Never Mix Sin with Pleasure

by Renee Ann Miller

  Heat warmed her cheeks. She knew she was nothing like the voluptuous Signora Campari. But, as before, his heated gaze made her feel as if she were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  Olivia reached out and drew her finger over the thin line of hair that ran from his navel to the top edge of his trousers. She clasped the button at his waist. “May I?”

  “I won’t stop you.”

  His voice was gravelly, and she knew he was as anxious as her for what they were about to do. She unfastened the top button, then the next, slowly like he had her nightgown. The garment hitched lower on his hips. Her fingers brushed against the hard length beneath the cloth.

  She heard the slow intake of his breath.

  After she’d slipped the last one loose, Anthony shucked off his trousers and drawers. His manhood sprung free. She thought she shouldn’t stare, but it was impossible not to do so. It was thick and long and much smoother looking than she’d expected. Without forethought, she reached out and drew a finger over the length of it from the base to the top.

  Anthony sucked in another audible breath through his teeth.

  She glanced up at his face, wondering if her touch hurt or pleasured him. The look in his eyes clearly revealed the latter.

  He pulled her toward him and, once again, their hands explored each other’s body while they kissed. Though the movements of their hands were slow, the kiss held a frenzied quality to it.

  Anthony pulled back, took her hand in his, and led her to the bed. He tumbled onto it, dragging her down with him. His mouth was hot as it skimmed over her body. She should have experienced apprehension. She should have questioned everything she was doing, but for a few minutes, she could only center her mind on the pleasure of his mouth skimming a path from her neck down to her breast, but worry settled in.

  Olivia cupped his face in her hands and pulled his gaze to hers. “I don’t want . . .” She paused, unsure how to voice her concern about getting with child.

  As if he understood the few words she’d uttered, he nodded. “I will be very careful.” He climbed out of the bed, moved to a tall mahogany dresser, and opened the top drawer. She watched as he removed a folded packet.

  When he returned to the bed, she watched him open it, and place the sheath over his erection. She drew her finger down his length.

  His manhood stood even prouder.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A French letter.” He toppled back onto the bed and whispered into her ear what it was meant to do.

  She had not heard of such a thing. Did not even know they existed.

  Anthony’s lips found hers. He kissed her long and deep until his mouth nibbled a meandering path to one of her breasts.

  The gentle, light brushing of his lips made her feel both loose-limbed and eager.

  Yet, when his mouth gently nipped at her breast, she tensed slightly, but relaxed as he drew the tip into his mouth. The sensation was warm and wet—almost unsettling in the intensity and want it created within her.

  Unable to stop herself she moaned and writhed.

  He looked up. The blacks of his eyes so large, they seemed to absorb the brown. “Do you like that?”

  The question brought a flood of warmth to her face. Yet, it pleased her that he wished to know how it made her feel. She nodded.

  He grinned, then shifted to her other breast and did the same thing.

  This time he moaned. The sound low.

  She had a feeling he was getting as much pleasure from his mouth tasting her as she was from the experience.

  He slid his hand over her stomach, then lower until his fingers reached the curly patch of hair between her legs. His fingers touched where she was wet, and another sensation sprung forth. This one even more intense than his mouth on her breasts.

  “Spread your legs, love.”

  Wanting to feel more of his touch, wanting the sensation within her to grow, she did as he asked, allowing him to explore that private place between her legs.

  His fingers stroked her, building the unknown sensation within her. She tipped her head back and moaned.

  “Wait, love, I want to go there with you.”

  She didn’t know exactly what he meant, but she remembered the wicked pictures she had seen in the naughty book she’d found the girls at the orphanage looking at.

  He snatched a pillow from the head of the bed. “Lift your hips.”

  As she did, he slipped the pillow under her and knelt between her legs. He braced his hands by her shoulders and held her gaze. “Olivia, I have never wanted anyone as desperately as I want you.”

  Did he speak the truth, or were they the words of a seasoned cad? She didn’t care. She longed for his touch.

