Lessons After Dark (20 page)

“Yes.”

Olivia hadn't thought to say it. Not at first. In the moment after Gareth spoke, she thought
that's a dreadfully demanding way to make a request
and
it's the middle of the night
and
are
you
absolutely
sure
you
should
be
doing
this
? She didn't wonder whether she should be accepting his advances. She knew she shouldn't.

But she was standing very close to him in order to whisper through the crack in the door. Close enough to feel the heat from his body and to be aware of how little they were each wearing. Close enough to pick up the sharp scent of his cologne and a faint musk that was more personal.

In other words, too close for either propriety or good sense.

When she opened her mouth, Olivia said none of the things she'd been thinking. “Yes” hovered in the air between them, faint as moth wings, and then she was moving to the side, letting Gareth into her room.

He closed the door behind him, gently. Discreetly. It made a quiet little click, and then he was reaching for her, a darker shape in the night.

Olivia went to him. There was no conscious thought in it. She simply moved as iron to a magnet, until her body was flush against his and her arms were around his neck and he was kissing her, the taste of wine faint on his lips.

Whatever there had been a moment ago, little gentleness remained in him now. Gareth wound one hand in her hair while he kissed her, and his other cupped her backside, holding her all the more firmly to him. His arousal would have been quite obvious even through proper clothing. With only their nightclothes in the way, it felt like heated stone.

The responding hunger in Olivia's body was instant…and insistent. Had she been tired? Had she been asleep, in fact, five minutes ago? Nothing from her neck to her knees remembered as much, and whatever feeble opinions her brain might have ventured on the subject were quickly outvoted.

Her room was comfortable enough but by no means large. A few half-stumbling steps backward brought Olivia to the edge of her bed. She pulled Gareth down with her, hands on his shoulders. No hard task. Her intent was certainly clear enough, and he was quite willing to comply. His body settled on top of hers, a delicious weight that made her arch upward and whimper.

It was too late, in many senses of the word, for self-control.

***

Gareth had abandoned quite a bit of his reserve the second after he'd knocked at Olivia's door. Most of the rest had gone when he'd spoken. His request was not the sort to leave Olivia in any doubt of his intentions. And that he'd made it at so uncivilized an hour, without any provocation, was an admission in itself.

Therefore, when he finally had her in his arms, he wasted no time in moving them both toward the bed, and when Olivia drew him down to meet her, he didn't bother teasing or questioning. She was soft and warm, there were no corsets or buttons to deal with this time, and his mind was drowning in sensation. In desire. When she arched her back to press against him, and when she made a throaty little sound of arousal in his ear, Gareth didn't even think about holding back. Rather, he groaned her name, retaining just enough control to be quiet about it, lest the damn servants or the blasted students overhear, and thrust against her, achingly hard.

Gareth wanted to take her then. He wanted to shove her nightgown up and plunge inside her, to grab her hips and lose himself in her body. Ungentlemanly as that would have been, he didn't think Olivia would have minded, not given the way she was writhing beneath him or how damp the fabric between her legs was getting.

But he wanted more.

Biting his lip, Gareth pulled himself back from the edge and rose from Olivia's body, then rolled to the side. She made a slight noise of protest, but then he slid his hands down, pushing her dressing gown off her shoulders. She laughed quietly, shrugging herself the rest of the way out as Gareth shed his own clothes. “You're lucky I hadn't tied the belt,” she said.

“I'd have needed a candle.”

“There is one,” Olivia said thoughtfully and then caught her breath as Gareth reached for her again, finding the hem of her nightgown and sliding his hands underneath. Her thighs were firm and smooth against his fingers, the muscles tense with excitement. Her voice came again, faint now. “If you want.”

Tempting thought. Gareth remembered the view he'd had of her breasts bouncing in a steady rhythm as she'd ridden him on the chair. He thought of how many times he'd imagined her naked and spread out before him, flushed with desire.

But finding a candle would have meant he had to stop touching her.

