by Lynne Barron
“I wasn’t,” Jack admitted with a poor imitation of contrition.
“How could you compare me to a peach?” she cried in remembered mortification. “In front of half a dozen gentlemen no less?”
“You’re right,” he agreed as he settled onto the seat across from her. “There is no comparison. You are infinitely sweeter.”
“Do not even attempt to turn me up…” she began before realizing how ridiculous she would sound if she completed the thought.
“Sweet.” He flashed her with a boyish grin. “Ah, Livy, where have you gone to?”
“I am right here,” she replied, leaning forward to wave her hand in front of his face before falling back with a sigh. “Lord save me from drunken idiots.”
“I seem to remember one night not so long ago when you were deep in your cups,” he replied, tugging at his cravat. “In this carriage.”
“I hardly need a reminder,” she snapped.
“Don’t you?”
“I do not understand you,” she cried in frustration. “In one night, in two minutes time, you have likely undone everything I have worked for these last weeks. Lord Casterbury will share your comments with his wife who will spread them about like jam on scones in every parlor she visits tomorrow. By the end of the day everyone will know.”
“Know what?” Jack asked as he fumbled with the buttons on his coat.
“That ours is not the love match I have taken such pains to portray.”
“A love match?” he barked out around a rusty laugh.
Olivia looked away from the dark humor on her husband’s face, from the sight of him shrugging out of his coat.
“Is that what you’ve told everyone? That the Countess of Palmerton fell in love with a miner?”
“What would you have me tell them to explain our hasty marriage?” she demanded as her tenuous control over her temper slipped. “That our parents contracted the match? That I was left nearly penniless after Palmerton’s death and married you to shore up my son’s estates?”
“You might tell them to mind their own business.” Jack tossed his coat to the seat beside him. “Or how about the truth?”
“The truth?” she repeated, fisting her hands on the seat beside her. “Why hadn’t I thought of that? When next I pay a call on the Countess of Casterbury I shall simply tell her I was found on my knees with your…your apparatus in my hand and your seed dribbling uselessly from the corner of my mouth.”
Jack threw his head back and roared with laughter, his big body shaking with it.
Olivia drew a ragged breath, held it while she attempted with little success to rein in the rage that flowed through her veins.
It wasn’t enough he’d thrown her wanton behavior at her like a sharp dart. He clearly found her and their entire marriage a great joke.
Needing something to do, some task to occupy her hands while she tried to control the fury that roiled inside her, Olivia attacked the buttons of her gloves, plucking at them so savagely two flew across the carriage to land on the seat where Jack continued to shake with unrestrained amusement.
Where had she gone wrong? She’d tried to be the proper wife he wanted.
She pulled her left glove off and tossed it beside her.
She’d made Justine’s future her mission in life, pushing everything else to the wayside, including her own children. From dawn until dusk she strove to push the girl forward, calling in favors owed and placing herself in debt to matrons who would expect favors in turn. She’d spent endless hours drowning in idle chatter in every great house in Town.
And from dusk until dawn she’d attended one boring rout after another, ensuring the Bentleys were invited to every entertainment of importance and seen by every person of consequence. She’d allowed her feet to be trampled upon and her breasts to be ogled by gentlemen who might, just might invite her husband to join their club, to shoot their grouse, to join their box at the theater.
Good God, she’d even invited a group of crass merchants to Hastings House, to dine at the same table that had hosted peers, politicians and even the prince regent on more than one occasion. She’d taken their wives on a tour of the house, watched silently as one of them pocketed a small miniature of Queen Elizabeth that was likely worth more than the two contracts her husband had signed as a result of her endeavors.
And in return Jack watched her day in and day out with that damn tic pulsing in his jaw, watched her as if only waiting for her to renege on her part of their bargain. He hindered her at every turn, balking at attending the theater to see the same play they’d seen the week before, refusing to ride in the park at the fashionable hour, disappearing to the card room at every ball they attended.
And finally tonight he drank himself stupid and insinuated that she pleasured him with her mouth yet hadn’t a clue where his bed lay in his too cramped, tacky house.
“I know where your bed is,” she growled low in her throat, throwing her right glove to the floor between them.
“What?” he asked around the remnants of his mirth.
“You may have forgotten where my bed is, Mr. Bentley. But I remember where yours is.”
“It hardly matters, does it? The results would be the same whether in your bed or mine.”
Olivia lunged across the space that separated them, one hand raised to smack the mocking smile from his chiseled face.
For all that her husband was three sheets to the wind, his reflexes were unhindered.
Jack grabbed her wrist, his fingers curling around bare skin, searing her flesh.
Not to be thwarted, she fisted her other hand and brought it around in a clumsy arch aimed at his chin.
Jack ducked, her arm glancing uselessly off the top of his head, and Olivia toppled onto his lap, her skirts twisting around her legs, her shoulder hitting him square in the chest and her forehead landing with a soft thud on his upper arm.
With a hiss of frustrated rage, she struggled to rise, tugging against his grip on her wrist.
