by Julia Donner
Through newspaper society pages and gossip sheets, she followed him, his brilliance among the ton, his notoriety with women, his successes at gaming. No one cared that he’d fathered a bastard child from a love affair with a friend’s wife. Caricatures and cartoons about him littered shop windows but none had been unkind, not one had been scripted with the typical jibes and taunts. He was adored by everyone and admitted everywhere. A discreet service to his friend, the Prince Regent, garnered a knighthood for a reason never revealed but hadn’t been needed to achieve his unrivaled popularity.
Even though her Galahad tarnished his armor with wastrel ways, she continued to cherish the vision of the youth who’d been so kind to her. She judged every man she met with that memory. Percy had come closest to the ideal and she admired his fervent calling to abolish slavery. She’d been a disappointment to him, but that could not be helped. As the years passed, she learned that she couldn’t change, not for her family, not for her late husband, not even for herself.
Then Sir Harry Collyns fell into her lap on a sultry summer day. Wounded and temporarily blinded from the bandages, the least she could do before she sent him on his way was return the kindness he’d done for her.
It didn’t take much work to convince herself that a past kindness was the reason she walked the fine edge of scandal and kept him in her home. No one would think the worst of him but she would be pilloried for housing a man, even with a companion in residence.
And how was she to go back into that bedroom and be wholly calm? How was she to show nothing while removing the black threads she’d so lovingly placed in a countenance that had altered, hardened?
The disillusionment he couldn’t hide from her lurked behind the deviltry in his eyes. Now, there were downward lines around his mouth in contrast to the crinkly laugh lines around his eyes. The full lips of youth had thinned, and when he thought no one was looking, his mouth formed a grim line of resolution. Dissipation had made its mark on a once-angelic face. Her heart bled for the mistakes he made, but she fully understood, having made so many of her own.
Gathering her courage, she changed her rain-soaked clothes, fetched the sewing basket, and went to remove the stitches before she sent him on his way.
Chapter 9
Harry paced off the small room, his system craving activity. Never one for idleness, he always kept himself busy, either with gentlemanly arts, or if visiting one of his properties, working in the fields and walking the land. Physical and mental indolence made him irritable or got him into trouble.
He stopped pacing and rubbed a knuckle over his lower lip. Reasons for staying at Beechgate Cottage evaporated days ago. He had no excuse for remaining under her roof, especially since her companion, a Mrs. Oliphant had been called away prior to the curricle accident. And now, every nerve came alive when he heard her tread in the passageway. Fanny stomped around like an infantryman, nothing like Olivia’s measured step. She walked as cautiously as she lived, always holding back, ever on edge. He likened her to a courageous yet frightened rabbit. He revised that comparison to a luscious bunny, who exuded languid, ruthlessly contained sensuality.
A hesitant tap on the door, then came a stronger knock. He smiled. It sounded like someone determined to do something. Evict him?
“Please, come through, Mrs. St. Clair.”
She carried a square, lidded basket and kept her limpid, dark gaze directed at the floor. “Good afternoon, Sir Harry. Time to remove the stitches.”
She might as well have said, “Remove the stitches so you can leave me in peace.”
“All the better for eating the strawberries you picked.” He inwardly cringed at causing her to remember being caught under the waterfall, and quickly added, “T’will be easier to shave.”
“Would you please sit in the sunlight?”
He arranged himself on the window seat, perched sideways so that she could get closer to his face. Her thigh pressed against his knee, setting his leg on fire. How was he going to get through this?
She took his chin in hand and tilted his face to the glare blazing through the window. He closed his eyes to avoid staring at the fichu tucked into her bodice. A sprinkle of freckles showed through a gap in the lace. The scent of woman and roses made his heart hammer. His mouth began to water from the nearness, her right breast so close—close enough to distinguish a hardened nub. She had a generous nipple or endured the same sort of excitement he suffered. Either or both. His hands itched to discover. His skin burned.
Harry surreptitiously groped along the window seat, found the pillow, and slid it over his lap. Hidden under the shelter of her skirts and pinafore, his left hand grasped the seat’s edge in a crushing grip.
He cleared his throat to ask, “Will this take a while?”
“Not long if I hurry, but that might cause a tear if a thread doesn’t wish to cooperate. Are you comfortable in that position?”
“Perfectly. Perhaps we could converse to pass the time.”
He felt the first loose stitch come free. Others needed more of a tug. He scarcely felt the pinch with the distraction of her bosom practically shoved into his face. Did she have any inkling of the torture?
She angled his head in another direction and leaned closer. He clutched the pillow until his knuckles hurt. Good distraction. He’d almost conquered his condition when she said, “You wanted to talk. What do you wish to talk about?”
If she was going to twist him in knots, she deserved some kind of punishment. “How long were you and the late reverend married?”
She didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t tell if it was from concentration on her task, the impertinence of a personal question, or if she were merely thinking about an answer.
She finally said, “A little more than a year. He’d gone ahead to the Colonies. I was to wait until living arrangements were settled. He preferred our child be born here.”
