by Anne Barton
“I would wait for you.” Olivia’s voice trembled. “Till you returned from Egypt.”
“This isn’t just about Egypt,” James said coolly. “You are my best friend’s younger sister. I’ve never been more cognizant of that fact than I am tonight.”
“Why does that sound like a criticism?”
“In coming here, you deceived your family and put yourself in jeopardy. It was a stupid, selfish, and incredibly immature thing to do.”
Until now, Olivia had tried valiantly to imagine she was on a daring and romantic adventure. But James’s words rang true. She hated the thought of worrying her family and would never have resorted to this scheme if it wasn’t her last chance for happiness. For love. “You may be right—”
“No. I am right. From the time you could bat your eyes—which I’d wager was approximately the age of three—you’ve received everything your heart desired. Ponies, fancy frocks, even jewels. Which explains why it’s so difficult for you to accept what I’m saying. And it also explains why we would never suit. I could never make you happy, and you… well, you could never understand me.”
His harsh assertion echoed in the ensuing silence.
Olivia’s eyes welled and her nose stung, but crying would only confirm his low opinion of her. “I don’t think you give me enough credit,” she managed. Yes, she’d been blessed with a loving brother and sister. Yes, she’d been born into a life of wealth and privilege. But she knew heartache. She knew the horror and sorrow of finding her father with a bullet hole in his head. She knew the agony of being deserted by her own mother. People she’d thought were her friends had shunned her in her most vulnerable moment.
But not James. He had been the rare friend who stood by Owen—by all of them.
Yes, Olivia understood far more than he knew.
And now, for the first time in—oh, ever—she needed to put distance between James and her. “You’ve given me much to consider,” she choked out. “I think I should return to my room.”
James’s brows rose a fraction of an inch. “Where you will remain all night?”
“Yes.” She had neither the energy nor inclination to run off again. Whatever the consequences of her actions, she would face them.
He felt the back of his head and winced. “Sleep is a good idea. I hope I have a clearer head in the morning.”
“It still hurts?” Without thinking, she glided to James’s side, placed one hand on his shoulder, and probed his crown with her other hand. His hair felt thick and curled slightly around her fingertips as they skimmed over his scalp. At the back of his head she felt an egg-sized lump.
“Ow.”
“You’re going to have a headache tomorrow.”
“I already do.”
Some of Olivia’s hurt and anger melted away. But not all. “Try to get some sleep.”
She turned to leave, but with three long strides he beat her to the door.
“Let me check the corridor,” he said. After glancing in both directions, he waved her to follow him and led the way to her room.
She withdrew the key from her pocket and did not look at James as she opened the door. “Thank you for defending me in the taproom earlier. I hope your head feels better soon.”
“Don’t worry. It’s hard.” The playfulness in his voice drew her gaze to him, and the heart-stopping smile he flashed made her want to lean into him and press her lips to his.
“Good night,” she whispered.
“Lock the door,” he instructed. “I’ll see you in the morning and decide what to do then.”
Olivia nodded, entered her room, and turned the key in the lock. Hildy had left a small lamp burning by the bed, which was turned down. The maid had curled up on a makeshift pallet on the floor, where she slept soundly.
Guilt niggled at Olivia’s stomach. Poor Hildy had been tasked with preserving Olivia’s reputation—a daunting and unenviable job to say the least. The maid still believed they were going to Aunt Eustace’s cottage in Haven Bridge tomorrow. Olivia did not look forward to breaking the news that Aunt Eustace didn’t reside in the lovely village after all.
James was right. Olivia was selfish and immature—or, at least, she had behaved that way today. His biting words had stung, but the disappointment she’d seen in his eyes would haunt her for the rest of her days.
As quietly as she could, she shed the white muslin gown and slipped a night rail over her head. Then she tiptoed to her maid’s pallet and gently nudged her shoulder.
Hildy propped herself up on an elbow and rubbed at her eyes. “Are you all right, my lady? Is there anything you need?”
“I just wanted to let you know I’m back,” Olivia whispered. “Thank you for trying to protect my good name.”
The maid blinked groggily. “You’re welcome.”
“You know, the bed is plenty big for both of us. Climb up and get under the covers—you’ll get a better night’s sleep.”
“I don’t mind the floor, my lady.”
“I know. But it’s not as comfortable as a mattress. Come, hop in. I’ll turn down the lamp.”
The drowsy maid obeyed, and a minute after her head hit the pillow, she was asleep once more.
Olivia was not so fortunate. James’s words sounded in her head for hours. His low opinion of her wounded her like a hundred little cuts. However, what made the pain worse was that, in spite of all he’d told her, she still loved him.
And she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.
Chapter Six
Olivia’s prediction had come true. James awoke with a headache.
It actually stopped throbbing once he began moving about the sparsely furnished room, dressing, shaving, and pacing. At one point that morning, he’d scrawled out a note to Huntford, informing him of Olivia’s whereabouts.
A minute later, he crumpled it in his fist.
He knew he should send word to his friend, but he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, and he firmly believed that weighty decisions should never be made on an empty stomach.
So, he packed a few tools in his leather pouch, slung it over his shoulder, and left his room in search of sustenance.
