TuesdayNights

by Linda Rae Sande

  Eloisa smiled and nodded in agreement. “We both need some bride clothes,” she replied happily. Once she’d fetched her reticule and a shawl, the two sisters left for a very long shopping excursion.

  “My mother is in town,” Michael commented in a low voice as he regarded Olivia. When he’d knocked on her door and peeked in at her call of “Come in,” he found her reading Pride and Prejudice in bed, her bare shoulders and arms suggesting she was naked beneath the covers. She quickly set the tome on the night stand and motioned for him to come into the room.

  “Did you see her today?” Olivia asked, curious as to why he wouldn’t have mentioned it over dinner.

  Michael shook his head as he made his way to the side of the bed, his dressing gown loosely tied shut. “I just received a note from her,” he replied, wondering if he dare attempt to stay in the room again that night. “It was delivered by one of the footman from the Cavendish house, so she is definitely staying there,” he added with a sigh. His gaze lowered to the bed and he fell silent.

  “What is it?” Olivia wondered, seeing an odd expression cross his face. The bruises on his face from the day before were already fading so that just a hint of yellow showed on his jawline.

  “I did not mean for our wedding to be such a ... slapdash affair,” Michael murmured, his tone apologetic as he stared at the blue draped fabric of the canopy above Olivia’s bed. My mother’s bed, he thought with a frown. “I hadn’t given it much thought, seeing as how I’ve known for so long that you would be my wife,” he added in a whisper, turning his head in her direction. Their evening had been very pleasant; a good dinner without Edward – the man hadn’t been seen by any of the staff since Monday night – a quiet walk in the garden after the dessert course, a glass of port in the library. And then Olivia had nearly fallen asleep in his arms as Michael held her in the large leather chair and gently caressed her nearly-healed wrist.

  Olivia gasped at the odd comment and raised herself up on one elbow, the motion causing the coverlet to slide down. Very aware of a suddenly bared breast, Michael held his breath for a moment in an attempt to remain in control of himself.

  “How long have you known that?” Olivia wondered, her brows knitted in a frown.

  Michael sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to gently smooth the crease in her brow with the edge of his thumb. He noted how long her lashes were as she closed her eyes at his touch. “Since you were ... sixteen, I suppose,” he answered, his thumb sliding down to her temple.

  Her eyes opened in surprise. “Sixteen?” she repeated, trying to sit up straighter but forced to remain where she was as Michael pulled back the coverlet and climbed into the bed next to her. He shed his dressing gown as he did so, watching to see what Olivia’s reaction would be to his sudden nakedness and his very apparent arousal.

  He remembered waking up naked that morning, though, and realized she had to have undressed him while she applied arnica to his bruises. The medication had done wonders; most of the slight bruises were already fading and the worst ones were changing from the purply-blue to the just-blue stage. Within a few days, there wouldn’t be any evidence of his sparring match with Huntington.

  But Olivia’s attention stayed on his eyes. “How can that be? I was only sixteen the first time you ever ...”

  “Indeed,” Michael interrupted, settling his head on a pillow and moving to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “From the moment I met you, I thought of you as my intended,” he admitted in a quiet voice. “I imagined what a ring would look like on the base of the finger that was bleeding.” He pulled that same finger into his mouth, gently suckling it until he noticed the iron ring and grimaced. At Olivia’s shocked expression, he let go of her finger and added, “Your father knew right away, of course.”

  “Whatever do you mean, ‘of course’?” Olivia countered as the arm behind her lifted her shoulders and rolled her so that the front of her body was pressed against his unbruised side. Her left arm ended up across his ribs, her hand above the bandage around her wrist finding purchase on his chest. When her fingertips brushed against his nipple, she heard his sudden intake of breath and realized what had caused it. She was contemplating whether to repeat the movement when he said, “He just knew. He ... saw how I looked at you, I suppose, or perhaps he decided ...” He let the sentence trail off, wondering how, indeed, Harold Waterford had realized just how taken Michael was with his daughter. At Olivia’s expectant glance, he added, “So he promised you to me.”

