Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 02]

by Surrender to a Wicked Spy

“Are you ill?” His breath was soft and warm on her cheek. Olivia closed her eyes against his concern, too embarrassed by her display to answer. “Should I call for your maid?”

  His arms were still about her, supporting her even though she was perfectly well. It was rather like being strapped between stone arches, as if nothing could ever induce him to let her go. Even the heat of his body surrounded her, and he still smelled exceptionally good. Olivia flushed as she realized that she liked it very much. Unfortunately, she could not let it continue. She’d never been able to lie very well, so she was forced to blurt out the truth.

  “You make it rather difficult for me to breathe.”

  He immediately loosened his grasp of her. Olivia was sorry at once and fought the impulse to fall upon his vast chest in a renewed swoon. She could, she realized, and it would not be at all improper. He belonged to her now.

  As liberating and tempting as that thought was, she could not disturb him further. “That is not quite what I meant,” she said, loathing the scarlet blush that she knew was flooding her face. She’d never been able to blush prettily like some women, with roses blooming in both cheeks. Her blushes looked rather more like blotches. “I did not eat today and I’m ever so slightly nervous and you’re rather … overwhelming.”

  Dane gazed down at his new bride in deep disappointment. He’d guessed wrongly after all. She’d seemed nicely sturdy in his previous encounters, hardy and full of common sense. He released her rather reluctantly and stood. She had felt good in his arms and he’d so hoped …

  She was obviously far more frail and timid than he’d thought her. She could scarcely bear to look at him. Never mind. What was done was done. She was now his wife. It was his duty to protect her, even if that meant protect her from himself. She could not help her lack of fortitude, no more than he could help his … problem.

  “I shall ring for your maid,” he told her gently, concealing his disappointment. “Then I will leave you undisturbed.”

  His new bride gazed up at him in astonishment, her fiery blush fading. “Leave?”

  Dane stiffened. “Of course. I am not the sort of man to force myself—”

  “No!” She was on her feet in a flash. “I do not wish to go through this again!”

  Dane flinched. “Of course not. I will make no demands—”

  Incredibly, his demure new bride, a supposed paragon of propriety and self-control, stomped her foot and glared at him.

  “Have you the faintest idea how hard it was to wait for you tonight? Or all fortnight, for that matter? I feel as though I’ve done nothing but sit by the window and twiddle my thumbs for weeks! And now, having spent only moments in my company—again—you are going to leave?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and glared at him. “Well, I won’t have it. You’re staying.”

  Dane could only gaze at her blankly for a moment. No one spoke to him in such a manner. Ever.

  Since he’d reached his adult height at sixteen, standing freakishly tall over the other boys, he’d been treated with nothing but the most careful respect. He’d never tried to use his size to intimidate, but then he’d never had to. All he had to do was speak to ensure that his every word was heard and implemented.

  He’d tried to lessen the threat by adopting an easygoing facade, quite the opposite of his naturally serious disposition, but the isolation caused by that wary deference had only worsened as he’d grown into his full strength and manhood. Even the Prince Regent kept his capriciousness to a minimum in Dane’s presence, and Lord Liverpool, the Prime Minister, had been known to back down before Dane’s opinions.

  Yet here was this woman, not much more than a girl at that, who had just stomped her foot at him!

  She was either mad or even more hardy than he’d originally thought. Either way, she obviously had no idea what her crossed arms did to her full bosom in that sheer nightdress. Dane found it difficult to keep his gaze high.

  “You’re demanding that I stay,” he said without expression.

  She cocked an irritated brow. “I am indeed.”

  In the spirit of research, Dane crossed his own arms and assumed a wider stance. He’d never yet met the man who didn’t fail ever so slightly before that pose.

  Incredibly, the spanking-new, still wet-behind-the-ears Lady Greenleigh did nothing but widen her own stance and increase the temperature of her glare. A heavy lock of fair hair slipped forward to drape over one plumped breast. She no longer looked like the faintly pretty, serenely demure daughter of Cheltenham. She looked like a fuming fertility goddess.

