Sara Bennett (17 page)

“Celia and Anthony were not officially engaged,” he said, his voice low and level, and she felt a frisson of relief. “But it was understood they would marry. Her father wanted it, and Anthony was in love with her. Celia…she was reserved, but she did not protest the match, not aloud, anyway. She came to my house in the evening—late. I was…I had been to a dinner, and I had drunk far more than normal. I was surprised to see her.”

“But you let her in.”

“Of course. She was…upset, and she was Anthony’s fiancée, nearly. She said she needed to talk to me urgently.”

“And then?” She glanced at him now. He was staring unseeing at the stage, handsome and somber.

Act One was over. All around them the applause
thundered out. Patrons began to move about. The dandies in the stalls had their monocles up again.

“And then?” Vivianna repeated.

“I can only think she knew Anthony was coming to see me; he must have told her so. She had timed her own visit so well.”

“She compromised herself,” Vivianna said, surprised. She had not expected this. The bad man, the rake, had not been as much at fault as rumor would have everyone believe. Vivianna didn’t know what to think.

“Yes.” He looked at her now, his dark eyes full of so much pain and regret, she felt an ache of empathy. “She didn’t want to marry Anthony. I didn’t realize at the time, but I have heard since that her father was forcing her to make the match. She was in love with someone else, someone totally unsuitable. The only way out was to ruin herself and drive Anthony away.”

Vivianna nodded. “Did you kiss her?” she demanded, determined to hear the worst.

Oliver’s eyebrows rose. “She kissed me first.”

“But you did kiss her back?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Of course.”

“Did you touch her?”

“Vivianna,” he groaned, and bowed his head. Clearly he was ashamed and embarrassed, but she would not let him avoid the truth just because he did not like it.

“I want to know, Oliver. You said the other day that you wanted to avenge your brother. I want to know everything that happened that night. Tell me.”

Upon the stage the curtain had risen once more. The orchestra in the pit struck up, and Act Two opened inside a
taverna,
where a wedding celebration was taking place.

“Yes,” Oliver said softly, “I kissed her, and yes, I touched her. I was drunk and confused, but I don’t claim that as an excuse. I should have pushed her away—she was Anthony’s.”

“And then he found you both.”

“Yes.” He looked at her through his lashes, and his mouth curled in a smile that held no humor. “She was wrapped around me like ivy, her dress half off, her hair down. She’d pulled off my cravat and my shirt was hanging out of my trousers. Yes, Vivianna, you wanted to know!”

She had looked away, but she forced herself to turn back. “You didn’t consummate your…eh…”

His eyebrows lifted again. “Are you an expert on copulation, too, Miss Greentree?” he asked her with an edge of anger.

“No, of course not. There…there was a booklet I read once, and it showed illustrations of men and women.”

His lips quirked. “Oh?”

“It was an instruction booklet, on how to prevent children. There was a Latin term…”

Oliver looked as if he wasn’t sure he was having this conversation. “Coitus interruptus.”

“Yes!” She smiled, relieved he knew what she was talking about.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. Oliver swallowed and shifted in his seat. “Vivianna, as much as I am enjoying talking with you about connection, I think we have strayed from the point.”

“Oh, of course.” She flushed. “W-what happened then, when Anthony came into the room?”

“He just stood there. Celia started to scream, saying she didn’t love him. The inference being, I suppose, that she loved me. I sat down and started to laugh. I
was drunk and it was all so absurd—like this opera. Anthony turned around and left. The next time I saw him…”

“He was dead.”

“Yes. I tried to persuade her to marry me, you know. Do the right thing. She wouldn’t. Didn’t want me. It was all a game to get out from under her father’s thumb. I can’t blame her, I suppose. I
don’t
blame her; I blame myself.”

Vivianna felt her heart swell with compassion for him, and relief that after all he had not been so very bad. “It’s not so terrible,” she said gently. “You were foolish, but the scene was not engineered by you. Probably, in time, your brother would have forgiven you, and you would have been friends again. You should not think he hates you from beyond the grave—I do not believe the dead would hate the living for one simple mistake. Surely they are past such petty concerns.”

