Authors: Eloisa James
His hand stilled, finally. Olivia swallowed hard, fighting the impulse to beg for more.
“Are you quite certain that you are not carrying Montsurrey’s child?” His voice held no condemnation, merely a request for information.
She turned her head against his chest. “Yes.”
“But you and he . . .”
Olivia tried to think how to explain, while honoring her promise to Rupert. Georgiana was her twin, her other self; Rupert would understand that she had told Georgie the truth.
But Quin . . . Quin was the man who was going to take her away from Rupert. And even if Rupert didn’t actually want her, he was nevertheless accustomed to her. For a man who loved familiarity, it would be a wrench to lose her. There was no question but that Rupert wouldn’t want Quin to know about the limp celery.
“His father was concerned, because Rupert was going off to war,” she said, choosing her words carefully.
Silence.
Then: “Canterwick forced you to sleep with his simpleton of a son out of wedlock because he was worried that he would have no heir?”
It sounded terrible, put like that.
“I wasn’t forced.”
“Did you volunteer?”
“No.”
“That’s rape,” he said flatly.
“No! Rupert wasn’t . . . Rupert would
never
.”
“Then it was double rape of the both of you.”
Olivia let out a huff of air. “You make it sound despicable. I’m very fond of Rupert, as is he of me. We got through it as best we could. And he did tell me a poem he’d written. It was very good.”
“What was it?”
“It was about the death of a sparrow that had fallen from a tree. ‘
Quick, bright, a bird falls down to us, darkness piles up in the trees
.’ ”
Quin scowled. “I don’t understand that any better than the limerick Peregrine taught me. What does he mean by saying that darkness piles up in the trees? As someone who is studying light, I can tell you that rays don’t pile up anywhere.”
Olivia tugged her bodice into place, and then leaned back against his arm so she could see his face. “Rupert’s poem and the limerick aren’t supposed to be dissected. They just cause a little rush of feeling, that’s all.”
“ ‘Darkness piles up’ is a feeling?” Quin sounded adorably confused.
“He’s talking about grief: the grief he felt when the sparrow fell out of the tree. The bird was quick and bright, and then it was gone. Darkness piled up in the tree where the sparrow once sang.”
His eyes changed.
“Yes, like Alfie,” she said, and put her cheek against his chest. The emotion on his face was so raw that it was painful to witness.
They sat there for a while, Quin’s arms tight around her. Strains of a contra dance crept into the silence, drifting from the ballroom under the door. The music was joyous and sweet, as if it came from miles away, from a world in which no little boys—or sparrows—fell from trees.
Finally Quin cleared his throat. “You do realize that Montsurrey—”
“Rupert,” she corrected him. “Rupert hates to be called by his title. Were he able, he would be on intimate terms with the world.”
“You realize that Rupert is more and more dislikable? He wrote the only piece of poetry I’ve ever understood, he’s defending our country while I sleep comfortably at home, and I’m stealing his fiancée.”
“Rupert would adore the idea that you were in the least bit jealous,” Olivia said. “He may not think clearly, but he understands feelings, and it hurts him when people are dismissive.”
“He certainly understands feelings.”
“I think the damage in his brain freed him. He cries whenever he is moved, whenever he hears or sees something grievous.”
Quin digested this in silence. At last he rose, setting her on her feet. “Are you certain that you wish to marry me? I didn’t have a rush of feeling in response to that poem until you explained it. Why couldn’t it be in full sentences?”
“Rupert very rarely speaks in full sentences.”
“But he could have been more clear. Why didn’t he say:
When the swift-flying sparrow died—likely of old age—and fell from the tree, I felt as if my heart grew very dark
.”
Olivia wrapped her arms around him. “You forgot
bright
, but I think you did well with
dark
.”
“
Bright
doesn’t make sense. Birds from the Passeridae family tend to be gray or brown. I realize that my version is much longer, but it’s more precise. And grammatical.”
“But your version talks about Rupert’s feelings, whereas Rupert’s spoke to you about your feelings for Alfie.”
“Ah.” He considered, and then: “I still find the conjoining of the specific words he chose to be quite illogical.”
“Consider it the poetic equivalent of a mathematical function,” Olivia suggested. “So, do you suppose we should walk into the ballroom and pretend nothing has happened? You’ll need to tie your hair back.”
