If He's Tempted

by Hannah Howell

  “And you do not believe that I possess this coldness; that it does not lurk inside me somewhere?”

  “Not at all. In truth, I believe you take things to heart too often, too deeply, and for too long.” She smiled faintly and sipped her wine when he scowled at her, obviously trying to decide if her summation of his character was a criticism or not.

  “What am I to do about her?” he asked, shrugging aside what Olympia had said. “She needs to be stopped yet how do I do that without destroying my entire family, putting a stain upon the name of Mallam that would remain for a very long time?”

  “I am sure we can think of some way to do it.”

  “There is that we again.”

  “Aye, there it is. Thus far, all we have is her word against the word of children and people found using or running a house that sells children. Evil, certainly something that could possibly destroy her reputation and standing with some members of society, but not enough to end her reign and steal all her power. She has established herself as a well-respected power amongst the members of society.”

  “And established me as her profligate, evil son who indulges in every sin known to man.”

  “Well, not every sin. I do not believe she has mentioned sheep yet.”

  Brant nearly choked on the brandy he had just taken a sip of. Once he calmed the need to cough, he grinned at her. “Scandalous, Olympia.”

  “I do fear at times that a thought erupts in my mind and immediately flows from my mouth.” She smiled and shook her head. “It is one reason why I make few appearances at society’s many gatherings. Some of the people I must deal with at such events tempt that unrestrained part of me a little too strongly.”

  “I can imagine. So, what happens with all of these children you have taken in?”

  “Many of them were not sold by their families but taken from them and have already expressed a strong desire to go home. I will send them if that is truly what they want but I will also give them enough coin to return to me if they find that their home is no longer so very welcoming. Wrong though it is, since what happened to them was not their fault, a lot of people can and will judge them harshly for it. The ones sold by their own family have no wish to return, as one would expect. That shall also be dealt with. You have your brothers with you now so that leaves only little Henry to worry about.”

  “We must tell his father where he is.”

  “True, we must, but perhaps we should attempt to discover why the boy’s mother sold him and why your mother was so very interested in him before we tell the marquis that we have his son. Have you ever met this marquis? The name sounds somewhat familiar to me but I cannot place the man so I must not have met him or met anyone who spoke of him much.”

  “I do not know the man but I know of him as there was a scandal about him. He married beneath him and stepped away from a heavily disapproving society. The story I have heard is that his family was also outraged and he was nearly disowned, but then his wife gave him a son.”

  “Henry. And thus all was forgiven because the all-important heir had now been born.”

  “Not completely, but quite near to that. Rumors began that the wife, a daughter of a butcher in the village close to the estate, was not only utterly common but rather strange. Then the marquis retreated even more from society. The fact that we now know the wife sold the only living heir of the marquis for ten quid rather supports the whispered accusations that she is strange. As for my mother’s interest in the boy? She had that heir within her grasp and now knows some very ugly secrets about the marquis’s wife and his young son. Or, she intended to find the boy once a suitable, and very large, reward was offered for him. There may already be one offered and we were very lucky to find him still there and alive.”

  “Your mother is a very cunning woman but do you truly believe she would murder a child?”

  “Once she returned Henry to his father, the boy could have pointed a finger at her, revealed that she was not as she claimed to be, and, yes, to save herself, I believe my mother would do almost anything. I have finally accepted that hard truth.”

  “We will send a message to the marquis right away then, but something suitably vague that will allow us to deny all knowledge of the boy if the father should prove to be unsuitable. I do not think he will as Henry shows no fear of the man, no reluctance about being taken to him. In truth, the boy was quite hurt and astonished that his father had not come to find him.” She reached over to pat Brant’s hand. “We will win this, Brant. It might take longer than we like, but we will win. You should set your mind on exactly how you will declaw that cat.”

  Brant set down his brandy glass, clasped Olympia’s hand tightly, and pulled her toward him. He laughed softly when she stumbled somewhat gracelessly into his lap. This was what he needed. Passion eased pain, more so than any drink he had ever imbibed. Olympia stirred his passion in such a way it cleared his head of every thought save ones of her. He wanted that now, wanted his body and mind consumed by her and all that she made him feel.

  “I believe we are behaving unwisely again,” she said but curled her arms around his neck instead of scrambling out of his reach as a little voice in her mind told her she ought to.

  “Are you about to become the wise one and flee the room?”

  “I think not.”

  His kiss quickly cleared her mind of all thought save for how he tasted, how he made her body burn. Olympia knew she would not be pushing him aside this time. Brant made no secret of his hunger for her and that hunger soon infected her as well. As Olympia met the deep intimacy of his kisses, she helped him shed his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth. She kissed the hollow at the base of his throat and breathed deeply of his scent, that of a clean man with only a touch of cologne.

  “Bedchamber or floor,” Brant said, his voice no more than a husky whisper.

  Olympia stared into his nearly black eyes and knew it was time to make a decision although, she thought with a touch of amusement eking in through the passion gripping her, he could have found a more charming way to push her to make it. “Bedchamber,” she replied, not surprised to hear that her voice was as husky as his.

