The Matchmaker

by Rexanne Becnel

  He shifted too, for his arousal had become painful, and he raised her skirts, sliding his palm up the side of her smooth thigh. Again she moved in restless longing.

  He thrust his hips against her in response. He was about to burst! But she was an innocent, he reminded himself. He must be certain she was ready. So he slid his hand between them and found the moist center of her desire.

  “Soon enough,” he said, trailing the words and kisses across her cheek to her jawline, then down to her throat. And all the while he stroked that wet, warm place. “Soon enough, Olivia. My lovely Hazel …”

  She moaned with his every stroke, urging him on. Her eyes were closed now, her mouth partly opened, and as he stroked the rising nub of her desire, she began to pant and quiver. Despite the urgent demand of his own arousal, he watched her, entranced.

  “Do you like that, love?” He moved his finger back and forth a little faster, a little harder.

  “Yes. Oh. Oh …”

  “Ah, damn,” he muttered, struggling to tamp down his own desire even as he worked to increase hers.

  “Oh, oh …” she panted. Then with a little shriek she bucked up, and against his hand he felt the convulsions in her belly.

  “Oh … Oh …”

  Neville watched in rapt fascination as she shuddered with her release. Color flooded up her chest and neck, and she sucked in huge draughts of air. For a moment her eyes opened and fastened upon his—those beautiful hazel eyes, glazed now with sexual fulfillment. Then she blinked, the glaze began to clear, and at the same moment, with a roar of fiendish delight, the heavens opened up over them.

  “Bloody hell!” Neville tried to shield Olivia with his body, but there was no way to avoid the fierce onslaught of the storm. She gasped and turned away from the blinding assault of raindrops. Neville rolled her to the side, facing him, but she shoved him back, trying at the same time to close her bodice, pull down her skirts, and rise to her feet.

  She failed at all three.

  Nonetheless her frantic movements managed to convince Neville that their interlude was done. He cursed his wretched luck even as he pushed to his feet. Then he caught her by the elbow and helped her up. “Come on. We can shelter beneath those willows.”

  “No.” She stared at him, her eyes huge. Then she jerked her arm free, averted her eyes, and fumbled with her already drenched bodice. The pounding rain made her awkward, blinding her eyes and dragging the skirt of her riding habit close against her legs.

  “Bloody hell,” Neville muttered. But he turned away, giving her some privacy. Sheltering his eyes with his hand, he collected the two nervous horses and led them beneath the thick, overhanging willows, then looked back at Olivia. She was staring at him now, and even through the downpour he could tell she was appalled by what had just happened, and that she wanted desperately to escape his presence. That, more than anything, stiffened his resolve. He might yet be bursting with unfulfilled desire, with no hope of easing it now, but he would be damned before he allowed her to ignore what had just passed between them.

  A jolt of thunder crashed over them and Neville’s hands tightened around the reins when the horses jerked. Olivia also cringed, and with no other choice, she joined him beneath the willows.

  “We’ll wait here a while,” he said. “The storm should pass soon.” Then he extended an arm. “Come here, Olivia. Let me shelter you.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself but advanced no nearer him. “I don’t think I … That …” She shook her head, the picture of abject misery. “That should never have … have happened.”

  Neville had no intention of letting her get away with such thinking. He looped the reins around a branch, then faced her in the dripping shelter of the trees. “What happened just now was inevitable, Olivia. It’s been inevitable since our very first meeting. But for the rain we would have fully culminated this attraction between us.”

  “Is that why you lured me up here?” She stabbed him with her accusing gaze. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You do not want any land leases from me—”

  “You’re wrong. My intentions were honest on that score. And they remain honest. I want those land leases. But now …” He thrust a hand through his dripping hair. “I had not intended to address this matter so soon, but there seems to be no helping it.” He took a breath and stared intently at her. “I believe we ought to be wed.”