“No,” he said, and then, “Not now.”

“Ah.”

In the darkness, she moved, though not enough to displace his hands, which were heading steadily upward, tracing over her inner thighs. The fabric over them slid up then disappeared.

Helpful woman. Surely she deserved a reward.

Olivia whimpered again when Gareth brushed his fingers over her sex. When he slid one inside her, she buried her face in her pillow to avoid making louder sounds. Gareth wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her toward him, a difficult task to accomplish while still moving his hand between her legs, but one that proved very worthwhile.

The feeling of her naked body against his was overwhelming. Somewhere, there were disparate sensations: her breath hot on his shoulder, the small, hard points of her nipples pressing against his chest, the warm satin feel of her stomach against his cock. But it all blended together, became white heat and electricity.

If there was a man who could hold off under such temptation, it wasn't Gareth.

Another quick motion brought Olivia beneath him. At the pressure of his body, her thighs opened readily, and then…Ah, then he was inside her, and she was lifting her hips to welcome him farther, her legs wrapping around his waist. Gareth bent his head and kissed her then, muffling the sounds they made at that first moment of connection.

They moved together in the darkness. Gareth became thankful for it, much as he would have liked to watch Olivia. In the absence of sight, his other senses intensified. His world was full of the scent of her arousal, of her rapid breathing and half-caught moans, of the sharp points of her nails digging into his back, bracing counterpoint to the slick heat surrounding him. Of the tension in her frame, building with every thrust…

…and then breaking, in a climax Gareth could swear he felt in every inch of her trembling body. She didn't scream this time. The sound that left her mouth was somewhere between a sigh and a sob, ragged and thankful at the same time.

He heard his name inside it.

The sound went through Gareth like the feel of her had done earlier, a bolt of sensation that took him far past any attempt at self-control. He plunged forward in one final stroke, throwing his head back and spilling himself in a rush that left him gasping and dazed.

Still in the grip of instinct rather than thought, Gareth somehow had the presence of mind to roll onto his side afterward rather than letting Olivia take his weight. It took him a few minutes to realize he'd wrapped his arms around her, rested his chin on top of her head, and brought her with him. Even with recent events, he was a little surprised Olivia didn't protest. She'd been quick enough to disengage herself last time. No servants or students to come across them here, though. Maybe that was it. Also, she was probably tired.

Gareth certainly was. He could feel his thoughts fragmenting, drifting down into darkness that smelled of perfume and sex. Olivia was warm in his arms, her breasts moving more regularly now as she caught her breath. Absently, he stroked her hair, curled a strand around his finger…and let go of both the hair and her, pushing himself away abruptly.

“I should go,” he said, speaking and standing while he still had some strength of will left. He felt around for his dressing gown and fumbled it on. “Bad for both of us if I fall asleep here, I'd think.”

“Mmmhuh?” The sleepy confusion in her voice almost brought Gareth back to her side, and damn what anyone else thought. Olivia shook it off quickly, and the next words she said were brisk and matter-of-fact. “Yes, rather. Good of you to realize it.”

“Er…yes.” There must be, he thought, something more to say at this point. He wished he'd ever gotten around to having a proper mistress. Such liaisons as he'd experienced had always been decisive in their conclusion, and without much in the way of parting speeches. “Thank you. Good night.”

“Good night,” she said and drew her blanket up. “Sleep well.”

There was nothing else to say, nothing that would not have seemed even more ludicrous. Gareth opened the door and left.

A night's sleep blurred the edges of Olivia's memory. When she woke, she could almost have thought she'd dreamed Gareth's presence in her room and the events that had followed. Lord knew she'd had similar dreams often enough.

He had been careful too. There were no bruises on her neck or thighs, no stubble marks to alarm the maids. Not much at all to give evidence of their…

Sport
was perhaps the most tactful term, aside from the words a doctor or a preacher might have used. Certainly Olivia wouldn't have ventured to use
lovemaking
, not with the way she and Gareth had dealt with each other over the last few months.

