She shook her head. “It is nothing. I sometimes weary of changing my gown six times a day, that is all.”
Dane laughed, the last wisps of suspicion blowing away on the refreshing breeze of her frankness. “I could tell Mrs. Huff that you have the headache. She’ll send a tray up here.”
Instantly happier, Olivia blinked coyly at him. “And how would you like to be rewarded for that rescue, O kindly knight?”
Dane reached out to hook a fingertip in her bodice and pulled her closer. “You may feed me clotted cream and candied cherries,” he whispered, relaying his meaning by plucking softly at the points of her nipples through her gown.
Her breath caught and she swayed. “Oh yes,” she breathed. She reached out a hand to slip it beneath his waistcoat, her fingers stroking his chest.
Dane tugged the neckline of her gown low, revealing the tops of her breasts to the rosy aureoles. Turning them both, he sat on the bed and pulled her to stand between his knees. He bent his head to kiss her breasts, then stroked the side of his face against the silky softness of them. He heard her gasp at the way his stubble abraded and awakened her skin.
Her fingers twined through his hair, pulling it from the neat queue he wore. His long hair fell down around her breasts, softly insinuating itself over and between like warm strands of silk.
She pulled the rest of his hair free and tossed the black ribbon away. “I like your hair,” she said dreamily. “It’s prettier than mine.”
Dane shut his eyes for a moment, then gave in with a chuckle. “I shall let you say it, although if anyone else called me pretty, I believe I should call him out.”
“Hmm.” She laced her hands together behind his neck. “Is that like a woman being called ‘stately’?” She sighed. “It simply means that one is tall and none too slender.”
Dane took a gentle, playful bite of succulent flesh and growled. “You’re not stately. Dowagers are stately. You are—”
“What? What am I?” Her voice told him she’d never heard complimentary words. With her mother, that seemed quite likely.
He kissed the top of each breast—I’ll be back soon, my darlings—and raised his gaze to hers. “You are … lush. Succulent. Desirable. Delectable. You are like a ripe fruit, or a sip of cream, or a bowl of custard—”
She leaned back to gaze at him, frowning. “Ought I be inferring anything from this listing of foods?”
He laughed. “Only that I hunger for you.”
She smiled slightly. “And I for you.”
“Then shall I ring for two dinners in your room?”
She blushed. “They’ll know what we’re up to.”
The fact that she believed the servants didn’t know was charmingly naive. There was probably some sort of pool going on right now about how many times a day the master and the lady came together.
Dane stood. “Two dinners it is.” He went to the door and caught an under-underfootman scurrying down the hall. Quick instructions settled the matter quickly, and the fellow was too impressed by speaking personally to his lordship to dare risk a knowing glance.
When Dane returned to Olivia’s bedchamber, he found her standing demurely in the middle of the room with her hands behind her back. “Dane, I have a surprise for you.”
He smiled and walked toward her. “I hope you’re the surprise, especially if that means I am permitted to do the unwrapping.”
She took one hand from behind her back to halt him. “My surprise is that I want you to use this.”
From behind her back she pulled the third Pleasure Rod of the Rajah. Dane blinked. “No. It is too soon. You aren’t ready—”
She lifted her chin. “It is for me to say if I’m ready, and I am.” She blushed deeply and ducked her head. “I want you,” she said softly. “I want you so that I cannot sleep, or think, or—” She shook her head as if shaking off a spell. “I want to be your wife in truth.”
Dane felt a hot twinge somewhere in his chest. She was pushing the schedule of “training” because of him. He wrapped his arms about her, rod and blush and all, and tucked her head beneath his chin. She laid her cheek on his chest.
“You do not have to do this,” he told her softly. “I don’t want you to push yourself too far.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I am. I—I don’t know what it is, but no matter how large they seem at first, all I have to do is think about you and everything seems to fit.”
How fortunate he was in her. Generous, selfless woman. He’d chosen so well it almost seemed as if someone all-knowing had chosen for him.
