Lady Scandal (11 page)

Thank God the only man
witness
to her crime was gone. Gone for good.

That last thought should have brought a semblance of comfort. It didn’t.

Down the hallway, Henry swiped his paw like mad from the other side of the door, a stick of orange fur waving furiously at her to come back and play.

“Wot’s up with ’im?”

Relieved Jacks’ attention was no longer on her bedraggled person, Olivia promptly answered. “I think he wants out.”

“That’s seen to easy enough.”

When the manservant started to move past her, Olivia halted him with a negative shake of her head. “Nay. The door’s locked. I tried a moment ago.”

“Locked, ye say?” His surprise, and more importantly obvious satisfaction at what that implied, mirrored her own. “Well, ’Enry can’t be wantin’ out too bad or ’e’d be yowlin’. ’E’s just having a spot o’ fun wi’ ye.”

“Aye.” Blowing a mental kiss Henry’s direction, Olivia started down the hallway, away from the door. She indicated Jacks should follow. “And locked is how it’ll stay until
they
decide to open it.”

“’E’s the one, ye think? That big Tanner feller?” Hearing Jacks describe anyone as
big
was almost comical. “The one that’ll save Lady Juliet from the lonesomes?”

“I do.”

Jacks snapped his fingers as if just remembering something. “
I do.
An’ that’s why I ran up ’ere to fetch ’er. The vicar’s ’ere.”

“The vicar? Here?”

“Aye. From Duffield. Claims Mr. ’Astings sent ’im over to do a wedding.”

“A wedding? So soon?” Goodness, the solicitor had certainly been confident; her mind whirled at how much. “But the banns—”

“That’s fer you and ’im to discuss. Me? I’m jus’ bringin’ the word.”

Mr. Hastings was all that was thorough. Olivia had observed that when she accompanied Juliet on her initial excursions to his office at the onset of this marriage scheme. Mr. Hastings had been the one to suggest obtaining references and medical and financial histories from each applicant. It was also his idea to have each man sign a confidentiality waiver-clause so Juliet’s identity wasn’t compromised. But in the spirit of
being
compromised, it was Juliet who insisted on requiring a letter from each man’s mistress.

At the time, Olivia had silently balked at such a brazen request. Well, perhaps not so silently, offering up several stringent protests on the way home. Now, with a bit of hindsight, she completely concurred on the benefits to be gained by securing such a reference.

If Mr. Hastings had arranged for the vicar to come here to conduct a wedding, then a wedding they’d likely have. Only, given how she suspected things were progressing back in the sitting room… “We need to stall him. Downstairs.”

“Eh? Fer ’ow long?”

As long as they take.

“Until Mr. Tanner and Juliet emerge—whenever
they
choose to,” she told Jacks decisively, her own body still feeling the achy effects of aborted lovemaking. The warm rush of
any
lovemaking. “No one is to interrupt their, ah…the interview.”

“Right-o.” She swore Jacks winked at her. “An’ ’ow do ye want I should stall the man?”

“I’m not certain.” She cast about her spinning mind for ideas. “Invite him to dinner. Serve him a scone.”

Reaching the top of the stairs, Olivia halted, recalling her state of dress and the need to exchange her drippy garments for dry ones.

In the several weeks they’d resided here, not once had anyone uninvited called upon them. The vicar?
Now
of all times? How she was supposed to compose and conduct herself in front of a holy man of God after the amorous adventures of the afternoon? It didn’t bear thinking upon!

Oh but certainly the afternoon did…strong arms, warm lips, the taste of first sunshine and then a male chest…

“…an’ the semen…yer dress…”

Her wayward thoughts cartwheeled back to those few stolen moments and distracted her from the current one. Surely she could be forgiven then for not instantly grasping the sentence that now hung heavily, expectantly, in the air.

“Well?” Jacks prompted. “What ’ave ye to say?”

