by Lynne Barron
He’d told himself it was the shock of his revelations, that he could make her understand once they were married. He’d attempted to speak of it over dinner, but she’d repeatedly turned the conversation to the mundane.
But he would be damned if he would allow her to turn their lovemaking into the mundane. If he couldn’t bring her back to him through passion, what chance did he have?
He coasted his lips over hers, lingering on her plump lower lip, nipping the soft flesh until she opened to him. He slanted his mouth, sealed them together, and eased his tongue inside.
Olivia shifted beneath him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, a soft moan vibrating against his hungry mouth. Jack wanted to believe he heard passion but suspected her moan was one of surprise, perhaps even dismay.
She was tense and still beneath him, her legs splayed on either side of his knees, her fingers resting motionless over his nipples. Then her mouth came alive, her lips clinging to his, her tongue meeting his in a smooth, soft glide that gave him hope. He drove his tongue into her heat, dancing around hers, thrusting and retreating, skimming along her teeth before engaging hers once more. He sucked her tongue deep into his mouth, groaned when she whimpered beneath him.
“Livy,” he whispered into her mouth.
Her fingers flexed on his chest as if she might push him away and he dropped to his elbows, pinning her hands between them. He cradled her head in his hands and changed the angle of their kiss, spearing his tongue deep into her mouth.
Olivia squirmed beneath him, pulled free of the press of his body and wound her arms around him, her hands warm on his back. She didn’t grip him or caress him, but merely spread her fingers wide, holding on to him as she sighed. Jack broke their kiss and lifted his head to find her looking up at him.
“My wife,” he murmured.
“Your wife,” she repeated, her voice soft, hesitant.
Jack swooped down to capture her lips once more, determined to erase the hesitancy he’d heard in her words, seen in her eyes. He applied himself to the enjoyable task of awakening her desire.
Again and again he kissed her. Until his blood was roaring in his veins and his cock was painfully hard. And Olivia held him, her fingers soft on his back, quiet moans humming in the back of her throat.
Jack pulled his lips from hers, dragged his open mouth along her jaw and down the slope of her neck. She tilted her head back, gifting him with the tender flesh at the juncture of her shoulder. He latched on, pulling her warm skin into his mouth, grazing her with his teeth.
Olivia jerked beneath him, groaning softly. He carefully lowered his weight onto her, the base of his shaft nestling in the curls between her open legs, his chest pressed to her breasts.
“Livy, love,” he growled, nearly undone by the pleasure of their flesh meeting after days without her. “You feel so good.”
Her hands flexed on his back. She arched against him, her hips rising to push her mound against his hard length, before she settled beneath him once more.
Encouraged by the promise of her unbidden response, Jack dipped down, took one nipple between his lips, sucked the pebbled flesh deep into his mouth. Olivia shuddered beneath him, her hands falling to grasp the sheets beside her hips. She undulated gently beneath him, her breath panting out between parted lips.
He turned his attention to her other breast and trailed one hand down over her belly.
“Please,” she whispered brokenly, her back bowing, her fingers twisting in the sheets.
He sifted his fingers through her curls, dipped into her silken folds to find her clitoris, already swollen and begging for his touch. He circled the tight bud until her hips rose from the bed to chase his teasing fingers. He placed his thumb on her straining flesh and eased one finger into her quim, finding the channel as warm and wet as he remembered.
Olivia whimpered, her inner walls rippling, clasping him tight.
“Yes, love,” he murmured against her breast before pulling the nipple into his mouth to suckle, to gently bite, to worship.
She dug her heels into the mattress and lunged up, meeting his thrusting finger, pushing her clit hard against his thumb. He added a second finger, stretching her, driving deep, setting up a rhythm that had her clawing at the bed.
Jack released her nipple and came over her. He found her lips with his, drove his tongue into her mouth in a kiss that owed nothing to finesse and everything to the lust and desperation that swirled through him. Again and again he kissed her, devouring her, aching to have her with him as desire spread through his limbs and hardened his cock to the point of pain.
“Come for me, Livy,” he begged, his fingers buried in her silken heat, his thumb relentlessly tormenting her clit.
“I can’t,” she panted against his mouth.
Jack withdrew his hand from between her legs and brought his shaft to her core. He flexed his hips, slowly forging into her tight sheath until the head of his cock was encircled by her wet heat, her flesh clenching around him.
“Livy,” he whispered, fighting to control the urge to thrust hard and heavy into her as he lifted his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her lashes fluttering. A frown marred her forehead and pulled at her lips. “Look at me.”
Slowly her lids lifted and she met his gaze. Jack sucked in a shocked breath at the anguish he saw in her eyes.
“Livy?”
“Please,” she cried on a fractured breath. “I can’t…”
“What is it, love?” he asked around a groan as she shifted beneath him, her inner muscles squeezing the head of his shaft.
“Make me your wife,” she begged quietly.
In one long, slow, steady thrust Jack buried his cock deep in her tight little cunny.
Olivia’s breath left her on a broken moan, fanning over his jaw and neck. Her lids dropped to cover her eyes and her lips fell open. She trembled beneath him, her hips tilting up and falling back again.
