He raised his hands to cradle her jaw tenderly. The heat of his palms sank through her and began to inflame the banked coals inside her once more.
“My dear, your honest responsiveness was delightful in every way. It is my fault that you were led astray.”
“It was?” Olivia frowned slightly. Somehow that didn’t seem quite right, but then, what did she know on the topic? “So the way you kissed me wasn’t correct?”
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “No, it was not. Between a man and his lady wife, there should never be such an assault.”
Oh dear. She truly was shameless, for she felt deep disappointment that he might never kiss her that way again. Still, it was the only kiss she’d ever had. It could be that other sorts of kisses were even better. Unlikely but possible.
Encouraged, she placed her own hands softly on his face, mirroring his on hers. She watched his eyes, prepared to stop if she saw disapproval there. He held very still, allowing her to slip her fingertips into the golden hair at his temples. “Then, perhaps …”
He lifted a brow. She felt the movement under his soft skin. “Perhaps?” he inquired.
Quite without thought, the tip of Olivia’s tongue slipped out to wet her lips. His eyes went dark as his gaze riveted to her mouth.
“Perhaps you could show me—” Her voice sounded husky and unfamiliar to her own ears. She swallowed hard, feeling poised on the threshold of a world unknown. “Show me the proper way to kiss you?”
Dane knew he needed to make a better beginning this time. She seemed shaken and unsure now—and it was all his fault. Damning his lack of restraint, he vowed to make this kiss count in his favor.
Slowly, he brought his lips down to hers. She began to go up on tiptoe to meet him. When he went still, she stopped, settling back down to wait for him. Hope began to spring within him that she had been the perfect choice. She seemed imminently teachable and astonishingly willing to please him.
That willingness could also be dangerous, he suddenly realized, for her complete submission to him fair to enraged his lust once more. His animal nature beat at the bars of the cage he’d built about it.
The things he could convince such a woman to do—the things he could convince her to allow him to do! Dark, erotic visions darted through his mind, fleeting and tantalizing and entirely wicked.
He banished them by force of will and bent once more to the task at hand.
Olivia let her eyes drift shut as he neared, tiny shivers of expectation running up her spine.
Warm lips touched hers, so carefully that for a moment she was not sure it wasn’t simply his soft breath she was feeling. Touch, retreat, touch—like the lighting of a butterfly on a blossom. The shivers increased, vibrating through her to set her lower belly trembling anew. Her lips parted instinctively, blooming for him.
His mouth settled gently on hers, the tip of his warm tongue slipping briefly in to trace the sensitive inner lining of her lips.
At that sweet invasion, the strength in her knees vanished. She sagged against him. He wrapped one mighty arm about her waist, supporting her while his other hand continued to cradle her face. His lips awoke hers with firm, gentle pressure and, to her surprise, the tiniest, teasing suction. He pressed his large thumb to her jaw, encouraging to open her mouth further for his slow, sweet penetration. She turned herself over to him entirely, letting him easily guide and maneuver her.
The luxurious room around them vanished, as did Olivia’s embarrassment. Even her mother’s critical voice faded to nothing in the seductive glow of her husband’s tender kiss.
3
When he lifted his mouth from hers, Olivia continued to sink into him. She had no choice, for her knees were still weak.
“I was quite right,” she sighed. “That was lovely, too.”
His arm tightened about her. “I’m glad you think so.”
She drew a long breath. “I’m dizzy again.”
“Are you often thus?” A thread of concern tightened his husky whisper against her lips.
She shook her head. “Never in my life. I’m beginning to think it is your doing. You make my heart beat so.”
Something shivered through him. She could feel his tension. For a moment, his grip tightened fiercely. It was only an instant, passing almost before she noticed.
She opened her eyes to gaze into his Viking-god face. His eyes were twilight dark and narrowed as he fixed them on her. “When we kiss, does the room disappear for you as well?”
His jaw worked. “No.”
She frowned slightly in disappointment. “That is too bad. It’s rather lovely. I like it.”
He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. “Olivia …”
“Yes … Dane?” She’d never called him by name before.
“Shut it.”
She closed her eyes and smiled. “Yes, Dane.”
After that, there was no more talking. She held still, allowing his large hands to rove over her freely. First he slid his palms over her shoulders and down her arms, then he raised her hands to clasp loosely behind his neck. Then she felt him stroke down her arms again and down her body to her waist.
His hands didn’t linger there for long. She felt him bend slightly, then jerked in surprise as his hot palms slid down and cupped her bottom. The thin fabric of her nightdress might as well not have been there at all, for she could feel the heat of his palms burn directly into her flesh.
“Shh.” His whisper across her neck sent another shiver through her. “I only wish to get to know you.”
“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “I like dogs.”
He went still, his palms still pressing her to him. “What does that mean, precisely?”
“It means that if you want to know me better, you might be interested in the fact that I like dogs.” She cracked one eye open. “What did you think I meant?”
She saw him shake his head slightly, as if dislodging something stubborn.
“You don’t want to know.” He sounded slightly breathless himself.
