WidowsWickedWish

by Lynne Barron

  Comprehension dawned and Jack barked out a laugh.

  “Funny, is it?” she drawled.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied around his mirth. “It never occurred to me to suggest that you might want to clean up a bit afterward.”

  “Why is it no one tells a lady these things?”

  “These things?”

  “Wear drawers if you intend to pull a man into dark alcoves,” she explained. “These are the sorts of things mothers should tell their daughters. Not ‘he’ll likely touch your bosom before he rolls on top of you’.”

  “Is that what your mother told you?”

  “And ‘be sure to scream a bit lest he think you aren’t a virgin’.”

  It occurred to Jack that Olivia might have had a bit too much to drink. Her eyes sparkled in the shadowy carriage, her teeth flashing as she smiled at him, her hands tugging at the bodice of her gown.

  “I told Alice my breasts were unlikely to stay safely confined beneath this bodice,” she muttered. “Oh, and ‘he’ll come to you in his night clothes’. Mother got that part wrong. Liked to strut about in the altogether, he did. He must not have realized his cock was so small. Do men see one another’s cocks?”

  Jack choked back another chuckle. “When precisely would we see one another’s cocks?”

  Again she waved her hand in the space between them, nearly losing her balance before righting herself. “When you are having pissing contests? When you are changing your garments at Gentleman Jackson’s? When you are sharing whores? Isn’t that what men do?”

  “I can’t speak for all men, but I haven’t entered a pissing contest since Eton,” Jack replied. “And I’ve never shared a woman with any man.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “And when you are changing after a sparring match?”

  “A gentleman does not look at another man’s apparatus,” Jack replied with a shake of his head.

  “Apparatus?” she repeated with a giggle. “Oh, Jack, let me take your apparatus into my mouth.”

  Jack sucked in a shocked breath, her words whispering over him in the close confines of the carriage, his gaze pinned to her smiling mouth.

  “Would you like me to?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

  “Jesus, Livy,” he answered on a stuttering exhalation.

  Without a word she fell to her knees before him, her hands landing on his thighs. She eased them open and crawled into the space between his legs.

  “You don’t have to,” he began, all the blood rushing from his head to settle in his loins.

  “I want to.” Olivia peered at him through her lashes as she tugged at the fingers of one glove.

  Jack took hold of her chin, tilted her face to meet his and kissed her. He coasted his lips over hers, slowly, willing himself calm in the face of her generous offer, his cock already throbbing to be inside her warm mouth.

  Olivia returned his kiss, her lips opening in invitation, her tongue coming out to trail over his lower lip before diving into his mouth. She circled her tongue around his before pulling it between her lips, sucking him deep into her mouth. She set up a suckling tempo that had him squirming in anticipation, had his hands clasping her cheeks, tilting her head back to thrust into her ravenous mouth, again and again.

  Her fingers tugged the buttons of his trousers free and dove down to grip his shaft in one bare hand. She stroked his length from tip to base, tightened her hand and squeezed. And all the while she kissed him, alternately spearing her tongue into his mouth to drag it over his teeth, his lower lip, the inner lining of his cheeks, before pulling his into her mouth once more.

  “Ah, Livy,” he growled into her mouth, nearly undone by the feel of her hand clenching around his cock.

  “You’re so hard,” she whispered. “I want to see your cock.”

  She leaned back and dropped her gaze, releasing him to tug his trousers down just enough so that his cock sprang free. She pushed his legs farther apart and dipped her head. Her tongue came out to swirl around the throbbing head as she peeked up at him.

  Jack leaned back against the cushions of the carriage seat, his hands coming to rest on the worn velvet, clenching as she took him into her mouth, her tongue flicking delicately at the sensitive skin just below the head, her lips closing around his shaft.

  He hummed in pleasure, resisted the urge to clasp her head and thrust into her wet heat. As if she knew what he needed, she opened her jaw wide and took him deeper into her mouth, her lips sliding over his straining flesh, her tongue dragging down the root, until the tip bounced against the back of her throat.

