by Darcy Burke
Jasper felt the same but couldn’t completely ignore a hollow sensation in the pit of his belly.
Upon returning her to Lady Herrick, he conversed with them for a polite few minutes before excusing himself. Hastily, he strode to where Malheur was tethered with the other horses. The duke arrived as Jasper took Malheur’s reins from one of the grooms.
Holborn glared the groom into a hasty retreat. When he turned his attention to Jasper, his eyes were hard chips of ice in his furious face. “Where the bloody hell are you going? This is your mother’s annual picnic!”
“Yes, and it’s lovely. I’ve other business to attend.”
“Business? What could be more important than courting Lady Philippa?”
Jasper didn’t bother concealing his contempt. “I’m going to visit your sister. You’re aware, I believe, that Louisa hurt her ankle and is recuperating at Benfield, not that you seem to give a damn. Besides, I’ve done my duty today. I’m certain you saw me with Lady Philippa.”
“A ten minute walk is not courtship!”
“It is for one day. Would you rather I secret her behind a tree and toss up her skirts?”
“Base, foul…” The duke gritted his teeth. “But what should I expect after that country girl? You’re an embarrassment.”
His constant recollection of that decade-old mistake was beyond tedious. Jasper tried to quell his rising anger. “I’m calling on Lady Philippa day after tomorrow. I may have agreed to marry someone of whom you approve, but never again try to entrap me with her or any other female.”
The duke stepped forward, throwing his shoulders back. “I’ll do whatever I must to get what I want, Saxton.”
Jasper froze as the arrogance of the duke’s words sunk in. This was precisely what he was doing to Olivia. He’d do whatever necessary to obtain what he wanted: the truth from her. His investigation into her background…was that to protect Louisa or was it ammunition to somehow manipulate Olivia?
He glared in lieu of saying goodbye and swung himself up on Malheur’s back. The horse picked up his hooves, as eager to quit the picnic as Jasper. They turned and galloped away through the park.
Nearly an hour later, Jasper arrived at Benfield invigorated. He took the steps two at a time. The footman just barely managed to open the door before Jasper reached the threshold.
The butler, a robust man in his mid-forties called Ruben, greeted him in the entry hall. “Good afternoon, Lord Saxton. Your aunt is resting abovestairs presently.”
Excellent. “And where is Miss West?”
“Out, I’m afraid.”
Disappointment deflated Jasper’s expectant mood. “She’s not riding?”
Ruben gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. “Exploring the heath via carriage.”
Bloody hell. “When is she expected to return?”
“I’m not certain, my lord.” Ruben’s bushy, dark brows—so at odds with the thinning hair atop his head—drew together. “In fact, she’s already been gone several hours. I might have expected her back by now.”
A bead of apprehension worked its way down Jasper’s spine. “Do you think we ought to search for her?”
Another tiny shake of Ruben’s head. “She had a coachman and a footman, my lord. I doubt they’ve run afoul.”
He hated that she wasn’t here now. He’d worked himself into a pique on the ride from Town, planning each moment of their encounter.
“I’ll be happy to inform you of her arrival,” Ruben offered.
He had a better idea. “No, thank you. I’m going to my bedchamber, and I don’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Jasper climbed the stairs with considerably less excitement than he had a few moments ago, but with utmost deliberation. He knew which bedchamber Olivia was using, and he would await her there with avid impatience.
IT was late in the afternoon before Olivia returned to Benfield. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but she wasn’t hungry. More than anything she craved the quiet solitude of her chamber, but doubted she’d get that until later. Louisa had to be wondering where she’d been.
Much to Olivia’s relief, Ruben greeted her at the door and informed her Louisa was resting. Olivia took the opportunity to retreat to her room. As she ascended the stairs, she reflected that Benfield seemed even larger and more splendid than usual, punctuating her sense of isolation and disconnection.
