by Lily Maxton
When she was reclining under him, he kissed down the elegant line of her throat before pulling back far enough to simply look at her. Her body was slender with long limbs and small, high breasts and gently flared hips. She was lovely.
A flush slowly spread across her chest and throat. “I’d rather you didn’t look at me,” she muttered, raising her arms to cover herself.
He caught her wrists and kissed them. “I think you’re perfect. Why shouldn’t I look at you?”
Her arms hovered in the air when he released them, as though she wasn’t certain what to do with them. “That’s not empty flattery, is it?”
“It’s the truth,” he said. He meant it.
And she must have believed him. Her arms fell, giving him access to her body. He lowered his head to her breasts, cupping them in his hands while he nipped and sucked the tips. He didn’t rest until she was moaning and arching against him.
As he captured her mouth once more, he let his hand trail down between her breasts, along her stomach, to between her legs. He felt her there, touching his thumb to her hidden peak and slowly pressing a finger inside her.
She gasped, her eyes flying open.
He paused. “Do you like it? Tell me the truth,” he warned. He nearly smiled when she glared at him.
“I… It feels a little strange…but very nice.” She blushed.
He tilted his head. “Nice?” he murmured wickedly. “I must be doing it wrong.”
He began moving his thumb in small circles around her peak, gratified when her hips started moving in a primitive rhythm. He stretched her with another finger, loving the feel of her clenching around him.
“Still nice?” He held her gaze. Challenged her.
“Wonderful,” she breathed, straining against him.
He withdrew just long enough to discard his trousers, and then he settled over her.
For the next few minutes, he rocked against her below, slickening his cock on the damp between her thighs. And above, he kissed her lips and her throat and her collarbone and her breasts. His hands circled her stomach and her chest, leaving warm, gentle trails.
By the time he actually did place the head of his erection against her entrance and ease into her body, her hips were already tilted and her back was arched, ready to receive him. He watched her face as he pushed into her warmth. He hesitated when she closed her eyes in an expression that was as close to pain as pleasure.
“Are you—?” He broke off when she shifted under him, moving to increase the friction where they joined. A strangled sound caught in his throat at the indescribable pleasure of her tight body gripping him. “I suppose that answers my question.”
And then life and time dwindled to one moment. There was nothing beyond them, no world outside of their physical awareness. Nothing but her taste in his mouth and her salty scent in his nose and her skin under his fingertips and his body moving with hers.
Then, everything built to one point, and with a low cry, her arms tightened around his waist, and her movements halted. She trembled beneath him, convulsed around him mercilessly. He thrust slowly once, twice, and again, drawing out her release, holding off his own to give her pleasure for as long as possible. But her fingernails digging into his back and her warm, soft body beneath him pushed him off the ledge. With her name a hoarse cry on his lips, he withdrew quickly, spilling his seed on her stomach.
His unsteady arms didn’t hold him for long. He was shaking as he collapsed next to her, careful not to crush her under his weight. He didn’t know why he was shaking. He only knew that, until tonight, he’d never truly lost himself in another person.
Olivia had stripped him of all control, and though his terrified heart raced at the thought of it now, a mere minute ago he’d wanted to stay lost forever. He watched her as she looked down curiously, then lowered her hand and touched the viscous liquid on her stomach, smearing it across her skin. Then she glanced at his cock, her brow furrowing.
“It’s a way to prevent pregnancy,” he explained, his voice hoarse. If he hadn’t come to his senses at the last moment, he would have held her hips and spilled deep inside her. Part of him still ached to.
“How extraordinary,” she said, sounding as though she actually was fascinated by the science of it all.
He smiled, and a feeling washed over him that was much too close to tenderness.
He turned onto his side, trying to ignore the feeling. There was barely enough room on the settee for both of them, but somehow they managed to get comfortable. He brushed loose hair away from her forehead with hands that weren’t quite steady and glanced down at her as a knot tightened his stomach.
“You’re regretting it,” she said, interpreting his expression correctly.
“No,” he lied.
She stared.
“I ruined you,” he added thickly, guilt threatening to strangle him. He was a rutting beast. Not interested in the consequences, just in the potent pleasure of having her.
“I’m only ruined if someone finds out,” she pointed out.
“What if your husband realizes when he takes you to bed for the first time?”
She inhaled sharply. “I don’t think I shall marry. And even if I do, he might not realize. You’re regretting things that haven’t yet occurred.”
“I’m thinking of your future,” he said. She should be angry, rail at him, strike him—anything other than this quiet acceptance.
“No,” she replied firmly. “You’re trying to turn this experience into something unpleasant. Something you would undo if you could. But you can’t undo it. And I wouldn’t want to anyway. I… I thought it was wonderful, actually.”
He closed his eyes briefly. His chest ached. “You’re being honest.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s not easy.”
