by Anne Barton
Hildy smiled gratefully. “You’re very kind, my lady.” She flung the cloak around her shoulders and scooped up her small bag. “Terrence and I will hurry to the village. He’ll return with help in no time at all.”
Olivia squeezed the maid’s hand. “Be careful, Hildy.”
With a bob of her head, she ducked out the door, and Olivia was alone.
For about three blessed seconds.
The door burst open, and Olivia slid to the left so that James didn’t have to climb over her leg when he took his seat on the bench opposite hers. Unfortunately, he mistook her meaning and deposited himself—his large, wet self—on the seat directly beside her.
“Hildy and Terrence are heading down the road, horses in tow. They are bound and determined to rescue you as soon as possible. I’m not certain whom they regard as the greater threat—the highway robbers or me.”
Olivia tried to ignore the fact that she was alone with James. She’d spent the better part of a decade trying to arrange just this sort of thing, and now that she’d managed it—quite by accident—she wished she were anywhere else.
Because in spite of his determination to leave his family, his friends, and her to go dig up mummies, she still cared for him.
The rich, deep sound of his voice melted her insides like butter. One sideways look from his green eyes stole her breath and her good sense.
She was in trouble.
She knew it.
And if the hungry look James cast her way was any indication, he knew it, too.
Chapter Nine
Observation: (1) A scientific notation regarding the details of a site or artifact. (2) A judgment based on one’s experience, as in
In her observation, James’s backside was unparalleled both in firmness and in shape.
James had no intention of ravishing Olivia.
The problem was that when he was around her, he had a habit of doing all sorts of things he didn’t intend.
“There’s every possibility a passing carriage could stop and lend us assistance,” James said. If he reminded himself of that fact, maybe he’d be less inclined to give in to the temptation to kiss Olivia.
She cast him an indulgent smile. “We’ve seen exactly one other traveler since leaving Haven Bridge, and that was a farmer in a mule-drawn cart.”
“It lacks a certain amount of dignity,” he teased. “But with an ankle like that, you can’t afford to turn up your nose at a perfectly functional—if rickety—wagon.”
“That’s true. Thank heaven we’re not in Hyde Park. Could you imagine me riding down Rotten Row in the back of a cart with my grossly swollen foot propped on a crate of angry chickens? I can see Miss Starling now, seated on a stylish barouche, gaping at me from beneath her lace-edged parasol with undisguised revulsion.” Olivia shuddered. “I suppose I should be grateful that we’re in the middle of nowhere. The only witnesses to my shame are the cows, over yonder.”
James chuckled. “You’ve always been able to find the bright side of an unfortunate situation. I admire that about you.”
She snapped her head around to look at him, eyes narrowed as though she feared he was mocking her. “Truly?”
“Yes. I admire a great many things about you, Olivia.”
She swallowed, working the fine muscles of her neck. “That’s kind of you to say.”
“It’s true. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been full of boundless energy and passion. You’ve always spoken your mind and been easy to talk to. While you really shouldn’t have come here without your brother’s knowledge—”
“Yes, I believe you’ve already mentioned that.”
“—in some respects, I’m glad you did.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, I realize now that I’ve taken you for granted—your lovely smile, your zest for life, and your unwavering loyalty. I’m sorry that I didn’t see it before and that I was blind to the way you felt about me.”
But he hadn’t really been blind to it. On some level, he’d known that Olivia harbored feelings for him, and he’d abused her devotion by basking in it without acknowledging it. Hell, what red-blooded male wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of her adoring glances? Oh, he’d enjoyed the attention plenty. And that made him at least partially culpable for the mess they were in.
“Well,” she said slowly, “for my part, I realized about half an hour after arriving in Haven Bridge that I’d made a horrible mistake. But if I hadn’t chased after you, I wouldn’t have seen the view at the top of your hill or tasted the world’s best hot cross buns, and that would have been tragic.”
He couldn’t have agreed more. And because saying so seemed inadequate, he took her bare hand and kissed the back of it. She gasped slightly but didn’t pull away. That was another thing he adored about her—she never pulled away.
Her skin tasted of rain, lavender, and her. And though he was very, very tempted to trace a path with his lips right up her forearm and beyond, he refrained. “This is just what I mean,” he said. “Here you are, stranded in the countryside with an injured foot, and you choose to dwell on the good things instead of the bad.”
“I see no advantage in talking about unpleasant matters, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have regrets.”
James squeezed her hand tighter. “What are your regrets?” Suddenly, it was imperative that he know. “Will you tell me?”
Olivia sat quietly for the space of several breaths, and he was beginning to wonder if he’d crossed a line, pushed her too far, when finally she spoke. “I regret that I’ve led a frivolous life.”
“What?”
“It’s true. Most of my worries border on the ridiculous—a torn hem, an empty dance card, a nasty bit of gossip.”
“I’m no expert,” James admitted, “but I think all young women worry about such things.”
