Never Mix Sin with Pleasure

by Renee Ann Miller

  Anthony’s hand dipped under the skirt of her dress to skim up the back of her calf. Inch by inch, his palm moved farther up in leisurely exploration, dragging her skirts higher. The inner muscles of her thigh tensed as his fingers flexed against the soft flesh there.

  The place between her legs tingled. She moaned her approval as his fingers found the slit in her drawers and moved across her slick folds.

  He made a noise, a growl, and then she was not on his lap anymore but propped against the side of the squabs with her dress gathered at her waist, exposing the pale skin of her thighs above her stockings and garters to both him and her.

  He glanced up. His gaze was rapacious.

  “May I taste you, Olivia?”

  Taste me? She wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but the already heavy breaths sawing in and out of her lungs grew faster with anticipation.

  She nodded, and he dipped his head between her legs. The experience of his tongue touching her made her gasp. But she didn’t scoot back or protest. Instead she dug her fingers into his thick, dark hair as his tongue continued to explore her sex.

  He slipped his hands under her bum and lifted her ever so slightly, bringing his mouth tighter so his tongue could explore her more fully and delve deeper.

  For a minute, she thought she should be mortified, but all her mind could center itself on was the pleasure building within her. It was as if every nerve ending she possessed had shifted to that spot between her legs. Unlike in his bedroom, she now understood the overpowering sensations gathering momentum within her—that an explosion of uncontained pleasure would send her whirling into a vortex so powerful it would make her legs shake and then leave her sated.

  The muscles in her thighs tensed and then it hit her. Wave after wave of pulsing sensations. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to stop herself from crying out.

  As Olivia’s mind settled back to the here and now, she opened her eyes to see Anthony staring at her. She thought she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. How could she be with the way he was looking at her?

  Slowly, the sounds of the outside world came back. The carriage was slowing down. The coachman called to the team of horses.

  Anthony peeked out one of the lower shades. “We are nearly home,” he said, nuzzling her neck, while lowering her skirts.

  She didn’t want to move. She wanted to just gather her thoughts and try to enjoy the lingering shocks still throbbing between her legs, but she sat up and smoothed her hands over her dress.

  * * *

  Reluctantly, Anthony lifted the shades. The sky outside was now dusky. Suddenly, everything that had just transpired in the dim carriage seemed to have been a dream. Next to him, Olivia was still straightening her clothes, yet her eyes looked sated and sleepy. He was tempted to tell Dawson to take them to Richmond Park, but he had a feeling any more detours would have the coachman suspicious, which would cause gossip belowstairs.

  The carriage pulled in front of his family’s Park Lane residence. Anthony stepped out and offered his hand to Olivia to assist her. Both their gazes shifted to a black, shiny carriage in front of the residence with a coachman standing next to the vehicle.

  “Was your grandmother expecting company?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  As Olivia and Anthony made their way to the door, the butler opened it. The manservant had a harried look on his face. “Thank goodness you have returned, my lord. Your grandmother is anxiously awaiting you in the receiving room.”

  “Who’s here?” Anthony asked.

  “Lord and Lady Pendleton and Miss Mary Chester. They are here for dinner.”

  A wave of anger moved up Anthony’s spine. Meddlesome woman.

  They’d no sooner stepped into the entry hall, when the double pocket doors to the receiving room slid open and his grandmother’s gaze shifted from him to Olivia. With her back to her guest she scowled. “Anthony, for a minute, I thought you’d forgotten I’d invited Lord and Lady Pendleton and Mary to dine with us.”

  “Forgotten?” Anthony replied in a low voice, aware of the three people sitting in the room beyond his grandmother. “I believe you forgot to mention it.”

  “Did I? Oh, how foolish of me.”

  Balderdash. She hadn’t forgotten. The overbearing woman had a memory like a raven and was nearly as ominous.

  Grandmother turned back to the three occupants in the room. “Apologies. Anthony’s business meeting took longer than expected.”

  He wanted to ignore the sets of eyes staring at him but could not do that since Lord Pendleton had risen and was walking toward him with his hand outstretched.

  “Understandable,” his lordship said, pumping his hand. “Your grandmother tells me you’re doing a wonderful job overseeing several of the family businesses while your brother is on holiday.”

  “Did she?” Anthony forced a smile at the old woman. “I have a wonderful assistant. You’ve met Miss Michaels.” He motioned to Olivia.

  “Assistant?” Lord Pendleton echoed. “I thought Miss Michaels was your grandmother’s companion.”

  Anthony smiled. “She is both my grandmother’s companion and my assistant. I have to admit she has a better head for figures than I do.”

  “Really?” Lord Pendleton twisted the end of his mustache.

  Grandmother turned to Olivia. “You may have the evening off, Olivia.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Miss Michaels,” Anthony said. “Why don’t you join us?”

  The dowager’s lips flattened into a straight line. “The poor girl must be exhausted.”

  “If I’m being honest,” Olivia said, “I have a migraine and would appreciate the time to rest.”

  Anthony knew it was a bold-faced lie. “Very well. I hope you feel better.”

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Olivia inclined her head to Lord Pendleton and strode away.