Jack held himself immobile, allowed himself a moment to simply experience the pleasure of being inside Olivia once more.
“Ah, Livy,” he breathed, lowering his weight over her, and raining kisses over her cheeks, her chin, and finally her lips.
With his lips coasting over hers, Jack began to move. He withdrew and thrust into her, slow and deep. Over and over, he came into her tight heat, overcome by the extraordinary satisfaction, the bloody wonder of burying himself in her body.
He delved his tongue into her mouth as he picked up the tempo of their lovemaking. Again and again he drove into her, fighting to hold on to control, to allow her time to reach fulfillment.
Olivia moaned into his mouth, her entire body shaking as she strained beneath him. With a dark, desperate growl, he seated himself deep within her and ground his hips between her legs, pressing his pelvis against her clit, rocking against her until she finally let go and climaxed around him.
“Christ, Livy,” he groaned as she clenched around his shaft, her inner muscles working him over from base to tip. He tossed back his head and roared in mingled pleasure and pain as he came into her shuddering body. And still he kept moving, kept thrusting into her, again and again as if he might somehow stay within her heat forever, force his way into the essence of the woman who trembled beneath him, who’d struggled to withhold herself from him and hadn’t once called out his name.
Exhausted in both body and spirit, Jack collapsed over her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He sucked air into his starving lungs and fought to stem the urge to howl in frustration.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Olivia’s awoke the next morning with puffy eyes, a slight headache tapping at her temples, and a determination to be the best wife London, no, the entire nation of Great Britain, had ever seen.
She’d survived her wedding night with her pride only somewhat bruised. She’d done her best to lie quiet and still beneath him. She’d pulled forth every trick she’d learned during her marriage to Palmerton to distance her mind from her body. She’d organ
ized the linen closet, planned the next day’s activities, reviewed the invitations awaiting replies.
None of it had worked. No sooner had he kissed her than she wanted him with a yearning that left her panting and shuddering, her fingers twisting in the bedcovers in an effort not to cling to him, not to succumb to the wickedness that had trapped them in an unwanted marriage.
So she’d not been able to keep to her vow to remain untouched by Jack’s attentions. It was hardly her fault. The man had seemed quite determined to give her pleasure while consummating their vows. Who was she to argue with her husband?
She could hold her head up knowing she hadn’t embarrassed either of them with an unseemly display of unrestrained lust. She’d managed to refrain from grunting and groaning like a dockside whore. Or, God forbid, screaming naughty words and peppering him with question about various body parts. All in all she thought she’d behaved as a lady ought to in the marriage bed.
If the toll it had taken on her heart could be measured in the tears she’d shed after he’d rolled over and fallen asleep, she considered herself lucky the poor, battered organ still beat in her chest.
She rolled onto her back and stretched her arms over her head. When she pried her heavy eyelids open she found her son kneeling beside her amid the tangled bedcovers peering down at her with a grin.
“Good morning Bonny Prince Charlie,” she croaked sleepily.
“I’ve come to cuddle,” he told her, one pudgy hand patting her cheek.
Olivia pulled him into her arms, careful to keep the sheet tucked beneath her arms so that he might not see that his mother was naked in her bed.
“Is Fanny awake?” she asked, her lips drifting over the blond curls on his forehead.
“She went for a ride with Justine and Mr. Jack.”
“A ride?”
“In Mr. Jack’s new curlicue,” Charlie explained.
“Mr. Jack…that is your stepfather has bought a new curricle?” She never would have guessed her new husband wanted a curricle. He didn’t seem the sort to wish to whip around Town in such a conveyance.
“What’s a pet father?” Charlie asked with a giggle.
“Stepfather,” she corrected. “A stepfather is your father by marriage.”
“Cause Mr. Jack married to you now he’s my pet father?”
“Stepfather.”
“I like pet father better.”
“Pet father it is then, Charlie,” she agreed. “Shall we go down and break our fast?”
“I already broked my fast with Fanny and Justine. We ate at the big table. I had kippers and bacon and coddled eggs and—”
A soft tapping on her open chamber door interrupted the boy’s list of breakfast delicacies.
“Come in,” Olivia called out before remembering she was not decent.
Nurse Sophia poked her head around and spied mother and son on the bed.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” she called out with a smile. “I was looking for the wee lad.”
“The wee lad is exactly where he usually is of a morning,” Olivia replied with a smile.
“As it’s so late in the day I didn’t expect to find him here.”
“What time is it?”
“Half gone eleven, my lady,” she answered. “Shall I take the young master off to dress? Miss Amherst and I promised to take the children to the park.”
“Half gone eleven!” Olivia lurched to sitting, tugging the sheet along with her. “I’ve calls to make this morning.”
“Today?” the woman asked in obvious surprise.
“When Miss Justine returns please see that she’s dressed to pay calls,” Olivia replied, ignoring the implication that she should stay home the day after her wedding. “Then we will be taking luncheon with Lady Throckmorton and her daughters.”
