by Fiona Miers
“Let me in,” he whispered, using his right thumb to push her bottom lip softly apart from her top.
Before she could comprehend exactly what he meant Oliver swooped again, this time dipping his tongue into her mouth. Sarah gasped at this intrusion and he withdrew from her mouth. Soon Sarah was drowning in his lips again and when she felt his tongue probing for entrance she let him in this time.
Oliver abruptly pulled away from her and took a step back.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, twitching at his breeches with his hand in a rather unusual way.
“Don’t be sorry, I enjoyed it.” Sarah admitted, before blushing at her words. She had been taught to be honest, a virtue that wouldn’t be appropriate at this point in time. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have, because it makes me want to kiss you again.” Oliver grinned at her, his eyes smouldering. “But that would be unwise. If we were caught...” Oliver let his voice trail off with the implication.
Sarah nodded her head and let her eyes drift back to the stage.
“It looks like we have a few minutes left. I wonder where the Dunford’s are?” Sarah mused, breathing slowly to try to bring her heart rate back to a normal pace.
“You mean Lady Charlotte and Lord John?” Oliver asked a little tersely.
Sarah just smiled. He sounded jealous.
“It is funny, is not it? I never even expected to meet a Duke’s daughter, let alone be invited to attend the opera with one.” Sarah smiled at him, letting the pleasure she felt show on her face.
“Lady Charlotte is slightly unconventional for her class.”
Pain hit her across the chest. “So you don’t approve of her associating with me either.”
“Of course I do, and what do you mean either?” Oliver asked sharply.
Sarah shrugged, she shouldn’t really be sharing her parents’ opinions with him. However, she wanted to.
“My mother could not believe Lady Charlotte and I would have anything in common to speak about. She didn’t believe I would attract the attention of anyone of her station.”
“And me?” he asked, his voice rising with an emotion she couldn’t quite identify.
“What about you, Your Grace?” Sarah dropped her eyes away, unable to look at him.
“Oliver,” he growled. She looked up again and saw the heated look he was giving her. It sent another bolt of warmth to the spot between her legs.
“What about you, Oliver?” Sarah asked the question with the same bravery it took to step off a cliff. She didn’t know where she was going to land.
“What would your parents think about your association with me?” He repeated.
“They don’t know. I thought I had been rescued the other night by a duke’s brother. I haven’t told them that he turned out to be the Duke instead. I think my mother would have an apoplexy.” She was still hurt that Oliver had lied to her about something so important.
“Why would she care?”
“She would worry that you would ruin my chances of a good marriage by telling people what happened. She’s suspicious of the aristocracy. No real reason... I think. My father is the youngest son of the late Viscount Crimsbury, but my mother has never had much to do with his family. They never condescended to visit us, and my father the Reverend James Collins is so committed to his church that we rarely leave the area.”
Sarah watched as Oliver’s face at first paled, then a moment later reddened, in complete contrast.
“Oh my lord, what am I doing?” Oliver looked up at the ceiling and held his arms out wide.
“What do you mean, Oliver?” Sarah asked, failing to understand why he appeared to be in complete turmoil all of a sudden. What had happened now?
****
All at once, the seriousness of the situation hit Oliver like a well aimed punch to the head. Sarah really did need to get married this year. She would not have lied about such a thing, or what she needed in a husband. He had to stop this strange obsession he had with her, starting from now.
He opened his mouth to explain this new found realization when Lord John and Lady Charlotte burst back into the box, in a shower of laughter.
“Did we miss anything interesting?” Lady Charlotte asked, with an amused twinkle in her eye.
Sarah blushed faintly at the insinuation, but answered readily enough.
“Not at all, dull conversation. The weather, the opera...” There was a mischievous glint in her eye when she looked back at Oliver and despite his best intentions, he smiled back.
“Most definitely. How was your intermission?” He asked benignly but inside he was grinning like a loon.
The rest of the opera passed smoothly and Oliver didn’t try to interfere when Lord John and Lady Charlotte whisked Sarah home. He had made a tough decision tonight. He could not marry her and therefore had to stay away from her. It didn’t matter that he craved her touch and her company. She deserved more than what he could offer someone of her standing, which would only be an offer to become his mistress. Although there was nothing wrong with her bloodlines and her gentility, despite what she believed, they were just not good enough to be a Duchess. He had been told since birth that he was neither needed nor wanted as the heir to a dukedom and yet he had been born to it. Sarah would never survive in that world of hateful alliances and looming responsibility.
Four
The following week Oliver found himself at another ball. This one was hosted by Rupert’s mother, or he would never have attended. He stood with the hostess’s son, off to the side of the room whilst he watched Sarah dance with several eligible gentlemen.
Out the corner of his eye, Oliver saw a gentleman moving to Sarah’s side. He recognized Millington’s large frame and wavy blond hair at once. Oliver moved towards Sarah on pure instinct, he didn’t even remember making the decision to save her before he was already half way there. The terror in her eyes when she saw Millington, and the way she clasped her fan and reticule in front of her body as though such flimsy items could shield her from the man who had abused her had him frantic to reach her.