She closed her eyes and took a breath, deciding to enjoy the way his hands grasped her softness. It made her feel as though her figure was not as bovine as her mother had so often insinuated. “You may continue.”
He did just that. He pulled her body into his, until his groin pressed to her belly … but only for the briefest moment. Then he pulled his lower body away. That was unfortunate, for Olivia was mightily curious about that lower body, but she didn’t think he would appreciate any more interruptions. There was time, after all. They had the rest of their lives to discover each other.
Forever. What a lovely thought when one’s husband was a Viking god.
His hands were moving again. They moved down the backs of her thighs a bit, then smoothed around them to the front. Olivia tensed slightly, for he was about to head into delicate territory—but he only moved upward and wrapped his hands around her hips, thumbs nearly touching her navel.
He cradled her thus for a moment, his breath still coming warm on her neck. “You are my wife,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she replied uncertainly. “I thought we’d established that.”
“You are mine.”
Oh heavens. A shiver of anticipation went through her at the faint possessive growl behind those words. “I am,” she whispered.
“All of you.”
Her knees threatened to weaken again. “All of me,” she breathed.
He slowly slid his hands up her waist until his thumbs rested against the undersides of her full bosom. “Mine,” he said softly as he slowly swept his fingers and palms up over her breasts, until he was hefting their weight fully in his hands.
When his fingers rubbed across her, jolts of wicked pleasure shot from her rigid nipples to places best left unmentioned. Olivia gasped, nearly pulling her hands down to fend him off. She’d never—it wasn’t—
“No,” he ordered softly. “Stay just as you are.”
His sensually commandin
g tone made her shiver anew and she reclasped her fingers behind his neck, leaving her helplessly awakened flesh undefended before him. He caressed her breasts in a slow circle, his hands at once hard and gentle. “Open your eyes,” he said. “Look down.”
She did so, and the sight of his large tanned hands covering the bodice of her nightdress sent new heat below. Her nipples—they were large and always such a burden to hide in chill weather—pressed out from between his fingers, their rosy color showing through the filmy fabric.
“Your breasts are lovely,” he said huskily. “I want to see them.”
Olivia closed her eyes again, a tiny sound escaping from her lips. He must have taken it for acquiescence—and truly, what else could it have been?—for his hands left her flesh. She felt his touch at her neckline, felt the ribbon ties give way and the bodice of the nightdress part, and felt the cooler air of the room waft over her skin.
The candles still burned, the room was still bright, and she was bare before him. It was wicked. It was delicious.
He covered her breasts with his hands again.
Olivia gasped. She’d been wrong. It was nothing like being touched through the thin batiste fabric. His hands were a thousand times hotter, and the slight roughness of his palms and fingers on her softer skin was exquisitely arousing.
“Look down, my lady,” he urged.
She opened her eyes and gazed down to see. The sight of his darker hands covering her white breasts, the way her flesh welled between his fingers, the way her ruby nipples thrust eagerly outward as if awaiting something—
He lowered his head to her, taking that waiting tip into his mouth—oh, dear heavens, hot!—his hot mouth, and suckled her deeply. Wicked, violent pleasure jolted through her like lightning and Olivia threw her head back, unable to watch, unable to do anything but try to breathe in sharp gasps as he drew on her.
Her knees buckled and she clung to his shoulders as he followed her down, laying her to the mattress without letting up the suction for an instant. The bed—she’d forgotten the bed … .
His tongue flicked roughly across her nipple and she forgot the bed again as she shuddered at the new pleasure. He wrapped one big arm behind her back to lift her breasts to his mouth and slid the other hand down her body to her knee. He went from one nipple to the other, suckling and flicking and even—oh my—gently biting. Helpless under the wicked assault, Olivia was barely aware of his other, roving hand until she felt the heat of his palm crossing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Then he cupped her center and began rotating the heel of his hand gently, just where she wanted it the most, his fingers dipping lower to trace the crease of her. Then they slipped inside.
She convulsed in his grasp, gasping and digging her fingers into the thick muscles of his shoulders. “Oh! Oh!” After that, there were no words. She was lost in the sea of new sensations washing over her, into her, through her … .
His hot, hungry mouth suckled and nibbled. His hand moved faster, sliding up and down now, his long fingers tracing through the dampness that she was much too far gone to be embarrassed by, slicking past and around her most sensitive place again and again and again—
Something inside of her reached its highest point and then detonated. Piercing tremors racked her body and she was vaguely and indifferently aware that she was making the oddest noises, soft and gasping and not at all like her.
“Shh.” He held her close now, having pulled her into his lap with her head on his shoulder, almost rocking her in his iron-banded arms. “You’re all right now.”
She became aware that she was gasping openmouthed like a fish. She shut her mouth and swallowed drily. “Oh … my.” She blinked her gaze back into focus. “Was … was that supposed to happen to me?”
Dane nodded, his own mouth a bit dry at the moment. His own arousal thundered in his blood as he fought for control. This was unexpected. She was liquid heat in his hands, so responsive to every touch and so eager for every sensation. He’d thought it would take several nights to work a sheltered virgin into her first orgasm. It had taken Olivia less than an hour.