“Let go of me,” she snarled, throwing her head back in hopes of connecting with his chin.
He dodged the blow with a chuckle. “Not a chance.”
Wrapping his arm around her waist he hauled her up and twisted her until she was sprawled across his thighs, his hand splayed between her shoulder blades, her stocking-clad legs draped over the carriage seat.
Again she pulled against the manacle of his fingers, the movement setting her off balance so that she nearly fell off his lap. His arm tightened around her, bringing her flush against his chest.
“Release me.”
“Do you promise to behave yourself if I do?” he drawled, tucking her head against his shoulder.
“I do not,” she hissed, resisting the urge to lean in and bite his neck. Hard.
“That’s my girl,” he answered and she could hear the smile in his words, which only served to infuriate her further.
She bucked off his thighs, her feet scrambling uselessly on the carriage door, and twisted about, trying to simultaneously wrench her wrist from his grasp and shrug off the arm that was banded around her.
Jack grunted as her elbow made contact with his ribs and she immediately subsided, her cheek falling to rest on his shoulder and her skirts hiked up around her hips.
“You won’t injure me with your bony elbow,” he said around a huff of breath.
Her heart was beating so hard she could barely hear his words, but she suspected he was laughing at her again.
“I’d like to injure you,” she muttered.
“I know you would,” he agreed, his hand shifting to her lower back.
“You deserve it.”
“That I do.”
“Fine, I’ll behave. Release me.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“You arrogant, infuriating brute!”
“Temper, temper,” he murmured, his lips pressed to her forehead.
Olivia drew air into her lungs, striving to find a measure of composure in the face of his obstinacy and
her humiliation. When she felt she could speak without shrieking like a madwoman she raised her head and arched her back, putting just enough distance between them to evade his lips and see his face.
She was not at all surprised to find him grinning at her, the ridiculous man. She pulled forth the frostiest glare in her arsenal, one that had sent debutants swooning and rakes running.
“Let me go, Mr. Bentley,” she demanded with all the haughtiness bred into her through generations of countesses, duchesses and even one queen.
Jack’s eyes drifted over her face, his grin slowly slipping to a gentle smile before falling away altogether. He met her gaze, his blue eyes as bright as the hottest flame.
“I’m afraid I cannot, love,” he said, his gravelly voice sending a shiver down her spine.
“I am not your love,” she replied, fighting against the pull of desire his words and his sinful voice brought forth. “Nor am I your girl.”
“You are my wife,” he answered.
“More’s the pity,” she replied without thinking.
Jack growled, his hand tightening on her back, pulling her slowly to him. He released her wrist and clasped her jaw, tilting her head back.
Olivia brought her hands to his chest, pushing with all her might, knowing it was useless, knowing she was no match against his strength, against his determination.
His mouth slammed onto hers with brutal force, his tongue thrusting between her lips to be met with the barrier of her teeth.
He hissed out an angry breath and tightened his fingers on her jaw, prying her teeth apart and driving his tongue deep within her mouth.
It wasn’t a kiss he forced on her. It was an invasion, a breaching of her walls, a battle for domination.
Olivia couldn’t win in a battle of brute strength so she chose weapons women had armed themselves with for thousands of years.
She relaxed in his hold, let her back curl under the pressure of his hand, her shoulders droop and her hands to fall from his chest. She loosened her jaw, opened her mouth wide and accepted his tongue.
Jack released her jaw and wrapped both arms around her, pulling her tight against him as he angled his head, sealing their lips together. Olivia did not fight him, she did not tense up, she did nothing to avoid his marauding tongue.
She simply hung limp in his embrace, her hands dangling beside her hips, and her mind filled with a bitter sorrow.
How had they come to this miserable pass? To the point where they were armed with weapons and intent upon hurting one another?
Gradually Jack’s mouth upon hers gentled, losing the edge of violence but none of the wildness. His tongue stroked over and beneath hers, circling before thrusting deep. His hands swept over her back, pulling her firmly against the hard wall of his chest, squeezing her breasts between them, causing her nipples to harden beneath her stays and gown.
Unable to withstand the onslaught, Olivia sighed and lifted her hands, needing something to cling to as desire overtook her.
Before she could wrap her arms around his neck, before she could return his feverish kisses, Jack jerked his lips from hers, curled his hands around her arms and pushed her back, nearly toppling her from his lap.
Olivia yelped in surprise, grappling for purchase, her fingers circling his forearms.
“Holy mother of God,” he bellowed, his fingers flexing. “You are the stubbornest woman I’ve ever encountered.”
“If that isn’t the black calling the kettle pot,” she shouted back at him.
He barked out a laugh, his hands running up her arms to settle gently on her shoulders. “You are driving me mad, you she-devil.”
“And stubbornest is not a word in the English language,” she added for good measure.
“Enough,” he muttered. “We’re home.”
“We are?” she asked only just realizing the carriage had come to a halt.
Jack lifted her from her precarious position on his knees and deposited her in the opposite seat before sweeping her skirts down over her legs.
“You can open the door!” he yelled out the carriage window.
