Never Mix Sin with Pleasure

by Renee Ann Miller

  Through the crush, Olivia noticed a group of gentlemen who kept twisting their heads to peer at her. Was one of them contemplating approaching her? She wished he wouldn’t. The man, like all the others, didn’t realize she was nothing more than the Dowager Marchioness of Huntington’s companion.

  Her gaze shifted back to Anthony. He smiled broadly at Lord Pendleton’s granddaughter and said something.

  The young woman laughed.

  Charming her, was he? Even when he didn’t wish to, he could not help being a flirt. Or perhaps, he was doing it to draw her regard. To try to vex her. As if he could read her thoughts, his gaze shifted to her. The briefest glance. Yet, it heated her skin as if she stood close to a hot grate.

  The devil. She would not accept his offer. After she finished what she’d come to London to do, she would go to America.

  She glanced away, wishing she’d never stepped into the wrong carriage. Oh, who was she kidding? Only herself if she believed that poppycock.

  “I think it is time we headed home,” the dowager said.

  Olivia blinked. She’d not even realized that Lord Pendleton and the dowager had finished talking and the man had returned to his sour-faced wife.

  “All the men think you are a mystery,” the dowager continued. “The women all envy your gown. Lord Pendleton’s granddaughter asked about it while you were dancing with Anthony. I don’t doubt by tomorrow she will drag her grandmother to Madame Renault’s shop. Soon the seamstress will have a slew of new customers. Customers who were once Madame Lefleur’s.” A wicked gleam lit the old woman’s icy-gray eyes. She leaned her weight on her cane and pulled herself up into a standing position.

  As they strode from the ballroom, Olivia couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder at Anthony. Lord Pendleton’s granddaughter was still staring at him as if he held both the stars and the moon.

  If he ever married, she was the type of woman he would wed.

  * * *

  An hour after arriving home from Lord and Lady Dayton’s ball, Olivia still couldn’t fall asleep. She turned her down-stuffed pillow over, fluffing it, then gave it two hard smacks with the flat of her palm, as if it were the reason sleep evaded her.

  It was not.

  She attempted to try to convince herself that her restlessness was due to euphoria from having gone to her first ball. Most likely the only one she would ever attend. Or that her mind dwelled on having worn a lovely gown—lovelier than anything she could have conjured up in her mind, along with the fact that men had looked at her as if she were beautiful. But she knew the truth. The whole evening could be whittled down to a small fraction of time. To the sublime minutes when she’d waltzed with Anthony. To the look in his warm-colored eyes when he’d held her gaze like she was the only woman he really wished to be with and his softly spoken inquiry, Would being my mistress be such drudgery?

  Drudgery? The word was nothing short of laughable. Just the thought of what being Anthony’s mistress would entail made Olivia hot and fidgety. She touched her lips. As if it had only happened a minute ago, she remembered the sensual feel of Anthony’s mouth moving against hers. She could also recall the way her heart had beaten, and the physical sensations that had shifted through her body when he’d deepened the kiss and drew his tongue against hers. The memory caused the place between her legs to pulse. She squirmed, attempting to relieve the sensation, but it only caused the pulse to increase.

  Hot and more restless than a minute ago, she threw off her bedding and let her arms go akimbo.

  Her gaze followed a moonbeam from where it highlighted the ceiling to the slit in the heavy curtains. Perhaps she should dress and make her way outside to the rooftops. To where she would expel the disquiet within her—tire herself to the point of exhaustion, so neither her body nor mind would long for things she should not desire.

  Things? She knew what those nameless things were. Wicked things that Vicar Finch would say an unmarried woman should not contemplate unless she wished to go to hell.

  She stood and moved to the window to lift the lower sill. Not to venture outside but hoping the night’s less balmy air would cool her down. After unlocking the window, she drew the lower sash up. A cool breeze drifted over her body. She turned back, intending to climb into bed but instead lifted her robe from where she’d draped it over a chair and slipped it on.

  The dowager was asleep, as were the household staff, and Anthony was probably still twirling Lord Pendleton’s starry-eyed granddaughter about. Olivia picked up the book she’d borrowed from the office. She would return the book and find another one to distract her until her eyes grew heavy and sleep overtook her.

  On almost silent steps, she made her way down the stairs. As she neared the office, she saw a shaft of light seeping under the door to illuminate the flecks of gold in the corridor’s rug. She would have sworn she’d turned off all the lights in the room before getting ready for the ball.

  Nibbling her lower lip, she inched the door open. Anthony was seated behind his massive desk, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on the top corner of the desk, holding a glass of brandy cradled between his fingers. He’d removed his jacket and neckcloth, undone the top buttons of his white shirt, and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

  Anthony exuded such masculinity that her mouth grew dry.

  He glanced up. His gaze drifted over her—from her face, then down over her robe to her bare toes.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Anthony’s gaze, which had worked its way down her robe-covered body, slowly traveled back up. As if he’d skimmed his hands over Olivia, scorching heat prickled her skin. Suddenly more aware of her clothing than she’d been a few seconds ago, she pulled the sash tighter around her cotton robe.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were still at Lord and Lady Dayton’s ball. I came to get another book.” As if needing to prove she spoke the truth, she lifted the novel in her hand. Yet, as she raised it, Olivia wondered if she told the truth. Perhaps she’d hoped he would be in his office as he had been the last time she’d come here to get a book.

