by Candace Camp
“Have a care, Oliver,” she murmured. “I do not want your regrets.”
He looked up at her, and a stark hunger was in his face, a blunt expression of need with no courtesy to cover it. She felt suddenly as if she had never really known him before.
“How could I regret wanting you?” he asked. “Kissing you?”
He leaned forward, his hand releasing hers as he grasped her waist. He pulled her into his body, and a soft moaning sigh escaped Vivian’s lips as his mouth met hers.
Chapter 12
He kissed her tenderly, leisurely, his lips rocking against hers and opening her mouth to the sweet exploration of his tongue. Vivian leaned against him, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt as if hanging on to the one solid thing in a suddenly unstable world. She felt crazily as if she might begin to tremble all over, so exquisite and slow was his mouth on hers, pulling from her deep, delicious sensations.
As he kissed her, Oliver’s hands began to move over her body, gliding over her hips and buttocks and back up to her sides, sliding in between their bodies and upward to cup her breasts. Vivian’s body seemed to blossom under his touch, warming and opening, and a low, aching throb started deep in her belly. She pressed herself up into him, her fingers sliding up his neck and sinking into his hair. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her even more tightly against his hard body.
She could taste the heavy sweetness of the port he had drunk, smell its heady scent, but it was his mouth, his touch, that intoxicated her. Her skin was supremely alive to every sensation. Every movement of his lips, each stroke of his tongue or brush of his fingers—firm, then gentle, then teasingly light—sent pleasure rippling out through her body. Her body ached to feel his fingers without the frustration of cloth between them, to have the heat of his hands upon her naked flesh. Instinctively, she moved against him, wordlessly seeking what she longed for.
He let out a groan as he broke the kiss, and he buried his face in her hair. “Vivian, Vivian . . . are you sure? Do you truly want this?”
“I do,” she whispered. “You know I do.”
“You are so beautiful.” He kissed her ear, taking the lobe between his lips and toying with it, gently scraping his teeth across the sensitive flesh, then soothing it with his tongue.
Vivian made a sound, a wispy susurration of breath as desire flamed into hot, urgent life all through her. “Show me,” she murmured. “Show me how beautiful I am to you.”
A long shudder ran down him, and his arms tightened convulsively around her. His mouth came back to cover hers, and he kissed her deeply, thoroughly. She answered with all the passion inside her, and they clung together as if they sought to meld into one. It seemed to Vivian that she could feel the thud of his heart right through their clothes and flesh—or was that simply the pounding of her own heart, so loud and hard that it must surely burst out of her?
Oliver wrapped his arms around her tightly, picking her up and turning, tumbling back onto the bed. She sank into the feather mattress, his weight pressing her deeper into the softness. He rolled onto his side, continuing to kiss her as his hand roamed down over her front, caressing her breasts through the cloth of her dress. His lips trailed down her throat, and his fingers went to the double row of buttons fastening her bodice. Quickly he unfastened them and laid open the bodice, revealing the thin, beribboned chemise beneath.
He raised up on one elbow and smiled down at her a little wolfishly. His lips were full and reddened from their kisses, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Vivian’s heart seemed to roll in her chest at the sight of him. She reached up to smooth her forefinger across his lower lip, and he nipped at her playfully. His forefinger slipped beneath her chemise and glided across her breasts, stretching the top of the garment. He watched the movement of his finger, his face growing heavier and slacker with desire. Taking the dainty bow that fastened her chemise, he pulled it apart. The chemise loosened and sagged, and he slid his hand beneath it, pushing it down below her breasts.
Vivian’s breath stuttered in her throat as he curved his hand around her breast, taking its weight in the cup of his hand and stroking his thumb across the nipple. Her nipples tightened in response, and everything deep inside her turned hot and liquid. He continued to caress and explore her breasts, and Vivian moved restlessly against the bed. She was aware of an ache growing between her legs, of moisture pooling there.
