His Wicked Heart (24 page)

How she longed for comfort, yearned
for…something and someone. “No one you know. Someone
from…before.”

“Someone who knew Fiona Scarlet?”

Her insides turned to ice. “How did you
know?”

“It wasn’t that hard to deduce. I find myself
asking
why
I didn’t know.”

She didn’t think it was a question he wanted
answered.

“Since Fiona is your mother, it seems highly
unlikely you’re Merry’s cousin. What else have you lied about?”

Olivia swallowed. This was the moment to tell
him the truth about Merry, to finally share this burden with
someone, but Louisa’s admonitions sounded in her head.

There was no use lying about Fiona at least.
“Fine, now you know I’m a bastard. Fiona was my mother and my
father was a relative of Merry’s.”

His features flickered with some
emotion—pity, understanding? She couldn’t tell because it was gone
as quickly as it had come.

“You’re still insisting you’re related to
Merry?” His grip squeezed her arm, but not painfully. He pushed her
backward until the backs of her thighs met the bed. “Stop lying.
I’m going to find someone in Newton Abbott who will expose
you.”

He was right. She’d known it was only a
matter of time. The time had just come sooner. She closed her eyes,
hoping Louisa wouldn’t be angry with her.

“I’m not Merry’s cousin. I’m his daughter.”
Or at least I thought I was until this afternoon, and now I
don’t know anything
. Tears threatened, but she refused to break
down in front of Jasper, just as she refused to share the
humiliation of her questionable paternity.

“Bloody rubbish.” He let go of her arm and
braced his hand on the bedpost on her right side. He towered over
her. “Be honest with me. For once.”

Suddenly tired of responding to everyone’s
whim—her aunt’s, her mother’s, even Louisa’s, and most especially
Jasper’s—she shoved at him so hard he stumbled backward. “Leave me
alone!”

She wanted to cry at the contradiction of the
moment, demanding he leave her alone when all she wanted was
someone to soothe her pain. He couldn’t be that person.

Olivia strode into her dressing chamber,
intent on shutting the door and locking him out. Except he was too
fast. He caught her and they bumped together, hitting the wall. “I
will have my answers, by God.”

“You’ll have nothing from me,” she spat. “Why
can’t you accept me for who I am?”

He stared at her. “You’re talking nonsense.”
He pushed her back against the wall and thrust himself against her,
pressing his knee between her legs.

Olivia gasped, both because of his quick
movement and because of her body’s response. Heat rushed to her
limbs, to her core, making her throb with desire.

She didn’t want to want him. “Please, let me
go.”

“I can’t.” He lowered his mouth to hers and
sucked on her lower lip. His teeth snagged at the soft flesh and
without thinking, she pulled his head down.

The kiss exploded with fiery need. His mouth
slanted over hers, open, wet, hot. He demanded her complete
response, and she gave it. Her fingers pulled at the back of his
hair. His knee pushed higher until it met her pulsing center.

Abruptly, he pulled back, leaving her aching.
His pupils had dilated, obliterating some of the icy blue. She
jerked back to awareness and scrambled out of the dressing room.
She didn’t turn until she’d reached the other side of the room and
the bed separated them. “You need to leave.”

He’d followed her into the bedroom, nearly
around the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I won’t
leave without the truth. Why would you be foolish enough to feed me
another lie? Merry can’t be your father.”

“Ask Louisa. She’s the one who told me. You
know she found me through my handkerchiefs. What you don’t know is
that she has a letter from my mother to Merry. About me. She’s the
one who fabricated the story about me being Merry’s cousin. She
didn’t want anyone to know I’m a bastard.”

He stared at her. “I can verify all of this
just by going to Louisa and asking her.”

“I know you can. I invite you to do so,
though she’ll be angry since she asked me not to tell you.”

“What?” He looked befuddled, and she felt a
pang of sorrow for him. “Why wouldn’t she want me to know the
truth?”

“She didn’t want to burden you with potential
scandal. And she’s not certain how like your father you really
are.”