A tap on the door separated them. Olivia thrust her hand behind her once more as three servants bustled in with trays. In seconds, there was a fine cloth covering a side table, silver candlesticks lit, covered plates steaming on the cloth, and two comfortable chairs—hers and the one from his room—all put in place before the fire.
Olivia was plainly astonished. Dane grinned and peeked beneath the silver dish covers. “Beef and boil,” he announced cheerfully. He picked up a full wineglass. “Care to get me drunk and have your way with me?”
Olivia laughed, then joined him, plunking the Rod of the Rajah upright on the table like a centerpiece. “If anyone asks, that’s yours,” she said playfully.
Dane pushed it closer to her plate. “You’ll ruin my reputation for manliness in all of London.”
She pushed it back. “What do you think will happen to my reputation?” she said, grinning.
He scowled teasingly. “If you don’t put that away, I’ll be forced to exact retribution.”
Olivia pursed her lips. “Oh, very well.” She leaned across the table and dropped it into his coat pocket. It thrust obscenely through the fabric, looking for all the world like an off-center erection.
Olivia tilted her head and smiled. “It does take after you, does it not? Always so … solid.”
Dane gazed at her, openmouthed with shock. “You vixen!” he said accusingly. “You’re going to pay for that!”
He pulled the rod from his pocket and waved it with mock threat. Olivia squeaked and made as if to run from him. He jumped up, laughing—then stepped on her hem, tripping both of them to the floor.
An hour later, a perspiring Olivia emerged from under the tablecloth, adjusting her bodice and panting slightly. She lifted the lids on the plates.
“Now you’ve done it, Dane,” she called down to the pair of legs sticking out from beneath the tablecloth.
“Our dinner is stone-cold.”
17
The next morning the journey to Kirkall Hall began. Olivia had another chance to witness the efficiency of Dane’s staff as they loaded the trunks and barrels and cases on three carriages and one wagon.
One carriage was for her and Dane—a fact that pleased Olivia no end. The upper staff rode in the second large carriage and the understaff in the third.
Sumner and Petty rode with Mrs. Huff, Kinsworth, and Proffit—a fact that pleased Petty no end. She was nigh unto driving Olivia mad with her chattering on about Sumner this and Sumner that.
Not that Olivia blamed the girl. She knew just what it was like to have a man completely occupy one’s mind.
Lord Dryden proposed to ride his horse most of the way but allowed that he might ride in the carriage at times. Olivia rather tersely inquired if he intended them to adopt him as well.
He’d bowed and smiled. “I could do worse, my lady.”
Still, it was all Olivia could do to keep from dancing with impatience. The only traveling she had ever done was to journey from Yorkshire to London a month ago, and that had been under the pall of losing Walter. She scarcely remembered anything but her mother’s constant complaints and the way the springs of their ancient carriage seemed to drive spikes up her spine by the end of the first hour.
Not so with Dane’s—and hers!—luxurious vehicle. It was large enough to seat six, or three people and Dane. The motion was so smooth that she could even nap on one wide seat if she liked.
; Mrs. Huff loaded in an impressive hamper for them. Then a footman—bother, would she ever learn all their names?—helped Olivia in before Dane. She handcarried her reticule, which contained her diary, and had Sumner bring the carved case of the rods.
“My cosmetics,” she’d blithely explained to Sumner, who only nodded indifferently.
In moments, everyone was loaded in and the procession began to roll. Olivia hopped from one side of the carriage to the other, eagerly watching the city roll by.
Dane laughed. “You’ve been in London for weeks. Why so interested now?”
She tilted her head at him. “Because now I’m leaving London, and I won’t be back until next spring. When you leave someplace, you want to take your last memories of it with you, don’t you?”
Dane only laughed and opened his news sheet. “For me, London is rather like an old shoe, I’m afraid. Comfortable, but accustomed.”
“Laugh if you like,” she replied primly. “I will never become blase about new adventures.”
Dane gazed at her fondly for a long moment. “I know.”