Oliver’s heart was hammering in his chest as he bowed to the gentlemen in front of him and heard Millington inviting, quite snidely, Sarah to dance. Thinking of nothing except protecting her, Oliver moved to her side and held out his hand.
“Miss Collins has promised the next two to me, Millington.”
He heard the titter go through the group at this open declaration of what would usually be seen as intent. He didn’t care.
“Y...y…yes.” Sarah stammered, placing her hand quickly in his. “Please excuse me, my lord.”
She bobbed a quick curtsy to Millington without letting go of Oliver’s hand and moved with him to the dance floor.
Oliver swept her into the dance with grace and poise. He may not have liked dancing very much, but he certainly knew how to do it.
“Oh, thank you, Oliver. I didn’t know how I was going to get away from him.” Sarah said, her relief at being in his arms evident by the way she was gripping him.
“I’ll talk to him.” Oliver announced, watching alarm spread across Sarah’s face.
“Please, no. I don’t want any trouble for you.”
Oliver chuckled softly, his heart melting even more for this woman. She was worried about him?
“I’ll be discreet.” He promised, enjoying the feel of her hand in his far too much.
“Thank you.” Sarah looked up into his eyes, the look of adoration so clear it made him swallow and grip her tight to him.
They danced their two dances and were both reluctant to leave each other’s company. Oliver felt her eyes on him and steered her towards the music room. There were two elderly women sitting on chairs, chaperoning any couple wanting to be alone.
“I love our music room at home, I’m always there with my sister.” Sarah said, walking slowly around the room admiring the different instruments on display.
; “Is your family very musical?”
Another odd thing about his feelings for Sarah, he was actually interested in what she had to say. He could not say that about any female, except maybe Lady Charlotte. And that was only because she made him laugh.
“Oh, very. My mother plays the piano for the church choir and my sister and I both play the piano, flute and harp.”
“That is impressive,” he said, imagining how good she would look playing the harp. The large piece of curved wood cradled between her thighs. Biting back a curse, he turned his body to the wall, hoping she would not notice how his body had responded to that intriguing idea. Form fitting breeches were not made for being with a woman you desired.
Sarah laughed with enthusiasm, the sound healthy and strong.
“I didn’t say we played well,” she joked, making Oliver smile again. “I hope I can teach my children to love music as much as I do,” Sarah looked distracted as she absently ran her fingers over a child sized violin.
Oliver stopped short. Ladies were not meant to mention children, even when they had them. Hearing Sarah speak of her future children so casually was sending up so many red flags as to make his mind look festive.
“You want children?” Oliver choked out. Not many of his friends actually wanted children. An heir yes, but that wasn’t the same the thing.
“Of course. Who doesn’t?” Sarah answered with a smile.
They had reached the piano now and Oliver felt like his cravat was tied too tightly about his neck. He cleared his throat and leaned against the nearest instrument.
“Will you play, Sarah?” He gestured towards the piano forte, not even sure why he had asked, but desperate to change the subject.
“Of course.” Sarah moved over to the piano stool, sat down and began tinkling on the keys.
She looked up and gave Oliver the most blinding smile yet and he took a step towards her, his breath hitching. He couldn’t be feeling this strongly now, for this woman. It was painful. She was wrong, yet felt so right for him.
A small group entered the room unannounced.
“Lincoln.” One of the gentlemen greeted him with a nod.
“Miss Collins was just about to play us a tune.” Oliver announced, throwing her in the deep end to see if she could handle this small group.
Sarah blushed, but kept up her head.
“Anything particular you would like to hear?” She asked brightly, glaring at Oliver behind their backs.
Someone named a difficult piece and Oliver waited to see her reaction. She simply smiled and turned to the relevant page. The next ten minutes was torture. Sarah played and sang like an angel. She had a naturally sweet singing voice and she could play anything. The level of technical skill required for the piece astounded Oliver. Whoever had suggested it had been testing Sarah’s skill. In a blinding flash, Oliver saw his life ahead of him if he married Sarah. She would be a wonderful wife. She would entertain in their home. Play for their guests, love their children.
Oliver swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat. She would be a wonderful wife but a horrible Duchess. What Duchess actually spoke to their children? She didn’t know a thing about society. She was awkward and shy. She was a vicar’s daughter for God’s sake, she would never survive in his world. He left the room with a lame excuse and a bow.
Before he called for his carriage, he managed to coax Patrick Millington into a corner in the study, alone.
“Millington, I know what happened at Lady Charlotte’s ball,” he opened with, not willing to beat around the proverbial bush.
Millington’s handsome face coloured unhealthily.
“We went for a walk in the garden. She misunderstood my intentions and she attacked me.” He blustered.
“She attacked you?” Oliver willed his clenched fists to relax. “Is that why her dress was ripped and her back was bleeding from being scratched?” He asked through his teeth.
He could feel his temper slipping free of his control. He never lost his temper, never. But the memories of that night were coming in hard and fast, and he was wondering who would actually miss Patrick Millington if he went missing? He had enough money, he could make sure Patrick Millington stayed gone.
