Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 02]

by Surrender to a Wicked Spy

  Oh dear.

  Olivia couldn’t wait to leave with Dane, to ride home in the carriage only inches away from him—oh, hang it—and Lord Dryden.

  Oh dear.

  At last, Dane thanked her parents and called for their carriage. Olivia stepped outside to await him, drinking in the cool and quiet after the endless, stuffy evening indoors. Dane and Marcus were in the entrance hall taking their leave of that sternly handsome Lord Wyndham, so Olivia wandered politely a few yards down the walk.

  How could Dane bear to stand there talking when such wickedly delicious plans awaited them at home?

  Home. How easily she’d transferred her loyalties. Then again, with Walt gone, there really was nothing tying her to her family but duty.

  She had a new family now. Dane was her family and someday soon they would have children of their own and she would never, ever turn them away when they cried or reached out to her—

  Thundering hoofbeats rang down the cobbled street toward them. Olivia absently turned her back and wrapped her cloak about her gown to keep it from splashes when the rider passed. Someone was taking a chance riding so fast in the dark.

  How many children did Dane wish to have? Personally, she’d like to have as many as she could fit in the time she had left. She was nearly thirty, after all—

  “Olivia!”

  Something hit her hard, knocking her from her feet and whirling her away.

  When the speeding horse struck him—a glancing blow, equine chest to his shoulder—Dane hit the cobbles hard, unable to break his fall with his arms wrapped about Olivia.

  His head cracked on the street with a sickening thud. For a moment his vision blackened. His senses awry, all he could think was, Protect her. He held on, keeping her tight to his chest, wrapped in his arms.

  He felt hands tugging at him, pulling at his wrist, trying to take her from him. Dane resisted foggily, flinging them away with an uncoordinated shove.

  “Greenleigh, ease your grip, man. You’re squeezing the life out of her!”

  That sounded like Marcus. Dane blinked hard, clearing his vision to see Marcus, Wyndham, and Reardon bent over them.

  “Dane … you can let me … go now.” Olivia lay sprawled on his chest, breathless, trapped in his fierce embrace.

  He was crushing her. “Oh God!” Dane threw his arms wide, releasing her to slide limply to the cobbles at his side. “Are you—”

  He tried to sit up to see to her, but someone swung an anvil inside his head. He pressed the heel of one hand to his skull, fighting the gray creeping around the edges of his vision. “Olivia—”

  It took two of them to pull him to his feet, where he wavered, trying to see Olivia.

  She stood shakily in Marcus’s grip. “I’m quite all right.” She shook Marcus off with a half smile. “See? All in one piece.” She turned to Dane. “Bring him inside,” she ordered crisply.

  Dane blinked bemusedly as three of the most powerful men in England obeyed his bride without a thought. What an excellent choice he’d made. Fortitude, indeed.

  As the party re-entered Cheltenham House, Dane was dimly aware of Olivia’s mother fluttering in the background as her father huffed indignantly about “rowdies.” He was deposited on a sofa in the now-empty drawing room. Olivia knelt before him with a candle in her hand.

  “Open your eyes,” she instructed. “I want to see if your pupils match.”

  Dane had seen physicians do that before while serving out his commission in the army. “I’m surprised you know what to do.” His voice worked anyway, although he found himself speaking a bit slowly.

  “I am the closest thing to a doctor that Cheltenham has, barring the local midwife. I know a few useful things.”

  She was confidently examining him, pushing his hair aside as she gently probed the lump on his head. “As big as you are,” she said drily, “could you not have found a better portion of your anatomy to land on?”

  Dane heard Reardon choke back a laugh, and Marcus openly chuckled. Was this the same woman who had scarcely spoken a word during dinner, who had allowed her mother to berate her in front of others?

  Dane liked her this way, he decided muzzily. Just like that day in the Thames—competent and selfassured. A true viscountess.

  He gently caught her hand away from his sore head. “I’m fine.” His voice was stronger as well.

  She pulled reluctantly away from him and stood. “Well, that rider ought to be shot,” she declared.

