King was not so blind to his own nature that he did not recognise what had driven his horrendous behaviour and subsequent fall into dissipation.
He looked about the table now, at the animated conversation and the laughter, and smiled as George offered him a piece of carrot.
“Thank you, I have some. You eat it.”
George shrugged and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing happily.
Some fierce sense of urgency burned in King’s chest, a swell of protectiveness that was quite out of character. King had never cared for anyone but himself before now. He’d allowed no one close, allowed no one to know him. He wasn’t certain he’d even known himself before he’d arrived here, out of his mind with drink. He’d always held back, acting the charming devil, flirting and laughing but never really engaging with anyone, never really feeling anything fully. He hadn’t wanted to. That had been the marvellous thing about drinking, it had numbed him and made everything wonderfully simple, until it hadn’t.
Out of habit he reached for a glass of wine that wasn’t there and took a breath, taking up his water glass instead and downing it. Somehow, he must protect this, this imperfectly perfect family with all its madness and peculiarities and the love they all clearly had for one another. He would not allow Charlie’s heedless decisions to destroy their peace and happiness. There had to be a way. Whatever it was, whatever he must do, he would do it. For once in his sorry life he’d do something for someone else, for someone who deserved it, and yes it was for Livvy, but not just her. He looked about the table again, at the rosy cheeks and bright eyes of the children as they bickered and chattered and laughed. Beside him, George banged his spoon on his plate and grinned. King laughed and reached out a hand to the child, smoothing down an errant curl that stuck up in an irrepressible fashion. The boy’s hair was impossibly soft, silky and warm.
“Eat up, George, a little bird told me there’s jam roly poly for pudding if you clear your plate.”
George perked up at once and King smiled as the boy picked up another carrot and shoved it in his mouth, chewing with a determined expression.
King chuckled and then met Livvy’s eyes. He saw the warmth there, the gratitude and admiration, and something else, something too terrifying to contemplate, so he looked away and returned his attention to George.
Chapter Sixteen
15th December 1818.
A night brim full of surprises and regret.
There was no point in pretending otherwise. Livvy had fallen in love with the Earl of Kingston. She was also an idiot. Really, though, what chance had she, when the man was so patient with Harry’s incessant questions about London life, and Susan’s sighing over him, and the girls teasing him, and then… and then with George. Oh stop it, you hen-witted creature, she scolded herself, but to no avail. She’d peeked in on them earlier to see George climbing over King like a monkey scaling a tree. The poor man’s cravat was crumpled beyond saving, his dark hair tousled, and his boots scuffed from crawling about on the floor. Yet he was smiling, watching George with a combination of wonder and fascination. Was it any surprise her heart had turned to mush, and her womb had quivered with longing? She was only human, and there was only so much a woman could take. Then tonight, at the dinner table… Livvy pressed a hand to her heart, which felt like it had swollen to twice its normal size in her chest. This could not be borne.
She had never realised how different a man could be from her first perception of him. Livvy had always believed herself a good judge of character and yet she had condemned King as a vile seducer and a drunkard at first sight. How horribly judgemental she’d been. How naïve not to have wondered what might have brought him to that point. For now she could see the truth of him, a man who desperately needed to be loved, who wanted a family, a home. She wondered if he knew it himself, if he had realised what he was doing with the children, taking just a little of the affection they so abundantly offered him as though he was stealing from them. Livvy had seen him run away from them too, when it got too much, when he was overwhelmed by their happiness in having his attention, and by his own reaction to it.
She wished she could give him everything he needed, but even if things were different, she knew this wasn’t how it should be for him. He did not need another man’s family. He needed his own. Hopefully, he would see that in time. For now, though, he was here, and they could share something that might sustain them both until life shone a kinder light upon them.
Tonight.
She would go to him tonight and pray she could persuade him to be less of a gentleman before she spontaneously combusted. It wasn’t as if she had unrealistic expectations. Despite her foolish daydreams, she knew this was nothing more than a brief affair. After Christmas, King would leave, and she would escape to her aunt’s party and likely their paths would never cross again. It was for the best. For now, though, just until after Christmas, he would be hers. She would spell it out so there was no question of anything else, so that she would not frighten him off and give the impression she was hoping for more. They both knew it was impossible, but she would underscore it to reassure him. It was just for now, just for Christmas, and then… and then it would be over, and they would go their separate ways and that would be an end to it. The idea made her lip tremble, and her eyes burn, but she swallowed down the foolish emotions that threatened to undo her. She was a practical woman, and it was better to have half a loaf than none. It was.
So her decision was made.
King stared up at the ceiling, his arms behind his head. He’d left the curtains open to admire the great expanse of sky, velvet black and jostling with stars. Moonlight filtered in, casting odd shadows which would have had him gibbering and screaming about goblins and demons not so very long ago. The thought brought a wash of shame that he had sunk so low, that he had almost fallen off the edge, the point of no return. Even now his hands trembled at the idea he might fail, that he might be offered a drink the moment he returned to London, and he’d not be able to say no. Well, it was bound to happen. All his cronies had been a hard drinking lot, well, except Charlie, but then they’d never been friends. Acquaintances perhaps, King being someone Charlie felt he owed a debt to.
