Duke of Scandal (24 page)

Olivia thought she might die of pure pleasure, wanting him more with each gentle touch, each stroke of his hand.

At long last he released her and moved up again so he faced her. “I want to make love to you again, Olivia.”

She actually grinned, slowly opening her eyes to the starkness of his gaze. “I give you permission, you silly man,” she purred in a breathless whisper. “You don't even have to force me.”

He smiled in return as she traced the lines and planes
of his handsome face with her fingers, ran the pad of her thumb across his lips until he kissed it lightly.

Gruffly he added, “But you'll be sore from the first time, so we're going to do it another way.”

Aching for him madly, her body afire, skin burning from his touch, she couldn't be certain if she heard him correctly. “There's—” She gasped as he placed his hand between her legs. “There's another way?”

He groaned, taking her mouth again, his tongue flicking across her lips before he whispered against them, “My sweet, innocent Olivia…”

Then without warning he released her lips and moved swiftly toward the foot of the bed, quickly placing his head where only a moment ago his hand had been.

Olivia kept her eyes locked with his, then jumped, startled, when he lifted her knees and began to run his tongue up and down the soft, moist folds hidden inside her intimate curls.

Her shock was short-lived, for in seconds he had her reeling from the sumptuous, forbidden touch, stroking her up and down until he found her hidden nub of pleasure. Then he quickened his pace and changed it, concentrating on the center of her desire, rotating his tongue, stroking her back and forth, faster and harder until she relaxed and closed her eyes, giving in to the moment.

She could feel herself nearing her crest almost at once as she began to move her hips up and down to match his steady, focused rhythm. She moaned softly, her hands on his head, fingers in his hair, visualizing his mouth on her, his tongue inside of her, his erection
long and hard and ready to claim her.

“Sam…” she breathed, searching for the moment of release, meeting each flick of his tongue with a lift of her lips as the tension within her coiled ever tighter.

“Sam—oh God, Sam…”

He reached up and grasped her hands, interlocking their fingers the moment she reached her peak.

She cried out, squeezing his hands, rocking her hips into him as she gave herself over to the intense pleasure, moaning his name, her eyes tightly shut as wave after wave passed through her.

As soon as he felt her movements start to slow, he quickly raised his body and angled it above her, supporting himself with one hand beside her head, gazing down to her face, into her eyes, as he positioned his erection beneath her moist folds. But he didn't enter her. Instead, he began to rock his own hips, very slightly, allowing just the tip of him to brush against her sensitive nub.

Olivia gasped from the sharpness of the sensation, opening her eyes to look at him, to watch him, to discover the joy in seeing him climax.

He held his body up above hers on one palm, his arm flexed tightly from the weight, his chest and shoulders tense with effort. With the other hand he held the base of his erection to guide him as he stroked her up and down, at first very slowly, then increasing his pace as he neared his release.

Olivia had never imagined anything so erotic in her life. She stared, mesmerized, wishing desperately for him to enter her, filling her within as he had earlier, but finding this ever more intoxicating, stimulating.

He groaned low in his chest, the muscles in his face
flexed as he tightened his jaw, his breathing coming in rasps as he closed his eyes to the sensations.

And then, unexpectedly, something wound up inside of her and she felt the sudden building of pleasure once more, quickly this time, taking her to the edge of satisfaction within seconds.

She moaned, and he raised his lids to look at her again, a trace of surprise crossing his features as he watched her.

“Oh God, Livi, come for me again. Come for me, sweetheart.”

His voice sounded pained, intense, as he moved himself faster and harder against her.

She reached up and touched his face. And then with a low moan she called out his name in a whisper as he pushed her over the edge for a second time. She whimpered, basking in the delicious brilliance of each pulsing wave of pleasure, made perfect by knowing she was taking him with her.

“Oh God,” he breathed. “Oh God. Olivia…”

And then he grunted as his powerful body jerked against her from the sudden rush of intense pleasure, as he rubbed himself against her cleft, his eyes shut, jaw clenched, his head arched back while he moaned and accepted everything she gave.

At last he gradually slowed his movements, then lowered his body beside hers, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.

Olivia felt her breathing slow as she relaxed, relishing the feel of him beside her, listening to the steady beating of his heart beneath her cheek.

What she'd experienced with him, because of him,
this day, would be etched in her memory forever. This marvelous man made the world more colorful, her life worth living for every wonderful reason.

At that moment in time she realized the true nature of love. And she loved him.

I
t would be a night to remember.

Olivia sat across from Sam in what had to be the most expensive and luxurious coach in which she'd ever ridden in her life.

He'd been busy this week, she mused, realizing now where he'd spent his time away from her. He had obviously purchased this beautiful and enormous rig specifically for the ball tonight, and his personal coat of arms had been painted on the black lacquered door in bright gold. The inside was incredibly comfortable, with its plush, ruby red interior, velveteen seating, window curtains, and floor carpeting.

