A Notorious Vow (The Four Hundred #3)

by Joanna Shupe

  He kissed her for a long time—at least she assumed it was a long time. Long enough she could hardly breathe, with the ache between her legs growing urgent as her insides tingled and burned. Finally, he broke off from her mouth and rested his forehead against hers, both of them panting hard.

  They stood, pressed together, for a long moment. Was this it, then? She was strangely unsatisfied, every cell in her body straining for more. She clung to him, unsure what would happen next.

  “I should go,” he said and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

  He started to step away but she curled her hands into the edge of his waistcoat to stop him. “Wait.”

  “I should leave. I—” He started signing as he spoke. “I do not wish to overwhelm you. We have plenty of time to explore this.”

  “Please. Stay.”

  “Why?”

  She glanced away, too unnerved to answer, but he held on to her chin to hold her gaze. “Christina, why?”

  “Because I would like you to stay.” It was the best answer she could give at the moment. She had no knowledge of the specifics of what happened between a man and a woman in the bedroom but she knew enough to want this to continue. “Unless . . . unless you do not want to stay with—”

  He pounced, grasping her shoulders, and his mouth took hers in a hard kiss. When they broke, he said, “I want to stay. I want to do every wicked and pleasurable thing under the sun to you.”

  Leaning back so he could see her face clearly, she said, “Then you had best begin.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Then you had best begin.

  Had one sentence ever affected Oliver so fiercely? His body went up in flames, blood pounding in every cell, his skin crawling with lust. He wanted Christina. Desperately. He wanted her naked and on the bed beneath him, writhing and gasping as he pleasured her.

  He had to remember, however, that she was innocent. They must progress slowly. He needed her to be sure at every step, to accept—and enjoy—all that happened tonight. Because it would not stop with tonight.

  No, he planned to have many nights of bone-rattling ecstasy with this woman.

  Therefore, they had to start this pleasuring business gradually.

  He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back. “If you need to get my attention, use your hand. Tap me, pinch me, tug my hair . . . If you do I shall immediately stop. All right?”

  She nodded, and so he leaned over to kiss her once more, deep and thorough kisses designed to tantalize. As they kissed he steered her toward the bed until her knees hit the edge of the mattress. She did not seem to notice, her lids shut as she rubbed her slick little tongue across his. He lowered them into a sitting position, his mouth never leaving hers.

  He took his time with her. Between the vigorous kisses, he explored the hard edge of her jaw with his mouth, the delicate shell of her ear. He gently nipped her throat above the collar of her shirtwaist. Dragged his nose over her cheek and relished the hint of roses on her skin.

  Without the ability to hear her moans, he went by feel and sight instead. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her skin flushed. The nails of her fingers dug into his clothed skin, keeping him close. She angled toward him, eager and excited, and his erection throbbed in his clothing. Soon, he reminded himself. Not tonight, but someday soon he would thrust into the warm clasp of her body.

  Her hands began seeking, mapping his chest and shoulders, and she shifted restlessly on the bed. He gently pressed her back to the mattress until she was flat, and then rolled her until they faced one another. That allowed him to wedge his leg between hers, bringing her skirts up a bit. Then some more. Inch by inch he slid the silk and cotton higher until he could drape her leg over his thigh.

  He stroked her stocking-covered calf, tracing the curves and angles of her leg until he reached her drawers. They were soft cotton edged in lace and had the necessary split in the middle. He trailed his fingers over her thighs and then dipped between her legs.

  Slick warmth met his hand. She was wet, dripping with arousal, and he let it coat his fingers as he explored her. She put up no resistance, her hips still seeking, chest heaving, and he angled to kiss her throat as he stroked the swollen nub hidden in her folds. They were in no hurry, so he teased her, tracing her entrance. Then he worked her clitoris once more, switching up his pressure and speed to drive her wild.

  He had forgotten this heady power, how much he loved to pleasure a woman. This was not any woman, however. Every touch, every sigh was a thousand times more powerful because it was Christina. She trusted him with her body, her gratification, and he would not disappoint her. Even if the demands of his own body were about to kill him.

  He knew she was moaning by the vibration against his lips and hands, so he increased the pace, circling her clitoris faster. Within seconds, her hands clawed at him, pulling him closer, and then she stiffened, trembling as the orgasm overcame her. It went on and on, and he could not look away, her beautiful features lax with bliss.

  When she sank into the bed, shivering, he pulled his hand out from under her skirts. He dropped beside her and closed his eyes to gain control of himself. He felt like one of those metal windup toys with a spring, turning tighter and tighter until the toy set off in a blur of motion. Still, he must hold off. There was no reason to penetrate her tonight. They had plenty of time for that, if she eventually chose.

  He dragged her closer, tucked her into his side. She snuggled deeper, her lashes resting against her cheeks as she settled. Emotion welled in his chest, a tenderness that occurred more often in her presence these days. The feeling was new and disconcerting. He had never been so drawn to a woman before, not even ones he had bedded.

  As he looked down at Christina’s sweet and sleepy face, he found himself grinning like a fool.

  What on earth was happening to him?