“No,” Olivia said, shaking her head. “Not my closest friends. Before Anabelle married Owen, she struggled to keep her mother alive and put food on the table for her sister. Daphne can treat most illnesses better than our doctor and still finds time to work at the foundling home. And though Rose is two years my junior, she’s infinitely wiser. With all the time we spend together, you would have thought some of her serenity might have rubbed off on me.” She gave a hollow laugh. “But no. So, you asked me, and now you know. I regret that in my twenty-two years, I’ve done nothing of any import. I haven’t made a difference.”
A denial was on his lips, but he bit it back. If he discounted what she said outright, she’d never believe him. So, he waited a few moments and let the patter of the rain on the roof soothe away some of her angst. Then, very softly and deliberately, he said, “You’ve made a difference to me.”
She had.
Who cared that she had few grand accomplishments to her name? He wanted to explain to her that being a good person was more than enough. That loyalty and commitment to family surpassed a whole litany of good deeds or grand adventures.
Olivia laid her head back against the velvet squabs as though she’d been sapped of all her energy. “Everything is so much clearer now.”
“How so?” His stomach clenched. She was probably going to say she no longer had a romantic interest in him, that she couldn’t imagine why she’d mooned over him for so long. Of course, that would be for the best, and yet… selfish bastard that he was, he hated the thought. Olivia’s adoration had been a constant. Knowing that she was in his corner, no matter what, had made him walk a little taller, puff his chest out a bit more. She’d been a nuisance at times, but even then, she’d made him feel like a king. She’d given him her unwavering devotion.
In return, he’d taken her for granted.
She stared at the ceiling of the cab as though it were a clear, starry sky. “This trip—no matter how ill-conceived—has been truly enlightening. For all the years I was infatuated with you, my one goal was to capture your attention. That was my lofty aspiration. And now that I’ve confessed my feelings to you, I realize how
shallow that goal was. Not that you’re unworthy, mind you,” she quickly added, “but I can’t have all my dreams wrapped up in someone else. I need to accomplish something for myself. How can I expect someone as worldly as you to respect me when I have no real passion of my own?”
Before he could inform her how ludicrous that notion was, she continued. “Fortunately, I’ve an idea—for a project of sorts.”
“I’m sure it’s very noble. But, Olivia, you have my respect. More than you know.”
She went on as though she hadn’t heard him. “It’s nothing so grand, mind you. But this trip reminded me of how much I love to travel outside of London—how much I enjoy the countryside. And I started thinking about the girls at Daphne’s foundling home. Last week, when I accompanied Daphne on her visit, I spoke with several of the little urchins. Did you know that most of them were born in London and have never seen the world beyond the filthy streets of St. Giles? They’ve never seen cows grazing in beautiful green pastures or gone swimming in clear blue lakes.”
“I’m not sure that’s a tragedy,” James said.
Olivia’s face fell, and he wished he could take back his stupid, careless words.
“Perhaps not. However, I still think it would be good for them to see some of the world beyond the walls of the orphanage.”
“Oh, I agree,” he said quickly. “One can only learn so much from books.”
She brightened instantly. “Precisely! I could take small groups of girls on day trips—picnics in the countryside, visits to cathedrals in nearby villages, maybe even a few longer outings for the older girls. What a grand time we would have.” Olivia sighed happily.
“I’m sure the girls would be delighted to escape the confines of the classroom,” James said. “And the country air would do them good.”
“It would indeed. There’s a new orphan—an eight-year-old named Molly—who has palsy. She spent the last two years in an institution for the insane before some kind nurse realized she didn’t belong there and sent her to the orphanage. She’s so grateful to be with the other girls and is already progressing rapidly at learning her tables and letters. But she’s so pale. I think it must have been a very long time since she felt the sunshine upon her face.”
Olivia’s description of the sickly girl reminded him of his brother. It was on the tip of his tongue to say so, but then he remembered.
James didn’t talk about Ralph. He never had. Not even to his closest friends.
Oblivious to his musings, Olivia rambled on. “I would need Owen’s permission, of course, but I think I could convince him to lend me the use of the coach and a footman or two.”
James was about to point out that she hadn’t worried about seeking Huntford’s permission prior to coming to the Lakes but thought better of it. He didn’t want to say anything that would dim the light radiating from her beautiful face. “Your idea sounds splendid to me. Any reservations Huntford may have shall be no match for you.”
Olivia grinned. “I can be very persuasive. But sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be. It seems I shall be forever at Owen’s mercy.”
“At least he is fair. And he has never been able to deny you or Rose,” James added.
“He’s a wonderful brother. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. However, I am an adult.” Olivia sat up a bit straighter in her seat. “I don’t see why I must beg his permission for every little excursion.”
James brushed a hand over the front of his jacket, ensuring that Olivia’s letter was still tucked deep within his breast pocket. He could feel the paper beneath the damp fabric. Suddenly, it seemed to weigh as much as the sarsen stones at Stonehenge. Why had Huntford implicated him in what was clearly a family matter? The more time he spent with Olivia, the more he realized the right course of action was to give her the letter.
The problem was, the decision wasn’t his to make.
James knew one thing for sure—the moment he saw Huntford, he would hand the letter over to him and demand that he give it to Olivia.
