by Lynne Barron
“And Lady Beatrice had a different relationship with him?” Jack prompted when she stopped speaking.
“She called him Papa,” she answered, meeting his gaze once more. “He taught her to ride and to shoot. They played draughts and then later chess together. He carried her upon his shoulders across the fields. Held her hand, tucked her in at night.”
Jack said nothing, simply looked at her and waited.
“I’ve often wondered if it didn’t have something to do with his feelings for our mothers,” she continued. “Father loved Mary, worshiped her. My parents could barely tolerate one another. Perhaps that love just naturally encompassed the child they made together.”
Jack thought about that, thought about what it said about her marriage. Before he could tell her that it didn’t hold true for his own, Mary walked into the parlor.
“We’ve meat and cheese and soup in the dining room.” She looked at Charlie asleep in his mother’s arms and smiled. “Let me take the darling up to his room.”
Olivia relinquished her son with one final kiss on his cheek and whispered “Thank you, Mary.”
Luncheon was a festive affair with Fanny and Justine talking and laughing together. Rather than a long rectangular table as most homes had, Idyllwild’s dining room was graced with a big round table. It fit the wide room and the family that ate around it. Jack had finally realized that there were no servants in the house. The diners passed big platters around, and set up a line of bowls that Olivia scooped soup into and passed back around.
“There’ll be snow again soon,” Tom announced.
“Can we go back up the hill before it starts?” Fanny asked.
Olivia looked across the table at Jack, waited for him to nod, and asked Justine, “Would you like to go sledge riding with us?”
“Can I?” She looked at her father expectantly.
“How many sledges have you got?” Jack asked Olivia.
“There’s two more in the barn,” Tom answered.
“Don’t even think about it!” his wife scolded.
“Now, Molly,” he replied with a chuckle. “I’m not so old I can’t hike up the hill.”
“Well, I’m too old to be nursing you when you break your fool neck,” she said with a scowl that was destroyed by the teasing light in her eyes.
“If he breaks his neck, you won’t have to nurse him, Molly,” Fanny pointed out. “He’ll be dead.”
“Good Lord, Fanny,” Olivia cried. “Wherever did you learn such a thing?”
“I don’t know. I just learned it,” Fanny told her mother with a negligent wave of her hand.
“Is that true, Father?” Justine asked in astonishment.
“I believe Lady Frances is right,” Jack replied around a laugh. Olivia was in trouble. The girl was too smart for her own good.
They were on their fourth foray down the hill when the first big wet flakes began. By the seventh trip the snow was falling thick and fast.
Jack knew that he should have taken his daughter and left with the first flakes, but he hadn’t said a word. Justine was having the time of her life and he was loath to end her fun. And if the weather forced them to remain at Idyllwild, so much the better. What better way to begin his campaign to win the countess than to spend the night under her roof?
Olivia had donned another pair of trousers, well-worn and snug. As she trudged up the hill in front of him, he was given glimpses of her delectable round backside. Forget making them illegal, it should be mandated that ladies wear trousers!
“This is the last ride down,” Olivia told her daughter, bending down to look into her face.
Jack nearly groaned at the sight of her ass in the air. He felt heat envelop him, felt his groin tighten.
“I’ll ride with Justine.” Fanny took the rope for the sledge from her mother. “You ride with Mr. Jack.”
Olivia looked around, clearly searching for Tom Jenkins.
“He stayed below,” Jack said.
“Oh, well, all right.” She turned away to make sure Fanny was secure on the sledge in front of Justine, that the older girl had a firm hold on the younger, before giving them a gentle push. They glided down the hill, their laughter ringing out in the wind.
“Charlie’s going to be awfully upset he missed this,” Olivia murmured before turning to face him once more.
He placed the sledge at the edge of the hill and stood back to allow her to climb on before sitting behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her snug against him. She came willingly, without a word of protest.
“Ready?” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, knowing his warm breath caressed her neck, laughing when she shivered.