  “Easy, love,” he murmured, one hand coming to rest along her jaw.

  Her lids fluttered closed and she glided her mouth up his shaft, stopping only long enough to circle the engorged head again, before sliding back down his length, taking as much of his cock into her mouth as she could. Again and again she bobbed her head over his lap, her mouth hotter, wetter with each pass.

  Jack watched her ministrations through slitted eyes, his breath sawing through his open mouth, as lust coalesced in his gut, in his balls, along his throbbing shaft. Unable to remain still, he took up the rhythm of her mouth, gently thrusting with each downward lunge until he thought he might go mad with pleasure.

  Olivia wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, followed her ascending mouth with it, lapped at the tip once more, before sliding both hand and mouth down again. Her fingers were firm, wet, creating a wondrous extension of her mouth. He could almost imagine she’d taken the entire length of his cock between her lips. She worked over him, humming softly with each lunge deep into her mouth.

  Jack gripped her head, wild to hold her steady and drive into her heat. Instead he sifted his fingers through her curls.

  “Livy,” he panted as his balls tightened, “I’m going to come.”

  Expecting her to release his pulsing cock, he was surprised when she clamped her lips tighter still around him, increased the suction of her mouth, and sped up the stroking of her hand.

  Jack meant to pull from her mouth, vaguely thought to push her to the opposite seat and hike up her skirts. Before he could make good on the thought, her other hand reached beneath his throbbing shaft and cupped his balls. Her fingers were cool, blessedly, wondrously cool on his ballocks. Dimly he realized that she still wore a thin silk glove on the hand that fondled him, that grasped his balls and gently squeezed.

  Jack attempted to pull from the hot suction of her mouth, from the cool clasp of her fingers. He shifted back on the seat, grasped her head and tried to raise it from his lap.

  “Olivia, stop,” he grated out between clenched teeth, the need to spend pummeling him.

  Olivia ignored his command, following his movements, her mouth never leaving his cock, her questing fingers shooting down beneath his balls to press the sensitive flesh there. She pulled him deep into her mouth, her palm cradling his balls and one silk covered finger caressing him.

  With a roar that ricocheted around the shadowy carriage, Jack came hard, his hands fisting in her hair, his hips thrusting wildly, driving his cock deep as he spent in her mouth. Olivia continued her attentions, her head bobbing over him, her lips and tongue and hand working over his pulsating cock, her fingers gently massaging his balls and perineum.

  He fell back against the carriage seat with a grunt, forced his fingers in her hair to relax and valiantly attempted to pull air into his starving lungs.

  With one final pull of her mouth and one final swipe of her tongue around the crest, Olivia relinquished his cock. She looked up at him, a purely satisfied smile flashing in the dark. Slowly she ran her tongue around her lips.

  “Livy…why…I didn’t want to spend in your mouth…” he gasped above her.

  “Don’t be silly,” she whispered with a laugh. “I have it on the highest authority that men like to see a lady swallow their load.”

  “Ah, Livy, the things you say.”

  “Don’t open
the door just yet, Mr. Johnston.” A rumbling masculine voice called from beyond the carriage.

  The words had barely penetrated Jack’s brain before the door was pulled open. Light from a lantern held high in the open space penetrated the shadowy confines of the interior, spilling around Olivia where she knelt between his legs, one hand still wrapped around his cock, the other resting on his thigh.

  “Holy mother of God,” Johnston whispered in obvious horror.

  “Shut the bloody door,” Jack growled as he leaned forward in an attempt to shield Olivia from the butler’s gaze, and that of the footman behind him.

  “Oh no,” she whispered as the door slammed closed. “I’ve skipped over daring and gone straight to debauched.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The summons she’d dreaded since rising from her bed after a mostly sleepless night arrived just after ten o’clock the next morning.

  Surprisingly it was written by Henry rather than their mother.

  My lady,

  You’ve done it now. You’d best come around right quickly, quicker than your friend did last night. All hell is about to break lose.