  Perhaps that was the true reason. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore, only her desire to be near him, which caused an odd fluttering in her stomach—a mixture of nervousness and excitement. It didn’t help that the top buttons of his shirt were unfastened, leaving his bare skin visible to her.

  “Be my guest.” With a casual lift of his hand, he motioned to the bookshelves.

  Her eyes followed the movement, taking note of how the muscles of his forearm flexed.

  She set the book down on the table that was bracketed by two high-backed chairs set on the same wall as the door. “No. I’ll get a different book in the morning.”

  “Why wait?”

  She glanced down at herself. “Isn’t that obvious? I’m not properly dressed. If someone saw me . . .”

  He set his glass down, walked to the door, and closed it. “There. Now no prying eyes can see how lovely you look. Just me.”

  A flush of heat warmed her cheeks. Absently, she fiddled with the simple ribbon tied to the end of her braided hair.

  He moved back to his desk, but instead of sitting in the chair, he half leaned, half sat on the corner next to where she normally worked. “I’ve always wondered how long your hair is. I bet when loose it is even longer.”

  The curious tone in his voice made her want to remove the ribbon and unwind the braid. Odd. She’d spent her life self-conscious of the brash color of her hair, but Anthony made her feel as if it was a prized possession—as if he wished to run his hands through it.

  Don’t think of that, she silently scolded herself. “Your grandmother will not be pleased to hear that you left shortly after we did.”

  He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I fulfilled my part of the bargain. I went.”

  Wondering if he intended to see Lord Pendleton’s granddaughter, she nibbled her lower lip. “Miss Mary Chester is lovely.”

  His expression remained steady. The
re was no sparkle in his eyes. No lifting of his lips into a knowing smile. “Was she? I didn’t notice.”

  “I find that difficult to believe.”

  “My mind was on someone else. The mysterious and beautiful woman in the yellow gown who outshined everyone else in attendance. The woman who every man in the room wished an introduction to.”

  Only a fool would not comprehend he meant her. Did he really think her beautiful? “I don’t think it was my beauty as much as the way your grandmother guarded me that piqued everyone’s interest. I was just a curiosity.”

  “I assure you it was not that.”

  “Perhaps it was just the lovely gown.”

  “Men aren’t interested in gowns, unless they are taking them off. Believe me, it was not the gown.”

  The warmth in her body grew with each word he uttered. It was best she left, since her body wanted to stay more than it should, and she had a feeling if Anthony said anything else, the desire within her would overpower any judicious thoughts that remained in her head.

  “I really should return to my room.” She moved to the door and reached for the handle.

  “Are you frightened of what might happen if you stay?”

  As if turned to stone, she froze.

  Yes. “No,” she replied without turning around. “I just realize the impropriety of the situation.”

  “Is that truly all that makes you want to run away like a scared rabbit?”

  “Yes.” She lied again. If she told the truth, she would have admitted that she was more frightened by her own desire than his. Anthony was not like the men she had come to London to steal from. He would not force himself on her. But she also knew that if she offered herself to him, he would take her up on her offer. He’d made it quite clear on that account. He wanted her.

  The problem was she wanted him just as much.

  “I think you’re lying. Perhaps it is better you do go back to your room. Regrets can be the devil to contend with, and if anything ever happens between us, I do not wish you to regret a minute of it.”

  She slowly turned around. “Do you say that from experience?”

  “I do. I think everyone has something they regret in their life. Something they wish they could undo. Yet, there are other things in life you fear you will regret, which seem a grand mistake but end up being a decision you cherish.”

  “Are you trying to imply that if we take our relationship further in a physical way, I will not regret it?”

  He chuckled. The sound low. “No. Only you can gauge that. I was thinking how at first, I didn’t really wish to hire you, but I will never regret that I did. Even if you left tomorrow, I will always remember you.”

  Her breath caught in her lungs. Tears pooled in her eyes. No one had ever said they would always remember her. Not true. She had spoken those words to Helen—told her she would never forget her. That she was her sister, even if not truly related. And her dear friend had whispered them back, her voice barely audible, but no man had ever said them. No man had ever made her feel as if she belonged, even when she knew she did not.

  Anthony always said the right words. She wondered if he had said something similar to other women, but she didn’t care. She moved toward him until only a span of no more than a foot separated them. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body and draw in his spicy scent.

  His heated gaze slowly drifted over her again. “Olivia, perhaps you should go to bed.”

  The intensity in his eyes made her both anxious and eager for something she’d never experienced, but desperately desired. Olivia lowered her gaze to where his shirt hung open. She didn’t think she could peer at him while telling him what she wanted. “I’m restless. More so, now that I’ve seen you.”

  “Which is more reason you should go. Otherwise, I’m going to want to relieve that restlessness.”