  Dane would have smiled, but he suspected that it would only add fuel to her annoyance. Since in all fairness his neglected bride had every right to be annoyed with him, he finally spread his hands and smiled. “Then I suppose I shall stay.”

  She nodded crisply. “Good.”

  Dane endured a long awkward pause. His bride shifted uneasily. Dane gave in to his curiosity. “Ah, do you mind telling me what I’m staying for?”

  Her annoyed gaze faltered and her irritation shifted to sudden shyness. Dane watched the change with interest. Her face was a map of her emotions, to be sure. What was going through her mind now?

  She cleared her throat awkwardly. “I thought we might discuss—that is, I would very much like to know your … your expectations of me.”

  Dane regarded her curiously. “I expect you to be my lady.”

  The shyness slipped long enough for her to shoot him a wryly disbelieving glance. Don’t be an idiot, that glance said.

  He ought to ease her anxiety, although he enjoyed watching the play of conflicting emotions across her face. It seemed there was only one area in which Lady Olivia did not feel easy in challenging him.

  “I do not insist on consummating our vows at this very moment,” he said easily. “Although I hope you’ll consider receiving my affections soon.”

  Nibbling at her lip, she looked away. “Would you say that your … affections fall into the usual category of such things?” She turned a suddenly piercing gaze upon him. “I have heard of such things, you see.”

  He couldn’t resist. She was too adorable. He made his gaze go blank. “I’m sorry, could you be more specific?”

  She actually opened her mouth to answer, but something on his face must have given him away. Her eyes narrowed. “Not amusing. You know my intent.”

  Drat. Oh, well. He spread his hands, admitting fault. “I do. And I can assure you, my lady, that my … er, affections are entirely of the norm.” That wasn’t strictly true, but now was not the time to bring up his problem. That wasn’t what she was asking, at any rate.

  She let out a long, silent breath, then smiled warmly at him. “Very well, then. Won’t you sit down? We could converse for a while.” She led him to the great chair by the fire.

  As long as his bride remained in that wispy night rail with the top ribbons coming awry, Dane could quite happily sit across from her and converse for hours. She was far more enticing than he’d first realized, although if memory served, he’d noticed those amazing breasts at once.

  He moved her dressing-table chair closer and seated her in it, then took the larger chair for himself. Not gentlemanly, but practical. He’d broken more than a few chairs in his life. He’d learned to judge what would hold him. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and gazed with appreciation at his bride. Those really were the most astounding—

  “My eyes sit somewhat higher, my lord.”

  Her tone was dry and her expression, when he pulled his gaze away from her bosom, was deadpan. Ah, she’d caught him again. He quirked one side of his mouth. “My deepest apologies, my lady. I intend only admiration, I assure you.”

  She tilted her head. “I hardly know whether to thank you or slap you. I suppose being my husband does release you from certain proprieties …”

  He nodded with certainty. “Oh, yes.”

  She absently toyed with the top ribbon at her neckline. The knot failed completely, giving Dane anothe
r inch of plump cleavage to enjoy. His groin throbbed in response and he shifted uncomfortably. This conversing business was going to be more difficult than he’d originally thought.

  “I hardly know anything about you, my lord,” she was saying. “For instance, have you any family for me to meet? I noticed there was no one at the ceremony this morning.”

  Family. The word took a long moment to worm its way through his distraction. “No—no, I have no immediate family living. My mother passed when I was a boy and my father—” What was he doing? He discussed Henry Calwell with no one.

  She was gazing at him encouragingly. “Your father?”

  Dane forced himself to shrug easily. “Gone two years past. Accident.” He ought to elaborate, for she might hear something else entirely, although he’d done his best to keep it quiet. “While he was cleaning his pistol, you see.”