There were equally plausible arguments for both men to be her father, but it seemed more likely she was the vicar’s spawn. The shared birthmark—which she planned to search for immediately—seemed the most persuasive evidence, because it was visible proof of something she shared with one of the men. The other “evidence” was simply coincidence or could be linked to either of them, which made it useless.
She removed her hat and gloves before opening her door. Once inside the sanctuary of her bedchamber, she secured the lock and sank back against the wood.
She blinked.
Jasper, the fair-haired devil, sat in a chair on the other side of her bed, his long legs stretched in front of him. He’d removed his coat, and his cravat was loosened. His hair was a bit mussed, giving him a careless appearance that only enhanced his good looks.
Instantly, her muscles tightened, ready to flee. “What are you doing in here?”
He rose quickly. “I shall ask the questions, I think. Where have you been?”
Words clogged in her throat as he approached, his pale blue eyes spitting a fire that held no warmth.
He stopped just before her, giving her a thoroughly assessing perusal. “Where. Have. You. Been.”
She stepped around him, uncomfortable with the energy pulsing from him, and tossed her hat and gloves on a chair. As angry as he’d been after her failed seduction scheme, he looked even more infuriated now. Her stomach flipped. What lie had he unraveled? For that had to be the reason for his fury.
He grabbed her arm and spun her back around to face him. “You’re not avoiding me. Not today.”
His eyes bore into hers with singular, steely intent. Her limbs shook with emotion. Fear? She refused to feel that. He wouldn’t hurt her, even if she told him the truth about visiting her aunt. Which she couldn’t. To share such rejection would be the ultimate humiliation. “I was driving around the heath.”
“Liar.” His soft tone was at odds with the sentiment. “Try again.”
She swallowed, seeking moisture for her parched throat. “I was visiting a friend.”
“What friend?” His grip on her arm loosened, but he didn’t let go. His touch was almost tender.
How she longed for comfort, yearned for…something and someone. “No one you know. Someone from…before.”
“Someone who knew Fiona Scarlet?”
Her insides turned to ice. “How did you know?”
“It wasn’t that hard to deduce. I find myself asking why I didn’t know.”
She didn’t think it was a question he wanted answered.
“Since Fiona is your mother, it seems highly unlikely you’re Merry’s cousin. What else have you lied about?”
Olivia swallowed. This was the moment to tell him the truth about Merry, to finally share this burden with someone, but Louisa’s admonitions sounded in her head.
There was no use lying about Fiona at least. “Fine, now you know I’m a bastard. Fiona was my mother and my father was a relative of Merry’s.”
His features flickered with some emotion—pity, understanding? She couldn’t tell because it was gone as quickly as it had come.
“You’re still insisting you’re related to Merry?” His grip squeezed her arm, but not painfully. He pushed her backward until the backs of her thighs met the bed. “Stop lying. I’m going to find someone in Newton Abbott who will expose you.”
He was right. She’d known it was only a matter of time. The time had just come sooner. She closed her eyes, hoping Louisa wouldn’t be angry with her.
“I’m not Merry’s cousin. I’m his
daughter.” Or at least I thought I was until this afternoon, and now I don’t know anything. Tears threatened, but she refused to break down in front of Jasper, just as she refused to share the humiliation of her questionable paternity.
“Bloody rubbish.” He let go of her arm and braced his hand on the bedpost on her right side. He towered over her. “Be honest with me. For once.”
Suddenly tired of responding to everyone’s whim—her aunt’s, her mother’s, even Louisa’s, and most especially Jasper’s—she shoved at him so hard he stumbled backward. “Leave me alone!”
She wanted to cry at the contradiction of the moment, demanding he leave her alone when all she wanted was someone to soothe her pain. He couldn’t be that person.
Olivia strode into her dressing chamber, intent on shutting the door and locking him out. Except he was too fast. He caught her and they bumped together, hitting the wall. “I will have my answers, by God.”
“You’ll have nothing from me,” she spat. “Why can’t you accept me for who I am?”
