His Wicked Heart (25 page)

She’d been alone so long. His touch, his
care, his devotion, even if it was only to her body, filled her
with joy. The world opened, and anything seemed possible.

He backed away from her and removed his
boots. The setting sun basked the chamber in a warm, golden glow.
She stared at his bare chest, riveted while he removed his
stockings. He was magnificently built. Darkened nipples crowned
perfectly formed muscles. Her fingers itched to touch him. And
after what he’d just given her…she couldn’t simply lie there.

She kneeled up and ran her hands over his
chest. He was hot. She found a small patch of fine hair in the
center, but the rest of him was as smooth and hard as carved stone.
He tensed, but she thought it was from pleasure.

“My breeches.” His voice was dark, rough,
dangerous.

Olivia dipped her fingers down to the top of
his breeches. Here she encountered another trail of hair
disappearing into his waistband. She unbuttoned the fall and traced
the blond path, savoring the labored sounds of his breathing.

“Take them off.” There was desperation in his
tone.

She understood how he felt and smiled to
herself. Her knuckles brushed against the part of him he’d pressed
between her legs. The part he would soon put inside of her. A new
wave of moisture rushed to her center.

His hips thrust forward. She touched him
again, this time with purpose. She grazed her fingers along the tip
straining against his drawers. He pushed his garments down, but in
his haste, the drawers and breeches tangled together. Olivia put
her hands over his and pulled the breeches down first. Once they
reached his thighs, he tore them from his body. Then she tugged his
drawers over his hips. His sex sprang from the linen. She
swallowed.

While he stripped the undergarment away, she
continued to stare at him. Hair surrounded his erection. And two
tight sacs of flesh hung beneath. Curious as to their texture, she
touched one. They tensed. Emboldened, she ran her finger up the
length of his shaft. The flesh was surprisingly silky, but hard,
like his chest. Puzzling how he could feel so soft and so hard at
once. Men, it would seem, were made of two distinct opposites.

She reached the tip. Moisture gathered there
as it did between her thighs. Could she taste him as he’d tasted
her? His hand closed over hers. He circled her fingers around him,
guided her palm down to the base and back again. He repeated the
motion but with greater urgency. He wanted her to pump him with the
same tempo he’d used on her.

Happily, she obliged, and his hand fell away.
His eyes were closed, his head tipped back. The dimming light
allowed her a dusky view of his masculine features. The rough
planes were broken only by the curl of his golden lashes against
his cheeks. She pressed her lips to his, wanting to steal the
anguish hiding in the lines of his face. He opened his mouth,
kissing her with savage intensity.

She worked her hand harder. He stabbed
forward with tongue and shaft, sliding into her mouth and fist.
With her other hand, she pulled at his hip, guiding him toward
her.

With a loud groan, he wrapped his arms around
her and pressed her back onto the bed. He followed her, dipping the
mattress with his powerful frame, and settled between her legs. He
positioned the tip of his shaft at her opening. She rocked her hips
up, and he surged forward. She stretched to accommodate his
invasion, but there was a burning discomfort as her muscles pulled
in a new way. She gasped and tried to retreat. He set his hands on
her hips and pushed inside of her.

He froze over her. “I didn’t know… You wanted
to continue… God, what have I done?” He hadn’t expected her to be a
virgin.

Olivia cringed at the regret in his voice.
She touched his face. “Don’t. I did want you. I still do.”

He bent down and whispered in her ear. “I’m
sorry.” He didn’t move, just rested within her. Slowly, the
discomfort receded. He sat up and put his finger between them,
stroked her flesh until pleasure began to build once more.

She pulsed around him, rotated her pelvis up.
Then he pulled out.
No, come back
.

He stroked forward then backward. The
friction—
God
—was exquisite. His finger continued to work her
while he plunged in and out. She wanted more, had to have him deep
inside of her. She wrapped her legs around him. He clasped her hips
with both hands and drove into her with blistering force.
Yes
. This was what she needed. His breathing grew ragged,
his grip more harsh, his fingers biting into her flesh. Then he
moved them up to her breasts and squeezed.

Olivia reached up and pulled his head down
for a ravenous, penetrating kiss.

He groaned into her mouth. “Olivia. I have
to—” Whatever he meant to say next was cut off by a rasp as he
pulled out of her. Her pleasure had been intense, but his abrupt
departure prevented her reaching the same peak. He cried out,
arching his neck back and then fell beside her.

She was cold without his weight pressing her
into the bed. She became aware of moisture on her cheek. She wasn’t
crying. Had he? No, she couldn’t imagine a man like him—any man
really—shedding tears. His skin was heated, slick with
perspiration. That had to be the cause.

He shifted, pulling her back against him.
Their breathing regulated. She relaxed in his embrace. Later she
would get up and put herself to rights. For now, she allowed
herself to feel protected. Cherished.

A knock on the door jolted both of them
up.

“Olivia, are you awake, dear?”

Ruined
.

JASPER SCRAMBLED off the bed. Had he really
just ruined his second virgin?
Bloody hell
.

Olivia also left the bed, her tattered shift
still hanging from her shoulders. She picked up her discarded
garments as she hurried toward her dressing chamber. “Yes, just
give me a moment, Louisa,” she called.

He grabbed his clothing and trailed her into
the dressing chamber.

Her eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”
She pulled on a dressing robe, covering her lush curves.

“I’m going to get dressed.”

Her gaze raked his nude body. Lust poured
through him.

She turned her head but not before he saw her
cheeks redden. “You’re not going to tell Louisa?”

“God, no.” He pulled on his breeches.

She nodded and left, closing the door behind
her.

