Never Mix Sin with Pleasure

by Renee Ann Miller

  When Anthony caught up to her, he grasped her upper arm. Not cruelly, but with enough force to stop her from pulling away.

  “Olivia. I need to explain what you overheard.”

  She turned to him and tipped her chin in the air. “There is no need.”

  “We need to talk,” he whispered, his breath a warm puff of air against her ear.

  “My lord,” she said, holding his direct gaze, willing herself not to look away. “I need to get to the kitchen to tell the cook that your grandmother wishes to dine in her apartment. So, if you will let go of my arm . . .”

  “No. Not until I explain what you overheard.”

  “You do not need to explain anything to me.”

  “Like hell I don’t.” He opened the door closest to them and pulled her into the dim room.

  Inside, Olivia could see the shadow of a massive bed with long flowing curtains draped in the corners. She’d been in this room before. It was Lord and Lady Huntington’s bedchamber. She could almost hear the woman’s laughter when talking with Lord Huntington and see the love in their eyes when they had looked at each other. Lady Huntington was either a consummate actress or she truly loved her husband. Olivia believed it the latter.

  “Lady Huntington loves her husband,” she whispered, more to herself than to Anthony.

  “Of course she does. As desperately as my brother loves her.” There was such an earnest expression on his face.

  “But your grandmother said . . .”

  He cupped her face with his warm palms. “I do not love Caroline.”

  There was something hesitant in his voice. Something not spoken. “Did you at one time?”

  He looked taken aback by the question. “No. But if honest, I’ve envied the relationship she and my brother have. I admire her.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Especially her belief that I am innately good, but that only serves to make me feel better about myself. Love makes you want to make the other person feel complete as well. It’s not solely about one’s own peace of mind. Does that make sense?”

  It did. “I also think you are innately good. And your brother must believe in you as well, or he wouldn’t have left you such a grave responsibility.”

  * * *

  “Yes, I understand that James has a great deal of faith in me.” Yet he could not admit to Olivia that his brother was misguided. That if he knew the truth he would not have. And that she was one of the only reasons he’d been able to handle the ledgers and not failed.

  He cupped her cheek in his hand.

  As their gazes met, she lowered her eyes and her face flushed.

  Was she regretting last night? “Olivia, look at me.”

  She glanced up.

  “Please don’t regret what happened between us. It was special.”

  She sunk her front teeth into her lower lip. “I don’t regret it. Perhaps that is why I feel so odd.”

  He smiled. “I need to go to Victory Pens and check on the progress again. Will you go with me this afternoon?”

  “But what of your grandmother?”

  “I’ll send her a missive telling her I need your help. She won’t doubt that.” He brushed his lips against hers.

  She pressed herself to him and opened her mouth, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

  He kissed her long and deep.

  Footsteps moved down the hall on the other side of the door.

  Anthony pulled back. “You better get going. If we get caught in here, together . . .”

  She nodded.

  He stuck his head out of the door. “The coast is clear.”

  * * *

  Later that day, when Olivia walked into the office, light from the bank of windows settled across the threshold to where she stood. The sight of her caused Anthony’s chest to tighten. She’d loosened her normally taut chignon, allowing curling tendrils to circle her face. The bright shafts of sunlight highlighted her red hair, while the rich, bronze tones of her new day dress brought out the color of her hazel eyes. Olivia looked almost ethereal. Like a drawing of a redhaired fairy he’d once seen in a children’s book.

  Goodness, she was beautiful.

  She blushed. Could she read his mind? Did she realize how much he wished to remove her clothing and taste every inch of her skin, while tangling his fingers in her fiery hair—all while allowing the sun to touch her skin, so he could see every inch of it?

  Shaking his lurid thoughts from his head, he stood. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I am.”

  He picked up a notebook and handed it to her. “I think the project is nearly done, but will you take notes if the foreman has any suggestions?”

  “Of course.”

  A short time later, they sat in his family’s closed carriage as it rolled toward Victory Pens. Olivia had taken the seat across from him. He moved to sit next to her. His leg brushed against hers. “Have I told you how lovely you look?”

  “You do not need to flatter me, my lord, I’ve already shared your bed.”

  He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her gaze to remain steadily on his. “You believe I say these things only to get you to share my bed? Is that what you thought last night when I told you I found you beautiful?”

  “I presume most men believe compliments will break a woman’s resistance.”

  “It’s not false flattery. You really do not realize how lovely you are. When you walked into my office, I had trouble catching my breath.”

  “I believe you are in need of glasses.” She laughed.

  He liked the sound of her laugh. The low, raspy texture of it. “I do not need glasses.”

  “Really? I thought that was why you asked me to do the ledgers, because of your eyesight.”

  That was not the reason. He felt the smile on his face flatten out.

  She blinked and squeezed his hand. “Forgive me. I was only joking.”

  He forced a smile—tried to look lighthearted.

  They rode in silence as Anthony contemplated telling Olivia the truth.