  Anthony slowly lowered his mouth to hers. Her eyes drifted closed, allowing her mind to center on the contact. The kiss was soft, gentle, but when he coaxed her mouth open, it shifted to hungry. Intense. She answered with the same passion.

  He lowered his large body to hers.

  Skin met skin.

  A new flash of warmth shot through her.

  Between her legs she felt the tip of his manhood pressing gently against her opening. Impatient, she wrapped her legs about him, attempting to draw him farther into her, to fill the ache that almost consumed her mind as much as her body. She felt a slight pressure, along with a pinch of momentary pain. The sensation felt mildly intrusive, yet she craved it.

  Anthony pulled back slightly, causing cool air to travel over her skin.

  She opened her eyes.

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  “No. Don’t stop.”

  A smile spread across his face. He sheathed himself even farther into her, then withdrew slightly before he pushed forward again. Anthony did it again until it built into a rhythm. With each movement, something within her grew, building toward a culmination.

  Anthony whispered her name.

  It drifted over her like a soft breeze on a warm night. She squeezed her legs against him as an intense sensation of pleasure spread through her, causing a pulse between her legs. She felt as if she floated before slowly returning to the here and now.

  Anthony, who’d stilled, started moving in her again in that perfect rhythm. He made a noise. A low growl of sorts. His body tensed and she realized he experienced a physical pleasure similar to what she’d experienced.

  She opened her eyes to see him looking at her.

  He gently brushed his lips against hers, then flopped onto his back.

  For a long minute, they both stared at the ceiling, as if trying to gather their thoughts.

  * * *

  Anthony pressed a kiss to Olivia’s cheek and pulled her into his embrace. He peered at her face. Her eyes were closed, and the moonlight streaming through the bank of windows cast delicate crescent-shaped shadows from her fair lashes onto her cheeks.

  What had she thought of their lovemaking? He’d never been with a woman who wasn’t experienced, and his vanity, or perhaps insecurity, made him wonder if she’d enjoyed the experience. He certainly had.

  “Are you watching me?” she asked, her voice raspier than normal.

  He drew his index finger over her cheek. “What did you think?” He couldn’t believe he’d given voice to the question that spun in his mind. He’d never asked any lover before. He’d taken his pleasure, hoped he’d fulfilled theirs, and left it at that.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “It was . . .”

  The muscles in his stomach clenched. “Yes?”

  “Like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  She stopped staring at the shadows on the ceiling as if they fascinated her and peered at him. Her kiss-swollen lips formed a slow smile. “Oh, definitely good.”

  He experienced a flash of relief. Why did it mean so much to him? He didn’t believe it solely fell on his vanity. He had wanted to please her—to bring her pleasure. More than any other woman. It was as if his pleasure grew from hers.
/>   “I think I’d like to do it again,” she said softly, interrupting his thoughts.

  He grinned. “Would you now?”

  “Yes, now would be fine.”

  A burst of laughter escaped his mouth. He glanced down at his manhood, which was getting hard again by just the sight of Olivia nude and draped across his bed like an offering from Eros, the god of love. “It takes a man a bit of time to get ready again.”

  “Then while we wait”—she reached out and trailed her finger over the scar that ran over his ribs—“tell me more about this?”

  “As I said it was nothing.”

  “It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks as if it caused a great deal of pain.”

  He’d been young and foolish when it happened. Something he didn’t like to admit. “Several years ago, I was robbed when some rabble decided they wanted whatever money I carried in my pocket. One of the thieves decided to stick me with a knife.”

  She gasped. “You could have been killed.”

  “My own fault. I was in my cups and not as alert as I should have been.” It wasn’t like him to be self-deprecating, but Olivia made him feel so at ease.

  She scooted down and pressed her lips to the scar. Women were fascinated by it. Some thought it a badge of honor instead of the foolishness it represented, but none had ever kissed it as if wishing to soothe any residual pain it might cause.

