WidowsWickedWish (24 page)

“Receive me?” he repeated as he too came to his feet.

“I just need a moment of…of privacy…to prepare.”

An almost comical look of confusion drifted over his strong
features and Olivia might have smiled had she not been so terribly confused.
This was her wedding night and her new husband intended to exercise his rights.

Without another word Olivia spun and retreated to her
chamber, all too aware of the man who silently watched her until she closed the
door. She stopped in the center of the room, her gaze darting to the bed where
the coverlet had been turned down in her absence. A pale-blue silk and lace
nightgown and matching robe lay at the foot of the bed.

She realized she needn’t ring for Celeste at all. Her gown buttoned
in front. She’d left off her corset in favor of light stays that laced up her
stomach.

In less than two minutes she’d changed into the shimmering
silk nightgown and burrowed beneath the sheets, tucking them beneath her arms.
Flat on her back, she waited for her husband to join her.

She had little time to wait, little time to prepare herself
for what was to come. Jack knocked on the door and pushed it open without
waiting for an invitation. He stopped just inside her chamber, his broad
shoulders blocking the light from the sitting room beyond. His face was cast in
shadows, his eyes hidden from her.

“You’re already in bed,” he murmured as he stepped into the
room, pushing the door closed behind him.

Olivia watched him prowl nearer, all of her senses alive
with the knowledge that he would take her, whether she wished it or not.

On that point she was torn. She wanted to feel his hands on
her, to feel his cock buried deep within her cunny. She wanted the pleasure he
could give her.

But how would she bear it knowing he didn’t truly want her,
thought only to consummate their marriage, to make it legal and binding. He’d
never wanted her, never truly desired her. No more than Palmerton had ever
desired her.

She remembered the one time the earl had come to her bed
after she’d born him the necessary heir.

Surprised by his sudden appearance in her chamber after
months during which she’d seen him only across the dining room table and
occasionally over breakfast, she’d mistakenly believed he came to her from a
desire to bed her. What else could she think? They both knew another child was
an impossibility.

When Palmerton had kissed her, when he’d squeezed her
breasts she’d made every effort to relax and enjoy his attentions, returning
his kisses, arching into his touch. For a few brief moments she’d felt a
stirring, a whisper of desire.

“Quit shifting about,” he’d gritted out between clenched
teeth as he prodded at the opening to her body. “Just lay still and let me find
whatever pleasure I can.”

Horrified, she’d immediately subsided. But there’d been no
pleasure to be found, not for either of them. After no more than a few minutes
of fumbling between her spread legs, Palmerton had snarled an oath and lurched
from her bed.

“How can you expect me to get hard when you lay there
squirming beneath me,” he’d growled before pulling his nightshirt over his
head. “I should have gone to my mistress, no matter that her courses are
flowing. If you’d just submit as you ought to I could imagine she was beneath
me. But no, you can’t even do that for me. You’re useless to me, madam.”

She wondered who Jack had thought of all those times he’d
been thrusting into her body.

It hardly mattered as this was likely to be the only time he
would come to her bed, the last time she would find pleasure at a man’s hands.

Jack halted beside the bed, his gaze raking over her form
beneath the light sheet.

“You look like a virgin bride,” he said, his voice laced
with laughter.

“I’m sorry, was I wrong to wait for you in bed?” she asked
in confusion.

He seemed baffled by the question, his hands stilling on the
belt of his robe.

With a smile that she hoped appeared welcoming, Olivia
raised the sheet.

“There is no right or wrong between us, Livy,” he replied
after a moment.

“No, of course not,” she agreed. “Would you like me to
remove my nightgown?”

“I’ll do it.”

“No, you needn’t. I wasn’t certain what you would prefer.”
She rose to her knees on the bed and quickly yanked her nightgown over her
head, tossing it unceremoniously on the floor.

Still he hesitated beside the bed, his hands clenching on
the knot of his belt.

Unsure what he expected of her, she settled on to her back
once more and waited.

“Olivia,” he breathed. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” she answered. “I am…I am ready.”

“Ready,” he repeated.

“If you are,” she added, her eyes dropping below his hands
to the unmistakable proof of his readiness.

