by Anne Barton
“I’m learning,” she said breathlessly, “that there’s much more to kissing than I realized.”
“You have no idea,” he growled, still staring, rather unapologetically in her opinion, at her breasts. Not that she minded.
She twined her arms around his neck and played with the soft curls at his nape. “While kissing has proved to be different than my relatively innocent imaginings, I am learning that reality is better.”
A feral gleam lit James’s eyes. He leaned in and slanted his mouth across hers, filling her with heat and passion. He swept a hand over her hip and up her belly, lightly brushing the underside of her breast with his thumb. Just when Olivia thought she’d die of anticipation, he cupped her breast, lightly tweaking her nipple through the thin crepe of her dress.
She kissed him harder, determined to make sure he did not stop. He didn’t. Instead, he turned his attention to her other breast, making her dizzy with pleasure.
The temperature inside the coach shot upward, clouding the windows with a white mist. Her expertly fitted gown became a source of irritation, as it suddenly seemed to be laced too tightly. Her breath came in shallow rasps, as though air were in short supply. She could remedy the situation easily enough. The responsible course of action would be to stop kissing James.
But since she found that option most unappealing, she proceeded to the second—and slightly less proper—course of action.
Which was to reach down with one hand and loosen the ties at the side of her dress.
“What are you doing?” James’s voice was laced with a note of hopefulness that helped to tamp down any embarrassment she should have felt.
“My dress is too tight.” She tugged at the shoulders of her gown, causing the neckline to gape. Cool air immediately rushed over the swells of her breasts, which were still covered by her corset and chemise. Well, somewhat covered. “I didn’t think you’d object,” she said, pleased with the sultry tone she’d managed.
James’s eyes darkened till only a thin ring of green remained. His gaze roamed over her, lingering on her bare shoulders, the lacy edge of her chemise, the deep valley between her breasts. Then he bent his head, kissing the skin she’d exposed.
Every touch of his lips, every caress of his fingers, set her on fire, and a sweet pulsing began in her loins.
This was James. Her James.
Even better, this was no dream.
Oh, she recognized the recklessness of her behavior. Rose would tell Olivia she deserved better than a romp in a broken-down carriage. Daphne would urge her to safeguard her heart. Anabelle would tell her to be practical—after all, in a couple of months James would be on a ship headed for Egypt.
Olivia knew all these things, but she wanted this and recognized it for what it was: a few stolen moments of bliss.
She wasn’t going to make love with him—she wasn’t a complete idiot—but she wanted to learn something of passion, and she wanted to learn it from him. Mostly, she just wanted to live the fantasy for a bit longer.
With a boldness she’d always suspected she possessed, Olivia pushed down her corset and chemise, freeing her breasts completely.
“Jesus,” James whispered, and the hungry look in his eyes was everything Olivia had hoped for. She reclined against the side of the coach and pulled him forward by the lapels of his jacket.
James needed no further encouragement. He leaned over her, capturing one nipple in his mouth and grazing the other lightly with his palm. His tongue, warm and moist, curled around the tight nub, suckling until her whole body thrummed.
She raked her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer and wishing it were just that easy to keep him there with her. Forever.
He stopped and looked up at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re amazing, Olivia.”
His words flowed over her like a silk gown. “If you say so.”
“We mustn’t get carried away, though… er, not any more than we already have.”
“I know.” Momentarily distracted by the spiral pattern he was tracing on her breast, she paused. When at last his finger reached the taut tip, she sucked in her breath and sighed happily. “Do you think we might enjoy each other’s company for a bit longer?”
In answer, he captured her mouth with his and kissed her thoroughly. Maybe Olivia was reading too much into his actions—she’d been known to do that on occasion—but the low growl in his throat and the tender way he cupped her cheek made her think that maybe he wished she belonged to him. In a way, she did—and she always would.
Just not in the way she’d once dreamed.
But she wouldn’t let herself think about that right now. Not while James was branding her neck with kisses and running a hand over her hip and down her leg…
Instead, she would lose herself in the moment and do some exploring of her own. She snaked her hands inside his jacket, reveling in the feel of his hard torso beneath his waistcoat. She slid her hands up, over the smooth muscles of his chest, wishing he were not wearing so many layers of clothes.
She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and halfway down his arms, at which point he was forced to stop kissing her in order to shrug it off. He did seem to be rather in a hurry to rid himself of it, which pleased Olivia inordinately. He unceremoniously tossed it aside, and as he did, a folded piece of paper slid onto the floor. She told herself it couldn’t be too important. Especially not compared to the prospect of running her hands over his broad shoulders and down his muscled arms.
But a very stubborn and vexing part of her brain recalled seeing that rather official-looking folded paper before. After the fight outside the inn in Haven Bridge. It must be important.
“James,” she rasped.
