Olivia gave her a crooked half-smile. “It was Mr. St. Clare.”
The girl sat up straighter. “Mr. St. Clare?”
“Yes. Justin St. Clare. And since it appears he is to become your stepfather within the week, it behooves you to put yourself on better terms with him.”
Sarah digested that for a moment. “Mr. St. Clare.” She glanced at Neville who raised one brow at her. In return the girl gave a sheepish grin. “Oh well. I suppose he’s not such a
bad sort.” She dried her damp eyes on her sleeve. “Not like that awful Archie person.”
“Justin St. Clare,” Neville mused as the tension in the room began to ease. He chuckled. “I wouldn’t have credited the man with—” He broke off when Sarah and Olivia both looked at him.
“Credited him with what?” Sarah inquired.
He cleared his throat. “Ah … I wouldn’t have credited him with capturing the heart of a woman like Augusta,” he said, then smiled. Though he sat back on the sofa, the three of them were still very close together, and when he stretched out his arm along the back of the seat, his hand lay just a finger’s width from Olivia’s shoulder.
“I understand St. Clare keeps a sailboat at his estate on the Isle of Wight,” he continued. “You should pester him to take you sailing, Sarah.”
The child perked up. “A sailboat? Huh. Maybe I will, for I’ve never been sailing. Anyway, that’s the least he can do, given all the trouble he has caused.” Then she yawned and snuggled back into Olivia’s embrace. “I’m glad you came after me, Livvie. I’m sorry I ran away and gave you such a fright. But I’m glad you came to find me.”
Over her head Neville’s eyes caught with Olivia’s and held.
I’m glad you came too,
those deep-set eyes seemed to say. And she was glad also.
For a long moment they sat that way, close upon the sofa while the rain beat a lulling tattoo upon the windowpanes. Sarah yawned again and Olivia felt the child’s body begin to relax. It had been a long, exhausting day and they still must return home.
As if he sensed her thoughts, Neville said, “You cannot go home in this storm, Olivia.”
She averted her gaze. “We cannot stay the night here.”
Not when I am so fiercely drawn to you.
“Maisie is nearby. And also the housekeeper. Besides, you have Sarah. You’re perfectly safe at Woodford—as safe as you wish to be.”
There was no mistaking the meaning in that last, and it
should have set her mind firmly against staying. But Olivia’s mind was not working quite as it ought. It was still overwhelmed by the new truth of her feelings for Neville, and how terrifyingly deep they ran.
In her arms Sarah sighed and snuggled into a more comfortable position. Olivia smoothed a curl from the child’s brow. Already she had dozed off, while the rain outside fell harder, as if in fierce determination to keep her there.
Perhaps she ought to stay.
When she did not object, Neville stood. “I’ll alert the housekeeper to prepare a room and send a rider to Byrde Manor to let them know you’re both here.”
By the time he returned, Sarah was snoring peacefully, soundly sleeping in Olivia’s arms. “I’ll carry her,” he said, and lifted the child with no effort. Then he led the way up one flight of wide wooden stairs, and down a dim, carpeted hallway to a circular room faced with rough stone walls. It was obviously part of the old tower.
Someone had already been there to light a lamp, and a small fire burned in the wall hearth. Neville laid Sarah gently upon the turned-down bed and removed the child’s shoes. “I thought it better for Sarah that you share a room.”
Olivia nodded agreement. But even with Sarah there, standing in the small bedchamber with Neville beside her set every one of Olivia’s senses on alert. He was so tall and virile. Though casually dressed in the comfort of his own home, he remained every inch the imposing lord of the manor. Strong, yet able to be gentle, and more compelling than any man she’d ever known.
How could she not fall in love with him?
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Can I send anything up for you? Something to eat or drink?”
“No. Thank you.”
Silence stretched out between them. She trailed her hand along the edge of the bed. “I’ll just tuck Sarah in.”
He nodded, then cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I would like to have a word with you after that. Outside.” He gestured toward the door.
At once Olivia’s awareness of him increased tenfold. To be alone with him in any way was dangerous, and more so now than ever. That a long, stormy night stretched before them only exacerbated the situation. She’d succumbed to him in far less likely circumstances, and that was when she hadn’t even liked him. Heaven knew what she would do now that she’d discovered these new feelings for him.
But she did know. She knew exactly what would happen between them.
“I … I don’t think that is wise,” she said in little more than a whisper.
One side of his mouth curved up in a wry grin and he spread his arms wide. “I promise not to touch you, Olivia. Not to come within five feet of you, if that is your wish.”
But it’s not my wish. Quite the opposite.
