This time, his mouth lingered, warm and soft. The tension melted from her body, and she became weak, her head falling back into the hold of one large hand. He increased the pressure of his lips, parting them and nibbling as if tasting her, learning her. She mimicked his actions, opening her mouth to him and tilting her head. He made a little sound in the back of his throat, as if he liked what she did. It emboldened her, and she threw herself into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup the back of his head the way he did hers. Her fingers sank into his damp hair, the strands silky and soft. He deepened the kiss, his grip moving to the back of her neck and tightening, holding her captive. She surrendered, whimpering when his tongue skimmed her lower lip, then probed the inside of her mouth.
“Do it back to me,” he whispered, pulling away just long enough to nuzzle her nose with his. “Like this …”
His tongue rasped against hers, and she nearly swooned. Never would she have thought such a thing could feel so good. If someone had described the act of kissing using one’s tongue to her, she would have imagined it as messy and slippery. Instead, it was intimate and electrifying. It made this feel like more than a kiss … it made this feel like a joining of souls, as if he touched a part of her no one else ever would.
He groaned when she did what he asked, the sound deep and guttural. It spread the heat in her middle, until it was sinking down between her legs. She squirmed, desperate to be closer to him, to press her breasts against his chest and straddle his lap. The urges struck her as decidedly wanton, things she had never before imagined or heard described. Yet, she could not stop imagining it, thinking of what it would feel like to have his hands on her.
Just before she could work up the courage to follow through, he tore his mouth away from hers with a sharp intake of breath, his hand falling away from the back of her neck.
She reeled, nearly toppling from the sudden shift, thrown off balance. “Niall?”
He was on his feet, snatching his shirt back on so fast, her head spun as she watched him. She could not shake off the stupor that had fallen over her at his kiss, her body singing, thrumming with a resounding need. It was as if a part of her had been dead for fourteen years and had only just now come alive. She still did not fully understand it, only knowing that she hadn’t wanted him to stop kissing her, could not stop wanting him to touch her.
“I have t’ go,” he muttered, swiftly tucking his shirttails into his trousers.
She rose on unsteady legs, her hands shaking again, her eyes stinging with tears. “Niall, wait …”
“I have t’ go, Olivia,” he snapped, glaring at her as if she were to blame for whatever had set him off. “Ye should stay here and wait for Adam. I have work.”
“It is nearly sunset,” she argued, hating the way tears made her voice quaver.
“Chores,” he amended. “At home. M’ da will be furious if I’m late.”
He was lying, and they both knew it. Conall would be passed out before the fire with half a bottle of gin in his belly by now. There must be some other reason he wanted to be away from her.
“Was I terrible?” she asked, horror heating her cheeks.
She would not survive being told that kissing her had been dreadful for him, but couldn’t help but anticipate the answer.
Hands on his hips, he lowered his gaze and shook his head with a labored sigh.
“No,” he whispered. “Ye weren’t … and that’s what’s wrong.”
Without another word, he turned to leave, striding so swiftly up the bank that she could never hope to catch up. Instead of trying, she sank to her knees on the ground, arms wrapped tight around herself. The tears she’d tried to hold back fell, hot and fast, wetting her cheeks and neck. Misery settled in her middle while a sensation she later came to understand as lust continued its incessant pulse between her legs.
She did not know what to do to make it stop, nor did she understand why Niall was so angry with her all of a sudden. She was not certain what to do to make things right, or go back to the way it used to be. All Olivia knew was that from this day forward, nothing would be the same ever again.
CHAPTER FIVE
or days following Olivia’s decision to give up laudanum, Niall watched her suffer without being able to do anything to help her. In the five years since her ordeal, he would have thought he’d be used to feeling so impotent by now. As he sat at her bedside, watching her shake, shiver, and lean over the edge of the bed to retch into a basin, he remained ever aware of how powerless he truly was. When they’d been children, she had relied upon him to shield her, protect her, defend her. But this … He did not possess what it took to save her from this. It was humbling for someone as big and strong as he was; it was crippling.
He could only bathe her skin with cool water, brush her hair from her face, and help her when the nausea overwhelmed her, holding the chamber pot so she could empty her insides. It had been years since he’d seen her brought so low, the months following her return from the asylum the hardest. She’d been malnourished and frightened, the terror inflicted by her rapist and his family refusing to ease, even after she’d been brought home. At least, then, they’d had laudanum to offer her some sort of succor. Now, she even refused that, leaving him no recourse but to sit and pray that this time, she would come out stronger on the other side. He understood that she might never be the same, but he did not care. If he could see her smile, sleep peacefully, or face the world without fear, then, he would be content. He might never have her in the ways he wanted, but it would be enough.
He remained at her side as much as possible, only leaving when Adam or Maeve stepped in to take over the vigil. And even then, he did not stay away, leaving her just long enough to wash up, sleep a few hours, have a bite to eat, and return. In the rare moments that she slept, he sat in the chair at her bedside and thought of their past, of the days leading up to this.