King wasn’t sure he had friends. He had people he’d go out carousing with, those who were the best, most amusing company, and those who were inoffensive enough not to make him want to throttle them when he was hungover. Friends though…
A friend would understand he could never allow himself to fall so far again, a friend would help him, support him. The only man he might have named friend had been ruined by King’s father and no longer wished to know him. King could hardly blame him for it. He tried to think of anyone among his circle who would understand when he told them he would not drink anymore, that he could not, if he wanted to live. Try as he might, King could not think of a single person who wouldn’t just laugh and make a joke of it. They’d put a drink in his hand and tell him not to be such a crashing bore. Though he had known it in the back of his mind, it was only now that he allowed himself to accept the truth of it. If he returned to his rooms in London, to his friends and their endless parties and gambling and drinking, he would be drawn back in. He could not go back. His life must change.
The idea was frightening. It was as frightening as the thought he might give in the first time someone offered him a drink, or if he was alone and free to help himself. He would have to go back to Wynford. The castle was enormous and would swallow him whole and even thinking about it gave him such a sense of loneliness and abandonment he did not know how he would bear it. His dog was there at least, Argos, a big, loyal fellow who did not deserve to be abandoned with such regularity as he was. He felt an pang of longing for the creature, wishing he could keep him in London but it was no place for such a big, energetic dog. It would be selfish of him.
Though he knew it was a dangerous game to play, for a moment he allowed himself to imagine doing what Walsh had suggested, the impossible notion that he might ma
rry Livvy. He allowed himself to glimpse the image of Livvy at his home. Livvy and the children, filling the endless empty rooms, their chaos and laughter chasing away the silence that had always been a part of his life, unless he was drunk and raising hell. He closed his eyes and forced the image away, unnerved by the swell of emotion that rose in his chest, the force of longing. Closing his eyes did not help though, for now he remembered the feel of her in his arms, the sweetness of her lips and the warmth and softness of her body. His skin ached with wanting her, his body growing hard and hot, a flush that burned over his skin with such intensity he flung the covers back, unable to stand them against his naked flesh. He groaned and covered his face with his hands.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he murmured to himself, trying to regain control of his body before it spiralled out of control.
“King?”
He jolted, scrambling to sit up and snatch at the bedclothes at once as Livvy’s soft voice pierced the silvered darkness of his room. King couldn’t breathe, let alone demand what the bloody hell she was playing at, coming to his room alone in the middle of the night. Though now, judging from the fact she’d just undone the ribbon tie on her nightrail and allowed it to fall to the floor… her intentions needed no explanation whatsoever.
King’s mind was a blank. He simply could not think. At all. His vision was filled with the sight of Livvy, all glorious curves and soft skin, her hair loose, tumbled curls about her shoulders. The moonlight shone upon her skin, a pearlescent glow, shimmering silver, her golden hair a shining mass of platinum now as the moon transformed her into a creature of myth, a succubus come to drive him to madness.
“King,” she said again, a tremor audible in her voice.
She was nervous, as well she might be, a lamb trotting willingly into the lion’s den.
“Livvy,” he said, struggling to find breath enough to say that much, striving to find the will to command her to leave, now, at once, before any hold he had on his sanity snapped once and for all. He gave a soft bark of laughter, realising that moment had long since been lost. She was hereof her own volition, willingly offering herself to him.
Still, he didn’t move, giving her the chance to come to her senses, torn between desperation that she stay and wanting her to take that chance and run from him, to find the strength that he lacked to deny her, and to save herself. She did not run. Livvy came closer and his heart thudded so hard he felt giddy and light-headed. Was he still not recovered? Was this an echo of his night sweats and terrifying visions of strange creatures with horns and tails come to take him down into the darkness? For he had never felt this out of control. He’d bedded women enough to know objectively that Livvy was no great beauty. She was lovely, yes, but not exceptional, not the kind of woman for whom men fought duels and drove themselves to madness. Except his heart disagreed vehemently, crashing about behind his ribs like it fought to get free, like it might stutter to a halt and die if he didn’t touch her. His heart recognised a goddess, a queen, a woman he might spend his entire life worshipping, trying to be worthy of, if he were only given the chance.
“Say something,” she said, close enough to him now that he could reach out and touch her.
He wanted to so badly, but hardly dared, in case he’d dreamed the whole thing and would wake the moment he tried to put his hands on her.
“Can’t,” he said, his voice husky. “Forgotten how.”
Livvy laughed, and the sound rioted through him. “Are you quite certain you’re a libertine? I mean, aren’t you supposed to be eloquent and full of seductive teasing?”
“Not with you, Livvy,” he said helplessly. “It’s all smoke and mirrors, love. Haven’t you understood that yet? I can’t pretend with you. You saw behind the mask from the first, you broke the illusion. So you just get me, I’m afraid. Sorry to disappoint you.”
It was her that reached for him, of course. Brave, beautiful Livvy, undaunted, facing the world head on. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw and he shivered beneath her touch, shaken by the depth of his desire, at the force of his own need.