Ruthlessly she squelched that thought. “Perhaps you ought to just say whatever it is you have to say here. Now.”
He was slow to answer. He glanced first at the bed where Sarah lay, lost to sleep. The amber light from the lamp melded with the flickering glow from the fireplace to limn his face with gold. Olivia traced his profile with her eyes, marveling at the strong planes—the bold brow and straight nose, the curved lips and hooded eyes. He was beautiful in the harsh manner that was purely male. Beautiful and dangerous, and irresistible. Whatever he proposed, she knew she would be powerless to deny him.
She should be stronger than that. The morals of a lifetime should provide her the ability to turn away from him. But she knew better. A kiss. An embrace. The wonderful, terrifying tumult of their last encounter. And on top of everything, she knew now that she loved him.
Then he turned and fixed those moody blue eyes on her, and the breath caught in her throat.
“I think, Olivia, that your sister’s suggestion is a wise one.”
When she blinked, not understanding, he went on. “There is no sensible reason why we should not wed. I have held back on approaching your brother again, for despite your poor image of me, it is not my wish to harm you or humiliate you.
But I hope you will reconsider your earlier decision. You have already admitted that you mean to remain in Scotland, and we both know the attraction between us is strong. I’ve seen that notebook you keep, and I know you have turned down any number of acceptable suitors.”
He took a step toward her, his eyes intent. “We are a well-matched pair, Livvie. Neither of us is suited to town life. You will be happy here. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy. Just say you will marry me.”
Olivia could hardly breathe. Marry him! That was hardly what she’d expected to hear after she’d turned him down so emphatically. She was prepared to be seduced. She should not be, but she was. In truth, she wanted to be seduced. But a proposal, as welcome as it was, nonetheless left her speechless. She’d been fighting the idea so many days now that it seemed astounding to actually consider agreeing to it.
He closed the space between them so that she had to tilt her head up to meet his mesmerizing gaze. He overwhelmed her with his nearness. But he still did not touch her. “Is the idea really so repugnant to you?” he asked when she did not respond. He reached out a hand and with one finger stroked slowly down her arm, from shoulder to elbow, and down along her bare forearm. “There is an attraction between us. I feel it. You feel it. You’re feeling it right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” The word was a pitiful, strangled confession.
“Then marry me and we can explore the depths of that attraction. What you felt before was only the beginning, Livvie. Only the very beginning—”
Olivia silenced him with a kiss. To his amazement and her own, she caught the front of his waistcoat in her fists, then pressed up on her tiptoes, and proceeded to silence his words with a long-overdue kiss.
NEVILLE exulted at Olivia’s sudden capitulation. She was his!
He wrapped his arms around her. More than anything he wanted to crush her to him. But he was careful not to hurt her. She was his, the refrain echoed in his head as he kissed her back. With her kiss she gave him her answer. She would marry him, and he would keep her forever.
But first he would make love to her. He would make love to her and bind her to him through the power of her passionate nature.
So he accepted the offer of her seeking lips and straining body. She was sweet and soft, yet overbrimming with passion. And all of it for him. In return he gave her all the passion he held so tenuously in check. He feasted on her mouth, kissing her hard, forcing her lips apart, and delving deep with his tongue. Questing, claiming. With rhythmic thrusts he plundered her mouth while pressing her hips against his raging arousal.
At last he would find relief from this aching need she raised in him.
“Do you know how much I want you?” he whispered between kisses that bordered on the desperate. “Do you know how hard the wait has been?”
But the wait was over. Without giving her time to answer, he swung her up into his arms, as he’d done with her sister. His purpose now, however, could not be more different. He was through the door and half the way up the old tower stairs before she reacted.
“Wait. Neville …”
He paused at the first landing and feasted again on her warm, trembling lips until her caution was banished by desire. Then up the final flight of stairs he swept, up to his private chambers.
There was no lamp burning in this room, however, no fire crackling upon the hearth. For this was not a room he frequented during the night. He might sleep by day in this place, but never by night.
But then, it was not slumber he aspired to this night.
He set Olivia on the bed. Though loath to let her got, he wanted a light to see her by. With three sharp flicks of the flint the tinder caught and he lit a single candle. Then he looked down at her and felt the sharpest, most vivid pang of longing he’d ever known. In a lifetime of longing for things he could not have—saving his friends’ lives, a little more time with his family, and peace, just one night of peace—in all that time he’d never known such a pure and pervasive longing as he knew now.
And he’d never been so close to getting what he longed for.
He stripped off his waistcoat, watching as Olivia took in his every move. His shirt was next, and he saw her beautiful eyes widen.