He stared at her. “You’re talking nonsense.” He pushed her back against the wall and thrust himself against her, pressing his knee between her legs.
Olivia gasped, both because of his quick movement and because of her body’s response. Heat rushed to her limbs, to her core, making her throb with desire.
She didn’t want to want him. “Please, let me go.”
“I can’t.” He lowered his mouth to hers and sucked on her lower lip. His teeth snagged at the soft flesh and without thinking, she pulled his head down.
The kiss exploded with fiery need. His mouth slanted over hers, open, wet, hot. He demanded her complete response, and she gave it. Her fingers pulled at the back of his hair. His knee pushed higher until it met her pulsing center.
Abruptly, he pulled back, leaving her aching. His pupils had dilated, obliterating some of the icy blue. She jerked back to awareness and scrambled out of the dressing room. She didn’t turn until she’d reached the other side of the room and the bed separated them. “You need to leave.”
He’d followed her into the bedroom, nearly around the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I won’t leave without the truth. Why would you be foolish enough to feed me another lie? Merry can’t be your father.”
“Ask Louisa. She’s the one who told me. You know she found me through my handkerchiefs. What you don’t know is that she has a letter from my mother to Merry. About me. She’s the one who fabricated the story about me being Merry’s cousin. She didn’t want anyone to know I’m a bastard.”
He stared at her. “I can verify all of this just by going to Louisa and asking her.”
“I know you can. I invite you to do so, though she’ll be angry since she asked me not to tell you.”
“What?” He looked befuddled, and she felt a pang of sorrow for him. “Why wouldn’t she want me to know the truth?”
“She didn’t want to burden you with potential scandal. And she’s not certain how like your father you really are.”
The anguish lining his face was unmistakable. He hated that his beloved aunt would categorize him with the duke. “She should have trusted me. I can’t believe she didn’t.” He turned away.
Regardless of what had gone on between them or where their relationship was destined, Olivia had to reach out to another person in pain. She went to him and stood beside him. “I’m sorry.”
He stared straight ahead. She moved around him to stand in front of him, trying to draw his gaze. She ached to touch him, to wipe the lines from his face.
Finally, he looked at her, and the need in his eyes nearly buckled her knees. She should go back to the dressing room and bolt the door. Instead, she moved closer.
He ran his fingertip down the side of her face. Desire wound through her, quickening her pulse and heating her flesh. His hand cupped the side of her neck and she closed her eyes. His thumb tipped her chin up, forcing her head back. She felt exposed, vulnerable. Her body thrummed with need.
Soft lips dragged along the column of her throat. His mouth opened and his tongue traced hot whorls against her sensitive flesh. God, how she wanted this. Her body, her soul cried out for his attention. Louisa’s affection was a balm, but Jasper’s desire was like food and water and shelter—everything she needed to survive.
His other hand snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against him. He was hard and hot. She opened her eyes as his mouth continued its downward path. He pulled the fichu from the top of her day dress and his lips worked a feverish trail over the swell of her breast.
He pivoted her about until they were beside the bed. He moved his hand down her neck to cup her breast. She gasped and he froze.
He straightened and looked down into her eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”
She should. This was madness. Men had offered to buy her body since she was fifteen, but her mother—thank God—had never allowed it. A few men had wooed her, but none with the precision and care of this man. He was a generous, solicitous gentleman who saved animals, people in need, and loved his aunt as any son would love a mother. She wanted a piece of him, however she could get it.
Olivia reached up and smoothed her fingers over the lines at the corner of his eye. Then she caressed his cheek. Then she ran her fingertip along the corner of his mouth and finally dragged it across his lower lip. So soft. “No, I don’t want you to stop.”
They stared at each other a moment. Then his mouth found hers, and she melted against him.
Urgently, his fingers worked the fastenings of her gown. He was quick, expert. Her dress gaped in the front and he pushed it down to her waist. She squirmed out of it until it pooled at her feet. His fingers loosened her stays, and the garment joined her dress.
