by Sara Bennett
“I did answer your question. It’s none of your business.”
“You knew I’d be here, didn’t you? Answer me.”
His fury was making him incautious, and others had noticed. They were openly watching and enjoying the scene, as if they were spectators at a cockfight. Olivia pulled away from him, forcing herself to smile gaily, as if he wasn’t glowering at her as if he’d like to throttle her.
“No, I won’t answer you. I’m here for my own personal and private reasons.” She widened her eyes at him. “And those reasons have nothing whatsoever to do with you, Nic. Why on earth did you think they did?”
Before he could let fly with a blistering reply, they were interrupted by the snuff-taking gentleman, who suddenly appeared on Olivia’s other side, leering.
“What do you want, Neville?” Nic growled.
“Lacey, you’re monopolizing the most fetching woman in the room,” Neville protested, his pale eyes sliding down over her breasts and lingering where the velvet teetered on the verge of slipping. “Come with Neville, my beauty. He’s far better tempered than this moody brute.”
Olivia never liked men who spoke of themselves in the third person—she always believed they secretly thought themselves more important than anybody else, like royalty.
“Oh, I don’t mind a man with passion,” Olivia said airily.
“Neville has passion,” he rumbled. “He’s a firebrand of passion.”
She opened her mouth to give him a set-down, but Nic was too quick for her.
“Keep the devil out of this, Neville,” he said nastily. Sliding his arm around Olivia’s waist, he turned her and led her out of the crush.
“That was rude,” Olivia said reprovingly, although she was secretly delighted by his possessive attitude. She was enjoying herself very much, but it wouldn’t do to let Nic see that.
“You don’t know what rude is,” he snarled, tugging her toward a secluded alcove, where there was just space enough for a sofa and a potted fern on a plinth.
Nic untied a gold silk cord that was holding up a looped, red velvet curtain and let it fall, effectively creating a separate room. Inside, it was surprisingly private, while the noise from the ballroom beyond became a background hum.
“What possible reasons could you have for coming to a place like this?” he said in a voice that probably brought dread to the hearts of most people.
But not to Olivia. “The same reasons as you, I expect,” she said mildly, seating herself on the sofa and arranging her skirts.
He raised his eyebrows in mocking disbelief. “You’re looking for a lover for the night? I very much doubt—”
“Nic, I have a secret.” She lowered her voice, her heart beginning to beat faster. “I am not quite the angel you think me. I find myself drawn to excitement and to danger. I want to experience all that life has to offer. When you spoke of the demimonde ball, I knew I had to see it for myself. That is why I am here.”
He stared into her eyes as if trying to read the lies, and then his gaze dropped down to her neckline, and she recognized the sear of heat in their darkness. Olivia looked down, too, and saw that her bodice had slipped again, only this time her pink areolas were partially visible, and the hint of one nipple. In another moment she would be half naked before him.
That was when Olivia knew for certain that she was no respectable young lady.
Because she was looking forward to it.
Nic tasted the sweet tang of lust. It tightened his muscles and tendons, and jolted his body into readiness. If she was anyone else but Miss Olivia Monteith, he’d be kissing her by now, his hands busy freeing her from her bodice so that he could caress her until she begged for more.
But she wasn’t anyone else. She was Miss Olivia Monteith, and it was up to him to keep her safe from scoundrels and seducers like himself.
He closed his eyes with a groan, and when he opened them again found she had tugged up her dress to a more respectable level. Although—he swallowed—not by much. The swell of her breasts threatened to overflow again at any moment, and Nic was finding it difficult to breathe normally.
He tried to concentrate on her expression, and the words she had just spoken. I have a secret. Nic was certain she was playing games with him, but her smooth face and unflinching gaze made it difficult for him to tell her true feelings from her lies. Olivia Monteith addicted to danger and excitement? Olivia Monteith eager to experience life on the edge? Impossible! Girls like Olivia were made to be placed on a marble pedestal, far above the dirt and grime of ordinary life, where they could be an inspiration to lesser mortals.