He'd also had spectacular formal wear tailor-made on demand, and he looked positively magnificent tonight, dressed in black Italian silk, a white frilled shirt
with silk-trimmed collar and revers, and a black, double-breasted waistcoat.

They'd both ordered baths before they dressed, as the hotel offered a tub and hot water with an hour's notice. Olivia had washed with the vanilla-scented soap she'd purchased at Govance earlier in the week, then splashed a vanilla-based, Asian spice eau de cologne over much of her body as her chosen fragrance for this night.

After brushing her hair dry, she'd plaited it with a gold chain and a string of pearls, twisted together, then coiled the braid loosely atop her head, pulling out a few wispy tendrils around her neck and face to soften the effect.

After donning her undergarments and her tightest corset, which clasped in front and lifted her breasts, she pulled on the golden gown she'd worn the first night she met Sam. It was her best evening dress, with its stunning shimmer, tight waist, and low neckline, which allowed for a tantalizing peek at her cleavage. Sam had helped her by fastening the back buttons without thought. After their early afternoon escapade, she no longer felt even remotely embarrassed by his lingering touch or the kiss he dropped on her neck when he finished.

They left the hotel at exactly half past seven, allowing them ample time for their scheduled arrival at eight o'clock. They'd mutually agreed on the specifics, as they wanted to make their appearance well after many of the guests, giving them an opportunity to blend with the crowd before Sam was noticed. And frankly, Olivia wanted to be late enough to make Edmund stew as he watched for her and her so-called husband.

Sam sat across from her now, looking marvelously sophisticated and more handsome than she'd ever seen him. He'd bathed, shaved, and combed his hair neatly away from his face, and even added a touch of cologne—not because he liked it, she decided, but because it was a unique blend created by her, chosen only for him.

The excitement had begun to build in her the moment she'd seen the coach and he helped her inside. Now, as they were almost upon the estate proper, she could hardly contain herself. They'd spoken little on the ride, Sam lost in his own contemplation of the night ahead, but he seemed amused by her nervousness, commenting once about twisting her ivory fan in her lap.

The coach slowed as they pulled up behind a string of carriages and coaches, both private and hired, the house ahead lit up as it had been last night, only even more spectacularly, if that were possible.

Olivia sat forward with anticipation as she glanced out the window, slipping one gloved hand through the thin rope on her gold-embroidered reticule.

“Are you ready for this?” Sam asked quietly, breaking the silence.

She looked at him and grinned. “I've never been more anxious to attend a ball in my entire life.”

He smiled in return, the lights from the house now casting a glow across his face. “You look breathtaking,” he murmured.

She practically melted into her seat, staring at him with pure adoration. “As do you, your grace.”

His lips twitched up on one side. “And you smell good, too.”

“It's a vanilla-based spice, a new purchase from Govance.”

“Buying from the competition, eh?” he teased.

In an utterly shocking decision on her part, she lowered her voice to just above a whisper, leaning toward him to ask, “Would you like to know a perfumer's secret of seduction?”

His brows rose with titillation. “Here?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Wryly, he repeated, “Why not, indeed?”

Impishly, she said, “Many a seductress through the years has used only one heady, exotic, musky scent to…attract a gentleman when she wants him in her bed.”

His mouth dropped open, but he didn't respond verbally, just watched her.

She scooted forward on her seat, perching on the edge. In a husky whisper, grinning broadly, she revealed, “They take their fingers and collect the sexual moisture from between their legs, then place it behind their ears, across their throats, and between their breasts, where, as it happens, gentlemen adore directing their attention.” She sat up a little. “The scent of musk has always been a favorite among men. And of course husbands like it because it doesn't cost a penny.”

She'd shocked him, and it made her giggle.

He shook his head slowly. “Livi, love, you have absolutely changed my world.”

The coach came to a stop at that moment, and just as a footman unlatched the door, she stood and leaned over and kissed him once, quickly, on the mouth.

“For luck, my darling.” And then she took the hand
the footman offered her and stepped from their beautiful coach.

Together they traversed the steps to the great front door, behind other guests whose carriages had preceded theirs, her arm through his, clinging to him a bit more firmly than the situation warranted. He seemed calm, but she could read his moods so well now, every different facial expression, every touch, and she knew without question that his anticipation of the events to come had to be eating him inside.

The footmen only briefly noticed them as they entered the foyer among the group of arriving guests, most of whom had yet to meet Brigitte's intended, and so no one paid them any more attention than they might have under normal circumstances, although she and Sam, in their expensive and beautiful attire, made a striking couple.

Instead of taking an immediate left into the drawing room as she did last night, they instead made their way in slow progression down a wide hallway toward the back of the estate.

The Marcotte staff had decorated superbly for tonight's event, lighting candles everywhere and placing freshly cut flowers in colorful, imported vases on every flat surface they passed, the aroma filling the air to mingle with a variety of perfume, sweet cigars, and the smell of delicious food that drifted out of the ballroom just ahead of them.

Sam kept his eyes focused straight ahead, and just as they reached the wide entryway, she gently squeezed his arm.

