The Wedding Affair

by Leigh Michaels

  Olivia’s eyes filled with tears again. “You’re really very special.”

  “Get up.” He rolled off the bed and pulled her to her feet.

  “What—?”

  “Don’t look at me as if I’m about to beat you.” He turned her around to face the bed and began undoing the ties at the back of her dress. When the garment was loose, he lifted it over her head and bent to kiss the exposed skin of her shoulder where her chemise ended.

  Olivia couldn’t bear his gentleness. After what she had done…

  Slowly he removed her petticoat, unlaced her corset, released the painfully creased folds of her chemise, slid off her slippers, and gently rolled down each stocking to her toes. “Where will I find a nightgown for you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

  “Then you’ll sleep in your shift tonight.” The bedclothes had been turned back partway, and he tucked her gently underneath the blankets. “Rest well, Olivia.”

  Olivia clutched at his neck. “Don’t go. Please—stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I’m sorry. I have no right to demand. But…”

  “Just until you go to sleep, then.” He took off his brocade jacket, and she held up the blankets invitingly. He slid underneath and turned her away from him, spooning her into his body with her back pressed tightly against his chest.

  She snuggled back against him and felt his erection prodding her bottom, reminding her he had not been satisfied. She nudged him a little and felt his penis stir against her.

  “Stop it, Olivia. You’re feeling guilty because we didn’t finish, but there’s no need.”

  “No.” She turned over to face him. Her breasts, under the soft lawn of her chemise, brushed his chest. “It’s not guilt. I just… I want to finish.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  She closed her eyes and looked into her heart. “Yes, I do. I want to be free, Simon. Free of those memories.”

  He was very still for an instant. “I like the way you say my name. Say it again.”

  Feeling suddenly shy, she whispered, “Simon.”

  He kissed her. “And again, for I want you to remember who is in this bed with you.”

  As if she could forget! “Simon,” she said, and this time she let a tart edge creep into her voice. “Stop talking now and get to work.”

  He kissed her long and softly, and she shifted impatiently against him. He toyed with her breasts, licking and nibbling. Curious, Olivia let her hand wander down his chest and across the flat stomach until her fingertips brushed against his erect penis. How could something be both so rigid and so velvety smooth at the same time?

  He seized her wrist. “You can explore some other day. Tonight you’re not going to hurry me, Olivia. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  His caresses grew to a torment. When he held her legs apart and kissed her, she felt a gush of warmth. “Hold still,” he said. “If you can.”

  She twisted her hands into the sheets, but she couldn’t remain motionless under his gentle assault. Soon—though not soon enough for her—she shuddered in a more powerful release than she could have imagined, her body quaking through waves of sweet agony. “Simon,” she gasped. “I never dreamed…”

  He watched her in something like awe and then poised himself above her. “Would you like another, Olivia?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, and as he once more slid inside her, she gave a little murmur of sheer satisfaction and tilted her hips to pull him deeper within her until she had her fill.

  This time was just as hot and intense, but slower—achingly slow sometimes, as he stroked her. When she was once more on the brink, he reached down and thumbed the sensitive button of her clitoris. She arched against him with a shriek, and as she tumbled over the edge, he thrust once more and joined her in the maelstrom.

  She drifted a little, warm and secure in his arms. “Have you made love in every room in this house yet?” she asked sleepily.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Come to think of it, I haven’t. But what a very good idea.”

  “What about this room? Have you visited any previous guests here?”

  “Not a one.”

  “That’s nice.” Olivia set about exploring his body as thoroughly as he had studied hers.

  “We still have two nights before the wedding,” Simon murmured. “Shall we see how much of Halstead we can cover in that time?”

  Fourteen

  In the dim warmth of the blue bedroom, Penelope lay on her back, still feeling the aftereffects of their lovemaking. Now everything made sense; now all felt right. This was how things were supposed to be, with her husband sated and relaxed, still half-lying atop her, his weight cradled in her arms.

  She lifted one hand—her arm seemed heavy, and moving was an effort—and brushed a lock of hair back from his forehead.

  As if her touch had startled him, he rolled away. “I am sorry. I didn’t intend to do that.”

  Penelope felt cold and forlorn. “I know you didn’t. I drove you to it. But I’m not sorry.” She pulled the ripped nightgown more closely around her. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “How amusing—and how very ladylike of you—to thank me for treating you like a…” He sat on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands.

  How very ladylike of you. Must he turn the term into an insult? “…Like a wife,” Penelope said softly. She slid out of bed and picked up the candlestick. Then she took a twisted bit of paper from a jar on the mantel, held it against a glowing coal until the spill flared, and lit the candle once more. “Your part of the bargain is satisfied. Now I shall keep mine.”

  He didn’t move. Didn’t even appear to hear what she had said.

  Penelope took her jewel case from the drawer. She lit the second candle, laid the jewel case out on the rumpled sheets, and opened the first compartment. The yellow diamond, the biggest stone in the case, winked like the eye of a malevolent cat.

  “Put that away,” he said.

  “Please, my lord. The mistake has been made and we cannot undo it. We are chained together for life.”