So milord was keeping milady close on the journey. And that dinner in the room last evening … the one that had been taken away cold and uneaten.
Yes, things were looking most promising. By the end of this intimacy, milord would be neatly strung about milady’s pretty pale finger.
The second carriage rolled past. Familiar faces inside … the watcher had become well-acquainted with all the staff now. The housekeeper, the butler, the lady’s maid, the valet—
A new face in the bunch, with fair hair and a high, pale brow. Pale blue eyes seemed to meet the watcher’s for the merest instant. Then the new man looked away.
Well, well, well. And here he’d been afraid the fellow had disappeared forever.
Young Lord Walter’s valet had come in useful before. Now the fellow had managed to put himself in a most useful position again.
The symmetry pleased the watcher. Lord Walter Cheltenham had been his original target, after all, for much the same reason Lord Greenleigh was now.
Lord Walter would have been Cheltenham soon and unlike his retiring, monosyllabic father, he’d been a fellow of energy and intelligence. He could have been a real power in the House of Lords, that is, with the proper leverage.
Yet Lord Walter hadn’t taken the financial bait. His engagement would save Cheltenham. So the watcher had used Wallingford and the others to lure Walter into some sort of decadence so he could apply a bit of careful blackmail to stir him from his righteous stance.
It hadn’t worked.
No, Lord Walter hadn’t ended well at all.
No matter. Lord Greenleigh was next on the list.
By the time the caravan had reached the other side of Bedfordshire, Olivia was heartily bored. By Nottinghamshire, she thought she might go mad. Dane was slouched on the opposite seat—it had been very dear of him to ride backward—sound asleep. Being by nature an immovable object, he scarcely even swayed with the motion of the vehicle.
It was gray and chill outside, the road went on and on, and aside from brief moments of interest when they encountered towns and villages on the way, the landscape had been a rather monotonous series of fields, hedgerows, and stone walls.
The one bright spot had been when the road passed through a small wood, brightly strewn with orange and gold leaves. Olivia had caught one vibrant specimen through the window. She toyed with it now as she watched Dane sleep.
He was so tired, poor dear. She ought to be as well, for she was the reason for his weariness. He’d spent hours caressing and stimulating her, driving her higher every time.
The result being, unfortunately, that she—the satisfied one—slept like the dead while he, being the unsatisfied one, tossed and turned the night long. She’d heard Proffit talking to Mrs. Huff about it, concerned at how mangled Dane’s bedclothes were and how weary his lordship seemed.
Olivia slipped carefully off her seat and onto his, into the tiny triangle left by his stretched-out limbs. Resting her hip against his, she stroked his golden hair from his brow and bent to kiss his forehead. “Poor man,” she whispered soundlessly to him. “Soon we shall be together, my darling,” she promised. “Husband and wife, as we should be.”
The very thought sent fire singing through her. The carriage was large. The seats were as wide as cots. There was no end to the mischief they could get up to if they pulled the isinglass shades … .
Inspired, Olivia dug the fourth rod from the case beneath the seat. Twisting toward Dane, Olivia planted her bosom directly in front of his face, certain that if he awoke confronted with his deepest desire, he’d not be able to resist.
“Wake up, my darling,” she cooed. “I want you to touch m—”
Just then, the carriage halted. She hadn’t even been aware that it had slowed, so gently had the driver eased the horses. Therefore, when the inevitable bounce-back occurred, even one so minor, she wasn’t braced at all.
She went flying to the floor, landing hard on her bottom. “Ouch!” Most of her nether regions were already a bit sore from last night’s athletics, plus the fall jarred her spine and made her bite her bottom lip.
Dane—who of course hadn’t been jostled an inch—leaned over to peer down at her. “Are you all right, Olivia?”
Hurriedly, she hid the ivory plaything beneath a fold of her skirts. Unfortunately that left her no time to correct her disarray.
The footman, who had already opened the door, gazed at Olivia with horror. He leaned away to shout something sharply to the driver, who then leaped down to gaze into the carriage as well. In less than an instant, the entire staff stood there, staring at their downed viscountess.