All while he’d removed her outer clothing, he’d kissed her. His tongue invading and conquering. She met his thrusts and licks with her own, trying madly to keep up with his pace. She clutched at the back of his neck, pressing him to her, keeping him close lest he change his mind and abandon her.
He lifted her and set her on the edge of the bed. He stood between her thighs, drawing her forward until his shaft pressed against her core. She pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his hips. He groaned.
Desperate to admire and stroke his bare chest, she unbuttoned his waistcoat. In her haste, she fumbled. He pushed her hands away and completed the task, his knuckles brushing against her tender breasts.
She thrust toward him, begging for more. His hands closed over her breasts, heat enveloping each mound. She pushed his waistcoat off and dragged the hem of his shirt from his breeches.
With a grunt, he pulled the garment over his head. While he discarded his shirt, she tried to do the same with her shift, but it tangled at her waist. He reached for the neck of the garment and ripped it down the middle.
He leaned forward, and she thought he meant to kiss her, but his mouth closed over an exposed nipple. Heat and moisture surrounded the straining tip. Olivia moaned, clasping his head to her.
His hips drove forward, pressing his erection into her cleft. She met his thrust, desire spiraling outward from that blissful connection.
With his mouth, he tugged at her flesh, softly, and then with more force. He cupped the forgotten breast then closed his fingers over the sensitive nipple, rolling it. Gently at first, followed by a pinch. She gasped. He moved his mouth to suck at the tortured flesh. Olivia opened her legs wider, needing to feel him closer, harder. She didn’t know what she sought, but it was coming closer with every lick and stroke.
He stood up, and she nearly cried out with want. His hands massaged her breasts, cupping, covering, coaxing. Lust pulsed between her legs. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.
He stroked down to her navel and lower. His fingers grazed the hair at the apex of her thighs, and she jerked upward. If only he would touch her there. He skimmed the flesh on either side of her pulsing cleft.
Down he traced, until he reached her garters. He dragged one fin
ger around the top of her left stocking. With deliberation, he rolled the cotton down her leg. His mouth followed the stocking, forging an erotic path of lush kisses and sensual licks as he bared each inch of flesh.
She panted with anticipation when he started on her right leg. He pushed her thighs farther apart, leaving her uncomfortably open. It was one thing to have him standing there, but to have him looking at her there…she tried to bring her legs together.
With a quick flick, he stroked his finger over her sex. She drew in a sharp breath, but he went back to removing her right stocking. His hand remained poised on her upper thigh, and she didn’t try to press her thighs together again.
Down, down the stocking went. Up, up her desire climbed. When she was at last bare, and her entire body quivered with a need she didn’t fully understand, he looked his fill.
Slowly, he smiled. That simple act proved just as arousing as what he’d just done to her.
She needed to feel him. “Kiss me again.”
He leaned over her, cupped her face, brought his hands down to the curve of her neck. With his thumbs, he stroked over her throat. “I could kiss you here.”
His hands moved lower, the palms grazing over her nipples. “Or here.”
She arched up, her breasts straining against him.
He circled each nipple with the tip of his forefingers. He continued his path downward, dragging his fingertips over her belly. “Or here.”
She quivered in anticipation, hoping his hands would delve lower. He towered over her supine position. He drew a finger over her mound. Her hips bucked.
“Or, I could kiss you here.” He stroked her thighs.
Put his mouth there? He couldn’t.
Every nerve in her body sparked to full awareness. She hovered between uncertainty and desire, unsure of what to do but needing something so desperately she could only pray it would come.
His fingers moved softly over her flesh. It felt wonderful, but she knew there had to be more. He flirted with her, coming closer and closer to the opening. Finally, he slipped his middle finger inside. She gasped, and he withdrew. He returned to massaging the exterior, his thumb rotating over an unbelievably sensitive spot. She lifted her pelvis, wanting his finger inside of her again. She needed more, couldn’t bear it if he didn’t give her what she craved.
