Another inch, and he could trace her ear with his tongue. How would she react if he did?
She shook her head, her lips thin as ribbons. “Too late for that, I’m afraid. My being here has stirred that unpleasant pot into a bubbling froth. I never should have come.”
“Why did you?”
“I ...” Her shoulders slumped, and she tucked her chin to her chest.
He had to strain to hear her whispered words.
“I wanted to see you,” she said.
As simple as that. No pretense. No expectations or demands.
Was it possible Olivia missed him as much as he had missed her? Despite his reservations, his treacherous heart rejoiced. Words were beyond him at the moment. However, he edged her even closer, until the crown of her head almost touched his chin.
Despite insisting he release her a moment ago, she didn’t resist.
Her light perfume tormented him, shooting a blast of sensation to his loins and sending his lust soaring. Hound’s teeth, as if his manhood bulging in his breeches wouldn’t cause more whispers and titters. And trying to dance with a stiffened rod bumping against one’s leg presented an uncomfortable challenge.
Women didn’t realize their good fortune in wearing skirts, for their arousal didn’t tent their trousers—bloody apparent for the world to see.
Sixty seconds and Olivia had him at sixes and sevens.
And hard as marble.
Only she had this power over him. Even after an extended absence, he responded like a wet-behind-the-ears pup with his first woman.
Well done, old man. Your self-control is pitiable.
He dismissed his musing. All that mattered was this moment and holding her in his arms. Caressing the curve of her rib, Allen guided her through a complicated turn.
She unerringly followed his lead.
They’d always been superb dance partners, and he hadn’t a doubt she would have been unequaled as a bedmate. He’d been eager to introduce her to passion’s promises once she became his wife.
His already-stirred member jerked, yanking his attention back to the present. He scrutinized Olivia through half-closed eyes.
She’d grown even more beautiful.
Her gorgeous red hair, untamed and wild, like her, was streaked with gold, no doubt from exposure to the tropical sun. A jeweled ruby band peaked between artfully arranged curls—curls every bit as silky as they appeared.
Her eyes, the clearest ocean blue he’d ever seen, stayed riveted on his neckcloth. Her unique gown, cherry red with an overlay somewhere between ivory and light gold, enhanced her glowing skin, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. A slight pout marred her pretty lips, and vexation furrowed her usually smooth brow.
She possessed a woman’s figure now. Her breasts were fuller, the creamy mounds above the neckline of her gown hinting at the treasures hidden beneath the fabric. Treasures he longed to sample. No, was desperate to taste and touch.
Fiend seize it, he’d thought himself over her, and truth to tell, feared ever again experiencing the pain her betrayal caused him. He’d drowned himself in drink and staggered about half-foxed for a month after her departure.
The waltz’s steps brought them near the French window at one end of the ballroom. The terrace doors stood wide open, beckoning him. Without a second thought, Allen whirled Olivia out the opening.
She stopped dancing at once and pulled from his embrace.
“This is most improper.” She attempted to step pass him and reenter the house, but he blocked her path. Her color high, she glared at him. “I must return inside immediately or my reputation will be compromised.”
“Not until I’ve spoken my piece.” Allen grasped her elbow, preventing her escape. Intent on seeking a private bower, he glanced swiftly around before clasping her hand and steering her down the narrow stone steps and onto the lawn.
A woman’s giggle echoed from within the garden somewhere. Seemed he wasn’t the only one intent on bit of air and privacy. The woman laughed again, likely from the arbor further along the curving path that split the lawn as neatly as parted hair. A few stolen kisses might be had there away from the sharp eyes of the dowagers.
“What are you doing?” Olivia tugged at her hand clamped within his. “Are you trying to ruin me? You just said you didn’t want any more gossip.”
That halted Allen in his tracks. Standing in the center of the smallish garden, he scanned the area. They were fully visible to the few guests taking the air on the terrace, but far enough away that no one could easily overhear their conversation.
“I’m sorry I came tonight. It’s evident my presence has upset you.” Olivia released a shuddery breath, misery etched upon her lovely face. “Please let me return to the house, and I’ll leave at once.”
“Not yet.” He shook his head and straightened his waistcoat before slanting her wry glance.
“I must confess, I’m grateful I didn’t wait the year you asked for, Livy.” He leaned closer, holding up three fingers. “Since it’s taken three for you to reappear on the London scene.”
She flinched as if struck. Her gaze faltered, and she took a reflexive step back.
He released her hand. Hell, he was an unmitigated ass.
“I didn’t think you wanted me to return.” She lifted her chin a notch, her incredible blue eyes lancing him with accusation. “I remember your words from that night quite clearly, Allen.”
God, he remembered, too, every harsh, cold syllable. Guilt and shame kicked him in the ribs, pulverizing his pride.
She stared at a point beyond his shoulder, her eyes swimming with tears. She blinked several times, obviously attempting to control her emotions. Her voice hoarse and raw, she repeated his hateful words.
“‘Don’t expect me to wait for you, Olivia, if you choose your father over me.’”
A lady of refined breeding will, at all times, avoid raising her voice or engaging in public displays of histrionics.
