Scandalous Summer Nights (14 page)

L
ater that evening, James followed the mouthwatering smells of roast beef, vegetables, and freshly baked bread down the corridor to Olivia’s room, but he hesitated when he reached her door.

He felt inside his jacket and checked that her letter was tucked securely in his pocket. Owen might never forgive him for what he was about to do, but it was the right thing. And not just from a legal standpoint. Olivia was a grown woman, and what she did with her father’s letter should be her choice.

Determined to see his decision through, James knocked on the door.

Hildy welcomed him in, sweeping her arm toward a small round table set with linens, china, and a vase full of wildflowers. “Everything is ready for you and Lady Olivia to dine.”

Olivia was seated already and wearing a gown that wouldn’t have been out of place at a London ball. Golden
silk skimmed her shoulders and dipped to a low V in the front, baring the ripe swells of her breasts. Her hair was piled high on top of her head, except for several rogue curls that framed her face.

James swallowed hard. She was gorgeous, and the way she smiled at him made him feel like he could scale a pyramid. There was so much he admired about her. She wore her heart on her sleeve. She let the people around her know what they meant to her.

She lived life like every damned day mattered.

And when James was with her, he realized it
did
.

“Come, join me,” she said.

Unable to speak, he smiled and gave a polite nod to Hildy as he seated himself across from Olivia.

“Isn’t it lovely?” In the glow of a single flickering candle, she beamed.

“Indeed.”

Hildy cleared her throat. “Terrence and I will dine downstairs before making our way to the carpenter’s. But just because you’ll have your crutches does not mean you may use them tomorrow. The doctor said you must rest for
two
days.”

Olivia’s expression turned calculating. “Well, I think the morning of the second day would certainly quali—”

“No,” he and Hildy said in unison.

“Fine.” Her shoulders slumped, but the trace of a smile lit her face. “I shan’t argue with you because Hildy has been spoiling me. Look, she even found us this lovely bottle of wine.”

The maid blushed as she scooped up her shawl and satchel. “I wanted your dinner to be special. You’ve had a trying couple of days.”

“My own fault,” Olivia admitted. “But thank you for helping me make the best of it.”

“Enjoy yourselves,” Hildy said, heading for the door. “We’ve a bit of a ride to the carpenter’s but should return by nine-thirty or so.”

The maid walked out, leaving him and Olivia alone. After a brief, cozy silence, he said, “You look beautiful. I didn’t realize tonight was supposed to be formal—and I didn’t think to bring my evening jacket.”

“I shall try to overlook your state of underdress,” she teased, “if you promise not to notice that I am wearing only one slipper.”

“Agreed.” He poured the wine, then reached out and squeezed her hand. “Earlier, I mentioned there was something I needed to tell you. You see—”

“Wait. We should have a toast,” she said, raising her glass. She paused a moment to think, eyes alight with mischief. “To this evening. May it be full of surprises that delight us now… and live fondly in our memories… forever.”

He lifted his glass and though he nodded his assent, he doubted the revelation he had for her—about her father’s letter—was the kind of surprise she had in mind.

“We have no staff to serve us,” she said, “but I confess I prefer it this way. We can pretend that no one exists but us.”

“Allow me.” He removed the lids from her plate and his own and set them aside. “I’m happy to play the role of footman tonight. Whatever you need, all you have to do is ask.”

“My mind is positively swimming with possibilities, but do you know what I’d most like?”

“You must tell me. I live to serve.”

“I’d like to know what it is about Egypt that fascinates
you—so much so that you’d leave behind the comforts of London and your family and friends to explore there.”

“It’s complicated. I don’t know if I can put it into words.”

“Will you try, please? I truly want to understand.”

No one had ever asked him this before, but he could tell that his answer mattered to her, so he resolved to try his best to explain. “Your brother and Foxburn assume I’m going to Egypt because I want to escape the strictures of society—especially cravats.”

“And are they are mistaken?”