“Oh, I’m ready,” he said, tearing at the belt of his robe
before shrugging out of the garment. “You are decidedly not ready.”

“But I am,” she protested as he crawled over her, his knees
wedging her legs apart, his hands resting on either side of her head.

“There’s ready and there’s ready,” he growled as his head
dipped.

Jack captured whatever nonsense hovered on Olivia’s lips, afraid
he would howl with either laughter or frustration if he listened to even one
more word.

I am ready.

For what? The woman had gone completely daft if she thought
he would settle for a quick coupling to seal their marriage.

He’d known halfway through dinner that something was
terribly wrong with his bride. Hell, he’d known three days ago when she’d
demurely accepted his offer of marriage after the fiasco in the stables. He’d
certainly known it each day since as she’d avoided his eyes and evaded his every
attempt to touch her, to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow, to brush a
wayward curl behind her ear, to kiss her chastely on the cheek.

He’d told himself it was the shock of his revelations, that
he could make her understand once they were married. He’d attempted to speak of
it over dinner, but she’d repeatedly turned the conversation to the mundane.

But he would be damned if he would allow her to turn their
lovemaking into the mundane. If he couldn’t bring her back to him through
passion, what chance did he have?

He coasted his lips over hers, lingering on her plump lower
lip, nipping the soft flesh until she opened to him. He slanted his mouth,
sealed them together, and eased his tongue inside.

Olivia shifted beneath him, her hands coming up to rest on
his chest, a soft moan vibrating against his hungry mouth. Jack wanted to
believe he heard passion but suspected her moan was one of surprise, perhaps
even dismay.

She was tense and still beneath him, her legs splayed on
either side of his knees, her fingers resting motionless over his nipples. Then
her mouth came alive, her lips clinging to his, her tongue meeting his in a
smooth, soft glide that gave him hope. He drove his tongue into her heat,
dancing around hers, thrusting and retreating, skimming along her teeth before
engaging hers once more. He sucked her tongue deep into his mouth, groaned when
she whimpered beneath him.

“Livy,” he whispered into her mouth.

Her fingers flexed on his chest as if she might push him
away and he dropped to his elbows, pinning her hands between them. He cradled
her head in his hands and changed the angle of their kiss, spearing his tongue
deep into her mouth.

Olivia squirmed beneath him, pulled free of the press of his
body and wound her arms around him, her hands warm on his back. She didn’t grip
him or caress him, but merely spread her fingers wide, holding on to him as she
sighed. Jack broke their kiss and lifted his head to find her looking up at
him.

“My wife,” he murmured.

“Your wife,” she repeated, her voice soft, hesitant.

Jack swooped down to capture her lips once more, determined
to erase the hesitancy he’d heard in her words, seen in her eyes. He applied
himself to the enjoyable task of awakening her desire.

Again and again he kissed her. Until his blood was roaring
in his veins and his cock was painfully hard. And Olivia held him, her fingers
soft on his back, quiet moans humming in the back of her throat.

Jack pulled his lips from hers, dragged his open mouth along
her jaw and down the slope of her neck. She tilted her head back, gifting him
with the tender flesh at the juncture of her shoulder. He latched on, pulling
her warm skin into his mouth, grazing her with his teeth.

Olivia jerked beneath him, groaning softly. He carefully
lowered his weight onto her, the base of his shaft nestling in the curls
between her open legs, his chest pressed to her breasts.

“Livy, love,” he growled, nearly undone by the pleasure of
their flesh meeting after days without her. “You feel so good.”

Her hands flexed on his back. She arched against him, her
hips rising to push her mound against his hard length, before she settled
beneath him once more.

Encouraged by the promise of her unbidden response, Jack
dipped down, took one nipple between his lips, sucked the pebbled flesh deep
into his mouth. Olivia shuddered beneath him, her hands falling to grasp the
sheets beside her hips. She undulated gently beneath him, her breath panting
out between parted lips.

He turned his attention to her other breast and trailed one
hand down over her belly.

“Please,” she whispered brokenly, her back bowing, her
fingers twisting in the sheets.

He sifted his fingers through her curls, dipped into her
silken folds to find her clitoris, already swollen and begging for his touch.
He circled the tight bud until her hips rose from the bed to chase his teasing
fingers. He placed his thumb on her straining flesh and eased one finger into
her quim, finding the channel as warm and wet as he remembered.