  As she settled back into his embrace and rested her head on his chest, a place close to his heart ached. He pulled her tighter to him as if he wished to sear the memory of them together and leave a mark as indelible as his scar. Maybe that was just as foolish an act. He wasn’t sure what would happen between them. For the first time in his life, he thought he might be experiencing the emotion romantic poets wrote of. Not simple infatuation but something much deeper.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following morning, Olivia sat in the servants’ dining hall and stared at the food on her plate. She’d awoken early this morning in her own room, tucked under her covers. Since she didn’t remember walking there, Anthony must have carried her.

  What would they say to each other? Would he acknowledge what they had done, or would he act like it was all in her head? Her stomach fluttered and feeling someone’s gaze on her, she glanced up to see Katie peering at her from across the table.

  Did the maid know what she had done? No, of course not. No one knew besides her and Anthony.

  “Are you not feeling well?” the maid asked, her gaze dipping to the food still on Olivia’s plate.

  “My stomach is a bit unsettled.”

  “Dry toast will help,” Katie said. “That was what my mother always gave us when we had the collywobbles.”

  “Thank you. I think I will try it.” Olivia took a piece of toast off the rack and nibbled on it.

  “Another grand affair tonight,” Cline said.

  Olivia’s ears perked up.

  Menders nodded. “Likely one meant to outshine most of the others.”

  “Yes, I heard the Duke of Wharton ordered several cases of champagne. The best money could buy,” Mrs. Parks said.

  The dry toast in Olivia’s mouth felt as if it was a sponge, absorbing her breaths. How long had she waited to hear more about Helen’s wretched father? “Tonight?”

  “Yes,” several servants said at the same time.

  “The Phantom hasn’t robbed anyone since Lord Belington. I wonder if he will try to rob the duke,” Katie said.

  The Phantom would definitely pay the last man on her list a call.

  “Cline, do you know if they still suspect a nob?” a maid asked.

  The footman swallowed the forkful of food he’d shoved into his mouth. “Yes, my uncle says they are still almost positive that the Phantom is a person who has attended all the gatherings. A nob who has gambled too deep. They’ve compiled a list of suspects and will be keeping an eye on those men and following them if they leave the ballroom. Tonight, the commissioner and several detectives will be attending the ball.”

  Interesting how they had not even considered it might be a woman, Olivia thought.

  The cook stepped into the room and peered at her. “Do you think her ladyship will take her breakfast in the morning room, or should I make up a tray?”

  Olivia pushed back her chair. “I shall go see if she is awake and find out.”

  * * *

  Anthony glanced at the invoice in his hand. He’d read the carpenter’s bill nearly as many times as he’d glanced at the door, wondering if Olivia would stop by his office before she went to sit with his grandmother.

  Last night after she’d fallen asleep in his arms, he’d carried her into her bedchamber and laid her under her covers. He’d known the foolishness of allowing her to spend the night in his room. Nearly as foolish as having made love to her a second time.

  He stared at the invoice again. He was positive he knew the amount of the carpenter’s bill, but his fear of making a mistake stopped him from entering the number into the ledger. With a disgusted groan of self-contempt, he flung the invoice aside and snatched up the latest blueprints for Victory Pens. One thing he did know was that the changes he’d implemented would make production more efficient. That knowledge gave him a sense of accomplishment he’d never experienced before.

  Yet, the improvements to the pen factory were nearly done. James would return soon. What would that mean for him? What would it mean for Olivia? With Caroline back, Grandmother would insist she didn’t need a companion, and in truth, the woman went out so infrequently she didn’t need one now.

  Someone cleared her throat.

  Anthony peered up to see his grandmother’s lady’s maid standing in the open doorway.

  She bobbed a quick curtsey. “Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but Lady Huntington wished me to deliver this.” She held up a folded piece of parchment, crossed to his desk, and handed it to him.

  He opened it to find Grandmother’s summons directing him to visit her in the private sitting room off her bedchamber. He crumpled the missive in his hands and pitched it into the rubbish pail beside his desk.

  The young woman’s eyes grew round. Her cheeks turned white.