But he apparently thought she’d spoken his name in appreciation of the things he was doing to her—namely, slipping his hand beneath the hem of her gown and chemise and drawing wicked little circles on the sensitive skin behind her knee. In fact, appreciation was not a strong enough word. Her limbs felt loose and delightfully lazy, like she’d drunk too much punch at Vauxhall Gardens.
But the letter still lay there on the floor, refusing to be ignored.
She shifted her body to the left, stretched out her arm, and pinched the corner of the paper between two fingers.
James lifted his head and shot her a languorous smile that stole her breath. “I won’t let you fall,” he said, pulling her firmly back onto the bench. His gaze went to her lips as though he’d kiss her again, but before he could, Olivia waved the letter in front of his face.
The easy smile vanished. As though the coach had been transported to the tundra, James’s eyes turned icy and his body stiff. “How did you get that?” His tone stung.
“I picked it up. Off the floor,” she said dryly.
He snatched the letter from her, sat up, and quickly stuffed it into the back waistband of his buckskin trousers. “Damn it.”
Wincing, Olivia sat up, too. “What’s wrong?”
James shook his head slowly, as though their state of half-undress and the personal articles strewn about the cab confounded him. He closed his eyes like he wanted to erase the scene from his mind.
Erase her from his mind.
Was she always to be a source of regret for him?
“Here, let me help you,” he said, pulling her sleeves onto her shoulders and smoothing the skirt of her gown over her legs. He was in control once more—polite and decorous. Infuriatingly so.
“I can manage,” she said, borrowing his chilly tone. While she tucked herself back into her gown and tightened its laces, he shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and moved down the bench a bit, giving her more space.
What the devil had just happened?
“How is your foot feeling?”
Her foot? Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her skin tingled from his caresses, and at her very core, she ached with desire. But he inquired after her foot?
“It’s fine, I think. No worse than before.”
“Excellent.” He sat back and looked out the window. “The rain’s let up a bit.”
Oh no. She was not going to let him pretend that the last half hour—or had it been more?—had never happened. However, she couldn’t quite bring herself to discuss their relationship… or lack thereof. She decided on a different tack. “Why do you carry that letter around with you?”
James dragged his hands down his face. “I can’t discuss it with you.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a business matter.” His words were clipped, as though he wished to snuff out the conversation.
Well, she wasn’t going to be easily snuffed. “It looks like a letter.”
He shrugged. “It might be.”
“It might be? You don’t know? You’ve been carrying this thing around with you for days.”
“Why would you think that?”
“It has fallen out of your jacket on at least two separate occasions. If it’s really that important, you might consider taking greater care with it.”
“It’s important.”
“You are confident of that, even though you have no idea what it is.”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Olivia. It’s personal.”
“You said it was business before. Now it’s personal?”
James leaned his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. “Yes.”
“I see. The letter—or whatever it is—is of a personal nature. I have no right to ask about it, even if you did have your hand up my skirt a few moments ago.”
His head snapped up. “Jesus, Olivia. You make it sound so tawdry.”
“Forgive me,” she said with mock horror. “Do tell. How would you describe our trysts?”
James heaved a sigh. “I care for you. I respect you.”
“You have an odd way of showing it.”
“I know. You deserve better, and there are things we need to discuss… but I’m not at liberty to do so yet.”
“This sounds very mysterious, James.” In truth, it sounded like an excuse.
He turned to her, and taking her hands in his, said, “I have not behaved like a gentleman.”
“I haven’t behaved like a lady.”
He smiled weakly. “I haven’t been completely forthcoming. When you find out the whole of it, you may want nothing more to do with me. And I certainly wouldn’t blame you.”
Olivia couldn’t imagine wanting James out of her life any more than she could imagine wanting hot chocolate out of it. Whatever his secret was, it clearly tortured him. The fine lines on his forehead were creased in concern, and shame clouded his beautiful green eyes. She thought she knew all of his secrets, but apparently he had a few more.
“I know you’re not perfect,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not perfect for me.”
James raised her hands and pressed his lips, warm and moist, to the backs of them. “Wait and see.”
Though rather weary of waiting, Olivia nodded.
There was one matter, however, that simply could not wait.
Chapter Eleven
Unearth: (1) To dig up an artifact buried in the ground. (2) To reveal something hidden deep, as in
There was no telling what pain the letter’s contents might unearth.
I’m not certain how to state this delicately,” Olivia began, “but I’m afraid I must excuse myself for a few moments.”
James shot her a puzzled look. “Why would you—” His eyes widened. “Oh.”
She had lent her cloak to Hildy, but no matter. The torrential rain had given way to a light sprinkle. And truth be told, she could use a little cooling off. She scooted toward the door, but unfortunately, James blocked her path.
And he showed no sign of giving way.
“The coachman could return at any time now,” he said.
“Or we could wait here another hour,” she pointed out.
James scratched his chin, making Olivia recall the sweetly abrasive brush of his jaw along her neck. “You cannot walk on your ankle.”
“I did earlier.”
