Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) (25 page)

She pressed a kiss to the center of his chest. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

He sat up, shirt rustling as he pulled it over his head. “So are you,” he whispered in return.

Beth scrambled from her nightgown and sat on the bed, waiting for Oliver to come back to her. When he did, they kissed each other as if they had all the time in the world. Slow, languorous kisses that sent chills racing everywhere. Beth ran her fingers over Oliver’s chest and arms, down his legs as far as she could reach, and back up. In the quiet of night, Oliver’s groan sounded very loud and needy.

His fingers threaded through her hair as they kissed, holding her to him. When she touched his length and stroked, he hissed against her lips. Beth kept her pressure light, teasing Oliver to greater heights of passion as she’d discovered he liked. His lips moved to her throat, his hand to her breast, kneading her flesh and arousing a fever in her that would burn forever. She rose to her knees as she kissed his neck, his jaw, and finally his lips again. Their tongues tangled in an intimate dance, but she was determined to take charge tonight.

He shifted until he sat propped against the bedhead while Beth arranged herself above him, knees positioned on either side of his hips. Before she could grasp his length again, he pulled her against him and held her tightly. His skin burned.

“Elizabeth,” he growled quietly against her neck, hot breath scorching her skin. His teeth nipped and teased, heightening her desire. “My angel. My…” His words cut off abruptly as she brushed against him. “I need you.”

Beth held his mouth to her neck, fingers threaded through his hair, enjoying his passion and accepting that her love for him would never fade. “I’m here, Ollie. I’ve always been here.”

He lifted her suddenly and then lowered her onto his hard length. Instead of moving, Beth remained still. A sudden chill raced down her spine as she imagined a lifetime ahead without him inside her. She might go mad from wishing and imagining.

At Oliver’s prompting, Beth rose, sliding him from her body, and then fell again, bringing him deeper and dragging a groan from his lips. She quickly covered his mouth with her hand, eyes darting toward the door to her son’s bedchamber and then back. She lowered her hand as he pressed a kiss to her fingers.

In the faint light from the fire, she saw that he was smiling up at her. The expression was one Beth had longed to see all the days of her life. She set one hand to his chest, one to his shoulder, and rode him, letting her body have him the way she craved. She’d never been this demanding before, but Oliver appeared aroused by her boldness. His hands fluttered over her body, fingers brushing her peaked nipples before he squeezed them. He shifted to take one into his mouth, suckling firmly as she shuddered and moved on him.

Tension coiled up her spine as she brought Oliver deep into herself. The way he made her feel was incredible and when his fingers slipped between them she bit off a choked cry. Oliver’s hand pressed to her mouth gently, cutting off her moans for mercy. He teased her while she rode him, heightening her desires tenfold. His mouth returned to her breast and Beth held him there, threading her fingers into his gray locks so he could not leave her.

Beth bit her lip on the demand that almost followed that thought. She wanted to have this with him forever, even if it had to remain their secret. Sweat broke out over her body. Her release remained maddeningly out of reach. Oliver’s lips left her breast and he faced her. Beth continued to move but she couldn’t come. She just couldn’t let go of the moment and begin to lose him.

His head pressed to hers, his fingers stroked her clit with more gentleness, concentrating on drawing small circuits with his fingertips. His mouth hovered beside hers as she panted. “Let go, my angel. Let me hear and feel you be happy in my arms.”

His mouth sealed to hers as gooseflesh rose over her skin. Her body tensed, clamping around Oliver, and she sobbed against his mouth helplessly. He kept her close, smoothing her skin and playing with her long hair. When she relaxed, he rolled her onto the bed and withdrew from her body.

When he fell onto the other side, panting hard and making no attempt to find his own pleasure, she leaned into him.

He caught her hand again and raised it to his lips. His breath was a fast pant against her skin. “You are,” he mumbled as he kissed her knuckles, “the most breathtaking woman I have ever known or should ever want to make love to.”