  Hastings.

  She tried to find a speck of humor at Henry’s ribald words, a modicum of relief in the warning within them. If all hell was about to break lose, did that mean there was still some way to forestall it?

  Clinging to that tiny crumb of possibility, Olivia dressed in a modest gown of pale-blue muslin trimmed with yellow ribbon around the square bodice and half-sleeves. Tucking her curls beneath a wide-brimmed bonnet, she looked in the mirror, schooled her features to calm and pasted a serene smile upon her quivering lips.

  Perhaps gossip had not reached Henry’s ears and it was her butler who had shared her disgrace with Henry, warned him of imminent scandal. Surely Johnston or Henry had spoken to the footman who had seen her kneeling between Jack’s legs with his cock in her hand, and threatened him with dismissal if he were unwise enough to spread the tale about.

  Together she and Henry would come up with a plan. They could send the servants to the country where any gossip might be lessened with distance. Olivia could retreat to Idyllwild once more until the threat had passed. If they only put their heads together they would come up with something, some way to stave off her ruination.

  Holding fast to that thought, Olivia waved away the offer of a carriage and, with Celeste following close behind her, walked the four blocks to Hastings House.

  Any hope of avoiding scandal disappeared as soon as she entered the wide front foyer.

  Henry’s butler avoided her eyes as he opened the massive door for her, his gaze lifted to some spot over her head. Without a word he held out his hand for her bonnet before hurrying down the hall and disappearing, leaving her standing alone in the deserted space.

  “She is your father’s daughter.”

  Olivia followed her mother’s strident voice to the front parlor and silently pushed open the door.

  “Mother, calm yourself,” Henry ordered before spying her hovering at the threshold.

  Lady Hastings spun about, her angry gaze landing on Olivia as she stepped into the room and pushed the door closed behind her.

  “You stupid, selfish girl,” her mother screeched.

  “Mother,” Olivia began.

  “My lady’s maid brought me news of your wanton behavior with my tea and toast this morning,” her mother continued as she advanced across the room, her hands curling at her sides. “Soon all of London will be laughing and snickering behind their hands.”

  Olivia couldn’t even begin to guess how the story had spread to her mother’s household so quickly, nor could she form a single coherent word when her mother stopped before her.

  “Kneeling between that man’s legs like a common trollop,” she hissed.

  Olivia’s eyes darted from her mother’s to Henry’s, where she found regret shining in the blue depths.

  “I saved you from him once,” her mother snarled.

  “What are you talking about?” Olivia asked in confusion, focusing once more on her mother’s pale face, upon her thin lips twisted into a scowl.

  “I saw the way you followed him around when he was just a boy, watched as you fawned over him, lusted after him as he grew into the rough, dirty man he is,” her mother replied in a voice that shook. “Everyone saw it. He saw it, saw his opportunity to rise in your pathetic gaze.”

  Olivia sucked in a shocked breath as her mother’s meaning became clear. Her mother had known, she’d known how her daughter had worshiped Jack Bentley all those years ago.

  “I am hardly that girl any longer,” she said. “And Mr. Bentley is neither rough nor dirty. He is the finest gentleman­­—”

  “Gentleman?” her mother interrupted with a harsh laugh. “He is the son of a miner and a shepherdess, a man with dirt beneath his fingernails and a desire to rise above his humble origins. He is a stupid man, too foolish to realize that he could never rise to your station, that he would only pull you down to his.”

  “Enough,” Henry bellowed, raking one hand through his hair. “That is enough, Mother.”

  “Do not pretend you are not as horrified, as disgusted by her behavior as I am,” their mother replied, turning to face her son.

  Olivia took advantage of her mother’s inattention and stepped back and around her, crossing the room toward Henry who held out a hand to her.

  “Do not touch her!” Lady Hastings screamed. “Do not allow her to sully you, Hastings!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Henry growled.

  “She is tainted! You must toss her from your house, turn your back on her, lest her perversion rub off on you!”