  As the carriage took a turn and swayed sideways, Olivia’s shoulder pressed into his. She peered at him with her luminescent eyes.

  He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her mouth.

  Without hesitation, she kissed him back.

  He coaxed her mouth open and deepened the kiss. For long seconds they enjoyed the feel of their mouths moving against each other. He pulled back. “Have you thought any more about my offer?”

  “If you are referring to me becoming your mistress, I have thought about it, but no, I have not changed my mind.”

  “Olivia, you would not want for anything. I would buy you a house, clothes, a carriage.”

  “Are you so wealthy, my lord?”

  He didn’t like the way she’d said my lord instead of Anthony.

  “I inherited a great deal of money and have invested wisely.”

  She nodded. “But money, no matter how much, cannot buy me self-respect.”

  What could he say to that? She would not be allowed into homes that welcomed him. She would be a member of the demimonde. An outcast in good society.

  He released a breath as the carriage pulled in front of Victory Pens.

  Inside, once again, the construction foreman, Mr. Gibbons, led them around.

  When Anthony saw something that he thought could be adjusted or wasn’t to his liking, Olivia took notes.

  It did not go unnoticed by Anthony that the foreman kept smiling at Olivia. This was the type of man she should marry. A man who would buy her a small house. A man who would gladly give her a brood of children. Children who would inherit their mother’s intellect.

  The thought of her with Gibbons made Anthony grumpy.

  “We made the changes you requested to the loading dock, my lord.” The foreman smiled at Olivia again.

  “Mr. Gibbons, are you intent on continuing to flirt with my assistant or show me the changes you have implemented?” The censure came out exceedingly sharp.

  The man
paled. His reputation was all that he had to recommend him. If Anthony or his brother James said something negative, Gibbons’s likelihood of future employment with men of means would not flourish in London. It would sink like a ship with a hole in its hull.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” Gibbons said, his voice solemn.

  Guilt assailed Anthony. He had no right to censure this man. He had no hold over Olivia. Anthony felt the heat of Olivia’s gaze on him and ignored it as the man continued the tour of the latest improvements.

  A short time later, Olivia and he settled back in the carriage. She had been quiet since he’d snapped at Gibbons. He owed her an apology. Sitting across from her, he could not avoid her gaze. He stretched out his legs. “Forgive me.”

  Her eyes widened. “For?”

  “I had no right to bark at the foreman.”

  She smiled.

  Her lighthearted expression wasn’t the reaction he had expected. He thought she would chastise him. Her smile revealed one thing. She realized he’d acted out of jealousy. And if he read her reaction correctly, she hadn’t minded his interference, even though she knew it boorish and wrong, but he needed to confirm that he wasn’t misreading the meaning of the smile on her face.

  “I thought perhaps since we are out, I might take you to dinner. Should I ask Mr. Gibbons to join us?”

  “If you wish to invite him that is up to you.”

  “But do you wish it?”

  “No.” She glanced out the window.

  Was she now upset with him? Good Lord, he was an idiot. “I don’t want to ask him. I just wanted to make sure I had not overstepped.”

  She turned back and peered at him. “I have no interest in Mr. Gibbons, but you did overstep.”

  “Then let me apologize by taking you to dinner. I know a place in Soho with private dining rooms. I think—”

  “Could we go to Gunter’s?”

  “Gunter’s?” he echoed.

  She looked down at her gloved hands folded in her lap. “I’ve never had an ice treat.”

  “Well, we will have to rectify that.”

  As they stopped and pulled up to an intersection, he knocked on the carriage roof and the coachman slid open the small sliding door that allowed him to converse with the occupants. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Dawson, take us to Gunter’s at Berkeley Square.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As the coachman steered the carriage onto Berkeley Square, Olivia saw people strolling in the park area across from Gunter’s. Several carriages were parked under the plane trees. A waiter stepped out of the shop and walked to one of the equipages, holding a tray of glass cups with colorful ices.

  A burst of excitement fluttered within her.

  “What flavor would you like?” Anthony asked.

  “Do they have strawberry?”

  “Yes. Strawberry, cherry, pineapple, and more,” he replied, grinning.

  She was tempted to say one of each. “Strawberry sounds delicious.”

  As soon as the carriage came to a stop, Anthony set his top hat on his head, jumped down from the carriage, and crossed the street.

  He walked like a man who was so assured in every decision he made. But she was starting to realize he wasn’t. When she’d made the comment about him needing glasses, she’d seen something flash in his eyes. Regret? Sorrow?

  Anthony reached the door of Gunter’s at the same time two young women walked out, a maid lagging behind them. Their expensive attire, along with the fancy hats, made it obvious they were members of the upper crust. One of the women started talking to him, while she tipped her head coquettishly.

  That ugly spike of jealousy Olivia had experienced watching him dancing with Mary Chester grew within her. She squashed it down.

  Tonight, the Duke of Wharton was hosting his ball, and she would be an uninvited guest. After that, she would forget about Lord Anthony and leave this country and him. She needed to do that for her own sake.