  She leaned forward and put her hand over his clasped ones. “It is hard, isn’t it? I love my parents, of course, but when my brother Walter drowned last month—” She stopped and swallowed hard. “I think Walter was perhaps the best friend I had in this world,” she said quietly.

  Lord Walter had by all accounts been a decadent lout, but hardly worse than most of the other young lords occupying themselves in London these days. She had obviously loved the fellow, despite the reputation that had spread since his death. He liked that about her. “And yet your family did not strictly observe a mourning period,” he said, careful to keep the judgment from his voice.

  Olivia had been wondering when someone would ask her about that. She and her parents had donned the muted tones of half-mourning, and had not danced at any of the events they had attended, but those barest of observations did little to properly honor Walter.

  “It was necessary that I make a good match this Season,” she said slowly.

  Dane covered her comforting hand with his large warm one. Her hand disappeared entirely. “Say no more, my lady. I deduced as much on my own.”

  Olivia liked his hand on hers. Experimentally, she slipped her other one beneath his. There was room for both and more. She felt absolutely tiny next to this man.

  What a charming sensation.

  Not to mention a stimulating one. She tilted her head up to study him, for even when seated on a lower chair, he loomed over her. “I think I should like to receive some of your affections now,” she blurted.

  He blinked, then looked about them. “Now? In the chair?”

  In the chair? Oh, my—

  That glint was back in his eye. “You’re teasing me again,” she accused.

  He nodded slowly. “My apologies. I cannot resist, but now is not the time, is it?”

  She pulled her hands away from his and stood, stepping away. She’d spoken impulsively again. Mother had never been able to rid her of that trait entirely. Still, it was too late to take it back now, and she did find him very appealing, and he had been most reassuring about his tastes …

  Her face flamed, but she did not attempt to hide it. “I thought perhaps we could get it over with.”

  The rate of Dane’s heart increased immediately, as did something else. Perhaps she was the one. She certainly wasn’t frightened of him, at least not while he was clothed, which was more than he could say for … well, everyone.

  She huffed a breath at his hesitation. “Well, I cannot begin. I don’t know how.”

  Her half-irritated, half-shy expression disarmed him. “Well,” he said slowly as he stood. “We could begin with a kiss.”

  Olivia felt ice and flame flicker through her body as he began to move toward her. Despite her own insistence—and she’d meant every word—she found herself taking a step back for every forward step of his. Eventually, she backed directly into the solid bedpost and put her hands behind her to steady herself. He kept coming. He came so close that she had to tilt her head back to look into his face.

  “I think you might be the tallest man I’ve ever seen,” she heard herself say softly.

  He pinned her with those winter-sky eyes. “Do I frighten you?”

  A small gasping laugh burst from her. Fear was most emphatically not what she was feeling.

  He blinked. “I take it that I don’t.”

  She widened her eyes innocently, unable to resist plucking at his arrogance despite her breathlessness. “I could pretend to be frightened, if you like.”

  The corner of his sculpted lips twitched. “I could pretend to be shorter, if you like.”

  A healthy sense of the ridiculous! What a delightful thing to add to the list of what she knew about him. She melted yet again and her nervousness eased yet more. “Are you never going to kiss me, my lord?” she whispered.

  He lowered his mouth to her ear, letting his warm breath flutter into sensitive areas. “Are you never going to shut up, my lady?”

  My lady. It struck Olivia anew that she was the Viking god’s wife. You belong to me now.

  She must have said it aloud, for she felt the Viking god smile against her neck.

  “I suppose I do,” he said, his deep voice rumbling into places within her that she hadn’t known existed. Places deep, low in her belly, where she felt a hollow ache. Places like the tips of her breasts, where she felt a tingling tightness.

  His warm lips progressed higher, up her throat and along her jaw, until she felt his breath against her lips. He paused, letting the moment stretch until Olivia could no longer bear it. She went up on tiptoe, catching his mouth with hers in an urgent peck. He went very still when she pressed her lips to his.