He paused in the corridor outside Olivia’s door and listened. Feminine voices murmured, but he couldn’t make out the conversation.
While he stood there, frustrated, it occurred to him that Olivia must be hungry as well. Without much premeditation, he knocked on her door.
The murmuring ceased, shuffling ensued, and the door opened a crack. In the space between the door and the frame, Olivia’s sultry brown eyes blinked up at him. “Good morning.” But her tone belied her words; she greeted him with the enthusiasm one might offer an escort to the guillotine. Her fine brows knit in concern. “How do you feel?”
His injuries from last night’s fight were minor, but snippets of the conversation with Olivia in his room reverberated through his head, proving more bothersome. He’d been too harsh with her, and the truth was, he was in no position to lecture on selfishness and immaturity. “Fine… but famished. Would you like to go for a walk?”
“Very well,” she said with unflattering resignation. “I’ll get my bonnet and meet you outside.”
A few minutes later, they strolled down the village’s main street. James welcomed the chilly slap of morning air on his face, but Olivia wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders. He wanted her to notice the mist that had drifted off the lake and the purple hue of the hills in the distance. He wanted her to notice the intense green of the pastures dotted with dirty white sheep. The beauty of this place never failed to heal him; surely it could make her feel better, too. But she seemed miserable and broken.
He hated that he’d had a hand in that.
Perhaps this morning he could repair some of the damage, maybe even return to the easy camaraderie they’d shared before the kiss on Lady Easton’s terrace. He had to try.
Without preamble, Olivia said, “I told Hildy the truth this morning—that Aunt Eustace doesn’t live
anywhere near Haven Bridge. She was understandably upset.”
“It was brave of you to tell her.”
Olivia shot him a dubious look. “It was only a matter of time before she discovered my deception. And I left the chore of telling our coachman to her—not very brave of me. Terrence shall be fit to be tied.”
James didn’t like seeing her so dejected. He’d never realized how much he’d come to depend upon her cheerful nature and infectious smile.
“Later we will figure out the best course of action,” he said. “For now, try to set aside your troubles.” He sniffed the air, rich with the smells of yeast, butter, and cinnamon. “Do you smell that?”
She turned up her gently sloped nose and smiled ever so slightly. “Mmm. What is it?”
“Breakfast,” he said simply. He pointed at the bakery and offered her his arm. When she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, he was struck by how right it felt to be walking in step with her. He was much too aware of the gentle pressure of her hand, and when she stumbled, the curve of her breast brushed lightly against his arm. Though accidental and completely innocent, her touch stirred him in places that shouldn’t be stirring. Good God.
They walked into the shop and the baker’s flour-smudged face broke into a wide smile. “Mr. Averill, I see you’ve brought me a pretty new customer.”
“I have, indeed,” said James. “Lady Olivia Sherbourne, meet Mr. Fraser—maker of the best hot cross buns in all of England.”
“Everything tastes better here in the Lakes,” the baker said modestly, “as you’ll soon discover for yourself.”
James bought some buns, biscuits, and sweet rolls, confident something in the sack would tempt Olivia. They waved good-bye to Mr. Fraser and walked a little farther down the street to a fruit and vegetable stand. Olivia picked out a couple of ripe peaches, which James paid for and tucked into his leather bag with the rest of their feast.
“I suppose we must go back to the inn,” Olivia said.
“Yes, but not right away.” James steered her toward the pebbled path that he’d walked over every morning since arriving in Haven Bridge. He’d never taken anyone to his favorite spot on the hill, but he wanted to take Olivia. He couldn’t explain why exactly. Except somehow, he knew seeing the dramatic landscape through her eyes would make him appreciate it even more.
She arched a brow at him. “I assumed you’d be eager to send me packing back to London.”
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“No?”
Of course he didn’t want to send her away. “It’s for your own good.”
She sighed. “That is precisely what men say when they want a woman to do their bidding.”
James frowned and stopped to face her. “We’ve already established that you can’t stay. But spending the morning here couldn’t hurt, and there’s a place I’d like to show you—if you’re not averse to hiking up a rather steep path.” Olivia was utterly incapable of declining such a challenge, and they both knew it.
She retracted the hem of her dress a few inches to reveal a pretty pale blue slipper. “They’re not the most appropriate shoes for a vigorous walk, but it hardly matters if they become dirty or worn—I shall have little use for stylish shoes in the convent.”
He caught the hint of her smile and his anticipation of their outing increased tenfold. “Excellent.” Without thinking, he reached down and laced his fingers through hers, tugging her along the path to his lookout. She squeezed his palm lightly, as if to let him know she was his partner for the next few hours, game for anything he wished to do.
A prospect that was exciting—and dangerous.
The rocky path wound around copses of trees and a dilapidated barn before giving way to a narrow dirt path. They were too short of breath for conversation, but her delighted expression spoke volumes. He’d been right to bring her here. Maybe he could repair some of the damage he’d caused the night before, and he and Olivia could go on being friends.