His hand left her breasts, and she wanted to protest the loss of his touch on the sensitive skin, but he bent and kissed the soft top of her breast, and she felt herself sliding down into an even more potent pleasure. His mouth roved over the lush orbs, teasing her with lips and tongue and teeth while his hand slid down her body, exploring and caressing. He reached down to grasp Vivian’s skirts and petticoats and pull them up to her waist. She jerked a little in surprise at the touch of his fingers on her leg, separated from her skin only by her thin lawn pantaloons.
But then his mouth fastened upon her nipple, his tongue stroking it into a hard point, and Vivian forgot all modesty as he aroused her with his mouth and hands. His hand slid down the outside of her thigh and then ever so slowly back up the inside, then repeated the movement on the other leg. He halted each time just before his fingers reached the juncture of her legs, and Vivian was left breathlessly waiting, wanting, aching to feel his touch there. His fingers brushed over the flat plain of her abdomen, circling ever lower, closer. Finally, his hand slipped between her legs, pressing gently against her. Teasingly his fingers stroked along the cloth, creating even more of the spiraling blend of yearning and pleasure. Her breath came in pants, and unconsciously she moved her hips up against his hand.
Oliver let out a low noise, almost a growl, and sat up, startling her. Disappointment flooded Vivian, and her eyes flew open, her lips parting to protest. But she saw the desire that flooded Oliver’s face as he gazed down upon her, and her words died in her mouth. He slid off the bed and pulled the half boots from her feet in quick, efficient movements. Leaning forward over the bed, he grasped the sides of her pantaloons, and in one swift motion he yanked them down and off her legs.
He stood for a moment, his eyes glittering as he gazed at her. Then he lifted her leg, bracing her foot against his chest, and reached down to hook his fingers in her garter. Slowly, inexorably, he peeled the stocking from her leg, his hands smoothing over her flesh as he pulled the silken material up and off over her foot. Oliver looked back up at her then, his gaze a mixture of question and raw, blatant intention. Vivian’s lips curved up slowly, her eyes sparking with a flame that left little doubt as to her wishes.
With a final caress back up her leg, Oliver guided it back down to the mattress and started on her other leg. In exactly the same way, he lifted it and slid his hand beneath her stocking, working it down her leg, his fingertips caressing her skin as he went. Vivian’s breath caught in her throat, fire sliding over her skin in the wake of his touch. With both hands, he rolled the stocking down and off her foot. Then he turned his attention to her bare skin. His hand drifted upward from her ankle, fingertips barely touching her flesh, but that faint brush of his skin upon hers ignited a fire. He trailed his fingers up to her knee and down again, teasing her with his caresses. His hand slid up above her knee, and Vivian sucked in her breath sharply.
Oliver smiled as he lowered her leg and crawled onto the bed beside her. He leaned down to kiss the side of her knee. His mouth slid an inch or two higher and kissed her again, then moved still higher. Vivian twitched, shocked and titillated all at once. He sent a roguish glance up at her.
“No? Perhaps later.” He moved to her other leg, laying his kisses upon her skin, moving gradually up her leg.
Heat surged in Vivian’s throat, and she quivered beneath his touch. Nudging her legs apart with his knee, Oliver moved between her legs, stretching up to cover her with his body. Bracing himself on his forearms, he lowered himself upon her, pressing her back into the soft mattress.
Vivian welcomed the weight of him
, the hard press of his bone and muscle as he sank into her softer flesh. The fabric of his shirt and breeches was faintly rough against her bare skin, and somehow that, too, aroused her. She slid her hands up his arms, gazing up into his eyes. She could lose herself in him, she thought, and she knew that right now she wanted nothing more than to do exactly that.
“Make love to me, Oliver,” she whispered. “I don’t want it to be anyone but you.”
Confusion flashed for an instant in his eyes and was gone, burned away by the passion surging through his body. She felt him harden against her, and he lowered his head and kissed her again. His mouth was no longer gentle, but fierce and demanding, pouring his need into her and drinking in hers in return. He kissed her until she could scarcely breathe, then he trailed his lips down her throat, tasting and teasing each inch of that tender flesh along the way.