Millington could obviously see the battle Oliver was waging. Oliver watched him going through his answers before he opened his mouth.
“As I said, she misunderstood my intentions and became terrified.” He said slowly, gauging Oliver’s reaction.
He smiled grimly.
“Well then, perhaps it would be wise to leave her alone?” Oliver gave Millington a stare that belied all the power the Lincoln name had behind it.
Millington’s eyes flashed rebelliously and he opened his mouth to say something obstinate but Oliver didn’t want to hear it. Instead of waiting for him to speak, Oliver ploughed his fist into Millington’s stomach with as much force as he could muster at short range.
Patrick Millington gasped like a landed fish and fell down onto his arse, clutching his belly.
“Or I will ruin you.” Pleasure radiated through Oliver’s body as he looked at the man that would have raped Sarah, on the floor, gasping for air. With one more ducal glance at his fallen nemesis he let himself out of the study and out of Sarah’s life.
Five
Oliver managed to avoid all ton events for two weeks after that. He visited his club every day and he met his friends at night. He did everything he could to make it appear as though nothing was wrong. He had no interest in any of the high priced brothels he had usually frequented and even less in finding a permanent mistress. Both situations repulsed him and he was ignoring the reason for that.
He was sitting at his club with a drink in hand when Rupert swaggered in.
“Lyre!” his old friend greeted him, blue eyes bright and shrewd, glowing beneath almost black brows.
Oliver smiled up at his friend, letting his usual facade of indifference wash away. He loved that Rupert never greeted him with his new title.
“Rupert, how are you doing this uninteresting Wednesday?” Oliver pushed out a chair in clear invitation for his friend to join him.
Rupert grinned and called over a footman to order a whiskey.
“I have been catching up on the latest gossip. It looks as though another of our school friends is doing the pretty. We just can’t keep our heads out of that noose it seems.” Rupert shook his head in resignation of the fate that awaited them all. Rupert would have to marry and produce an heir, he was just putting off the task as long as possible, bedding every married woman in sight.
“Oh, who?” Oliver asked, interested for once.
“Jamie McTavish, and he’s set to marry one of our ladies.”
Oliver’s sat up and moved forward in his chair. This was news indeed.
“You jest, man? He’s lowered himself to marry an Englishwoman? I’m shocked.”
The footman set down a crystal decanter and Oliver poured a whiskey for himself and Rupert.
Jamie McTavish was a good man, Scottish by blood and birth. His parents had sent him to London for schooling and the boys had teased him mercilessly for his accent. The Scot had put his fist through a few English faces and that stopped. He had a hot temper but he loved his land and his family. Oliver admired him.
“He has a bit of a fortune too, from what I understand. So, who has he found? He didn’t stoop to finding an heiress I hope.” That would definitely not fit with the picture he had of Jamie.
“No, he’s about to offer for a lady of good but low born family and no money,” Rupert confided in hushed tones.
They all knew that beauty was indeed the most important thing in a wife, but breeding and a dowry came close behind that.
“Good on him, although I’m sure she makes up for it in beauty. Do you know her name?” Oliver asked the question, although it would be unlikely he knew the young lady.
“A Miss Sarah Collins.” Rupert announced as Oliver was taking a drink of his own whiskey.
Oliver cho
ked and spluttered, coughing half his brandy across the beautiful polished wood of the table. Air wasn’t getting into his lungs properly, a moment of panic assailed him as he wheezed and slammed his hands down.
“Are you all right?” Rupert helpfully bashed Oliver on the back with his large fist making his lungs seize.
It took several minutes for Oliver to get his breath back, and for the footmen to get the table cleaned and reset. He took several long breaths, concentrating on the flow of air into his aching lungs and attempting to calm his thundering heart.
“Sarah Collins you say?”
“Yes, it seems she’s quite a beauty and with half a brain as well.”
“She has more than half a brain,” Oliver yelled across the table, scowling at his friend.
Rupert’s eyes flickered dangerously and Oliver swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. He had a wicked temper when roused.
“You know her?” Rupert asked, flicking a piece of lint from his jacket sleeve in an obvious attempt to defuse the situation.
“Yes I know her,” Oliver snapped again, unable to hold in the torrent of emotion pouring from him. His heart was galloping in his chest and a hot sweat had broken out on his forehead. He took a long drink of his whiskey and embraced the burn that slid down his throat, draining the glass before he could speak again, gasping against the alcohol’s effect on his mouth.
How had she found someone so quickly? It had only been two weeks.
“I met Sarah Collins a month ago at Lady Charlotte’s birthday ball. She was attacked by that animal Millington in the gardens, and I found her and helped her to get home unnoticed.” Oliver confided in his friend, eyes darting around the room quickly to make sure no one nearby heard him.
“Are you serious? I hadn’t heard anything about that.” Rupert whistled low and his eyes widened in surprise.
“No, we tried to keep it quiet for obvious reasons. She needs to marry this year.”
“Well, she’s found her husband it seems. McTavish is working out a settlement before he talks to her father. Sounds like he’ll have to travel to Somerset, though. The father never leaves.”
