by Adele Clee
Nicole stared at Oliver beneath her lashes. Morton Manor was but twenty miles away, yet the idea of returning created a cavernous hole in her chest. How had she progressed from a reluctance to accompany the earl, to never wanting to leave his side?
“Are you thinking about Rose?” she asked him, hoping to distract her mind.
“No … well … yes. Is it not right that I should think about her?”
“Yes, of course.”
“It’s just that you look so distraught. It has been two days since I helped her escape. For the life of me, I cannot think where she can be.”
He glanced out into the darkness once more. “She’s out there somewhere. Perhaps she took ill, and a farmer’s wife is tending to her needs. Perhaps Cunningham is lying, and he’s hidden her away while he plans a trip to Scotland.”
Frustration infused every word.
“I doubt the latter is true. Not when he’s bedding Lady Monroe.”
Oliver shook his head as he turned to face her. “Some men care nothing for fidelity. I told you, Cunningham knows what to say and do to secure Rose’s co-operation.”
The comment proved intriguing. Was it possible to believe in fidelity but not love? She imagined lust and fidelity were on opposing sides when it came to battles in the bedchamber.
“Regardless of what you say, Rose is not that naive.”
Nicole wanted to have faith in her friend, she really did. But Lord Cunningham had already spun the lady a yarn, and Rose had seemed so convinced of her feelings.
“Naivety has nothing to do with it.” Oliver dragged his hand down his face. “After your experience with Lord Mosgrove, you know how persistent men can be.”
The mere mention of the lord’s name made her skin crawl over her bones. Persistent was most definitely the appropriate word to describe his wandering hands.
“Must we speak of Mosgrove?” Nicole had spent the last six months trying to banish the man from her mind. In one respect, she supposed she should be thankful to the old earl for hiding her away in the manor, out of reach. “The fellow is a leech who sucks the life from all those he meets, who feeds on a woman’s weakness.”
Oliver’s expression darkened. “When I see him again, I pray we will be alone in a dark alley. I pray he finds the courage to throw the first punch as I will certainly throw the last.”
“And I pray I shall be there to watch.”
A smile touched his lips.
“We are alike in many ways.” His rich tone drifted over her like a warm breeze. “Without a doubt, you are the most courageous woman I have ever met.”
The compliment touched her. In light of Jeremy’s appalling behaviour, she’d had no choice but to fend for herself. “And I never expected to see a man knock Stokes off his feet.”
He leant back and folded his arms across his chest. “The size of the man matters not. It has to do with knowing where to punch.”
Nicole’s gaze traced the line of his muscular arms. A lady would have nothing to fear with Oliver Darby at her side. She wondered if the rest of his body was equally impressive — if he did everything with the same level of skill and mastery.
“In what other ways do you find us similar?”
She had to say something to draw her thoughts away from all things sinful. But the need to touch him grew. She craved his kisses, wanted nothing more than to lie in his arms and forget the rest of the world existed.
His lips parted, and his eyes softened. “You mean other than the fact we share a fondness for kissing?” She wished he would have stopped there, but then he added, “And trust is important to both of us. After suffering at the hands of our family, we value honesty in all things.”
Oh, why had he said trust?
Every muscle in her body twitched, chastising her for her foolishness. She’d been honest with her thoughts and feelings, so why could she not tell him her name was not Miss Flint?
There was only one logical answer that sprang to mind.
Regardless of who had warmed his bed in the past, Oliver was a man of integrity. Once he discovered she was the granddaughter of a viscount, he would insist on marriage? Their relationship would be forever based on lies and deceit. To see anything but desire and admiration in his eyes would wear her down until she was a bitter old woman with hate in her heart.
“Of course, we have opposing views when it comes to love,” he continued, pulling down the blinds before crossing the carriage to sit at her side. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “And yet I sense you have a newly awakened comprehension of the power of passion.”
With a slow, languid grace, he removed her glove and circled her palm with the tip of his finger.
Every fibre of her being sprang to life. All thoughts of deceit dispersed. The heavy ache between her legs stamped down her fears and concerns.
With her other hand, Nicole cupped his cheek. “You were right,” she said. “My need for you is like a physical thing growing inside me.” Love blossomed too, but she could not risk him withdrawing should she be foolish enough to make the declaration. “Every part of my body aches for you.”
His breathing grew ragged, and he captured her lips in a kiss that was wild, reckless, a mating of tongues. For her, it was a mating of hearts and minds, too.
He placed urgent kisses along her jaw, on her cheek, over her eyelids.
“God, I'm like a man starved of air, of water, of everything one needs to exist. You are the only one who brings me comfort.”
A coolness breezed across her legs as his hand moved up under her skirt to caress her thigh. The pads of his fingers edged past the ribbon securing her stocking, up to the sensitive place pulsing with need. Her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch.
The first glide of his fingers sent her head spinning. He was right. Lust was all-consuming, utterly addictive. She fell back against the squab.
“You’re already wet,” he whispered as he claimed her mouth again.
As those talented fingers stroked back and forth, she was soon lost in the blissful sensations. All thoughts of decorum upped and left. Any attempt to suppress the whimpers became an impossible task.