He had been surprisingly tender when she thought about it. Not gentle, exactly, but concerned for her pleasure without the edge of competition that had come into their earlier interludes. And there had been that moment afterward, just before he'd left, when lust had been satisfied and something like affection had seemed to take its place.

That had been only because he was tired, Olivia told herself. He
had
left, after all.

She didn't let her thoughts proceed any further along those lines. The man could work with her, the man wanted her, to their mutual satisfaction, but she'd seen his opinion of her quite plainly the first day she'd arrived, and then again when they'd spoken in the gardens. Only a fool would have believed it changed on the strength of a few moments of passion.

Schoolroom days were long behind her. Girlish daydreams belonged in the past with them.

***

Olivia picked up the lengths of rope, coiling them slowly. The class had gone well, objectively, very well, for her first class in skills other than magic. None of the students had asked where she'd learned how to escape bonds. Some of them had likely guessed, but that didn't matter. They knew her. There'd been no contempt in their eyes, and no suspicion.

It should have been more of a relief.

Mostly, Olivia just felt tired—tired and prickly. She needed to have a cup of tea and a quiet hour by herself. Perhaps a nap before dinner.

She didn't need Gareth's voice behind her, and she certainly didn't need to flush with anticipation when she heard it. Especially when he started off by asking, “Do you really think this is wise?”

“I think it's useful,” she said, spinning to look at him. “Or probably will be.”

“Ah,” said Gareth, clearly not believing her.

Very well, Olivia thought. She'd clearly hallucinated whatever tenderness she'd thought had been between them. She'd behaved like a stupid schoolgirl, and over a man who was looking supercilious and fidgeting with an edge of the chair.

She knew why he was here.

“You don't have to worry,” she said, striving for matter-of-factness in her voice. Really, she wanted to shake him, to demand whether he was concerned she'd weep or try blackmail or both. “I told you before. And I'm hardly going to expect anything
now
.”

“No. I didn't think you would.” Gareth glanced over his shoulder, clearly making sure the door was closed and they were alone, then looked back at Olivia and sighed. “I'd like to ask you a rather personal question. You may choose not to answer, naturally”

“Thank you,” she said, trying not to sound too sarcastic, and motioned for him to continue. She expected some question about their night together. Whether she was
sure
there'd be no adverse consequences, perhaps, or perhaps something to do with her future plans.

Instead, Gareth paused then said, “After your husband died, before you came here, what made you choose to pose as a medium?”

Really, Olivia thought, she
should
have expected that. She looked back at Gareth flatly. “Money,” she said and smiled a little. Not pleasantly. “Why else?”

Taken aback for a moment, he recovered quickly. Olivia remembered that from their first days. The clashing steel that had lain below all their conversations, in this room and elsewhere. Now the blades were out again.

“There wasn't anything else you could do?” He sounded somewhere between scornful and horrified.

Oddly, it was the last that drew her into responding, when she hadn't planned to justify herself. “Oh, I'm sure there was,” she said with a glance down at her body that made her meaning clear. “But I had a silly girlish aversion to dying at thirty from the pox.”

“I didn't mean—”

“I assure you,” Olivia said, feeling her eyes narrow and her shoulders draw back, “I would have appreciated any helpful suggestions at the time. Tom had no family living, and his inheritance had gone toward his rank. Then he fell ill, and your colleagues are not cheap, sir, nor do they give refunds when their treatments fail. My dowry and his salary together gave me three months' rent after the funeral, discounting trifles like food and clothing. I was too young and too poorly educated for a governess, and I was far too gently born for a maid. I knew how to dance, how to ride, how to play the piano, and how to be charming. When I saw a way to support myself with the last of those, I took it. Blame me for that if you'd like.”

Gareth stepped back a little at the force in her voice, force Olivia hadn't intended. Memory was more powerful than she'd given it credit for. Speaking had brought back gray days and restless nights, when she'd watched her money dwindling little by little and stared alternately at the paper and her hands.

