The Wedding Affair

by Leigh Michaels

  Charlotte shook her head firmly and put her cheek down against her mother’s breast to listen. By the time Cinderella dropped her slipper as she left the ball, Charlotte was sound asleep—and Olivia was delighted not to have to once more recite a happy ending that was so foolishly saccharine.

  Olivia settled the little girl against her pillow and looked across the room to where Nurse was sewing by firelight, hemming a new pinafore for Charlotte to replace the one ruined by grape juice. Where she’d found the fabric, Olivia didn’t know—and she wasn’t about to ask.

  After tonight… or, more accurately, after the next week… things would be much easier. She would focus on that.

  She took her hair down to brush and braid it, and changed into the nicest nightgown she owned—which wasn’t saying much, she realized as she gave the garment a good inspection. The once-fine lawn fabric had grown limp with age and multiple launderings. She put on a dark wrapper and went downstairs to check that the fire was banked and the house secured.

  And to wait.

  It seemed an age to Olivia before she heard the soft neigh of a horse. A little later, she caught the hushed sounds of footsteps in the garden and opened the door.

  The Duke of Somervale loomed up out of the night. For a moment, as his shadow swayed in the light of her single candle, he seemed supernaturally large, and she quailed at the thought of giving herself to him. If he swooped on her…

  He paused on the step. “I found a shed at the bottom of the garden for my horse. There was even hay there.”

  “Stale, I’m afraid, since I’ve had no horses here since I moved in.”

  “He’ll manage well enough—and will appreciate the rations in his own stable. Do you ride?”

  “I used to.”

  “My sister is arranging an outing tomorrow. You must join us.” He stood very still, looking at her.

  Checking out the bargain he’d made, she thought. The candlestick trembled in her hand.

  He took it before the wax could spill over her wrapper and blew out the flame. “Come outside with me. The stars are beautiful. It’s a very fine night.”

  She was too startled to object as he took her hand and led her back to the secluded nook where they had toyed with tea that afternoon. Despite the overhanging branch, the stars were indeed beautiful—like a scattering of gems on a field of black velvet. She was startled to see that on the ground, over the patch of moss, he had laid a thick blanket he must have brought with him.

  “Come and sit with me,” he said. “Not the most elegant of furnishings, but more comfortable than the chair you offered me this afternoon.”

  She laughed, and in the faint starlight she saw him smile.

  The blanket was soft, though it smelled of horses. A moss-covered hump underneath formed a natural pillow, so she lay back to better study the night sky. “I never learned their names.” She pointed at the brightest of the stars. “What is that one?”

  “Some other night I’ll teach you about stars.” His voice was thick as he stripped off his coat and boots and stretched out beside her.

  Olivia studied his face, suddenly all sharp angles in the dim light. Her breath caught in anxiety. Could she go through with this?

  But there was no choice left now. Whatever she wanted no longer mattered, for a man who had come so far would not be denied.

  Still, his kiss was unexpectedly gentle, as soft as a spring shower, and she relaxed a little. Lying here next to him, with the scent of roses and moss and grass and horses and hay, was pleasant.

  He braced himself above her and kissed her with what seemed infinite patience. He tasted her as if she were a dessert too rich to gobble—nibbling at the corners of her mouth and teasing her lips with the tip of his tongue until she relaxed and allowed him to explore.

  Only then did his hand move to her wrapper, untying the belt and spreading the garment wide to expose the almost sheer fabric of her nightgown. Slowly he unlaced the bodice. Her nipples peaked as a whisper of cool air passed over them, and he palmed her breast to warm her, watching all the while.

  An arc of heat ran all the way from the nipple, where his thumb lazily traced the rosy aureole, down between her legs, and she felt herself flush with embarrassment. He gave a soft chuckle and let his hand slide down over her ribs, her hip, her leg, and then back up under her nightgown. His touch was firm and masterful—he was claiming every inch of her as his. He explored her calf, her knee, her thigh. She let him spread her legs, though she bucked despite herself when he rested his palm over her mound.