“Take off your bodice, Olivia. I want to watch you disrobe for me.”
A little gasp escaped her lips, but she complied. God bless her, she complied.
He tugged off his boots and she removed her shoes. Then he stripped off his breeches and stood before her clad only in his undergarments, and she froze. Her hands stilled on her lap, knotted in her skirts as she sat awkwardly upon his bed, staring up at him.
“Neville,” she began, ducking her head. “I … I don’t know how …”
“I’ll help you,” he answered, and swiftly he untied the tapes and tugged her skirt from beneath her hips—her skirt, and her single petticoat. He tossed them aside, then turned back to her. Clad only in her chemise, with arms and legs bare to his view,
she was the most perfect woman he’d ever known. And she was his now. She always would be.
“We’ll marry within the week,” he murmured reassuringly as he laid her back, then braced himself on his arms over her. The bed creaked as he knelt on the mattress. His muscles trembled from the effort it took not to fall upon her like a rutting stallion. “I’ll speak to your brother and mother tomorrow.”
“They will be much relieved,” she replied.
He lowered his head and lightly kissed her. When the kiss was done she looked up at him trustingly.
Ah, but you should not trust me, sweet Olivia
. That’s what he should tell her. Only he was so near to having what he wanted from her. What he needed. He should send her back to the safety of her family before she found out what sort of man she’d married.
But he could not. Instead he let his weight come to rest part of the way on her.
She let out a little shocked gasp at the intimacy of it, but she did not object. As he shifted his weight over her, using his body to stroke the entire length of her, their gazes remained locked. She was innocent of any man’s touch but his, he knew. And yet she brought to that innocence a sensuality more potent than that of the most accomplished courtesan. She wanted him and also feared what he meant to do to her. Yet she did not flinch away.
He dragged his hot, burning body up along hers again, and this time her slender hands slid curiously along his arms. “Oh my,” she whispered.
The breathy sound fanned the fire of his passion. Then she pressed a kiss against his chest, very near to his nipple, and Neville groaned out loud. He let his full weight down, pressing her into the mattress, then slid down, letting her feel the full heat and weight of his arousal. As he did, she kissed her way up along him, shoulder, throat, chin, and jaw, then caught his face between her hands and kissed him fully upon the mouth.
When her tongue stole between his lips, it destroyed the last remnants of his control. He kicked out of his undergarments and tore her chemise roughly over her head. In the scant second before he came down on her again, he had a glimpse
of pale smooth flesh, of sweet curves of light and shadow. Her breasts, full and soft, were tipped with dusky nipples that he meant to lavish his attention upon—but later. He covered her with his body, his burning hot skin upon her cool, delicious flesh, and caught her face between his hands. If he did not make love to her now, he would die from the torture.
“It may hurt a bit,” he said, his voice hoarse with passion. “I’ll try to be easy.”
She smiled up at him then, and it was the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. It warmed him and soothed him and filled him with a feeling he could not describe. “I know you will,” she whispered as he positioned his arousal in the warm vee between her legs. “I love you, Neville. Oh—”
Her warm, throaty admission caught him by surprise, but Neville covered his shock with the physical act of possessing her. He thrust into her, then, when he met her virgin’s barrier, thrust deeper still.
Beneath him she lay very still, not even breathing, but only trembling ever so slightly. He was trembling too, but not merely from the power of a mighty passion held now on the brink of release. She’d said she loved him. Did she mean it? Did she understand what she’d just said? Did she have any idea?
“Neville …” She took a quick breath that seemed to release them both from this state of suspended passion.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice tight with strain.
Her eyes were so wide, so huge, that even in the dangerous night shadows of his bedroom, all her emotions lay wide open to his view. Wonder. Passion.
Love.
He closed his eyes and, without waiting for her reply, began the slow rhythm that would bring him the relief he sought—and her as well. But he did not want to stare into those warm, loving eyes.
He could bring her physical completion, but he did not want her to love him, not when he knew how undeserving he was of that love. From the very first he’d set out to seduce her. He’d convinced himself she could ease his pain and so had
ignored any qualm of conscience as he’d pursued her.
He was a selfish bastard, but knowing that changed nothing. He wanted her; he had to have her. But he knew he did not deserve her love. Nor could he ever return it. He’d lost that ability long ago. But give her pleasure? That much he could do for her.
So he bent himself to the task at hand, the welcome task he’d pursued since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. He would rouse her and give her a pleasure beyond anything she’d ever imagined, and in the process he would find the release he so desperately needed.