  Christina turned her face toward the winter sun, letting it warm her skin during her morning walk through the gardens. Though she was sore and tired today, she had never been happier. There were no words for what had occurred last evening between her and Oliver.

  “Transcendent” seemed utterly cliché.

  “Life altering” was not strong enough.

  Yet it had been those things, and a hundred more adjectives used to describe something wonderful and momentous.

  Yes, she had climaxed from his fingers. But it was so much more than that. It had been joy and light, like he had injected happiness into her veins. Oliver was some sort of magician, a sorcerer who knew exactly how and where to touch her.

  She must have fallen asleep after because she had awoken in her own room this morning, sprawled on her bed and still dressed. Had Oliver carried her to bed?

  That filled her with guilt. Not only had she enjoyed herself immensely, she had fallen promptly to sleep. As a result, Oliver had not found his own pleasure last evening. While she had no practical experiences in these matters, she knew he had not climaxed. Would he blame her, then?

  That thought dimmed a bit of her happiness and she kicked a pebble with her boot. At that moment, Apollo raced ahead to chase after a bird, distracting her. Oliver’s dog had taken to accompanying her on these morning walks and she was grateful for the company. She was not yet entirely comfortable with the dog but it was nice to have him around.

  Without warning, Apollo began barking sharply. Christina could not see him but he was somewhere near the edge of Oliver’s property.

  When calling him did nothing, she crept closer to the stone wall near the Kane property. Perhaps he had spotted a cat or other animal. Just off the path, there was Apollo, barking at the wall.

  “Apollo, come along. Stop that.”

  “Christina,” a voice called. “Is that you?”

  Was that . . . ? Her breath caught. “Mother?”

  “Yes, it is I. Hold on.”

  A rustling noise sounded, the familiar swish of her mother’s skirts. Then Christina heard a grunt an instant before her mother’s face appeared over
the top of the wall. “Are you . . . standing on something? Be careful, Mother.”

  The countess’s hair was pulled away from her face, not a strand out of place, her eyes narrowed sharply. She gripped the edge of the stone to balance herself. “This is what I am reduced to,” her mother said. “A peer of the realm forced to scuttle in the gardens like a common thief just to see my own daughter.”

  Christina’s stomach clenched and she clasped her hands tightly. “What did you want?”

  “Are you aware that your husband has forbidden your father or me from seeing you? Can you imagine the nerve? Your own mother, and I am not allowed to visit.”

  “He said as much the night of the wedding,” Christina pointed out. “Were you not listening?”

  “Do not take that tone with me, young lady, not after everything I have done for you.”

  Christina said nothing, merely pressed her lips together and clenched her hands. Her mother would soon get to the point, whether Christina objected or not.

  “Now, here is what I need you to speak to that man about,” her mother continued. “The settlement he has proposed for the marriage is far too low. It might have been enough for some American family. However, we are English peers. We have responsibilities. Goodness, your father’s title can be traced to the days of Edward II.”

  So this was about money. Again.

  Christina smothered a sigh. Of course her parents were unhappy with what they had been given. She’d never known them to be satisfied with their lot in life. Her father had gambled to win a fortune; her mother constantly worried over appearances and what everyone else thought of them. They had married her off to a wealthy man. What more did they need?

  “Mother, I am certain whatever Mr. Hawkes has offered is sufficient for—”

  “It is absolutely not sufficient. Not for us. Furthermore, he can afford more. I have been asking as to the extent of his fortune and it is quite unbelievable. What we are asking for is merely a token for him.”

  Perhaps, but undoubtedly the amount was far more than they deserved.

  Come now, Christina. They are your parents.

  All the more reason she was able to see this ploy for what it was: another attempt to use her for their monetary gain. Would it never end? She rubbed the bridge of her nose and wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

  “I expect you to help us, Christina. You must speak to your husband—or however you communicate with that man—on our behalf.”

  The condescension in the way her mother said “that man” scraped across Christina’s nerves. She had not liked how her parents treated Oliver the night of the wedding, and apparently their biased opinion of him had not changed. He did not deserve to be looked down upon by anyone.

  Her hands curled into fists and she once again longed for the courage to stand up to her parents, to voice her unhappiness. To rebel instead of giving in to their demands. To be strong and confident instead of the woman who would hide in a crowd.

  Unfortunately, she was not that woman. She had learned a long time ago her parents would not relent, would not listen to her complaints. It would be easier to reason with Apollo than to change her parents’ minds. Yet she had no intention of inserting herself into this matter and attempting to influence Oliver on their behalf.

  Therefore, she would agree, placate them, and hope they went away.

  “Of course, Mother,” she said. “I shall try.”

  “Good.” Her mother sniffed. “Really, these Americans know nothing of our history and way of life. They are practically barbarians. That they have all this money is completely unfair.”

  Christina was not certain the Americans would agree, but there was no pointing this out to her mother. A deep shout emerged from somewhere in the gardens and Apollo’s ears pricked up. He turned and sped off toward the sound. Had that been Oliver?

  The countess watched the dog disappear with growing alarm. “I expect to receive a new number today, Christina. Do not disappoint me.”

  Then she was gone.

  Christina spun to find Apollo racing toward her. “Stop,” she ordered, holding up her palms in hope of not getting knocked over again.

