by Anne Barton
“Let us play a game,” she began.
“Are we done with the drawing, then?” Hopeful, he leaned forward.
Waving him back into his pose, she said, “No, we’re just getting started. We can play this game from our respective positions.”
“Very well. What are the rules?”
Her hand paused in midair and she rolled her eyes. “Must every game have rules?”
He grunted. “Yes. Things would be very random without them.”
“Fine. The rules are quite simple. We shall take turns asking one another questions. And we must answer truthfully.”
“And if we refuse to answer, shall there be a penalty?”
“But of course.” She thoughtfully pressed a finger to her lips. “Anyone who violates the rules shall be required to do one thing of the other person’s bidding.”
James snorted. Wasn’t he already doing Olivia’s bidding? “Like what?”
She laughed huskily, stirring something warm and deep inside him. “Use your imagination.”
He already was, damn it. “Ladies first.” He kept his tone light, but his heart beat faster. If she asked about his childhood or family…
Setting her charcoal on the table at her side, she said, “Have you ever been in love?”
James released a breath. This question he could handle. “Once. Miss Mary Newton. She had beautiful blue eyes that crinkled at the corners whenever she laughed, and she laughed at all my jokes—”
“You don’t tell jokes,” Olivia interrupted, scowling.
“Maybe not, but Mary thought me quite witty. She found my fascination with antiquities charming. I was nineteen, and so was she. Everyone thought we’d be perfect together.”
“But you weren’t?”
James recalled the day Mary first met his brother. He’d tried to gently prepare her for Ralph’s spastic movements and slurred speech, but upon seeing him, she couldn’t mask her revulsion. She’d burst into tears and run out of the house as though Ralph were a beast, hideous and inhuman.
And that was when James knew Mary was not for him.
Olivia leaned forward, awaiting his response.
“No. We were not meant to be.”
“Why not? Did she break things off, or did you?”
James shook his head. “You’ve already had your question. Now it’s my turn.”
She blew out a breath in frustration, but then held out her arms as if to say, Do your worst. “I’m ready.”
“I’ll need to think about this,” he admitted. What to ask the girl who had always been an open book? He knew almost everything about her. Or, at least, he thought he did. “If you could go back in time and undo one thing you’ve done, what would it be?”
Chapter Fourteen
Olivia pondered James’s question. She’d done lots of things she wished she could undo. Three in the last week alone. But if she could undo only one? Of course, she wished she’d done a better job of protecting Rose from the ugliness of her mother’s salacious affairs and her father’s suicide. But she knew that wasn’t what James was really asking.
He wanted to know which of her own actions she’d most like to take back.
She shifted in her chair. “I’d like to take the dare.”
James rose and walked toward her. Olivia quickly turned the paper—the one that was supposed to have the beginnings of a sketch on it—upside down in her lap. He sat on the edge of the bed, an arm’s length away from her. She could almost feel his sandy-colored hair between her fingers, the slightly rough skin of his cheeks beneath her palms.
“And here I thought you were courageous,” he said.
“I am.” She blinked. “I will do your bidding. Whatever you wish.”
“If you were truly brave, you’d answer the question I posed. For you, a dare is less daunting than the truth.”
He was right, blast it all. “I don’t like to think about it—this regret of mine. It’s… painful. Besides, I fear you’d think me a horrid person. And I couldn’t bear that.”
James smiled, instantly melting Olivia’s insides. “You couldn’t tell me anything that would make me think you were a horrid person. But we’re all entitled to our secrets.” He crossed his arms, causing his jacket to stretch tightly across his broad shoulders. “So, it is to be a dare.”
“Yes.” Olivia nearly trembled with anticipation. Let it be a kiss or an intimate touch. Something to satisfy the desire that curled in her belly.
But then, she saw something flicker in James’s eyes. Disappointment.
“Very well,” he said. “Let me think…”
“Wait.” Olivia inhaled sharply. “I’ll answer the question. Not because I fear what you would have me do, but because you are right. Telling the truth—at least in this instance—is more difficult. But I don’t want to keep any secrets. Not from you.”
James’s green eyes warmed, and he reached out, taking her hand in his. “Don’t be afraid. And trust me—I’m hardly in a position to judge anyone.”
She inhaled deeply, summoning courage. He nodded encouragingly.
“As you well know, my sister, Rose, is the kindest, gentlest soul you could ever meet. She was at a very vulnerable age when she witnessed, firsthand, my mother’s affair. And when we discovered my father’s body lying in a sea of blood in his study.”
James squeezed her hand. “I know how close you were to him.”
Olivia’s throat felt thick and she swallowed once, painfully, before pressing on. “Rose has an inner strength that is unsurpassed, but on the outside… well, she was broken.”
“I remember how concerned your brother was for her, and for you.”
“Owen tried to protect us as best he could, but Rose simply couldn’t bear the pain. She retreated into herself, and for the longest time—almost two years—simply didn’t speak. At least not to most people. Once in a while she would whisper, but only to me.”
Olivia paused and closed her eyes, bringing the details of the day into focus.