Olivia whimpered, her inner walls rippling, clasping him tight.

“Yes, love,” he murmured against her breast before pulling
the nipple into his mouth to suckle, to gently bite, to worship.

She dug her heels into the mattress and lunged up, meeting
his thrusting finger, pushing her clit hard against his thumb. He added a
second finger, stretching her, driving deep, setting up a rhythm that had her
clawing at the bed.

Jack released her nipple and came over her. He found her
lips with his, drove his tongue into her mouth in a kiss that owed nothing to
finesse and everything to the lust and desperation that swirled through him.
Again and again he kissed her, devouring her, aching to have her with him as
desire spread through his limbs and hardened his cock to the point of pain.

“Come for me, Livy,” he begged, his fingers buried in her
silken heat, his thumb relentlessly tormenting her clit.

“I can’t,” she panted against his mouth.

Jack withdrew his hand from between her legs and brought his
shaft to her core. He flexed his hips, slowly forging into her tight sheath
until the head of his cock was encircled by her wet heat, her flesh clenching
around him.

“Livy,” he whispered, fighting to control the urge to thrust
hard and heavy into her as he lifted his head to look at her. Her eyes were
closed, her lashes fluttering. A frown marred her forehead and pulled at her
lips. “Look at me.”

Slowly her lids lifted and she met his gaze. Jack sucked in
a shocked breath at the anguish he saw in her eyes.

“Livy?”

“Please,” she cried on a fractured breath. “I can’t…”

“What is it, love?” he asked around a groan as she shifted
beneath him, her inner muscles squeezing the head of his shaft.

“Make me your wife,” she begged quietly.

In one long, slow, steady thrust Jack buried his cock deep
in her tight little cunny.

Olivia’s breath left her on a broken moan, fanning over his
jaw and neck. Her lids dropped to cover her eyes and her lips fell open. She
trembled beneath him, her hips tilting up and falling back again.

Jack held himself immobile, allowed himself a moment to
simply experience the pleasure of being inside Olivia once more.

“Ah, Livy,” he breathed, lowering his weight over her, and
raining kisses over her cheeks, her chin, and finally her lips.

With his lips coasting over hers, Jack began to move. He
withdrew and thrust into her, slow and deep. Over and over, he came into her
tight heat, overcome by the extraordinary satisfaction, the bloody wonder of
burying himself in her body.

He delved his tongue into her mouth as he picked up the
tempo of their lovemaking. Again and again he drove into her, fighting to hold
on to control, to allow her time to reach fulfillment.

Olivia moaned into his mouth, her entire body shaking as she
strained beneath him. With a dark, desperate growl, he seated himself deep
within her and ground his hips between her legs, pressing his pelvis against
her clit, rocking against her until she finally let go and climaxed around him.

“Christ, Livy,” he groaned as she clenched around his shaft,
her inner muscles working him over from base to tip. He tossed back his head
and roared in mingled pleasure and pain as he came into her shuddering body.
And still he kept moving, kept thrusting into her, again and again as if he
might somehow stay within her heat forever, force his way into the essence of
the woman who trembled beneath him, who’d struggled to withhold herself from
him and hadn’t once called out his name.

Exhausted in both body and spirit, Jack collapsed over her,
burying his face in the crook of her neck. He sucked air into his starving
lungs and fought to stem the urge to howl in frustration.

Olivia’s awoke the next morning with puffy eyes, a slight
headache tapping at her temples, and a determination to be the best wife
London, no, the entire nation of Great Britain, had ever seen.

She’d survived her wedding night with her pride only
somewhat bruised. She’d done her best to lie quiet and still beneath him. She’d
pulled forth every trick she’d learned during her marriage to Palmerton to
distance her mind from her body. She’d organized the linen closet, planned the
next day’s activities, reviewed the invitations awaiting replies.

None of it had worked. No sooner had he kissed her than she
wanted him with a yearning that left her panting and shuddering, her fingers
twisting in the bedcovers in an effort not to cling to him, not to succumb to
the wickedness that had trapped them in an unwanted marriage.