  Olivia stared at Michael for a very long time. His heavy-lidded eyes were unreadable in the dim lamplight, but she sensed he was quite serious. Then she remembered something he’d said the night before. “You said he told you to stay away from me for three years!” she countered, thinking she’d caught him in a lie.

  “And then I could have you as my wife when I was ... ready,” he stammered, his eyes not quite meeting hers. Why did I wait? he wondered just then. If he already knew he wanted Olivia as his wife, he could have made his intentions known to her. He could have at least given her a betrothal ring and secured her agreement to be his wife.

  “You didn’t tell me that,” she murmured, her chin coming to rest on his bare chest.

  “I take it, then, that your father did not speak of it either?” Michael whispered, a bit surprised the old curmudgeon had kept his daughter’s apparent betrothal a secret from her. But others in their village knew, he was sure. Wouldn’t someone have told her?

  “He never told me, no,” Olivia answered, biting her lip. “I rather wish I’d known,” she added, her ire increasing as she considered the wasted effort she’d put into finding a position as a governess. “Had I known, I could have ... I could have better prepared myself ...”

  “For the shock of having to marry me?” Michael interrupted, his lip curling in amusement.

  “To be a wife to a member of the ton,” she countered, not appreciating his teasing just then. “I am a daughter of a ... of a tradesman. I didn’t attend finishing school in London ...”

  “Your father is hardly a tradesman,” Michael interrupted, his eyes opening wide. “Your education is more than adequate – you’re probably a bit too knowledgeable about the world to be a wife to ... to anyone, let alone a member of the ton,” he murmured, not meaning for the words to sound offensive. “And, as the second son of a viscount, I had a bit more latitude as to whom I could choose as my wife. The ton be damned,” he finished, his eyes closing as he settled his head back into the pillow. After a moment, he sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said as he tightened his hold around her shoulders just a bit. “I have been a poor example of a man betrothed. And I’ve no idea how to be ... how to be a married man,” he apologized quietly. He lifted his head from the pillow to kiss her forehead before allowing it to fall back into the fluff, his eyes closing even before his head came to rest.

  A watery smile appeared on Olivia’s lips. She expected he came to her bed to finally make love to her, but when he made no move to do so, she wondered how to broach the subject of her prolonged virtue. Since she could not bring herself to say anything aloud, she began trailing her fingertips over the light dusting of dark hair on his chest and midsection, moving her hand in tiny circles that made their way down his torso. When she brushed against his hardened manhood, she lifted her head from his chest at the very same time he gasped and caught her hand in his, holding it tightly against his arousal.

  “You are naked,” she accused, her widened eyes indicating surprise.

  Michael took a deep breath and held it for a moment. “As are you,” he countered, trying to sound nonplussed despite his next breath being more labored than the last. He shut his eyes tightly as he felt her grip on him increase, felt her fingers moving along the velvety length of his shaft, felt her heartbeats against his own, felt his entire body about to explode as he thought of allowing himself the release he so desperately wanted. And as mu
ch as he considered staying her hand, or removing himself from the bed altogether, or fighting to remain in control, he instead gave into his body’s desire. He would return the favor just as soon as he’d recovered – tomorrow night, after the ball, he thought. So, he allowed her to stroke him and tease him, allowed her to kiss his nipples and caress the space above his groin, allowed himself to feel her fingers wrap around his turgid length and slide down his swollen manhood, cup his sac and then return to stroke him from top to bottom in slow, torturous movements until his body demanded he let go. And so he allowed her to witness his ecstasy. “Olivia...” he started to say before a growl escaped and his entire body tensed, the muscles along his torso tightening as the incredible spasm of pleasure gripped him, as his world went black and his seed spilt onto his flat stomach.

