Wallflower Gone Wild (23 page)

“She’s awake! Archer, she’s awake!” her mother squawked. Her father pushed Phinn aside, grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s all right, darling, we’re going to take you home,” her mother gushed. “You needn’t stay here a moment longer.”

“I’m so sorry, daughter, I had believed him to be an upstanding man in spite of his rumors. Otherwise I would have never contracted your betrothal. I should have allowed time for a courtship, as he wanted . . .”

This was too much for Olivia to take in now. But she understood enough. She’d been punishing Phinn for sins that weren’t entirely his. All she could do was allow a weary sigh.

“Hush, husband,” her mother said. “Can’t you see she’s overset?”

“We all can see it, wife,” her father replied frostily.

Phinn stood behind them. Olivia found strength in his gaze.

“I know just the thing,” her mother said, rummaging in her reticule. She could never find anything in her reticule in less than five minutes. Now was no exception. “Now wait . . . it’s in here somewhere.”

Finally, she was triumphant. She held aloft a bottle of Smythson’s Smelling Salts. Then she popped off the lid and held the bottle under Olivia’s nose.

Oh Lord, was that revitalizing stuff! Olivia took a deep, heaving breath, then coughed, then summoned all her strength to ignore the pain required in turning her head away from that curiously strong scent.

“It works! Every time!” her mother cried. “If you’d just bought the shares like I told you, we’d be rich and wouldn’t have had to rely on Radcliffe’s funds.”

Olivia peered from her mother to her father to Phinn. Her gaze settled on him.

“Olivia. Please stay,” he said. It wasn’t a command, or a question, but a plea.

S
omehow, in spite of all their protestations and accusations, Phinn managed to get her parents out of the room. The silence, oh God, the silence was heavenly. She closed her eyes to savor it but Phinn pleaded with her to wake up.

“What happened?” she asked once she finally managed it.

“The engine wasn’t ready,” he said, and she remembered the gleaming machine that she’d broken. Oh, he must be angry with her! “But you didn’t know that because I didn’t tell you. I stayed late each day and only returned after you’d gone to bed because . . . it’s hard to explain.”

He wasn’t entirely making sense but she understood that he wasn’t mad at her. If anything, he was angry with himself. It was clear by the anguish in his voice and the rough manner with which he pushed his fingers through his hair.

“I made a mistake, Olivia. It collapsed. It seems you have broken your ankle. The doctor thinks you’ll walk again.”

“Oh.” Well that explained the wicked pain she felt whenever she tried to move.

“Olivia.” He held her hand again. She remembered their night at the theater. She wanted that again. But one look in his eyes and she saw that he wasn’t thinking of sweet little affections taking place in the dark. No, he was deathly serious. “We haven’t consummated our marriage. I know you didn’t have a choice in marrying me. It wasn’t how I planned it, and my attempts to make things better only made everything worse. I thought it was the best thing for our reputations to go ahead with it. But you can leave now. We’ll have it annulled. I’ll go away. I’ll take the blame for everything. You deserve better than this and better than me. And I will do
anything
to make you the happiest of women.”

Olivia vaguely comprehended that one of those devastatingly romantic speeches she had always dreamed of hearing was finally, gloriously, being delivered to her. She wished that he would repeat it again and again so she could memorize it. It wouldn’t do to paraphrase when she related this scene to Prudence and Emma. She had to get it
exactly.

Phinn squeezed her hand. There was more.

“But, Angel, you’ll make me the happiest of men if you stay.”

“Oh.” It was a heartfelt sigh. It was all she could manage. She was only aware of the slow beat of her heart, her hand warmed by his, and the genuine affection in his eyes. She had questions about this husband of hers. The only way to get answers was to stay.

There was a banging on the door. Did they not know how her head ached? Her parents burst in. There was more chatter of her leaving, of the marriage being annulled, of never seeing Phinn again. But she couldn’t lose him now. There were too many unanswered questions, too many things she wanted to know, and too many kisses they hadn’t shared.

“We are her parents. We should decide for our daughter.”

That was it, wasn’t it? They always decided for her. Everyone always decided for her. No one ever asked what she wanted. If she’d been able to, she would have pointed that out.