~A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment
“Olivia, I ...” Allen reached for her once more.
Olivia lurched away, hiding her hands behind her back. She poised to flee, distrust lurking in her eyes.
He’d done this to her, yet he had suffer equally. “Not one word in three years. I assumed, you had stopped loving me.”
“You made no attempt to contact me either, Allen. Surely, you knew Lady Daventry had our address. For all I knew, you had married by now.” The sorrow in her voice ripped at his gut.
“There’s never been anyone else, Livy.” He cast a swift glance over his shoulder.
Perhaps he could convince her to join him in the library or Father’s study to finish this conversation. Who knew who might be loitering in the shrubberies, eavesdropping on every word? This discussion was too private to have bandied about by a loose-tongued tattlemonger.
“What about Miss Rossington?” Lips pursed, Olivia darted a telling glance toward the manor. “She seemed quite attached to you.”
He shook his head again, noting Olivia’s high color. Was she jealous? The notion gave him a jot of hope. A disinterested woman didn’t harbor envy.
“Her father and mine attended Oxford together. She’s a guest of my parents, that’s all.” Close enough to the truth, for Allen had never entertained any serious intentions regarding the chit. She had proved an amusing diversion until her true nature emerged.
“Oh.” Olivia fiddled with the elaborate ruby pendant nestled just above her décolletage. The matching bracelet on her wrist sparkled in the muted light. “And I suppose, as their son, you must do your duty?”
He hid a delighted smile. Yes, jealousy most definitely tinged her husky voice, though she attempted to disguise it with sarcasm.
Angling his head, he nodded once and grinned. “I like to think I’m a very dutiful son.”
Actually, except for a couple years before meeting Olivia when he’d sowed his wild oats, he had been the epitome of propriety. Not only did his parents insist upon it
, he’d found he wasn’t cut out to be a man about town. The drinking, whoring, gambling—all favorite pastimes of many of the ton’s privileged—held little appeal for him.
“Ah, yet you expected me to forsake my duty as an obedient daughter and leave my father?”
Her words ripped apart Allen’s attempt at lightheartedness.
Damn, this wasn’t the path he’d intended their conversation to take.
Olivia had neatly turned the tables on him.
“Did it ever occur to you that demanding we elope at once scared and unnerved me?” She pressed her palm to her chest, her features taut. “Every bit as much as Father announcing we were off to the Caribbean in two days’ time? Both situations frightened the living daylights out of me.”
Her revelation rendered Allen mute. Her situation had been wholly impossible, made worse by his ultimatum.
“Papa’s health had deteriorated since Mama died.” She tucked a loose tendril behind her ear and inhaled deeply, as if struggling for control. She sent a furtive look to the terrace, no doubt worried about her reputation. “Defying Papa might have killed him. How could I have lived with myself then?”
Her eyes glistened suspiciously once more.
Whirling away, she wandered to a row of rosebushes edging another neat path. “You hadn’t even asked Papa for my hand yet. He knew nothing of your intentions.”
“We’d only known each other a fortnight, Livy.” Allen rubbed his nape before folding his arms. “I doubt your father would have received my request with any enthusiasm.”
You could have made the effort, dolt.
“I’m not sure it would have made a difference in any event.” She shrugged and offered a rueful tilt of her plump lips as she removed one glove. “My father was impetuous and disinclined to think about how his impromptu decisions might affect others.”
Allen cocked his head again.
“And you truly knew nothing of his intentions? To pack you off to the Caribbean with no warning?” He flicked his hand in the air. “I’m sure you can understand why I might find that hard to believe.”
“You come from a stable home, Allen. You know nothing of living with a parent who acted on the slightest whim. It wasn’t unusual for Papa to pack us up and cart the family off to some absurd location when he became obsessed with another peculiar notion.”
Olivia bent and sniffed a creamy rose then released a small cry of pain. Thrusting her finger into her mouth, she sucked the scarlet droplet from the tip where a thorn had scratched her.
At the sensual sight, Allen’s throat went dry as a more erotic image leaped to mind.
Egads, she’s hurt, and I’m envisioning lewd acts.
After a moment, Olivia regained her composure. After tugging on her glove once more, she continued her hesitant exploration of the flowers.
I really ought to show her the grounds in the daytime.
“Why Papa kept the news of our departure a secret is anyone’s guess. He’d always been a bit eccentric and reclusive. After Mama’s death, he become more so. And at times—I’m ashamed to admit—quite addlebrained.”
Another wave of guilt hammered Allen. Her father was ailing and, apparently, dicked in the nob to boot. “I had no idea.”
Stroking a velvety petal, she lifted a shoulder. “No one did. One doesn’t discuss such delicate matters. It wasn’t until after we’d arrived in Barbados that he confessed his physician had recommended a change of climate in order to extend Papa’s life. The milder tropical weather was supposed to improve his health and doldrums.”
Remorse crushed Allen’s chest. He hadn’t known any of this. He’d wager his inheritance that after his harsh ultimatum, Olivia’s had pride kept her from telling him. He deserved to be tarred and feathered. His handling of the whole affair bordered on—no, was completely—despicable. .