“If you think that disappoints me, you are sadly mistaken, King. I could never live a lie. I have only ever wanted honesty. That’s why I like you so much.”
“I should send you away,” he said, even as he reached for her.
“Perhaps,” she said, a crooked smile at her lips. “But you wouldn’t be so cruel to me. I want you, King. I want you so much I feel like I might die if you don’t touch me.”
“Oh, God,” he said, and pulled her down onto the bed.
Livvy fell with a stunned gasp, the touch of King’s skin against her own so explicit, the feel of his body against hers so shocking her brain simply refused to function. She stared down at him, her hair falling about her face, her hands braced on his chest. On his chest! Against his naked skin with… with hair and nipples and…. Oh, she was going to pass out. Olivia Penrose, don’t you bloody dare, she told herself, holding onto some semblance of calm by her fingertips—fingertips currently tangled in the thick wiry hair on his chest. She made a small sound, akin to a whimper.
“Livvy,” King said, his eyes dark and utterly focused upon hers. “If you want to leave—”
“No!” she practically shrieked and then slapped a hand over her mouth as she realised she was supposed to keep quiet.
He grinned at her then, a wolfish, pleased grin that reminded her forcefully that no matter the man she had come to know, he had gained his reputation for a reason. She hauled in an uneven breath and sat back, taking a moment to look at him. For really, it was foolish to waste the opportunity. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen his top half naked, but then he’d been so sick, reeking of drink and out of his senses. This was different. So different.
“May I…?” she began, uncertain how to ask if she could put her hands on him again but trembling with the need to do so.
King huffed out a laugh. “If you don’t touch me in the next thirty seconds, I shall be on my knees begging before a minute has passed.”
“Oh, well, we can’t have that,” Livvy said, relieved to discover she wasn’t the only one experiencing such emotions.
Tentatively, she returned her hands to his chest, finding his skin not only warm but hot, surprisingly silky too, except where that dark hair curled. She ran her fingers through it, pleased when he shivered again. His reaction had surprised her when she had touched his face and seen the shiver of pleasure over his skin. It’s not just me, she thought with a surge of triumph, he feels it too. The idea gave her courage, and she bent, pressing her lips to his. King groaned, and the sound had a visceral effect, turning her insides hot and achy and making her press harder against him. Livvy gasped as a jolt of sensation lanced through her and she realised she was straddling him, his arousal in precisely the place she needed it, with only the sheet keeping them apart.
“Oh, Christ, Livvy, you’re going to kill me,” King muttered, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck and pulling her down. His mouth was demanding, urgent now as his free hand slid down her back to her hips and tugged her closer.
“Oh!” Livvy gasped against his lips as that exquisite sensation came again as he rolled his own hips up, creating the kind of friction she thought really might end with her going up in flames. “Oh, my, King, that’s… that’s really quite….”
He chuckled and turned her onto her back, kissing a path down her neck, lingering along her collarbone, tracing patterns with his tongue that made her shiver and gasp. His hand slid up from her waist, slow and caressing until it reached her breast. The devil stopped just short, nuzzling her neck and kissing the soft, sensitive skin beneath her ear. Livvy bit her lip, wanting to tell him to bloody well get on with it before she went mad.
“Stop thinking,” he scolded her, his voice low, a rumble through his chest that she felt as much as heard.
“I can’t,” she protested. “I want it, all of it, everything, and we have so little time and—”
He pressed
his mouth to hers, stopping her words.
“Don’t,” he said, the word ragged, his breathing harsh. “Don’t ask me for everything, and we have tonight.”
“No. Longer than that,” she said, allowing a steely note to underline the words. “Christmas. I know there’s no more than that, King. I expect nothing from you, only this. I’ll be yours until Christmas, and… and you’ll be mine.”
He was silent for a moment, and though she’d been grateful for the darkness up until now, she wished she could see his face better. She wanted to look into his eyes, to see what he was thinking, but there was nothing but the moonlight upon the hard planes of his face, a glitter like starlight in his eyes.
“And then?” he asked, his tone unreadable.
“And then, we go our separate ways. I go in search of a husband and… and you do whatever it is the Earl of Kingston does… until your bride is of an age where you feel comfortable marrying her, I suppose.”
He reared back at that.
“What?”
She reached up and stroked his cheek. “King. You cannot go back to the life you were leading, and you were not meant to be alone. You need a wife, a family. If you treat her kindly, the girl will be desperately in love with you in a matter of days, I know I… I know you can do it. Make a family, you foolish man. It’s what you want, or had you not realised that yet?”
There was a taut silence. Livvy’s hand fell to his arm, braced upon the mattress, the muscles bunched and hard under her touch. The tension sang through him and she regretted her words, regretted making him face them, especially now of all times. What a fool she was. Desperate to distract him, she put her arms up, linking them behind his neck and kissing him, tugging him back down. After a moment’s resistance, he followed with a muttered curse and a groan that made her pulse skitter. He settled between her legs and she wrapped her body around his, clinging to him, too aware of how perfectly they fit, of how nothing in her life would ever feel this way again, so utterly right.
The Girl is Not For Christmas: A Christmas Regency Romance Novel Page 19
