The Duke's Daughters_Lady Be Reckless

by Megan Frampton

  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.

  He loved her. That wouldn’t change.

  But he’d never be with her again.

  Chapter 23

  Say what you mean.

  Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Being Reckless

  Olivia walked slowly back to the house, reliving every moment of what had just happened. How had it all gone wrong?

  There was that amazing feeling as he did whatever he did with his fingers, and then she’d thought that she should just say what she was thinking. Only she probably shouldn’t have.

  She winced as she realized how she must have sounded—presuming he would know more about some people than she because of his birth. And yes, that was true, but that was because she had been so sheltered until recently. Not because his birth was so much lower than hers.

  Although it was, and to ignore that would be disingenuous.

  Had she told him she loved him?

  She reviewed what she’d said, and the sick horror started to grow as she considered her words. No wonder he was angry. She had been, even if inadvertently, proud and condescending. She hadn’t told him she loved him.

  Instead, she’d focused on what they could accomplish together—the things she wanted to accomplish—and that his father would be pleased.

  Mentioning, as though it was secondary, the incendiary attraction between them.

  Damn it.

  She felt tears start to prickle her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Lady Olivia Howlett did not cry.

  Except she was crying.

  Damn it again.

  She spied a small terrace and a door that led back into the house. Hopefully it would be unlocked, and she could slip inside and gather herself together so that nobody would know anything was amiss.

  Keeping her head down, she walked briskly up the three stairs to the stone terrace, reaching her hand forward for the doorknob.

  Please—“Ah,” she said with satisfaction as the door swung open, and she stepped inside.

  Her eyes blinked against the sudden brightness of candles, and she wavered, trying to focus on the room.

  “Olivia?”

  It was Ida, sitting on the floor with an enormous book spread out on her lap.

  “Hello,” Olivia replied, her voice wavering. “I didn’t mean—” And she trailed off, not sure what she didn’t mean. Or did mean anymore.

  “You’re not all right.” It wasn’t a question. The tears threatened to come again, and she looked up at the ceiling, trying to calm herself. She heard the rustle of material as Ida got up to stand in front of her.

  “Olivia.” Ida had hold of her chin and was pulling her face down.

  Her sister was very close to her. Physically, not figuratively. Ida was so distant at times, it almost seemed as though she wanted to keep herself apart from her ridiculous family.

  Olivia couldn’t blame her most of the time. Their family was ridiculous—one sister eloping with the dancing master, the other sister refusing to marry Bennett. Her falling in love with a man who was only barely admitted to Society because of his vast amounts of money. Not that Ida knew about the falling in love part, but she had to suspect it, at least.

  Ida was nothing if not intelligent and observant.

  “What happened?”

  Ida drew her over to sit down on the sofa placed in front of the fire—so similar to the first time she’d met Edward that she nearly sobbed aloud—and made her sit, taking Olivia’s hands in hers.

  “I know I’m not Pearl, but you need help now, and Pearl stayed behind to make sure you made it home.” Ida straightened her shoulders and nodded. “Which you did, but Pearl hasn’t come back yet. No idea where she got up to in this rain. So you’re going to have to tell me what is wrong.”

  It felt so odd to be confiding in Ida, and yet Olivia found herself telling her as much as she’d ever told Pearl—about trying to help Edward gain respectability, finding him a bride, realizing he intrigued her. Not sharing precisely what had happened in the shed, but Ida’s penetrating gaze let Olivia know her sister had figured it out.

  At the end, Ida looked puzzled. “It sounds as though you told him what should be done, but not how you feel. Shouldn’t you have done that?”

  The clear directness of Ida’s words made Olivia want to laugh and cry at the same time. It was so simple, wasn’t it? She should just tell him, and then see what he said.

  “Thank you,” she said as the door opened to admit Pearl.

  “There you are!” Pearl exclaimed. “I waited, just in case you needed to talk.” She frowned, stepping forward to lower her head to stare at Olivia. “You do need to talk.”

  “She does need to talk, but not to either one of us,” Ida said in a brisk tone. “She needs to talk to Mr. Wolcott.” Ida moved to the side of the sofa so that Pearl could sit beside Olivia.

  “Tell me,” Pearl said, her hair damp.

  Olivia glanced over her twin’s head to look at Ida. “Well, as I was saying, I asked him to marry me and he said no.”

  “But he loves you, I know he does. Tell me exactly what happened,” Pearl commanded.

  Olivia took a deep breath. Pearl was going to—correctly—assess that Olivia had said all the wrong things at the wrong time. As Ida had, only Pearl was less blunt than their sister.

  “You can’t say something to him now, at least not before you both have calmed down,” Pearl said after Olivia repeated the story, condescending words and all.

  Olivia wrinkled her brow in thought. “But what if he thinks my not speaking to him means I don’t care? That I actually meant what I said?”

  Pearl shrugged. “It’s better that he think that for a time than that the two of you never have a productive conversation and you end up alone and miserable.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened. “Well, since you put it that way.”