Chapter Thirty
No sooner had the footman opened the carriage door and released the steps than Jack was descending onto the walkway. As if he could not wait to get away from her.
And why not? Once again she’d allowed her temper to take over, blinding her to everything but the sorrow and fury and frustrated desire that had taken up residence inside her and refused to depart.
Olivia took the hand extended through the open door without thought, intent only upon getting inside the house and to the privacy of her chambers where she might toss and turn in her bed before getting up to pace about the room. Such had become her nights.
Strong hands, bare and calloused, gripped hers and pulled her through the door. She stumbled on the steps, looking up in surprise to find her husband grinning at her.
“Carrying it is,” he said just before his hands dropped to her waist.
“What are you—”
Her words ended on a squeal of outrage as Jack lifted her off her feet and tossed her over his shoulder. One strong arm wrapped tight around her knees, the other banded around her thighs just beneath her bottom.
“Have you lost your mind?” she cried, struggling in his grip.
“Hush, my lady,” he answered around a chuckle as he started across the walkway. “You’ll rouse the neighbors. What would they think to see you tossed over my shoulder like so much baggage?”
“They’ll think you are a barbarian,” she answered, pummeling his lower back with her fists.
“I am a barbarian.” Jack tightened his arm around her knees, locking her against his chest. “Hold still. I don’t want to drop you.”
“Then put me down!”
“Not just yet.” He took the half-dozen steps onto the portico at a leisurely pace, not so much as breathing heavy.
“Pendergrass, help me,” Olivia pleaded as they passed by the butler who held the front door open, his face perfectly composed.
“That will be all,” Jack said to the man.
“You cannot just toss me about this way,” she hissed.
“You are my wife. I’ll toss you about however I damn well choose.”
“You insufferable ogre, you unfeeling monster, I’m warning you—”
Jack’s hand landed hard upon her bottom, stinging her flesh through her gown, two petticoats and drawers. “I’m warning you, Lady Bentley. This nonsense has gone on long enough.”
“Twelve years too long,” she agreed as he strode through the foyer toward the wide staircase. “You cannot mean to carry me upstairs in your condition. We will both fall and break our necks.”
“Oh no, there is not a chance in hell of you getting off so easily as that. I have plans for you this night,” he warned.
Jack hefted her more securely over his shoulder and ascended the stairs with no more effort than he’d expended upon the front steps. With each step he took, Olivia was jostled about until she finally dropped her cheek to his back, wound her arms around him and locked her hands together. She held herself perfectly still as she fought to pull the tattered edges of her temper together.
“That’s better,” he crooned, turning his head so that his lips pressed against her hip. “No use fighting the inevitable.”
“Inevitable?” she repeated, her voice shrill. “I’ll show you inevitable just as soon as I am on my feet.”
“I can hardly wait,” he replied, his warm breath penetrating her clothing to caress her flesh.
Desire, dark and dangerous, shot through her, making mincemeat of her attempt to subdue her fury. Even now, while he mocked her and manhandled her, Olivia wanted him. She wanted his rough hands on her, his mouth hot on hers, his cock buried deep in her body.
“Damn you,” she muttered against his back.
Jack turned into her chamber, kicking the door closed behind them.
Olivia lifted her head as he walked through the space into the sm
all sitting room where they’d dined together on their wedding night. It seemed a lifetime ago when in fact it had been less than a month. Twenty-six days feigning contentment. Twenty-five nights fighting the urge to cross the space that separated them, to crawl into his bed and beg him to continue the pretense of wanting her.
“Why are we in this room?” she demanded.
“I’ve a mind to go back and right a wrong,” he answered.
“Put me down,” she ordered, confused by his words.
“Your wish is my command.” Jack released his grip on her legs and settled his hands on her waist. Slowly he brought her up over his shoulder before allowing her to slide down his torso, her breasts brushing his chest, her nipples hardening at the contact.
When her feet touched the floor, Olivia stepped back. His fingers flexed, slipped to her hips, and he held her fast.
She tilted her head back and met his gaze, expecting to find him grinning, enjoying her humiliation.
Instead she found him looking back at her with a frown. In the silvery light of the moon shining through the open drapes, his eyes gleamed like dark sapphires as they swept over her upturned face.
“What did you mean, twelve years too long?” he asked.
“Only that you are right. This has gone on long enough.”
“What?”
Olivia waved her hand between them. “This…whatever it is…this fascination between us.”
“Fascination between us?” he repeated, his voice gravelly.
“Again you are correct,” she replied, stepping back with a twist of her hips that had his hands falling away. “It was never between us. Always and forever it was me wishing for the impossible.”
“What the hell are you going on about?”
“Do you know what I was doing when you thought I was congratulating myself on foisting you off on Elizabeth?” she asked, sidling around and behind the table “I was wishing upon a star. Star light, star bright.”
Jack stepped to the table, circled it and Olivia shifted, keeping its bulk between them.
“I wished I might be as wicked as Elizabeth, wicked and daring. And that someday a man…no not just any man…I wished that someday you would desire me.”