Fine black hairs, sparsely coating muscles so very hard…their texture teasing her palm… “Hmmm?”

“Aurr-hmm!”

Tuned in now to Jacks’ frustration at her inattentiveness, Olivia replayed what he’d just said. Or at least she attempted to.

The semen…your dress.

Wha—?

The vague comprehension was enough.

Olivia blanched. Had to put one arm on the wall to keep from crumpling in a swoon. What had he said? “Semen?” she squeaked on a whisper. “
On my dress?
”

Whipping her long skirts this way and that with her free hand, to and fro and up and down with hurried, harried motions, she searched frantically for the condemning evidence.

Jacks cleared his throat. Then cleared it a second time when the first failed to gain her attention.

When he coughed so loudly a third time she was almost knocked off her feet, she halted her frenzied search. Reluctantly looked up. Paling all the more under his knowing gaze, she murmured, “What is it?”

“I
said
that seamen was back too, the navy man, the one from earlier. Come to pay ’is address to ye— I mean to the
lady
of the ’ouse.”

“He’s here now?”

Jacks grinned as if her express purpose was putting on a grand old show for his exclusive entertainment. And as though he thought she was doing a bang-up job of it. “Aye, an’ askin’ to see the lady of the ’ouse. Again.”

Again.
When they both knew
she
was the only female he’d spoken with.

Oh Lord.

Realizing it was a bit late to petition His pardon, especially given how one of His minions currently resided downstairs, Olivia released her hold on the wall and started to slump toward the floor. Given how crumbly the rest of the abode, it wasn’t too far off to consider she might literally slink right on through…

Too fast for her own good, Jacks grabbed both her shoulders and steadied her, only easing his grip when she nodded her thanks. He rocked back on his heels. “Yes, indeed. The gent asked fer an ‘audience’ with yer ladyship,
Lady Olivia
.”

Well.

Well.

And wasn’t this her afternoon sins coming back to bite her on the arse?

“No, please!” Lady Juliet cried in earnest. “Do not cover it—yourself—up. Not quite yet.”

Thinking this particular erotic episode had reached its natural conclusion, though certainly not the conclusion his cock envisioned, Zeus had once again bent to retrieve his buckskins from around his knees. Deuced uncomfortable it was, standing there in the nearly altogether as she admired and issued orders while the remainder of her charms remained comfortably—for her—out of sight.

“I’m not finished watching…you,” she added softly and sweetly enough only a hardened bounder could refuse.

And Zeus’ determination to remain in control melted. A bastard, he might be. But a bounder? Never!

Rising to his full height, he vised his fingers tightly at the root of his excessively exhibited erection, hoping to stem his lingering arousal and forestall any potential embarrassing consequences. “If I’m not hearing further reasons, if I’m not to reorder my clothing, if this interview is not yet at an end,” and he actually hoped it wasn’t, “then, pray, what shall I answer next?” Or do next? Because if she didn’t issue an order to his liking and soon, Zeus figured his ballocks were about to win out over his brains. He’d be kicking off boots, buckskins and drawers and launching himself toward the settee, her confounded missish hesitations be damned.

“I… I…”

He clenched his staff harder, strove to keep his expression bland. “If you don’t want me making the decision for you, you better decide posthaste.”

“I wish for you to touch yourself again, as you were doing earlier.”

Though his mind rebelled at doing anything more without her
direct
participation, his mouth and body had no such reservations. “Like this?” Ordering his fist to ease the iron grip it’d assumed at the base, he scrolled his circled fingers up his entire length, stunned to see his shaft shaking. His entire arm trembling.

Hoping his voice didn’t betray how damn close to the edge the action—or more accurately,
her
obvious appreciation of the action—brought him, Zeus said, “Is this what you wanted?”

Her hushed, “Aye, it is,” was all the encouragement his body needed. As though it but lived to do her bidding, his hand languidly stroked over his rod, thundering the storm of desire through him with more ferocity than anything raging outside. Forcing every fiber of his being to luxuriate in the licentious act of performing before her.