“I’ve no doubt you’ll accomplish whatever you put your mind to. And I don’t mind telling you that I’m a little jealous of those girls for getting to spend idyllic days in the country with you.”
Olivia snorted. “I should think you’ve had quite enough of that. Besides, what appeal could sheep-filled pastures hold when compared with the adventures that await you in Egypt?”
The appeal lay less in the pastures than in the woman who sat beside him. Specifically, it lay in the petal-smooth skin of her cheek, the plumpness of her lips, and the ripe curves of her body.
“As eager as I am to explore Egypt and study its ancient civilizations, England has much to recommend it in the here and now.” He squeezed her hand, hoping his meaning was clear.
Olivia did not respond but only gazed out the window. If he was not mistaken, however, a faint blush stole up her cheeks.
“How does your ankle feel now?” he asked.
“Like someone dropped a pianoforte on it.”
“You should have told me earlier, you know, so we could have had a doctor look at it.”
“I wish Daphne were here,” she said. “She’d go pick some herbs, mix up a poultice, and have me frolicking through the fields in no time.”
“I’d like to see that. Not the poultice, but the frolicking.”
A rumble of thunder in the distance shook the coach, and a look of alarm crossed Olivia’s face. She grasped at James’s arm and clung to him for a quick, splendid moment.
“Forgive me,” she said, clearly embarrassed. “I was just startled.”
“Don’t apologize.” He moved closer and eased an arm around her shoulders. “You’ve had a tiresome couple of days. Why don’t you lean your head on me and rest? I promise not to tease you if you snore.”
Olivia eyed him warily but accepted the invitation. Tentatively, she laid her cheek against his shoulder, and the clean scent of her hair filled his head. He lifted a long loose strand from her neck and curled it around his finger, loving the silky feel of it. Gradually, the tension seemed to flow out of her, and her body nestled against him, warm and pliant.
The rain pelted the roof harder and the thunder grew louder and more frequent. A few drops managed to find their way through the top of the door and plunked onto the floor with tiny splashes.
Olivia gave a tired sigh. “What a mess I’ve gotten us into. How did I bungle things so terribly?”
“The broken axle isn’t your fault.” He caressed the top of her arm, which, of course, made him want to caress more of her, but he refrained. “And I will tell you this: if I must be stranded in a coach in the middle of a storm, there’s no one I’d rather be stranded with.”
She turned her face up to his and slowly blinked her beautiful brown eyes. “Truly?”
Damn it. He was going to kiss her.
It would have been impossible not to.
Chapter Ten
Blast. She was going to kiss James.
Olivia had promised herself she wouldn’t, but how could she not?
The spark in his green eyes sent delicious shivers through her limbs, and she melted into him. When he leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers, she was lost. She took shallow breaths, as though the slightest movement might break the tenuous, wonderful spell between them.
“Olivia,” he whispered as he lowered his lips to hers.
Though they’d kissed before, this… this was different.
This was the kiss she’d waited for her whole life.
He began gently, as though she were a rare and fragile treasure he couldn’t believe he’d had the good fortune to find. His lips brushed lightly over hers—testing and tempting her, promising something more.
She closed her eyes in order to better feel his breath upon her cheek, his fingers in her hair, the solid pressure of his arm behind her. When he parted her lips with his tongue, a sigh escaped her and he swallowed it, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.
Olivia did not resist
him; she couldn’t if she tried.
This kiss didn’t start out of drunkenness or pity or desperation.
She’d seen the hunger simmering in James’s eyes and heard the admiration in his voice. He wanted this kiss.
And damn it all, she did, too.
In fact, if lightning were to strike the coach or a flood were to carry it away this very moment, she and James would not have been deterred from this kiss. This breathtaking, knee-buckling, heart-stopping kiss.
He tasted just as she remembered—warm, cinnamony, and male—and she eagerly met every thrust of his tongue, drowning in a heady rush of desire. Though she longed to wriggle closer to him, her right foot was still propped on the opposite bench, making her leg a barrier between them.
Sensing her frustration, he gently lifted both her legs and laid them across his lap. “Much better,” he murmured in her ear, sending sweet tremors through her body. “This is madness, Olivia, but I can’t help myself.”
“Nor can I.”
He blazed a trail of kisses down her neck and across her collarbone to the hollow of her throat, where she felt her pulse race wildly. His hair tickled the sensitive skin of her neck; laughing, she lifted his face to hers.
“I dreamed of kissing you many times.” Her cheeks warmed at her own boldness. “But my fantasies were always more picturesque.”
James shot her a wicked grin, making her heart skip a beat. “How so?” he asked.
“For one thing,” she began, “we were usually indoors.”
“Why, I’m disappointed at your lack of imagination. Indoors is so… predictable.”
“I may have imagined one or two kisses out of doors,” she admitted, “but in those cases, clear, starlit skies were overhead. Not thunderheads.”
“Sounds dreadfully boring,” James said, a bit distractedly. His heavy-lidded gaze had drifted to the expanse of skin above Olivia’s formfitting gown.
“I would not have deemed them boring, but I had no basis for comparison then.”
“And now?” With a calloused fingertip, he idly traced her low-cut neckline.