“Understandable. Travel for you at such a time would neither be comfortable nor proper. Tell me about his calling. I believe you shared his beliefs.”
“I did and do. Slavery of any sort is an abomination.” Distracted by her feelings on the subject, she tugged a bit forcefully. “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry! It isn’t bleeding but that must have hurt.”
“Think nothing of it. This face has had much worse laid on it.”
She hummed a noncommittal response as she freed another thread, breaking off to murmur, “Only a few more to go. Now that I’m this close, I can see that your nose has had its difficulties. There’s a suspicious bump in its otherwise perfection.”
“That bit is my pride and joy. Fist fight with my brother.”
He had to look when he felt her lean back. An appalled expression widened her eyes. “Sir Harry, shame! How could you strike your own brother?”
He had to laugh, which helped ease the strain of having her practically sprawled across him. “That sounded a bit like our mother. She was forever punishing us for tussling. Can’t remember how many times she sent us to bed without dinner, but we didn’t mind. Perry and I had great fun dissecting the bout.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Why were you angry with a brother you so obviously admire?”
“He’s my twin, and can’t recall. Whatever it was that got us started, we soon forgot about it. Perry is a punishing boxer. Always has been good with his fives. Fighting with him helped me survive at school, especially when he wasn’t around to beat them to flinders.”
His queen of torture stepped closer to resume. “You were dealt a lot of teasing at school?”
Harry shut his eyes. “With this pretty face? There wasn’t a lad that didn’t want a crack at it. I was a shy one. Perry took care of me when we first started, but I got my feet under me soon enough. To the point that Perry eventually had to pull me off them. Spent a bit too much time with the headmaster and became well acquainted with his cane.”
“Oh, dear.”
“It was worth bruised palms. Classmates began to avoid me. Fighting was one
thing, but the headmaster’s cane was another. How was school for you?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I made a few friends, and we still correspond. My dearest friend, Evie, went missing long ago. The last letter I received was rather disjointed in tone.”
“In what way?”
She paused before answering. “Confused. Something about it gave the impression she was frightened. She married well but disappeared after her husband died.”
“That’s sad and odd.”
He felt rather than saw her shrug. “I miss her terribly, but understand how much she wanted to escape. She didn’t get on well with her husband’s father. They never cared for the connection.”
“Disappearing is a rather drastic option. It’s come to mind as you so patiently remove your superb handiwork from my face that you have a gift for this.”
She prompted, “For?”
“Healing. Have you ever thought of studying medicine?”
“Yes, and I do read what I can find, but it’s not a suitable employment for women. Dr. Wentworth won’t allow me to see some of his tomes.”
“What is suitable for women is changing. One only has to exchange points of view with Mrs. Burney to understand that women’s roles are beginning to evolve.”
“I haven’t read her books, but wish she would explain her opinions to Dr. Wentworth. Not that it would do a bit of good. He refuses to allow me to enter the room where he keeps his most specific tomes on anatomy.”
“Ah, yes, anatomy.” He hadn’t meant for that comment to come out sounding so husky and suggestive and quickly covered it by asking, “What do you remember best from schooldays? Were you a bluestocking sort of girl?”
She paused. Her palm cupped his jaw. He instinctively pressed into the softness and she said in a choked voice, “Only the usual things…and a boy. Young man, really. Not at school, of course. First time in love sort of thing.”
“We all bungle our way through it the first time, a necessary rite of passage. Did a friend of the family steal your heart?”
“He was a friend of the family. In a way. A favorite of my aunt’s. We only met for a few moments, but I’ve never been able to stop myself from comparing him to every man I’ve ever met.”
“Ah, a nonpareil.”
“It wasn’t that. He glowed with kindness, a radiant goodness. It’s difficult to explain. He, unfortunately, became my ideal.”
“Why unfortunate?”
“Because I was a child and didn’t understand that with such perfection, it’s impossible to find a comparison. To be fair, my husband came close.”
A strange twinge squeezed Harry’s heart. How does one compete with a martyr and a first love? “You’ve never gone looking for this fellow, now that you’re all grown up?”
“I’ve always known where he is. I preferred to leave my childish dream intact.”
Stillness followed that confession, and Harry opened his eyes. Olivia gazed out the window, her expression sad and wistful, lost in a memory of her perfect love. So this is what it feels like to covet.
Sadness changed in an instant to something else. Twisted and dark, jealousy spread its poison. For the first time in his life, the ugly passion writhed within. Not a nice feeling—crafty, brutal and hungry. He didn’t recognize his voice, since it matched his inner condition. “Are we finished?”
Startled, she looked down, saw that she still cupped his cheek, and quickly removed her hand. She hid the offending member in the folds of her too large apron. A flush colored her cheeks when she realized where he stared. The fichu had slipped, exposing cleavage. Ravening need seized every cell in his body when her breathing became deep and uneven.
Hands trembling, she gathered up the cloth now littered with bits of black thread. She shoved the wadded up material in an apron pocket, and in a wide-eyed panic, looked everywhere but at him.
Harry crushed the pillow in a white-knuckle grip. “You are afraid of me. Why?”