He flexed his thighs on either side of her, gave a quick lunge and they were off. He pulled his legs up beside her, cradled her hips between them. His arms tightened and lifted until they rested just under the swell of her breasts. Olivia sucked in a breath, her back rigid, and Jack wondered if he’d gone too far too fast.
“Relax, Olivia,” he murmured into her nape, brushed his lips over the dark curls beneath her cap, and smiled when she subsided and leaned back into his chest.
They flew over a boulder and sailed through the air before landing hard. Olivia bounced off the sledge and landed with her bottom on his left thigh. He pulled her quickly back between his legs but the movement shifted them far to the right just as they hit a particularly slippery patch. The sledge careened off the well-worn path and rushed through the high snow.
Jack was blinded by the spray of soft snow that flew up from the front of the sledge. He tightened his arms around Olivia and groaned when she grabbed onto his thighs.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” he called as the sledge was once more airborne. Olivia let out a muffled shriek as they landed and the sledge slid out from beneath them.
Jack twisted with Olivia in his arms, taking the brunt of their landing. They rolled through the snow bank. When they came to a stop Jack found himself lying above her, his weight pinning her to the ground. Her legs were tangled with his, her thighs embracing his hips.
Jack looked down at Olivia, watched as she licked her lips, blinked against the falling snow and then closed her eyes. Her lashes fanned her pink cheeks. Her lips tilted up in a slow smile. Jack didn’t think, he simply leaned down and captured that smile with his lips. He kissed her gently, softly, exploring her lips with his own. And she kissed him back. Shyly, hesitantly. He slanted his head, absorbed the sensation of the new angle, and caressed her with the tip of his tongue.
With a soft sigh, Olivia opened to him. Jack moaned, suddenly on fire for the woman in his arms. His tongue swooped inside, dancing across hers, retreating, only to delve in once more. He cradled her head in his hands as he thrust his tongue into her waiting warmth again and again. He couldn’t get enough of her. She tasted like sunshine, she tasted like heat.
Jack was lost in her kiss. Good Lord, he’d forgotten a kiss could be like this, equal parts tender and wild. Timidly at first, then with abandon, Olivia kissed him back. She followed his tongue, rubbed hers against it, moaned as he increased the pressure of his lips.
With a groan Jack thrust his hardening cock against her soft flesh, dragged his length along her heat, and gloried to feel her tilt up her hips to receive him.
“Mama!” Jack and Olivia heard Fanny’s voice at the same time and broke apart. He looked down into her eyes and saw desire in their silvery depths. He felt her warm breath caress his face, felt her breasts rise and fall against his chest.
Jack released her and helped her to her feet just as Fanny immerged through the curtain of falling snow.
“You turned off the path when you should have gone straight,” Fanny said with a giggle.
“I’ve been going straight all my life,” Olivia replied as she joined hands with Fanny. “Sometimes a lady just has to careen off the beaten path.”
Chapter Three
It was decided that Jack and Justine would spend the night at Idyllwild. The snow
continued to fall at an alarming rate. Inside, the inhabitants and their guests relaxed in the parlor with piping hot tea and warm, soothing brandy.
“So your family made their fortune in mining?” Tom asked.
“My mother’s family runs sheep, but yes, my father started the mining operation more than twenty years ago.” Jack and Tom were playing chess, their heads bent over the board. Their conversation floated across the room to Olivia where she sat slowly rocking before the warm hearth, her hands mindlessly rolling a skein of soft yarn into a ball.
“Father needs a son to inherit.”
Olivia looked up at Justine’s words. The girl was leaning against the arm of her father’s chair, watching the game.
“Every man needs a son,” Tom said. “Now, my boy Harry, he went off to sea. He’s sailed around the world and back.”
“I should like to go to sea someday,” Justine said. “To see the world.”
“World’s a pretty big place,” Tom said. “I’ve seen parts of it, only a bit mind you, but it’s good to travel, to see how others live.”