“And how did that feel?”
Like a blacksmith had laid her foot on an anvil and lowered his hammer on it. “Fine.”
He arched a brow.
“I managed.”
“Yes. You always do,” he said. “But you might try leaning on other people once in a while.”
“And you want me to lean on you? For this?”
“You don’t need to lean. I’ll carry you.”
Olivia imagined James slinging her over his shoulder, traipsing across a muddy field, and depositing her beside a shrub suitable for her purposes. She could think of few things more horrifying. “I would prefer to do this on my own.”
He stared at her for several moments, and Olivia wondered if he would indeed let her pass. Then he exhaled slowly. “Very well. But at the very least you’ll need my help getting over the fence.”
Good Lord. There was a fence? “Thank you,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
James opened the door of the coach and backed out of it as though he were afraid to take his eyes off Olivia, even for a second. She slid down the bench toward the door and grasped the side of the coach, bracing herself as she prepared to put weight on her bad ankle. Recalling the stinging pain of walking on it earlier, she hesitated.
James frowned. “Please. Let me carry you.”
Though it was hard to deny him anything he asked—especially when his soulful eyes took on that pleading-puppy look—she shook her head. “My ankle is just a little stiff from the hours spent in the coach. It will loosen up.”
And with that, she moved toward the door. As she stepped forward, crouched over so as to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling, she carefully balanced on her good foot. When she cautiously tested her right, she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from howling in pain like a wounded animal.
James scowled his disapproval, and before Olivia could protest, he unceremoniously grabbed her beneath her arms and hauled her from the coach. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck as her body pressed against his. Secure in his embrace, she relaxed and surrendered to the attraction that instantly ignited between them.
Slowly, she slid down his body. Her breasts, originally at James’s eye level, traveled over his muscled chest and down his torso. When her feet—or rather, foot—touched the ground, he made no move to release her. Instead, his arms circled her completely, holding her firmly against him. Olivia was transfixed by his perfect mouth and his hungry expression. The mist that fell from the sky did nothing to cool the heat between them, and the evidence of his desire pressed against her belly. Wanton that she was, she leaned into him, reveling in the feminine power she wielded over him.
Cursing softly, he kissed her forehead and loosened his hold. Olivia smiled to mask her disappointment as he looked up and down the road. “Let’s head in that direction,” he said, pointing toward a copse of trees in a nearby field.
Of course, nearby was a relative term. Yesterday, when she had two perfectly good ankles, she would have labeled the small grove as “nearby.” Now it was more like a faraway and distant land.
“Very well.” She did not bother refusing his help—not when a formidable-looking, chest-high wooden fence stood between her and her destination. He wrapped an arm around her and walked slowly, stopping after every few steps to make sure she wasn’t in excruciating pain.
It did hurt, but with James’s help she made it to the fence. They paused there, and while Olivia considered the least embarrassing manner of scaling it, James easily swung his legs over the top and landed like a cat on the other side.
Holding out his arms, he said, “Step onto the bottom rail with your good foot and then I’ll lift you over.”
Olivia eyed him warily. She trusted him to get her over the fence safely. What she doubted was his willingness to allow her to make the rest of the journey on her own. “Fine. But you must promise me that you will remain at the
fence.”
He turned to look at the trees, a good fifty yards away. “That’s a long way for you to walk by yourself.”
“You must promise.”
Muttering under his breath, James nodded and waved her forward. She’d no sooner climbed onto the lowest rail when he scooped her up, one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees. He held her so firmly against his chest that she could feel the steady thump of his heart against her shoulder. The mist had turned into more of a sprinkle, and tiny droplets clung to James’s lashes, making him look like a younger, beardless version of Poseidon.
“You may put me down now.”
He looked at the grove again. “Just a little farther?” He inched his way toward the trees.
“You promised!”
He halted, regret plain on his face, and lowered her gently to the ground, which squished beneath her slippers. “I’ll wait right here,” he said. “If you need me, just call my name.”
“Will you face the road, please?”
With a sigh, James turned and leaned his elbows on the fence.
“Thank you.”
Her leg almost buckled with the first step she took, so she began to hop on her good foot. She had to lift the hem of her skirt, and she shuddered to think how ridiculous she must look. But soon she was too exhausted from jumping to dwell on her embarrassment. And even though hopping caused less pain than walking, it still jarred her foot so that she clenched her jaw each time she landed.
Twice, she paused to rest before continuing on. The bottom three inches of her traveling gown were soaked, and her slippers were so muddy they were beyond recognition. When at last she reached the privacy of the little wooded area, she saw to her needs—an awkward affair to say the least—and leaned back against a large tree to catch her breath.
In the last quarter hour the cloudy sky had darkened rapidly; Olivia could barely make out the shape of the coach in the distance. The muscles in her good leg quivered from her exertions and protested at the thought of crossing the field again. She could have crawled if she weren’t encumbered by skirts.