He grinned. “Not entirely. I plan to leave most of my cravats at home. But it’s more than that.”

She swallowed a bite of asparagus and smiled encouragingly.

“When I was about twelve years old, I read about a tomb in the ancient pyramids and was fascinated by the Egyptians’ concept of the afterlife. I wanted to believe that there was a world beyond this, and I asked my mother how it would be for Ralph. Would he be able-bodied and strong? Would he be able to express himself like the rest of us—clearly and with little effort?”

Olivia put down her fork. “What did she say?”

“She cried. And then she asked me what I thought. I said that if a pharaoh could have soldiers and slaves and cats in the afterlife that the least Ralph could have was his good health.”

She sighed softly. “That seems perfectly reasonable to me, and very sweet. Do you think the Egyptians had it right, then? That the things that are important to us while we are alive are the things we will need after we pass on?”

“In a way. But the things that are important aren’t wealth or servants.”

“What is?”

“The love we have for our family and friends. I think that is the thing that will ultimately endure.”

Her eyes brimmed. “I hope so. I miss Papa, but I like to think of him loving me and Rose and Owen from afar.”

Jesus, this was the perfect opening. “Olivia, I—”

“But I don’t want to talk about that now.” She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Tell me how your passion for Egypt grew.”

Sensing she needed time to compose herself, he said, “I read everything I could about the civilization. After Napoleon’s Egyptian expedition, there were volumes written on the subject—tomb maps, drawings, and paintings. But I became frustrated when the books didn’t contain the answers to all of my questions. I wanted to know how the pyramids were built and what life was like for those not lucky enough to be born pharaohs. I decided that I wanted to discover the answers myself, digging in the sand of the Egyptian desert, rather than search for them in the dusty pages of a book.”

“So it’s a desire to understand ancient Egyptians that has led you to explore.”

He thought about that for a moment. “I’m intrigued by other ancient civilizations, too, by the possibility of discovering common threads between us and those who lived thousands of years ago. There’s a French linguist who’s been able to decipher some of the hieroglyphics found in the tombs. If we could just read the messages they left behind, we might understand.”

“We might learn they’re not so different from us.”

“Yes,” he said gratefully. “I like to imagine we’re connected by our humanity—our need to love and be loved.” Good God, he was babbling like an idiot.

Olivia sighed. “That’s beautiful. I never knew.”

“Never knew what?”

“That you’re such a romantic.”

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “I’m a realist.”

She shot him a knowing smile. “Of course you are.”

“All that aside, the civilization accomplished so much. And the land and people are both foreign and exotic. I can’t wait to walk the narrow streets of Cairo, ride over miles of sandstone and desert, and see the pyramids and the Sphinx with my own eyes.”

Olivia sat back and nodded to herself. “I believe I understand,” she murmured.

“You do?” His explanation hadn’t felt adequate, but he shouldn’t be surprised that she had managed to glean something from his clumsy ramblings. She’d always met him more than halfway.

“I’ve been quite content living here in my safe, comfortable, familiar world. I’ve never felt the need to travel to distant lands. But you’re so passionate about it that you may have just changed my mind.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know. I’m just happy that I finally understand. And it will make tonight all the more exciting.”

“It will?”

She set her napkin on the table and grinned. “Absolutely. Finish your dinner, and then all will be revealed.”

He let his gaze wander over the sweet curve of her neck and the tantalizing swells of her breasts, shamelessly hopeful that all sorts of things would be revealed.

Olivia took a large sip of wine. James looked especially handsome tonight. His sinewy strength and rugged
charm were the same as always, but there was also something different about him. Something that, in all the years she had known and loved him, she had never seen in him before—vulnerability.

For once, he’d stopped being Averill—dashing solicitor, renowned pugilist, and intrepid explorer—and was just James. James, who worried about his family and questioned his future, just like other mere mortals.

And that openness—the honesty she’d seen in his beautiful green eyes—had made her knees go weak. Even though she was sitting. She could never have survived the conversation standing.

