his mouth over hers and pressed his hard length between her legs.

“What nonsense,” Mary said with a laugh. “You are your
father’s daughter, Olivia.”

“And my father was a passionate man?” Olivia asked although
she suspected she knew the answer. What else but passion would have accounted
for the secret family he’d kept hidden away from the curious eyes of Society?

“Wonderfully so,” Mary replied. “And you are so like him.”

“Am I?” Olivia asked in surprise.

“More so than Henry, and even Beatrice,” the older lady
assured her. “Like you, Francis was torn between duty and passion.”

“Yes,” Olivia agreed slowly.

“As a respectable widow,” Mary continued gently, “away from
prying eyes, you might allow yourself to finally learn what all the fuss is
about.”

“A respectable widow,” Olivia repeated, not entirely sure
she liked the sound of the words, the picture they painted of a lonely woman
adorned in black bombazine, stubbornly clinging to her propriety.

“Widows enjoy a great deal of freedom,” Mary continued.
“Perhaps it is time for that wish to come true for you.”

“I could dare to be wicked,” Olivia replied slowly. “I could
finally learn how it feels to have a man desire me.”

“Just so,” Mary agreed.

“Nothing will ever come of it,” Olivia hastened to add.

“Except a bit of pleasure. An abundance of pleasure, if
you’re lucky.”

“If I’m very lucky.”

“And who knows, perhaps even love.”

“Oh, no, I’d just as soon not fall in love, thank you very
much,” Olivia protested.

“Why ever not?”

“You know I don’t ever plan to marry again,” Olivia reminded
her friend.

“So you’ve said. Repeatedly.”

Three hours later Olivia lay in her bed listening to the
sounds of the house settling, the winter wind buffeting the tree branches
outside her window, and the fire crackling in the hearth across the room.

Her mind was filled with images of Jack Bentley, most
especially the light gleaming in his eyes as he’d wished her a good night in
the dim hallway between their two bed-chambers. He’d hesitated, his hand on the
door knob, casting a speculative look over his shoulder. For one feverish
moment she’d thought he meant to invite her into his room. Instead he’d arched
one dark brow, his mouth lifting in a lopsided smile and she’d imagined a
silent dare in the gesture.

Olivia rolled to her side, pummeled the pillow beneath her
head into submission and let out a sigh of vexation. Her senses were alive with
a humming sort of awareness in her body the like of which she’d never known.
Her breasts tingled, her nipples almost painfully sensitive to the shift of her
nightgown over them. A soft pulse throbbed between her legs, intensifying as
she squeezed her thighs together seeking relief.

With a huff of mingled laughter and frustration, she tossed
off the covers and scrambled from the bed only to stand beside it unsure what
to do next.

She tried to imagine padding barefoot across the hall to
Jack’s door and found to her surprise that it took little effort. She could do
that much, but what then?

She might knock. Or did a woman bent on seduction simply
open the door and enter?

She laughed at her fanciful imagination. What she knew about
seduction wouldn’t fill a thimble.

She knew only how to lie quietly beneath her husband, how to
submit. But Jack was not her husband and she couldn’t imagine he would welcome
into his bed a shy widow without an ounce of feminine wiles.

Not for the first time, she wished Palmerton had desired
her, that he’d taken the time to introduce her to the wonders of the marriage
bed. Instead he’d come to her solely to produce an heir, seeing to his duty
much as her mother had predicted on the eve of her wedding.

Palmerton had come to her wearing a long robe of the finest
burgundy silk, tied loosely at his waist. His chest had been bare beneath,
which surprised Olivia.

Her mother had clearly said that he would wear his
nightshirt when he came to her.

“Come, let’s get rid of your night clothes,” he’d whispered.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Olivia had replied as she sat up. “My
mother said I should…”

“Never mind,” he had interrupted, pulling her white night
gown over her head. “Mothers don’t always know.”

Olivia’s mother may have been mistaken about the night
clothes, but she had been right about everything else.