The summer of their first kiss had been hell for him, as had many of her visits home after that. He’d known from the moment he had seen her coming out of that carriage, bonnet tossed aside, feminine body pressing against the confines of her prim little gown, that his Livvie was no longer a girl. She’d begun transforming into a woman … one who stirred his blood, even at the tender age of four-and-ten. It wasn’t right, looking upon her with any sort of lust or desire, or allowing her to talk him into that kiss. Yet, all he’d been able to think about were the other men she would encounter as the years went on—men who would desire her, and clamor for her, and yes, even kiss her. Just the thought of anyone else having her had enraged him to no end. There was no other option than to be the first, to give her what she wanted lest she find a man who would. Then, he’d have been forced to kill someone.
If he had thought seeing how much she’d blossomed would change everything, he hadn’t been prepared for what kissing her would do to him. He’d tried his best to keep things chaste, hoping a mere brush of his lips would be enough to satisfy her and put an end to things. But that light touch had only ignited his need for more. Her lips had been so soft, so perfectly shaped, he couldn’t have resisted going back for more. Before he’d known what he was doing, he’d been kissing her as if she were a woman and not a girl, teaching her how to caress his tongue with hers, biting her, pawing at her like an animal. She’d been an innocent, but Niall most certainly had not been. By his eighteenth year, he had bedded several maids and even a few whores in alleys throughout Edinburgh. His wages were so meager, he could not afford the pretty prostitutes Adam often enjoyed at the brothels, but the lightskirts who plied their trade in the streets got the job done well enough.
Kissing Olivia that first time, after he’d spent the past year wetting his prick in just about every cunt he could sniff out, had made him feel depraved, like some foul creature sullying the innocent princess. And damn it all if that hadn’t stoked his lust even more. Knowing he should not touch her, that she was innocent in all the ways he was not, had made him want to push things beyond a single kiss.
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br /> He’d hated himself for it, even knowing that his feelings went beyond simple lust. Because, not only did he want to kiss and touch Olivia, he still possessed the need to be all the things he’d always been to her—a friend, a confidant, a protector. It had only taken him a few short weeks to realize that it was love. By then, she’d gone back to school, casting him into the doldrums of despair so thick, he’d thought he might choke on it. Loving her was the most foolish thing he could do, yet, he loved her all the same. He’d probably always loved her, even from the first time he’d laid eyes on her. The difference in their ages might not matter were she a common girl, a servant like him. He knew scullery maids who’d been swallowing cocks since the age Olivia had been when they’d first kissed, and others who, even when they remained virginal, were still quite wise in carnal matters. No one shielded them from the truths or realities of the world; no one cared what they saw, or heard, or knew.
Olivia, however, was the epitome of innocence, as close to pure as an angel in Heaven. She’d been coddled and kept from men like him for a reason. It had been that thought that had driven him away from her and back to the stables where he belonged. It was there he remained, avoiding her at all costs. Whenever she came to have a groom saddle her horse, he made certain to take himself elsewhere, leaving the job to someone else. On the rare occasion they crossed paths, he would avoid her gaze, refusing to so much as speak to her.
He would feel her eyes on him and could see the hurt in the dark depths whenever he allowed himself a quick glance. He wanted to tell her it was all for her own good. She was just a girl and had no notion of what it could mean for them if they were caught. He’d be sent away—but only if Conall did not kill him first. And she …well, the earl had never raised a hand to her as far as Niall knew, but he would not take any chances. Lord Rowland Callahan was known for his coldness and cruelty, so he would not put it past the man to send her to some wretched place, like a convent, as a punishment for such behavior.
And so it went for the next three years—Niall avoiding Olivia on her visits home and doing his best not to dwell on the salacious fantasies that had been born of that single kiss. It had proved fruitless as, with each visit, she only grew more beautiful, more womanly, more impossibly perfect. Still as tiny as she’d always been in comparison to him, she grew in other ways—ways that made his cock hard as flint any time she was within his line of sight. Her hips began filling out her gowns, small breasts tempting him at the edge of her bodice, the necklines growing a bit lower and less girlish with each passing year.
By then, he had begun to see anger in her gaze whenever she looked at him, and he’d understood that it was because he’d gone from being her friend to shunning her completely.
It shocked him that she hadn’t confronted him, as it had never been her way to bite her tongue, even when they’d been children. Nevertheless, she allowed it to go on until she returned home for Christmas just before her final term at school. In truth, Niall realized she might never had taken him to task at all if not for the moment she had discovered him in a compromising, and quite frankly, embarrassing, position.
1813
6 years earlier…
Niall tugged on the hand of the woman struggling to keep pace with his long strides, adjusting the bulge in his trousers as he went. The sun had begun to set, and now that his day’s work had ended, he wanted nothing more than dinner, a drink, and a warm woman … and not necessarily in that order. Jane, the chambermaid he’d been fucking for nearly three months now, had come looking for him, having just completed her duties, as well. There was a closet near the servants’ entrance, holding things such as spare tablecloths and napkins which were only brought out when there were guests. Which meant they were never disturbed when they went there to fuck—which was often.