But the night was just beginning.

Brimming with anticipation, she said, “I thought we would do a little more sketching tonight—if you have no objection.”

“None at all. Shall I fetch your supplies? Move our chairs to our respective positions?”

“Not yet. We’re going to do things a bit differently this time.”

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Differently?”

She nodded. “We’re reversing roles. I shall be the model, and you shall be the artist.”

“No.”

She lifted the hem of the table linens and reached beneath for the large satchel she’d placed there, then set it in her lap. As though she hadn’t heard him, she said, “I’ll just need your help setting up.”

“Olivia, I don’t draw.”

“Move your chair close to the window, as it was before, then help me to it.”

“I’m the farthest thing from an artist there is. I could
try to describe you in words. I could use all sorts of numbers and measurements to try to capture your essence. Drawing is out of the question.”

She blinked slowly, then let the full force of her displeasure wash over him. “James, we both know that I am more than words or numbers. And if you think I’m about to let you near me with a measuring tape, you are sorely mistaken. Besides, you haven’t even tried drawing. How can you call yourself an archaeologist if you don’t have a little journal that you whip out of your pocket and draw sketches of your findings in?”

“I record my observations,” he said firmly. “I don’t draw pictures.”

Olivia straightened her spine. “I am not some dusty, lifeless artifact buried along the banks of the Nile. I’m the girl you’ve known for a decade and the woman whom you’ve recently kissed. And you’re going to draw me.”

James stared at her for several seconds. “Very well. But you’ve been warned. The results won’t be pretty.”

Goodness. She hadn’t anticipated any resistance at this early phase. The challenging part was still to come.

As he rearranged the furniture as she requested, she admired the subtle flexing of his muscles beneath his jacket. A sigh might have escaped her.

He looked up. “Did you say something?”

“Hmm? No. This looks perfect. Now, if you wouldn’t mind helping me walk to the chair by the win—Oh!”

James scooped up her and her bag and held her close to his chest. His hard, warm wall of a chest.

She wrapped an arm around his neck because she thought it might help him if she shifted some of her
weight. It had nothing to do with wanting to feel the downy curls at his nape or the corded muscles of his neck.

He didn’t move but simply stood there, holding her and gazing into her eyes like there was something he wanted to tell her. Something tender and moving.

Ridiculousness, of course. But this was the same fantasy she’d been having since she was approximately twelve years old. No wonder she saw things in the depths of his green eyes that weren’t really there.

And then his gaze flicked to her mouth, lingering there.

Her heart hammered in her chest, because there was
no
mistaking that look. He wanted to kiss her.

Coincidentally, she wanted to kiss him, too.

He seemed slightly breathless, which Olivia chose to believe was a consequence of his desperate longing for her and not of the effort he exerted in order to hold her.

Though neither of them spoke, Olivia could feel the frantic beating of his heart.

His lips parted, and without thinking she raised a finger and began to trace them, savoring every sensuous curve and testing the fullness of the lower one.

James made a strangled sound, closed his eyes for a moment, and nipped at her finger, capturing the tip between his teeth.

She breathed in sharply but didn’t pull away as he took more of her finger in his mouth—so warm and wicked—and sucked on it until her nipples tightened and her body tingled from head to toe.

When he released her finger, she cradled his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his, sighing at the sweet, familiar taste of him.

He kissed her too, but not with the same unchecked
power as before. This time, he seemed to hold back, giving only as much as she gave, resisting his desire and the natural escalation of passion that occurred whenever they touched.

And even though that was just as well, she ached for more.

The kiss cooled to a low simmer before she reluctantly ended it. James nuzzled his forehead to hers and breathed her name so sweetly that if she dwelt on it she could easily be reduced to tears.

With a breeziness that was all show, she said, “Pleasant though that distraction was, you are delaying the surprise. And I still require your help with a couple of things. First of all, you may set me in the chair.” Maybe then she’d have a prayer of being able to think straight.