“Papa is going to take me to Italy soon,” Justine told him.
Olivia wondered if that would be before or after he found a wife to give him a son and decided that Justine might have to wait a few years to tour Italy.
Not that Jack would have any trouble at all finding a lady to wed. He would make some lucky lady a very fine husband. But the getting of heirs was often a long, drawn-out affair, as she knew well. It had taken her eight years, a daughter, and two miscarriages before she’d finally, finally produced the son Palmerton had so desperately wanted.
She’d paid a high price to fulfill her duty, one she’d never have to endure again. The knowledge was both a curse and a blessing.
“He’s a fine-looking man,” Mary murmured from where she sat beside Olivia in the matching rocker.
“Yes,” Olivia agreed as she studied the man in question.
He’d been a handsome boy, all those years ago when he’d first joined Simon in a visit to Hastings Hall, tall and lean with his dark hair clipped short. His face had been smooth, his blue eyes alight with mischief, a smile forever curling around his full mouth.
At five and thirty, Jack Bentley’s visage was a testament to all the years that had passed, to hours spent working outdoors, to the joys and hardships he’d experienced. Fine lines fanned out from the corners of his blue eyes and bracketed a mouth that was firmer than she remembered but no less full, no less kissable.
As she’d learned just that afternoon.
Olivia replayed that kiss in the snow in her mind, surprised anew at the intensity of it, at the passion simmering below the surface of what, in truth, had been the hottest, wildest kiss she’d ever imagined, let alone experienced.
“We’ll put Justine in with Fanny and Charlie,” Mary said. “Jack can have the guest room.”
Olivia nodded absently. She hadn’t thought about the sleeping arrangements. Mary’s plan would put Jack right across the hall from her.
“Unless you’d rather put Justine in the guest room and Jack can sleep with you.”
Olivia started in surprise, felt her face flush. “Am I that obvious?”
Mary only shrugged in response, but her eyes twinkled.
“I’ve been thinking,” Olivia began.
“I thought you might be.”
Olivia opened her mouth, closed it again.
“Come now, dearest, what thoughts have put a blush on your cheeks?” Mary asked with a fond smile.
“Oh, it’s nothing really,” she replied, bending down to hide her embarrassment. “I just… Once upon a time I saw a man and woman sneak into the stables behind Hastings House. I watched that man pull the woman into his arms, heard them whispering and laughing together before they kissed with shocking abandon.”
“And?” Mary prompted when she fell silent.
“And I wished that just once I could be so wicked as to unleash a man’s desire.”
“Surely Palmerton desired you.”
“My husband desired an heir.” Olivia forced aside her embarrassment and met the other woman’s eyes. “I’ve heard women talking of passion, of the pleasures to be found in a man’s bed and wondered what all the fuss is about.”
“And marriage did little to enlighten you,” Mary replied gently.
“Palmerton did not…that is to say I did my duty by my husband and he did his by me,” Olivia replied.
“Duty,” Mary repeated.
“Perhaps I am simply not a woman to feel passion.” Even as she spoke the words, she doubted them. There had been times at the beginning of her marriage when she’d felt a whisper of pleasure when Palmerton had come to her bed, when she’d wished he might kiss her a bit more, touch her gently, before rolling on top of her and joining their bodies.
And Lord knew, she’d felt passion up on that hillside when Jack slanted his mouth over hers and pressed his hard length between her legs.
“What nonsense,” Mary said with a laugh. “You are your father’s daughter, Olivia.”
“And my father was a passionate man?” Olivia asked although she suspected she knew the answer. What else but passion would have accounted for the secret family he’d kept hidden away from the curious eyes of Society?
“Wonderfully so,” Mary replied. “And you are so like him.”
“Am I?” Olivia asked in surprise.
“More so than Henry, and even Beatrice,” the older lady assured her. “Like you, Francis was torn between duty and passion.”
“Yes,” Olivia agreed slowly.