  Brant set her on her feet, stood up, and grasped her by the hand. Olympia hesitated for only a heartbeat or two before leading him to her bedchamber. Her heart pounded with pure anticipation not fear. She wanted this. Wanted him.

  She turned to face him when they entered her room and he shut the door behind them, about to make her confession about her son, only to have him silence her with a kiss. Olympia held onto him as he slowly nudged her along, never ending the kiss until the back of her legs touched the edge of the bed. The warm brush of his long fingers against her skin was the only warning she had that he was removing her gown. She had never been naked in front of a man before and a sudden flush of embarrassment attempted to destroy the pleasure she was caught up in. Brant lightly nipped the side of her neck as he tugged her gown off her body, but the first touch of his lightly calloused hands upon the skin of her upper arms was enough to push aside that newly born unease.

  There was a hunger in Brant, in his every touch and his kiss, that rapidly invaded Olympia’s body. Soon the fact that he was removing all of her clothing with a swift skill did not trouble her. She began to remove his with an equal speed, if not with the same skill. Even the awkward moment when they had to part, their bodies no longer touching, so that he could tug off his boots did not cool the fever they shared.

  When they were both finally naked, Olympia was so fascinated with Brant’s tall, lean body, she took little notice of how she ended up sprawled on the bed with him crouched over her. He was all honey-colored skin stretched tautly over hard muscle. His chest was broad and smooth, a small triangle of hair in the middle and a thin line of hair beginning beneath his navel, leading to a tidy nest of hair at his groin. She was pleased when the hard length of him that rose up from that nest did not stir her fear. She was just placing her hands upon his chest, delighting in the heat o
f his skin and the feel of him beneath her palms, when she became aware of how intently he was staring at her stomach. Then he lightly traced each faint line that bracketed her womb. When he looked up at her it was with a slight frown of confusion. There was no hint of anger or disgust and the fear that had begun to build in her heart rapidly faded away.

  “Olympia?” He traced each small line again, certain they were the scars of a woman who had borne a child.

  “Could we discuss that later?” She slid one hand down his chest and lightly grasped his erection, pleased to find that the discovery that she had borne a child had not dimmed his hunger for her at all.

  Brant nearly gasped aloud at the strength of the pleasure that tore through him when she curled those soft, long fingers around him. “Yes. Later would be fine.”

  Brant was not sure how long he could wait before burying himself deep inside her. He wanted to go slowly, to touch her soft skin, linger over those beautiful rose-tipped breasts and slowly explore with kisses and caresses every hollow and rise of her exquisite form. His passion was running too hot and he did not know how to cool it, however. The way she had spoken of her marriage at such a young age told him there was a lot more to it than she was telling him, although the little she had said had chilled him. She was a woman who needed to be loved slowly, shown how good true, tender desire could be between a man and a woman. Yet, with each touch of her hands, the feel of her soft curves pressed close to him, he had to struggle hard for control.

  Olympia was both astonished and a little afraid of how Brant was making her feel. She was trembling with need for him, her blood running so hot in her veins she was surprised she was not sweating. The way the warmth of his skin seeped into her, the roughness of the hair on his legs as they brushed against hers, and the touch of his lightly calloused hands on her breasts as he stroked them had her nearly panting. When he licked the aching tip of one breast she gasped from the flare of heat that shot through her body. When he took the hard, aching tip of that breast into his mouth and sucked she did cry out and thrust her hands through his hair to hold him close.

  The wild desire racing through her was nearly too much for her to bear. There was a loss of control to it all that caused the faintest hint of resistance to bubble up through the passion that had seized her. She was ready to push him away, just enough so that she could calm herself, slow it all down just a little, when he slid his hand down over her stomach and between her legs. The touch of his hand was enough to shred that small resistance.

  It was not until he began to push himself inside her that she regained her senses enough to understand what was happening and not just cling to him in blind hunger. A shiver of an old forgotten fear went through her but she fought it to keep it from completely cooling her passion. This was what she wanted, what her whole body was crying out for. It was just her mind that was trying to stop what was happening and she refused to allow it to deny her this chance to find out exactly what a man and woman could share.

  Olympia wrapped her legs around his lean hips and gasped as he thrust inside her. She felt so full, so completely joined with him in ways she was too distracted by desire to understand, that she could do no more than hold on as he moved. He was saying something as he kissed her neck but she was so enraptured by the feel of him moving inside of her that she could barely understand him. Then he kissed her and she lost the last thread of coherent thought she had been able to cling to.

  It was when her whole body tightened, the ache low in her belly becoming close to pain, that Olympia eased free of the hard grip of passion enough to start thinking again. Thinking was not what she wanted to do, however. She wanted to lose herself in the heat and wildness of the desire they were sharing.

  “Hush, Olympia,” Brant whispered against her cheek. “Let yourself be free. Fly with me, love. Fly with me now.”

  “Fly,” she whispered back. “Aye, I want to fly.”

