“Ah, that reassures me,” the dowager said, with a kind smile, “For you really know her.”
When it was time for dessert, a mischievous smile unfolded on the dowager’s face.
“My son has requested these,” she said, nodding towards the footmen. “I believe for our guest of honor.”
A tray appeared in front of her. Olivia gasped when she saw what it contained. Caramels, each shining and golden, winked under the candlelight.
“They are Miss Watson’s favorite,” Augustus said, “Or at least, they used to be. Tell me, Miss Watson, are they still?”
“They are,” she managed to gasp out. “But I have not had them in many years.” Her throat felt strangely tight. She found it difficult to meet his gaze.
“How strange—I have not, either,” Augustus said, “Indeed, not since the very summer you left us, Miss Watson. Isn’t that curious? And yet here I am—about to have one again and you are here once more.”
A moment of heavy silence fell around the table. Olivia opened her mouth to speak, to say something, for the sake of the others, but found she could not.
Thankfully, Petunia and Elizabeth soon exclaimed over the candies.
She bit into the caramel and the sweet delight of the candy lit up her senses. She had so long denied herself this treat because of its affiliation with him. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she had to blink them back.
Olivia looked up, resolute that she would control herself, but found herself locking eyes with Augustus across the table.
He stared at her so intently that she could not glance away.
When she looked at him, she knew. His gaze right now could only mean one thing: it was, practically, an open promise. If she stayed in this house this evening, he would not obey any strictures of propriety. He would come to her.
She averted her eyes. How could she believe such a thing? She scolded herself. It was most probably just the invention of her own wanton mind. They sat at table with his mother and sisters. Only she was depraved enough, surely, to consider such things here, of all places.
After a family game of charades, in which no one could interpret any of Willa’s clues and Petunia became so exasperated with her mother’s poor guessing that she nearly lost her temper, everyone retired. Olivia had enjoyed her time with the Carringtons more than she thought possible, but she wasn’t sorry to return upstairs.
Looking at Augustus had begun to prove difficult. Everything he did seemed to pull the thread of desire in her tighter—it was an uncomfortable thrum in her, she could feel it as a heavy weight in her pelvis, wanting and far too heated for the drawing room. She could not look at the trim lines of his body, the way his blond hair fell in a sweep across his forehead and think of anything but touching him. Whenever he looked at her, these feelings were only made worse. She felt certain his gaze held a promise. But she couldn’t bear the idea that she was mistaken.
When Olivia regained her appointed bed chamber, she sat for at least twenty minutes in an armchair, telling herself that she did not wait for him and yet very much waiting for him. She ached to hear footsteps outside her door and yet all was silence. She squeezed her knees together, feeling that weight in her pelvis again, insistent and pressing. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking of his smile, that rogue dimple, and his warm hand on her lower back as he had escorted her, oh so briefly, into dinner.
She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a moan.
After twenty minutes, she resolved that he wasn’t coming and disappointed burned inside of her, even as she felt her arousal as sharp and needy as ever. Nevertheless, it seemed clear that she needed to give up the dream that he would come to her tonight.
She undressed down to her chemise and stockings, resolving to try and sleep. However, once she was undressed, she looked at herself in the gilt mirror and saw how flushed she looked. When she saw herself like this, caught in the full-length mirror, it seemed so easy to imagine how Augustus would touch her. She let one hand steal down her body until it rested between her full thighs. She knew what Augustus would do, if he were here. He would part her with his fingers and, then, with his lips, tease her until she saw stars.
As she imagined him doing so, she slipped a finger inside of herself. She was hot and wet just from thinking of him. Unable to help herself, she began to rub her clit, watching herself in the mirror for a moment and then closing her eyes. It was easier that way to imagine he was here with her. She brushed her fingers against her clit and let out a soft moan at how good the motion felt, especially when she imagined that it was him doing it.
Just as she was about to surrender to the sensations of her own fingers, she heard a soft knock.
Her eyes flew open.
Could it be? she thought, dropping the hem of her chemise. She didn’t think it was possible. She had given up hope.
Trembling, she turned and walked towards the door.
And then she opened it.
There, in the dim light of the hallway, he stood.
He had come.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Olivia was flushedand nearly naked before him—and so there was nothing to do, in his mind, but reach for her. He shut the door behind him and then pulled her towards him. Montaigne hadn’t expected resistance, but he had not necessarily expected that she would melt into him as she did now, opening herself to him in complete and total surrender.