“No.”
“No to going into the ballroom, or no to pretending that nothing happened?”
“I have no objection to going into the ballroom, because that’s the only way to reach the stairs to the bedchambers. I have changed my mind.”
Olivia gave a little gasp. “Are you saying . . . ?
No!
That would create a terrible scandal. Absolutely not.”
His hands tightened on her. “A sparrow falls every second, Olivia.” He gave her a kiss that was an erotic demand.
It took a moment, but Olivia managed to pull herself away from his kiss and out of his arms. “Your mother would be horrified by such a scandal. You remain here for at least a half hour. I’ll try to slip into the ballroom, and hopefully people will think that I was merely composing myself after having a conversation with your mother.”
“There is a footman in front of the door.”
“
What
?”
“My mother stationed him there after she left, to ensure our privacy. Look at the bottom of the door and you’ll see the shadow of his boots. My mother’s servants are trained to have their shoulders to the wall; if you open the door, you’ll strike him in the back, which will attract attention.”
Olivia bit her lip. “I had not planned to embark upon a life as an infamous woman with such speed.”
He walked to the back of the room, wrenched open the window, and beckoned to her. “It’s a good thing you’re a nimble climber.”
“Why? This is practically ground level.”
Quin swung a leg over the sill and dropped the foot or so to the ground. Then he held out his arms, grinning up at her, his eyes frankly lustful. “I just realized that there is no way to reach the bedchambers without going through the kitchen.”
Olivia pulled up her skirts as demurely as possible and managed to get a leg over the windowsill. It was harder than it looked, and she ended up toppling into Quin’s arms in a flutter of petticoats.
“So,” he said, holding her very tightly as he placed her feet on the ground, “we are not going back into the house. I think we’ll go climbing instead.”
“Climbing? Climbing where?” Olivia looked around. They were on the side of the house, around the corner from the ballroom. Except where yellow light spilled from the windows, the gardens were silver, cool with the light of a full moon. “Are you talking about a ladder reaching to your bedchamber? Because I absolutely refuse to climb a ladder. I am not a hapless fool, eloping in the moonlight.”
“Didn’t you tell me that I could only look at you
like that
if we were high in a tree?”
“I don’t want to climb any more trees, Quin! What if you fall again? You’re lucky not to have been killed.”
Quin just grinned. “Even at my advanced age, I can climb this tree.” He reached out a hand.
But Olivia hung back. “It’s chilly out here. I don’t know what you have in mind, but I’m sure it’s not proper.”
“It’s not proper at all. And don’t worry about the cold. I’ll grab a horse blanket or two from the stables.”
“You want to stay
outside
?”
Olivia was about to voice a whole string of objections, but Quin chose to counter her arguments by kissing her. The kiss was so successful that she found herself perched on the windowsill again, which put her breasts at a level that Quin obviously appreciated.
“It’s a good thing that door is closed,” Quin said sometime later, his voice rough with need.
Olivia gulped, and came to her senses. Her hairpins were long gone and her hair was around her shoulders. What’s more, her bodice had fallen almost to her waist. Skin—far too much skin—gleamed in the moonlight.
“Oh, oh!” she cried, yanking at her gown. “Oh, no.”
“Yes, yes,” Quin said, his hands catching hers, holding them wide so that he could admire her breasts. “I will never have enough of you, Olivia. You’re like a drug.” He dropped her hands and bent his head again.
Olivia stilled, hand on the black hair that fell like silk onto her breast as he kissed her, open, wet-mouthed kisses that sent stinging needles, a sweet kind of torment, down her legs.
“I’m not cold any longer,” she whispered, taking her courage in her hands. This was the right thing to do.
She was choosing her own duke.
“Where is your tree?”
She followed him. But in reality she followed the solemn laughter—and it was laughter—that bloomed in his eyes when she yanked her bodice up; the sweet heat of his mouth; the raw sound of his voice breathing her name.
She would follow him anywhere.
Twenty
The Lucky Lady from Peedle
T
he tree turned out to be behind the stables. And it wasn’t just a tree. It was a house
in
a tree.
Olivia stood at the base, looking up with stupefaction. “What on earth is it?”