“Should we be hiding in here, Nic?”
He frowned at her, forcing his wits to focus. “Hiding?”
“Well, I don’t think this can be the way things are done at functions like this. How will I ever meet any nice exciting men if I’m shut up in here with you glowering over me like a dog with a bone?”
Something inside him jolted, and an angry protest rose to his lips. Nice exciting men be damned! He bit it back. That was probably exactly what she wanted, to push him to the point of insisting he take her home. Then his evening would be ruined, as well as his visit to Paris, and she’d have him in her clutches once more.
“You are neither my relative nor my guardian,” Olivia was saying calmly, giving her bodice another upward tug. “You can’t stop me from doing as I please, and my pleasure is to enjoy myself.”
“Olivia, the men who come here are only concerned with finding a pliable woman to take to their beds. Don’t tell me that is what you want, because I won’t believe you.”
She laughed. “You must think me very simple not to know that, Nic. Of course they want to take me to bed, and—” she leaned closer again, bringing with her a heady waft of perfume—“I am more than willing to go. If I am to spend the remainder of my days with Mr. Garsed, I’ll need something very special to remember, to distract me from the boredom.”
He stared at her, openmouthed. She couldn’t possibly mean that. No, she was still trying to bamboozle him into saving her, like some knight in shining armor, no matter how much she had once protested to the contrary.
“You speak of the bedroom as if you know all about it,” he sneered. “You can’t convince me you are anything but an innocent, Olivia.”
“Well, I know a little,” she said thoughtfully. “You let me touch you, remember, so I know what a man can feel like. Of course I don’t know everything, but I am very keen to learn. Do you want to show me?” she added innocently. “So I don’t make a fool of myself? I’d hate to be laughed at in such experienced company.”
Yet again Nic found himself without anything to say. She wanted him to “show her” what to do? He knew in his black rake’s heart he wanted nothing more than to be her tutor in all things sensual, but instead he was clinging by his fin-gernails to his tattered gentleman’s honor. Just.
“Go home, Olivia. You will be hurt and ruined if you stay here, and I won’t be able to protect you.”
“I don’t want you to protect me,” she retorted crossly. “I didn’t come here to be a burden on you. I want to enjoy myself. Now, are you going to let me go?”
He looked at her a moment more, trying to read past her defiance, and then he shrugged and held the red velvet curtain aside. Outside their secluded alcove the ball was more boisterous than ever. A couple stood by the wall, just beyond the alcove, their mouths seeking, their bodies pressed tightly together. The woman’s skirts were pulled up and the man’s hand was busy beneath her silks.
Nic glanced at Olivia and thought she turned a little pale at such blatant lust, but when she noticed him watching, she made a point of standing and viewing the scene with open curiosity.
“This uninhibited behavior is very refreshing,” she said. “Have you ever—”
“Not in public. Not here,” he spoke between his teeth.
“So you prefer closed doors and privacy, rather like any other gentleman?” She sounded disappointed, blast
her.
“I went to an orgy in Rome once,” he said, “but I don’t remember much after the first hour.”
Her blue eyes flickered to his and away again. “What a waste, Nic, if you can’t remember it. I’m sure when I go to an orgy I will want to experience every second of it over and over again.”
“You’re not going to any orgies,” he almost shouted.
Olivia glanced at him again, and this time she smiled. He narrowed his eyes at her as she reached out and twisted a dark strand of his hair around her finger, smoothing it back from his neck and his collar. Her touch made him ache, and he wondered how he managed not to haul her into his arms and kiss the life out of her. Perhaps because he knew that he’d find it hard to stop.
“I think I might go and meet some of these interesting people now, Nic.”
“Please yourself,” he growled.