Beth smiled at his compliment. They were so rare that she believed he meant every word. It didn’t prove that he might finally love her, but it was as close a confession that she was special to him as she might ever get.

When Beth ran her eyes over the lean flesh revealed by the flickering firelight, her daring grew. She reached out to touch him. He was still hard. Still unfulfilled. She tightened her grip about him and stroked. It didn’t take long before his muffled groans filled the room and his release splattered over his chest.

He rose to use the washbasin and returned quickly, pulling Beth back firmly against his chest and wrapping her tightly in his arms. She smiled as contentment washed over her. One last night. One last embrace. One last confession. She closed her eyes to memorize the moment. Oliver sighed and his arms grew heavy.

“I love you, Oliver,” she whispered softly, daring to believe he might want to know how much she cared.

Beth waited for a response. He didn’t move. His breathing was even and deep as if he was already asleep in her bed. She eased out from under his arm to look at him. Oliver stirred, legs moving restlessly, and then grew still.

Beth lay back against the pillows as disappointment filled her. She’d finally dredged up the courage to reveal her deepest affections and Oliver wasn’t even awake to hear. She angrily wiped at the tears pooling in her eyes and thumped the mattress with her fist.

Oliver sat up. “What is it, my love?”

Beth’s throat tightened at the endearment he used. “It’s nothing.”

“Good.” He pulled her back into his arms and instead of being angry anymore, Beth smiled. He might have missed her declaration of love but, sleepily said or not, she hadn’t missed his. Oliver always spoke true of his heart.

Chapter Twenty-Three

THE DAY OF OLIVER’S departure dawned clear and bright and he was glad to be going. Restlessness had seized him from the moment he’d woken in Elizabeth’s rumpled bed some hours ago as the first of dawn had lighted the horizon. At first he’d watched her sleep, counting her breaths and the little sounds she made as she moved. Most often though she had been so still and content that he feared waking her at any moment.

Impulsively, he’d pressed a kiss to her hair, her shoulder, and the upper swell of her perfect breast as he considered whether he could make love to her one more time before leaving. But he came to his senses quickly—the boy and a great many others in the house were early risers. He didn’t want to be caught and embarrass Elizabeth. So he had crept out of her bed before she’d awakened, closing the door on a chapter of his life that would always remain a mystery but very dear to him.

It was time to go. Oliver threw one last book into his satchel and fastened the buckles. “This is the last.”

His fingers dipped into his pocket and touched the ribbon nestled there. Leaving Elizabeth behind was going to be harder than he expected and the knowledge that she’d soon be traveling in the opposite direction sat ill with him. He feared he would await the first news of her successful journey and new life very anxiously. A circumstance that he’d never considered possible when they’d begun their affair.

Leopold snapped his fingers before Oliver’s face, breaking him from his thoughts. “I said why are you packing a book on America?”

“I hadn’t finished reading it,” Oliver answered as he swung the satchel over his shoulder and looked about him to check that he hadn’t forgotten anything he needed. After weeks of planning, he couldn’t imagine what might be mislaid but it paid to be vigilant.

“But you are not going to America, are you?” Leopold argued. “Surely your journey will not take you away for even longer.”

Leopold was still against his leaving and had not stopped arguing his case since he’d arrived. Oliver set his hand to Leopold’s shoulder and met his brother’s troubled gaze. “I will be back the moment I want to be.”

Leopold’s shoulder rose beneath his hand as he took a deep breath. “And where the devil were you last evening? I searched the abbey and couldn’t find you. No one could.”

A sliver of disappointment filled him at the idea that he was being hounded as if he were a small boy with no sense or freedom. He didn’t want his brothers keeping a close watch on his activities. They might discover he’d spent one last glorious night in Elizabeth’s bed and spoil everything that existed between them. “Can a man not have a moment of privacy without your whining? Stop being so difficult. It’s tiresome. Are we to argue, shouting through the carriage windows, as I’m leaving the estate, too?”

