Oliver brushed her lips again, maneuvering himself so that he could see into her eyes. “I need to speak to you,” he said. “It’s important.”
She laughed a little wildly. “I need more than words, Oliver. It is my belief that a woman should live her life as she sees fit, and not be forced into marrying a man simply because she wishes to have him in her bed. Men are not governed by such things, so why should women be? I have never had a man in my bed and now I find I am very curious as to what happens in such situations. I am…attracted to you. I would like it to be you who…”
Oliver blinked. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then I accept.”
Vivianna eyed him uncertainly, but he seemed sincere. She stated her terms. “For a single night. Just one night with an experienced rake, Oliver, that is all I require. I will not be your kept woman or your soiled dove. Nothing of that nature. It will be a night of passion, both of us free and untrammeled by the rules of society, and then we will separate with only our memories.”
“I have told you I accept.” He looked almost relieved, and the idea that he would not argue or resist, or plead for longer, hurt her. But Vivianna said nothing—she had made the rules, after all. It would be ungracious of her to now argue against them….
“I don’t want you to agree to something you later regret,” she burst out, and couldn’t seem to help it.
“Vivianna,” he groaned. “How can I regret it? I’ve wanted you ever since I met you. I’m hardly likely to refuse.”
“Oh.”
Deliberately he bent his head and took her mouth with his. It was the kiss of a desperate man, but it made clear its message. When he had finished, Vivianna was breathless and weak.
“Oh yes,” he said grimly, “I want you.”
“Wherever, whenever?”
“Vivianna!” Lady Greentree’s voice was anxious. In a moment she would come and fetch her.
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Then I will meet you tonight.”
“What about Lady—”
“I will manage.”
“Then meet me tonight, outside, around the corner. At ten o’clock.”
“Vivianna?” Footsteps.
“Coming, Mama!” Vivianna hurried out into the hall, her skirts rustling about her. Oliver followed more slowly.
“We must go,” Lady Greentree said impatiently, her gaze all over them.
Oliver took Vivianna’s hand, his fingers closing so firmly on hers it was almost painful. “Goodbye, Miss Greentree,” he said. And then he had released her, turned politely to her mother and sister, and the door had closed behind him. There was a little silence, before Marietta broke it.
“Oh, I do like him! You are lucky, Vivianna!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Vivianna could feel her face turn fiery red.
Lady Greentree was pulling on her gloves. “He is very good-looking, my dear, but…I cannot help but wonder what his aim is, in making himself so agreeable to you. Why come here as if he is our friend, when he is refusing to do as you ask? And why do you receive him as one?”
“He is being polite, that is all,” Vivianna said quietly. “He was born a gentleman, Mama.”
“But is he one now?”
Lady Greentree was thinking of Toby Russell, who also went by the title of “gentleman.” And she could not blame her for that—had she not also been afraid Oliver and Toby were very much alike? Only it no longer mattered. The fact that Oliver was a rake would make her night with him even more memorable.
She would give herself to him, she would set the seductress in herself completely free, and she would not allow a single doubt or fear to spoil it. And tomorrow, well, she would walk away from him forever.
Vivianna allowed the realization to trickle through her, soothing her fears, accepting the inevitable.
“You should have no concerns for me in regard to Lord Montegomery, Mama,” she said firmly. “I do not expect to see much more of him.”
Lady Greentree stared at her hard a moment more and then looked away. The line of her mouth was sad, as though she feared the worst. “Very well, my dear.”
Guilt assailed Vivianna. She was deceiving those she loved.
“Come on, you two!” cried Marietta. “Let’s go shopping!”
Chapter 16
Marietta was determined to see every fashionable shop in Regent Street—from drapers and dressmakers to shoemakers and bonnet warehouses—and it was afternoon when they finally headed for home. Loaded down with parcels and packages and boxes, and with Marietta suffering from a headache—she was prone to them when overexcited—they reached Queen’s Square.