“Let it out, love. There’s no one to hear you but me.”
One finger entered her, and then two.
She gripped the lapels of his coat. “Oliver,” she panted. Her breasts were full and heavy, and she arched her back, desperate to ease the ache in her core. “Good Lord.”
“Oh, you can do better than that. Tell me what you’re feeling. Say it aloud.”
“I … I can’t.”
His fingers pushed deeper while his thumb rubbed her sensitive sex. “Say it.”
Nicole gulped. “Bloody hell.”
A chuckle left his lips, and his hand stilled.
“Don’t stop,” she panted arching her back by way of encouragement. Oh, she sounded every bit a mistress.
“I don’t intend to.” He claimed her mouth, his tongue mimicking the rhythmical glide of his fingers. Her vision blurred as she was pulled along on this wonderful journey. “But you will tell me what you need.”
Her mind was too fractured to converse. “I … I need you.”
“And where do you want me, Nicole?” He broke free to rain kisses over the exposed curve of her breast. Even through the fabric of her dress and undergarments her nipple hardened to a peak at the mere brush of his thumb. “Say it.”
Carried on waves of pleasure, she blurted, “I want … I want you deep inside.”
A growl of a curse burst from his lips. “And when do you want me, Nicole?”
The seductive lilt of his voice sent shivers to her toes. “I want you here, now. But … but we’re in a carriage.” She was exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Yet she had never felt so safe, so treasured.
“A decent man would wait for a comfortable bed. But when it comes to loving you, I’m no gentleman.” He withdrew his fingers, and she groaned. “Have no fear, love, I’ll soon have you panting again.” Nic
ole watched as he fumbled with his breeches. “This will work better if we swap places. Sit astride me.”
They groped about clumsily until he was sitting back in the seat.
Nicole gathered her dress up to her waist, relished his low hum of appreciation as his heated gaze drifted over her stockings.
“Come here.” His lusty growl sent her heart drumming in her chest, and she almost expired when he unbuttoned the placket of his breeches and took hold of his engorged manhood. The tip glistened and the muscles in her core pulsed in anticipation.
“Are you confident this will work?” Nerves pushed to the fore.
“It will work perfectly.” Hot hands skimmed her thighs, settled on the bare buttocks and pulled her close.
She straddled him, came up on her knees as those magical fingers slid between the folds of her sex. Good Lord. One touch and she burned for him.
“Free your breasts,” he said staring at the neckline of her gown while still pleasuring her.
“I … I can’t. The stays are too tight.”
“Then allow me.” Squeezing his fingers down into the bodice, he pushed against her bare skin until one breast tumbled out of her gown, and then repeated the manoeuvre. “Good God, Nicole. You’re so beautiful.”
He cupped the soft flesh in his palms, circled her nipples with his thumbs as he held her gaze.
Overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotion that had nothing to do with lust, she lowered her head and brushed her lips slowly across his. As always, it did not take long for the flames of passion to ignite, and soon she was writhing in his lap.
“No other woman has ever made me feel the way you do. Before we continue, I need to know this is what you truly want. That you choose desire. That you choose me.”
Oh, this did not come down to a choice. She desired him. She loved him. The waiting was over. Oliver was her one true love. No one would ever compare. And she would take this one magical moment over a lifetime of companionship with any other man.
“I want you, Oliver Darby.”
As my friend, my lover and husband … as my one true love.
Without hearing another word, he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed slowly inside.
“Lean forward,” he whispered. His hands settled on her hips as he took her nipple in his mouth and lavished the peak with his tongue.
The urge to bear down grew strong. The need to take him deep and hold him there overshadowed all other thoughts.
“I’m not sure what to expect,” she said steeling herself as he pushed against her maidenhead.
“Trust me. All will be well.” His hands came up to tangle in her hair. “Kiss me.”
The word trust threatened to dampen her ardour. She would trust him with her life — she was the one guilty of duplicity.
As his warm wet mouth devoured hers, he pushed deeper. It stung a little, felt tight … uncomfortable … but only for a few seconds. The need to connect with him so intimately obliterated any discomfort.
And then she gasped as he thrust up and buried himself deep inside her.
Oliver stilled. Was something wrong? Had she failed him in some way?
He looked up at her. “You’re mine now, Nicole.” His husky voice brimmed with emotion.
After her experiences with her brother and Mosgrove, any claim made on her person should have terrified her. But it didn’t. She wanted to belong to Oliver.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he whispered. “Perhaps you should set the pace.”
He might as well have asked her to make a model of a heron out of paper. What was she supposed to do?
But as always, Oliver took care of everything. The large hands on her buttocks assisted in helping her find a rhythm. A rush of euphoria flooded her senses as she took the hard length inch by inch. Stretched tight, she felt full, complete.
“Oh, Nicole. I’ve thought of nothing but this moment since we met.” His fingers trailed over her hip, down to rub her sex. The sensation distracted her momentarily. “Don’t stop, love. Take what you want from me. Take what you need.”