Vivian ran her hand over his back and shoulders, her touch impeded by his shirt. With a low growl of frustration, he rose, whipping the shirt off over his head, then divesting himself of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he could. As he did so, Vivian unfastened the remainder of her buttons and pulled off her dress and petticoats.
He came back to her, sliding once more between her legs. Vivian wrapped her arms around him, luxuriating in the feel of his warm flesh pressed against hers. She could feel him throbbing against her, hungry and insistent, and she instinctively moved with him. Her body was aflame, aching for him, but still he did not take her, instead lowering his mouth to her soft white body. Kissing, teasing, caressing, he stoked the passion in Vivian and in himself until it burned as hot as the center of a flame.
She dug her fingers into his back, moaning in the depths of her need, and at last he came into her, thrusting deep and sure. Vivian tightened, arching up and back as pain slashed her. Oliver froze, his head lifting and his eyes widening in surprise.
“Vivian?”
She shook her head. “No, don’t stop. Oliver, please . . .”
He bent, kissing her long and hard, and slowly, as gently as he could, he began to move in her once more. His thrusts were long and deep, and desire built in Vivian again, sweeping aside the twinge of pain. She wrapped her legs around him as he stroked in and out, filling and satisfying her in a way she had never imagined. Yet the satisfaction was not completion, for desire knotted ever tighter in her, hunger ratcheting up with every movement he made.
Vivian clung to him, her mouth pressed against his shoulder as he moved harder and faster. The tight coil of passion burst within her, and she dug her teeth into his flesh as the tide of feeling rippled through her. With a hoarse cry, Oliver plunged deep within her, shuddering. For an instant, everything seemed to stop, every pain, every trouble, vanished, and for that moment there was nothing but joy.
Oliver collapsed against her and lay still, his breath rasping harshly in his throat. He rolled to the side, his arms going around Vivian and pulling her to him. She nestled naturally into him, her head on his shoulder, floating in a dreamy haze of pleasure.
“Vivian, why?” he murmured, his voice replete with satisfaction but tinged with a vague confusion, as well. “Why didn’t you tell me . . .”
“Shh.” Vivian snuggled closer, brushing her lips against his chest. “Don’t spoil it. Don’t talk.”
He kissed the top of her head, his arm tightening around her. Gently they drifted into sleep.
Vivian hummed to herself as she walked down the stairs the following morning. She had wound her hair into a simple knot atop her head, and her clothes were a bit bedraggled, but she scarcely cared about such trifles—not when she held such happiness inside her that the glow must be visible to everyone.
She had lain in Oliver’s arms last night for as long as she dared, basking in a warm, satiated, utterly relaxed state. Finally, stretching and sliding out from beneath the thick cover, she had pulled on her clothes, leaned over to give the sleeping Oliver a last kiss on the cheek, and slipped out the door and down the hall to the bedchamber the butler had assigned to her. She had fallen into a quick, deep sleep, and this morning she had awakened happy, smiling almost as soon as she opened her eyes.
What had happened last night had been magical, more than she had ever imagined it would be. Was it always like that . . . or was it simply because it was Oliver? Vivian smiled to herself, remembering, and the half smile was still on her face when she walked into the dining room.
Oliver was sitting at the table, a plate half-full of food shoved to the side. He sipped at a cup of tea, his face paler than normal and a frown pinching his forehead. He glanced up as Vivian walked in, and his face flooded with color and as immediately drained of it, leaving him ashy.
“Vivian!” He jumped to his feet, then winced slightly. He glanced over at the footman by the sideboard, then back at Vivian. “I—um, good morning.” His retied cravat might look a little crumpled, but ample starch was in his expression.
Vivian released a small sigh, the smile falling from her lips. She might have known that it would not be easy with Oliver. He stood there for a moment, unmoving and stiff, his napkin clenched in his hand. Vivian sauntered into the room, keeping her voice light. “Headache, Stewkesbury?”
“What? Oh, um, yes, I mean, nothing to speak of.”
Vivian sent him an amused glance as the footman came forward to pull out her chair. “And what of our host? Is he not here?”