  Just saying the words out loud was unnerving. Olivia’s stunned silence did nothing to reassure him. She stared at him as if she had not heard him at all—or wished she had not.

  “Well?” he demanded, as aroused as ever, for her garments clung to her like a second skin, covering all, yet revealing everything. “Have you no response to what I said?”

  Olivia could hardly believe her ears. She was hard-pressed to believe anything that had happened in the last quarter hour: the liberties he’d taken with her person; the liberties she’d allowed and, indeed, encouraged. And then that … that earthquake inside her!

  She quivered to even recall the power of her response, it was that unbelievable. And now he was proposing marriage.

  “If … if it is the land leases you want,” she stammered. “You can have them.”

  “It’s not the leases I’m speaking of. It’s marriage. After what has just passed between us—”

  “No!” She shook her head and backed away. “No. You will not force me—” She broke off. God in heaven, what had she done? How could she allow him such unimagined liberties and yet refuse to marry him? It was unheard of!

  “Oh, my God,” she moaned. “I must get away from here.” She started out into the rain, but he followed.

  “Olivia, wait! You can’t run away from this.”

  “I’m not running away!” She spun around so abruptly he had to catch her by the shoulders to prevent himself from colliding with her, but he let her go at once.

  Damn him for being so completely reasonable when she was spinning quite out of control.

  “I’m not running away,” she repeated. “But unlike you, I cannot turn my emotions on and off.”

  He met her accusation with a pained expression. “I assure you, my emotions are not turned off.”

  Against her wishes her gaze fell to his wet breeches where the evidence of his unrelieved desire clearly showed.

  “Don’t flee,” he added when she stepped involuntarily backward. He paused a moment, all the while staring intently at her. “I think, Olivia, that we have to marry, and quickly.”

  Overhead thunder again rocked the heavens, but the rain began to ease. She dashed one hand across her eyes. “I am not so foolish as to believe we must wed. What you did—What we did—” She shook her head, at a loss for words. “No child can come of this,” she finally said in a strangled voice.

  One side of Neville’s mouth lifted in a faint grin. So much for that tack. Still, he had no intention of wasting the advantage he’d gained. Though this was not the subject he’d meant to broach this morning, nor the manner in which he meant to broach it, it was out in the open now and could not be retracted. Nor did he wish to retract it, not with the effects of their frustrating encounter still ricocheting through his body. Even the rain could not cool his ardor. “We must marry, Olivia. Even you must see that.”

  “But … I do not see it. We are not at all suited to one another. Not really.”

  “We are perfectly suited,” he countered. “As this episode so aptly demonstrates. In truth, were your mother or brother to hear of this latest incident between us, they would be entirely right to insist I do the proper thing and marry you without delay.”

  “Don’t you dare tell them!”

  “Then don’t force me to.”

  Where that threat came from Neville could not say. But once said, he knew he would stand by it.

  Her eyes widened in horror, then narrowed in fury. “You planned this all along, didn’t you? To compromise me so that I am forced to marry you. Well, it won’t work. I’ll … I’ll deny anythi
ng you say.”

  “That was not my purpose,” he said. Not originally. But that didn’t matter anymore. “It will do no good to deny it,” he added. “For no one will believe you.”

  “Why would you want to force the issue!”

  “I don’t want to force it, Olivia. I don’t want to force you at all.” He gestured with his arms spread wide. “I have put this badly, it seems. Why don’t we start back for Byrde Manor? All I’m asking of you is that you consider my offer.”

  She shook her head, but Neville pressed on. “I’ll speak to your mother—”

  “No!”

  “—and your brother as soon as they arrive.”

  “You had better not!”

  “Why not?” Neville caught her by the arms and lowered his head so that they were face to face. All of a sudden her objections were no longer amusing. They were too vehement to be just maidenly protests, and the fact that she was serious drove him a little bit mad. “Tell me, Olivia. Do you have something against all men, or is it just me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous? You forget that I’ve read that little journal of yours, every single page, and among all those men, there was not one whom you heartily endorsed.”

