by Anne Barton
He grinned. “How refreshing. Even as a girl, you always seemed to find trouble. Remember the time you managed to climb into the stable with the foals and couldn’t get—”
“Don’t,” she snapped.
“Don’t what?” He’d been trying to put her at ease so she could say whatever it was she needed to say. She seemed less than grateful.
“Don’t treat me like Owen’s little sister.”
Holy hell. James drained his glass in one gulp and set it on the bench.
“If you don’t want to be treated like a child,” he said slowly, “stop acting like one. Start by telling me why you brought me out here.”
Olivia moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. It didn’t help. Her mouth was as dry as a dust rag. “I needed to speak with you privately.”
James’s mossy-green eyes flashed a challenge. “I’m listening.”
Her pulse raced madly. This exchange was not going at all as she’d hoped. James was supposed to have detected the tremor in her voice and taken her hands in his, smoothing the pads of his thumbs over the backs of her gloves. By now, he should be gazing at her with concern and a healthy dose of appreciation for the revealing neckline of her gown.
But his strong arms were crossed and his normally full lips were pressed together in a thin line. He had the look of someone who had requested tea an hour ago and was still waiting. Not thirsty so much as… exasperated.
Panicked, she considered making up an excuse for her behavior. She could say she wanted to buy a gift for Owen and Anabelle’s new baby and was considering a puppy. Surely James must have an opinion on that—
“Olivia.” The impatience gave an edge to his voice, but she also heard a hint of compassion, and it propelled her forward.
There would be no dipping her toe in the water. The only way to proceed was to hurl herself in—even if it was way over her head.
She swallowed hard and looked directly into his beautiful eyes. “I love you.”
James blinked once. He wore the disoriented expression of someone who’d been woken in the middle of the night—and was not happy about it. “What do you mean?”
Olivia took a deep breath. “It happened in the summer of 1807, when you visited my brother at Huntford Manor. Owen preferred to spend summers with his friends, but Father insisted he spend at least one week with us, and he always brought you. I was eleven years old that summer, and one day I wanted to fish with you and Owen but he said I couldn’t because I would only scare the fish and annoy him. I refused to leave—”
“Of course you did,” James mumbled.
“So you remember that day?”
“No. Please, go on.” He picked up the glass beside him and looked at the bottom forlornly.
“Owen threatened to throw me in the river if I didn’t return to the house.”
“Let me guess.” James dragged a hand through his hair, leaving it charmingly mussed. “I championed your cause—bloodied your brother’s nose so you could have your way.”
“No. Even better. You gave me a chance to prove myself. You said that if I could bait my own hook with a live worm—without squealing—I should be allowed to stay and fish. Otherwise, I had to go.”
“And how did you fare?”
“I succeeded. Well, Owen tried to say that it didn’t count because of the retching—”
James cringed. “You didn’t.”
“A little. But you said that retching had not been prohibited by the agreement, so I must be permitted to stay and fish.”
“I see.” He looked over his shoulder toward the terrace. “So, I gather you wanted to express your gratitude, and now you have. Excellent. Shall we return to the ballroom?”
With a boldness that was shocking, even for her, she placed her hand on his leg. More precisely, his very hard and muscular thigh. “I haven’t told you everything.”
His gaze flew to her hand and remained there as he said, “I’m not certain we have time for the entire story, Olivia. We’ve been out here for a quarter of an hour and you’re still in 1807.”
She angled her head so that he was forced to look into her eyes. “I’ve waited ten years to tell you how I feel. Please, let me finish.”
James placed a palm over her hand—the one still on his leg—and a delicious warmth traveled up Olivia’s arm and throughout her body, leaving her breathless and tingling all over.
“If someone discovers us alone out here,” he said softly, “your reputation will be shattered. Also, your brother will skewer me on the spot. If you feel that there’s more you must say, we can arrange another—”
“This won’t take long.” She could feel him retreating and doubled her resolve. “I didn’t fall in love with you that day, but I started to. Every summer I learned more about you, and you always made me feel important—like I was more than Owen’s bothersome little sister. I lived for the moments I would see you again.”
“You were young,” James said. “It was infatuation.”
Angry tears sprang to her eyes. “Then why have I waited for you? Why am I devastated at the thought of you leaving for Egypt? Why do I dream of you every single night?”
James stood and dragged his hands down his face. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Olivia leaped off the bench and stood before him. “Look at me, James. I’m not a little girl.” She put her hands on her hips for emphasis. “This is not a schoolgirl crush—not anymore.”
“Have you been drinking?”
She heaved a sigh—he would have to ask that. “I may have nicked a few sips of Owen’s brandy earlier today. But that was hours ago.”
“You are incorrigible. Do you know that?”
She fingered the long curl that had been artfully arranged to fall over her right shoulder. “I can see that I have shocked you for the second time this evening, and I’m glad.”
He clenched his jaw, and she longed to touch the faint shadow of stubble along his chin.
“I have half a mind to march into that ballroom”—he pointed behind her—“and inform your brother that he needs to find you a chaperone and tether her to you for the remainder of the season.” His broad shoulders strained at the confines of his jacket each time he waved his arm for emphasis.
