Lady Be Reckless

by Megan Frampton

  “I know just where to go. We can stay there until the storm passes.”

  He took her arm and they ran, ran down the narrow path hand in hand, her heart beating against her ribs, her thoughts filled with a tumult of emotions—I love him, I don’t know who I am, I want this, I want him, I want, I want, I want.

  They ran until she was breathless, and she lagged behind as he pulled her along. They came to the outskirts of Mr. Beechcroft’s property, where Olivia saw a small shed with shutters.

  “There,” he said, slowing his pace and walking briskly. “It’s where the gardeners keep their tools, but they won’t be working today.”

  She bit her lip and looked up at him.

  “But if you have changed your mind, and you want to return to the house, we can do that as well,” he said, his eyes intent on her face.

  “No. I want this.” I want you.

  He smiled, and turned to open the door, allowing her to step inside ahead of him.

  The shed was spare and tidy, a variety of what she assumed were gardening tools hanging on the walls. There was a pile of cloth bags in one corner, and a few chairs set in front of a rough, wood-hewn table.

  The room was dark, and it felt immediately more intimate. As though only they existed here, in this moment. He was Edward and she was Olivia, and that was all there was to them.

  He shut the door and turned to her, taking her in his arms again and lowering his mouth to her lips.

  She didn’t hesitate, but opened her lips to slide her tongue into his mouth, placing her palms on his chest and stroking the firm muscles she felt underneath his clothing.

  She needed to see him again.

  She reached up to push his jacket off his shoulders, sliding the sleeves off his arms without breaking the kiss.

  It was awkward, it probably looked ridiculous, but she didn’t care about that. She just wanted him.

  He smiled under her mouth, and she felt a chuckle in her chest.

  Who knew kissing could be so fun?

  He withdrew for a moment so he could remove his jacket entirely, tossing it onto one of the wooden chairs.

  She raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at his waistcoat. “That too, please,” she said in her most commanding manner.

  “Have I mentioned how much I like it when you tell me what to do?” he replied, grinning wickedly as his fingers went to his buttons. He undid them rapidly, far faster than she would have done, and soon enough his waistcoat was lying on top of his jacket, leaving him only in his shirt and trousers.

  He paused as his hands went to the fabric of his shirt.

  “Why are you stopping? I want it off now,” she said, noting how breathily she spoke. How urgently she wanted him to take his shirt off so she could see him—just him—again.

  He nodded toward her. “I expect there to be some reciprocity in this arrangement. We are equal, are we not? We all deserve what each other has?”

  She felt her lips curve into a rueful smile. “When I have spoken like that in the past, I did not mean about this,” she said, gesturing in the space between them.

  “But it is fair, isn’t it? That we each be given a chance?” He drew the tails of his shirt out of his trousers, exposing a bare swath of skin.

  There was enough light in the shed, thankfully, for her to see the trail of hair that led down his skin into his trousers.

  To there.

  “I suppose in the interest of equality,” she said, turning around so she had her back to him.

  His fingers went immediately to the buttons on the back of her dress, and he worked quickly, his warm breath on the nape of her neck. A curl tickling her skin as he bent toward her.

  A few minutes later—there were far too many buttons, Olivia decided—he’d tugged her sleeves down and she finished the work as his hands went to her waist to push her gown down.

  She stepped out of the fabric as he leaned over to pick the gown up, folding it carefully, his eyes averted from her as he placed it on the other chair.

  And then he was looking at her, and she caught her breath at the intensity of his gaze. She felt hot all over, even though she was standing in her shift and corset, and the air was cool.

  Her fingers went to the ties of her corset, and she tried to undo them, but her hands were shaking.

  “Here, let me,” he said, a knowing smile on his mouth.

  She reached for his shirt, tugging him closer as she felt his fingers brush her upper neck, lower, and then her breast.

  Oh. That felt incredible, and yet there were still layers of fabric between them. What would it be like when his bare palm was on her skin?

  She swallowed against the thickness of her throat.

  “Off,” she said, drawing her fingers, still holding the bunched fabric of his shirt up.

  “Likewise,” he muttered, removing her corset and putting it on top of his waistcoat.

  Leaving her in her shift.

  He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, apparently not caring any longer about keeping his clothing tidy.

  She licked her lips as she looked at him, his chest broad and muscled, his shoulders wide, his waist narrow.

  He looked like a statue of some proud warrior, and yet he was warm, and living and breathing directly in front of her.

  She placed her palm on his chest again, sighing in satisfaction as she felt his warm skin. She slid her fingers over his nipple, smiling as she heard his intake of breath. Doing it again just because it brought both of them pleasure.

  He grabbed hold of her wrists and drew her arms around his body, placing her hands at the small of his back.

  This brought their bodies together, but because he was so much taller than she, they were face to chest instead of chest to chest. She rose up on her tiptoes and buried her nose into his neck, placing kisses on his skin as she slid her hands up and down his back.

  Suddenly she felt him hoist her up so their mouths met again, and he was kissing her savagely, ruthlessly, and she loved every moment of it. His tongue possessing her mouth, his hands wrapped around her, his body holding her close.