Leopold frowned. “You don’t know what it’s like beyond England’s borders. You could die and I’d never know where your body fell.”

Dear God in heaven. Not this again. Leopold was growing repetitive in his arguments. “I’m sure you already thought me dead before Tobias found me,” Oliver observed, struggling not to snap at Leopold’s ridiculous sentimentality. “People die every day, near or far away from loved ones. I will not live out my life in swaddling clothes according to your will. There is too much to see and do yet. I’d rather be dead than idle.”

Leopold’s face drained of color. “I never believed you dead. I always had hope.” He thrust his hand in his pocket and removed some papers. When he held them out to Oliver, his hand shook. “I took every avenue possible to find you. I even drew these in the hope that someone might recognize you as you are today.”

Oliver studied them in silence. His brother possessed a good hand at sketching and his attempts to draw them as they might be as older individuals were not without some success. His drawing wasn’t completely inaccurate, but he didn’t have a receding hairline and rather unflattering bags beneath his eyes like this. He returned them to his brother. “Then find your hope again and cling to it. I will be fine and return or write whenever I can.” Oliver gestured to George, who’d huddled by the window watching his preparations glumly, to come to him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have farewells to make and a ship to meet in Portsmouth.”

He pushed George toward the doorway, ushered his brother out, and closed the doors behind him. “Keep out of my possessions. I will be back for them and will know if anything has been removed.”

“Oh, fine. Go. Just don’t think I’m going to stand on the front steps and wave a tearful goodbye,” Leopold said, weariness etched into every word. He slumped into the first chair they came to and didn’t appear willing to take a step farther.

Oliver handed his satchel to George and returned to Leopold. He leaned down and awkwardly hugged his brother around his shoulders. “I’ll be home before you know it, and I promise I will write often.”

Oliver turned away as his eyes watered. Foolish emotions like tears were an inevitable encumbrance at the beginning of any adventure and the sadness would pass in due time. He and George hurried for the stairs and the waiting small crowd below. Her Grace came forward first and embraced him without a word.

Blythe was next. “Be very careful, sir. Tobias didn’t risk his own neck just to hear of you in peril abroad.”

Oliver gave her a quick squeeze. “I will. Keep yourself well and him out of trouble if you can.”

When he came to Elizabeth, Oliver’s heart thudded and he didn’t know what to do. Nodding seemed an inappropriate farewell for a lover, especially one so tempting.

Elizabeth stuck out her hand. “Goodbye, Mr. Randall. I wish you smooth sailing and many wonders for your starved eyes.”

Oliver took her hand in his, noting the cold clamminess of her skin and the slight tremble that flowed through her. He stepped closer, tightening his grip to instill his warmth. “Farewell, Elizabeth. Take care of yourself and that clever boy of yours.”

He released her hand slowly, imprinting the moment on his memory. Her eyes grew glassy and he turned away rather than have his last sight of her be one of tears. She cried too much.

He turned for the front door and stepped into the light, eagerly striding down the stairs on his way to the carriage. Tobias waited beside the open door, his eyes downcast. Oliver tossed his satchel into the carriage and embraced his younger brother. “Thank you for saving me so I might have this adventure.”

Tobias tightened his grip. “Just don’t get into trouble this time. Save yourself rather than waiting for me to do the hard work.”

“You can be sure I will. I’m not as completely helpless as you all like to make out. I did spend ten years holding my own against a largely unstable element among the inmates. I’ve a trick or two up my sleeve for when I want to have my way. You merely caught me at a bad time. Besides, how do you think Rosemary learned to fight if not from one of us? I assure you, it wasn’t Leopold who taught her.”

Understanding dawned in Tobias eyes and he actually began to chuckle. “You sly old devil. I always thought Rosemary had been born with those skills. Leopold’s convinced you’re bound for trouble.”

He thumped Tobias’s shoulder. “Leave off the old bit. I’ll see you in a while.”