The rumors turning the staff against her. The missing rods. The kippers.
She opened her mouth to explain it all to Dane, but the chill in his gaze made her hesitate. She swallowed. “It seems … I believe … I’m being sabotaged.”
His face hardened. “I should have respected you more for taking responsibility for your failure. You’ve made us into laughingstocks and you’ve compromised my … plans.”
Olivia flinched, but raised her head high. “Your plans to manipulate the Prince Regent, you mean?”
Dane went very still, his gaze intent on hers. “What do you know of that?”
Olivia raised a brow calmly while bright hard spikes of humiliation and hurt spun inside her. “You said that all you needed was the right woman, did you not? You and Marcus, and Reardon and Wyndham—you wish to keep an eye on the Prince Regent, even in the bedchamber?”
Dane jerked slightly at that, then only nodded.
Olivia took a breath and shrugged slightly. “Then isn’t that what this ball was for from the beginning? To find the Prince Regent’s new mistress for him?”
He nodded again. His gaze was that of a stranger.
Olivia looked down at her hands clasped before her. She untangled her worried fingers and smoothed the front of her dress. Then she looked back up at Dane.
“Then your plan has worked beautifully. The Prince Regent has invited me to take that position.”
Then she waited, breath stopped, heart stilled. Please.
Tell me no. Tell me you’ll never let me go.
Dane gazed at her for a long, long moment, his face frozen. She could see a glimpse of something wild behind his eyes. For an instant she had hope, for he seemed about to break the bonds of his own will.
Then his gaze cleared and his expression became blank. “If you would be so kind, my lady, it would be a service.”
A service. As if she’d agreed to post a letter for him, or stitch a button on his coat.
Dane was completely calm as he gazed at Olivia. His chest was filled with ice. The pain was gone, as was the conflict and uncertainty within him. He was the Lion … and she was useful to the cause.
Then the Prince Regent fought free of his persistent Royal Guard and came to stand with Olivia. He gazed at Dane with cutting disdain. “I’ve always respected your judgment, Lord Greenleigh. Until now.” He shook his head. “You must be the stupidest man alive.”
Dane was dimly aware of the crowd hanging on every word. He heard them murmur at the Prince Regent’s words, then gasp as George held out his hand to Olivia.
“My Lady Greenleigh, would you care to join my party in the east wing? We are a merry bunch, my friends and I.” He cast a dismissive gaze toward Dane. “I daresay you could use a bit of fun.”
For the past moments Olivia had been focusing her attention on moving air in and out of her lungs. If she had not, she thought she might have stopped altogether.
It would be a service.
She felt nothing. Her heart beat dully in her chest, as if it scarcely cared to keep her alive. Dimly she heard the Prince Regent speaking. He was a sweet man but old enough to be her father. She must be respectful and listen. She tried, but everything seemed to come from far away, muffled and indistinct.
Dane still stood before her, almost in arm’s reach. Even as he crushed her heart, she realized that what he crushed was love.
She loved him. Not adored, not wanted, not desired. Loved. Loved until the pain she’d mistakenly caused him made her own soul ache in sympathy. She loved him. She willed herself to reach for him, to touch him. It might make him real again—
With a jolt, reality snapped back into focus. Dane wouldn’t want her touch. He’d made it more than clear that he didn’t care at all.
She loved, but she was the only one. No surprise there, for he was Dane … and she was nothing.
So she would give him what he most desired, her first and last act of love. She brought her chin up and faced him for the first time. “I suppose I won’t be needing this anymore.” She handed him the fifth rod and then turned to George, who still extended his hand. She curtsied low. “Your Highness, I would love to join your party.”
Rising, she placed her hand in his. They turned without one more glance toward Dane and walked away.
Dane looked down at the thing in his hand. He’d taken it automatically, having been struck by something in Olivia’s eyes.
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t resentful or guilty or embarrassed. She’d looked at him with … understanding?
It shook him, causing a tiny voice within him to doubt. Perhaps you are wrong.
Perhaps she is precisely what the Lion needs.
Dane threw the ivory rod from him. It skittered across the floor and rolled into the watching crowd. Ladies leaped aside and gentlemen scrambled to get out of the way of the outrageous thing.
Dimly Dane recognized that he was going to suffer from their assumptions about why his lady needed such a device in the first place.
She belongs to me.
It seemed quite clear at that moment that before Olivia went away with the Prince Regent or Marcus or whomever she chose next—
He had to have her, just once. Then, and only then, could he wash his obsession from his mind and body.
With that instant of clarity, he moved. Swiftly overtaking the new royal couple before the Guard could stop him, he wrapped his arm about his lost lady’s waist and tossed her over his shoulder. “So sorry, Your Highness, but I believe I owe my lady a wedding night.”
“What—,” Olivia gasped, then struggled in his hold. His shoulder was too broad to dig into her stomach, but his grip was like stone. She could only push herself up by her hands against his back and watch the astonished Prince Regent and other guests disappear from sight.
Dane’s long strides were faster than most men ran. The halls of Kirkall were a blur. By the time Olivia had caught her breath, they were outside.
The Greenleigh grooms, eerily efficient as ever, had Galahad bridled by the time Dane arrived.