  He rubbed his forehead as if it hurt.

  Penelope said softly. “But at least I can give you Stoneyford.”

  He looked at the yellow diamond gleaming in the candlelight and shook his head. “I couldn’t take it. But the simple fact is—well, it’s not enough.”

  The words struck dread into her heart. “I cannot give you freedom,” she whispered. “I know you want nothing of me. But if we can rebuild Stoneyford…” She couldn’t finish the thought—not aloud. Then perhaps someday we might find our way… not to happiness, for that is too much to ask. But perhaps we could be contented together…

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said harshly. “Do you believe me so ungrateful as to throw your gift back in your face because it isn’t large enough?”

  “Then I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Have you any idea how much money it would take to put the house in order? I have consulted builders and craftsmen, and I know it is more than a few diamonds can bring. It is very generous of you to offer, but your jewels would be wasted and Stoneyford would still stand in ruins.”

  “The jewels are mine to waste.” Penelope paused, frowning. “You knew this afternoon I didn’t own enough diamonds to make a difference?”

  “I thought it quite unlikely you did.”

  “Then why did you agree to the bargain, my lord?”

  Finally, he drew a deep breath and said, “Because you asked. Because that was what you wanted.”

  Tidbits fell together in her mind until certainty formed. “But you made certain there would not be a child because you do not want my father to get what he wants.”

  “You took care of that problem tonight, didn’t you? He will be very pleased with your performance, if you are with child.”

  “You think that’s why I goaded you tonight? To please my f
ather?”

  “You may be willing to knuckle under to Mr. Weiss’s demands, but I am not.”

  “Then we are at a standstill.”

  “Indeed we are. I am glad to know you understand so much, for I have never thought anything else.”

  With shaking hands, Penelope folded up her jewel case and put it away, then crept back into the great bed, where she lay as close to the edge as she could and pretended to go to sleep.

  ***

  Though of course Simon was pleased to be of assistance in Olivia’s quest to banish her bad memories, the truth was she had worn him out. When she finally dozed off, he gathered her carefully into his arms and settled down for a quick nap himself. He still had time enough to get safely back to his own room before the servants started to stir. Besides, his own bed would be freshly starched and cold—while hers contained not only her alluring warmth but the soft scent of her hair spilling across her pillow and tickling his nose. Sheer comfort drew him down into a spiral of relaxed, peaceful exhaustion.

  He dreamed of emeralds. She had said she did not want jeweled combs, and Simon had to agree. He much preferred her hair loose and trailing around her shoulders.

  But he could still picture her draped in emeralds. A glowing blue-green necklace, a row of bracelets, a pair of eardrops, perhaps a tiara. And nothing else.

  He woke with the image filling his mind and desire burning through his body, and leaned over Olivia to kiss her awake. She stirred and opened her eyes and curled herself around him.

  “What time is it?” she asked. “Is that sunlight I see?”

  The sun was not yet up but dawn was breaking, and Simon realized he had slept far longer than he intended. He pushed aside the blankets and scrambled into his clothes and then came back to the bed. “One last kiss to hold me through the morning,” he said, and though Olivia laughed at him, she cooperated so enthusiastically that he wanted to climb back in with her.

  With his senses so fully aroused, he should have sniffed danger long before he collided with it—but perhaps he wouldn’t have heard telltale sounds from the landing anyway, for the door was thick and the servants were well trained. He opened the door just as Maggie, with a tray balanced on one hand, turned the knob. He almost pulled her off her feet.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” she said pertly and stepped around him to cross the threshold. “Good morning, my lady. The duchess would like to see you this morning.”

  “My mother is already up and about?” Simon said warily. “And she wants to see me?”

  “I think she gave the message to her maid last night to pass along through the servants’ hall.” Maggie’s voice took on a saucy edge. “And it’s Lady Reyne she wants to see. She’d have hardly counted on me as a messenger to you, Your Grace—seeing as how you’re the last person she’d expect me to run into while carrying up a tray of morning chocolate for her ladyship.”

  He was being particularly dense this morning, Simon realized. “So the Inquisition begins,” he muttered and then fixed a stern look on the maid. “Maggie, I’ll make it well worth your while to keep silent about this.”

  She sniffed. “Do you think I’m mad, Your Grace?”

  “Very well, then.” He tried not to wonder why Maggie hadn’t seemed surprised to see him or shocked to find a man just leaving her mistress’s room.

  As he put his ear to the door, Maggie set the tray down and went to open the curtains. “My apologies for being so early, ma’am, but I have a dozen trays to deliver. I thought I could tiptoe in without waking you—or at least you’d not bite my head off if I made a noise, as some of the other ladies do.”

  Simon could detect no sounds from the corridor, but he opened the door cautiously and then sneaked around the corner into the hall and down to his own room as quickly as he could, feeling disgruntled about the whole episode. There was something wrong when the master of the house was reduced to sneaking around and hiding in shadows to avoid the servants.

  He’d been right about his bed being cold, and the sheets felt stiff and scratchy. After Olivia’s glowing warmth and satiny softness, it was torment to stretch out here and try to settle himself to sleep. Maybe if he counted emeralds… how many could he fit onto Olivia’s slim form without weighing her down?