“I think I shall put Marietta to bed,” Lady Greentree said, removing her bonnet and tossing it onto a chair in the hall. “And then I will lie down, too, until supper.”
“You should not let her run you ragged, Mama.”
Lady Greentree smiled, her gray eyes lighting. “I know, but she is such a dear girl. Not an ounce of spite in her. If she was vain and full of self-importance, than maybe I would be firmer, but she isn’t. Most of the presents she has bought are for all of us and her friends at home. You know it is so, Vivianna.”
Vivianna sighed. Marietta was a dear girl, it was true, and no doubt as she grew older her temperament would grow calmer and more considered. It was just that Vivianna herself had never been like Marietta. She had always felt far older than her years, with the responsibilities of her family, and the world, heavy upon her. It was only lately, since she had met Oliver, that she had felt young. And happy. As if, for the first time in her twenty years, she knew what it was to be a young woman. To look at the world with young eyes.
To be a woman in love with a man.
“You go up and rest, Mama,” she said now, gently. “I will fetch you some tea from the kitchen. Aunt Helen hasn’t enough servants to run after us all, I am afraid, so I help when I can.”
“You are a sweet girl,” Lady Greentree said, and kissed her cheek. “I do not know what I would do without you all. I am very fortunate, my dear.”
“As are we.”
“I…do not take this amiss, Vivianna, but you have not been much out in the world. Oh, I know you have done a great deal to help those less fortunate, and that you have seen the seamier side of life. But you have remained innocent in matters concerning young gentlemen. I would not want to see you hurt by someone who is undeserving of you.”
Vivianna managed a smile. “I promise you, Mama, that I would not let anyone undeserving hurt me.”
Lady Greentree nodded. “Good,” she said.
Vivianna watched her make her weary way upstairs. Guilt seemed now to be her constant companion, but she knew it would not prevent her from finding her way out tonight. She felt a little nervous, of course she did, but she also felt alive. Intoxicated.
This was to be her one night, her only night.
And Oliver would be awaiting her.
The coach was waiting. No insignia, nothing to show who it belonged to. As she approached, the door opened, and Oliver reached out and drew her in. The driver’s whip cracked and the horses’ hooves clattered away over the stones.
Vivianna leaned back in the corner. It was dark, but she could see the shape of his face, the shine of his eyes. Her voice was breathless when she asked, “Where are we going?”
“I have arranged for somewhere special.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, Vivianna. You will enjoy it. We will both enjoy it.”
Vivianna didn’t answer. Now that the time had come, she found she was very nervous indeed.
The gloom of the coach was claustrophobic, and as she huddled smaller into her corner, Vivianna knew she could not stay like this. By the time they reached their destination, she would be too anxious and frightened to come out. This was meant to be a night of celebration, of intense enjoyment.
She should begin as she meant to go on.
Vivianna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Let
the seductress free, she thought. Pretend I am a courtesan like Aphrodite. What would she do in such a situation as this? She would not cower in the corner and hope for the best. She would take charge.
Vivianna shut her mind to doubts and let herself feel instead. And what she felt was Oliver’s presence, and what she wanted to do was touch him. Instinctively she reached out and rested her hands gently just above his knees, and before he could do more than catch his breath, she was sliding her fingers along his thighs, feeling the hard muscles shift and contract.
It felt good; he felt good.
So hard and strong, so different from her own body. Before she realized it, Vivianna found herself dropping to the floor of the coach, using his knees as support. “Vivianna,” he groaned. His body was frozen, rigid, but she could hear him breathing. Heavily.
“I just want to touch,” she whispered. She leaned forward and rubbed her face against his inner thigh. He was so warm and hard and the sensation of having him in her power was intoxicating. Vivianna smiled. In the dim light from the coach lamp, she could see before her clear evidence of his desire for her: the outline of his swollen member beneath the cloth of his trousers.