  Henry barked out a dark, gravelly laugh.

  Olivia had nearly reached her brother, nearly reached the safety and support he offered, when her mother flew across the room, her skirts whipping around her legs. She gripped her daughter’s wrist and spun her about.

  “You whore! You will not pull us all down into your pit of perversion!”

  Olivia barely registered her mother’s words as her wrist was gripped and twisted painfully. Without warning, one hand rose and she felt the sting of her mother’s palm across her cheek, the bite of her nails leaving a hot trail in their wake. Her head whipped around, her gaze spinning across the room as she lost her balance. And then she was falling, felt her arm wrenched painfully before her mother released her and allowed her to tumble to a heap at her feet.

  “Olivia!” Henry bounded over to her and dropped to his knees.

  Olivia blinked up at him, one shaking hand raised to her burning cheek.

  “I went to a great deal of trouble to save you, only to have you disobey me and marry that lecher,” her mother grated out between clenched teeth. “I won’t save you again. You deserve to spend the rest of your life pinned beneath his hulking body, his dirty hands defiling you, his member ripping you…”

  Her words ended in a long hiss and Olivia looked up to see her mother stumble back, one bony hand coming up to clutch at her chest. All color drained from her face and her eyes grew wide.

  Then Henry was on his feet, running toward their mother with his arms outstretched.

  Olivia watched in shock as her mother fell against him, her head lolling back on her neck. Henry wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, cradling her. He looked around a bit wildly as if unsure what to do next.

  “Take her to her room,” Olivia whispered as she struggled to her feet, her skirts tangled about her legs.

  “Billings! Fetch Dr. Nelson.”

  Two hours later Olivia sat at her mother’s bedside in the room in which the countess had slept alone for two decades, the room that connected to the earl’s chamber through a door that had rarely been opened, that had likely been locked at all times after the heir had been born.

  Dr. Nelson had come and gone, diagnosing a mild seizure of the heart and prescribing bed rest.

  Guilt and shame mingled in Olivia’s heart as she silently watched
the steady rise and fall of her mother’s chest. She looked so pail, so frail in the big bed, her tiny hands crossed atop the blue coverlet. She knew without a doubt that had her mother been awake she would have banished her from the room, banished her from the house, banished her from her thoughts.

  Mother had long ago banished her from her heart, if there had ever been a time when she’d dwelt there. In truth she couldn’t remember a time when her mother had shown her even the slightest bit of affection, the smallest scrap of love. Always Olivia had been a disappointment to her, a daughter when she’d wanted a son, an awkward skinny girl when she’d wanted a pretty little miniature to dress up and show off to her friends, a shy debutant when she’d wanted a vivacious lady to snare the Marquis of Belmont.

  When she’d married the Earl of Palmerton and the ton applauded her choice, Olivia had hoped she’d finally pleased her mother, that they might form a loving bond as so many of her friends shared with their mothers. And perhaps they would have, had Olivia conceived an heir in a timely fashion. Instead she’d struggled for years, a disappointment to both her mother and her husband, before she’d been rewarded with a son.

  By then it was too late. Olivia no longer craved her mother’s acceptance, no longer wished for her approval. She’d wished only to be allowed a bit of peace, a smidgeon of freedom to enjoy her children, to form a maternal bond with them, one that would never be stretched beyond the breaking point, one that would hold them close to her and assure that they always knew they were loved.

  And now her mother lay as still as death after her seizure, a seizure brought on by Olivia’s wanton behavior with Jack.

  The door behind her opened with a soft creak and Olivia looked up to see Henry poke his head around the thick wood.

  “Beatrice and Alice are downstairs,” he whispered.

  Without a word, Olivia rose to her feet and left the quiet chamber, slowly following Henry through the hall and down the stairs. She found her sister and cousin sitting on a low settee in the mauve and gray parlor where not long ago she’d discovered, much to her shame, that her mother did in fact loathe her as she’d cried in Jack’s arms.