  “And here I thought I was the blunt one,” Ida said, a note of pride in her voice. “I agree with what Pearl says, you have to wait until you have figured out what you want to say. Perhaps try practicing it a few times so you don’t end up making it worse.”

  “Well, that’s hardly comforting,” Olivia replied, thinking about how horribly the village encounter went.

  Although it did show her that she was not infallible. That sometimes it would be best to ask rather than to assume.

  She wished she had learned that lesson when talking to Edward, actually. If she had asked him how he felt about her, and asked him to consider marriage rather than just assuming, she wouldn’t be in this position at the moment.

  She’d be engaged or she’d know the truth. Or both.

  She took a deep breath. “Thank you both. I love you both so much, and I am so glad you are my sisters.”

  She drew Pearl into a hug and stretched her hand out to grasp Ida on the arm, squeezing her gently.

  Ida looked startled, then her face eased into a smile.

  It would be fine. She would be fine, even if it ended up he wasn’t in love with her. She had her sisters’ love, and she had her newfound awareness that she wasn’t always right, and she could work on improving herself and the world with that knowledge in her pocket.

  Chapter 24

  Be bold. Do what needs to be done.

  Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Being Reckless

  Dinner the following evening had been excruciating. Edward had been able to occupy himself during the day, taking Chrysanthemum out for a long ride and then going through some papers he’d been avoiding, but now he was seated at dinner with all of the guests, including her.

  He wanted to get up and just leave, but it would hurt his father and ensure the duchess thought he was even less of a gentleman than she probably already thought.

  He’d almost g
one to Olivia at least a dozen times that day, but he’d said a few cutting things, and she’d just left—he didn’t know what else she might have to say. He would find out, eventually, but at the moment he needed to calm himself down before he approached her.

  She and Bennett were seated together at the far end of the table, and he couldn’t avoid hearing the very pointed comments the duchess was making.

  “You two look so wonderful together. Almost as though you were a married couple!”

  Things like that.

  He’d seen the pained expressions on everybody else’s faces, including Bennett’s and Olivia’s, to indicate they too were having an excruciating experience. So at least there was camaraderie in their misery.

  “Mother,” Lady Ida said in a reproving voice. “Olivia and Lord Carson are friends.” And then she’d looked over at him and he could have sworn she winked.

  It must have been a trick of the light.

  “Such dear friends, yes,” the duchess said in a pleased voice. Missing Lady Ida’s point entirely.

  “Mr. Beechcroft, I was wondering if you would allow me to go for a ride tomorrow?” Lady Pearl said in a hurried tone, clearly trying to steer the conversation in another direction. “I have not had much opportunity for exercise, and I believe it will be a lovely day.”

  Mr. Beechcroft nodded at Edward. “You’ll have to ask my son, he is the horse expert in the family. I like them for my carriages, but I gave up riding long ago.”

  “Of course, Lady Pearl,” Edward said. “I would be happy to.”

  He caught Olivia looking at him, and his chest tightened. He would have to find a chance to speak with her sooner rather than later. He might not like what she would have to say, but he needed to hear her say it.

  There was no opportunity that evening, however, which was why Edward found himself in his bedroom, alone except for Scamp, the kitten who’d taken to him, hiding out in his bedroom during the day and sleeping with him at night.

  “What do you think, Scamp?” Edward said, leaning back on his bed and allowing the kitten to jump onto his chest. “When should I speak with her? They’ll only be here for another week or so.” The thought of spending more days in the same house with her without knowing how she felt, or what she felt, was an agonizing thought.

  Scamp, however, had no reply.

  Instead, the kitten began to knead Edward’s chest, tiny claws going through the fabric of his banyan.

  He was chuckling when he heard the knock on the door.

  It was after ten o’clock—everyone should be in bed by now. So of course it had to be her.

  He removed Scamp from his chest, placing the kitten on the bed and swinging his legs over to the ground, striding to the door in a few quick steps.

  “Hello,” she said as he opened the door.

  He took her arm to bring her inside, shutting the door softly behind her. She wore a night rail and a robe, her bare feet peeking out from under the bottom edge, and her hair was undone.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, tucking the edges of his banyan together. He was nude underneath the robe. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you,” he added hastily.

  “Are you?” she asked, sounding hesitant. So unlike the usual Olivia he froze for a moment.

  “I am. I think.” And he paused, sweeping his hair off his face in an effort to gather his thoughts. “I think we should sit down.” Of course the only place for both of them to sit was on his bed.

  “Yes, we should,” she replied, walking over to get onto the covers. Apparently not hesitant at all when it came to that.

  “I wanted to say something,” he said, but she reached forward and put her hand to his mouth.

  Her fingers were warm.

  Scamp brushed past him to leap onto the floor and tuck into his slipper, gnawing on the edge.

