by Lily Maxton
He peered at her with concern. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said shrilly. “I’m well.”
He frowned and bent to adjust the stirrups while she smoothed out the skirt of her dark green riding habit, taking care not to flash her ankles.
Mr. Cross looked over while he assisted Lady Sarah and Miss Ashworth. “They can tell if you don’t like them,” he offered, unhelpfully.
“I like horses,” she said. Or at least she tried to tell herself she did, since she was already mounted on one, and it was too late to feel otherwise.
Lady Sarah’s cool blue eyes narrowed, and she sought to regain William’s attention. “I’ve been riding since I was four. My mother always tells me I’m a natural.”
He turned back to her with a smile. “Indeed, you look like you were born to it.”
Olivia stared down at her gloved hands clasping the pommel, wishing this whole excursion done with.
Miss Ashworth fronted the group, with Lady Sarah, Lord Ashworth, Mr. Cross, and Olivia following. The sunlight slanted across Mr. Cross’s head, bringing out hints of color she hadn’t noticed before, ranging from pale blond to gold to nearly brown. She was tempted to count them and name them, but she turned her head and focused on the reds and oranges of the fall leaves instead.
In another week or two, a cold wind would leave the branches bare. She would have to enjoy the leaves now or miss her chance.
But it was difficult to enjoy nature when the mare veered alarming close to one of the surrounding trees, as if she wanted to scrape the cumbersome human off her back. Olivia watched the toe of her ankle boot miss the trunk by a mere inch and gulped. She tugged at the reins, but her gentle attempt to move the creature passed unnoticed.
The horse knew who was in charge, and it wasn’t Olivia.
She lasted for all of five minutes between mounting the horse and giving up. But it wasn’t due to lack of effort. The mare must have noticed something in the grass, unseen to Olivia, or maybe the mare was just tired of carrying her around. It whinnied and reared back, not enough to throw her off, but enough to make her scream and grab the pommel.
Mr. Cross was at her side in an instant.
“What is it?”
“I’m not certain,” she said. The horse was still nervous. It snorted and pranced, and her hands hurt from the tightness of her grip. Her heart thudded against her ribcage. “Let me down,” she said.
He didn’t mock her, or condescend, or try to talk her into continuing. He was silent as he got down from his horse gracefully and placed his hands on her waist to lower her. Her own hands fluttered to his shoulders when her feet touched the ground, and she looked up at him. His eyes were dazzling in bright daylight—subtle flecks of gold, unapparent in darker lighting, appeared near the inner edge of the iris. For a second they just stood together, nearly in an embrace but not quite, like two dancers who didn’t know which direction to move.
“Mr. Cross?”
They both stepped back, hands falling, at Lady Sarah’s voice.
“We’ve decided to walk the horses back,” he said. “Miss Middleton’s mount is a bit jumpy.”
“A nervous rider can make a nervous horse,” Lady Sarah replied, looking cool and resplendent on her own black mount.
She really was a natural. Olivia hated both her and her horse.
“Possibly,” Mr. Cross said, remaining neutral. “Or it might have spied something in the grass.”
The woman’s lips thinned.
Lord Ashworth cut in. “We can continue. It won’t be a problem.”
“It’s not proper for them to walk alone,” Lady Sarah said waspishly. Olivia was certain the woman didn’t give a fig about what was and wasn’t proper.
“We can turn toward the rise,” Miss Ashworth said, “and we’ll be able to see them until they reach the house. There shouldn’t be any impropriety in that.”
“Very well,” Lord Ashworth said happily. “My sister and I shall continue with Lady Sarah, and Mr. Cross will escort Miss Middleton back. Is that agreeable?”
Lady Sarah hesitated. She glanced between the two men and her chest rose with a deep inhalation. “Very well.” She shot Olivia a nasty look before turning her horse and continuing.
“Enjoy the ride,” Mr. Cross said to the Ashworths.
And then they were alone.
“I feel completely ridiculous. I didn’t want to be a burden,” Olivia said.
“You’re not a burden. Though”—this with a smile—“I’m not certain why you said you like to ride when you actually hate horses.”
“It just sort of…slipped out. Lord Ashworth was speaking to me and I didn’t know what to say. But really, they’re terrifying creatures.”
“I like them well enough.”
“They don’t try to buck you off.”
“That’s because they know I don’t wish them ill. They can sense your dislike.”
“Yes,” she muttered. “So everyone keeps telling me.”
He laughed, and they started down the hill toward Eastwold Abbey. Mr. Cross had taken both reins, and the horses were content to trail after him.
A silence settled between them, not entirely comfortable or uncomfortable, but a mix of both. Olivia peeked to the side and found him studying her. He met her gaze boldly, unembarrassed at being caught.
“Have you kissed Lady Sarah, too?” she asked. Then clapped her hand over her mouth with the same fervency as if she’d sworn in front of the king.
He, wily man that he was, answered with a question. “Would that make you jealous?”
“Of course not,” she said. A lie. Just as he’d chided her for. “Although,” she added, “I think it shows a lack of character to go around at a house party accosting debutantes.”
“I’ve only accosted one debutante at this house party, and she seemed to enjoy the kiss as much as I did, so I don’t know if that’s the term I would use.”