Instead, she sighed and waited for Phinn to reply that she was his wife, and thus he would make the decisions regarding her care.

Instead, he gave her every reason to stay when he said, “The choice is Olivia’s.”

Chapter 21

The Mad Baron Strikes Again

The notorious Lord Radcliffe was seen carrying the unconscious form of his new wife through the lobby of Mivart’s Hotel, where they are residing. We fear the worst.

—
T
HE
L
ONDON
W
EEKLY

Olivia’s bedchamber

Specifically, her bed

After the dramatic turn of events that left Olivia bedridden, she found herself . . . well, bedridden. And after the initial flurry of visits from the doctor (who declared her ankle broken), and her parents (who fussed excessively), and the wallflowers (who amused her with society gossip), she was left alone to rest.

This morning, Phinn had returned to his workplace to oversee the reconstruction of the Difference Engine, which she knew he would. It was important work he’d come to London to do. But he’d also come for a wife, who lay bedridden and alone. Who had broken the engine.

Olivia sighed. When he left earlier, she hadn’t protested, as visitors surrounded her bedside. But they were long gone now and he hadn’t returned. The light from her windows had faded from the bright yellow of midday to the violet of dusk.

She was so very bored and restless that she picked up the embroidery her mother had left within reach. For a moment she stared at the sampler in her hand. The blank fabric and needle and thread were everything she’d despised—the little woman who sat idly by and waited, kept busy by stitching biblical verses and decorative images onto a scrap of fabric that might, one day, be a pillow placed upon a settee that she might or might not be ravished upon by her husband.

Embroidery was useless work. Unlike Phinn’s possibly revolutionary work.

Young ladies embroidered at home.

Men went out and sought adventures and did Great Things.

Rules, rules, rules! She knew them all too well. They took up too much space in her brain. They kept her all bound up, restrained, and squeezed into the mold of Proper Lady until she couldn’t breathe. Thanks to her Mysterious Midnight Rescuer—Phinn!—there was only one rule she abided these days.

Make your own rules.

With a smile on her lips, Olivia picked up her needle and selected a vibrant pink thread. She started to stitch and kept at it until Phinn arrived.

“Right where I left you,” he remarked, leaning against the door frame before strolling into the room.

“Hello there,” she said, smiling shyly. She was at once happy to see him, but all too aware that while she was properly dressed, she was laying on the covers of her bed and, because of her ankle, stuck there.

“My apologies for taking so long to return to you,” he said. “The engine will need significant repairs.”

Her smile faded.

“I’m so sorry,” Olivia said. Truly, she felt horrid whenever she thought of what she’d done. All his work—gone in but a moment. “I didn’t mean to break it. I only wanted to see if it worked.”

She only wanted to see him and to know him. But those were words she couldn’t quite bring herself to say yet.

“No, I’m sorry Olivia,” Phinn said, sitting on a chair beside the bed and clasping her hand. He gazed at her earnestly. Apologetically. “I never should have walked out on you.”

“Why did you?”

Phinn pushed his fingers through his hair. “You’re so frightened of me, Olivia. You had seen the violence I am capable of. I thought if you knew that was me, you would be even more afraid and that you wouldn’t let me touch you. So I couldn’t kiss you, because then you would know.”

Olivia regarded him seriously. She took in his green eyes, gazing at her with sorrow and a little bit of hope. Then her attention drifted to that scar, reminding her of his dangerous past, violent temper, and all the things she didn’t know about him. She pushed his hair back, smoothing it with her touch.

“To be fair, you had come to my defense,” she said. “I was being attacked. Phinn, if you hadn’t been there, I shudder to think what I would have suffered.”

As she spoke of that night, she watched his hands ball into fists. His jaw clenched. His eyes darkened from green to nearly black. For a moment Olivia felt a tremble of fear. Phinn’s countenance had transformed from an attentive husband to a man who was not quite here, but swept up in his anger.

Bedridden and unable to walk, she was completely at his mercy. Though she didn’t think he would attack her, it was quite unsettling to see the way the anger overtook him. She didn’t forget that night either. His punches had been swift, sure, and relentless, until she’d cried for him to stop and Brendon (Brandon?) lay unconscious on the ground.