The anguish lining his face was unmistakable.
He hated that his beloved aunt would categorize him with the duke.
“She should have trusted me. I can’t believe she didn’t.” He turned
away.

Regardless of what had gone on between them
or where their relationship was destined, Olivia had to reach out
to another person in pain. She went to him and stood beside him.
“I’m sorry.”

He stared straight ahead. She moved around
him to stand in front of him, trying to draw his gaze. She ached to
touch him, to wipe the lines from his face.

Finally, he looked at her, and the need in
his eyes nearly buckled her knees. She should go back to the
dressing room and bolt the door. Instead, she moved closer.

He ran his fingertip down the side of her
face. Desire wound through her, quickening her pulse and heating
her flesh. His hand cupped the side of her neck and she closed her
eyes. His thumb tipped her chin up, forcing her head back. She felt
exposed, vulnerable. Her body thrummed with need.

Soft lips dragged along the column of her
throat. His mouth opened and his tongue traced hot whorls against
her sensitive flesh. God, how she wanted this. Her body, her soul
cried out for his attention. Louisa’s affection was a balm, but
Jasper’s desire was like food and water and shelter—everything she
needed to survive.

His other hand snaked around her waist and
pulled her flush against him. He was hard and hot. She opened her
eyes as his mouth continued its downward path. He pulled the fichu
from the top of her day dress and his lips worked a feverish trail
over the swell of her breast.

He pivoted her about until they were beside
the bed. He moved his hand down her neck to cup her breast. She
gasped and he froze.

He straightened and looked down into her
eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

She should. This was madness. Men had offered
to buy her body since she was fifteen, but her mother—thank God—had
never allowed it. A few men had wooed her, but none with the
precision and care of this man. He was a generous, solicitous
gentleman who saved animals, people in need, and loved his aunt as
any son would love a mother. She wanted a piece of him, however she
could get it.

Olivia reached up and smoothed her fingers
over the lines at the corner of his eye. Then she caressed his
cheek. Then she ran her fingertip along the corner of his mouth and
finally dragged it across his lower lip. So soft. “No, I don’t want
you to stop.”

They stared at each other a moment. Then his
mouth found hers, and she melted against him.

Urgently, his fingers worked the fastenings
of her gown. He was quick, expert. Her dress gaped in the front and
he pushed it down to her waist. She squirmed out of it until it
pooled at her feet. His fingers loosened her stays, and the garment
joined her dress.

All while he’d removed her outer clothing,
he’d kissed her. His tongue invading and conquering. She met his
thrusts and licks with her own, trying madly to keep up with his
pace. She clutched at the back of his neck, pressing him to her,
keeping him close lest he change his mind and abandon her.

He lifted her and set her on the edge of the
bed. He stood between her thighs, drawing her forward until his
shaft pressed against her core. She pulled him closer, wrapping her
legs around his hips. He groaned.

Desperate to admire and stroke his bare
chest, she unbuttoned his waistcoat. In her haste, she fumbled. He
pushed her hands away and completed the task, his knuckles brushing
against her tender breasts.

She thrust toward him, begging for more. His
hands closed over her breasts, heat enveloping each mound. She
pushed his waistcoat off and dragged the hem of his shirt from his
breeches.

With a grunt, he pulled the garment over his
head. While he discarded his shirt, she tried to do the same with
her shift, but it tangled at her waist. He reached for the neck of
the garment and ripped it down the middle.

He leaned forward, and she thought he meant
to kiss her, but his mouth closed over an exposed nipple. Heat and
moisture surrounded the straining tip. Olivia moaned, clasping his
head to her.

His hips drove forward, pressing his erection
into her cleft. She met his thrust, desire spiraling outward from
that blissful connection.

With his mouth, he tugged at her flesh,
softly, and then with more force. He cupped the forgotten breast
then closed his fingers over the sensitive nipple, rolling it.
Gently at first, followed by a pinch. She gasped. He moved his
mouth to suck at the tortured flesh. Olivia opened her legs wider,
needing to feel him closer, harder. She didn’t know what she
sought, but it was coming closer with every lick and stroke.

