Nevertheless, one more look into those fathomless eyes, and he could deny her nothing. This would not be the first night he had spent in her bed, forced to keep his hands and other parts of his body to himself. He had endured them all thus far and would continue to do so. She needed him strong and resilient, not panting and pawing at her like an animal. If she could overcome all that she’d suffered thus far, then, he could weather this.
“Aye, then,” he relented, setting the book aside and bending forward to remove his shoes and stockings.
He made quick work of his waistcoat and cravat, leaving them in a heap on the chair before rising and pushing his braces off his shoulders. Olivia never took her eyes off him, watching as he flicked open the button at his throat, then the one below it, then the third, baring his chest.
Niall was never more aware of what a giant he was than when he stood over her, dwarfing her with his height and width. Especially now, with her frame slenderer than it had ever been and swimming in the bedclothes, her hair loose and framing her delicate face. It never failed to recall his father’s words, the admonishments that he’d constantly hurled at Niall concerning his relationship with Adam and his obvious obsession with Olivia. He was not made for this world, for rooms like this filled with fine things and a little porcelain princess sleeping in its midst. Yet, he climbed under the coverlet as if he belonged, gathered Olivia against him like she was his, his scarred, calloused hands cradling her with all the care he showed for that bit of broken porcelain.
The book lay beside him, momentarily forgotten as she turned into him, nestling even closer. He stiffened, his arms tight around her as she nuzzled against him, her breath tickling the coarse hairs blanketing his chest. Her legs moved against his, his removed stockings and the hitched-up bottom of her nightgown allowing her soft legs to caress his.
Niall’s lungs burned from the breath he held, his veins beginning to tingle with the rushing of blood that only worsened the longer she lay so near him, seeming to attempt to get as close as possible, until she’d crawled into his skin and lodged herself deep.
If only she knew how much a part of him she was. It felt like she had always been inside him, in his blood, swimming around and finding the tiniest of crevices in which to lodge herself.
“Livvie,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair and inhaling its sweet fragrance.
One of her tiny hands was on him now, smoothing over the muscles stretched over his ribs, across his back, her fingertips playing down the ridges of his spine. The touch sent another surge of heat rushing to his middle. He held in a growl, resisting the urge to roll on top of her and join their bodies. It was the only liberty he’d never taken with her—out of honor in the years before she was sent off for her first Season, and then out of necessity after she’d returned home with a baby girl in her arms. He’d been unable to help giving in to the urge to pleasure her in other ways, but had loved her too much to claim the one thing that he could not give back once taken.
“Niall,” she whispered, tipping her head back to gaze at him, her eyes so wide and deep, he could have drowned in them. “Kiss me.”
He wanted to. He craved it, longed for the feel of her soft, warm lips, the taste of her tongue. As always, he hesitated before taking any sort of action where she was concerned. They had long passed the days where even a slightly raised voice could send her into a fit of tears; still, she was as unpredictable as ever, as the bandages around her arms could attest. His desire for her had been contained, bottled up in the depths of his body and left there under pressure for so many years. He was afraid of what unleashing any of it onto her might mean, how it might hurt or scar her further. It was the last thing he would ever want to do.
“Hours from now, I may be so delirious I do not remember my own name,” she added. “I will shake and shiver and weep. My dreams will become more vivid than they have been in months without laudanum to dampen them. I do not know how I will survive it, or even if I can. I do not know how much time will pass before I am myself again—or, at least, as much of myself as I can be. But I do know what I want right now. I want you to kiss me like you used to. Do you remember? Those summers in Scotland, the stolen hours in drawing rooms, the nights in the hayloft?”
He could not help but smile at the memories of their tentative kissing and caressing, her begging him for more, but Niall determined not to send her to her husband a tainted woman. Now, he regretted having refused her anything. How, then, could he deny her this?
“Aye, Livvie,” he murmured, nuzzling her nose with his. “I could never forget.”
She returned his caresses, her breath tickling his cheek, her long eyelashes batting against his cheekbone as she nudged at him like a cat seeking affection.
“Help me remember,” she whispered. “Give me something to cling to when the despair begins to drown me, when my body betrays me. Make it so I can never forget that you are here.”
He obliged her without hesitation, hauling her tighter against his body and lowering his head to claim her lips. She whimpered against his mouth, the sound one of longing and bliss, not of panic or fear. It emboldened him, gave him the nudge he needed to go from gently prodding her lips to delving into her mouth with his tongue. Cupping her face with one hand, he tilted her head to better plunder her, his other hand tight at her back, the delicate bones of her frame like twigs against his fingers.
He drank from her mouth, awed at how the darkness that had consumed her for so long had done nothing to take away her sweetness, the light flooding his soul at the simple touch of her mouth to his. She smelled like a field of wildflowers and felt like Heaven in his arms, her taste headier than any sweet dessert, bubbly champagne, or rich brandy. Plunging his tongue deeper, he sought the velvety caress of hers, groaning when he found it, coaxing her to stroke that sweet little muscle against his lower lip just the way he liked.