“He will perhaps kiss you once or twice.” Palmerton had
kissed her twice.

“Do not be startled if he puts his tongue into your mouth.” Olivia
had still been quite startled, but not unpleasantly so. She rather thought she
might like it. Unfortunately, he had stopped kissing her before she could
decide.

“Some men will want to squeeze your bosom a bit.” Olivia had
enjoyed his soft hand on her breast until he pinched her rather hard right on
the sensitive tip. She had not liked the way he laughed deep in his throat when
she yelped in pain.

“He will open your legs. I know it will be terribly
embarrassing, but you must allow it.” It had been a bit embarrassing but Palmerton
was quick to roll between her spread legs so really it was not as if he saw her
most womanly place.

“When he puts his member inside you it will hurt. Try not to
scream, but do not remain silent lest he think you were not a virgin.” Olivia
had expected a bit more pain so she certainly had not screamed, she did however
cry out. She might have said “Oh”, or perhaps “Ow”.

“As it is your first time and he is a gentleman, he will be
quick about it.” Olivia had barely had time to get used to the feel of him
moving inside her before he had let out a small grunt and bucked his body
against hers. Then he’d rolled off her and lay on his back beside her, his
breath wheezing in his lungs.

That had been the pattern of Olivia’s nights throughout her
marriage. Until her husband had stopped coming to her bed altogether.

Olivia very much doubted Jack would be content with hurried
fumbling in the dark.

Jack would make love to her. Beatrice had used the term once
and Olivia liked the sound of it, the poetry, the image it evoked of two people
caught up in their passion for one another.

She had only to march across the hall and make it so. For
goodness sake, she’d witnessed men and women traversing hallways in the darkest
hours at various country parties over the years. How difficult could it be?

Olivia squared her shoulders and drew in a deep breath.
Allowing herself no time to question her decision, she strode across the room,
barely hesitating as she pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway.

She had time only to register the chill in the drafty hall,
the cold of the wood floors beneath her feet, before the door to Jack’s chamber
was wrenched open and he came storming out.

They collided in the dark, her head smacking against his
chin and her legs tangling with his. Only his quick reflexes kept her from
falling on her backside.

Hard hands gripped her upper arms, his fingers shockingly
hot on her bare skin.

“Whoa, Livy,” he murmured around a huff of laughter. “Where
are you running off to?”

Olivia tilted her head, her spine curving with the motion,
her belly brushing against the tops of his thighs where the unmistakable
evidence of his arousal was hidden beneath a long, black silk robe.

“I thought,” she began only to pause and draw a shuddering
breath into her chest, causing her too sensitive nipples to strain against the
fabric of her nightgown. “That is…I hoped…”

“You hoped…” he prompted when her voice trailed away.

“Do you… Might you want to…”

She waved one hand, gesturing behind her to the door and her
chamber beyond, wishing she could see his expression.

“Are you inviting me to your bed?” Jack’s voice was little
more than a raspy whisper. His fingers clenched on her arms, tugging her closer
until her breasts brushed his chest.

“If you don’t mind,” she answered, heat rushing over her.
“That is…if you want…”

“I want,” he growled just before his lips found hers.

His kiss was both tender and rough, reverent and wild. He
wasted no time on gentle persuasion but simply plundered, his lips molding to
hers, his tongue delving deep to find hers, to stroke over and around, to
circle and dive, invading her mouth.

Olivia moaned, shocked and not a little bit embarrassed by
the desperate sound. But if Jack found it surprising or vulgar, he gave no
indication. In fact, it seemed to spur him on. He tugged her against him and
wrapped his arms around her, his hands landing on her back, skimming down to
grip her bottom and pull her flush against him.

Olivia found herself surrounded by him, pressed against him
from their joined lips to their bare toes. His scent, exotic and earthy,
enveloped her. The heat of his big body enfolded her. His member pulsed low on
her belly and she rose to her toes, aligning her hips with his, reveling in the
knowledge that he wanted her.