  It took a great deal of restraint on Anthony’s part not to follow her, but he could feel both Grandmother’s and Lord Pendleton’s gazes on him. Along with those of Lady Pendleton and Mary Chester, who were still seated in the receiving room.

  * * *

  Several hours later, sitting in the corner chair in her bedchamber, Olivia peered over her book and stared at the door. She was almost positive that after the Pendletons and their granddaughter left, Anthony would wish to speak with her. The look in his eyes conveyed he’d not believed her story about having a megrim.

  Had he really wished her to join them and watch Lord Pendleton’s young granddaughter make cow eyes at him? Anyway, telling him she had a headache would be the excuse she needed for tonight. Releasing a heavy breath, she glanced at the clock on the mantel. The Duke of Wharton’s ball would have already begun, and at midnight, while he and his guests dined on exquisite food and champagne, she would be in his house relieving him of every bit of cash she could pocket. He was the last man on her list. After she robbed him, she would consider her promise to Helen fulfilled.

  That thought made her feel as if a huge pile of leaden weights would be lifted off her chest, allowing her to breathe freely once more. It would also mean she was free to leave England. Free to board a ship to America and start a new life.

  Anthony made her want to toss her idea of leaving England aside and stay, but soon the Marquess of Huntington and his wife and children would return, and Olivia’s position as both his grandmother’s companion and his assistant would not be needed. When that happened, she would be too tempted to take him up on his offer to become his mistress. Nothing could come from such an arrangement but heartache. Plus, it was dangerous. What if she got with child?

  It would be wiser if she left before Lord and Lady Huntington returned. She would leave Anthony a note, then board a ship for America. Suddenly feeling melancholy, along with restless, she opened the door and peeked into the corridor. Seeing no one, she moved to the top of the steps to listen. After dinner they would have gone into the blue drawing room, one story below.

 
Lord Pendleton’s voice and hearty laughter drifted upward.

  She heard Anthony’s voice.

  Mary Chester laughed, a light tittering sound.

  A minute later, the voices grew louder. Realizing they were leaving, Olivia pushed away from the stairwell so she wouldn’t be spotted. She turned to move back to her room and saw Katie stepping off the servants’ stairs to the rear of the corridor.

  The young maid smiled. “Mrs. Parks asked me to retrieve your dinner tray. Are you feeling better?” The maid followed Olivia into her room and lifted the lid covering the plate. “No. I guess not, since you didn’t eat a thing.”

  Eating was the last thing on her mind. Between thoughts of Anthony and what she intended to do at the Duke of Wharton’s tonight, her stomach was in turmoil.

  The maid lifted the tray and moved to the door. At the threshold she turned around. “Do you think he’ll marry her?”

  She knew who Katie meant. Anthony and Miss Chester. The queasiness in her stomach grew. She forced her expression to remain bland. “I’m not sure. It would make his grandmother happy if he did.”

  “Yes, that old battle-ax would feed her young to the wolves if it increased her standing in society.” The woman peered down at the tray, then looked at Olivia again. “You know they only marry their own kind.”

  Something in the maid’s direct gaze unsettled Olivia. She tried not to fidget. Had the coachman said something? Had he realized what she and Anthony had done in the carriage? Or had members of the staff noticed that she felt something for Anthony?

  Katie was warning her to guard her heart.

  Too late. “Yes, I know.”

  The woman pinched her lips together, looking like she wished to say more. “Good night, miss.”

  “Good night, Katie.”

  As soon as the woman stepped into the corridor, Olivia closed the door and slumped against it. Suddenly, feeling trapped by her own thoughts, along with the four walls, she moved to the window and threw the sash up. She drew in several large gulps of the night’s cool air. If she was sure Anthony would not visit her, she would have dressed and made her way to the rooftops so she might leap from one roof to the other to clear her mind and distract herself.

  As the sound of clopping hooves echoed into the night, she leaned farther out the window. A carriage pulled up to the front of the residence. The Pendletons and their granddaughter were leaving. She drew in a few more deep breaths, then closed the window.

  Olivia was not startled when a short time later, a knock sounded on her door. Lying to Anthony again would not come easy, but she realized what she needed to do. Wiping her damp palms on the skirt of her dress, she walked to the door and opened it.

  “Why didn’t you accept my invitation to join us?” Anthony asked.

  “As I said, I have a megrim.”

  He made a face conveying he really didn’t believe her, yet he asked, “Is there something I can get you?”

  She truly hated lying to him. She shook her head and touched her temple. “No, but thank you. I’m going to retire early. I hope doing so will make it go away.”

  He glanced up the empty corridor, stepped into the room, and closed the door.

  “Anthony, you shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “No. You need to leave.”

  “I wish to reiterate that I have no interest in Mary Chester.”

  “Why not? She seems rather lovely.”

  “I don’t love her. I barely know her.”

  It was a reasonable answer, even though it was not unusual for members of his class to have arranged marriages. “Well, one day you will find a woman you love and have a family with her.”