When she answered with a tiny shake of her head, he cleared his throat to evict the guttural sound. “I know that I’ll never compare to the love of your girlhood dreams, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to try.”
Her chocolate eyes widened with slow understanding. The havoc raging inside him coalesced into irrevocable need when the pink tip of her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip. The combination of her nerves, his craving, and her unconscious provocation eroded ingrained manners. He caught her wrist when she started to leave. Her head tilted back as he slowly stood. Her mouth with its plump lower lip dropped open when he tugged her close. He threw aside the pillow.
His mind screamed warnings as he lowered his mouth to her parted lips. Caution evaporated when his groan slid inside her wet warmth. He released her wrist and captured her head in both hands to tenderly hold her still, to explore the exquisite wonder of Olivia. When she sighed and cautiously responded, pleasure coursed downward and tightened his body. Then the glorious softness of her pressed against his chest. Her hip brushed against the ache in his loins. He stilled from the slow curling of her tongue around his, hesitant at first, then restraint fled when she tentatively suckled.
He pulled off her cap. His fumbling fingers found and yanked free the apron’s knot. He jerked it off and threw it on the floor. With shaking fingers, he shoved aside the fichu. Hunger for her blinded him until she stepped back and looked up, her dark eyes flooded with surprise and wonder. And something he never expected, fear. Then, confusion.
Pain split his heart when she whirled and headed for the door. Thwarted passion urged him to give chase as she reached for the door latch. He fisted his hands to stop himself from crossing the room and pulling her back. Rallying his control, he watched her pause at the door, spine straight, but her entire body trembled.
Desire unlike anything he’d ever known goaded him to capture and possess. He forced the wildness into submission, knowing she would turn around. She must. She had to give in to what they had shared a moment before—the promise of reckless attraction—of discovering something fine and rare. To hell with comparisons to that damn boy of schoolgirl dreams.
Then the sly voice in his head whispered that no boy could satisfy a woman. He knew exactly what she wanted and how.
Chapter 10
Olivia stared at her hand wrapped around the door handle. All she had to do was lift the curved bar of brass and pull. Something within resisted. The never-ending yearning for fulfillment called, screamed at her to give in. She could actually feel him behind her, not moving, waiting and keen to give her whatever she needed, to fill and fulfill.
She had no pride left. Time and humiliation had bludgeoned self-importance out of her system, but Harry would never tell. He wasn’t the kind of man to force a woman, too suave and practiced, and yet he’d acted so unlike himself a moment before, as if the limitation of his self-control strained at an unraveling leash. Nothing in her life had ever felt so thrilling as his hunger.
Her fingers opened and stayed suspended over the door latch. This was her moment to discover what it meant to be physically admired by a man. Percy made her feel shame for seeking to understand the strange insistence of her body to seek satisfaction. Other men, especially Quentin, left her cold and revolted by the thought of their touch. All Harry had to do was smile, as he had when she was a girl and he a youth, merely acting the gentleman’s part.
But now, the boy had grown into an unrecognizable, forceful male, not sweetly charming when aroused, but wildly exciting. She shivered from the memory of his groan into her mouth and no longer cared if he had bedded half the women in England. He made her feel alive and wanted.
She dropped her hand from the door handle and turned around. He hadn’t moved and stood sideways, leaning slightly forward, like a predator ready to leap. The blue of his eyes seared into hers. His elegant features had hardened, from rejection or desire, she couldn’t tell. When she took a step forward, he moved with swift, sleek strength. His embrace didn’t hurt when he took hold of her and
her mouth with tender desperation.
Their hands shook as clothes were jerked free of buttons and ties. Still dressed, his impatience took charge. He lifted and tossed her across the bed, following her down, moaning into her mouth, murmuring words she was too overwrought to understand. There were too many sensations and pleasures, everything she’d dreamed about and had to remember after he’d gone. All of it came rushing at and arcing through her at once, summoning a ferocity she couldn’t contain.
He leaned on his side and undid his trouser buttons, while she kicked off slippers. She got his shirt partially unbuttoned. Her hands searched the tautness of his muscled arms and back. His chest felt rock-hard with tension against hers, his breath hot and damp in her hair. To restrain the embarrassing greed of her seeking hands, she dug them into the coverlet, twisting the cloth until her fingers hurt. Her shriek of pleasure took her by surprise when he thrust inside, a joining that filled the aching void.
He instantly froze and gasped against her neck, “Oh, sorry! So sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
She couldn’t find her voice through the bliss. A single stroke satisfied the emptiness she’d endured for so long, for forever, and still her body cried out for more. When he started to withdraw, she shook her head and lifted her knees. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t leave me now.”
His heavy weight sagged against her for a moment, then lifted. She sensed how he mentally withdrew inside of himself, as if gathering strength for a battle. Waiting with frightened anticipation, she savored the rippling pleasure of him deep within, a part of her body and being.
Moments later, he exhaled a shaky breath and raised his weight away from her chest. With his eyes closed, he bowed his head to rest on her brow. Her heart pounded. Expectation coiled and yearned for completion, knowing he would give her everything.