Olivia inched closer to him, so that only a breath separated her chest and his torso. The one she had seen in all its naked glory. He smelled like leather and ink and pure male.
“You won’t do that,” she said.
A feral smile lit his face. “Oh yes, I will.”
Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. She knew what she must do.
Before she could lose her nerve, she threw her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe.
And she kissed him.
Chapter Two
James inhaled sharply as Olivia’s body collided with his. Her hands locked behind his head and she pressed her lips to his.
He grabbed her by the elbows and ducked out of her embrace. “What the hell are you doing?”
She took two steps back and pressed one hand over her mouth, the other over her belly.
“This is madness,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
His blood was boiling—and not from desire. How dare Olivia spoil their friendship? Things would never be the same between them now. No more playful banter, no more gentle teasing. She’d ruined everything. Including his lifelong friendship with her brother.
And if there was one thing he didn’t need right now, it was a scandal. Or melodrama of any sort. Nothing that would interfere with his plans to travel and explore.
“I’m going to pretend that you didn’t do that,” he said carefully. “In fact, it never happened.”
Her chest heaved above the neckline of her gown, which was much too revealing now that he thought on it. He was shocked that Huntford let her out of the house in that pitiful excuse for a dress. She looked as though she might cry. And she still hadn’t spoken a word since he pushed her away.
He counte
d to ten in his head and let the anger seep out of him. Somehow, Olivia had gotten the wrong idea. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to firmly but kindly inform her that while he was flattered, he was in no way able to return her affections.
Above all else, he had to quickly escort her back to her brother’s side.
He let out a long breath, grabbed her by the hand, and pulled her back to the bench. “Let’s sit.”
For once, she did as he asked. She was slightly more composed, but her lower lip trembled and her chin was puckered like a strawberry. He felt as big as a snail.
“I’m sorry for the way I reacted. You caught me off guard.”
“I understand.” She gazed at her hands in her lap.
James hated seeing her so defeated. Where was the spunk he’d always admired?
“I… ah… am very flattered that you would—”
“Brazenly launch myself at you?” The tiniest, most reluctant smile escaped her lips.
He chuckled, and the tightness in his chest eased. “As brazen launches go, it was impressive.”
She giggled. “Thank you. If you were any less sturdy, we might both have landed feet-up in the hedges over there.”
Ah, she was a good sport, but the hurt still showed in the tightness around her mouth.
James slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I am truly sorry. Most men would welcome the attention of a beautiful young lady, but I—”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
Had he said that?
She sat up straighter, as though his answer were very important.
“Of course you are.” It was true. “And you deserve to be properly courted by the right kind of gentleman.”
Olivia laughed, a throaty, lusty sound. “Alas, I’ve yet to be properly courted by anyone. Maybe because I’ve been blind to anyone but you.”
He rested his chin on the top of her head and inhaled the sweet scent of wildflowers.
“I don’t deserve that kind of devotion, and I certainly cannot return it. I’m leaving for Egypt at the end of the summer, you know. I’ll be gone for a couple years.”
She tilted back her head and looked at him. “That’s precisely the reason I had to tell you how I felt. You’ve no idea how much I’ll miss you. I can’t even imagine going so long without seeing you.”
Warmth bloomed in James’s chest. It was nice to know someone would miss him—and not just because he was a damned fine solicitor or a good boxing partner or because he paid the bills. He supposed his mother and brother might miss him a little, but he’d been saving up for years to make sure they’d have all they needed in his absence. Now that he thought on it, they seemed more than happy to see him go.
“You know, I believe I shall miss you, too.” He hadn’t realized it until just then.
“Would you mind if I wrote to you occasionally?” Olivia asked. “I promise I won’t flood you with letters, and you don’t have to write me back if you’re too busy with your artifacts and such. I just want to make sure that… that…” Her eyes welled.
“What?”
“That you don’t forget me.”
Before he knew what he was doing, he took her chin in his hand and smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip. Her mouth opened slightly; he was mesmerized.
Odd, he’d never noticed the perfect bow of her lips or the lovely slope of her nose. He’d never appreciated the way her eyes positively shined with emotion when she looked at him—like she was trying to show him all the things she felt inside.
And now, here they were. Sitting in the moonlight and touching each other. Alone.
A single chestnut curl dangled seductively over her bare shoulder, fluttering softly in the evening breeze. She leaned closer, giving him a glorious view of her round, high breasts and the crease where they squeezed together in the middle.
Blood rushed to his cock, leaving him pleasantly light-headed.
“Kiss me,” she murmured against his thumb. “Just once.”
He shouldn’t. He knew it. But she was melting into him, a soft, silk-clad breast brushing against his arm.
“Please,” she whispered as her heavy eyelids drifted shut.
One brief kiss couldn’t hurt, he reasoned. One kiss, to say good-bye.
He slid his hand behind her head and pulled her toward him, heard her sigh.
For a heartbeat, their noses touched and their breath mingled—warm, forbidden, irresistible. Then his mouth was on hers.