  Anthony tipped his hat to the two women, and they strolled away.

  Olivia’s gaze followed them as they walked toward their carriage. One of the women glanced over her shoulder and peered at Anthony, but he didn’t glance back as he entered the shop.

  Why was it he didn’t wish to marry? The question had been spinning in her head for days. She would toss it aside, only for it to return. Perhaps it was nothing more than he didn’t wish to be tied down to one woman.

  A minute later, Anthony exited Gunter’s.

  Dawson, who’d returned to his perch, jumped down and opened the door.

  Anthony climbed inside. After sitting across from her, he placed his hat onto the space beside him. A lock of his wavy hair fell across his forehead, and she battled the urge to brush it aside, just as she had the time she’d fallen in this very same carriage.

  One side of his mouth turned up. “What are you smiling about?”

  Had she been smiling? “I was thinking about when I tripped on your foot in your carriage in front of Madame Lefleur’s shop and how Lady Winton’s drawers landed on your head.”

  His grin broadened. “I should have realized you were going to change my life then and there.”

  Not sure exactly what he meant, she drew in a slow breath. She was about to ask him when she noticed the waiter crossing the street, moving toward their carriage. The tray in his hand contained three clear cups with pink-colored ice piled high and shiny silver spoons.

  Anthony stepped out and took two, then motioned the waiter to hand the coachman the third one. “Dawson, I hope you like strawberry.”

  “Why, yes. Of course, my lord. Thank you.”

  He was so different from her last employer. In the weeks she’d worked for Lady Winton, she’d not seen the woman do anything remotely kind for her staff. The idea of purchasing an ice treat for her coachman, Biddles, would not have even entered her ladyship’s mind.

  Anthony stepped inside and handed her one of the icy treats. He leaned casually back against the corner, stretched out his legs on the cushion, and crossed them at the ankle. He looked so male, so virile.

  She forced her gaze away from him and dipped her spoon into her glass. Bright pieces of chopped strawberries were visible. She made sure to get one on her spoon and brought the frozen treat to her mouth. It was cold, but immediately started melting against her tongue, sending the sweet flavor of the dessert to every corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation, and released a moan of absolute pleasure.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Anthony staring at her. Warmth flooded her cheeks. How gauche he must think her. Those women he’d been talking with would never have acted this way. “Forgive me—”

  “No. Don’t ever apologize. That was . . .” He shifted as if uncomfortable. “Wonderful to witness.”

  He always made her feel better about herself. Smiling, she slipped another spoonful into her mouth.

  A few minutes later, Olivia gathered up the last dollop of the frozen treat and ate it. She stared at the cup and fought the urge to lick it clean.

  Anthony, who’d already finished his, was leaning against the thick velvet cushions, watching her. He smiled. “Would you like another?”

  She was tempted. “No, thank you.”

  He rapped on the roof and the coachman opened the door. “Please return our glasses, Dawson.”

  “Yes, my lord. And thank you. It was excellent.”

  He nodded. “Before heading home, I wish you to drive by the British Museum. I want to show Miss Michaels where it is. She’d like to visit the Reading Room next week.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  She knew exactly where the Reading Room was. While employed by Lady Winton, she’d visited the museum.

  After Dawson walked away, Olivia tipped her head to the side. “Do you really wish to show me the British Museum’s location?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?” The heated look in his eyes caused her stomach to flutter.

  “I
f you want me to show it to you or do something else.”

  Was he implying what she thought he was? Surely, he didn’t mean for them to do anything in the carriage. Yet, the wicked idea caused excitement to spark within her. “Well, I’ve seen the museum. In fact, I visited the Elgin Marbles and spent several hours in the Reading Room.”

  “Then you do not need to learn its location?”

  “No,” she replied.

  “Do you still wish us to drive by the museum?”

  They were dancing about each other. Not saying what they both wanted. “Yes, very much so.”

  The coachman returned from Gunter’s and climbed onto his perch. The carriage moved out of Berkeley Square and headed toward Bloomsbury.

  Anthony briefly glanced out the window. “The traffic near the museum is rather dense this hour of day. It might take us a great deal of time to get there then back to Mayfair.”

  “I believe you’re right.”

  “Perhaps we should do something to preoccupy ourselves?”

  “Any ideas?” she asked, clearly knowing what he meant.

  “A few.” Anthony reached over and pulled both the side shades down, making the interior of the compartment dim.

  “May I kiss you, Olivia?”

  Stomach fluttering with anticipation, she nodded.

  The next thing she knew, Anthony had pulled her onto his lap and his mouth was on hers.

  She twined her hands around his neck.

  His tongue entered her mouth to tangle with hers.

  That heady feeling his kisses evoked seemed even more powerful as they drove through the streets of London. The sound of the coachman directing the horses, the clopping of hooves, and the jangling of the harnesses all receded. The only noise that registered was the little sounds of pleasure they made. It was as if they’d fallen into a place where only they remained in the world.