  At first, she felt a stab of disappointment. His mouth did not feel unpleasant under hers, but neither did it feel as good as his breath on her neck. She had begun to drop back down to her heels when he caught her to his chest and brought his mouth down on hers.

  Dane hadn’t intended to assault her thus. It was only that she was suddenly there, touching her soft lips to his, with her firm, lovely bosom pressed to his chest.

  It had been so damn long … .

  The parched, cold years of deprivation suddenly dropped away and a wave of heat and longing overwhelmed his scrupulous self-control. For a brief, eternal moment, he clutched the virtuous, virginal daughter of Cheltenham to him as if she were his only hope—as though he feared drowning in that wave. For a brief sweep of the hands of the clock, he kissed her like a starving barbarian suddenly presented with a feast.

  It was only a second or two—or ten. Then Dane came back to himself abruptly, shock at his own barbarism rippling through him—only to find his innocent bride gripping the front of his shirt in both fists, making the tiniest of whimpering sounds beneath his mouth.

  Dane quickly slammed the door on his mystifying outburst of lust, pulling his lips away from hers with difficulty. He pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin as he fought to regain his composure. This was not the way to gain his objective. If his new bride was to be properly cultivated to bear his invasion, he could not begin by frightening her with uncontrolled lust.

  Control was paramount to this undertaking. Due to his impediment, he would never be able to abandon strict control with her, even if he somehow convinced her to allow him in. His baser nature was not something he could ever burden her with. It would only terrify her. He only hoped he had not ruined everything already.

  As he drew a last deep breath, he realized that Olivia did not seem irreparably terrified. In fact, the girl in his arms continued to clutch at him, clumsily attempting to kiss his neck while still constrained in his grasp.

  Relief swept him as he gripped her shoulders in both hands and set her gently away from him, keeping a tight rein on his self-control.

  Olivia blinked in surprise as she was firmly but gently detached from her new husband. “Did—did I not do well?” she asked breathlessly as she struggled to focus her vision. “I tried to do what you did. Should I try again?”

  She stepped forward to do just that, for she longed to be drawn back into that whirling, passionate moment once more. She�
�d never, ever, ever in her life—well, of course she hadn’t. No virtuous girl would.

  He’d not released her shoulders. Now, he pressed her back, keeping her at arm’s length. Olivia gazed up at him, her brows drawn together. His lack of expression confused her. “Why—”

  No virtuous girl would.

  Mother was constantly telling Olivia she was too unrestrained, too prone to disgraceful behavior. Why, she’d not only kissed him, she’d licked him! She backed a step from his hold, her hands covering her hot cheeks. “Oh heavens! What you must think of me—”

  First she’d berated him for his neglect, then shamelessly demanded that he stay and consummate the marriage—how mad that was!—then she’d thrown herself at him!

  It had been heated and wild and more than she’d ever dreamed. His lips had felt hot and hungry—and the scorching wetness of his mouth and the way his tongue had invaded her—inside her! The way he’d pulled her forcefully against his big, hard body, making her feel small and helpless and utterly in his power, the way his lips had covered hers—owned hers!—sparking a hunger of her own that had nearly overwhelmed her.

  Even as she stood there, racked by embarrassment, she felt a hot shudder of hunger ripple through her at the memory. Oh, she was irredeemable!

  “Olivia.”

  He’d never called her by name before, she realized. She liked the way he said it, especially the way the second syllable deepened his voice slightly. Large, warm hands covered her shoulders and pulled her back against the solid wall of his chest.

  “Olivia, do not be distressed.”

  She shook her head quickly. “I was too brazen. I was too—”

  He gave her a tiny shake. “No. Look at me, my dear,” he ordered gently.

  She did so. He was gazing down at her, his blue eyes serious. She’d never seen him thus. He’d always seemed rather jovial, yet somehow the sober expression suited him.

  “I am your husband,” he told her. “It is my charge to lead the way in matters of physical love. You were simply responding to my own lack of restraint.”

  She bit her lip. “I was?”