  “You’re so soft,” he whispered, and kissed her deeply once more as his fingertip slid slowly inside her. He found a most sensitive spot, and she mewled in protest. “Has no one ever touched you there before, my dear?”

  He sounded surprised, and Olivia felt a wash of uneasiness as he withdrew his hand. What if he found her inadequate? Surely these were things a fallen woman should be familiar with. “I’m not much of a mistress, I fear,” she confessed.

  He smiled. “I assure you I do not feel the lack.” He laid her palm against the front of his breeches. His erection strained the fabric, and as she felt the size of him, Olivia trembled. But a mistress had duties… Uncertain of what to do, she rubbed a little, and he pulled her hand away.

  She was instantly chagrined. “I’m truly sorry. You must tell me what you like—and what you don’t.”

  “I like that far too much to let you continue just now.” He released himself from her. Though the night was not chilly, Olivia shivered without his strong warmth beside her. He drew her wrapper up around her shoulders.

  “I don’t understand.” She felt breathless. “I thought…”

  He knelt between her legs, and she subsided. At least she knew now what to expect, and she braced herself for his invasion.

  But instead of settling on top of her, he spread her knees wider, his hands warm against the sensitive flesh at the top of her thighs. He stroked the slit of her womanhood with his thumb, and Olivia arched at the unexpectedness of his touch.

  “That’s the way,” he whispered. “I want you wet and hot and eager when I take you.”

  Olivia tried not to sigh. As if he could simply command such a thing… as if she could produce such a response from sheer determination. Since she had only a vague idea of what he was talking about, how could she meet his desires?

  So at this, too, she was bound to be a failure. She wondered how long he would wait before he realized what he asked was impossible. And would he be angry then?

  He bent his head, and at the first flick of his tongue, she arched up from the blanket. “You’re exquisitely sensitive,” he murmured, and the vibrations of his voice sent a rumble through her belly as though the earth was moving under her. She tried to pull away, but he held her, and ever so gently he licked.

  The delicate little nub of flesh quivered under the pressure of his tongue. Gradually she relaxed as she came to believe that however odd the sensations he was creating—however odd that he wanted to touch her there, and in such a way!—she would be safe from harm with him. And yet, at the same time, pressure was building inside her, and there was nothing relaxing about it. The conflicting sensations puzzled her.

  He stopped for a moment, and she jerked up off the blanket. He laughed and went back to caressing her.

  She felt empty, hollow, and lonely, but she knew what would make her feel better. Even as she marveled at the idea that she wanted to be possessed—to have him inside her—the need grew beyond bearing. She fumbled again, trying to reach for him, and when she could only capture his shoulder, she tugged at the fine linen of his shirt, trying to pull him up to her.

  He left her then, and she was bereft for a moment until she realized he hadn’t abandoned her but was only unfastening his breeches. She tried to help, running her fingertips over him to find the lacings, and he gave a breathless murmur and pushed her hand away. A moment later he stretched out on the blanket beside her, and as she turned to him, he rolled onto hi
s back and lifted her over him.

  His penis—hot and thick and urgent—nudged between her legs and found her opening, and he clutched her hips. Olivia tried not to think about the size of him, and how he would thrust into her—but he didn’t press. Instead he raised her slightly and said, “Take your time.”

  She wriggled a little, and he groaned. Slowly, she settled down over him, taking him inside her inch by inch, feeling his heat sliding deeper inside her and meeting her own, filling her slowly and easily.

  So that was what he had meant when he had said she should be wet and hot. It seemed she could do as he asked after all. And as for eager—she felt herself tighten around him, urging him deeper, and met his gaze in wonder.

  His hands moved upward to cup her breasts as the full length of him slid home inside her. Her wrapper nestled closely around them like a cocoon, a dark shadow against the blanketed moss.