“Oh, Olivia,” he murmured. She was far, far too good for him. She deserved a man who would give her the moon and the stars—not one who took her virginity on a settee in someone else’s library. But he was a selfish man, and he didn’t think he could give up these precious moments with her so easily.
And for now, for a while, she was his. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her toward him, and began kissing her again.
…
They met each night. Fell into each other’s arms as if the world was ending and they didn’t have much time. It was an apt comparison, Olivia thought. The world wouldn’t end, of course. No matter what happened between them, it would go on in its persistent, indifferent way. But they did have a limited amount of time. This world would end.
William seemed to go out of his way not to promise her anything. Not to give her any hope for afterward. It was almost as if he was trying to warn her away because he wasn’t able to sever the ties on his own.
His warnings went unheeded. She wanted him, for the short amount of time they had, if that was all she would be given.
She was happy. She didn’t just see him as a lover, but as a friend. When he forgot that he was trying to keep a barrier between them, they would curl up next to one another on the settee and talk as if they’d known each other for years. She worked on being honest, but she found that, with him, she wanted to be honest anyway.
Yes, she was happy. Later, she looked back on that fortnight with the certainty that no other span of time would ever be held so dear, would ever make her feel quite so alive.
And then, all too quickly, it was over. The last grains of sand trickled to the bottom of the hourglass, and everything came crashing down around them.
…
“Can I read something you’ve written?” Olivia asked.
“No,” William said, kissing her stomach where he knew she was ticklish.
She laughed and squirmed away from him. “Very well. But I don’t see why you’re so secretive.”
He looked up at her. “I doubt I’m any good. I don’t want to force you to read through something and pretend you like it.”
“I won’t pretend. Not if you don’t wish
me to.”
“But at the same time, if you hate it, I’d rather not know.”
“Ah,” she said. “That is a dilemma.”
He turned so that his front was curved along her back, his bare body gently cradling hers. His fingertips smoothed a path along her arm. “Ask me after we’ve made love again. Maybe I’ll be in a confident mood.”
She shook her head with a wondering smile, staring into the embers of the fire. “It amazes me. You are such a confident man, and you’re so insecure about your writing.”
“Writing is different,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s… A writer puts himself into the pages, not intentionally, but there’s no other way to do it.”
“And having someone read what you’ve written would be like revealing a secret part of yourself?” She understood the feeling. On the surface they appeared to be vastly different people, but their differences were superficial. They shared the same longings. And the same fears.
The same heart, she mused. But she couldn’t imagine telling him that. She didn’t think he would take it well.
“Yes. That’s it exactly,” he answered. There was silence, and then, “I’ve never spoken with anyone the way you and I speak.” She couldn’t see his face, but he sounded baffled.
“What do you mean?” she asked lazily. The warmth of his skin and the hypnotic crackling of the fire were making her sleepy.
“With men, there’s a repertoire of manly subjects—hunting, politics, liquor. Conversation is easy because we don’t tend to deviate from those topics. And I flirt with women,” he admitted unashamedly. “I don’t talk to them. I talk to you.”
She gripped his hand tight with her own because she knew what he meant. “It’s the same for me,” she said quietly.
After a second, he said, “You flirt with women, too?”
She laughed and turned toward him on the sofa, wanting to see his face. He was smiling, the wonderful smile that seemed to melt like honey all the way down to her toes. He kissed the tip of her nose. Then he leaned down to kiss her lips, but he stopped suddenly, tilting his head as though listening to something far away.
Then swore under his breath. “Put your chemise on,” he whispered.
He was already up, handing the fallen garment to her and shoving his legs into his trousers.
“What is it?” she asked worriedly.
“I hear voices in the hall.”
She peered through the darkness at the clock on the mantel. It was late. Very late. Her skin prickled uneasily as she pulled her dressing gown over her cold arms.
She heard Lord Ashworth’s voice. “Shall we try the library?”
The door rattled from the other side, but thankfully didn’t budge.
“Odd,” he said. “It seems the door is stuck. I suppose we’ll have to continue on.”
“What if the ghost is in the library?”
Olivia frowned. That was the unmistakable cadence of Lady Sarah.
“The Ashworth men aren’t known for being readers.” And that was Miss Ashworth, sounding disgruntled and tired, as though she’d been dragged out of bed to chaperone this ghost hunt and didn’t much like it.
The voices and the footsteps faded.
Olivia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She and William stared at one another, dazed from nearly being found out. He strode over to the door and listened for a moment. “We should leave.”
She didn’t argue. He unlocked the door and ushered her out.
“Well, well,” Lady Sarah drawled. “How shocking.”
Olivia gasped. William stiffened, his hand tightening around her elbow. The other woman was leaning against the wall just outside the library, fully dressed. Her narrowed eyes took in their dishabille, and then a malicious smile curved her lips. She’d suspected all along, Olivia realized. She must have suspected. She didn’t appear scandalized at finding them like this, only triumphant.
“Miss Ashworth? Lord Ashworth?” Lady Sarah called. “I seem to have stumbled across something.”