“I…” He halted and cleared his throat. “Your family?”

“Father died before Tom did. Our estate was entailed, and my cousins would have made very sure I knew what my status was.” Olivia sighed, some of the anger leaving her. “These days I might have lived with that. Looked for another husband, perhaps. At twenty I could not have supported living as a poor relation. Not then. It would have taken far more willpower than did asking a showman to take me on as an act. Perhaps if Hawkins had refused to teach me…but he didn't.”

The walls seemed to swallow her words. They gave back silence. So did Gareth, and it filled the room for a few moments.

“Then you regret it?” he asked, vicar's son to the end.

Olivia closed her eyes. She could say yes. She wouldn't be lying, precisely. And then Gareth would see her as a victim. He'd switch from suspicion to sympathy, and everything would be so much easier than it had been.

She opened her eyes and met his. “I don't know,” Olivia said.

Gareth blinked. “You don't know?”

“I don't. I can't. If Tommy had lived, if there'd been another way, if I'd gone to my family…I'd have been more comfortable and less desperate, and I wouldn't have been lying to people. Yes. But I wouldn't have ended up here either. I wouldn't know anything but the normal world and the surface of things. I wouldn't have met…people whose company I value.” She drew a breath and continued, before Gareth could read much into that last statement. “And yes, the lying did bother me somewhat. But, Gareth”—she spread her hands, palms up and open, in a gesture that begged him to see—“
lies
were
what
most
of
them
wanted
.”

Gareth shook his head quickly, an instinctive denial. “I can't believe that.”

“Can't you?” Olivia asked. “Truly? With everything you've seen of the world?”

He was silent. She pressed the advantage, such as it was. “I never played some of the nastier tricks. I never made anyone think their money was cursed, or they needed to put me up with them to keep evil spirits away. Nothing like that.” Olivia watched Gareth's face as carefully as she'd ever examined of any audience member. He was listening. “Most of the time, I gave shows,” she said. “People came to me because they had the evening off, or a spare pound, and they wanted a little otherworldly flavor to their entertainment. Most of them didn't
care
whether I was real or not, only that I was a bit of a change from the music hall.”

“I suppose some didn't,” said Gareth. He frowned, but not at her—not until a few seconds later, when he asked, “What about the others? The ones who were honestly grieving or troubled? I think you must have attracted some, and I cannot think they came only after you learned real magic.”

“No,” Olivia said quietly, remembering aged faces drawn in lines of grief, and weeping women no older than she'd been. “But they didn't want the truth either. Not really. They wanted to know the ones they loved were at peace. Mostly, they wanted a chance to say good-bye, to say the things they were never able to tell the living.”

Gareth nodded once. “And?” he asked.

“And their loved ones
were
at peace,” Olivia said. “Most of the dead are. Most of them also know what's in the hearts of the living, particularly anyone they were close to. The people who came to me wanted comfort. I gave them that.”

“You gave them an illusion,” Gareth said. His voice was flat.

“And you've never told a dying man he'd be all right?” Olivia had to take the shot. She could no more have passed it up than she could have refused Mr. Grenville's offer of employment. All the same, she had no pleasure in seeing it connect.

“A dying man won't be easy prey for the next fraud to come along.” Gareth's eyes were dark, cold green. “And I very much doubt your…patrons'…comfort was ever the first thing on your mind.”

There it was, and here they were. The afternoon light was gray on the carpet. A soft, heavy weight settled on Olivia's shoulders then quickly spread through her whole body. “No,” she said, and it took tangible effort to shape that one word, let alone the ones that followed. “No, I didn't. I made my choices for myself alone. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Gareth said nothing.

Olivia swallowed past an unexpected tightness in her throat. She'd known this would happen. She'd been prepared. The pain would pass. “I have some work to do, I think,” she said. “Please excuse me.”

The doorknob was too large in her hand, but she got the door open before Gareth could come to assist her. There was that.