  “How dare you!” She twisted and turned, trying to shrug free of his hold. But he would not release her.

  “Not one of them appealed to you for yourself. Not one of them. I’m beginning to wonder if you just hate all men.”

  “Not all of them. Just you!”

  He shook his head, too angry to be cautious. “I think not. I think the last few minutes prove you like me. A lot.”

  “No—”

  He cut off her protest with a kiss, forceful. Brutal, even. But it squelched her denial, and it drowned out his anger, leaving instead only passion, hot, demanding, and volatile. It flared through him like a wildfire in a coal mine, so violent and all-consuming that he had but one aim: to quench the fire here and now, to lay her down and sink inside her, and give them both the release they so desperately needed.

  That her struggling had turned to desire only fanned the fire higher. But Neville was no fool, and despite his raging arousal, he somehow forced himself to restraint. One last delving kiss. One last cupping of her rounded derriere, to press that soft belly to his groin. He tangled his fingers in the heavy wet silk of her hair, then reluctantly drew them out.

  As he’d done before, he thrust her an arm’s length away from him. “Go home,” he growled. “Go home and think about what has happened between us, Olivia. Then decide how you wish to tell your family. I give you a week, no longer.”

  Then he turned on his heel and made himself stalk away from her. Though it pained him with every step, he strode away and snatched up the reins. She would find her way home, storm or no. She was on her own lands and the route was clear. Besides, she was an accomplished rider, as at ease on a horse as he.

  All these things he told himself as he mounted his hunter, then urged the animal down into the valley. But the real reason he left her was that he could not trust himself with her one minute longer. Despite all the practical reasons he might have to wed her, the real reason was not practical at all. He wanted her. Desperately, it seemed. More than he’d ever wanted a woman before. Enough that he’d turned down a perfectly luscious offer of a bed partner both nights of their journey, and had avoided the several women in Kelso that he knew to be ready and willing.

  He’d begun to worry that there was something wrong with him—to be in a state of nearly constant arousal because of her, yet unwilling to take relief when it was offered elsewhere.

  But there was nothing wrong with him, he knew as he willed his painful condition to subside. Nothing that Olivia Byrde could not cure.

  One week he’d give her to accept his offer of marriage. After that, he would do whatever it took to seal their union.

  Chapter 20

  The day careened on from one disaster to the next. Not that her mother and brother’s arrival at Byrde Manor should have been considered a disaster. But coming as it did just hours after that unbelievable incident with Neville Hawke, the arrival of their jovial party felt like a disaster to Olivia. The last thing she wanted to do was see anyone at all.

  She’d barely returned to the house and changed when James arrived along with three boon companions, all of them mounted on spirited steeds, and none of them much the worse for the storm. Though she was not in the mood for any male hijinks, Olivia had no choice but to smile and act very pleased to see them—and indeed she was pleased to see her beloved older brother with his wide smile and exuberant manner. Just not this particular evening.

  “Livvie!” he cried, leaping from his favorite hunter. He grabbed her in a hug and swept her right off her feet. “This is my sister,” he said to the men who dismounted behind him. “Olivia, may I introduce Nicholas Curtis, Viscount Dicharry. Also, the Honorable Justin St. Clare.”

  She was dizzy and barely back on her feet before the two men were bowing over her hand. Viscount Dicharry was a hearty spaniel sort of a fellow. Mr. St. Clare was older and calmer with very correct manners.

  “I believe you already know Lord Holdsworth,” James added, his blue eyes glinting.

  “Of course.” She greeted the man her mother was so enamored of. “You are all very welcome—”

  “James!” Sarah barreled from around the house and straight into her brother’s outstretched arms, and the scene replayed itself.

  “Hullo, squirt.”