The past few days, he’d pulled her into that closet more than was his custom. It was all because of Olivia, who had come home to spend Christmas with her family looking like some sort of apparition stepping straight out of his dreams. He’d caught sight of her riding astride this afternoon, something her stepfather would have hated had he caught her. Even from the paddock where he’d been working, he had clearly seen the way her gown had risen to her knees, displaying her sinewy calves.
He was pitiful. He’d bedded dozens of maids and whores, but grew hot under the collar at the sight of Olivia’s calves. Nostrils flaring, he pulled open the door of the servants’ entrance, pulling Jane along so fast, she stumbled.
“Goodness, Niall!” she exclaimed. “Slow down!”
He would not. He could not. His cock throbbed with an insistence that could not be ignored, as it had since the day Olivia had returned home. It would probably go on this way until she had left, putting him out of his physical misery and plunging him into a less tangible one—the one where he lay abed and nearly wept for missing her, for feeling so wretched over having pushed her away.
He mumbled an apology as he wrenched the closet door nearly off its hinges. Jane giggled when he all but threw her inside, pulling the panel shut behind him. He felt his way in the dark, grasping her waist and hauling her up against him so her feet dangled off the ground, the plump curves of her body mashing against his solid planes.
She was a plain-faced chit with mousy brown hair and dull grey eyes. But, her body … the woman complained that she was far too plump, but Niall had always sought out sturdy women. God knew he’d grown large enough to snap a slender woman in two, so he thought it best to err on the side of caution and select the ones who looked as if they could withstand him.
Yet another reason Olivia should remain off-limits to him. As tiny as she was, he’d likely kill her.
“God, Niall … you’ve been positively insatiable this week!”
He rolled his eyes at the insipid maid, grateful for the darkness that kept them from seeing one another. This way, she wouldn’t have to see his disappointment over the fact that she was not Olivia. He would not have to look her in the face, and could attempt to pretend that she was.
It would never work. Jane was too stout, too brash in the filthy things she whispered in his ear, tearing at his breeches as he lifted her skirts with one hand while holding her up with the other. If he could just get inside her, he could forget Olivia, even for a few moments. He could fuck this maid and try to enjoy it, reminding himself that this was the sort of woman he could have. Olivia could never be his, not in this way … not in any way.
He’d just managed to free his cock and get Jane’s skirts high enough to find his way between her legs when the maid gasped, pushing against his shoulders as if trying to dislodge him.
“Shite … what the devil?”
Glancing up at Jane, he realized two things at once. He could see her, a sliver of light coming from the undoubtedly cracked door and illuminating her face. As well, she looked absolutely horrified as she gazed past him. Already fumbling with his breeches, he muttered another oath under his breath, certain they’d been caught by the housekeeper, which would lead to him being reprimanded at the very least, or cut loose if the earl happened to be in a particularly foul mood.
However, it was not old, wizened Mrs. Hurst he found when he turned to glance over his shoulder. It was Olivia. She clutched a book to her chest and wore a coat, gloves, and hat as if she’d just been about to go outside. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a pained sigh, realizing all at once what had happened. In his haste to get himself off, he hadn’t ensured the door had clicked closed behind them. Olivia, who often used this back entrance to get to her favorite reading spot near the pond, must have happened upon them at just the wrong moment.
Bloody hell.
“Livvie,” he rasped, opening his eyes to find her gone.
Her swift footsteps faded as the door leading outside swung open, then slammed closed. He winced at the sound it made, his heart taking up the rapid drumbeat of panic, his stomach clenching and his hands shaking even as he fisted the open fall of his breeches to keep them up.
“Do you think she’ll tell?” Jane asked, one hand coming against his back.
Her touch repulsed him now, his erection dying away completely, his mind and heart already chasing after Olivia.
“I dinnae know,” he lied. He knew very well Olivia would never do anything to stoke the earl’s ire at him. “But I’d better go make sure she doesnae.”
Without waiting for Jane to respond, he barreled into the corridor, then through the door Olivia had just taken. The setting sun stung his eyes momentarily, but he squinted and soldiered on, trotting after the slight figure of Olivia running across the house grounds. He faintly registered the sting of the bitter cold, but ignored it and pressed on. This was no time to go searching for a coat.
“Goddamn it,” he growled, fumbling to button himself as he moved, his long strides helping him catch up to her before she could blow past the stables.
This time of day, the place would be empty, all the grooms having gone off to have dinner. Someone typically returned to sleep in the hayloft just in case the earl happened to need a horse or carriage prepared late in the night—but that person was almost always Niall. Anything to keep from having to encounter his father at home. With the death of his maw last year, he could hardly abide being in Conall’s presence. The man was soused more often than not, leaving Niall to fulfill not only his own duties as the head groom, but also his father’s job as Stablemaster.
Catching Olivia up, he took hold of her arm, his hold just firm enough to keep from bruising her pale skin. She gasped, stumbling as he pulled her into the wooden shelter, determined to get her alone and explain himself.
What he ought to say escaped him. He only knew that the guilt would eat him alive, even though he had nothing to feel contrite for. He was a man sating his needs with a woman. That was all. Yet, the look in her eyes when she’d realized it was him preparing to rut in a closet with a maid … it would forever haunt him.
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