Vivianna did not allow herself to think. She stretched out her hand and stroked her fingers over him. Lightly. Curiously.
He made a sound in his throat, as if he weren’t sure whether to urge her on or tell her to halt. He hardly seemed to be breathing at all now. She brushed her fingertips over him again, more firmly this time, exploring the shape of him, her eyes closed, the better to imagine those dimensions. He quivered beneath her, and then his hand rested lightly upon her hair.
She wondered if it was really possible to seduce a rake. A dichotomy, surely? And yet Oliver Montegomery seemed more than happy to allow her to continue. She found the buttons that closed the flap of his trousers and began to slide them from their fastenings, one at a time.
“What is his name?” she whispered. “What do you call this part of your body?”
His laugh was husky and strained. “The Duke.”
“Why the Duke?”
“Because he is arrogant and demanding.”
“Oh.”
Vivianna was breathing quickly, and she realized with surprise that she had become intoxicated and aroused by what she was doing. The feel of him, the scent of him, the knowledge that he was excited had all served to urge her on to be bolder than she had ever been before.
Vivianna eased her fingers within and discovered that, like herself, Oliver wore no undergarments. The thick, hard length of him filled her hand. So warm, so alive, so big. It was nothing like the illustrations she had seen in that wretched pamphlet. For a moment she simply held him, caressing him, enjoying the velvet strength of him. And then she bent forward and pressed her mouth to him.
“Vivianna,” he groaned, a mixture of wonder and pleasure.
“I want to,” she murmured.
She felt voluptuous, powerful, all woman. Vivianna licked him with her tongue, tasting him, enjoying the smooth velvet skin that ran from root to tip. He arched his body slightly toward her, and she took him in her mouth.
It was too much for him, evidently. He caught her up, his hands gripping her beneath her arms, and bore her backward, onto the seat behind her. His weight came down upon her, and her breath whooshed out. “Damn, I’m sorry….” At once he eased up, supporting himself, but he was still heavy as he lay over her.
“I’m all right.” The unfamiliar position wasn’t uncomfortable. She was his prisoner, and yet she knew she was perfectly free to tell him to get off her. She just didn’t want to.
Oliver was looking down at her, examining her in the dim light of the coach lamp. He ran his fingers across her temple, down the side of her face, and traced the shape of her lips. She opened them and took his thumb between her teeth.
He smiled. And then he was kissing her with a desperation that told her more than words could just how much he wanted her.
“Hmm,” Vivianna sighed. His mouth was hot and open against hers, and then he was branding her throat and shoulders and the swell of her breasts above the line of her bodice.
“No stays,” he murmured, his hands cupping her, his thumbs rubbing the hard buds of her nipples. “What other surprises do you have for me, Miss Greentree?”
Vivianna smiled and then gasped as his mouth closed over her breast through the cloth of her dress. His teeth teased her, gently, and she gripped his shoulders, her head arched back. When he took his mouth away, the cloth felt damp, cool, against her aching flesh. His hand had found its way beneath her skirts, and he had bundled them up, so that she felt the cloth of his trousers against her bare thigh.
“You really must wear your undergarments,” he drawled, and she felt the heat of his palm sliding over her belly. Vivianna shivered, unable to help herself, as he neared his goal.
“There,” she told him breathlessly. “Please, touch me there….”
Obediently his fingers slid between her bare thighs, a feather-light touch, teasing aside the folds to find the place where she wanted him most. But he was gone again in a moment, caressing her hip, her knee, kneading the cheek of her bottom.
“Oliver,” she whispered urgently. “You didn’t touch me.”
“I did. I will. Be patient, Vivianna.”
His finger continued to tease, returning to stroke her for a moment, and then, just when she felt the quivering inside her, the climb to completion, he moved away, finding some other, less sensitive spot. She shifted restlessly, aching, then sighing with relief when his fingers returned again. Once he used his cock to touch her, sliding it through her soft curls, circling the entrance to her body, promising her so much. As the coach rattled toward its unknown destination, Vivianna lay gasping and twisting beneath him, calling his name plaintively, not sure whether to kiss him or to bite him.