Dane helped her up carefully, then he turned his furious gaze upon the driver. “What do you mean by this, man? Her ladyship could have been injured by your ineptitude!”
The driver could only shrink before Dane’s anger. Olivia saw the gazes of the other servants, who of course knew the driver had done nothing wrong, turn toward her with chilling assessment.
She felt like an idiot, a clumsy, lack-witted rustic who didn’t know how to ride in a carriage. “Er, my lord, it wasn’t Errol’s fault.” At least she had one name down. “I wasn’t in my seat.”
Dane turned to gaze at her oddly. “Where were you?”
All the eyes were on her. She didn’t want Errol to be sacked, but she certainly couldn’t very well say, “I was on your lap.”
And, yet, somehow she did, quite without realizing it. Muffled snickers rippled through her audience, reinforced by careful derisive glances. Even Dane put his hand over his mouth, his blue eyes laughing at her above it.
The driver, however, gazed at her with sympathy and near worship. She’d humiliated herself to save him and he knew it.
Dane turned and dismissed the lot of them with a wave. “We’re stopping for an hour. Make yourselves scarce, but don’t be late or you’ll be left.”
Dane turned back to her, one corner of his mouth quirked up. “I appreciate your candor, my dear. However, in the future, if you wish to explain something to me in private, you only must need say so. There was no emergency. Errol was in for a tongue-lashing, nothing more.”
Of course. She’d been stupid, thinking Dane would impulsively fire a long-held employee over a bumped bottom. Dane stepped outside, but Olivia stayed where she was until she was sure all the servants were out of sight.
She was never going to be elegant or refined or even the tiniest bit poised. She had simply never learned. Covering her face with her hands, she knew she couldn’t entirely blame Mother, for Olivia had spent much of her time avoiding those very lessons when her parents were home. She’d preferred to ride to the village or the river or very nearly anywhere just to evade them.
Mother had scolded halfheartedly and always soon left Cheltenham, leaving Olivia to her hoydenish ways, much to her delight. Walter had been the family’s bright hope, not her.
Olivia kept her thoughts
on Errol’s sympathetic gaze as she righted herself and dusted off her skirts. One less servant who despised her. She would win them over one by one, if it took her years.
She was served a meal in a private dining room in the coaching inn, but she merely picked at it. Dane was somewhere with Marcus, doing whatever it was they did for hours on end and—
Olivia stabbed a bit of cold pork with her fork and gazed at it pensively. What did Dane and Marcus do all day long, anyway? Estate matters. Investment matters.
Thinking of the way Dane and Marcus had sought out the company of the other two gentlemen at Mother’s dinner party … those matters certainly seemed to include that nice Lord Reardon and that sharply handsome Lord Wyndham.
A bit of memory drifted back to her, memory that had been fogged by the following bout of heated passion in the downstairs hallway.
What we need is the right woman.
A frown creased her brow as she stared unseeing at the bite of pork. The right woman for what?
The watcher kept an eye on the comings and goings in the inn from a dark corner of the taproom where he nursed an ale mug that never emptied. His rough woolen disguise of a rumpled farmer irritated him, and the pads plumping his cheeks dried his mouth, but his focus never wavered.
Something was wrong. Greenleigh should have been completely besotted by now. The girl was perfect for him, according to the watcher’s information—which was excellent. His source was impeccable, albeit dead. He knew precisely what Greenleigh wanted, and in a perfect circle, he’d been given it by Lord Walter’s own loving description of his sister.
So what could have possibly gone awry? He knew the girl was doing her part, for the incident in her carriage had spread with the first round of ale bought by Greenleigh staff. She was artless and clumsy in her efforts, to be sure, but he’d expected that of her, counting on it to amuse his lordship.
The valet appeared in the doorway, his gaze searching the taproom. The watcher waited until the young man’s eye was on him, then lifted his ale in a tiny salute. The valet flinched, then nodded hesitantly.
Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 02] Page 15