As Neville began to move over her, Olivia felt the tightness begin to ease. She’d felt too full at first. Shocked by the intrusion, overwhelmed by the excruciating intimacy. But now with the slow pattern of withdraw and thrust, of heat and friction, her shock turned to wonder and then to eagerness. So this was the wonderful, mysterious, whispered-about secret of men and women together. Her entire body seemed to swell and throb and join with the rhythm he created.
Why had she resisted him for so long? To have him move over her, his powerful body focused so wholly upon her … There was nothing Olivia could compare it to.
Her hands moved restlessly over his back and shoulders, sliding upon the taut muscles with their sheen of dampness. At once his movements quickened from careful to demanding. “Oh, Neville,” she moaned, unaware of her words. The feelings were so strong, increasing like a fire stoked and stoked, and stoked again, so that it burned ever hotter, ever higher.
“Neville, Neville,” she panted with his every stroke. And with every chant of his name he responded until they were racing together, body to body. Olivia was on fire. She felt too full for her own skin, as if she were about to burst right out of it and emerge an altogether different creature than before. The astounding thing was, she wanted that to happen. She wanted him never to stop. Never.
“Neville, Neville. Oh, my love. Oh—”
She felt, more than heard, his answer. He strained over her, every muscle in his powerful body centered on her, then
pushed her over the edge. Olivia let out a helpless cry of utter capitulation and felt the explosion take her. It filled her, burst out of her, and enveloped him also. For he stiffened and let out a huge cry, then plunged deep inside her with a prolonged shudder.
In the heated aftermath of that shattering moment, that glorious tumult, they lay together. Collapsed together. So this was making love, Olivia mused in the foggy recesses of her completely sated mind.
Sated mind. Sated body. The very concept was foreign, and yet it was also exactly right. She sighed, and so did Neville, sinking them both deeper into the thick mattress.
“I love you,” she murmured, reveling in the intimate press of his hard, heavy body on hers. It was a huge admission and yet she knew it for the truth. “I love you, Neville.”
Slowly he rose up and propped himself to the side. “Are you all right?”
Olivia smiled up at him. “Yes. Oh, yes.” How could everything not be right after what they’d just shared?
But Neville did not smile back. Instead he rolled to his side and pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. Though she could not see the expression on his face, she could feel the uneasiness in his body. She knew instinctively that this should be a moment of perfect peacefulness. But there was a tension between them, a tension emanating from Neville.
Had she done something wrong?
“Neville,” she began.
“Shh. Listen to me, Olivia. Listen to me. We have to plan. Tomorrow you will inform your mother that we are to wed. I’ll speak to James. He will be angry with me for what has passed between us, but in the main I believe he will be relieved.”
“But Neville.” She struggled to rise on one elbow. “You are right, but—” She broke off when she met his wary gaze. Why should he feel wary now?
But Olivia knew why. Ever since she’d confessed her feelings
for him he’d been uneasy. From her very first admission of love.
The damp skin on her arms and shoulders prickled in the cool night air. She’d said she loved him, but he had made no similar reply. Could he wish to marry her and yet not love her?
Though Olivia knew that was the way of most marriages, after what they’d just shared, she did not want to believe it possible for them. No matter that she’d always been the pragmatist in matters of marriage, she could not be pragmatic now. She loved him and she needed him to love her in return.
“I love you,” she stated, thrusting the words at him like a challenge. The words were out; the gauntlet was thrown; and in his eyes Olivia saw him retreat from her.
Like a cold wind, the truth of that retreat settled over her, and she shivered.
At once he pulled her closer and tried to cover her with the tangled bed linens. “You love me? After all the times I’ve made you angry you love me?” he said, adopting a teasing tone. He rolled her over so that he lay between her legs once more. “You love me? Or is it this you love?” Then he began to kiss her and caress her and rouse her as he had before.
His lips were so clever and his hands so adept that had she not understood his motives, Olivia would have succumbed to the drowning pleasure of it all. He meant to bring her back to that high peak of excitement, that culmination of desire and love and forever—except that he brought no love to it. She did but he did not, and so she struggled against the seductive pull of desire.
“Don’t do that. Look at me.” She caught his head between her hands and forced him to face her. “Listen to me.”
“No.” Neville thrust Olivia’s hands aside, capturing them above her head. She’d caught him by surprise with her words of love, and for a moment he’d been overwhelmed by panic. But he’d recovered now. He’d recovered and he’d regained control. “No, Olivia. You listen to me. I know what you want from me. What you want me to say. But those are only words.
Meaningless words. What matters is that we are so well matched—in temperament, in interests, in attitudes. And we desire one another.” He moved his body over hers in a long, voluptuous stroke. “We are well matched, you and I.” And he proceeded to prove it to her.