He intended it to be the lightest and briefest of kisses, and it started out in just that way. He brushed his lips across hers, a mere whisper of a touch. But she tasted so sweet that he kissed her again.
Olivia ignited instantly, splaying a hand over his waistcoat and increasing the pressure of her mouth.
Whatever control James had pretended to wield slipped through his hands like a rope without a knot. The kiss went from tepid to searing in three seconds flat.
He speared his fingers through her silky hair and eased her lips apart with his tongue. She gasped, but then met each thrust with a passion that made his heart pound and his cock go as hard as sarsen stone. Bloody hell.
His fingers itched to caress the expanse of skin above her gown, to tease her nipples to tight buds beneath the blue silk. He imagined how beautiful she would look if he loosened the laces at her back and freed her breasts from her corset, baring them to the evening air.
But the croak of a bullfrog snapped him out of his lust-driven haze. The insistent bass reminded him of the time he’d dared Olivia to hold a frog while he counted to twenty.
Of course she had.
Abruptly, he pulled away and stood. “I did as you asked.” He tried to sound unaffected, cool, but succeeded only in sounding like a prig. “Now we both need to return to the ball. Would you like to go first, or do you need a moment to compose yourself?”
Olivia remained seated on the bench. With a dazed stare, she touched a gloved fingertip to her swollen lips. A few more locks of her hair had sprung free. James was about to repeat the question when she blinked as though waking from a trance. “I’ll go first.”
Guilt niggled at his gut like rats chewing through a sack. “If your brother should ask where you’ve been…”
She rose in one fluid motion, shook out her skirts, and smoothed the hair at her temples. “I can handle Owen.”
“I know. But we shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have…”
A languorous, sated glow lit her face. “I’m glad we did. And do you want to know something else? I can’t wait till we do it again.”
Before he could utter a protest—they most certainly were not going to do it again—she swept past him, casting a saucy grin over her bare shoulder.
As James watched her glide through the shadows toward the house, dread settled over him. He had the same awful feeling one gets after blindly stepping in four inches of mud.
But there was one thing he knew for certain—nothing in this world would keep him from going on his expedition. Nothing. And, more importantly, no one.
Olivia slept extremely late the next day—till a quarter past two. Kissing was apparently quite exhausting.
She didn’t ring for her maid but donned a green-striped morning dress, twisted her hair into a knot at her nape, and scurried next door to Rose’s bedchamber. There’d been no opportunity last night to tell her sister about the kiss.
Close to bursting with excitement, Olivia tapped at the door.
“Come in.” Rose sat in a chair by the window with her feet curled under her and a book in her lap. “At last, you’re awake,” she said with a warm smile.
Olivia leaped onto the bed, flopping flat onto her back. Gazing at the ceiling, she said, “What a glorious morning—er, afternoon.”
“You’re rather jubilant. Things went well with Mr. Averill?”
Olivia faced Rose and grinned. “I think you should start calling him ‘James.’ He’s going to be your brother-in-law, after all.” Of course, she was only jesting about that.
Perhaps. But not really.
Rose’s eyes widened. “The meeting must have gone very well indeed.”
“It was an excellent start. Almost better than I’d hoped. He kissed me, Rose. Not a chaste or brotherly kiss, but one full of passion.” How could she even begin to explain such a knee-weakening kiss to her sister?
“What did you do?”
“I kissed him back. I would have kissed him all night if he hadn’t insisted on protecting my reputation.”
“I think that was very wise of him,” Rose said diplomatically.
Olivia sighed. “Gallant, too.”
“Have his plans changed, then?”
Oh right—Egypt. “There wasn’t much time to discuss his trip, but the important thing is that he now knows how I feel about him, and I could tell by the way he kissed me that he must feel something for me, too.”
“Love?”
Olivia sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t think so—not yet. But there shall be time for that. Last night was only the first phase of my plan. At the very least, I’ve managed to persuade him I’m no longer a girl in pigtails.” Deep inside, though, Olivia hoped she’d achieved more than that. Now that she’d tasted passion, she craved it even more.
“I’m delighted to see you so happy.” Rose sat beside Olivia and wrapped a slender arm around her shoulders. “You deserve everything your heart desires.”
Her heart definitely desired James. Other parts of her did as well.
Just then, their lady’s maid, Hildy, bustled into the bedchamber, a tower of fresh bedsheets in hand. “Good afternoon, my ladies. Shall I come back later?”
“No, please stay,” said Rose. “It’s time Olivia and I wandered downstairs for luncheon.”
“An excellent idea,” Olivia agreed. “Maybe we can persuade Anabelle and Owen to join us.”
“Her Grace is in the drawing room, but the duke is in his study with Mr. Averill.”
Olivia’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest, and she squeezed Rose’s arm. Hard. “Mr. Averill is here?”
Hildy placed the new sheets on an ottoman, frowned at the flattened pillows on Rose’s reading chair, and began plumping them. “Indeed, my lady. He arrived just as I was heading toward the stairs. Mr. Dennison said he’d escort him to His Grace’s study.”