He stood up, and she nearly cried out with
want. His hands massaged her breasts, cupping, covering, coaxing.
Lust pulsed between her legs. It wasn’t enough. She needed
more.

He stroked down to her navel and lower. His
fingers grazed the hair at the apex of her thighs, and she jerked
upward. If only he would touch her there. He skimmed the flesh on
either side of her pulsing cleft.

Down he traced, until he reached her garters.
He dragged one finger around the top of her left stocking. With
deliberation, he rolled the cotton down her leg. His mouth followed
the stocking, forging an erotic path of lush kisses and sensual
licks as he bared each inch of flesh.

She panted with anticipation when he started
on her right leg. He pushed her thighs farther apart, leaving her
uncomfortably open. It was one thing to have him standing there,
but to have him looking at her
there
…she tried to bring her
legs together.

With a quick flick, he stroked his finger
over her sex. She drew in a sharp breath, but he went back to
removing her right stocking. His hand remained poised on her upper
thigh, and she didn’t try to press her thighs together again.

Down, down the stocking went. Up, up her
desire climbed. When she was at last bare, and her entire body
quivered with a need she didn’t fully understand, he looked his
fill.

Slowly, he smiled. That simple act proved
just as arousing as what he’d just done to her.

She needed to feel him. “Kiss me again.”

He leaned over her, cupped her face, brought
his hands down to the curve of her neck. With his thumbs, he
stroked over her throat. “I could kiss you here.”

His hands moved lower, the palms grazing over
her nipples. “Or here.”

She arched up, her breasts straining against
him.

He circled each nipple with the tip of his
forefingers. He continued his path downward, dragging his
fingertips over her belly. “Or here.”

She quivered in anticipation, hoping his
hands would delve lower. He towered over her supine position. He
drew a finger over her mound. Her hips bucked.

“Or, I could kiss you here.” He stroked her
thighs.

Put his mouth there?
He couldn’t
.

Every nerve in her body sparked to full
awareness. She hovered between uncertainty and desire, unsure of
what to do but needing something so desperately she could only pray
it would come.

His fingers moved softly over her flesh. It
felt wonderful, but she knew there had to be more. He flirted with
her, coming closer and closer to the opening. Finally, he slipped
his middle finger inside. She gasped, and he withdrew. He returned
to massaging the exterior, his thumb rotating over an unbelievably
sensitive spot. She lifted her pelvis, wanting his finger inside of
her again. She needed more, couldn’t bear it if he didn’t give her
what she craved.

“Do you want that?”

Shame threatened her pleasure, but if she
desired something, she should claim it for herself. For all the
lonely nights that stretched ahead.

“Yes. Please,” she added, lest he continue to
taunt her.

He slid his middle finger inside her again.
She was slick and his entry was easy. Shivers of ecstasy radiated
from her core. She tipped up into him. He moved, slipping the
finger out once more. She pushed forward, pleading for its return.
He responded with a quick thrust. Olivia cast her head back.

He moved his finger in and out, slowly,
gently at first. Then faster, pumping until her hips rose to meet
him.

She gripped the coverlet with her fists and
forced her eyes open so she could watch him. Watch him watch her.
He stared intently at her face while his finger worked inside of
her. The connection between them went beyond the visual and the
tactile. And then he broke the moment, pulling his finger away.
Olivia cried out. She reached for his hand.

He coaxed her back along the bed, leaning
down between her legs. And put his mouth where his fingers had
been. Just as when he’d kissed her, he didn’t seek to coddle her or
gently arouse her senses. He demanded total response, sucking hard
on the sensitive bead at the top of her opening. Olivia closed her
eyes, could barely withstand the pressure down there. Then he
licked. The wetness of his mouth combined with her dew until she
didn’t know where she ended and he began.

Olivia’s breath came in sharp pants. So close
now. If he didn’t release her from this torment soon, she would
die.

Then his fingers pressed that delicious part
of her that most craved his attention. He worked her flesh to a
frenzy. She bucked off the bed, reaching out…
yes
.