Olivia regarded Griffin carefully. “Are you certain you want to do this?”
“I am. Our income will be less, but perfectly manageable, and by choosing to live at Wright Hall, we will be able to oversee the development of the lands and finish the renovation of the house. The purchase price of the partnership will bring enough of the ready so that the family debt will finally be paid in full. It is an excellent compromise, so much so that it does not seem a compromise at all.”
Olivia was still skeptical and took no pains to hide it. “It’s not Alastair, is it?”
“Alastair?”
“Your partner,” she said flatly. “You have not entered into an agreement with my brother, have you?”
Griffin’s hard laughter weakened his position, and he was forced to roll away, else collapse fully on top of her.
“I suppose that is answer enough to my question,” Olivia said. “Still, it is hardly complimentary of Alastair.”
Griffin caught his breath, reined in his smile. “True, though I was thinking that your question complimented neither your brother nor me. I admit to a certain growing respect for Alastair, but I am not so witless that I would accept an offer of partnership from him.”
Olivia turned, levered herself on an elbow, and walked her fingers up Griffin’s chest, tapping the buttons of his waistcoat as she went. “If it is not Alastair, and really, Griffin, I am glad for all our sakes that it is not, then who?”
“Mr. Warner.”
“Lady Rivendale’s friend?”
“The very same.”
“That surprises.”
“It does, doesn’t it? I am of the opinion that the countess has a vested interest. She is certain to have put the idea in his head.”
“Your trust is not misplaced then.”
“I don’t think so, no.”
Olivia’s fingers had reached the top of his waistcoat. She lightly traced the edge of the fabric. “The knot in your neckcloth is impressive.”
“The Oriental.”
“I know. Mr. Mason told me. Do you know that the least wrinkle or crease means it could not be named such? It is a most particular art, the tying of neckcloths.”
“At this moment, I am far and away more interested in theuntyingof them. Do you think you could manage it?”
Olivia tugged at fabric. “It’s very stiff.”
“You’re still speaking of the neckcloth, is that right?”
“Is the other in a knot?”
“All of me is in a knot.” He groaned softly when she pressed her hip against his groin. “Ah, yes, that is a good beginning.”
She chuckled, but kept her hip exactly where it was. Tugging on the linen fall she said, “Allow me to deal with this first, then I shall see about the other.”
Griffin gave himself over to her, and she to him. It suited them both, the sharing. There was no disguising the wanting, nor any need to. In a nod to their wedding night, there was an attempt at tenderness. He framed her face gently with his hands, kissed her mouth, her cheeks, the space just between her eyebrows. She buried her face in his neck, set a line of kisses along the cord, others at the underside of his jaw, and still more at the hollow below his ear. They exchanged endearments, whispered words that would have made them laugh, even roll their eyes in the full light of day, but here, now, seemed exactly right.
It didn’t last, couldn’t. Their long separation trumped what romantic notions they had conceived about their wedding night. Their kisses became more urgent, the caresses less gentle. Olivia’s fingers tunneled into his thick hair, clutched his head as she pressed a deep, hot, hungry kiss.
The blankets tangled as their legs did. Their clothes, so carelessly discarded, slipped off the foot of the bed and onto the floor—except for Griffin’s neckcloth, which wrapped itself sinuously around Olivia’s thigh as though it had a life of its own. She tugged at it, produced it so triumphantly that it tickled Griffin’s humor, then snapped it smartly against his hip when he dared laugh. He made short work of the piece after that, taking it from her before she set her aim at any other part of his anatomy, and flung it as far away from the bed as he could.
She watched it sail through the air, then turned on him, her smile so satisfied with this result that it was very nearly smug. She gave him everything, all of her, held nothing back. He answered in the same manner, as needy as she, equally generous, equally selfish.
Turning, twisting, he brought her to pleasure’s finely honed edge and balanced both of them on it until no choice was left to them but to go on. He watched her face, felt the tension building, and seated himself deeply inside her as she came. Then it was his turn, and her body cradled him as he followed her.