  Dane didn’t answer, but the gaze he shared with the other three assured him that the incident would most definitely be looked into. Accident? Perhaps or perhaps not.

  His vision had cleared and he stood without help this time, although his head still pounded. “I think we had better get you home,” he said to her.

  She crossed her arms. “Get me home? I’m not the one leaning like last year’s Maypole.”

  Dane fought back a grin and raised one hand to point to the door. “Go.”

  She heaved a sigh and dropped her arms. “You first.”

  Marcus laughed. “I’ll break this battle of wills. I’ll go first.”

  In the carriage, Olivia insisted on sitting next to Dane. When he begged off her nursing, she denied it. “If you fall over, I’d rather you land on him.” She gestured at Marcus seated across from them. “I’ve already had the pleasure of being squashed tonight.”

  Dane smiled at her. “You hold up nicely, nonetheless.”

  She blushed. “Oh, pish. My hair looks a sight, I’m sure.”

  It was true. Her hair, apparently disinclined to stay pinned in any circumstances, now stuck out in ludicrous disarray. She looked like a tangled skein of blond yarn.

  Her gray silk gown was entirely done for, smeared with street muck and torn at the shoulder where he’d grabbed her.

  Then again, Dane hadn’t been talking about her appearance. He’d meant something more, something inside. She possessed a surprising resiliency.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Marcus nonchalantly turn his gaze to the window, raptly watching the dark streets go by.

  With one hand, Dane tipped her chin up. “You look lovely.”

  She bit her lip, gazing up into his eyes. “I do not. I—”

  He dipped his head to kiss the protest away. Only a quick stolen touch of his lips to hers, but it stopped her cold.

  When he released her, Olivia dipped her head to hide the burning in her eyes. The sound of his head cracking on the cobbles had struck deeply, a lance of icy fear. She’d been terrified that he’d been seriously injured, her insides aquiver with panic even as she’d taken charge and barked orders.

  They’d only been wed two days, and already she could not imagine what she would do without him.

  8

  “You’ll not spend the night without me,” Olivia insisted, her arms crossed and her feet braced like a sergeant major. Dane couldn’t get over how she found it so easy to stand up to him. “I insist on staying with you,” she said. “Head injuries can be very dodgy. If you sleep too deeply, you might not wake up!”

  Dane tied the belt of his dressing gown and jerked his head to send his fluttering valet away. Proffit went with a sniff and a glare toward her ladyship. The servants were taking their time warming up to Olivia, for some reason.

  Dane’s head hurt and he had larger things to worry about than a discontented staff. If Olivia had issue with any of them, she ought to know what to do. Her mother had assured him that Olivia was well acquainted with the running of a large household.

  The lady’s maid he’d hired for her tapped on the open connecting door of their chambers. “Your bath is ready, milady.”

  Olivia tugged at her destroyed gown in irritation. “I have to get this muck off me. Will you promise not to lock me out while I’m gone?”

  Dane couldn’t help smiling. “Isn’t it usually the lady who locks the gentleman out?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I wouldn’t put anything past you, my lord. You
seem to have an allergy to being taken care of.”

  Dane waved her on. “Go take your bath and get the horse manure out of your hair. I’ll take to my bed like a good boy. You can check up on me when you’re done.”

  “Hmm.” To ensure he didn’t close her out, she dragged a footstool to block the door from shutting entirely. “So I can hear you if you call.”

  Dane nodded wordlessly. His head hurt and he had many things to think about—the incident tonight at the top of his list.

  He lay on his bed, a vast construction made to his specifications, with the covers pulled to his waist. The tester above him enclosed a mural on the ceiling, a depiction of the Siren on the rocks, calling the sailors to their deaths. The artist had grinned at Dane’s request, undoubtedly thinking Dane wanted the erotic image of the bare-breasted woman to entertain his nights.

  On the contrary, Dane had wanted the nightly reminder—never let temptation decide your course for you.