Thoughts of friendship fled, however, when they were about halfway up the hill. They’d grown warm from exertion and the morning sun, and Olivia shed her shawl, revealing an expanse of creamy skin above her neckline. James tried not to stare, but with each step she took, her breasts bounced slightly, which naturally made him imagine her breasts bare and bouncing above him, her head thrown back in ecstasy as though he and she were—
Christ. What was wrong with him?
Olivia harbored feelings for him, but that didn’t give him the right to fantasize about her—at least, not like that.
But she had a way of creeping into his thoughts at the oddest times. Like when he examined an ancient fertility statue, or when he heard a lively reel, or when he hovered on the brink of sleep in his bed. And since the night he kissed her, he’d had a more difficult time pushing those tantalizing visions from his mind. Her heavy-lidded brown eyes invited him to kiss her, hold her… and more.
James looked up to find Olivia a few yards ahead of him. “You’re slowing down,” she teased breathlessly. “Can’t you keep up?”
He closed the space between them in five large strides; she squealed in mock fear and hurried toward the summit.
Her bonnet dangled down her back, and several tendrils of chestnut hair worked their way loose from her chignon. The tantalizing curls drew his gaze to her nape and the elegant length of her throat.
Damn. He could no longer deny that he desired her; in fact, desire seemed far too mild a word, like saying a drowning man “desired” air. But one could have a desire without acting upon it, and James was nothing if not disciplined. This was simply a matter in which his mind must exercise control over his body. He’d always had disdain for men who couldn’t hold their baser instincts in check—it was weakness on their part that made them drink spirits in excess, indulge in opium, and squander their fortunes on mistresses.
James would not fall prey to Olivia’s womanly charms.
Even if he did appreciate them.
They reached the crest of the hill, and he drank in the sight of Olivia as she waded off the trail into a grassy field dotted with bright wildflowers. She collapsed happily, her skirts billowing around her.
James followed, tossing his leather bag to the ground before sinking into the soft grass beside her. He sighed at the glorious view—the vivid green slope of the hill before them, the rolling meadows in the distance, and the winding stone walls. “This is what I wanted you to see,” he said simply. “It’s my favorite spot in the world.”
She turned to face him, her cheeks pinker than usual; whether their heightened color was due to heat or strong emotion, he couldn’t say. But he liked the effect.
Her lips parted as though she were about to speak, and her eyes shone as though she were about to cry. She did neither. Instead, she stared at him like she could read his every thought. And if she could, God help him. God help them both.
“What do you think of it?” he asked.
She lay flat on her back and blinked at the bright sky. “Glorious.”
James swallowed. Olivia’s hair was mostly loose, splayed around her head like a woman who’d just been thoroughly pleasured. Her pale breasts strained against her dress, almost spilling out of the top. With a tug, he could pull down her bodice and expose her nipples, lower his head, and curl his tongue around one until it tightened into a hard little nub. With one swift move, he could flip up her skirts, nestle his head between her legs, and lick at the folds of her sex until she writhed and moaned with pleasure.
Olivia sighed, apparently oblivious to the wicked nature of his musings. She patted the ground beside her in invitation. “You must try this.”
Yes, most definitely oblivious.
Nonetheless, he stretched out on the soft earth beside her. Their bodies did not touch, but the inch that separated her arm from his fairly crackled with heat.
“I imagine this must be how the gods and goddesses feel at the top of Mount Olympus,” she said. “It’s a little dizzying, isn’t it?
”
If James felt dizzy, it had nothing to do with Zeus and everything to do with her sweet, citrusy scent. But he simply said, “Mmm.”
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. James turned his head to glance at Olivia’s profile. Her eyes were closed, as though she were savoring the warmth of the sun upon her face. He took the opportunity to admire the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the thick fringe of her lashes brushing her cheek. Her lower lip tempted him with its fullness; he longed to pull it between his teeth and suck lightly—to taste her as he had that night at the Easton ball. His cock strained against the front of his buckskin breeches and he shifted onto his side, hoping the tall grass might conceal his lust.
Olivia’s eyes fluttered open and she, too, rolled onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow. “How did you find this place?”
James shrugged and endeavored not to stare at the swells of her breasts, pressed enticingly together. “I just happened upon it.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me.”
There was a lot more he’d like to share with her. Lying among the flowers with Olivia, it seemed as though they were miles from anyone else. How easy it would be to forget that she was Huntford’s younger sister. And that he was leaving for Egypt in a couple of months.
And that she deserved better than him.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said sincerely. “I almost forgot about our breakfast. I promised you the best hot cross buns in England, and I never forget a promise. Come, I’ll escort you to the table.”
“Table?” She sat up, eyes sparkling.
James stood, took her hand, and helped lift her to her feet. Scooping up his bag, he said, “This way.”
He led her to the large, flat rock that overlooked the fell. She easily scrambled onto it and sat with her feet dangling over the edge.
“The view from your dining room is breathtaking.” She splayed her palms over the rough stone. “It’s pleasantly warm. Almost makes me want to take a nap.”
“Not yet,” James said. He withdrew a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and laid out the sweets from the bakery as well as the peaches, which he sliced with a knife. He’d thought to bring a canteen of tea, but no cups, and the tea was tepid.