She ignited in his arms, no longer an innocent little doll, but now a flickering flame, burning hot, reducing him to ashes. It had always been this way between them, the thin veil of innocence lifting to reveal the spitfire that lived within her slight body—all fire and heat and light. His every muscle tensed as the kiss went on, their lips meeting and parting between tongue strokes, her hands threading through his hair as he fought to keep his against her face and back. He wanted more—he wanted to slip his hands beneath her nightgown and seek out her naked flesh, to caress the hidden pink nub between her lower lips until she spent, groaning and crying out her pleasure. He wanted to turn her onto her back and drive into her, swift and deep, becoming one with her in a way he never had before.
And he felt like the worst sort of bastard for it.
He could never do any of those things, not when her mind had been so fragile for so long. Not when the lust of one man had almost been the death of her already.
She let out a little huff of frustration when he broke the kiss, her cheeks flushed and her breath ragged. He felt as if he might explode, his breeches suddenly too snug to contain the throbbing organ pleading entrance to her body. Despite that, he put a bit more distance between them, resolved to keep himself under control. He might be lowborn, but he took pride in having acquitted himself with far more honor than many of the young lords of the ton. His heart had always led him when it came to Olivia, not his prick.
“Come,” he said, shifting onto his back and reaching for the book. “Let us see what Cecilia has gotten herself up to.”
He propped himself up with the pillows, then allowed her to tuck her body against his side, her head resting upon his chest. The position kept her close, but also gave him a bit of relief from the press of all those soft womanly parts that would make it difficult to even think, let alone read.
The familiar words of a book they had read together before made him smile as he thought of their stolen hours in her abandoned schoolroom long after her lessons had ended, their walks through the woods as she drilled him over letters and numbers and the sorts of things no one ever tho
ught to teach a stable boy.
Nestling his chin on top of her head, he began to read.
Edinburgh, 1807
12 years earlier…
Niall’s whistling filled the stable stall as he went about the task of grooming his favorite black mare. Cally was a hackney horse with a nearly identical sibling huffing and snorting the next stall over. The pair of high-stepping beasts had been bred specifically for the pulling of carriages. Both stood approximately sixteen hands tall with long, elegant limbs and sinewy frames that made them quite a sight when they worked together to pull some conveyance or another. However, Cally was set apart by the white star marking her forehead, as well as her sweet temperament.
He’d come to know and recognize every horse in this stable, as with age had come more responsibility along with the expectation that he would someday replace his da as Stablemaster. No longer a lowly stable boy, Niall spent his days grooming, feeding, exercising, and otherwise caring for the eight horses placed in his care.
“Ye’re lookin’ well this mornin’, Cally girl,” he murmured to the beast while cleaning her coat with a hard-bristled brush. “The oats I added to yer feed are makin’ yer coat as shiny as a new penny. But, mayhap I’ve given ye too many. Ye’re lookin’ a bit thick in the middle there.”
Cally tossed her mane and snorted, one large, dark eye darting toward him with a heavy amount of censure. Niall chuckled, pausing to pat her flank affectionately.
“Now, now,” he crooned. “That isn’t t’ say ye aren’t still a bonny lass. And some stallions prefer a mare with a bit o’ flesh to her bones, ye know.”
Cally dipped her head, shaking it a bit as if disagreeing, which only made Niall smile wider. His father often derided him for talking to the horses apart from the usual commands. They were animals, Conall insisted, too stupid to understand. But, one look into Cally’s dark eyes, and Niall knew. The mare understood him, and so did the other seven horses he took the time to greet and chatter to as he groomed them. If nothing else, the tone of his voice kept them docile as he went about his work. And because Niall was the best groom in the stables of Dunvar House, Conall had no reason to stop him from talking to Cally as if she were an old friend.
“Fine, then,” he relented. “We’ll cut back on the oats, and get a bit more exercise, eh? That way, ye won’t outweigh Celeste so much the two o’ ye cannae pull the same carriage.”
The mare’s answering huff held a note of satisfaction, so Niall assumed she found that to be a grand idea. He set aside his brush and reached for another with softer bristles, to be used on her mane and tail.
He’d just finished smoothing her dark mane when he heard the telltale thump of dainty little feet approaching. He glanced up just in time to find Olivia peering at him over the top of the stall, hands gripping the latched door, feet rested in a gap between lower beams. At fifteen, Niall had only gotten taller, more awkward and gigantic. In contrast, Olivia had only grown more beautiful and graceful, though the gleam of mischief was more apparent in her dark eyes than ever. Instead of looking like a doll, she now resembled some sort of fairy-creature, all pink, pouting lips and wide, doe eyes and long lashes. She would be a beauty once she reached womanhood. Hell, she was one now, even at only eleven years of age.
“Hello, Niall and Cally,” she said, grinning at them from her perch.
“Back from yer mornin’ ride already?” he asked, sparing her a cursory glance.
Farther across the stable, he detected the low tones of Adam speaking with another one of the grooms. The two had set off an hour ago for a ride, and must have just returned.
“Yes,” she replied, resting her chin against the wood of the stall to watch as he brushed Cally’s tail. “Papa is leaving today … going to London on business, and he is to be gone for weeks.”