  Lower still, a certain part of him making its presence known. Feeling that pressure created a soft ache inside, a warm, prickly feeling dancing on her skin.

  And then his hand was curled around her breast, his finger finding her nipple. He ran his palm over it and she gasped as the sensation flowed through her body.

  “You like that,” he murmured against her mouth. It wasn’t a question.

  “Mmm,” she replied, sliding her fingers from the small of his back to rest on his hipbones.

  “Are you certain about this?” he asked, pressing forward there so it was clear what he meant.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said, holding her breath as she put her hand right there, right where he was so large and firm and—and large.

  “God, Olivia, you’re killing me,” he said, only he didn’t sound in pain.

  “Oh?” she replied, rubbing her hand over him. He groaned, and then quickly picked her up, carrying her to the pile of bags in the corner, letting her down to lie against the coarse cloth.

  Standing in front of her, his mixed expression showed desire, curiosity, and concern.

  Still concerned, even though she was here and was a full participant in what they were doing.

  His hands were at his waistband—they stilled as he waited.

  “Go ahead,” she said, sitting up to reach to the hem of her shift, starting to pull it up her legs.

  “No,” he replied, a sly smile playing on his lips. “I want to do that. Wait for me.”

  He undid the placket of his trousers quickly, shucking the pants off his legs with remarkable speed, leaving him only in his smallclothes.

  His male part stood proudly out from his body, seeming as though it was aimed right at her. She nearly giggled at how it looked, as though it were something he had stuck on himself at a right angle.

  “Is something amusing?”

  She
began to shake her head no, then nodded. “It’s just so—so there,” she said, pointing to the object in question.

  He grinned as his hand went there, grasping it and sliding his hand up and down, his gaze intent on her.

  “Oh,” she said in a soft voice as she watched. His hand moved in a steady rhythm, his other hand sliding over his chest.

  There was something so sensual about watching him, but she wanted to be the one to touch him.

  “Weren’t you going to remove this?” she said as she plucked at the hem of her shift.

  He immediately lowered himself beside her, his fingers on her skin, on the shift, lifting it up her body and over her head.

  “I wanted to take my time doing that,” he said, his eyes traveling all over her body, “but I couldn’t wait. I’m too impatient.”

  She swallowed and put her hands on his shoulders to bring his body alongside hers.

  They lay facing one another, his member pressing against her belly, his gaze on her mouth.

  “I want this, Edward,” she said in a soft voice as she slid her hands down his body to grip him as he had.

  “Gladly,” he replied, releasing his hold of her to slide his smallclothes off so they were both naked, lying on the cloth bags in a darkened shed.

  The rain had started, and there was a pleasant low hum from the drops falling on the roof.

  It felt even more as though only they existed in the world. It was a precious, wonderful moment she never wanted to stop, even though she knew its end was inevitable.

  But meanwhile, she could savor it. Savor him.

  And this. All of this.

  Chapter 22

  Act on your desires.

  Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Being Reckless

  Edward held his breath as Olivia touched him. His cock throbbed, hard and insistent, in her hand.

  She ran her fingers up and down his shaft, tentatively at first, and then curling her hand around him in a delicious grip.

  “That’s it,” he said, his fingers splayed out on her skin just below her waist. “A little tighter,” he said, and she held him tighter, making him groan his satisfaction.

  “This isn’t hurting you?” she said, more in observation than a question.

  “No,” he said, sliding his fingers down her belly to where his cock most wanted to be. She gasped and stilled her hand, and he paused as well.

  “Go on,” she said, adjusting her hips so that she was more open to him. He put his fingers into her nether curls and then slid his fingers through, finding her already warm and wet.

  “Oh,” she moaned, laying her head back against the bags, moving her body restlessly as he rubbed the little nub at the top of her sex.

  “You like this,” he said, leaning forward to lick her neck, then up to her ear, and then he found her mouth, plunging his tongue inside as forcefully as his cock wanted to be inside of her.

  She returned to stroking him, and he urged himself into her hand, relishing the friction and how he could feel her breathing get faster as both of their hands moved on one another.

  She was quivering under his touch, and he tried to focus on her, focus on her pleasure, on feeling how her body changed the closer he brought her to her peak.

  Because she was heading for it, he could tell—her nipples poked sharply against his chest, her breathing was rapid, her grip on his cock was tight.

  He lifted his mouth from hers and looked at her, at her eyes unfocused and lost in desire, at her moist lips and flushed cheeks.

  He’d thought her beautiful before, but in the throes of passion, she was glorious. Truly the sparkling woman he’d been enchanted by after that regrettable proposal.

  And then her eyes closed, and she cried out, her whole body stiffening as she clenched her legs around his hand. He could feel the pulse and tremor of her orgasm, and he slowed his hand, petting her there as she gradually emerged from the bliss.

  “Oh my,” she said at last, opening her eyes to look at him. She looked dazed, likely as dazed as he felt.

  “Oh my indeed,” he replied, smiling in satisfaction.