“Oh,” she managed. She was the only one—an easing in her chest at that news. An easing she should ignore.
“Does it still show a lack of character,” he asked curiously, “if it’s only one?”
“I suppose that would depend on your intentions.”
“Ah.” His face seemed to draw shut. “Marriage, you mean?”
“Not necessarily.” She slowed her steps, giving them more time before they reached the house. “Are you opposed to marriage?”
“For myself, not for others.” He studied her. “What do you mean by ‘not necessarily’?”
“It would depend on whether it was an impulsive kiss or a calculated seduction.” She looked down at her moving feet, and then she added quickly, “Not that I think you’d have any reason to seduce me. Or, indeed, any desire. Why is marriage not for you?”
“Wait.” He held up his hand, halting her. They turned to face each other, and one of the horses snorted at the abrupt movement. “Why shouldn’t I desire you?”
“You’re, well…you. And I’m me. No one would expect you to look twice at me.”
“That’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard,” he said bluntly. “You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit.”
She tilted her head back to peer up at him from under the brim of her riding hat. “I know that being quiet and bookish doesn’t exactly make one sought after.”
“Being sought after and being desirable aren’t the same thing. Some people don’t know what to look for,” he said.
He was so vehement that her head jerked back slightly. Her eyes traced the sullen set of his jaw. “What do you see when you look at me?” she asked.
He opened his mouth. Hesitated. Then his lips curved in a wry smile. “I see an intelligent, passionate woman who’s too used to hiding what she really thinks. Although, with a mother like yours, I can’t say that I blame you.”
“Is that sincere? Or is it like your gray to silver?”
“It’s sincere.”
And she believed him. She didn’t know why, b
ut she believed him.
“I think my sisters and I all responded to our mother in different ways. Elizabeth did her best to please her. Anne took the opposite approach and became defiant. I simply tried to stay out of view.”
“Perhaps it’s time to stop.”
Her lips twitched. She wanted to lean into him, seek his warmth, tilt her head to capture his kiss. He looked so earnest in that moment—all hard angles and set jaw, none of his charm or smooth speech. This Mr. Cross was the one she found difficult to resist.
But why should she resist? She might never feel this way again.
“Do you go to the library every night?” she asked.
His lips parted. She heard a soft inhale. “It’s not a good idea, Olivia.” But his eyes betrayed him. They were locked on her mouth, dark even in the sunlight.
“But sometimes bad ideas are quite enjoyable.”
A huff of laughter. “I can’t argue that point.”
“I think you want to say yes.”
His rubbed his jaw. “Are you propositioning me? What exactly do you want?”
“I want…” She forced herself to be honest. “I want to kiss you again.”
His whole body went rigid. “And if neither of us can stop at a kiss?”
She lifted one shoulder as though that possibility wasn’t of much consequence. And, in truth, it wasn’t. Maybe she should be more shocked at her own impulsiveness, but she’d spent her whole life not being impulsive—it was only natural that when she found something worth being impulsive for, the dam would break under the pressure.
And in her opinion, the reward outweighed the risks. She’d begun to think more and more of her sisters and the love they’d found with their husbands. Even if any of the men her mother threw her in front of actually wanted to marry her, would she want to marry them? A marriage without love sounded like the worst sort of fate, and she’d decided she wouldn’t subject herself to it, no matter how much her mother might try to cow her.
But if her chances of wedded bliss were dismal, that didn’t mean her life had to flow into long years of chaste, emotionless spinsterhood. She could still have passion. She could still lose herself in William’s arms, as she had the night before. As she wanted to continue doing, for as many nights as she could.
His eyes narrowed on her, glittering oddly. “Damnation,” he swore.
She smiled. “Was that my answer?”
He looked as baleful as an unfed cat, but he didn’t elaborate. He spun on his foot and continued toward the stables, leaving her to complete the last few steps to the house by herself.
Before he was out of earshot, he said, over his shoulder, “You are trouble, Miss Middleton. I should have seen it.”
Chapter Five
“Have you decided on a wife yet?” William asked as Ashworth lined up his shot. The gun blasted and recoiled, and a pheasant plummeted to the ground. The hunting dogs rushed forward to retrieve the fallen bird.
Another pheasant was flushed out from the sound of the blast, and a few feet away, Lord Middleton raised his gun to shoot.
William wondered what Olivia’s relationship with her father was like. Were they close? Did she tell him things she didn’t tell her mother? Was he proud of the woman she’d become?
“I think I’ve narrowed down the field,” Ashworth answered.
William shook his head with a smile. “You’re approaching it as a military campaign, then?”
“In two years, I’ll be thirty,” his friend said. “My mother is pressuring me for an heir, and I don’t care about holding out for a love match.” He glanced pointedly at William at the last part.
William wanted to groan. “If I’d realized how out of control things would become, I never would have said that I wouldn’t get married until I’d made a love match. Do you know how many white-dressed debutantes have thrown themselves at me, or been thrown at me?”
“You enjoy the attention,” Ash scoffed.
“Up to a point,” he admitted. “This went well beyond that point.”