She hesitated, as if she expected him to argue, but Nic wasn’t going to argue with her any more. If and when she wanted help to get home, she could come to him and ask nicely. In the meantime he wasn’t going to waste any more time on her. He was there to enjoy himself, and, goddamn it, that was what he was going to do.
Chapter 10
Despite what she’d said to him, Olivia admitted it would have been nice if he’d accepted her offer to be the one to introduce her to the art of pleasure. She supposed it was still difficult for him to see past his vision of her as his respectable young neighbor, but she was determined that by the end of this evening he would be looking at her through newly opened eyes.
With that in mind, she set out to be as outrageous as she possibly could. Men flocked to her, so there was no need to seek them out, and she flirted and laughed and tossed her head, trying not to show how secretly horrified she was by some of their remarks. At least, those that she could understand.
The other women, at first wary and occasionally hostile, seemed to become more friendly as the night wore on. One even insisted on fetching her a drink to quench her thirst, and the sweet, syrupy liquid was rather like lemonade. Olivia had no qualms in accepting a second glass. Afterward, things became a little blurry around the edges, and it crossed her mind that the kindness might have been a trick, in order to remove a rival. But by then it was too late.
“I am tipsy, quite, quite tipsy!” she cried.
Olivia tilted back her head and watched the chandelier spinning around, and it wasn’t until she nearly fell that she realized it was actually she who was spinning. Her skirts belled out, her loosened hair whipped about her face, and she laughed aloud with the sheer joy of being alive.
As night slipped into morning, the noise grew louder and the company slipped further out of control. Some of the couples disappeared into dark corners, or the rooms upstairs, or else rode off in their carriages. Several of the dancers were putting on an impromptu show amid wild shrieks of laughter and applause. Nic had found a woman—or she had found him—and now she was clinging to his side like a burr. He thought it was probably so that she didn’t fall over, rather than because she fancied him—she had drunk a great deal of champagne.
Nic was surprisingly sober. He smiled politely at the high jinks around him but he wasn’t enjoying himself. He’d been keeping an eye on Olivia as she flitted from one besotted gentleman to the next, cleverly holding them at arm’s length, then moving on before it became awkward. Once, he lost sight of her, and he found himself searching the room in a state of pure funk until he found her again.
If she noticed his nursemaidish attitude she didn’t show it. Never once did she turn to see if he was there, or try to catch his eye. He alternated between wanting to take her into a corner and show her exactly how frustrated he felt, and wanting to bundle her up, toss her over his shoulder, and take her home.
“Mmm.” The dark-haired beauty at his side licked her lips. “Do you want me to kiss you? I am famous for my kissing.” Her gaze slid down over his trousers and she licked her lips again, so that he couldn’t mistake her meaning.
“I’m sure you are.”
Her eyes were brown, with a slight squint that was not unattractive, and he knew at any other time she would make him a perfect companion for an hour or two’s entertainment. She would know her place and never disturb his peace of mind.
Unlike Olivia Monteith.
Nic glanced about, realizing he’d lost sight of her again. To his horror, he saw that she was climbing up onto the dais, with the dancers, and preparing to join them. Her admirers—she seemed to have gathered a dozen or so by now—were clapping their hands and stamping their feet and calling for her to dance. She looked down at them with a fond and slightly lopsided smile. The black dress was slipping again, but she probably didn’t notice, and probably didn’t realize she was showing far more of herself than was proper.
Proper. He snorted. It was not a word Nic had used for a long time. And yet here he was, like some sort of puritan knight, guarding his property from the lechery of men who were behaving just as he himself had behaved in years past.
He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand what she was doing to him. It was time he reminded her, and himself, that he was no tame pussycat. Nic shook off the surprised brunette and began to fight his way through the crowd until he reached the dais.
By now Olivia was kicking up her feet, her black dress lifting to show quite a lot of slim stockinged leg. One of her slippers came off, sailing into the crowd, and there was a mad scramble to souvenir it. Olivia stumbled, doubled over with laughter, and Nic took his chance to jump onto the dais and swing her up into his arms. Running down the steps at the side, he made off with her to shouts of protest, cries of “Foul” and “Unfair,” and “Let the doxy make her own choice, Lacey!” He ignored them all, as well as Olivia’s breathless squeaks and wriggles.