  Tonight, however, he closed his eyes against the image above him. He had not let Olivia distract him from his duty this evening, nor could he regret his preoccupation with her afterward. If he had not been so aware of her on the street tonight, he never would have made it to her in time to save her from being trampled.

  All in all, he had to grant that he’d balanced duty and marriage quite nicely.

  It was too bad she’d forgotten about their plans for tonight. He’d been looking forward to furthering her education.

  For the sake of his heir, of course.

  With his eyes closed and his own room gone quiet, he could now hear the faint splashing sounds of Olivia in the bath. She must have sent Petty on to bed, for there were no voices, only the sound of water lapping at the sides of the tub.

  She’d be close to the hearth for warmth. The fire would lick her skin with golden lights, gleaming off the soapy water.

  After she dunked and sat up, her hair would slick down her back like a dark gold stream, exposing her long neck and white shoulders … and those magnificent breasts would float slightly in the water, buoyed by their own lush abundance. She would wash them, lifting them and soaping them until the bubbles ran from her skin and drops fell from her nipples like diamonds in the firelight … .

  He’d never actually seen a woman in the bath, he realized.

  He also suddenly realized that he was completely aroused—surprising considering the condition of his head. Yet there was no help for it. The thought of a wet, soapy Olivia was as erotic a fantasy as he’d ever known.

  He shouldn’t have sent her away.

  That was ridiculous. She’d had a trying evening, in more ways than one. They both needed their rest.

  Yet he must continue his tutoring of her. He must train her well in her own sexuality. He must draw all her deepest responses out and make her open to nearly anything.

  Do I have your word, Olivia? Will you wait naked for me, with nothing but the candlelight touching your skin?

  Ah, well, there you had it. He couldn’t very well be the cause of her breaking her word, could he?

  He threw back the covers and stood. His headache was easing, likely because all the throbbing had been diverted to other areas.

  He pushed the footstool aside and entered her room, looking eagerly toward the fire. The tub was there, but the used toweling and the wetted floor meant he’d missed his chance.

  “Dane? Is your head worse?”

  Her concerned voice came from behind him and he heard a rustle as if she moved his way. He held up a hand to stop her without turning.

  “Do you recall what you promised me this morning, Olivia?”

  He heard her draw a breath. “Y—yes. But your head—”

  “You gave me your word, Olivia.”

  A pause. “Yes, Dane,” she said quietly. He heard a heavy rustle, the sound of damp toweling hitting the carpet.

  He turned.

  She stood there, bare and glowing from the heat of her bath and the blush beneath her skin. Her chin was high, but her gaze slid away from him and her fingers twitched nervously at her sides.

  A pagan goddess indeed. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with each broken breath, her nipples crinkled with chill and … arousal? Dane moved toward her, desperately curious. She wouldn’t look at him.

  He reached out one hand and slowly drew his fingertip lightly up her belly and between her breasts. She shuddered spasmodically, her flesh twitching beneath his touch. He felt her breath on his chest where the dressing gown had parted slightly, a small, hot gust on his skin.

  He drew his finger up between her collarbones and up her throat until he could tip her chin back and see her eyes. She shut them as her head tilted.

  “Look at me.” The words were soft, but he wasn’t asking.

  Her eyes fluttered open and his question was answered. Her gray eyes were dark and hot with excitement.

  Dane thoughtfully stroked one thumb down her cheek. She was so many women in one, it seemed. Sometimes shy and diffident, sometimes confident, and sometimes, like now, she was a keg of gunpowder that begged to be ignited.

  “Do you like this, sweet Olivia, this obedience to me in our bed play? Does it arouse you to be mastered?”

  He felt her swallow, her throat convulsing against his hand. She nodded, a tiny movement.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded again, her gaze never leaving his. She felt wordless and acquiescent before his virility and strength. She was under a spell, as if he held her will in the palm of his hand. It was his instrument, and she was merely the music it played.

  “Lay on the bed then,” he ordered softly.

  She did so, aware that he watched her bend and crawl up onto the counterpane. Even her natural shyness could not compete with the thrilling command in his deep voice.