The men, by silent agreement, began to head back to the house. William and Ashworth fell to the back of the group as they talked.
“To whom have you narrowed it down?”
“Lady Sarah—”
“Lovely face,” he commented. “Old family.”
“And Miss Middleton.”
His head shot up. He stared at his friend for several long seconds and tried to ignore the wrenching in his gut. “Miss Middleton? Why?”
“I think she’d be rather biddable. I’m not certain that Lady Sarah would be. And I find her pleasant enough.”
Pleasant enough. That didn’t begin to describe her. For the first time in his life, William wanted to strike his childhood friend. “She won’t be biddable,” he ground out.
“Whatever gave you that impression?” Ash cast him a sidelong glance and cocked his eyebrow.
“Have you actually had a real conversation with her? She’s not biddable. She’s exasperating and unusual and…and she’s smarter than you are. How many books have you read in your whole life? Five?”
“Hmm,” Ashworth uttered, not offended at all. “Will I be invited to the wedding?”
“I beg your pardon?” William’s voice rose.
“Miss Middleton is not one of my choices. I simply wanted to see what you thought of her. And now I know. That love match everyone is so anticipating might be in the making, eh?”
It felt as if he’d been dunked headfirst in icy water. His skin went numb. His lungs had trouble drawing in the required amount of air. And when the numbness ebbed, it was replaced with indescribable, potent anger.
“No. Don’t be a fool,” he managed to bite out, and increased his pace as though his friend were a demon he needed to outrun, lest he be swallowed whole.
What he felt for Olivia wasn’t love. It was fondness, a fleeting attraction, and that was all.
That was all he would ever allow it to be.
…
When Olivia went to the library late that night, there was no familiar scratching of a pen. No faint candlelight slipping from under the door.
She stole in like a phantom and sat in an armchair in the corner, the room around her dark except for the single candle she’d brought. She pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her, warding off the autumn chill.
She waited and waited. Disappointment and annoyance swirled together inside her. And a deep regret. He didn’t want her. Not as much as she wanted him, at least.
Eventually, her arms and legs grew leaden and she let her eyes close, and she slept. She wasn’t sure how long, but she awoke to a faint noise.
Her eyes flickered open. At first she couldn’t see anything, and she wondered if the ghost of Lord Ashworth’s grandfather had found her. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mistake her for his murderous wife.
But then William stepped into the small ring of candlelight, dressed in trousers and boots with a shirt that glowed white. She had to crane her neck to see his face.
“You’re still here.” His voice was flat.
“I was reading,” she responded.
He looked at the table next to her. Bare. His lips thinned.
But what was she supposed to tell him? She’d fallen asleep waiting for him, alone in the dark? She wasn’t his pet. She wasn’t going to let her night be uplifted or ruined based on whether or not he appeared.
She rose from the chair.
But he didn’t step back to allow her room to stand, so when she did, she found her body flush against his, without nearly the amount of clothing needed to separate heat from heat, breasts from a broad chest, soft, curved thighs from hard ones.
Contact with that tall, strong body made her achingly aware of how they were different. Where they were different.
“Let me pass.” Her voice was unsteady.
“You should have left sooner,” he said.
She didn’t have time to decipher his strange mood, because in the next instant, he lowered his
head and took her mouth in a deep kiss.
Her hands reached up to twist in the collar of his shirt, her knuckles sliding against skin. She didn’t think she’d ever grow tired of kissing him. She loved the softness of his lips; she loved the way he tasted; she loved the slick heat of his tongue and the hard press of his teeth.
The best thing would be to end it now. She was supposed to go back to her bedchamber. She was supposed to show him that it didn’t matter if he decided to meet her or not. But she couldn’t find the strength of will to untangle herself from him.
…
William knew what he was doing was a mistake. He knew he was slightly tipsy—not enough to make him do something rash in itself, but enough to make a bad idea sound better than it was.
But still, he knew it was a bad idea
But then he was pushing the dressing gown from her shoulders again. This time, she also let him pull off her chemise and expose her skin to the cool night air. Goosebumps swept over her naked flesh but didn’t remain for long. He pushed down his braces so he could tug his shirt over his head, then pulled her against him, warming her chest and stomach with his own torso.
His cock pressed against her thigh, and her hips jerked forward as her hands twined in his hair. Shy Olivia wasn’t acting very shy at all, not with him, not in this. But she’d never been very shy with him in the first place.
Now would be the time to end his transgression—before they’d done anything more than kiss. To change a huge mistake into a small one. But he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, reveling in her, adoring her innocent eagerness, the passion that she wasn’t frightened of but met head-on despite her inexperience.
She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman.
And he’d already told her marriage wasn’t for him. She’d had fair warning that wherever this might lead them, it wouldn’t be to the altar.
Mimicking something he’d done earlier, Olivia captured his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping gently, and then soothed the spot she’d bitten him with her tongue.
And that cut off his internal debate for good. Who was he fooling? He’d been past the point of no return since their first kiss.
He groaned low in his throat, lifted her by the waist, and forced her to wrap her legs around him for support, the hot flesh between them tight against the flat plane of his stomach. He tumbled her to the settee while she was still wrapped around him like a living cloak.