True Story (The Deverells, Book One) (38 page)

It was so like Christopher to imagine
her in love with him. His vanity knew no bounds. She supposed he
wanted her back under his thumb again, had realized how much she
did for him. To get her back he had decided to spread those
terrible rumors about her three husbands. Did he imagine that would
send her scurrying back with her tail between her legs?

"I see." She finished pouring the
chocolate. "And do you believe me capable of murdering
men?"

His eyes narrowed. "I don't know what
you might be capable of. You don't show me your true self.
You—madam—hide!"

"I certainly do not!"

"The only time you let the sparks out
of your tinder box was last night and then you attacked me with a
poker."

If he was joking again it had gone too
far in her opinion. She slammed the pot of chocolate down, picked
up her cup and walked out of the kitchen with her chin higher than
it had ever been.

"Olivia," he called after her, "I
command that you come back here to work. I have not yet dismissed
you for the evening."

He was promptly ignored. Probably a
new experience for him, she mused.

* * * *

Her letter to Christopher written,
blotted and sealed before she could change her mind, Olivia sat for
a long while before the mirror that Deverell had moved into her
room with all the other silly luxuries. She'd never been one to
study her face much in the past, for she knew its failings all too
well and staring at them wouldn't change anything.

But tonight she looked at her
reflection with newly awakened eyes and with the knowledge of True
Deverell's attraction to her.

What did he see when he looked at
her?

Whatever it was, no one else had ever
seen it.

Twenty years ago, on the death of her
mother, her father had received a visit —the one and only visit
since his marriage—from Olivia's grandmother. The fine lady had
come to witness her "ungrateful" daughter laid out in a coffin, as
if she needed proof of death. But just before she left the house,
she turned that icy regard upon the grandchild she'd never before
seen.

"Well, she's a plain creature,
dreadfully thin. What are you feeding her?" As if Olivia was a dog
or a horse being examined.

Her father had responded quietly, with
only a faint hint of indignation, "Olivia has a hearty appetite and
she is in good health. She also has a quick mind for
study."

"Tsk, tsk! She looks sadly inadequate
to me. Sadly inadequate!"

She heard her father draw a breath,
swallowing whatever reply he might have given.

"What a disappointment," the lady
continued, tapping her walking cane on the hall tiles. "But what
else could be expected of such a union. We must make the best of
it." She stooped just an inch or so toward the little girl at whom
she glowered with disdain, and said, "Your mother married for love,
child. See where it got her. May her premature end in this damp,
miserable little nowhere house be a lesson to you."

With that she'd swept out into the
rain, to where her ivory-wigged coachman helped her up into a very
fine barouche box, and there ended the grandmother's interest in
Olivia.

Sadly
inadequate
.

But the face looking back at her in
the mirror tonight was not unattractive. It was heart-shaped, calm,
the features well spaced, skin clear and slightly tinted with a
flush of healthy pink. Her posture, thanks to Great Aunt Jane's
ceaseless nagging, was excellent.

Slowly she reached up and unpinned her
braid, letting the thick rope fall over her shoulder.

He wanted to see her True Self? So be
it.

Chapter Twenty Six

He was undressing in his bedchamber
when there was a soft tap on his door. Definitely wasn't Sims. He
tied the belt of his dressing gown and opened the door.

"Olivia!"

She was in her nightgown and a woolen
shawl, her hair in a braid over one shoulder, the end of it tied
with pale blue ribbon. The woman who had haunted his dreams for the
past few months looked very young and innocent. "Can I come
in?"

Suddenly he was tongue-tied, for
possibly the first time in his life.

"Well? If you're not too fearful for
your life."

He stepped aside and she walked in,
looking around with wide eyes. He still remained with the door
open, not certain what she was about, until she said, "You can
close it now." It could have been reference to his mouth, as
well.

"Olivia. What are you
doing?"

"I thought it would be obvious,
especially to a man with deep powers of perception. I've come to
finish you off since that is, apparently, what I do with the men I
encounter."

He stared at her as she dropped her
shawl to the bed and then slowly began to step out of her
nightgown. "And how, exactly, do you plan to finish me
off?"

"I'm coming to bed with you, just as
you asked, Mr. Deverell."

"I see you are in the mood to gamble
tonight," he murmured, watching the linen of her nightgown slip
slowly down over her breasts, her waist, her hips. "You're...
taking a risk."

"A risk?"

"With a man like me it's always a
risk, Olivia." The words choked out of him.

"It is good of you to advise me." She
walked up to where he stood, rigid in more ways than one, and
reached for the knotted belt of his dressing gown. "But are you not
taking a risk too, in light of my reputation? I set the rules
tonight. I'm in charge."

Excitement flared inside him. "Are you
indeed?"

"If you want me, I am in
charge."

She wasn't the first to try it, of
course. But she was the first who might actually succeed. True
didn't know whether to feel pleased or terrified. He nodded, not
quite trusting himself to answer.

Her skin was pale, smooth, shimmering
slightly in the candlelight. He thought of the time when he spied
on her in the scullery, washing her hair. The hunger had begun
right there and then, and there was no turning back from it. She
was the fox and he the hunter. It was instinct.

"First rule," she said. "This will be
one night only."

He stayed silent, grinding his teeth.
Fine, if she thought once would be enough for her. They'd see,
wouldn't they? Just like his ungrateful offspring, she thought she
knew what she wanted and wouldn't be told.