The bewildered look of awe and approval taking over her expression, all their talk of licking and wickedness, only expanded his girth, roughened his breath.

“And what else?” he queried, sensing the tightening in his muscles, the imminent release advancing inexorably forward. Zeus ordered his hand to cease moving. It ignored him.

“What else?” he demanded harshly, when she failed to issue another instruction, her gaze now affixed, no wavering evident, upon his flying fist. “Dammit, what else? What other deuced thing would you have me—
Aarrruuuggghhh!
”

The unintelligible sound strangled from his throat as his arm defied every bit of restraint and self-control he sought to enforce upon it. His hand refused to relax its grip. His hips refused to halt their furious thrust and retreat. His dirk refused to stem the tide of its eruption, and Zeus, a grown, experienced man, one who’d
never
previously had any difficulty controlling his body or its urges…well, Zeus watched, distraught, as his crown blasted semen straight into the air. A jetting arc of milky-white that streamed toward his gaping audience but landed shy, painting instead his embarrassment over her tattered rug and the remnants of the dainty tea service and remaining scones still arranged on the table between them.

“Ohhhhhhh-ahhhhh,” she exclaimed on a sigh, her wide eyes streaking between his reddened shaft and the
proof
of his impatience.

“Bloody, sodding ballocks!” Zeus cursed, mortification sweeping through him like a tidal wave.

Whipping around, ignoring her cry to remain, he clumsily escaped toward the empty fireplace where he used the damn alluring, infernal stocking to clean himself—though very little evidence remained on his person, the majority of his seed now decorating her sitting room.

After scraping the gossamer silk along his length, unable to control the convulsive twitches of his pelvis or jerks of his cock, his unplanned explosion finally at its end, Zeus growled and wiped his hand clean as well.

Furious with himself, he returned his buckskins and drawers to their rightful place, shoving his disobedient dirk deep in their confines while pointedly ignoring her repeated, somewhat timid entreaties to face her and let her watch—not bloody likely! He was already granting her another splendid view of his white arse! Breath haggard, and with fingers that felt far too swollen and sensitive, he mangled his way up the buttons on either side of the front fall, wrenching one clear off in his haste to get them all fastened.

“Ballocks!” he cursed again, with nothing left to do…save climb over the grate and into the chimney, perhaps? Might not the moldering mortar aid in his quest and grant escape onto the roof? Where the chipped and missing tiles were likely to speed him on his way—to a timely demise. Mayhap then she’d forget his name, his shame, his—

“Mr. Tanner, I order you to present yourself before me!” Evidently she’d reined in her amazement at witnessing his climax, for she now sounded in full possession of her demanding tendencies. Nor had she forgotten his name, devil take her! “Mr. Tanner, it’s time you—”

“Nay!” Red-faced and ready to breathe fire—he’d light the one in the hearth himself if he could, singe his bloody breeches on the way up and out!—he spun on his heel but made no effort to move closer. Attempting to mask his humiliation and bluster his way past this impossible impasse, Zeus snarled, “Nay.
You
will not order me to do anything, never again. Though I begin to understand why you wanted a man not noble—so you could lead him around like a pup on a string, lord over him and—”

“’Tis not so! Not even close!” Eyes pleading with him to believe her, she insisted, “I wanted an untitled man so he would
talk
to me, converse
with
me and not simply issue orders and commands
at
me. Order my actions and command my affection where none exists.” Her voice turned ragged. “I wanted a man my eyes found appealing and my lips longed to touch, my tongue to taste.”

Upon hearing that, his ire softened, annoyance abated.

“Do they?” When all she did was stammer unintelligibly, he took a single step toward her and elucidated. “Do your eyes find me appealing?”

Another slight stutter and then, “Very much so.”

“And your lips? Your tongue?” Two more steps.

“Hunger for your taste—just not down there. Not yet.”