  Aware of what was happening, Olivia watched his body, watched his face, heard his labored breathing, felt his hand grip over her fingers and hold them hard against his manhood. And she wondered at how such pleasure could appear so painful. Had she looked like this when he’d pleasured just the night before? The sensations had been so intense, so unlike anything she’d ever experienced, she could not imagine a greater pleasure. And yet she remembered the ache she’d felt between her thighs, and she wondered.

  She loosened her grip and allowed her fingers to travel the length of the taut, silken skin. When her thumb moved over the wet tip, she watched his body’s sudden reaction, smiling as she realized how simple it was to pleasure him. Finally, she moved her fingers to the space above his groin, running her fingers through the warm pool of semen. He is definitely not impotent, she thought with a satisfied grin, her fingertips circling his naval and then diving back into the dark curlies that surrounded his manhood. When her continued touching and caresses didn’t seem to elicit a response from Michael, she looked up toward his face. It seemed softer, more relaxed somehow, the planes not as sharp as they had appeared earlier. Dark lashes lay atop his cheekbones and his breathing was regular. Her grin turned to a frown when she realized why he appeared so relaxed.

  Michael had fallen asleep.

  Shaking her head as she regarded him, Olivia sighed and lowered her head into the small of his shoulder, settling herself for another day of being a virgin bride.

  Chapter 30

  Thursday’s Ball is a Bettor’s Gamble

  April 20, 1815

  Sarah rushed about the bedchamber, pulling out accessories from one set of drawers before hurrying to another set to get something else. Until she had actually seen the ball gown created by Madame Suzanne, she could not comprehend how beautiful fabric could be, how it could drape and be shaped and fall to the floor in such elegant folds. She sighed as she watched Olivia prepare for the ball, proud she’d been allowed to help with her hair and dressing.

  Olivia stood in front of the cheval mirror as she pulled on a pair of long white gloves. Having finished her running about, Sarah stood behind and to the side of her. “You look lovely,” she sighed quietly. “You will be the prettiest at the ball.”

  Sarah had spent the better part of the past two hours plaiting tiny braids into Olivia’s auburn hair before wrapping the remainder into a stylish chignon. The braids were then wrapped about the seams of the chignon and held in place by a series of evenly spaced hairpins camouflaged with tiny white flowers from the garden. At the last minute, she’d added a few tiny yellow rose buds from a hothouse, their golden color a good match for the gown’s cream palette. And then she’d pulled the laces on Olivia’s corset with an extra tug so that the tops of her breasts would mound more than just a bit above the neckline of her dress.

  Smiling, Olivia took an experimental breath, quite conscious of the tightened corset and the effect it had on her appearance. She turned and winked at her dresser. “Let us hope my husband is of the same opinion.” And his mother, she thought suddenly, remembering that she would be meeting her mother-in-law at the Harvey’s.

  Since the woman had only been in town for a day, Olivia had yet to meet her. Had Michael insisted on a public place so that Lady Cunningham would not create a scene upon meeting a daughter-in-law who was not of the ton? Or was it truly because Harvey’s was convenient, since the viscountess hadn’t arrived in London until just the day before and had too much to do?

  A knock at the door tore her from her thoughts. She moved to the door, waving Sarah away as she did so. Opening it, she gazed up at Michael, resplendent in his black knit breeches, a red waistcoat made of superfine, and a black topcoat. His snowy white cravat was tied quite fashionably, a garnet pin showing through the folds. The lace-trimmed cuffs that poked out from the ends of the topcoat sleeves were held closed at his wrists with garnet cuff links.

  Michael stared at the woman who stood before him. He hadn’t expected she would answer the door, and he certainly didn’t expect she would be fully dressed and apparently ready to leave. He had been quite prepared to insist she leave with him that instant no matter her state of readiness.

  But instead, he stood and simply stared at his wife. Her gown, a pale cream satin confection, displayed the tops of her breasts, the swells above the neckline so enticing, he was afraid some young buck, nay, a whole herd of young bucks would fill her dance card with the intention of spending their dance wishing they could plant their faces into her bosom.