He took the unsaddled horse from their protesting hands without a word. Olivia felt him give an easy heave and found herself sitting sideways on the broad white back. Dane was going to carry her off on a white horse?
Girlish fantasies aside, Olivia would really rather be sure of his intentions first.
From a distance.
He let go of her for only an instant, but it was enough to slide off, land lightly on her feet, and take a single running step. Then she found a great arm wrapped about her waist again and her feet left the ground.
And then it was too late. She was perched precariously upon the racing stallion with only two options. Cling to Dane or fall to certain injury at this great speed.
The hard ground would not give her a second chance.
Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure that’s what Dane intended, either.
24
Finally the trees gave way to a clearing. The moonlight fell into it, filling it like a bowl of bright milk. There was a cottage in the center. The thatched roof hung nearly to the ground except where the eaves rose above the low door. Roses climbed the sides of the door, twining together above. It was likely a charming effect in summer, but now the bare, thorny branches seemed threatening.
Olivia had the uncanny feeling that the moment they were inside, the growth would cover the door, locking them in forever.
Dane swept her from the horse and kicked the door open, carrying her away into the darkness within. Forever might be just what she needed to win Dane’s heart.
Once inside, she was deposited on something soft—a bed dressed in sheets that smelled of lavender. He fell upon her, his mouth hot on her neck. She felt the scrape of his beard on the tops of her breasts, the sting of his teeth as he sucked on her skin. She writhed, pushing at him, but he only took her by the wrists and pressed her hands high above her head. If he had been any other man above her, she would have fought to the death to escape … but
he wasn’t any other man.
He was her man, her passionate, desperately alone Viking lord, and no matter what his intentions were, she knew what hers were. She was fighting for her love.
Having her pinned at his mercy only seemed to excite him further. He wrapped one big hand about both her wrists and used the other to tug the bodice of the blue gown low. He reached in urgently, pulling her breasts free to be pushed high by the neckline. He took one nipple into his mouth and wrapped his hand around the other breast, squeezing hard.
She gasped, protesting, so he simply covered her mouth with his own while he continued to tease and torment her breasts with his free hand, his hot, hard hand that took vengeance on her soft flesh. Hard fingers took her nipples between them, pinching sharply, causing jolts of pleasure/pain to run through her. She gasped into his mouth and he kissed her deeply, his tongue penetrating her lips over and over.
Then his hand traveled down her body, over her gown, until he cupped her mound in his big hand. He rubbed her there, roughly but with a knowing touch. The layers of cloth eased his roughness into a heated caress until she felt her body begin to respond. Her hands were still pinned, his tongue still violated her mouth, her breasts were still exposed, her nipples sore and tight in the cold air, and he continued to massage her through her gown.
Dark erotic pleasure radiated from beneath his hand. Her body turned to hot wax in his hands. Her core began to throb and swell with arousal, much to her dismay. She ought not to want this roughness. She ought not to let it have this effect on her. His punishing kiss and his intentionally rough handling of her were meant to scandalize and dominate.
It seemed she was partial to being conquered by her Viking lord.
Oh, she was wicked, just as he said. Wicked and shameless all the way through, for she was going to orgasm with his fingers digging into her, pushing her petticoat inside her, rubbing and pressing and—
She lost control, crying out into his mouth, shuddering in his grasp as her climax swept hard through her, stealing her will and her voice until she was only a shivering creation, formed by his touch.
He was as surprised as she, she realized dimly on her way back down from the heights. His massive erection pressed hotly against her hip and his breath came hard. She seemed to be sweeping him away just a bit as well.
His kiss turned softer, almost wondering, and his hand soothed her now, helping her slip down once more into the moment. He took his mouth from hers and kissed the tops of her breasts more gently, then laid his head upon them. She could feel him fighting for breath, fighting for control, fighting to keep his retaliation foremost in his mind.
She couldn’t allow it. “I want you, Dane,” she whispered to him, to his reluctant heart. “You cannot force the willing. I want you so that I burn for your merest touch.”
He shook his head, burying his face in her breasts. She persisted, for she was fighting with everything she had. “Test me. Press me. Try me in any way you like. You cannot steal what is freely given. You cannot make me beg for mercy.” She rotated her hips, pressing up against where his hand still rested in her lap. “All I will ever beg for is more.”
He threw his head back then, pulling away from her. She reached for him, but he’d moved away. She heard the swift rustle of cloth. Then he was back, his bare skin beneath her hands.
He was wild on her now, sucking her nipples deep into his mouth, pulling her hair from its pins, yanking her gown and petticoats high to press her thighs wide. She surrendered completely, answering his urgency with her own, digging her fingers into his hair as she pressed his mouth down on her breasts. She raised her hips to welcome his touch on her wetness as he slipped two long fingers deep into her.
Then his hand moved away for a moment and came back covered in something cold and creamy that quickly turned warm and slick with her heat. He used it to coat her inside and out, thrusting his fingers in again and again, long after she was well covered. She rode his hand, rocking in a rhythm he set her to, allowing him to do his will on her as long, please God, as long as he did not stop touching her.