  “I have something to say first.” She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “I wanted to say that what I said yesterday was all wrong.” She shook her head, and several strands of hair fell forward. He resisted the urge to smooth them back. If he touched her, he didn’t know what might happen. Or he did, and he didn’t know if that was what should happen. He needed to wait for her to talk, for them to have a conversation, before either one of them did anything they would regret.

  “What would you have said if you could say it all over again?” he asked.

  She raised her chin and looked directly into his face. The candlelight caught the gold glints in her eyes and the curve of her lips.

  “I should have started out with the most important thing.” She hesitated, and he caught his breath, wondering what she was about to say.

  “Which is—?” he prompted.

  “Which is I love you.” He opened his mouth in shock as she continued speaking. “And I know you don’t love me, and I know that you might believe that I am lowering myself to want to be with you, but if anything, I want to rise to your level.” She swallowed, and Edward’s throat tightened. She loved him? And she thought he didn’t love her?

  “I admire your resilience and your determination to be in this world on your terms, not to cow to anyone because of your birth.” Her eyes sparkled with the force of her emotions. “You know who you are, you know what you can do, and you don’t let anyone stop you. Not Society, not people like my parents.” A pause. “Not me.”

  He leaned forward and swept her up in his arms, placing her on his lap. She was warm and soft, and he couldn’t get distracted by that, not when he had to make sure they understood one another.

  “I love you too.” Her eyes widened, and he heard her draw her breath in sharply. “I was angry because I thought you just wanted me for what you thought you could accomplish with my wealth. Like you wanted to with Bennett, back when you first proposed.” He pressed a kiss on her brow. “Plus your timing was terrible, given what had just happened between us.”

  She grimaced. “Yes, I don’t always think before I speak,” she said.

  “I would say you never think before you speak.” He laughed as her embarrassed expression turned outraged. “Not that I want you to ever stop. I love you, I love how you rush into things without wondering how you’ll look, and I love your determination, your forcefulness when you see inequality. Whether it’s for ducks or bastards,” he finished, grinning.

  She swatted him on the arm, but she was still here, still very much in his lap, a smile on her mouth.

  “You love me?” she said, looking up at him.

  “I do,” he replied.

  “Then let’s do something about that,” she replied, a wicked look on her face.

  Olivia straddled him, catching his jaw in her hands, lowering her mouth to his.

  He loved her. She loved him.

  She kissed him, and he wrapped his arms around her body, holding her close against his chest. She ran her hand through his curls, down his neck and underneath the fabric of his dressing gown.

  She made a noise in her throat as she realized he wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

  “What?” he said, moving his mouth to her neck. He sucked her skin into his mouth, then licked the tender spot, making her shiver.

  “You’re not wearing any clothing,” she said, sliding the fabric off his shoulders.

  “Well, I was, but then you took it off me,” he said, smiling as he shrugged out of the garment.

  She leaned back to take the view in. His chest was golden in the candlelight, whorls of hair lightly covering his muscles. She placed her palm on his nipple, making his stomach muscles contract.

  That was fun. She drew her fingernails over the nipple, and he hissed, encircling her wrist with his fingers.

  “You don’t want me to touch you there?” she asked.

  “I do,” he replied, his voice low and growly, making her shiver all over again. “But there are other places I want you to touch me.” And he brought her hand down, skating it over his skin, to his—

  “What do you call it?” she asked as she curled her f
ingers around him.

  “My cock,” he replied, his eyes shut. “Stroke my cock, Olivia.” She began to move her hand up and down, and he made a groan deep in his throat. “Yes, just like that.”

  She felt so powerful—sitting astride him, feeling how he twitched and throbbed under her fingers. Watching his intense expression as she stroked him, feeling how there, where he’d touched her, was feeling sensitive.

  “What do you call what I have?” she asked, shifting off him and lying down on the bed, her hand still on his cock.

  He lay down beside her, facing her, his hand going to her neck, her collarbone, curling over her breast, and then yanking the fabric of her night rail up and putting his fingers on her bare skin.

  Moving them up . . . and she caught her lip in her teeth, his gaze on her mouth, his hand moving up and up until—

  “It’s your quim,” he said as his fingers caressed her there. Right at her quim. “Or cunny, or if you’re being fanciful, your daisy.”

  “Oh, my daisy. I like that one.”

  “I like your daisy very much.” And then his fingers slid inside her, and she forgot all about words, or where she was, or anything but what he was doing to her. How he was making her feel.

  And then he was kissing her again, his cock—his cock!—nudging at her belly, his tongue thrust deep in her mouth.

  She had one hand still on him, on his cock, while the other was tangled in his curls, holding his face close to hers.

  “Need to see you,” he said hoarsely, reaching down to her night rail and pulling it up, up over her head.

  Which would have been fine except that she still wore something on top of it, so all the fabric was a mad tangle between them.

  “Hold on,” she said, tugging at the sleeves. And then starting to laugh at the absurdity of it—him naked beside her, her with her clothing entirely disarranged, them doing this.

  He helped her with the removal, then tossed everything toward the end of the bed.