Not wanting to lose Phinn to this dark mood now, she rested her hands over his clenched fists and looked into his eyes. Gradually, she felt his grip soften and his fingers relax.

“I have a temper,” he admitted.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Olivia replied sweetly.

Phinn thought she must be daft. Then he realized she was jesting; to his surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. And like that, all the hot, stormy anger subsided. That was why he needed Olivia. No one else had the ability to soothe his temper or distract him from anger.

“What are you working on?” he asked, nodding at the fabric in her hands.

“Embroidery, actually,” she said with a little laugh, glancing down.

“I thought you hated embroidery.” Just when he thought he knew her . . .

“I do. But it was the only thing to do within reach,” she said with a sheepish smile. His chest tightened. She was stuck in bed with embroidery all because of him—God, he’d be a beast if he were stuck in her position.

“I am so sorry, Olivia.”

“I know,” she replied. “Besides, I found a way to make it less tedious.”

She turned the sampler she’d been working on to show him. He grinned as he read the words stitched in thick, upright letters with the occasional flourish:
Make your own rules.

“What will your mother say when she sees that?” Phinn asked with a lift of one brow.

“She will say, ‘Olivia, young ladies do not.’ But I say that young ladies do.”

“I hope so,” Phinn murmured. Their gazes met. Locked. Once again he felt that force, drawing him to Olivia. Like gravity. Like magnetism. Like it was a law and there was no breaking it. Not that he wanted to; no, he wanted to be so close . . . he wanted to be inside her.

His gaze dropped to her lips, parted slightly. He wanted to kiss her. Then his gaze dropped lower, to the swells of her breasts straining against her bodice. He wanted to touch, taste, adore. He wanted his wife with an intensity usually reserved for one of his tempers.

Did she share his desire? The darkening of her blue eyes might suggest she did.

“And what are the rules according to Olivia?” Phinn asked, his voice rough.

“A young lady ought to voice her thoughts and opinions,” she said. “I haven’t been very good at it.”

“You’re doing all right now,” he answered, encouraging her to speak her mind to him. If he knew her, he could please her. If she were happy, he would be happy. “What are some other rules of yours?”

“Only follow the rules that make sense,” Olivia said, and his heart nearly burst with love for her. She smiled back at him. “For example, it is ridiculous that a lady ought to have a birdlike appetite and only pick at her food and be starving most of the time. One shouldn’t put their happiness in the hands of anyone else. Some will treat it with disrespect,” she added, and he could tell they were both thinking about the soldier. “Or very likely, no one will care about her happiness as much as she.”

Phinn suspected she was speaking of her parents now. They meant well, but if they truly cared, they would have listened to their daughter and given her a choice in matters pertaining to her life.

“Any other rules?”

“A lady should discover what pleases her,” Olivia answered softly.

“I like that rule,” he murmured suggestively.

“I wasn’t thinking what you are clearly thinking,” she replied.

“Pity, that,” he remarked. Truly.

“I am quite inexperienced in that regard,” she confessed. Which he knew. Which he liked.

Phinn’s heart started drumming harder and faster. “There’s an easy remedy for that.”

“But . . . but . . .” she stammered.

Phinn quirked one brow, encouraging her to continue but not wanting to seem so eager that he scared her off. They were becoming closer. She sighed.

“My leg. And I have seen the pictures, and while I find them intriguing, I am not quite sure about . . . all of those things. I confess, I am curious, however—”

“Olivia.”

“Yes?”

“A lady should discover what pleases her,” Phinn said. “And she should voice her opinion and make clear her wishes, be they ‘Yes, I like that and want more’ or ‘Stop at once.’ ”

“A gentleman ought to obey a lady’s wishes,” she replied with a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth.

“Agreed,” he said, voice rough, heart pounding.

Olivia let her embroidery fall to the floor.

Phinn pushed a wayward ringlet away from her face. He was going to kiss her now. She would know it was him and that would be all right. She might be nervous or afraid, but he’d demonstrate that she could trust him to keep her safe and happy. He’d help her discover what pleased her.