Like the skilled fingers working their magic, those words were her undoing too.
She sank slowly, came apart whilst straddling him. The intense feeling of exhilaration, of contentment, washed over her again and again.
This was love.
Each stroke spoke of freedom, a moment where they could be themselves, exempt from life’s pressures. Each thrust spoke of the all-consuming need to be together. Each whispered word of appreciation carried a level of intimacy and tenderness only they shared.
“Quick, love,” he growled withdrawing from her body and stroking his manhood on the soft flesh of her thigh.
Nicole sat there, ripples of pleasure still coursing through her veins, and relished the look of satisfaction on his face as he came apart, too.
Once their breathing slowed, his satisfied smile turned into a wide grin. “Passion is a powerful thing, is it not?”
Nicole took a moment to savour the glow warming her heart. Love was powerful beyond measure. “Indeed, it is.”
His dreamy gaze drifted over her exposed breasts. “And do you think you might like to continue our wild adventure once we’re home?”
Desire was already unfurling in her belly.
“I’m surprised you need to ask,” she said, dismissing the thought that all good adventures must come to an end.
Chapter Nineteen
Twice during his twenty-five years, Oliver had woken to find a woman sleeping in his bed.
Struck down with a fever on his eighth birthday, his mother had climbed on top of the coverlet and lay down next to him. With a gentle hand, she pressed cool linen to his brow and whispered words of comfort. It was a memory that stuck with him. One that often replayed over and over again in his dreams to soothe him. One that occasionally appeared in his nightmares to remind him that life could be cruel, too.
Consequently, he considered sleep an intimate affair, far too personal to share with just anyone.
He glanced down at the warm body hugging his side. Nicole was the only other woman ever to share his bed. Their legs were intertwined. One slender arm lay across his chest, her palm covering his heart. Vibrant red curls tumbled over her shoulder and across his pillow. With her lips but an inch from his neck, the soft rhythmical breath of deep sleep caused his stomach to perform a range of somersaults and flips.
But while his cock stood, hard and thick — fully recovered after many hours of pleasure — the feeling in his chest proved more distracting.
Never had he felt so calm, so sated, and so bloody famished all at the same time.
Never had he taken comfort from holding a woman close — or experienced the light skipping of his heart that occurred for no apparent reason at all. He wanted to punch a jubilant fist in the air. Wanted to think of nothing beyond this perfect, blissful moment.
But what the hell did it mean?
Usually, after bedding a woman, he was eager to leave, eager to place some distance between them. Sometimes an ocean wasn’t wide enough. So why was he still lying there, stroking Nicole’s hair, her upper arm, the soft curve of her hip?
Time apart would ease his craving, he told himself.
A crippling sense of helplessness sprung from nowhere at the thought of Nicole returning to Morton Manor. It was the right thing to do. Finding Rose had always been their goal. Hadn’t it?
The devil on his shoulder called him out as a fool. He hadn’t needed Nicole’s help at all. So why had he persuaded her to come? Why did he want to keep her at his side permanently?
His heart swelled just to torment him.
Where the bloody hell was Rose?
He focused his thoughts on his jutting erection, told himself it was lust that drove these cravings, not love. The passion they shared was intense. All-consuming. Under the circumstances, it was only natural to feel this way.
The temptress at his side stirred and pressed her naked body into his as she arched h
er back and stretched one arm above her head. A delicious hum left her lips. The sweet sound spoke to him, and he couldn’t resist a sidelong glance.
Damn. One glimpse of her bare breast and his body was aflame.
But to bed her again would be a mistake.
This obsession held him tight in its grip. He couldn’t shake it. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Truth be told, he could not get enough of the mysterious Miss Flint. But surely the rush of euphoria he felt when she spoke, smiled, brushed away a loose strand of hair, would fade eventually.
Best to put a stop to their amorous interludes.
Best to part as friends.
With renewed determination, Oliver slipped out of bed. For obvious reasons, he didn’t call his valet, choosing instead to dress quickly, quietly.
Once downstairs, he made for his study, dropped into the chair behind the desk and opened the dusty ledger. Work would clear his mind.
The numbers represented the income from tenants on his estate, Bridewell. Though written clearly in ink, he couldn’t quite grasp their meaning.
Bradbury knocked and entered. “Will you be taking your morning meal in here, my lord?”
It was rude not to wait for Nicole. But then she could well sleep for hours. “Yes. Just something light, Bradbury. Toast and eggs.” With all the rushing about the last few days, he’d lost his appetite.
“Very good, my lord.”
Ten minutes passed.
Bradbury returned with a silver tray. Oliver made room for it on the desk, took a bite of dry toast and a sip of coffee.
The chime of the mantel clock served as a reminder that his guest would soon wake. Despite turning his attention to the accounts, the numbers were still hazy, and he read the same line over and over again.
He imagined Nicole waking, wondering where he’d gone. She would question all that had happened between them — just as he had done. She would jump to the conclusion that he’d taken what he wanted and had no thought of her welfare now.
Bloody hell!
He pushed out of the chair and was about to march around the desk when a knock at the door gave him pause.