So she’d not been able to keep to her vow to remain
untouched by Jack’s attentions. It was hardly her fault. The man had seemed
quite determined to give her pleasure while consummating their vows. Who was
she to argue with her husband?

She could hold her head up knowing she hadn’t embarrassed
either of them with an unseemly display of unrestrained lust. She’d managed to
refrain from grunting and groaning like a dockside whore. Or, God forbid,
screaming naughty words and peppering him with question about various body
parts. All in all she thought she’d behaved as a lady ought to in the marriage
bed.

If the toll it had taken on her heart could be measured in
the tears she’d shed after he’d rolled over and fallen asleep, she considered
herself lucky the poor, battered organ still beat in her chest.

She rolled onto her back and stretched her arms over her
head. When she pried her heavy eyelids open she found her son kneeling beside
her amid the tangled bedcovers peering down at her with a grin.

“Good morning Bonny Prince Charlie,” she croaked sleepily.

“I’ve come to cuddle,” he told her, one pudgy hand patting
her cheek.

Olivia pulled him into her arms, careful to keep the sheet
tucked beneath her arms so that he might not see that his mother was naked in
her bed.

“Is Fanny awake?” she asked, her lips drifting over the
blond curls on his forehead.

“She went for a ride with Justine and Mr. Jack.”

“A ride?”

“In Mr. Jack’s new curlicue,” Charlie explained.

“Mr. Jack…that is your stepfather has bought a new curricle?”
She never would have guessed her new husband wanted a curricle. He didn’t seem
the sort to wish to whip around Town in such a conveyance.

“What’s a pet father?” Charlie asked with a giggle.

“Stepfather,” she corrected. “A stepfather is your father by
marriage.”

“Cause Mr. Jack married to you now he’s my pet father?”

“Stepfather.”

“I like pet father better.”

“Pet father it is then, Charlie,” she agreed. “Shall we go
down and break our fast?”

“I already broked my fast with Fanny and Justine. We ate at
the big table. I had kippers and bacon and coddled eggs and—”

A soft tapping on her open chamber door interrupted the
boy’s list of breakfast delicacies.

“Come in,” Olivia called out before remembering she was not
decent.

Nurse Sophia poked her head around and spied mother and son
on the bed.

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” she called out with a smile.
“I was looking for the wee lad.”

“The wee lad is exactly where he usually is of a morning,”
Olivia replied with a smile.

“As it’s so late in the day I didn’t expect to find him
here.”

“What time is it?”

“Half gone eleven, my lady,” she answered. “Shall I take the
young master off to dress? Miss Amherst and I promised to take the children to
the park.”

“Half gone eleven!” Olivia lurched to sitting, tugging the
sheet along with her. “I’ve calls to make this morning.”

“Today?” the woman asked in obvious surprise.

“When Miss Justine returns please see that she’s dressed to
pay calls,” Olivia replied, ignoring the implication that she should stay home
the day after her wedding. “Then we will be taking luncheon with Lady
Throckmorton and her daughters.”

“Yes, my lady.” Nurse bobbed a quick curtsy before holding
her hand out to Charlie. “Come along, my little lordling. Time to dress and
begin your day.”

Olivia found Jack in the foyer some thirty minutes later.
She hesitated halfway down the stairs when she spied him in discussion with
Pendergrass.

He looked remarkably handsome in the sunny foyer, his hair
windswept and his face flushed. He wore a superfine summer coat of pale-gray
over a snowy-white shirt and cravat. Black breeches were tucked into tall black
boots. He held a coiled whip in one hand, rhythmically tapping it against the
palm of the other.

Pendergrass’ eyes lifted to her and her husband followed his
gaze, slowly turning to face her.

“That will be all,” he dismissed the butler without another
glance, keeping his eyes trained on Olivia as she resumed her descent.

“Good Morning, Mr. Bentley,” she greeted with a smile as he
walked toward the stairs.

“Lady Bentley,” he returned after a brief pause.

“Is Justine ready?” Olivia gripped her gloves in one hand
and her bonnet in the other, slowly spinning the brim through her fingers,
nerves dancing along her spine.

“For?” He prowled over to the landing and leaned against the
newel post.

She stopped on the final step and waited for him to step
back so that she might pass.