  She lay down on her back. He moved to stand at the foot of the bed, a blond giant framed by the bed curtains. “I want to see you hold your breasts in your hands.”

  Olivia shivered, but she obeyed, covering her breasts with her hands.

  “No.” His voice was soft steel. “I want you to heft them, as if you are proud of them. Hold them high.”

  She hesitated.

  He tilted his head. “Do you wish me to leave?”

  She shook her head sharply. No, she wanted him to be here. She wanted him to stay. She lifted her full breasts in her hands, pressing them high until her rigid nipples pointed proudly to the ceiling.

  “Do you remember my mouth on them last night?” His husky tone proved that he certainly did. Olivia nodded, closing her eyes to recall the wet roughness of his tongue and the sharp pleasure of his teeth.

  “Touch your sweet nipples. Pinch and roll them between your fingers, as if my mouth is on you.”

  With a quiver, she wondered dreamily how far this would go. He would never hurt her. That she believed with all her heart. This … play … was about pleasing them both, but she knew so little. The yawning void of her knowledge only served to titillate instead of frighten. He had much to teach her.

  She couldn’t wait.

  She did as he commanded, rolling her hard nipples between her fingers. It felt pleasant, but it was the thought that he was watching her that sent hot jolts of fire deep into her belly. Her head fell back and she surrendered to his gaze, all shyness gone, excited beyond belief.

  “Open your thighs, my lady,” he said, his voice tight.

  She parted her knees slightly.

  She sensed him putting his weight on the foot of the bed and felt his large, hot hands on her inner thighs. “Open,” he said.

  Her eyes flew open. Did he mean for her to expose her sex, with the candles lighted and him leaning over her? He pressed her knees open wide until she felt the cool air on her dampness.

  Evidently so. Mortification threatened to drown out her arousal and she clenched her eyes shut once more.

  “You’re beautiful, my lady. You’re like the petals of a rose, still yet to bloom entirely.” His hands slid up her
thighs to caress those petals, leaving trails of warmth behind.

  Olivia slowly released her embarrassment, realizing that he meant to stroke her there again, as he had the night before. How lovely. She’d been so hoping—

  He lowered his mouth to her.

  Hot shock rippled through her. Outrageous! Shocking—

  Oh, the pleasure!

  Sweet, liquid, fiery, wicked pleasure!

  She forgot the candles. She forgot the shyness. She forgot the very world itself. Nothing existed but the wild, primal ecstasy provided by his hot mouth.

  Her hands flew to the side and she gripped fistfuls of linens, seeking any handhold to keep her from flying into the night and losing herself in the stars.

  His hands pressed her open, pinning her thighs, his fingertips still parting her for his sinuous invasion. She was grateful for that solid mooring as his lips, tongue, and teeth drove her higher.

  Slick and probing, his tongue entered her, stabbing deep, then flicking up to where her sensitive nub awaited. He kept moving, lips and tongue on her nub, then below, then back, slippery with her wetness, all heat and sensation and delightful circling tongue until she thought she’d die of it—

  Her body convulsed, the explosion dimming that of the night before. Pleasure swept in rollicking waves from the center of her body out to her fingertips, stealing her breath on its way.

  On and on it went, rocketing through her until sheer exhaustion brought her sliding down from that high plane. She lay panting, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings once more.

  Dane rose from her and leaned one shoulder on the bedpost, watching his lady wife come back from the most violent orgasm he’d ever witnessed.

  How could it be that such a proper young woman was so responsive to his merest touch? Even now, she lay sprawled shamelessly on the bed, her thighs wide, her breasts heaving with her panting, her damp hair wild on the pillow.

  She was an erotic picture to be sure and he couldn’t deny some pride in making her thus. His own ignored arousal beat at the walls of his will like a caged beast, his erection twitching mightily beneath his dressing gown.

  It would take the merest parting of the heavy silk to expose him. She was as ready as he could wish, plumped and slippery and waiting for—