Niall clearly heard the relief and excitement in her voice, this girl who’d never truly had a father. While Lady Edith’s marriage had given Olivia protection, a home, and more money than she’d ever know what to do with, one thing it had never given her was a father. Oh, the earl provided for her in the way that a stepfather ought, but there was no warmth between them, no affection. It baffled Niall, who was hard-pressed to keep from smiling whenever Olivia was near. How could anyone not love her?
Between him and Adam, she was as loved as any little girl could be, as indulged and spoiled as all the other future debutantes. If she missed the presence of a mother she’d never really known, Olivia did not let on.
“Is that so?” he murmured, finishing Cally’s tail and reaching for his pouch of tools used for cleaning hooves and repairing shoes.
“Adam and I are going to the pond for a swim today. You know we can only do it when Papa is not about.”
He nodded, knowing how the earl frowned upon any behavior he thought unbecoming children of privilege. “Aye, then. Have fun.”
She giggled. “You’ll come with us, won’t you?”
“Of course he will,” Adam interjected, appearing at his sister’s side. Like Niall, he stood tall enough to see over the top of the stall, and unlike Olivia, did not need to perch on anything to peer inside.
Glancing up from the low stool he occupied while working on the hooves, Niall snorted. “If my da will let me.”
“He will,” Adam insisted, one of his lazy, affected shrugs lifting one shoulder.
Typical of young lords, he was well aware of the power he already wielded, even before coming into his title and inheritance. It never occurred to him that something he wanted could never be his. He simply did what he pleased, even when it vexed the earl, because he could. There existed few people who could tell him otherwise.
Adam did speak true. While his da did not like that he’d become so close to Adam, there was not much he could do about it. As long as Niall completed his work, as well as his chores at home, he was allowed to run off with his friend. The last thing Conall wanted was to anger the master’s son by denying him Niall’s company.
“It’ll have t’ be after I finish my chores,” he reminded them.
Olivia nodded, her smile brightening the dimness of the stable. “We will come after dinner.”
Perfect. By then, his father would have no reason to keep him from leaving.
“Aye, then,” he agreed. “Go, so I can finish. I’ll be ready.”
Adam urged Olivia down off her perch, and after chirping “good-bye” to him in her sweet voice, she followed him out of the stables.
Niall threw himself into his work, moving swiftly while remaining efficient, finishing all his duties well before his usual time. Conall frowned when he set off for their little cottage, but could not protest once he realized that Niall’s horses had all been tended to above and beyond the usual expectations. He had no choice but to let Niall go.
Running home, he made quick work of sweeping the cottage floor and fetching water for his maw to use for cooking dinner. He then went for more water to wash the dishes from their breakfast, after which he placed the cups, plates, and bowls neatly upon their shelves. By the time he had done that, his maw had returned from the house to set about making dinner. While she did that, he retreated to the tiny chamber where he slept. There, he replaced the sweat-stained clothing with clean ones, and changed his shoes.
Then, he waited for his maw to call him to dinner, watching as his father entered the cottage, settling at his customary place near the hearth. Once it came time to eat, Niall scarfed down his food with relish, finishing just before Adam and Olivia appeared at the door.
Conall scowled, but waved Niall off without so much as a word. His focus had already shifted to the bottle of gin he held in his fist. With any luck, he would have drunk himself unconscious by the time Niall returned.
Once free of the cottage, they took off toward the thick outcropping of trees surrounding the house grounds, Olivia calling after them to slow down so that her short legs could keep up. Niall lifted her onto his shoulders with a laugh, while Adam took over carrying the little sack
she had brought with her. If he knew Olivia, there were books inside. The girl never went anywhere without one.
The three of them became different people once out of view of the house, no longer a lord, a little lady, and a stable groom. No, out here, he and Adam were brother knights and Olivia was their little princess, to be protected and indulged and made to laugh. Out here, there were no brutish fathers, dead mothers, or uncertain futures. He had not realized then that this would be the final summer of such freedom, of being able to spend this much time with the people he loved most.
While not the largest of the earl’s properties, Dunvar House still boasted a decent-enough wooded area, complete with a small, crystal-clear pond at its center. It was there they went, tossing off the layers of their clothes and hurrying to the water. Olivia in only her shift, he and Adam in their trousers, they plunged into the pond and swam for what felt like hours, chasing each other about. The two boys had taught Olivia to swim two summers prior, and now, she was as fast and confident in the water as they were.
After a time, they trudged back to the bank, lying out in the warm grass to dry off. It was then that Olivia went into her mysterious sack and pulled out something unexpected. Niall smiled when she pitched an apple at him, catching it midair and bringing it to his lips for a healthy bite. Adam was treated to one, then she retrieved her own, crunching into it as she went back into the sack to produce the one thing Niall had expected … a book.
He watched, both charmed and amused as she opened it to the place she had marked with a bit of ribbon. Glancing up to find him watching her, she grinned. As usual, the effect on his heart was an immediate, tight squeeze deep in his chest. She was even more sprite-like sitting in the grass, her damp chemise pooled around bare legs, her braid wet and dripping, hanging down her back. It wasn’t desire he felt, not anything so salacious. No, this was something else, something indescribable. He could not have given the feeling a word if he’d tried.
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