  She took a deep breath, and then she blinked slowly. “I didn’t know.”

  “You hadn’t—?” The thought that she might not have found a way to pleasure herself was surprising. His fierce warrior queen not doing for herself what he had just done for her?

  “No, I . . .” And then she blushed more vividly, and he felt a ridiculous swelling in his chest at realizing he’d given her her first orgasm.

  Although that wasn’t absolutely correct; he would not have had the opportunity had she not been so willing, so open, and so receptive to his touch.

  “You must be,” she said in a halting voice, her eyes darting down to where his cock pressed into her side.

  “Yes, but we can wait.” He placed his hand on top of hers, which was still holding him in a loose grip. “Although if you feel as though you are up to it,” he said, a teasing suggestion in his voice.

  “Of course I am,” she said in her usual strong tone. And she began to stroke him up and down again, making him shudder. He was so close, he was—

  “We should think about marriage.”

  The words snapped him out of his sensual haze.

  “What?”

  She shrugged, looking almost abashed. Which would be odd if their entire circumstances weren’t so odd. “Your father wants you to be married. I know he is ill, and I know how much you love him.”

  Nothing about if she loved him.

  “My eyes were opened this afternoon,” she said in a low voice. It sounded to him as though she were shouting. “I can’t do everything I want. I want to be able to do as much as I can. Together we can do so much, and you can help guide me, since you know these people so much better than I do.”

  His mouth gaped open at her. His cock still in her hand, his heart, apparently, not worth mentioning.

  “And this way your father will be happy, and we can continue all of this.” And she released him to gesture around them, the ridiculousness of the situation making him snort.

  “All of this?” No mention of how she felt about him. Just that she had become aware she couldn’t do all of it—whatever it was—by herself anymore because she needed some sort of lower-class interpreter, which he was ideally suited for, what with being a bastard. That’s how she thought of him, wasn’t it? She’d never stopped thinking that way.

  “Yes, all of this.” She took a deep breath and raised her chin in that way he’d thought he loved. “I know that it only makes sense for us to get married.”

  He raised himself onto his elbow to glare down at her. “It only makes sense for us to get married?” he repeated. He rose and found his smallclothes, putting them on hastily, finding his discarded trousers and putting them on as well. She hadn’t moved, just stared up at him with a confused expression. “You said precisely the same thing to Bennett. And it worked out just as well.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “As it happens, my father is much improved. I have plenty of time to find myself a wife. Hopefully one who won’t look down on me because of my birth, who loves me as I love her”—dear God, he loved her, why did she have to be so careless—“and who isn’t just reacting because she got her feelings hurt.”

  He regretted those last words as soon as he’d said them, but it was too late to take them back. Her eyes widened, and she got up as well, still entirely unclothed, her whole body seeming to seethe with indignation.

  But she was no more indignant than he was.

  He leaned over and picked up her shift, which he held out to her. She snatched it out of his hands and tossed it over her head, angrily adjusting the fabric around her body.

  “I did not propose because I got my feelings hurt.” She planted her fists on her hips. “I proposed because I know it would help you enormously if you were to marry one of the duke’s daughters. Because I know how much you care for your father, and I know he would be pleased to welcome me as his daug
hter-in-law. Because this”—and she extended her hand to encompass both of them and whatever had just occurred—“keeps happening, and I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose you.”

  She stopped speaking abruptly, clamping her mouth closed.

  “You don’t want to lose me.” He swallowed against the tide of emotion in his chest. “But you don’t want to keep me. Or you only wanted me when it seemed your assessment of yourself fell. Would you have asked me to marry you before this afternoon? Before you discovered you weren’t the invincible do-gooder you believe yourself to be?”

  “I’m not the one who constantly thinks the worst of themselves because of the accident of their birth.” Her words cut to his heart because in some way he knew they were true.

  “But you’re the daughter of a duke, as you say. So you’ve never had to think anything but the best of yourself. Until now.”

  She took a deep breath and opened her mouth again, then shook her head and stepped past him to where her corset and gown lay on the chair.

  He didn’t know what was happening. Why they had gone so quickly from her pleasure to their mutual displeasure. How she had possibly thought that now was the right time to discuss all of this?

  He watched as she picked up her corset and put it back on, tying the laces with unsteady fingers. He stopped himself from going to help, knowing his help wouldn’t be wanted.

  Not now.

  Eventually she just shook her head in disgust, leaving a few dangling strings, and picked up her gown, holding it up so she could put it back on.

  Shaking her body to adjust the fabric, then biting her lip as she tried to reach around to her back.

  “Let me,” he said in a quiet voice. He walked to where she stood and did up the buttons, trying not to touch her skin.

  “Thank you.”

  She turned her head, keeping her gaze on the floor. “I am glad your father is feeling better. I will try to persuade my mother”—and then she chuckled drily—“to go earlier than we’d planned.”

  She didn’t say anything else, just picked up the skirts of her gown and opened the door, closing it softly behind herself as she left him alone.

  He walked to the door also, but didn’t open it, instead slamming his fist against the wall in frustration.