“Yes, my lady.” Nurse bobbed a quick curtsy before holding her hand out to Charlie. “Come along, my little lordling. Time to dress and begin your day.”
Olivia found Jack in the foyer some thirty minutes later. She hesitated halfway down the stairs when she spied him in discussion with Pendergrass.
He looked remarkably handsome in the sunny foyer, his hair windswept and his face flushed. He wore a superfine summer coat of pale-gray over a snowy-white shirt and cravat. Black breeches were tucked into tall black boots. He held a coiled whip in one hand, rhythmically tapping it against the palm of the other.
Pendergrass’ eyes lifted to her and her husband followed his gaze, slowly turning to face her.
“That will be all,” he dismissed the butler without another glance, keeping his eyes trained on Olivia as she resumed her descent.
“Good Morning, Mr. Bentley,” she greeted with a smile as he walked toward the stairs.
“Lady Bentley,” he returned after a brief pause.
“Is Justine ready?” Olivia gripped her gloves in one hand and her bonnet in the other, slowly spinning the brim through her fingers, nerves dancing along her spine.
“For?” He prowled over to the landing and leaned against the newel post.
She stopped on the final step and waited for him to step back so that she might pass.
“We’ve calls to make.”
“You are paying calls today? With Justine?”
“We’ve also a luncheon at two of the clock.”
“Today?” He arched one dark brow.
“Oh, and this evening we will dine with the Featherstones. Your father and Mrs. Bentley have also been invited. Mr. Featherstone is an MP from Durham. Perhaps you’ve met him?”
“Not that I recall,” Jack answered, finally stepping back to allow her to descend to the landing where she promptly went to the oval mirror above the hall table. She took in her reflection, gratified to see that Celeste’s lavender compress had brought down the swelling around her eyes. She pinched her pale cheeks before placing her bonnet on her head and tying the ribbons in a bow beneath her chin. And all the while she was aware of him watching her.
“I understand there is a bill before parliament relating to building a new toll road to haul ore to Manchester,” she said, poking her hatpin into place, rather relishing the slight jab to her scalp. It helped to focus her, to keep her from fidgeting beneath his steady regard.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Mr. Featherstone is quite ready to be convinced of the scheme’s merits,” she continued as she set to work pulling her lace gloves over her hands.
“So we are to dine with him this evening to commence convincing him,” Jack said, a strange note in his voice Olivia couldn’t quite place.
“After the theater, of course,” she explained.
“Of course,” he agreed.
Olivia turned to face him, surprised to discover he was closer than she’d thought. In fact she nearly bumped into him, stumbling a little as she came to a halt with only inches between the brim of her bonnet and his cravat.
Jack reached for her, his bare hand glancing off her hip as she stepped back.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them and Olivia racked her brain to find some way to fill it.
“I understand you’ve bought a new curricle,” she finally blurted.
“About last night,” he said at the same time.
“What made you decide to purchase a curricle?” she asked, ignoring his words.
“What was that about, Olivia?”
“What was what about?”
“Would you rather I’d not come to you last night?”
“Of course not. A marriage must be consummated in order to be legal.”
“Consummated,” he repeated, his eyes roaming over her upturned face.
“And ours has been,” she added with a nod. “We can put it behind us and concentrate on what’s truly important.”
“And what precisely would that be?” he asked.
“Why, the reason you wished to marry me, save the one that is beyond my control,” she answered with a wave of her hand meant to encompass…something. “Oh, yes. Which remin
ds me, where is Justine? We’ll be late. I’ll just go up and fetch her, shall I?”
Without waiting for a reply, Olivia hurried up the stairs, stopping halfway and turning around.
Jack stood precisely where she had left him, his gaze lifted to her.
“I am glad we had this little chat,” she told him with a smile that wobbled. “I feel as if we have gotten this marriage off to a fine start, both of us knowing our roles, what’s expected of us.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Lovely,” she called out as she spun about and continued on her way, blinking furiously against an unexpected urge to cry.
Jack did not come to her bed after they returned from dinner with the Featherstones. In fact he merely wished her a good night at the base of the stairs, lifting her hand to brush a kiss in the air above her trembling fingers.
As she lay in her bed staring up at the ceiling she took stock of the day’s successes and organized her schedule for the one to come, much as she’d done the previous night, but for the inventorying of the linen closet. The difference being there was no devilishly masculine man above her working to pull a response from her traitorous body.
She’d left off her nightgown just in case her husband would decide to join her, his polite good night notwithstanding.
After an hour she gave up all pretense of sleep and rolled onto her side, pummeling her pillow into submission. She replayed her wedding night in her head, from the moment he’d entered her chamber naked beneath his silk robe to the moment he rolled off her shuddering body to lie silent beside her.
She almost welcomed the first tear as it fell from the corner of her eye to roll across her temple and fall to the pillow. She’d been holding back tears all day while she smiled and nodded and pretended to have an interest in the latest on dits in one parlor after another. In truth she’d been holding back tears, and sorrow and a rage so great she felt as if she might explode with it, since Johnston had ignored the groom’s warning and jerked the carriage door open.