“A tree house. Alfie’s tree house.”
“Alfie had a tree house?” That was a stupid question; after all, there it was, a tiny house, perched in a tree. It even had windows and a door.
“Alfie liked to ask questions,” Quin said, still holding her hand. “He had questions about everything: What was holding up the moon, why apples turn brown, and who made up the alphabet. One day he wanted to know why we live on the ground rather than in trees.”
Olivia leaned over, brushed a kiss on his mouth. “He was your little sparrow.”
“Yes.” But his voice wasn’t heavy with grief. In fact, it was joyous. “I had the tree house built for Alfie because I thought it was a particularly good question and merited experimentation. We lived there for two days.”
“And what did Alfie decide?”
“That the Dukes of Sconce live on the ground because it’s very difficult for footmen to climb the steps up the trunk with a supper tray, and Cleese couldn’t come at all. Alfie pointed out that Cleese is never happy unless he knows what everyone is doing, so it wasn’t very kind to him if the two of us decided to live in a tree forever.”
Olivia laughed aloud. “Reasoning that befits a future duke. Wait! Did I hear someone laughing beside myself?”
Quin pulled her against his hard body. “If you climb into that tree house with me, Olivia, there is no going back. I will never allow you to marry Rupert. And make no mistake—I allowed Evangeline to wander where she would, but I feel differently about you. If you even make eyes at a man, I’ll probably kill him.”
Olivia reached up on tiptoe, nipped at his chin. “That goes both ways. If I catch you ogling someone else’s breasts the way you do mine, I won’t kill her—I’ll go straight for you. Consider yourself warned.”
Quin laughed.
“That’s twice in one minute,” Olivia teased. “At this rate, you’ll horrify my mother by turning into a belly-laugher.”
“I was faithful to Evangeline,” he said, ignoring her funning. “And I feel twice for you what I felt for her. I suspect I’m not capable of being unfaithful to you.”
Olivia’s smile wavered, and she felt a lump in her throat. She took a deep breath and turned toward the tree trunk. “How does one get up there?”
“There are steps nailed to the trunk. Wait one moment.” He ducked into the stables, reappearing with two blankets flung over his shoulder. Olivia was in the house a moment later.
The tree house had windows on all four sides open to the moonlight, which poured in like fairy dust turned liquid silver. It was just tall enough for Olivia to stand up in; Quin had to bend his head. The floor was covered with matting, onto which Quin threw the blankets.
Olivia hesitated. It was all very well for Quin to talk about how much he loved her breasts. But there was no way to block these windows. She had thought they would make love in a bedchamber, in the dark.
Quin sat down, held out his hand.
She gave him a weak smile.
“Second thoughts not allowed,” he said cheerfully. He reached forward, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into his lap.
“It’s just that there are no curtains.”
“I know . . . and sound travels.”
“You needn’t sound so gleeful! I think I prefer the old Quin who never smiled.”
“Too late.” He nipped her ear, soothed the sting with a warm tongue. “I sent all the stablehands around to the kitchens except for two old men who are too deaf to hear you.”
“Hear me?” The comment was not welcome. It made her seem as if she had no self-control.
In a swift roll, Quin toppled backward and positioned himself on top of her, settling between her legs. They fit together perfectly. Olivia felt as if her skin suddenly woke up. Perhaps she did have no self-control.
He propped himself on his elbows, staring down at her for a long moment. “ ’Til death us do part?”
The faintest shadow of heartbreaking anxiety was detectable in his eyes. Olivia swallowed a silent curse for his late wife . . . and nodded. “In sickness and in health.”
When the Duke of Sconce put his mind to something mechanical, its intricacies were generally fathomed instantly, and Olivia’s clothing was no exception. Faster than she would have believed possible, he divested her of slippers, gown, corset . . .
Kneeling at her side, his eyes fiery with desire, he reached for her chemise.
“No,” Olivia cried, grabbing his hand. As it was, her chemise was traitorously delicate. Why had she chosen to wear something that was as transparent as a windowpane? She cast one look down at her body and found her chemise caught beneath her hips so that it strained against her belly. Why
had
she eaten all those meat pies? Couldn’t she have pictured a moment like this one? She went rigid with mortification and regret.