  Then the traveling coach splashed down the driveway, followed by another, smaller carriage, and all at once pandemonium took over. Augusta alighted, along with her friends whom she quickly introduced: the Honorable Anthony Skylock and his wife, Joanna, as well as the recently widowed Henrietta Wilkinson and her daughter Victoria. The women all complained of exhaustion, the men vowed they were invigorated, horses and servants milled about, and Bones barked the alarm from a safe distance away. All in all, were it not for Mrs. McCaffery, Olivia would have turned around and fled, leaving them all to their own devices. She was that overcome by their noisy descent upon her already shaky situation.

  But she stood her ground and only pressed her fingers against her temples. She desperately needed time alone to think what to do and sort out her shattered emotions. What had she been thinking to invite all these people for a month of shooting at poor, unsuspecting grouse?

  Thank God for Mrs. McCaffery, who was more than up to the task at hand. She dispensed the three newly hired menservants to unload and disperse the luggage to the appropriate rooms. Her four new maids served refreshments to the dusty travelers, whisky in the parlor for the gentlemen, tea in their rooms for the ladies. Mr. Hamilton and his two stablemen took the animals on to the stable, and by the time the late dinner was served, all was peaceful again—as peaceful as a country house party could be expected to be.

  Somehow Olivia also affected an air of calm—at least on the outside. Inside, however, she was a knot of roiling emotion. Solitude did not assuage it any more than did company. Neither the stables, the kitchen, nor her bedroom afforded her any peace. She’d engaged in the most shocking behavior of her life, with results she could never have imagined—and with a man she could not approve of. Kissing him was terrible enough. But the rest of it!

  And worst of all, she’d liked it!

  Now as she sat at one end of the dining table, she suppressed the wicked shiver that curled up from her belly. Just remembering her intimate encounter with Neville Hawke made her knees go weak. Truly she must be the most wanton woman in creation.

  It would serve her right if she caught a cold from her drenching, then developed a fever and died. Certainly that could not feel worse than this terrible guilt and shame. Unfortunately, she felt as healthy and robust as ever. More was the pity.

  She needed to speak to someone about what had happened, and about what she could do regarding the threat Lord Hawke had hung over her head. She only had a week.

  But she
could never confide this in her mother, she realized during a lull before the final dessert course. As if to prove that true, Augusta gave Olivia a measuring look and said, “So how is our dear neighbor?”

  Her voice held an expectant note, and guilty heat quickly suffused Olivia’s face. Before she could formulate an appropriately bland answer, however, Augusta turned to their guests and rattled on. “Neville Hawke, Baron Hawke of Woodford Court, is our nearest neighbor. He’s the one Archie is pursuing in hopes of purchasing that fabulous mare.”

  “The one that outran every three-year-old at Doncaster,” Archie threw in. “And who I believe is faster than any three-year-old—filly or stallion—in the whole of Great Britain.”

  “I’d certainly like to take a look at her,” James said, signaling for more wine. “What say we take a ride over there tomorrow?” He glanced at Olivia. “You can introduce us. I understand from Mother that you and he became quite friendly,” he added, watching her closely.

  Beneath the table Olivia’s knotted fists began to shake. With his fair hair and blue eyes, James appeared affable enough. But he had a core of steel and a strong sense of responsibility, especially toward the women in his family. If he ever found out just how friendly she’d become with their neighbor, he was liable to call the man out. Just as Neville threatened, James would demand that they marry. Olivia stifled a groan at the thought. Thank God James did not know anything—at least not yet.

  She would have to do something to make sure he never did. But what?

  “Yes, Olivia. That’s an excellent idea,” Augusta chimed in. “We should send a note round to Woodford Court tonight—it would be rude to show up on his doorstep unannounced. Will you see to it, dear?”

  From disaster to disaster to further disaster. By the time Olivia was at last alone in her own bedchamber she was frantic, for she’d had swift word back from Neville Hawke that he would be pleased to entertain all of them with a tour of his properties and a picnic luncheon.