Though not lacking in experience, he felt nervous. Funny, that.

After this kiss there would be no turning back.

Phinn lowered his mouth to hers, determined to please his lady. It took all of his restraint, but he kept his kiss light and gentle at first. She’d seemed to like that before. But then, as if drunk from the taste of her, he couldn’t hold back. He urged her lips apart so he could truly taste her.

Olivia seemed to like that, too. When he joined her on the bed, lying by her side, he felt her tense and then relax. She was innocent. He couldn’t forget that. Nor could he forget what she thought she knew of his temper and his past. If he could only tear himself away from their kiss, he could explain.

Or he could just show her there was nothing to be afraid of. He just kissed her as if that were the only thing in the world.

Tentatively at first, she responded. And then she surrendered a bit more. Lightly, she pushed a lock of his hair away. As she did, her fingertips skimmed over the scar.

He felt her tense.

His breath caught.

Then she threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. He felt her breasts pressing against his chest. His hard arousal strained against his breeches. All he wanted was to bury himself inside her and thrust hard until he climaxed and shouted her name. Instead, he forced himself to go slow and discover her.

When he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck, Olivia froze as if she weren’t quite sure about it. Then she sighed and tilted her head back to give him more access. With her eyes closed, she didn’t see his triumphant smile. He knew how to woo a woman until she was pliant and wanting in his arms. His breath caught, wanting and wishing to touch her bare skin.

Phinn skimmed his open hands along her side and caressed the delicate dip between her hip and her waist, and she pressed closer to him. He didn’t stop there, or even when his palm closed around her breast. A perfect fit. Olivia gazed into his eyes. Then, smiling languorously, she closed them again. He pressed his mouth to the faint smile on her lips as he started to tug down her bodice, first exposing one beautifully pale, round shoulder. He had to press a light kiss there.

When he pushed aside all the fabric between them, she didn’t protest. When he ducked his head and his mouth closed around one of the dusky centers of her breast, she sighed slightly. As his tongue toyed with the sensitive peak, her sighs became moans.

When he moved against her, as if he were inside her, she tensed again. She either didn’t like it or else didn’t know what to do.

“Move with me,” he said roughly. “Or tell me to stop.”

Y
oung ladies let the gentleman have his way . . .

The rules still plagued Olivia. She found it harder and harder to hold back. Why was she so determined to resist him? She couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t she move with him? Instinctively, she wanted to. But she’d been told that ladies lie still, allowing the man his pleasure, and now he ordered her to move with him or to tell him to stop. Given the steady, spiraling heat and her feeling of deep desire and dissatisfaction at the moment, stopping was not an option. So she let down her defenses and allowed her hips to move with his. She felt the hard length of his arousal pressing to the vee of her thighs. She wanted only to feel more of him.

She had sworn to do
anything
to avoid marriage to this man, and now she was gasping for his touch. Somehow, Phinn managed to chase away the scary thoughts with the pleasure he gave her with his hands and mouth. He had pressed kisses along her neck, stimulating the sensitive skin there and making her forget how vulnerable she felt.

His hands, which might have hurt another woman, roamed over her. Learning her. Pleasing her. Urging her legs apart. His fingertips traced light lines up her inner thighs where the skin was so sensitive.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough.

“No,” she whispered.

His hands moved higher and he started to stroke the bud of her sex with his fingertips. She bit her lip, biting back moans.

Young ladies should be seen and not heard.

“I want to hear you,” he whispered.

So she sighed and didn’t hold back as he traced delicate circles around her most sensitive place. The pressure increased, drawing a moan from her lips. She couldn’t quite keep still. And she gasped when he slid one finger inside her. She’d never felt anything like it. The delicate, teasing strokes continued until she just felt vexed. It wasn’t enough. Didn’t he know it wasn’t enough?

“Phinn,” she rasped.

He kissed and slid another finger inside her, while pressing the bud of her sex with his thumb. This was all too much to process. She felt overheated—why the devil did she still have this dress on? Still, he moved his fingers in a wicked rhythm that was driving her mad. Tightness in her lungs made breathing hard. In fact, she felt tight and tense all over as if she might shatter at any second.