“It was perhaps three years ago. Rose and I were in a crowded milliner’s shop on Bond Street. She was looking at ribbons on one end of the counter; I was looking at lace on the other. A pair of pretty, stylish young ladies initiated a conversation with me, and though I didn’t know them, I desperately wanted to impress them. We discussed bonnets and gloves for a while, and then they began snickering… at Rose. They’d been watching her, observing how she only gestured and never spoke, even when the shopkeeper asked her a direct question.”
“Ah.” James nodded sympathetically. “Olivia, you don’t have to—”
“Actually, I do.” Now that she’d begun telling the story, she needed to finish. Shame welled up inside her and her whole body trembled. “The women mocked Rose. They called her a freak of nature and said anyone as unstable as she surely belonged in Bedlam.” She blinked away her tears and looked up at James. “Do you know what I did?”
He swallowed and shook his head.
“I laughed.” Her belly twisted, the potency of guilt undiluted by time. “I listened to their cruel barbs. Even worse, I pretended not to know my own sister. The sister who’s never been anything but kind and loyal to me. I don’t think Rose knows of my betrayal and for that I’m grateful. But I know—and I shall have to live with it for the rest of my life.”
She gazed into his eyes, afraid of what she’d find there.
But instead of censure and disappointment, she saw warmth. And possibly… affection. “Time to stop flogging yourself,” he said. “The depth of your regret shows how much you love your sister. And if Rose did know of the incident, I have no doubt she’d forgive you.”
Olivia smiled wanly. “A testament to Rose’s generous and forgiving nature.”
“Yes. But she couldn’t ask for a more loving sister than you.” The heat in James’s gaze made her pulse skitter. “Thank you for confiding in me.”
Olivia sighed. “This was supposed to be a fun game, and I fear I’ve spoiled it with my maudlin
confession.”
“Not at all. I believe it’s your turn to ask a question. Make it a good one.”
“Would you like to kiss me?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could haul them back.
James chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made her belly quiver. “Is that a question or an invitation?”
Olivia blinked innocently. “A question, of course. A simple one: would you like to kiss me?”
He raised her hand until it was a mere inch from his lips. His breath, warm and moist, played across her sensitive skin. His gaze lifted to her face, melting her with its intensity, as he answered. “I would, in fact, like to kiss you. I would like to do much more than kiss you.”
“Such as…?”
“Tsk. That is another question. However, I’ll allow it. I’d like to remove the pins from your hair and let your luscious brown curls fall around your shoulders. I’d like to loosen the laces of your dress and slip it off of your body. I’d like to remove your chemise. With my teeth.”
Heat rushed to Olivia’s face—and other parts of her. “Why don’t you, then?”
The seductive gleam in his eyes dimmed slightly, but the longing was still there. “Because you are a lady and I am a gentleman—even if I haven’t been acting like one of late. Because if I kissed you, I would never want to stop.” He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and closed his eyes briefly before adding, “Because I’m leaving for Egypt in a few weeks and if I were to seduce you right now, I’d be the worst kind of scoundrel.”
She set her drawing paper on the floor, tossed her shawl that hid her foot over the back of her chair, and stood on her good foot.
“What are you doing?” James asked, his tone so incredulous one would think she’d slung a leg over the windowsill and was preparing to jump.
Olivia sat beside him on the bed, so close that their knees were almost touching. “I needed to get out of that chair.”
James looked at her bandaged foot and frowned. “Let me prop your foot—”
She leaned forward and cut him off. “Kiss me.” She was vaguely aware that she was begging but didn’t care. “Or I shall kiss you.”
He swallowed and opened his mouth, probably to object. She had to do something fast, so she reached up and tugged at the white ribbon in her hair, pulling it inch by inch until it was free. Then she dropped it onto James’s lap. While he stared down at the length of silk, she removed a few pins, letting her curls bounce down her back.
“There.” She shook her head, loosening the waves. “I’ve even done some of the work for you.”
“Jesus, Olivia.” With that, James took her face between his palms and pulled her toward him. Their desire exploded in a kiss that was fierce, hungry, raw. His tongue, hot and insistent, thrust into her mouth, as though he were claiming her for his own. He speared his fingers through her hair and grabbed a fistful like he was afraid she might pull away.
Not likely.
She’d been waiting years for James to unleash the full force of his passion. For her. She’d known it was there, simmering just beneath the surface, like lava waiting to erupt. And now it had.
Every time her tongue tangled with his, he moaned. He breathed heavily, like he was starving for air—and for her. Never had she seen him so stripped of control, and it thrilled her.
He ran his hands down her body, almost clumsy in his haste to possess her. When he roughly cupped her breast through her gown, she leaned into him, sighing as he caressed her through layers of sensuous silk.
When that was no longer enough, he shoved the delicate puffs of her sleeves down her arms and ran a finger all the way around the low neckline of her gown. Then he dipped a hand into her bodice, cupping her breast and grazing her sensitive nipple with his palm.
“Olivia,” he gasped. “I want you so badly that I forget who I am and what is right.”