  I certainly want to.

  The short draped sleeves of her gown fell seductively from her bare shoulders, displaying the satin-soft skin he remembered holding against his body just last night. Candlelight gleamed on her hair, the red highlights outlining the carefully done braids and bun and the shape of the ringlets near her ears.

  Olivia looked up at him expectantly, her gloved hand reaching up to caress his jawline just beyond the fading bruise. He leaned his head into her hand and furrowed his brows.

  “I ... I was looking for my wife. Perhaps you have seen her?” he wondered, his eyes never leaving hers. Nor did they seem to hold any humor despite his teasing comment.

  Blushing, Olivia grinned and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “Despite what you claimed a few days ago, you are a tease!” she accused, her grin fading as he continued to stare at her. “What is ... wrong?” she whispered, suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She glanced down at her gown, thinking something must be amiss.

  Michael blinked and took a breath, taking both of her hands in his. “It’s been said I have behaved very poorly toward you, and I could not agree more,” he stated evenly, his eyes downcast. “Miss Olivia,” he said very formally, “I would like very much to have your permission to court you, if you would allow me to do so,” he stated with a slight bow.

  Olivia wondered if he was still teasing, but found herself giving him a curtsy before replying, “I believe ... I would like that very much, sir.” Even if Edward had caused a great deal of trouble, the man had at least made Michael aware of his shortcomings with respect to how he treated her.

  Michael let go of her hands and reached into his topcoat, pulling out a slim package. Lifting one side of it, a multi-jeweled necklace appeared, held in place around a shaped velvet circle. Several round rubies were interspersed with square emeralds and round sapphires along a delicate gold chain.

  “Oh, Michael, it is exquisite!” Olivia breathed as she gingerly reached out to touch one of the jewels, her gloved fingertip barely making contact. Despite the dim lamp light in the hallway, the facets caught the light and shimmered with rich color.

  “I would be honored if you would wear it this evening,” Michael said quietly, “Although your beauty far exceeds anything I could buy for you,” he murmured, kissing her forehead.

  Olivia felt the color rise in her face. “Of course, I will wear it,” she gushed, carefully removing the necklace from its package. Sarah was suddenly there, undoing the clasp and wrapping it around her neck as if she’d done it a dozen times before. She took the empty package from Michael’s hands,
and then she was gone.

  Michael sighed and then nodded. “I have something else, but ... well, we should be going,” he said suddenly, his manner once again all business. He turned and held out his arm for her. “We’ll be announced when we arrive, of course, and, I know I should have said something sooner, but ... I confirmed today that my mother will be there,” he stammered, his cocked eyebrow indicating he was giving her a warning.

  “I know,” Olivia replied with a nod. “I must admit, I thought she would pay us a visit before now,” she added as she took his arm and walked with him down the hall and to the top of the steps.

  Michael remembered her mentioning Lady Cunningham’s eminent arrival, but couldn’t remember how Olivia had found out his mother would attend the ball. “Who told you she would be there?” he wondered. He’d only found out the day before when he received his mother’s note announcing her arrival.

  “The seamstresses at the modiste where I bought my ball gown. The modiste where Anna works,” she added with a lifted brow. “They mentioned Lady Cunningham was due for a fitting when she returned to town,” Olivia explained, her expression giving no indication that she was scared nearly to death to meet the woman.

  As they descended the stairs, Michael considered her words and thought about Edward and Anna. If the man had taken his advice, Anna Holdwalter no longer worked for Madame Suzanne. She was probably a customer by now.

  He regarded his wife for a long moment. “Whatever she says, Olivia, please know that you have married me, and that I ... I love you, and I will do whatever it takes to see you are treated by my family as if you are a peer of the realm.”

  Olivia smiled slowly as she glided across the marble floor to the vestibule, aware of Jeffers’s look of approval and of Sarah watching them from above. “From what you’ve said, I think you are more frightened of her than I am,” she whispered, her brow arching up.