Striving for control, Allen tilted his head skyward and sucked in a steadying breath. “How long have you been in England?”
He lowered his eyes, unable to keep his gaze from feasting on her in the soft light. He needed to soothe her pain, to make amends for the hurt he’d caused. He yearned to hold her in his arms, as he had ached to do every day while she’d been away.
“Just over a week.” Head bowed, she folded her hands before her. “Bradford and I are staying with the duchess until other arrangements can be made.”
She’s been back a week and made no effort to contact me?
“Three years, Olivia. You asked me to wait one, but you’ve been gone three years.” Allen winced at the pain he heard in his voice.
Her gaze flew to collide with his. Regret and something else sparked in the indigo depths.
“I intended to return after a year. We all did, but Papa had apoplexy four months after we arrived. He never fully recovered, and the physician advised us travel was out of the question.” Her eyes shone with tears. “He said it would kill Papa.”
“You never wrote.” Allen wandered to the flower beds to stand beside her. She was so close, only a handbreadth away, yet a yawning abyss of hurt and misunderstanding lay between them.
Olivia touched another rose. “And what would I have said? You made your position very clear. You also said you wouldn’t wait for me.”
Each bitter truth impaled him. “You might have told me of your father’s ill health.”
She cast him a sidelong look. “To what purpose?”
He snapped a rose’s stem then offered it to her.
“I would have known why you didn’t return.” To me, he ached to add.
“I thought you hated me, Allen.”
Intelligence, wit, and a polite smile are a lady’s greatest weapons.
~A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment
Accepting the red rose, Olivia faced Allen and stared at him solemnly. Even in the dim light, with only moonbeams and the glow from the house’s windows, she glimpsed a trace of vulnerability in his turned down mouth and hooded gaze.
She had never been able to hide her emotions from him. What did she have to lose by being candid now? After tonight, she would likely never see him again. She lifted the flower to her nose. Shutting her eyes, she inhaled deeply.
He’d given her a red rose. Did he know they symbolized love? Likely not. Purely chance he had selected that color of bloom.
“I was so young—having just seen my eighteenth birthday the month before—and when you suggested we run away to marry that night, I panicked.” She waved her hand back and forth. “Everything happened so fast between us.”
He scowled, kicking at a stone lying on the grass. “Our love was real. Don’t tell me it wasn’t.”
Olivia nodded, and a curl slid free to tease her ear.
“Yes, I know it is ... was.” She stumbled over her words, but recovered. Voice soft, she said, “I’ve never doubted it for a moment.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Why did you let me go?”
If he had only made some sort of effort, had come to her house or the ship, done anything to prevent her from leaving, her resolve would have melted like sugar in hot tea.
The Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment says a lady never complains or criticizes—
Do hush, Mama!
Rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, Allen gazed off into space for an extended moment. The quiet hum of the guests on the terrace, the faint strains of the orchestra, and an occasional cricket’s rasping song interrupted his weighty silence.
“My devilish pride,” he finally murmured.
Allen’s honest confession startled her, and Olivia dared to harbor the tiniest bit of optimism.
He quirked his lips upward. “I couldn’t credit that you’d leave me, that you expected me to wait a year for your return. I wanted you then, and I acted the part of an intractable child.”
“You broke my heart.” He hadn’t indicated he still cared for her, only that’s he’d been as hurt as she.
“I know, and I’m remorseful beyond words.” Stepping ne
arer, he took her hand in his. With his other, he lifted her chin until their eyes met. “Can you forgive me? Please? Might we begin again?”
He playfully tugged the escaped curl then caressed her cheek with his forefinger.
Blinking back tears of joy, Olivia swallowed the lump of emotion choking her. She nodded as one tear spilled from the corner of her eye.
Allen caught it with his finger. “I never want to make you cry again, Livy.”
He kissed her forehead before resting his against hers.
They were probably being observed, and the tattlemongers would be flapping their tongues until next Season, but she didn’t care.
In fact, Olivia wouldn’t be surprised if Aunt Muriel—silently cheering and clapping and congratulating herself soundly for contriving this whole dratted evening—wasn’t lurking in the bushes, watching everything that transpired between Allen and her.
“I never stopped loving you.” He kissed Olivia’s nose. “Not for a single moment. When you left, the light went out of my life. I never wanted to smile again, and I cursed the sun for rising each day.”
“Oh, Allen.” She traced his jaw with her fingertips.
He grasped her hand and pressed a hot kiss into her palm. The heat of his lips burned through the fabric of her glove. “Tell me you love me, Livy. That there’s a jot of hope for us.”
“Yes.” She smiled and nodded. More curls sprang free. She didn’t care. “I love you too.”
He released a long breath, as if he’d been afraid of her response. “Will you marry me? I know I asked you before, but I want to go about it the right way this time.”
“Of course I will.” She toyed with his jacket’s lapel. “Then you’ll ask Bradford—?”
“Ask Bradford what?”
She whipped around to see her brother standing behind them. She’d been so caught up in the moment, she hadn’t heard him approach. From the nonplussed expression on Allen’s face, he hadn’t either.
A Kiss for Miss Kingsley: A Regency Short Story Page 3