  Slowly, he thrust and retreated, thrust and retreated, and she caught the rhythm and rode it, shifting a little to increase the sensation. Her mouth was dry, her throat tight, her breathing harsh. Something very important, she knew dimly, lay just out of her reach…

  “You learn quickly.” His voice was hoarse. “Come for me, Olivia.”

  An instant later, she knew what he meant—knew what she had been striving for. He held her hips and ground himself up inside her and held steady while she came apart as her climax took her. She cried out and threw her head back, arching against him.

  When she collapsed, limp and sated, he stayed still for another few seconds before he rolled her under him. She could feel both his hunger and the tautness of his control, and she urged him on until his restraint broke and she welcomed the violence of his thrusts. Before he was finished, she was calling out along with him as another climax rolled over her.

  Minutes passed before she could breathe again without gasping, and she thought from the way he lay across her that he was having some trouble getting air himself. When he shifted his weight off her, she was reluctant to let him go. But he didn’t go far. He snuggled her against his side and said, “Next time we’ll do better.”

  “Better than that?” she asked doubtfully, and he laughed and kissed her, and suddenly her body was thrumming again to his touch.

  Seven

  Could there really be so many shooting stars on a single evening, Simon wondered, or were his eyes going bad? Probably just his eyes, he decided, for nothing else seemed to be working right, either, in the wake of the most powerful orgasm he could remember. His brain was fuzzy and his muscles were limp, too.

  Not that he was feeling concern about any of it. Everything had worked just fine when it counted. A little loss of vision or muscle control afterwards was a small price to pay.

  He followed another flash streaking across the sky and then turned his head to see if Olivia might have seen this one or if he really was imagining things.

  Her eyes were closed. Her long dark lashes lay against the curve of her cheeks, shadowed in the soft moonlight. Her breathing was even—more than he could say for his, he admitted—but she looked every bit as bonelessly relaxed as he felt.

  Any minute now she would open those glorious hazel eyes—and then no doubt she’d open her outrageously kissable mouth and start making demands.

  An annuity, for the love of God.

  He’d believed that only a woman who was very experienced—and very disillusioned with her previous lovers—would even have thought of such a thing. Perhaps she’d been fobbed off with a bracelet made of paste and had decided to take no such chances in the future.

  The only surprise was that she had let him sample the merchandise so thoroughly before she had her reward—for though that had been a valuable sapphire stickpin, in the overall picture it was a mere trifle. But perhaps that meant she was a skilled negotiator—for having once tasted her, there was little he wouldn’t give to be allowed into her bed and into her body.

  On the other hand, he’d swear the woman lying next to him was almost as innocent as a virgin—nowhere near so experienced as to have planned that strategy. At least, she had been innocent before he’d made love to her, and he was fiercely glad that he was the one who had initiated her.

  Lady Reyne was a puzzle he meant to investigate. He would get to the depths of her…

  In more ways than one. Almost instantly, with no more stimulation than the thought, he was hard again, eager to once more slide inside her and explore.

  Her breath rasped in the tiniest and most delicate of snores, and he smiled at the evidence of how deeply her climax had relaxed her.

  A long time had passed since she had been with a man; that was apparent. And she had never experienced her own pleasure before. Her husband must have been the clumsiest chump on the face of the earth. Lord Reyne had planted a babe in her belly, but in all the important ways, he had left her entirely untouched.

  And now she was Simon’s to explore, and to enjoy. Tenderness swept over him. He wanted to wake her up and start all over again from the beginning, but he knew that she needed some time. She would be sensitive after their love play. And she would be stiff from the cool ground she lay on; despite the blanket, the earth beneath them was chilly.

  “Olivia,” he whispered. “Wake up, sweet.”

  Her eyelids fluttered, and she raised a hand to his face. The half-conscious gesture was an invitation, and his penis went rigid. Even if she wasn’t entirely awake, he was—and she’d asked for it.

  He quelled the baser side of himself and shifted away from her enough to wrap her in the blanket. She stirred as he picked her up, but her eyes were unfocused and she seemed not to know quite where she was.