“As a respectable widow,” Mary continued gently, “away from prying eyes, you might allow yourself to finally learn what all the fuss is about.”
“A respectable widow,” Olivia repeated, not entirely sure she liked the sound of the words, the picture they painted of a lonely woman adorned in black bombazine, stubbornly clinging to her propriety.
“Widows enjoy a great deal of freedom,” Mary continued. “Perhaps it is time for that wish to come true for you.”
“I could dare to be wicked,” Olivia replied slowly. “I could finally learn how it feels to have a man desire me.”
“Just so,” Mary agreed.
“Nothing will ever come of it,” Olivia hastened to add.
“Except a bit of pleasure. An abundance of pleasure, if you’re lucky.”
“If I’m very lucky.”
“And who knows, perhaps even love.”
“Oh, no, I’d just as soon not fall in love, thank you very much,” Olivia protested.
“Why ever not?”
“You know I don’t ever plan to marry again,” Olivia reminded her friend.
“So you’ve said. Repeatedly.”
Three hours later Olivia lay in her bed listening to the sounds of the house settling, the winter wind buffeting the tree branches outside her window, and the fire crackling in the hearth across the room.
Her mind was filled with images of Jack Bentley, most especially the light gleaming in his eyes as he’d wished her a good night in the dim hallway between their two bed-chambers. He’d hesitated, his hand on the door knob, casting a speculative look over his shoulder. For one feverish moment she’d thought he meant to invite her into his room. Instead he’d arched one dark brow, his mouth lifting in a lopsided smile and she’d imagined a silent dare in the gesture.
Olivia rolled to her side, pummeled the pillow beneath her head into submission and let out a sigh of vexation. Her senses were alive with a humming sort of awareness in her body the like of which she’d never known. Her breasts tingled, her nipples almost painfully sensitive to the shift of her nightgown over them. A soft pulse throbbed between her legs, intensifying as she squeezed her thighs together seeking relief.
With a huff of mingled laughter and frustration, she tossed off the covers and scrambled from the bed only to stand beside it unsure what to do next.
She tried to imagine padding barefoot across the hall to Jack’s do
or and found to her surprise that it took little effort. She could do that much, but what then?
She might knock. Or did a woman bent on seduction simply open the door and enter?
She laughed at her fanciful imagination. What she knew about seduction wouldn’t fill a thimble.
She knew only how to lie quietly beneath her husband, how to submit. But Jack was not her husband and she couldn’t imagine he would welcome into his bed a shy widow without an ounce of feminine wiles.
Not for the first time, she wished Palmerton had desired her, that he’d taken the time to introduce her to the wonders of the marriage bed. Instead he’d come to her solely to produce an heir, seeing to his duty much as her mother had predicted on the eve of her wedding.
Palmerton had come to her wearing a long robe of the finest burgundy silk, tied loosely at his waist. His chest had been bare beneath, which surprised Olivia.
Her mother had clearly said that he would wear his nightshirt when he came to her.
“Come, let’s get rid of your night clothes,” he’d whispered.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Olivia had replied as she sat up. “My mother said I should…”
“Never mind,” he had interrupted, pulling her white night gown over her head. “Mothers don’t always know.”
Olivia’s mother may have been mistaken about the night clothes, but she had been right about everything else.
“He will perhaps kiss you once or twice.” Palmerton had kissed her twice.
“Do not be startled if he puts his tongue into your mouth.” Olivia had still been quite startled, but not unpleasantly so. She rather thought she might like it. Unfortunately, he had stopped kissing her before she could decide.
“Some men will want to squeeze your bosom a bit.” Olivia had enjoyed his soft hand on her breast until he pinched her rather hard right on the sensitive tip. She had not liked the way he laughed deep in his throat when she yelped in pain.
“He will open your legs. I know it will be terribly embarrassing, but you must allow it.” It had been a bit embarrassing but Palmerton was quick to roll between her spread legs so really it was not as if he saw her most womanly place.