“We’ve calls to make.”

“You are paying calls today? With Justine?”

“We’ve also a luncheon at two of the clock.”

“Today?” He arched one dark brow.

“Oh, and this evening we will dine with the Featherstones.
Your father and Mrs. Bentley have also been invited. Mr. Featherstone is an MP
from Durham. Perhaps you’ve met him?”

“Not that I recall,” Jack answered, finally stepping back to
allow her to descend to the landing where she promptly went to the oval mirror
above the hall table. She took in her reflection, gratified to see that Celeste’s
lavender compress had brought down the swelling around her eyes. She pinched
her pale cheeks before placing her bonnet on her head and tying the ribbons in
a bow beneath her chin. And all the while she was aware of him watching her.

“I understand there is a bill before parliament relating to
building a new toll road to haul ore to Manchester,” she said, poking her
hatpin into place, rather relishing the slight jab to her scalp. It helped to
focus her, to keep her from fidgeting beneath his steady regard.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Mr. Featherstone is quite ready to be convinced of the
scheme’s merits,” she continued as she set to work pulling her lace gloves over
her hands.

“So we are to dine with him this evening to commence
convincing him,” Jack said, a strange note in his voice Olivia couldn’t quite
place.

“After the theater, of course,” she explained.

“Of course,” he agreed.

Olivia turned to face him, surprised to discover he was
closer than she’d thought. In fact she nearly bumped into him, stumbling a little
as she came to a halt with only inches between the brim of her bonnet and his
cravat.

Jack reached for her, his bare hand glancing off her hip as
she stepped back.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them and Olivia racked
her brain to find some way to fill it.

“I understand you’ve bought a new curricle,” she finally
blurted.

“About last night,” he said at the same time.

“What made you decide to purchase a curricle?” she asked,
ignoring his words.

“What was that about, Olivia?”

“What was what about?”

“Would you rather I’d not come to you last night?”

“Of course not. A marriage must be consummated in order to
be legal.”

“Consummated,” he repeated, his eyes roaming over her
upturned face.

“And ours has been,” she added with a nod. “We can put it
behind us and concentrate on what’s truly important.”

“And what precisely would that be?” he asked.

“Why, the reason you wished to marry me, save the one that
is beyond my control,” she answered with a wave of her hand meant to
encompass…something. “Oh, yes. Which reminds me, where is Justine? We’ll be
late. I’ll just go up and fetch her, shall I?”

Without waiting for a reply, Olivia hurried up the stairs,
stopping halfway and turning around.

Jack stood precisely where she had left him, his gaze lifted
to her.

“I am glad we had this little chat,” she told him with a
smile that wobbled. “I feel as if we have gotten this marriage off to a fine
start, both of us knowing our roles, what’s expected of us.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“Lovely,” she called out as she spun about and continued on
her way, blinking furiously against an unexpected urge to cry.

Jack did not come to her bed after they returned from dinner
with the Featherstones. In fact he merely wished her a good night at the base
of the stairs, lifting her hand to brush a kiss in the air above her trembling
fingers.

As she lay in her bed staring up at the ceiling she took
stock of the day’s successes and organized her schedule for the one to come,
much as she’d done the previous night, but for the inventorying of the linen
closet. The difference being there was no devilishly masculine man above her
working to pull a response from her traitorous body.

She’d left off her nightgown just in case her husband would
decide to join her, his polite good night notwithstanding.

After an hour she gave up all pretense of sleep and rolled
onto her side, pummeling her pillow into submission. She replayed her wedding
night in her head, from the moment he’d entered her chamber naked beneath his
silk robe to the moment he rolled off her shuddering body to lie silent beside
her.

She almost welcomed the first tear as it fell from the
corner of her eye to roll across her temple and fall to the pillow. She’d been
holding back tears all day while she smiled and nodded and pretended to have an
interest in the latest on dits in one parlor after another. In truth she’d been
holding back tears, and sorrow and a rage so great she felt as if she might
explode with it, since Johnston had ignored the groom’s warning and jerked the
carriage door open.

The last thought to skitter through her mind as she cried
herself to sleep was a fervent wish that she’d never wished to be wicked. She
just wasn’t cut out for it.