"I know you like to overindulge in
everything," she added wryly. "So I must set some limits." With
both hands she slid the robe from his shoulders and he let it fall.
Instantly her gaze lowered, trailing down his chest.

Limits, eh? He saw her eyes flame with
desire and then darken as her pupils expanded. She bit her lips so
hard he was surprised not to see blood.

"Second...second rule. You will...you
will be certain to withdraw," she managed on a taut breath. "I
don't want any mistakes."

Again he said nothing. Her hands moved
downward, following the path of her sultry gaze.

"Third rule. We will never speak of it
again after tonight. Not to anyone, nor to each other."

Interesting. Totally unfeasible. He
would remind her about tonight, every chance he had. If he
survived, of course. He grabbed her braid and began pulling it
apart with impatient fingers, not even waiting to untie the ribbon
first.

"Are you listening to me?" she
exclaimed.

"Hmm."

The silk hair ribbon fell, her hair
tumbling freely with his fingers tangled in it. He looked down at
her. At her beautiful breasts— more abundant than he'd expected—
her softly curved stomach and the triangle of tight, ebony curls
below, hiding treasure.

"What happens if I break one of your
rules?" he muttered, cupping her breasts and then sliding his hands
down her body.

"Then I'll have to punish you, shan't
I?"

"And how, precisely, would you do
that?"

"You'll find out."

Her eyes were bright, fearless, daring
him to flaunt her blessed rules. Well, there would be a few things
she'd find out tonight, too.

True moved his hand between her thighs
and she exhaled a small gasp. "Are you in a hurry?"

"Yes, I damn well am." After these
past few months of yearning for her, he had no intention of taking
his time.

She was silky soft, warm, fragrant.
And all his at last. His to discover fully.

"Now get on my bed and prepare
yourself to take some... dictation."

Her hands caressed his manhood,
exploring him in return. He felt her chuckling. "I haven't got my
writing materials," she muttered coyly.

"Don't worry about that, Olivia, I
have a large pen of my own, as you see, and plenty of
ink."

* * * *

Olivia was, of course, no innocent
maiden when she went to his chamber that night and stood naked
before him, but, in many ways she was naive. In her life she'd seen
three men naked before— and one of those by accident.

Freddy Ollerenshaw was very muscular,
bore more than slight resemblance to a shire horse and had the
grace and finesse to match. Allardyce had not been quite so well
favored in that department and had preferred being administered to
as if he was a naughty schoolboy and she his tutor. That was enough
for him to reach his own satisfaction and if he ever gave any
thought to his wife's pleasure it was not apparent.

William had never troubled her in the
bedroom at all. He thought the "act of copulation" quite
unnecessary and the only time she saw him undressed was when she
walked into the kitchen one evening in search of an illicit
midnight snack, and found him taking a bath with an extraordinarily
lavish amount of soapy water and a small model of the H.M.S.
Victory. She could only assume he had been in the water for quite
some time as all his bits and pieces were terribly shriveled. The
incident was enormously humiliating for them both and they never
mentioned it again.

But now, here in her hands, was
something unlike any of those. A man unlike any other. He was well
made, hewn of rugged rock like this place he'd made a home. Savage
too, heat blistering and surging through him as lava must once have
run across the earth, forming new lands and wild, yet-to-be-tamed
continents.

He hauled her up against his body,
lifting her swiftly off her feet. And he kissed her while she
struggled to wrap her legs around his waist, clinging on for dear
life.

There was no doubt about what she was
doing, no second thought.

Just this once she would have
something she wanted on her terms.

She didn't want another husband— she
was bad for them— and he didn't want another wife, for he was bad
for them. But why shouldn't they have this fierce, delicious
pleasure? A secret only they would share for the rest of their
lives and she would cherish, even in her lonely future.

As they fell to his bed, she ran her
hands over his shoulders, let her fingers trace the veins of his
broad neck, marveled at the strength surging through his body, a
vitality that seemed to belong to another time. Another
species.

"I don't want to hurt you," he growled
into her mouth.

"You cannot," she said, reaching
urgently for him, her legs climbing his back. Nothing could hurt
her again. She'd taken many blows and lived to tell the tale. Just
like him.

He kissed her, one hand tangled in her
hair, the other caressing between her thighs. "You've been yearning
for me," he groaned. "All this time. As I've yearned for
you."

"Yes."

Slowly he licked his way down her body
and Olivia arched restlessly, her skin alive, hands
trembling.

"I ought to punish you for making me
wait so long." He very gently nibbled her inner thigh and she
exhaled in a sharp gasp of shock. "But I can't."

"You can't?" she muttered
dreamily.

"Because you're in charge tonight. The
rules are yours."

And then his lips touched her so
lightly, so intimately that she almost lifted off the
bed.

He licked, stroked and kissed her with
such care, seeming to know exactly where to touch her and how to
adjust his rhythm. Olivia tried not to think of the other women
upon whom he'd honed this skill. After all, she was now the one to
benefit from his experience, was she not?

"You've been neglected, my sweet," he
said.

She wasn't sure which part of her he
was talking to, but she heartily agreed.

* * * *

When he entered her, he tried to be
gentle, but he was close to boiling over. His need for her was too
great. Their bodies melded slickly together at last, lifting and
falling like the waves that crashed against the base of his
island.