  A moment later she did. The knot in her belly snapped and her whole body was filled with a pleasure that rushed through her veins and made her skin tingle as if touched by tiny sparks from a fire. A soft cry escaped her and she tightened her grip on him as if she feared falling. She clung tightly to Brant as he moved in and out with a force that had her shifting against the sheets and then he tensed. A low, guttural groan escaped him and she felt the warmth of his seed bathe her womb as he jerked a little in her hold and then fell against her.

  Still dazed it took several minutes before she became aware of the fact that Brant was heavy. Yet, she hesitated to let go of him. She liked the way he felt in her arms, joined with her in the most intimate of ways. A soft sigh of regret passed her lips when he slid free of her and turned on his side. A little embarrassed, she was slow to turn her head to meet his gaze, but the warmth she saw in his eyes eased that. She could see that she had given him pleasure and that pleased her.

  “I meant to go slowly,” he said as he lightly trailed his fingers up and down between her full breasts.

  “One can do that more slowly?” she asked, shifting so that she was close enough to feel the brush of his skin against hers as he breathed.

  “Yes,” he replied and kissed the tip of her nose. “I thought that would be best for you. Less frightening.”

  “Ah. You have an idea of why I would have been married at such a young age.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Nay, but I think I do not wish to bring Maynard’s ghost into this bed with us.”

  “I think I would rather you did not as well.”

  “I will just say that you are most certainly right in what you thought. It was not what I wanted.” She kissed his chest. “This I wanted.”

  He rolled onto his back and pulled her up over him. “This I wanted as well. Too much. I think the need is still very fierce.”

  She rested her forehead against his. “That does take one back just a little. I do not like to lose control.” From beneath her eyelashes she could see him grin. “Arrogant sod.”

  “Yes. A man likes it when a woman loses control in his arms.”

  “Hmm, and does the man not do the same?”

  “He does.” He stroked her back, liking the way she pressed against him, rubbing her body against his ever so slightly in appreciation of his touch. “Thus the inability to go slowly.”

  “That is somewhat comforting.”

  “Do you wish to see if we can both maintain some control this time?”

  “Can that be tested this way?”

  “Allow me to show you.”

  Olympia was just catching her breath when Brant gently nudged her to the side and kissed her. She had not realized there was more than one way to make love. Ride me, he had said, and she had. A part of her was a little embarrassed about how enthusiastically she had done so but Olympia was determined to strangle that modest, genteel part of her for as long as she and Brant remained lovers. She would not allow anything to interfere with the pleasure they could find in each other’s arms.

  “I must leave,” he said and brushed a kiss over her mouth.

  “Aye, I suppose that would be best.”

  “I do not wish to. I would much prefer to stay here, curled up with you in the bed.” He winked at her. “And within easy reach.”

  “Rogue.”

  He laughed softly as he got out of bed and began to get dressed. His body felt fully sated for the first time in years. Brant hated to even think of another woman while in Olympia’s company and having enjoyed such a passionate interlude with her, but his mind would not stop the memories. Not once, he realized, had he risen from the arms of the women he had bedded with such reluctance and such complete satisfaction humming in his veins. It was something he really needed to think about. But not now, he decided as he tugged on his boots, pausing to kiss Olympia again when she crouched at his side wrapped in a sheet.

  “My son is named Ilar and he is twelve years old.”

  “It is all right, Olympia. I was but surprised. That was foolish of me for I knew
you were a widow. We can talk of it some other time. You need not speak on it all right now.”

  It was cowardly of her but she nodded, accepting the reprieve.

  “Tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “If it is possible.”

  Considering how full the house was he knew that was all she could promise. The last thing he wanted was all the children in the house thinking badly of their saviors. They needed to see well-behaved people, ones with kindness and genteel behavior after all they had been through. Brant admitted he also did not wish to deal with Olympia’s nephews, Thomas, or her four very protective street urchins, either.

  After several more kisses, Olympia watched him leave. The moment the door shut behind him, she fell back onto the bed and sighed. The fact that he had to slip away in the night, to avoid being seen by the others in the house, added the smallest of taints to what they had shared. She would not let that prey on her enjoyment, however, she told herself firmly, and quickly rose to wash up and don her nightgown.

  Just as she was about to return to her bed, she thought of little Henry and went to her desk. The decision had been made to contact the boy’s father and she saw no reason to wait. It took awhile to compose the note to the marquis, however, as she needed to be very careful in her wording, careful enough that he could not know for certain that she had the boy just in case he was not a man she wished to give the child up to. She then found her book on the peerage and addressed it to his London house. Throwing on her robe she took it down to the small table in the hall knowing that Pawl would see to it the note was sent on its way before everyone woke.

  Now that the chore was done, she realized it was why she had not immediately gone to bed and to sleep. Simply placing the message on the table to be delivered eased that nudge of conscience that had kept her from immediately returning to bed. Now her body was demanding she return to her bed, aches from all she had indulged in tonight beginning to make themselves known. Who knew lovemaking could be such a strenuous activity, she thought and smiled as she made her way back to her bed.