Anthony’s death had destroyed all chance of a reconciliation between the brothers. It was no wonder Oliver spent his days and nights trying to forget. And yet what was it he had said in the coach?
I hope to avenge my brother, Vivianna, not placate his restless spirit.
Avenge him in what way? By hurting Celia? Vivianna did not believe it. There must be something else….

She turned to ask him further questions, but he was smiling at her, his gaze sliding over her face like a caress, and the words flew from her head.

“You are a very unusual woman, Miss Vivianna Greentree.”

“Is that a compliment?” she asked frankly.

“Oh yes.” He nodded slowly. “You’ve forced me to reveal something to you that I had not intended to, and
I actually feel a sense of relief. Are you my confessor now, Vivianna? I warn you, you would not like to listen to all my sins.”

“Are they very numerous?”

“Very.”

Vivianna sensed the return of desire between them. The heavy liquid weight of her limbs, the lazy thud of her heart, the tingling tightness of her skin.

His lips brushed her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. She closed her eyes. The opera continued, but Vivianna neither saw nor heard the agonies of Adina and Nemorino. Her own feelings filled her to bursting, and at last, with a soft groan of surrender, she lifted her face to his.

His mouth was hot, barely controlled.

A mistake,
she told herself.
This is a mistake. Everyone will see…

Evidently he knew it, too. In the time it took Rubini to draw breath for his next note, Oliver had propelled her to her feet and back, into the shadows to a small anteroom, offering privacy and hiding them from the eyes of the audience. Oliver had earlier explained the anteroom had been built at Lady Marsh’s request, because she often had to recline when the pain was too great, and she did not wish people to see her.

Tonight it hid Oliver and Vivianna, and she was in his arms.

“I’ve thought of this for days.” He kissed her face, and then his mouth was against her throat as she arched it for his pleasure. She could feel his chest to hers, the frill on his shirt tickling her skin, and only the width of her skirts defeated her ability to feel his legs and his hips.

Protect your heart.

That was all very well, but what about this burning,
aching need? How did she protect herself from that and at the same time use it to her advantage?

His hands stroked over her ribs, and upward, to cup her breasts through her stays and chemise and the silk of her bodice. The feel of his palms on them, even through so many layers of cloth, reminded her of his fingers against her bare flesh, and Vivianna moaned aloud.

He covered her mouth with his, and he reached back, his fingers working on the hooks that held the back of her bodice together. A tug, the lined silk bodice loosened, and in a moment he had drawn it down. He lifted aside the soft cup of her stays and the thin chemise, and bared her breast. Her nipple was already puckered against the dark aureole, and Vivianna gasped and touched herself in wonder.

“It is as if I am ready for you,” she murmured. “Wanting you to kiss me there.”

Oliver groaned at her words, and then he stroked her, covering both her hand and her breast with his own hand.

Vivianna gasped at the warmth of his palm, and then his mouth was on hers. He was rolling the stiff peak of her breast between his fingers, tugging gently at the nipple in a manner that made her want to scream at him. Not to stop, though, never that. But the sensation jolted her right down to her toes, though mainly it was in the place between her legs. She ached for him, and pressed her thighs hard together to try and ease it.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against her lips. He stroked her again, and then he stooped and took her nipple in his mouth, sucking gently upon it. Beyond them, out in the theater, applause erupted, and laughter as something upon the stage caught the audience’s attention.

Vivianna was oblivious to everything but Oliver.

“You make me feel…” she began, her voice strange and husky. “I feel as if I have drunk too much champagne.”

He laughed softly and, holding her face in his hands with tender care, kissed her mouth again, opening her lips, using his tongue. “You’re drunk on desire,” he murmured. Then, holding her still and looking down into her eyes, “I want to kiss you.”

“You have,” she breathed, and reached up to touch his lips with her own.

He smiled against her mouth. “Not there. I want to kiss you between your legs.”

“Oh.” Aphrodite had not mentioned that sort of kissing, but Vivianna knew by the tremble in her knees that already she was longing and eager for him to do it. She told him so, meeting his gaze. “I would like that. Will you let me kiss you, too?”