“Oliver,” she groaned, “you must…you must do it now. I can’t wait.”
Oliver settled himself between her thighs and looked down into her flushed, beautiful face. Vivianna Greentree. His nemesis, his curse. And very probably the love of his life.
He pushed his cock into her, as gently as he could, wanting to be tender—the practiced and perfect lover—and yet the beast inside him needing to have her all, right now, to make her his. She surged against him, too aroused to care if he was hurting her. He held back, easing himself in farther, groaning at the exquisitely tight, hot fit of her, until he felt the membrane that he must break. Oliver bent and kissed her mouth, and felt her immediate and eager response.
Vivianna Greentree was more than ready.
Oliver plunged himself inside her fully, and experienced the mixed torment of knowing he had hurt her and the aching joy of knowing he was the first. She went still, and cried out against his lips. He held her, kissing her, soothing her, but in a surprisingly short time she was kissing him back, her hands running through his hair, rubbing against his back, pulling his shirt from his trousers, and sliding up over his skin. And then she lifted her hips, opening her thighs, and pushed up against him with a sound in her throat like a purr.
Oliver shuddered as her sheath clenched around him. He had held back long enough; he could hold back no more. With a deep breath he withdrew from her and drove deep. And then again. The movement was smooth and steady and required all of his control and his skill. She was so hot, so tight, he wanted to plunder her like some ravening barbarian, but again he kept the beast in check. She was a virgin, she was a gentlewoman, and she deserved the best of him.
This was her one and only night with him, after all.
And his with her.
Vivianna was beyond thought now. She was pushing up against him, seating him deeper and deeper. He felt her stretch, then he felt the muscles inside her begin to contract, tightening around him. The pleasure roared through him, begging for release, but he held on, driving into her again and again.
And then she cried out, a sharp wail of ecstasy. Vivianna went to pieces, arching
against him, her arms clutching him to her. Oliver stopped and held her as her climax rippled into calm, and then he began to thrust again. His heart was pounding so loudly he could not hear above it, his body was screaming to let go, and so he did. With a deep, low moan, Oliver gave himself to her.
For a time after that there was silence.
Stillness. Repletion.
And wonder.
Tenderly he lifted her into his arms, and knew he had never felt like this before for any woman. He cradled her against his chest as he sat propped up at one end of the seat, his legs spread out along it, her own legs between them, her voluminous skirts covering them both. Vivianna was limp. She was momentarily beyond even speech, thought Oliver with a smile.
“You smell wonderful,” he said, and nuzzled her hair. And she did. Like no woman he had ever known before. She was unique. He knew he would recognize her blindfolded.
Vivianna chuckled and burrowed closer into his arms. He was content, he thought, just to hold her, but then her full breast brushed against him and he found himself cupping it, rolling the nipple in his fingers.
She stroked the back of his hand and made a sound in her throat. “Where are we going?”
“A place I know. We’re nearly there.”
He found her other breast, and now he was hard again, but this time he would have to wait. Oliver supposed that a gentleman would have waited for the first time, too, but she had been so hot, so ready, it had made more sense to make use of that eagerness. The losing of a woman’s virginity could be a painful business, so he had heard, and the less time she had to think about it, the better.
Besides—he smiled to himself—he was no gentleman, not tonight. Tonight, Oliver was the ultimate rake.
Vivianna had not known what to expect when they arrived at their destination, but the Anchor Inn, a remote and extremely selective establishment overlooking the Thames, was as discreet as it was sophisticated. She had no time to feel conscious of her dishevelment or embarrassed by her situation. A bowing gentleman and two maids took them immediately upstairs to their room, where food and drink was laid out, warm water and towels were quickly brought, and the door was then closed firmly behind them.
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