  “Ho!”

  Apollo instantly halted and sat, his tail wagging as he stared at Christina. She exhaled in relief and found Oliver striding along on the path. A young brown-headed girl of ten or eleven years of age walked next to him. Who was this?

  Then she noticed the girl’s bright green irises. Ah, this must be Oliver’s sister, Sarah, home from school. Mercy, and here Christina stood in the bushes. Some wonderful first impression.

  She moved to the path, smoothed her skirts, and patiently waited. Oliver’s face broke into a smile as their eyes met, and her chest fluttered. “Hello,” he signed.

  She could feel her skin heating as memories of last night assaulted her. His fingers inside her, his tongue in her mouth . . . It had been so intimate. “Hello,” she signed back.

  The side of his mouth hitched. “Is everything all right out here?”

  “Yes, of course,” she answered quickly—perhaps too quickly. “Merely enjoying the gardens.”

  He studied her hard, almost as if he did not believe her, but he gestured toward the young girl at his side. “Christina, allow me to introduce Sarah, my sister. She will be staying with us for a few weeks during her break from school.”

  Christina smiled at the girl. “Hello. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sarah.”

  Sarah’s gaze narrowed on Christina’s face. “Oliver says you are a real English lady. Is that true?”

  “Yes, that is true. My father is an earl.”

  “Is that more important than a king?” Sarah asked.

  “No. Significantly less important, in fact.”

  Oliver touched her shoulder. “I thought perhaps you and Sarah might like to come visit my workshop this morning.”

  Christina nodded. “I would like that. What do you think, Sarah?”

  Sarah turned to her brother and signed rapidly. Oliver frowned and responded just as quickly. He did not need to speak when signing to his sister, as he always did for Christina.

  Christina’s stomach tightened watching the two siblings communicate. Were they discussing her? She hated not being able to understand . . . Then it hit her. This frustration was what Oliver must feel like any time he could not read lips and the person was unable to sign.

  Sarah lifted her chin and crossed her arms, no longer looking at her brother. Oliver faced Christina. “She would rather go shopping than spend the day in the workshop,” he explained. “I have refused to take her.”

  “He used to escort me,” Sarah told Christina. “Before he decided his work was more important than his sister. I do not suppose you would spend the day on Ladies’ Mile with me?”

  Christina? Shopping? In the most crowded part of the city? It sounded positively dreadful. “I . . .” She had no idea how to answer. How would Oliver feel if she refused his sister? And would Sarah then resent Christina?

  Oliver must have read her thoughts clearly because he signed, “It is quite all right. You may say no.”

  “I apologize, Sarah. I would rather stay here, if that is all right with you.”

  “I do not mind,” Sarah said. “But do not expect me to give up. I will keep asking until you say yes, Christina.”

  Christina nearly laughed at the girl’s tenacity. Had she ever been so outspoken at that age? “Thank you for the warning.”

  “Come,” Oliver signed. “Allow me to show my two favorite ladies what I have been working on.”

  Oliver hated meetings. It meant tending to business, which was the least enjoyable endeavor on the planet. Today, however, business could not wait. He needed to ensure that Lord and Lady Pennington accepted the marriage settlement and departed New York. Immediately.

  Every instinct told him Christina had been lying this morning. He had found her standing near the wall separating the Kane and Hawkes properties, Apollo quite agitated. Wit
h no one visible on the other side of the wall, one could only deduce that person had not wanted to be seen.

  It had been her mother. Such was the only logical solution.

  Oliver clenched his jaw. He had expressly forbidden the countess and the earl from entering his home, so they had taken to ambushing Christina in the gardens. Had those two no shame whatsoever?

  Moreover, how could they complain over the settlement he had offered? It was a princely sum, way more than they deserved considering their treatment of Christina. Yes, Oliver could afford more . . . but it rankled to overcompensate those two. From what he had learned, the earl and the countess were appallingly irresponsible with money, spending and gambling every cent as soon as they acquired it.

  Most of all, he did not like them putting Christina in the middle.

  He pushed open the door of his study and found Frank Tripp, his lawyer, inside. Gill trailed directly behind Oliver, ready to translate. “Good afternoon,” he signed when Frank stood.

  “Hello,” Frank signed. “Good afternoon.”

  Oliver shook the lawyer’s hand. Frank was one of the city’s top attorneys, recommended to Oliver when his late father’s attorney had retired a few years ago. Oliver had liked the younger man straight off, especially when Frank had taken the time to learn a few simple signs. He also remembered to look at Oliver, not Gill, during their conversations, which Oliver appreciated. “Thank you for coming,” he signed. “Have a seat.”

  Frank lowered himself into the chair opposite Oliver’s massive walnut desk. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate you coming on such short notice today.”

  “That is what you pay me for.” Frank opened his satchel and withdrew a stack of papers. “In addition, we’ve had a bit of a development I must discuss with you. But let us start with your matter first.”

  “Where do we stand with the marriage settlement?”

  “Her parents are stalling. The reception to the amount was lukewarm at best, which was a bit of a surprise, honestly—especially as we know they are up to their eyes in debt.”