“The ghost?” Lord Ashworth said, his footsteps coming back toward them.
She laughed, the sound delicate, yet hard and bitter at the same time. It made Olivia’s stomach sink. Lady Sarah wanted revenge against her for being William’s choice. Olivia knew that in the other woman’s mind, she’d been outdone by someone she disliked and didn’t understand, and she couldn’t let that go without fighting back.
Obviously, Lady Sarah didn’t think it was a love match, nor that she’d only be forcing William to do something he would have done anyway. No, she naturally assumed that Olivia wouldn’t be enough to tempt him to marriage.
And Olivia wasn’t so certain she was wrong.
It appeared the spiteful woman would have her revenge easily, barely having to lift a finger because William and Olivia had been far too careless these past weeks.
“No,” Lady Sarah answered Lord Ashworth. “It’s much better than a silly ghost.”
Chapter Six
“I’m tempted to do something violent,” Olivia’s father announced, staring down the rogue who’d ruined his youngest daughter. The effect was lessened by the fact that Lord Middleton was shorter than William and had to look up to glare at him.
Lord Ashworth had kindly offered her family the use of his sitting room early the next morning, and had led the other guests off to pursue other amusements. But Olivia knew she and William were probably the topic of every conversation anyway.
No one sat down in the delicate claw-footed furniture, nor attempted to pretend this was a normal social gathering. All of them were on their feet, and the air held a tension that seemed close to snapping.
She studied William. He looked like a cornered animal. His eyes were shadowed and desperate, his muscles taut. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, but focused on her father instead.
“Couldn’t you have been caught with the baron, instead?” her mother grumbled from beside her.
Olivia shut her out, all her attention on the man in front of her.
Her father continued, “But whether I want to shoot you or not, I hope you’ll make this right. What will it be—marriage or pistols at dawn?”
“Of course I’ll marry her,” William said.
Lord Middleton’s tension eased, but William’s did not. Nor did Olivia’s. Her lover spoke the words flatly. Lover? No. There was no love there. No trepidation, no hope. He was resigned.
She glimpsed her future with him in that moment. If he were forced into marriage, he would never forget it. It would always be between them, possibly unspoken and unacknowledged, but with them all the same. Gnawing like insects at the foundation of a house until it fell apart from the inside out.
She would not be a chain around his throat, would not be the jailor of his cell. She wouldn’t let them marry now, only to grow to hate one another later. Her, for leaving him without a choice, and him, for not giving himself willingly.
“No,” she said. It was a small, frail sound in the thick silence, but they all heard it. All looked toward her. “I refuse.”
Her mother’s hand flew to her forehead as though she was about to faint. Her father snarled Olivia’s name. And William stared at her, his expression confused and angry.
Her eyes stung and her throat closed.
She turned away so he wouldn’t see her tears. When she stood to exit the room as quickly as possible while still retaining a modicum of dignity, it was done shakily and blindly.
Halfway up the stairwell, she heard footsteps behind her.
“Olivia.”
She closed her eyes. Opened them and kept walking. She went into her bedchamber, but before she could shut the door, William was there, blocking it with his body.
“Olivia!”
“What?” she snapped, because anger was better than tears.
“You cannot refuse my proposal.”
She wanted to laugh and sob at the same time—oh, what she’d give to hear emotion in his voice right now. But all she co
uld detect was a reluctant sense of duty. And the pain of it was splintering her heart.
“I believe I just did,” she said coldly.
“Have you thought about what it will mean for you?” he insisted. “You’ll never marry. You’ll be shunned from polite society.”
“And when my parents are gone, or if they cast me off sooner, I’ll live on the welfare of my sisters,” she finished for him. “I am not stupid. I understand the consequences of my actions.”
“Our actions,” he amended. “Let me provide for you, Olivia.”
She closed her eyes against a harsh stinging. When she opened them again, she managed to meet his gaze. “You don’t wish to marry. You never did.”
“No,” he admitted. “But circumstances have changed.”
“What will you provide for me, then? A house? A carriage? All the dresses I could ever want? A nightly conjugal visit?” she asked. “But will you give me your love?”
His head jerked back as though she’d struck him. His expression turned guarded.
The faintest, saddest smile twisted her lips. “That cold existence sounds far worse to me than being ruined.”
“I…” He stopped and ran his hands through his hair, swearing viciously. The man who had charmed women all over London was gone completely. “Don’t do this. Don’t throw away everything for some ideal vision of marriage you’ve built for yourself. I will take care of you. I will protect you. By God, let that be enough!”
She shook her head obstinately, even as his words threatened to break something within her that could never be repaired. “My answer remains.”
He spun away, swore again, then turned back, glaring at her. “It can’t end like this.”
“How else can it end? I love you, William,” she said, as simply and naturally as breathing, because that was exactly how loving him had come to her. “You have all of me. Don’t ask me to accept anything less than all of you.”