  “Family? As I’ve said, I do not want children.” As if frustrated, he raked both his hands through his hair. It only served to make him look more primal. More male. More desirable. Yet, the expression on his face looked pained. He turned around as if about to walk out of the room, then at the door pivoted back.

  She could see the agony in his eyes, and knew he was struggling to tell her something. She stepped up to him and grasped his hand. “Why don’t you want children?”

  “I don’t wish them to suffer the way I have.”

  “Suffer?” she echoed, confused.

  “The truth is that groups of numbers do not make sense to me. I switch their orders and ultimately end up reading them incorrectly. I have struggled with this my whole life and cannot seem to shake the issue. It’s the reason I do not like dealing with the ledgers.”

  Annabelle Green’s face flashed in Olivia’s mind. The girl had been a student of hers at the orphanage. The child had grappled with reading. She’d told Olivia that the letters got mixed up in her head. It appeared there was such a thing with numbers, too. But Annabelle had been extremely bright, just like Anthony. He needed to realize that.

  “This issue does not define you, Anthony. You are enormously intelligent. So this is why you don’t wish to marry? To have children?”

  “You ask that as if it is something minor. Something I should not fear passing on. But you have not lived it. You look at multi-digit numbers and add them as if they are nothing. I misbehaved in school so I would get tossed out because this”—he tapped at his skull—“doesn’t work correctly. I didn’t wish people to learn the truth.”

  Yet, he had told her. And she loved him even more for trusting her to understand and not judge him. The painful expression on his face made her want to weep. She did not want him to see the tears pooling in her eyes. He would misunderstand them. He would think she pitied him. She wished to cry because she could see how this admission hurt him. How this issue made him feel less when he was so much better than any man she’d ever met.

  Impulsively, she wrapped her arms about his waist and pressed the side of her face against his chest. “I’m sorry you have found that part of your life a challenge, but it does not detract from the man you are. Kind. Loving. Intelligent. If your children have the same issue, they will be born to a father who understands. Who will not censure them, but love them.”

  He ran the back of his fingers over her cheek.

  The tenderness of it made her want to cry even more. If she was successful at the Duke of Wharton’s, she would be leaving London and Anthony. Eventually, hopefully, he would marry, and she wanted that for him. She wanted him to be happy. Feeling as if she could burst into tears, she stepped back and rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

  “I should let you rest,” he said, misunderstanding the action. “I hope you will feel better in the morning.”

  She contemplated telling him the truth. Everything. What she had done. All her lies. That she wasn’t feeling ill at all. An image of Helen clasping her hand only minutes before she took her last breath appeared in her mind’s eye. Wharton, Helen’s father, was the last man on the list. She needed to do this. Needed to complete what she’d come to London to do.

  He lowered his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She nodded and closed the door.

  Down the hall, Anthony’s bedroom door clicked closed. Was he getting dressed to go out? She shouldn’t be thinking about what he intended to do. Not when the night would be precarious for her. Uncertainty loomed in her future. Tonight, while robbing the Duke of Wharton’s house, she could get caught, and there was always the possibility of falling to her death when she leapt from one rooftop to the next.

  Yet, she wanted to be with Anthony—one last time.

  Before Olivia could think better of it, she slipped out of her room and made her way to his. Lightly she tapped on his door.

  As if he’d been standing on the other side, it opened immediately.

  She scooted into his bedchamber, closed the door, and on the tips of her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Olivia, if you stay here—”

  Not wanting him to send her away, she kissed him.

  The next thing she knew, he’d locked the door, and they were t
oppling onto the bed.

  For long minutes, they just kissed.

  The thump, thump, thump, of his grandmother’s cane, tapping against the rug, forewarned that she was in the hall. The old woman rapped on the door. “Anthony, I wish to talk to you.”

  Olivia held her breath.

  “I’ve already retired. Tomorrow,” Anthony said, his voice firm.

  The woman grumbled, but the sound of her cane faded as she moved to her own bedchamber.

  Within minutes, they’d shed their clothing and Anthony had put on another French letter. He sat on the bed, leaned back against the headboard, and crooked his finger for her to come to him.

  She went to him and, wrapping her fingers around his hard length, stroked him.

  “Good Lord.” Anthony’s breaths quickened.

  With his hands on her hips, he lifted her slightly, and she realized what he wanted her to do. She lowered herself onto his hardened flesh, inch by slow inch. She moved awkwardly at first until she found her rhythm.

  Anthony tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her with his lips and tongue, absorbing her little moans of pleasure when their climaxes overtook them.

  Sated, she slumped against him.

  His hand stroked her bare back. After half an hour or so, the movement of his hand stopped, and his breathing fell into the even rhythm of one asleep.

  She wanted to stay wrapped in his arms until the end of time, but she needed to leave. She needed to get dressed and make her way to the Duke of Wharton’s town house. Quietly, she slipped from the bed, dressed, and tiptoed from the room.

  For the last time, the Phantom would pay a call on an unsuspecting wretch.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A bitter wind swept over the roofs as Olivia made her way across them. In the distance thunder rolled in the sky. She hoped the rain would hold off until after she returned to Trent House. The roofs became slippery when wet, increasing the chances of plummeting to one’s death.