He was still carrying her, out into the hall and up the curving flight of stairs, right to the top, without even taking time to catch his breath. He felt like a warrior of old, claiming his prize of war, as he strode boldly along the wide, opulent corridor. Several of the bedchambers were already engaged, but he finally found one that was empty. With the door closed and locked, he set her free.
She backed away from him, looking cross and disheveled, and he saw that her neckline had slipped again. She noticed his interest and tugged it up, watching him suspiciously, her eyes overbright from champagne, while her fair hair tumbled around her shoulders. She looked, he thought, completely adorable. But that didn’t make him any less furious with her for spoiling his night and turning him into some kind of unwilling fairy godfather.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, her words running into each other. “Pr-protect me, I mean. I am p-perfectly capable of looking after myself.”
“Yes, I can see that,” he sneered.
“I—I never realized before what a boring old pr-prude you are, Nic.”
Nic knew then that he’d reached his breaking point. He had tried to be good and do the right thing, and where had it got him? No more Nic the gentleman. It might be reprehensible, but now he was going to do what he’d wanted to from the first moment he set eyes on her on the ballroom floor.
Slowly he prowled toward her, watching her, a hard smile flicking at his lips. “Is that what you think I’m doing, Olivia? Protecting you?”
“Yes. Because you think I—I can’t look after myself.” But despite her air of self-righteous certainty, her glance slid nervously from his.
“Well, can you?”
“Absolutely.” Her dress began to slip again as she turned to keep him in sight as he circled her.
“Do you know why I attend the demimonde ball, Olivia?”
“To enjoy yourself as gentlemen are wont to do, I i-imagine.”
“To find a woman I can tutor in my likes and dislikes.”
“Tutor?” she said, doubtfully. “In conversation, do you mean?”
“In bed,” he corrected her, moving closer still.
Her eyes widened, her lips opened, but no sound came out.
She cleared her throat. “Do gentlemen have likes and dislikes in bed? Well, I suppose they do. It makes perfect sense that—”
He cut her short. “I think, seeing you’ve succeeded in ruining my chances of finding a companion I can tutor, you should offer yourself up in her place.”
Now he had her full attention. “Oh you do, do you? I offered you the chance to show me the pl-pleasures of the fl-flesh before, and you refused. I don’t think you should get a second chance.”
“I deserve a second chance, Olivia.”
He looked down at her breasts, and with one finger reached out to trace the pink half circle of her areola, peeking above the black velvet and lace. She began to speak, but when he delved beneath the cloth and stroked her nipple, whatever she’d meant to say ended as a gurgle.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he said in a deep, rough voice. “But you knew that, didn’t you, minx? You’ve known it all along. Well, I hope you’re satisfied.”
She shook her head as if to deny his words, but when he put his arm around her, she swayed into its curve, her eyes fluttering closed. He bent his head and took her nipple delicately between his lips, using his tongue to touch and tease. She tasted like raspberries.
“Is that one of your likes?” she gasped.
“Oh definitely,” he growled, and pulled her further into his arms, until her body was crushed so hard to his it was difficult to tell where one began and the other ended.
The desire in him erupted. He’d been fighting this ever since she called on him and proposed to him, and he was going to fight no more.
Her remaining slipper arced across the room as he swung her into his arms, her breasts bare to his gaze and his mouth. He proceeded to lavish attention on them as he carried her to the bed. She clung to his neck, her voice a meaningless low murmur, but he was on fire and the time for talking was over.
He tossed her onto the bed and stripped off his jacket and pulled the shirt over his head, careless of torn seams. She’d rolled onto her back and was propped up on her elbows, watching him, her hair tangled about her, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips partly open.