That did bode well for his ultimate purpose, but it also played bloody hell with his self-restraint. Even now, as she lay limply and trustingly against his chest, he knew he could work her into another frenzy with his hands, for he could feel the tiny tremors still shimmering through her lower body, making her quiver slightly in his lap. Torture … and temptation. He wanted to release his throbbing erection, ached to lay her back down on the bed and push himself into her wetted body, her tight, slick, virginal opening—
Impossible.
He reached behind him to pull the coverlet down and released his hold on her, letting her slip down to the waiting sheets. She went softly and sleepily, apparently unaware that her nightdress still gaped and that her luscious breasts made him want to throw back his head and howl.
He fought back that instinct with alarm. He wasn’t an animal. It was only basic lust, male for female. It was because of the way his hands still smelt of her and his mouth still felt the rough strawberry texture of her nipples on his tongue.
He covered her succulent flesh with the counterpane, beating down the beast once more, but the fight was exhausting. As Olivia closed her eyes, still smiling sleepily at him, he felt weariness weigh down his shoulders. He pulled off his shirt, for her room was too warm—or at least, something was too warm.
The bed called to him. He ought to go back to his room. He ought not to get into the habit of sleeping the night with her. That smacked too much of intimacy and dependence.
He moved, and her hand slipped from the covers to touch his. “Don’t go,” she whispered, her eyes still shut.
He gazed down on her curled alone in that big bed. He ought to think of her. This was her first night in a strange house. It was only … well, polite didn’t seem like the right word. It was only considerate of him to watch over her for a while until she was deeply asleep. He moved to the other side of the bed and leaned his tired shoulders against the headboard. He stretched his legs out and let his head fall back against the wood. He could use this time to think about the Prince Regent. Something must be done to keep the man under control … .
Dane’s head slipped to one side and he slowly slid down the headboard until he rested fully on the pillows. He was completely unaware when a soft hand slid from beneath the covers to entwine its fingers with his.
Milady’s bedchamber looked out over the gardens. Past the gardens there was a high wall keeping the mews and its attendant manure and other noisome smells from interfering with that of the last fading roses.
On that wall, kept in indistinct shadow by climbing ivy and the shedding leaves of a young elm, perched a watcher who had particular interest in milady’s bedchamber. He’d seen the lord and the lady come together near the grand bed, he’d seen them topple together out of his sight, and he’d seen the candle die by neglected flickering hours later.
Mission completed.
It was a good match. They were two of a kind, after all. And after all, as everyone knew, blood would tell.
And such lovely, traitorous blood it was, too.
The watcher smiled. Henry Calwell had been a pleasure to suborn—stalwart and self-righteous until that pretty little French girl had been planted in his path. Then all that passion and loyalty had belonged to France, or at least to a woman who was sworn to France, which amounted to the same thing with these English sods. Really, they were so impractical about the game of love.
Losing Henry had been costly to the grand mission. Only shame before his own son could have made Henry revert, that was certain. How satisfying now, to watch the son fall beside the father. A fitting replay of history, in addition to being precisely what the circumstances called for.
There had been several losses of late, mostly due to those bloody Liars—
The hands planted on the top of the wall curled into fists, fingernails gritting against the stone. The Liars were no
thing but gutter-rats or inbred aristocrats. How could they have destroyed the best of his ring so easily?
Lavinia Winchell had been a prize indeed. Lovely and heartlessly sexual, she’d had such a way of luring those English spies to their fates—until the Liars had turned one of Lavinia’s own operatives, Jackham, against her.
Wadsworth, the arms maker, had belonged to France from boyhood—a man with vision, unlike his greedy son. Still, both had been useful, until those glorified pickpockets had destroyed them as well.
Then the Liars had snatched the codemaster’s daughter up before she could be captured, leaving the emperor without leverage to force her father to work for France—an embarrassing failure indeed.
To have such victory yanked from him just when he was about to take down the Liars themselves … he burned for vengeance, but he needed a new cell of operatives. He’d set everything aside to pursue Dane Calwell without end.
His current minions, a mealy handful of worthless younger sons and devious servants, could bring him nothing but more of the same. Sneak thieves and perverts would not ultimately serve his cause. He needed Lord Greenleigh, a man of impeccable reputation—aside from the secret of his father’s treason. Yet he was rather lazy and non-political for one who could wield such power in the government.
Well, if England could not win his devotion, then France would.
And to ensnare the king, he would use the queen.
Carefully, for limbs tended to stiffen while crouching on cold stone, the watcher uncurled and dropped back behind the wall. In the wooden stable building, a few horses stirred, nickering softly in hopes of an early breakfast.
The watcher moved quickly down the alley before a groom could investigate the horses’ unrest, fading into the shadows with the ease of long practice.
When Olivia woke, the room was dark and the coals were only a glow in the hearth. She stretched out languorously, preparing to turn over and go back to sleep, when her toes touched a hard, cloth-covered surface.
A leg. A man’s leg. A husband’s leg.
Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 02] Page 4