He brought her close, then backed off the rhythm. She cried out in protest, but he was merciless. He forced her high once more, only to stop before she hit the peak. She was nearly crying now, desperate for satisfaction, shamelessly begging him for more.
“You’ve never seen what it is you think you want,” he growled. “Touch me now and tell me you want ‘more.’”
He took her hands and wrapped them around himself.
Oh, dear heaven. He was huge and thick and so very hard. He throbbed at her touch, growing more so. Then he pulled himself from her hold.
“I—,” she began.
“I care not what you think of me,” he said. He pressed her back down upon the bed and laid his body between her thighs. The big, blunt tip of him pushed hard against her slick opening “I am demanding my marital rights, my lady,” he said coldly.
He thought she’d been about to protest, to recoil, to pull away in revulsion. He thought he would be forcing himself on her. Her poor darling, so ready to be fended off.
In answer to his threat, she twined her long legs about his hips and pulled his mouth down to hers for a deep, wet, loving kiss. He went very still, profound astonishment positively radiating from him.
“I love you, you phenomenal ass,” she whispered against his mouth. “All I ever wanted was to be your lady.”
His breath caught. She wished they had a candle—and not only so she could feast her eyes on his amazing physique but also so she could see his eyes, to see if there was anything else there behind the desire and the anger and the surprise … any answer at all to her declaration of love.
He said nothing but only slowly, carefully, began to press inside her. The slick, cold hardness of the rods had done nothing to prepare her for feeling her man within her. He was warm and smooth and Dane.
The air left her lungs in a long sigh as he drove slowly, inexorably, within. She felt the sting of flesh stretched too far and hissed slightly. He stopped instantly, holding himself there until she felt her body relax further. She rotated against him, taking another half inch by herself. He followed her signal, pressing into her once more.
She stopped him twice more, each time hoping she would not have to stop entirely. Her body seemed to know what to do, and all she had to do was think about that day, someday, when he would sweep her up into his arms and look at her with love in his eyes. It never failed to turn her protesting flesh to supple submission again. Gradually, cautiously, he filled her absolutely. It was difficult and daunting … and heaven. At last, he was hers.
Dane could not believe it when he felt himself buried entirely within her. It was a dream, a gift, an impossible undertaking that no woman could do, yet she had done it. She still had her limbs wrapped tenderly about him, holding him right where he was.
She’d said she loved him. He willfully dismissed that. Words only, after all.
But this—this came close to breaking his heart with the thrice-damned generosity of it. He felt her tightness ease into comforting snugness yet more as he lay within her, his face buried in her sweet-smelling hair as it cascaded over the pillow. He dared not thrust, though his body trembled with the need to. He dared not think about what it might do to her—
“Move inside me,” she whispered. “I want to feel you come in again.”
She was incredible. Turning his head away with the ecstasy of withdrawing from her, he closed his eyes against the feel of her heated sheath caressing every inch of him, the way her tightness tugged at him with exquisite suction, the way she sighed with loss when he left her—
“Come back,” she called softly.
He cupped her shoulders carefully in his hands and drove inside her once more. He gritted his teeth for control as he forced himself to penetrate her unhurriedly, allowing her body to accept him in its own time.
“Yesss,” she breathed in his ear. “I love how you fill me.”
He
arched over her, his body shuddering with tightly reined desire as he deliberately moved within her. He’d imagined himself thrusting wildly into her, vengefully, without care or concern, yet he found himself highly attuned to her body’s quiet signals. The way she clenched her thighs when something hurt, the way she relaxed beneath him when it pleasured her. The soft break in her breathing, the hint of smile he heard in her words.
He kissed her, unable to resist feeling her mouth open beneath his willingly, welcomingly. The taste and feel and soft, womanly acceptance of her … he could lie in her arms forever.
“Dane,” she whispered to him, “I want more.”
He blinked, startled from his careful rhythm, from the place he’d retreated to in order to control the pounding in his blood. “What more?”
She traced her fingertips down his bare back, her touch like cool fire on his skin. “I want your climax now.”
He shook his head. “I—I cannot. I don’t dare—”
“Well, I do,” she said firmly. She wrapped her calves over his lower back and brought him down into herself, deep and hard. Bright ecstasy exploded behind his eyes even as she cried out sharply.
Dane pulled almost entirely from her, concerned. “You should not have—”
She did it again. The pleasure stole his breath even as she cried out again.
He pushed himself up and away, though her legs still encircled him. “Stop!” he gasped. “You cannot—”
She let out a fierce hoarse sound as she forced him within her once more. “It … doesn’t … hurt,” she gasped. “I want … you.”
Black erotic need nearly stole away the last of his awareness at her words. She wanted him, all of him, fast and hard. It was his deepest fantasy come true. “Wait—” He managed to speak, although it cost him. “The … the cream.”
“Yes.” She released him and he reached for the small pot of sweet tallow he’d used on her before. His desperate hands fumbled it and nearly dropped it in the dark. He caught it in midair by some outrageous good luck and brought it back to where she waited for him. He knelt before her again and pressed it into her hands. “Cover me with it to ease the way,” he told her, his voice husky with the ferocity of his restraint.
Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 02] Page 20