He glanced down at her and smiled, giving her a
look that sent waves of comfort and serenity coursing through her. She returned it with a smile of her own; not a grin of excitement as she had before, but one of complete understanding and hope that tonight would only be the beginning of marvelous things to come.

Then at last they entered the ballroom, lit brilliantly by a thousand candles, reflecting off long mirrors that adorned the walls and the intricate gilt carvings that covered the high ceiling. Footmen in crimson livery carried golden platters of champagne in flutes and hors d'oeuvres as they worked their way through the crowd. A six-piece orchestra sat in the far northwest corner, now playing a gavotte as a blur of colorful skirts whirled around the dance floor in time to the music.

Olivia adored parties, and beholding the visual beauty in front of her, with the man of her dreams escorting her, made this one simply magical.

Sam began moving to their right, leading her around a group of minglers, laughing and chatting, their voices carrying just above the din.

“Are we going to dance?” she asked, hoping he'd say yes because once the family discovered them, the gaiety of the evening would be over and the drama would begin.

He lowered his head so she could hear him. “Not until they play a waltz. I loathe dancing, and refuse to suffer through any other style.”

She tilted her shoulders forward so he couldn't help but look at her. “You loathe dancing?” she asked, surprised.

He gave her a wry grin. “The only thing I despise
more is attending the opera.”

She laughed. “Then I'll never make you suffer through any of them but
The Magic Flute.
I adore
The Magic Flute.
”

He snorted. “I think I could manage to stay awake through one production by Mozart. At least the first act.”

“Ahh…what a delight it'll be to make you suffer for my personal enjoyment,” she teased, hugging his arm.

“I'd suffer through anything for you, Olivia,” he admitted, his watchful gaze directed again toward the crowd.

He'd said that casually, as if it were a passing thought, and yet the meaning behind his words pierced her heart with an incredible, inexplicable happiness. That's when the waltz began, and without comment he led her straight to the dance floor.

Olivia cherished the moment, noting how very much this dance reminded her of their first one, in London, when she'd worn the same gown and gazed into his beautiful eyes, so angry with him because she thought he was Edmund. Now she saw only Sam, as individual as any man, with his own longings and fears and dreams.

She smiled up to his face as he regarded her, twirling her with an expertise that defied his impressive stature or his disclosure that he detested dancing. He was a marvelous dancer.

“I want to tell you something I've never said to you before,” she confided, peering intently into his eyes.

His brows furrowed briefly, and then instead of grinning at her, or teasing her, or even looking vaguely curious, his features instead turned solemn, his gaze taking on a depth of intensity she didn't think she'd
ever witnessed from him before.

“Tell me,” he urged, his voice gravelly, low, and just barely audible above the music.

Her own voice all but trembled with emotion as she revealed, “I've now known you almost as long as I knew Edmund. And with every breath inside me, with every beat of my heart, I want you to know that there is not one thing about him that compares to the wonderful person you are.” She inhaled deeply for strength. “If the two of you were standing together, wearing exactly the same clothes, the same hairstyles, the same expression, I would know you with my eyes closed, simply by touching your face.”

For a second or two he just stared at her, a cascade of candid feelings spanning his features, his pace slowing as the meaning behind her words took hold and struck him soundly.

And then he swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he pulled her into him as close as he could, his arm closing around her waist, his chest against her breasts. Then he lowered his forehead to rest it on hers.

“Oh, Olivia…”

His voice, the sound of her name on his lips, enveloped her as a pleading whisper for a lifetime of dreams.

She closed her eyes, their dancing now nothing more than a mere swaying of one heartbeat, one shared soul.

“I love you,” she breathed.

His body shook as he replied in a low, harsh murmur of wonder, “I love you, too.”

Olivia knew that nothing in her life would ever compare to this moment with him, to the staggering, exquisite joy she felt inside to hear him repeat those words
from the depths of his heart, to hear them carried on a whispered wave of tumultuous feelings, always to be cherished as he held her close in a beautiful room full of people, as he swayed with her to the music of a thousand angels that sang in a triumph of everlasting gladness, only for them.

She wanted so badly to kiss him, to run away with him to an exotic land and never return, never look back, to be with him like this forever.

Tears glistened on her lashes when she felt him lift his forehead from hers and kiss her brow, very softly, his lips lingering for a moment or two before he pulled back.

She glanced up, witnessing adoration in his dark eyes, and met his smile, just a faint lifting of the corners of his mouth.

Suddenly his gaze darted over her head and she watched his features change, his smile vanishing as the planes of his face hardened, his eyelids narrowed.

At that moment she realized everything had changed around her. The music still played, but no longer a waltz, and those who'd been dancing near them had all scooted back to form a circle, watching and whispering among them.

Olivia became acutely aware of how they appeared, embracing each other indecently close, like two lost lovers in their own tiny world.

She felt Sam release her, placing his hands on her upper arms, pushing her back a little as her face flushed hot from an instantaneous, acute embarrassment.

And then Sam whispered, “It's time,” and that's when she realized they'd all noticed him.

The drama had begun.