  He carried her to the house and managed to open the kitchen door without banging it. But the narrow, steep stairs gave him pause. She was not tall, but the ceiling was barely high enough to let her pass. He would have to duck his head as he carried her, throwing his balance into question. Even if he didn’t fall over, how was he to get them both up the no-doubt creaky stairway silently enough to avoid disturbing the household? And which bedroom was hers? He could see three doors at the top of the stairs, with nothing to suggest which one was his destination. Perhaps he should try to wake her enough that she could walk up by herself.

  A quavery, high-pitched voice spoke from the shadows at the top of the stairs. “Mama?”

  The woman in his arms came instantly alert. “Charlotte?” Startled to find herself suspended in midair, Olivia struggled, and Simon set her down.

  Now through the railing he could see a haze of white, something that must be a tiny nightgown. “Is that a bad man, Mama?”

  “Not at all, darling. What are you doing wandering around?”

  “I had a scary dream, but you weren’t in your bed.”

  “I’m here now, pet.” Without a glance at Simon, Olivia climbed the stairs and stooped at the top. The small figure melted into her as Charlotte buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. Olivia looked over the railing at Simon and shook her head slightly as she picked up the child.

  As though she thought he would follow her upstairs and insist on sharing her bed. Not that he didn’t want to, of course.

  He tiptoed out through the kitchen, collected his horse from the shed at the bottom of the garden, and rode back to Halstead in a sort of haze—wondering what had happened to him back there.

  ***

  Not only was Halstead full of unfamiliar sounds at night, but the country darkness was so intense that Penelope felt oppressed. Occupying a big bed so different from the one she was used to in London didn’t help.

  Neither did the fact that every time she closed her eyes she couldn’t stop herself from once more visualizing her husband’s bare chest. Once, as she dozed off, she stretched out a hand as if to touch him—and the movement startled her awake again. She slept badly, woke later than she’d planned, and had to hurry if she was to ride with Kate and the bridesmaids.

  The little housemaid who’d helped her dress for dinner
did her best, but Penelope was too rushed to be patient over details like the firm lacing of a corset. When Maggie was summoned to poke a fire down the hall, Penelope waved her away and scrambled into her riding habit by herself, thanking fortune she’d chosen a design that buttoned up the front.

  Kate was already in the hall when Penelope came downstairs. “You look tired, Penny.”

  A bridesmaid who was dawdling nearby snickered. “Perhaps she had a strenuous night,” she said under her breath. “Newlyweds, you know.”

  Kate fixed the girl with a stern look, and the bridesmaid fluttered away toward the breakfast room.

  Penelope tightened the ribbon that held her bonnet, hoping the locks of hair she’d stuffed up underneath wouldn’t fall out. “I’m not as tired as you must be, Kate—dealing with all this.”

  “Oh, I’m all right. One day behind me, and only another four or five to go. I’m glad you’re going along, Penny. The more eyes we have to watch over these girls…”

  “They’re quite a determined lot, aren’t they?” Too late, Penelope heard someone behind her on the stairs and turned to see Lady Daphne, dressed in a daringly stylish scarlet habit. No wonder she’d come up with the idea of riding, Penelope thought. She must have wanted to show off another piece of her trousseau.

  Lady Daphne’s gaze slid slowly over Penelope. “I do hope after a few months of marriage I won’t have ceased to care how I look.”

  Penelope tried to shrug off a surge of embarrassment. Were her buttons not straight? Was it obvious she had simply wound her hair up atop her head as best she could? “Why is it we have not yet met your husband-to-be, Lady Daphne? I thought you would wish him to be present for all the wedding festivities.”

  Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “The marquess will arrive in time for the important parties.”

  Penelope wondered if the timing had been chosen for the groom’s convenience or to keep him away from the covetous bridesmaids. What a scandal that would make, if one of Lady Daphne’s dozen friends were to take aim at her marquess in the manner they seemed to be doing with every other eligible man at Halstead…