  “I think I might like that.”

  She heard him draw in a slow breath. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”

  “No. I won’t be your mistress. I would regret that, but whatever happens between us tonight, I will never regret.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She took the last step that separated them, knowing what she wanted. It was dangerous to feel the way she did about him, but after she crossed the Duke of Wharton’s name off her list, she would leave London. Leave England. She had believed the memory of Anthony would haunt her, but perhaps it would sustain her.

  “Olivia,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “You really should go back to your room because I have a feeling that once we start something, neither of us will have the fortitude to stop.”

  “I think you’re right, but I still want to stay.”

  As if her words were a catalyst to the heat burning between them, his hand curled about her nape. His mouth met hers.

  There was no soft preamble. It was a kiss that spoke of desire, of need, and unrestrained want. His mouth almost instantly coaxed her mouth open. His tongue tangled with hers.

  Olivia wrapped her arms about his neck, answering with the same intensity. Same eagerness. Same passion.

  They were incendiary—like scraps of thin paper flung onto hot coals that burst into flames.

  She couldn’t stop her hands from roaming over his body. As if a sculptor, exploring the planes of her creation, she slid her palms over his chest, gauging every angle that was molded to perfection under the thin cotton of his shirt.

  He made a noise that caused a vibration in his chest.

  Anthony’s mouth moved to her neck to plant tiny kisses against the sensitive skin, while his hands reached to her bum to pull her to him.

  The hard length of his manhood pressed against her.

  She made a noise. A whimper that spoke of the want that unfurled within her like string on a reel being pulled—unraveling so fast, she thought herself unable to stop it. She didn’t care. She just wanted to feel. To explore the sensuality of them together.

  He pulled back. His breaths sawed in and out of his lungs, keeping time with her own panting. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  She held his gaze. “Yes.”

  He took her hand in his and led her from the room, and up the stairs. By the time they reached the door to his bedchamber, her heart was beating a fast staccato from the mixture of anxiousness and anticipation.

  Inside, the room was dark except for the moonlight streaming through the bank of windows. Her gaze shifted over the massive mahogany bed with a headboard that soared to the tall ceiling. A brown damask comforter topped it, along with large pillows in a warm brown velvet that made Olivia think of Anthony’s eyes.

  She released a slow breath, suddenly less confident, but then Anthony pulled her to him and kissed her, and all rational thoughts melted away into a puddle of lust.

  His hands traversed her body, as hers drifted over his.

  Almost frantically, Olivia tugged on his shirt, pulling it from his trousers.

  Anthony’s mouth came down on hers again. Demanding, seeking, tasting.

  Squawk! “Who’s there?”

  Olivia froze at the high-pitched sound of Atticus’s voice.

  Anthony mumbled a curse. “Damn that bird.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to see the large birdcage covered in the cloth that sometimes draped over it while the parrot slept.

  “Let me out!” the bird said before making a sound that seemed to mimic the sound of kissing.

  Heat scorched Olivia’s cheeks.

  “Go to sleep or you’ll end up out the window,” Anthony said.

  The bird replied by making the kissing noise again.

  Grumbling, Anthony strode to the birdcage. He picked it up and carried it into what looked like a dressing room. As he stepped back out Atticus squawked. “Dirty landlubber.”

  Anthony pulled the door closed.

  Olivia set her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “I’m glad you find him funny. I think I’ll have him dropped back off at
Lord Hamby’s.”

  “He can be very entertaining at times.” She smiled.

  “Then perhaps I should gift him to you.” He grinned and cupped the back of her neck to pull her mouth to his.

  Like a match, her cooling desire sparked to life. As he kissed her, Olivia’s eager fingers tugged at his shirt again.

  He stepped back and lifted the garment over his head. The moonlight in the room seemed to gravitate to him, highlighting the beauty of his male form. Like she imagined the light at an opera would focus on a singer during an aria. Her gaze settled on a long scar near his ribs.

  Mouth suddenly dry, she wet her lips. and drew her finger down the length of the raised skin. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  It didn’t look like nothing. It looked like it had caused a great deal of pain.

  Anthony’s hands went to the sash of her robe. “May I?”

  Unable to find her voice, she nodded.

  He untied it, then pushed the garment off her shoulders.

  It fell to the floor.

  As he held her gaze, his fingers moved to the buttons that lined the top of her simple nightgown. One by one he slipped them loose. The backs of his fingers brushing lightly against the skin at her collarbone, then at the valley between her breasts.

  Her breaths quickened. Not from fear, but from the desire coursing through her, reaching a new height.

  Anthony’s large hands settled on her hips. He gathered the fabric of her nightgown, lifting it slowly, inch by inch.

  Fire ignited in her belly.

  Knowing he intended to pull it off her, she raised her arms into the air.

  The soft and worn cotton brushed against the sensitized tips of her breasts as he lifted it over her head. Chillier air drifted over her naked body, slightly cooling the heat that had grown within her.

  Self-consciously, she lowered her lashes.

  Anthony lifted her chin with his thumb and index finger, bringing her gaze to his. “You are too lovely for words.”