  A foolish game, of course. She would never keep emeralds or anything so valuable. Olivia had been quite clear about her goals and her methods. He was foolish to think of elaborate gifts for a lady who had made it clear that she found cold cash a far more attractive option. She had only kept the stickpin close and protected because of its monetary worth, not its sentimental value.

  And that was exactly the sort of bargain he had asked for, Simon reminded himself. Exactly what he had wanted.

  With the very notion of sleep banished, he climbed out of bed and rang for Hemmings to bring his shaving water. The valet did not comment about the near-pristine state of Simon’s bed or about the early hour of the summons or even—while he was carefully inspecting every piece of clothing—the sudden reappearance from a pocket of a once-lost sapphire stickpin. But his eyebrows kept climbing higher and higher until Simon expected they’d soon meet Hemmings’s receding hairline.

  “I presume I should lay out your riding garb this morning, sir? Shall I send word to the stables to saddle your gelding?”

  Simon paused and then thoughtfully scraped the razor down his jaw. “No. This morning, I’m in the mood for a pony ride instead.”

  That did it, he observed. Hemmings’s eyebrows might never come back down into line.

  ***

  Olivia dawdled over her chocolate and took her time in getting dressed before eventually finding her way to the sunny suite at the back of the house.

  Large though the duchess’s rooms were, they seemed uncomfortably full of people. Kate was there with a cluster of bridesmaids, and Lady Stone occupied the chair nearest the duchess’s. Perhaps it was a good sign, Olivia told herself, for surely the duke’s mother would neither interrogate nor castigate a guest in such a public setting.

  However, as soon as the dowager’s gaze fell on Olivia, she shooed everyone else away. “Go and get ready for the archery tournament,” she urged. “You will want to finish your exercise before the day grows warm and leave yourselves time to rest before the ball begins. Come and sit here with me, Lady Reyne.”

  While shepherding the bridesmaids out, Kate cast a worried look over her shoulder at Olivia.

  Olivia tried to smile back with a reassurance she was very far from feeling. The sudden silence felt oppressive, dangerous, and threatening.

  “Would you like tea?” the duchess asked, and poured a cup without waiting for an answer. “Lady Reyne, I am charmed to have the opportunity to know you better. Tell me about yourself.” She leaned back in her chair with an air of being ready to wait forever for an answer.

  “I… My father was Sir Ralph…”

  The duchess waved a hand. “No, my dear. I know where you come from, who your people are, when you came out, who you married. Lucinda Stone may be an old gossip, but she’s also a treasure trove, for she knows everything about everyone. I am asking about you.”

  “Not much to tell, Your Grace. I was married and widowed…”

  “Within the last year, I collect.”

  “It’s been just under a year.”

  “Yet you are not in mourning.”

  “When I left my husband’s home, I was able to take very little with me. Since then, a lack of funds has not permitted me to purchase a new wardrobe.” Olivia added wryly, “Of course I considered dying the clothes I had—but dye takes so unpredictably that I felt it unwise to risk the few dresses I owned to make an outward show of mourning.”

  The duchess’s eyes gave away nothing of what she might be feeling. “You felt the appropriate levels of grief, of course.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Depending on how one defines appropriate, of course.

  “How did you meet my son?”

  Olivia sipped her tea to give hersel
f a chance to think. It was hard to tell if the duke’s tale of dancing at some unspecified ball had made its way to his mother’s ears, but Olivia suspected the story was not a safe refuge. The duchess was capable of demanding the hostess’s name and the date, and with Lady Stone’s seemingly endless knowledge to draw on…

  Olivia forced a smile. “The duke insists we danced together once at a private ball in London—but I am afraid I can neither confirm nor deny that. I simply don’t remember, you see.”

  The duchess sounded startled. “You don’t remember dancing with a duke?”

  “So very odd of me.” Misleading as Olivia hoped her interpretation was, it at least had the advantage of being true—to an extent. The fact that she could never have forgotten the duke, had she met him before he came to Halstead, was entirely beside the point.

  “Indeed.” The duchess set her cup down with a clink. “I presume your limited wardrobe does not include a ball gown.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I do not like for a guest in my house to be uncomfortable, so I have taken the liberty of asking the modiste to create a gown for you to wear for Daphne’s wedding ball.”

  “But the ball is tonight.”

  “Yes. I need hardly say the time constraints mean the gown must be simple.”

  “Your Grace, that is very generous of you. But I really cannot allow you to provide such things for me.”

  “Nonsense. The entire staff of dressmakers has been taking up space and, I suspect, using the time to catch up on their London commissions. I’m merely putting them to work.”

  “But the materials… I must at least pay for the materials they use.” Olivia still had the money she’d set aside to pay Sir Jasper, tucked safely away in the bottom of her reticule. She suspected it wouldn’t go far to buy the sort of fabric the Duchess of Somervale had in mind, but at least paying something would soothe Olivia’s pride.

  And when Sir Jasper came back to collect the rent payment… I’ll worry about that when the day comes.