It was difficult, but Olivia resisted going to the library to see Redcliffe. She kept busy until supper and retired early to her bedchamber. Her decision made, she tried to still the nerves fluttering in her stomach as she poured the water Jack had brought up for her into the hip bath.
Hours later, when the moon was high in the sky, she emerged from her room in her apricot gown. The house was quiet, the servants all in bed, except for the footman who would be on duty at the door. Holding her candlestick, she crept past the maids’ bedchambers and made her way to the family wing.
Had Redcliffe retired or would he still be in the library? Jack had told her he sometimes stayed there until very late.
She hesitated at his bedchamber door. Could she leave him after this? She knocked.
“Enter.”
Her heart fluttering, she stepped into the room.
Dressed in a banyan, shirt, and breeches, Redcliffe sat in a wing chair to one side of the fireplace, a candelabra beside him on the table. He held a letter in his hand. His eyes widened, and he came to his feet. “Olivia.”
She closed the door. “Redcliffe.” Her voice was a mere whisper, her throat tight with nerves. While she didn’t doubt he wanted her, she was unsure of his mood, studying his expression. His seductive smile weakened her knees as he crossed the sumptuous bedchamber to her. Her candlestick wobbled violently in her hands.
He took it from her and placed it on the table, then pulled her gently against him, curving his arm around her waist. “My love.”
She leaned her head against his chest and sighed. How could something which seemed so right be wrong? She would carry the memory of this night with him for the rest of her life. It would sustain her through her loneliness, for she would never marry.
They stood together, her body pressed against his, tucked beneath his chin. No explanation was necessary. Not now. Not ever. She would not tell him what she planned, because he would try to prevent her. His will would envelop her, impel her, and he’d never let her go. She was as weak as rushes in a flooded river where Redcliffe was concerned.
Her heart beating fast, she gazed up at him. “Kiss me, Redcliffe. Make love to me.”
His breath stirred the hair near her ear. “Darling,” he murmured, his voice a long sigh. A finger beneath her chin, he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. His hand low on her back settled her against him, and she could feel his desire for her as he angled his head and kissed her again. With a low groan, he pressed his tongue past her lips to touch hers.
Giddy, her senses filled with him, Olivia grasped the silk of his banyan as he trailed kisses down her neck. His quick fingers undid the hooks on her gown, and the material pooled at her feet, leaving her in her chemise and stockings.
Shaky with desire, she stepped out of it.
His hands cupped her breasts, and he bent and touched a nipple with his tongue through the thin cotton, sending a sharp urgency to her nether regions, making her warm and damp. Her hands swept over the expanse of his back, longing to touch his naked skin beneath the clothes. She had never expected to feel like this. Unquenched desire welled up inside her. Wanting him.
“Are you sure, darling?” His voice was low and urgent.
Bereft of words, she nodded.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Stretched out besideOlivia, Dominic eased away a damp curl from her cheek. She slept deeply and didn’t stir. In repose, her firm jaw softened, her mouth tender and vulnerable. He remembered her passionate, deep kisses. Her soft breasts were perfect in his hands, and he wanted to press his mouth there. How difficult to be so close and not rouse her with a kiss. But observing the dark shadows beneath her eyes, and her face, finely drawn, which hinted at strain, he resisted.
She murmured something and her dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks. His body stirred, wanting her. He wouldn’t wake her, although he must before dawn. Sated and drowsy, they had talked late into the night. He’d told her how he had earned the title of the rakehell earl in London. He smiled. Outraged on his behalf, she showed no inclination to disbelieve his version of events, whereas some women might question it. But she’d come to know him, which few women had a chance to do. He’d never allowed them to get close enough.
When he confessed his love for her and his intention for them to marry, she’d fallen silent. She’d touched his cheek, he remembered, and her eyes became shadowed. She didn’t argue, but nor did she agree. He would convince her.
Olivia fell asleep in his arms before he told her about his uncle’s letter. But no matter, he would when she woke. They would search together for the money and make their plans. Right now, the only thing that did matter was the two of them, here, together. He felt as if his life had only just begun. More confident in their future, he didn’t want to dwell on anything else. Not now. Only the two of them cocooned in his bed, rain pattering against the window. He closed his eyes.
*
Dominic woke. He’dfallen into the deepest sleep he’d had for weeks. He turned in bed. She had gone. Smiling, he breathed in Olivia’s perfume, blended with the heady scent of sex, then threw back the covers and rose to open the curtains. The sun’s fragile early morning rays appeared over a band of distant trees. He rang for his valet to bring hot water. He would tell Olivia the news before he left for Gateshead.
When he came downstairs, she was busy in the servants’ hall. He smiled a welcome and received a polite smile in return. In her office, he tucked a check for one thousand pounds beneath the inkpot on her desk, then went to eat his breakfast.
When he returned, she’d gone somewhere. Frustrated, he realized his news would have to keep until he returned from Gateshead.
Samuels awaited him at the stables. Dominic drove the phaeton through the gates and out onto the road. He intended to return by midafternoon, which would give him and Olivia an hour to search for Alberic’s stash before her duties claimed her.
He and Samuels reached the Gateshead jail at midday. Inside, a sour-looking Pike sat beside the scowling Mrs. Hobbs.