  Anthony knew what the old bird wanted. She wanted to question him about Lord and Lady Dayton’s ball and Mary Chester. He bit back his desire to tell the maid to inform his grandmother he was busy, but he knew that it would be this poor young woman who would have to deal with Grandmother’s anger. “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”

  A weak smile settled on the woman’s face. She curtseyed and left.

  A few minutes later, Anthony stepped into the small sitting room off Grandmother’s bedchamber to see her already dressed in her usual black gown that made her fair, papery skin look even paler. She sat on a high-backed wooden chair that resembled a throne. When he was a child, she’d always sat in it when she conversed with her grandchildren. He and his brother James and sister, Nina, would have to peer up at her, causing a measure of intimidation that Grandmother had calculated. But now in her gaunt state, she did not possess the threatening appearance. Now she looked as fragile as a piece of spun glass, except for the determined angles on her lined face.

  “Well?” she snapped, her cool gray eyes assessing. “What did you think of Lord Pendleton’s granddaughter Mary?”

  There were to be no pleasantries. The old woman knew how to get right to the point. “Miss Chester is a lovely young woman.”

  His grandmother smiled, further creasing her already wrinkled face.

  “But I cannot see a future between us,” Anthony added.

  Grandmother’s smile faded. Her fingers clenched against the gold knob of her cane, turning her knuckles white. “What do you mean? You just called her lovely. She is from one of the oldest and most respected families in England. What more do you want?”

  So much more. Olivia’s face flashed in his mind. “I have told you on more than one occasion that I have no interest in marriage.”

  She pounded
her cane against the thick carpet, producing a muffled thump. “You cannot continue to pine after Caroline. It serves you no purpose. She is married to your brother, for God’s sake.”

  He was quite aware of that. He did not feel the emotions toward Caroline his grandmother accused him of. It was what James and Caroline had together that he envied. Grandmother would not understand that without needing to know why he fought so hard against the idea of marriage if he envied his brother’s. “As I’ve said you are mistaken in your presumption.”

  “Balderdash! I see it every time you look at Caroline.”

  He heard a noise and turned to see Olivia standing in the room. How much had she overheard? Too much by the stark look in her eyes.

  Anthony fought the urge to move to her. To take her hands in his and explain that his grandmother was wrong. But doing so in front of the old woman would be a grave mistake.

  “Forgive, me. I’m sorry,” Olivia said. “I came to see if you wished to eat breakfast in your sitting room or in the dining room?”

  Grandmother released a heavy breath. “Here, if I even retain my appetite after talking with my grandson.”

  Olivia nodded and left the room.

  “I need to go, Grandmother. I have work to tend to.” He spun on his heel.

  “Don’t walk away, Anthony!” Grandmother thumped her cane again.

  He ignored her and stepped into the hall.

  * * *

  Olivia drew in a deep steadying breath as she walked toward the steps that led belowstairs. When she’d overheard Anthony’s grandmother talking about his sister-in-law, Caroline, and the affection he held toward the other woman, she thought her heart might shatter, leaving her a crumpled mess on the Dowager Marchioness of Huntington’s costly Turkish rug.

  Did his sister-in-law return his affection? An image of the pregnant, green-eyed beauty flashed in Olivia’s memory. An ugly question gained purchase in her mind. Whose child did the woman carry? She fisted a hand to her mouth. Could Anthony be that wicked?

  She heard a door close behind her and glanced over her shoulder to see Anthony quickly striding toward her.

  He was beyond handsome, and she had allowed herself to be sucked in by his almost breathtaking maleness. No. She could not lay the blame solely on his shoulders. She had wanted to lay with him. She was innately wicked as well. It would explain all she’d done since coming to London. No matter how she tried to spin her actions, she was a thief, and she’d given herself out of wedlock to a man she didn’t love. Perhaps the latter sentence was the biggest untruth drifting in her mind, since she feared she did love Anthony. She wasn’t sure when it had happened. Surely, she couldn’t pinpoint the exact minute or date, but what she felt for him was unique. Strong. Overwhelming in intensity. And didn’t that prove she might be losing her mind because loving him was more foolish than anything else and benefited no one?