“I know who you are,” she murmured. “And this feels very right to me.”
“That doesn’t make it so.” As abruptly as their kiss had begun, it ended. James withdrew his hand from her dress and tugged it back into place. “Even if I wasn’t leaving London, I wouldn’t be right for you.”
She sucked in her breath and held it, a vain attempt to dull the stinging in her chest. It was painful enough to think that an expedition had doomed their future together. But now James implied that it was something beyond Egypt, and that possibility hurt tenfold.
She wanted to shake him until he could see things as clearly as she. “How can you say that? I know that you are right for me. Why won’t you believe me?”
“You think you know everything about me. You don’t.”
Olivia grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt. “Then enlighten me! I’ve bared my soul to you today. Why don’t you do the same?”
Chapter Fifteen
Pick: (1) A tool with an iron head that is used for loosening soil. (2) To choose, as in
Of all the eligible, handsome gentlemen in London, she would have to pick the one who was wholly intent on departing for Egypt.
James could still taste the sweetness of Olivia’s mouth, feel the perfect weight of her breast in his hand. His cock, still hard, strained against the front of his trousers.
All of this made it damned difficult to follow the simplest of conversations.
He was trying to do the right thing here, but Olivia didn’t seem to appreciate his efforts. She was clutching the front of his shirt like she wanted to throttle him and was gazing up at him expectantly.
Placing his hands over hers, he admitted, “It’s hard for me to concentrate when you’re so close. Would you repeat the question?”
She closed her eyes briefly as though summoning patience. “I told you my secret. Why won’t you tell me yours?”
He was tempted to steer the conversation in another direction or to speak in generalities that would protect his pride and preserve her good opinion of him. But she deserved to know the truth about him.
On two counts.
“Very well.” He released her hands and they slid down his torso a few inches before she caught herself and placed them primly in her lap.
“I’m listening,” she said. “And don’t worry. Nothing you could say would change my good opinion of you.”
He stood and began to pace. “That’s kind, but also naïve of you to say. What if I confessed I killed someone?”
She smiled serenely. “You haven’t. But if you had, I’m sure it would have been in self-defense.”
Her confidence in him should have given him hope; instead it made him feel like a fraud. He had the ungentlemanly urge to shock her, to say something to shatter her gilded illusion of him. “What if I seduced a young lady and fathered a child out of wedlock?”
Olivia’s mouth fell open and she sat stunned for a few moments before saying, “I’ve never known you to act dishonorably. But if you once did, I know that you would try to right matters.” She gazed up at him then, her brown eyes puzzled. “But you didn’t… did you?”
“No. I’m sorry, I…” He walked to the window and stared down at the courtyard. She deserved his honesty. So did Ralph. “It’s not that. It’s more complicated. This will seem like an odd confession, but I… I have a brother.” Just saying the words felt liberating.
“You do?” Olivia’s voice was a mix of wonder and joy. “Does Owen know him? Why have you never mentioned him?”
“No one knows about him. I’ve taken great pains to keep his existence a secret—to deny it, even. And I hate myself for it.”
“I don’t understand,” Olivia said. “Why would you pretend like you don’t have a brother?”
That was the crux of it. He had no reason—beyond selfish pride. “Ralph is different.”
“How so?” She frowned slightly. “Is he a criminal or… insane?”
James shook his head vehemently. “He’s friendly and thoughtful and he thinks the world of me.”
“That makes two of us.” She didn’t press him for more but sat patientl
y, waiting for him to elaborate.
“Ralph was born with palsy. His right arm and leg are weak and atrophied. His speech is slurred. The doctor told my parents he wouldn’t survive his first year, but he did. My father wanted to send Ralph away, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. So my father left. Mama and I did our best to care for Ralph.”
Olivia gasped. “That’s a lot of responsibility for a young lad.”
“Don’t think I didn’t resent my brother. Every time I had to carry him up the stairs or read to him or help Mama bathe him, I was bitter and angry. As if it were Ralph’s fault.”
“Oh, James.” Her voice caught and he turned from the window to face her. Her chestnut tresses shone in the morning light, and she held out a hand, beckoning like an angel who could somehow redeem him. But he resisted her pull. He had to tell her the whole of it, without sparing her—or himself—the worst parts. It would be easier to finish the story if he didn’t have to see the disappointment in her eyes, so he turned to the window once more.
“My father sent us money now and then, probably to ease his guilty conscience. Mama scraped together every coin she had to send me to school, even though it meant less for her and Ralph. And when I came home between terms, Ralph would beg me to tell him all about the boys and the professors and my studies. But the thing he loved to do more than anything was to go fishing with me.”
“A fine brotherly pastime,” she said approvingly.
“One would think. Selfishly, I didn’t want to take him, but Mama insisted. She thought the sunshine and fresh air would be good for him. She was never happier than when Ralph and I spent time together. So I took him.” He paused, remembering the sweltering day, the mud that squished between their bare toes, and the gnats that hovered relentlessly around their heads. James had been miserable; Ralph thought it was paradise.
“What happened? Did something go wrong?”