His eyes blurred, as though the vision she had created in his head had temporarily scattered his thoughts. “You can kiss me another time,” he said huskily, “and I would like it very much.”

And then he knelt down at her feet and began to pull up her bulky skirts and petticoats. Vivianna clasped the many folds in her hands, holding them for him, until he had exposed her stockinged legs. Cool air brushed her most sensitive places. Oliver swallowed and looked up at her, his eyes black with desire.

“You aren’t wearing any drawers,” he said as if he couldn’t believe it, although the evidence was there before him.

Vivianna smiled. “I know.”

Slowly, with extreme concentration, he reached out and stroked her thighs above the ribboned tops of her stockings. His palms curved over her hips, then down,
molding to the rounded curves of her bottom. His warm breath stirred the soft curls at the apex of her legs.

Vivianna felt her body tense in anticipation. She leaned her head back against the wall and wondered if she would be able to stay upright much longer.

His fingers eased between her thighs, sliding down through the curls that hid her outer lips, searching the delicate folds, to the slickness within. He made a sound of satisfaction in his throat and then…good Lord, and then he bent forward and…

A bolt of sheer pleasure rendered Vivianna momentarily speechless, and then she gave a deep moan. She lifted her wrist to her mouth and bit upon it, muffling her cries. His tongue circled her swollen nub, sending more quakes through her trembling body, and then he proceeded to suck upon it, gently but firmly. Vivianna arched her back, and at the same time her knees gave way a little more.

He held her up, his fingers pressing into her bottom and opening her thighs at the same time, while his mouth and teeth and tongue did their wonderful work. Vivianna gasped and moved against him. His fingers were inside her, she could feel the pressure, thrusting as his tongue teased her toward the precipice. She bit into her glove, but what she really wanted to do was scream. It was almost too much to bear.

She felt herself erupt, and her legs gave way.

He caught her, holding her up, and the next thing she knew she was in his arms, his skirts rumpled up between them, as she sobbed and gasped out her pleasure in the warm crease between his shoulder and neck. His heart was thudding as loudly as hers, and his chest was rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Vivianna took several deep breaths of her own, trying to calm herself, but it was as if her feelings were all confused and jumbled up inside her. Surely what he had just done was not typical of a rake? She had always believed rakes cared only for themselves, for their own selfish pleasures. What he had just done to her was for her pleasure alone, wasn’t it?

She murmured something of the sort into his cravat.

Oliver’s breath warmed her ear. “You’re beautiful, Vivianna. Pink and sleek and beautiful. It was for my pleasure, too, believe me. Next time I am inside you it will not be with my tongue.”

Protect your heart!

Her head was spinning with what he had said, but worse than that, her heart was melting. He had given her such joy, and denied himself release, and now he spoke of the next time. Vivianna knew he would not hurt her, not physically anyway. He would not hurt any woman. There was such goodness in him. Surely he would not deny her her request if she asked him now…?

Yes, ask him to save the shelter. This is your chance. You have him in your control, in your power. Do it now. Now!

He was kissing her again, his mouth feeding on hers, his hands hot against her breasts. He pushed against her, against the place he had just been kissing, and with each movement a new jolt of hot pleasure went through her. And then he turned so that his body was hard against hers and she felt him, the hard urgent length of him, against her belly.

“Vivianna,” he groaned, “come with me now. We can go somewhere private. We can make love in safety.”

A warning sounded in her head.
And then what?
it
demanded.
Will he call you a hackney and send you home? Why not, once he has what he wants from you?

And yet he had been so unselfish. He had lavished all his care and attention upon her, given her pleasure such as she had never before experienced. Surely he would not abandon her?

Vivianna tried to clear her head.

The shelter.
Save the shelter.
That was what this was all about, wasn’t it? Aphrodite had said she would know when the moment was right. Was this it now? Had the right moment come? He wanted her, that much was clear. If he really wanted her, if she was really important to him, he would say yes. Simple.
Just ask him….