“He is, I believe, ah, not feeling well.”
The footman poured tea into Vivian’s cup. Oliver cast a constrained glance at the servant, and when the footman stepped back from the table, Oliver gave him a short nod. “That will be all.”
The man bowed and left the room. Vivian could see Oliver gathering himself to speak, so she forestalled him by getting up and strolling over to the sideboard to fill her plate. “I notice you scarcely touched your food.” She glanced back at him, laughter in her eyes. “Not a comment on the taste, I hope?”
His mouth tightened. “I was not much in the mood for food this morning.”
Vivian returned with her plate, and this time Oliver pulled back her chair. She tucked into her food with an appetite, gaily making idle chitchat about the food, the weather, and their return trip to London. Oliver waited, his body tensely upright, now and then glancing at Vivian and away.
“We appear to be at a dead end,” Vivian opined. “Poor Kitty. I don’t know how I’ll get her brooch back. Of course, there is the gambling den where Sir Rufus lost her pin . . .”
Oliver made an odd noise deep in his throat, as though holding back a groan. “Please. Vivian. Do not pursue it. The matter is over.”
“Perhaps.” Vivian popped a last piece of bacon in her mouth. Her eyes met Oliver’s. It was unavoidable now, she thought with an inward sigh. Oliver straightened and rose to his feet. He looked, she thought, like a man approaching the scaffold.
“Lady Vivian, I must apologize for my unwarranted behavior last night.”
Vivian slapped her napkin down on the table and stood up to face him. “No. I refuse to listen to another apology from you.”
“What would you have me say? Would you rather I was the sort to ignore my—”
“If you say mistakes, I swear I shall slap you.” Her eyes flashed. “What I would rather is that you give me some credit for having something to do with the matter.”
“I think you have already said altogether too much, don’t you?” he shot back. “You misled me. You implied that you were . . . were . . . well, not an innocent. That you had experience in such matters.”
“I never said I was not a virgin.”
“Good Gad, Vivian.” He glanced toward the open doorway. “Must you be quite so—”
“Honest? I thought you just accused me of being deceptive.”
“I don’t mind honesty.” Red slashes of anger flared on his cheeks. “In fact, I would welcome it. However, I would prefer that you did not express yourself quite so openly or loudly where Sir Rufus’s servants can hear you.”
V
ivian rolled her eyes. “Of course. Appearances.”
“Don’t think that you can distract me this way. I am talking about your deliberately leading me to believe that you were a woman of the world, so to speak. That there had been other men . . . that I was not, in short . . .”
“The first?” Vivian crossed her arms. “You are angry because you are the first? While that is certainly an unusual reaction, I cannot see why it matters.”
“Are you being deliberately obtuse? Of course it matters. I would like to think that even inebriated as I was last night, I would not have acted as I did if I had been aware of the true nature of your—that is to say, that I would have had enough restraint not to besmirch a young lady’s virtue.”
“God give me strength!” Vivian flung her arms out. “You sound as if I had nothing to do with it! I made the decision. You did not force me. You did not ply me with strong drink and seduce me. Indeed, you were the one who was not in full possession of his faculties. If anything, you should be accusing me of seducing you.”
“Blast it, Vivian! Don’t you see that the responsib—”
“No.” She held up one hand sharply, cutting him off. Her face was set in obdurate lines. “I won’t hear it. I think it’s best if we stop talking now. I refuse to continue to quarrel with you about . . . about . . .” She stopped and swallowed hard, fighting back the silly, treacherous tears that rose in her. “The best thing for both of us is to forget about it. Pretend last night didn’t happen. Because clearly we cannot get along long enough to even have an affair.”
He glared at her for a long moment. “Fine.” His voice was clipped, and he reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “If that is what you wish. We will ignore last night.”
“Yes. That is what I wish.” Vivian’s back was straight as a board, her gaze cool and hard; she looked every inch the descendant of dukes. “Now, if you will be so good as to have the carriage brought round? I believe it’s time we returned to London.”