He drew his shirt over his head. She’d been a
virgin. He never would have done it if he’d known. But then, he
hadn’t asked. His hands fisted.

After a moment during which he couldn’t form
coherent thought, Jasper pressed his ear to the wood. Olivia had
admitted Louisa. Their conversation was too muffled. He eased open
the door to reveal a thin strip of the bedchamber. He didn’t want
to see, just to hear.

“How was your outing, dear?”

“Pleasant. I’ll tell you about it at dinner.
Your ankle must be feeling better.”

“Indeed, I think we can return to London
tomorrow. I understand Jasper arrived. Perhaps he’ll dine with
us.”

He couldn’t have dinner with them. Not after
what he’d just done.

He sank onto a cushioned bench. Slowly he
pulled on a stocking. Christ above! His boots were still out
there.

Jasper sprang to his feet and began an
apprehensive circuit around the small room. He was a defiler of
virgins. Again. Yes, they’d both been as eager as he, but damn it,
he was no better than his father alleged.

At last he knew the truth about her bait and
switch scheme. Her virginity wasn’t the proof, but her
vulnerability. He knew her regret was real, recognized it in
himself. And if she hadn’t lied about that… Could he trust her?
Could she be Merry’s daughter? Louisa evidently thought so. And if
she wanted to trust Olivia, perhaps he should too.

But there were still so many lies. Louisa
needed to know Olivia was Fiona’s daughter. She was bound to find
out, and it would be best if she heard it from Olivia. It made no
sense, however, to ever let her know about his and Olivia’s prior
acquaintance, and certainly not their current relationship.

Which was what? She couldn’t be his mistress.
That would devastate Louisa. But neither could she be his wife.
What the hell was he thinking? She was the bastard daughter of a
notorious actress. The duke would get rid of her, just as he’d done
with Abigail. That would also devastate Louisa. What a goddamned
mess.

The dressing room door creaked open. He
opened his eyes and tipped his head up. Olivia stood in the doorway
with his boots in her hand.

Jasper cringed. “Did my aunt see them?”

She dropped them at his feet. “No, thank
goodness.”

Quietly, he pulled on his other stocking and
then his boots. “I didn’t know you were a virgin.”

She’d assumed a position on the opposite side
of the room, near her dressing table. “I know. I should have told
you.” She crossed her arms. “Would you have stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t tell you.” She
straightened and gave him a defiant look. She would have been
imposing if she wasn’t wearing a dressing robe and her hair didn’t
appear as if she’d been totally and blissfully fucked.

“From now on, I want total honesty from you.”
He stood. “About everything.”

She nodded. “What are you going to do now
that you know the truth?”

“We have a problem. I’m afraid it’s going to
be very easy for someone to link you to Fiona Scarlet. Your
bastardy—sorry—can’t be discovered. Louisa would be a
laughingstock, and my father would make your life miserable. If you
think you were in dire straits before…” He could only imagine what
the duke would do. He’d exported Abigail and her parents on a ship
to America as if they’d been goods destined for market.

She sat down on the chair at the dressing
table. “I should leave.”

He wanted to go to her, but knew it would be
a mistake. He couldn’t touch her again. Ever. “Louisa wouldn’t want
that. I’ll figure something out.”

“Are you going to stay for dinner?”

He allowed a wry smile. “I don’t think that
would be wise.” He should see Louisa before he left, but her lack
of faith in him hurt. He had to talk to her about it, but not
now.

Jasper was already outside Olivia’s
bedchamber before he realized she’d never told him about her
errand. He’d ask her another day. He’d meant it when he’d said no
more lies—because he’d wanted to protect Louisa. But now he had to
protect Olivia too.

IF Olivia’s bed at Benfield hadn’t reminded
her totally and painfully of Jasper, she’d have hidden in it all
day. Instead, she spent the morning closeted in the library while
her maid prepared for their return to London.

The words in the book she was vainly trying
to read blurred together. Since she hadn’t turned a page in over a
quarter hour, she dropped the novel onto a table beside her
wing-backed chair. She picked up her sewing basket and removed the
pieces of Jasper’s waistcoat. Last night when she couldn’t sleep,
she’d gone ahead and selected a design and cut the fabric.
Normally, stitching would soothe her anxiety, but even that sounded
too difficult to accomplish at present.

In a fit of nervous energy, she set the
waistcoat aside, jumped to her feet, and paced before the
fireplace. She’d relived the events of the previous day over and
over in her mind, and couldn’t stop herself from doing so again.
Her encounter with Aunt Mildred had left her raw and
vulnerable.

After such despair, Jasper had given her
unimaginable joy. For a brief while, she’d forgotten that Merry
probably wasn’t her father and that she ought to leave Louisa
immediately.

Louisa
. Not only might Olivia be
perpetrating a lie by accepting her care, she’d behaved
scandalously under Louisa’s very nose, and with her nephew, no
less.

Olivia had also spent a good portion of her
sleepless night trying in vain to find the pear-shaped birthmark on
her head. Instead of a small pink mark, she’d only found one
brownish discoloration at the back of her scalp. Her hair had made
its shape impossible to discern. She could neither confirm nor deny
Aunt Mildred’s matching birthmark theory, which meant she still
couldn’t know which man was her father.

The library door opened, arresting Olivia’s
pacing. The footman admitted Jasper’s parents. Dear heaven, this
abysmal day only wanted this. Olivia summoned as complacent an
expression as she could manage. “Your Graces.”

Jasper’s mother was coolly beautiful, with
blue-gray eyes and blond hair. Her only detracting feature was the
lines around her mouth indicating she likely frowned more often
than not. Even now, her lips were pressed together in an expression
of distaste or disapproval. Or likely both.