TuesdayNights (24 page)

Olivia nodded her understanding. At least she wouldn’t have to call him ‘my lord’. “And when your father dies? Are you the eldest?” She took a sip of wine, hoping the topic of conversation would turn to something a bit lighter.

Michael scrubbed his face with one hand. “Second of only two. If he is not killed for owing so much money to so many people, my brother will end up in debtors’ prison before my father passes, however. As such, I will likely inherit his title and the modest land he currently oversees in the south. But my father is of sound mind and body, and I do not expect to have that burden for many years,” he explained, hoping to make it clear they wouldn’t be living the life of luxury afforded to most earls. “In the meantime, I do quite well in my business dealings. I have a small place in the country ...”

Edward snorted and began to chuckle.

“It is small,” Michael insisted, “Compared to Cunningham Park,” he added, his own sudden smile a result of what was apparently an inside joke between the two men, Olivia realized.

“The estate or the home on it?” Olivia asked then, her own mood a bit lighter now that the tension was gone and the formalities were out of the way.

“Iron Creek,” Edward interjected, “is a lovely little cottage of twenty rooms on twenty-hundred acres twenty miles from anywhere.”

“With twenty tenants,” Michael added for good measure. “All eking out a living on the land and in the orchards.” He paused a moment. “And it’s only two miles from Crawley,” he added in a lowered voice.

Having ignored her meal in favor of the evening’s conversation, Olivia took a bite of honeyed fruit and wondered if any of it had come from the orchards on Iron Creek. “It sounds lovely. How often do you visit?”

His smile fading a bit, Michael shrugged. “Not often enough, I suppose,” he murmured. “I used to invite a group of friends to a four or five-day house party there. Haven’t done that in over a year, though.”

“Two years,” Edward amended quietly, his mood suddenly pensive.

Olivia noted the longing in their voices and wondered why they didn’t simply leave town for a visit to the country house. They could both afford such a trip, she considered. “I can arrange a week-long trip, if you’d like,” she offered brightly. “When would work for you and whom should I invite?”

Both men glanced at each other and then regarded Olivia.

“It cannot be during the Season,” Edward said, a look of consternation on his face.

Michael cocked his head and considered some possibilities. “Let me think on this a bit,” he replied carefully, wondering what she had in mind. She seemed eager to please. Or is she eager to have me gone? he wondered suddenly. There was a fleeting thought that she might take a lover, and he nearly choked. I will not be cuckolded, he thought just then, wondering from where the sudden feeling of ... jealousy had come. “We can speak of it again when the Season is about to end.”

Dinner continued with snippets of polite conversation and anecdotes, leaving Olivia in a much better mood and the men ready for port and cigars. When Olivia excused herself, she did so with a plea of wanting the men to enjoy their after dinner drinks and a smoke. As she passed Michael, he reached for her hand and caught it gently, forcing Olivia to spin around and face him. “Thank you for a wonderful dinner,” he said as he lifted her hand and then kissed the back of it.

Olivia felt her face flush, and she curtsied, not sure what else to do. “It was my pleasure,” she answered with a nod before leaving the dining room.

Once she was safely out of earshot, Edward leaned over the table. “You climb into her bed, ruin her reputation, and her father still comes up with a dowry?” he asked sotto voce, hoping there were no servants within earshot.

Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he hissed, realizing that Olivia must have told Edward the whole sordid tale. “And it was a very generous settlement, too,” he added, a frown on his face.

Edward cocked an eyebrow. “But why would Waterford do that?” he wondered, his hands spreading out in the air.

Shaking his head, Michael regarded his friend. “I ... I do not know. We spoke briefly of Olivia last year, but, although I never divulged that I am the son of a viscount nor that I have land very near his home, he’s apparently known my father since they were in leading strings.” And Harold Waterford knew of his affection for Olivia. The man had warned him to steer clear of the girl when she was younger and then offered her as a possible wife when it was necessary for him to marry.

But even if the events of three nights ago had not happened, Michael realized at that very moment that Harold Waterford must have known long ago that Olivia would one day be his wife. The dowry he offered had to have been set well in advance. The bank draft and the details for the transfer of such a large part of the business were proof of that. “He knew I would one day marry Olivia, I suppose,” Michael said slowly, biting his lower lip. Before my twenty-eighth birthday. The man had admitted to knowing about the promise he had made to his mother.

He probably knew about the bet, too.

Edward’s eyes opened a bit wider. “Indeed? And would you do it if you hadn’t been forced to?”

Michael stared open-mouthed at his friend. “I ... I do not know,” he lied, admitting to himself that he certainly wanted to. Always intended to. He had made a promise to his mother, after all, and he always knew he would keep it.

Who else was he going to marry if not Olivia?

“I wanted to bid you ... good night,” Michael stuttered as he took in the sight of his wife in her night rail, her mahogany hair loosed from its chignon and flowing over her shoulders just as he had imagined it so many times in his daydreams. Her bare feet peeked out below the ruffled hem of the gown as she stood before him.

He had gone to the panel door of the purple room, directly across the hall, expecting to find her in the salon. After knocking several times with no response, he softly called out her name and was surprised when the door to another bedchamber opened. Did she decide she didn’t care for the purple room? he wondered, feeling more disappointed than offended. He’d had it decorated specifically for her, sure she was fond of purple. Perhaps it wasn’t large enough to suit her, he considered.

Olivia blushed as her husband regarded her, suddenly wishing she’d had a dressing gown to put on over her night rail. “Do you wish to ... come in?” Please, not tonight, she pleaded silently. She’d spent the entire day learning about the household, meeting the staff, planning menus for the next week, and writing letters to her family. And then playing hostess for her first dinner as Mrs. Cunningham had been nerve wracking, although the service had gone off without a hitch and the food was more than acceptable. Now, though, weariness settled over her, and she did not know how she could bear the thought of him bedding her before she’d had a chance to bathe properly.

Michael nodded uncertainly. “Only for a moment, if I could,” he replied, carefully stepping into the bedchamber. The blue bedchamber. Damn! he thought suddenly. She didn’t like the purple room, so Jeffers put her in mother’s room.

Olivia felt a bit of relief as she heard his words. “Of course,” she whispered, stepping aside as he made his way into the room.

“I take it you ... you didn’t care for the purple room?” he wondered as he glanced around again, deciding he did feel a bit offended that she wouldn’t like what he had arranged especially for her.

Her eyebrow cocking into a perfect arch, Olivia shook her head. “This ... this is the room Jeffers brought me to,” she countered with wave of one hand, realizing that it must be Jeffers who was color blind and not his master. “I wondered about the color; I remember you said something about a purple room.”

Michael sighed. He would have to have a word with Jeffers about the difference between blue and purple. “I’ll take up the matter with Jeffers,” he said with a nod. Glancing around the room, one he realized he’d never been in before, Michael spotted a settee in an alcove and motioned toward it. “Could we ... sit for a moment?” he asked quietly, watching Olivia’s face closely as she nodded and moved to take a seat on one side of the settee. He sat down next to her, angling his body so that he could better see her face as he spoke with her. God, she was lovely. Noticing her hands folded together in her lap, he reached over and took her left one in his. There was no hesitancy on her part; she allowed him to touch her and lift the small hand to his lips. Michael kissed the knuckles as he watched her eyes widen. Still, she did not pull her hand away. The thin iron band that surrounded the base of her fourth finger glimmered in the lamplight, and his thumb absently brushed over the metal. “We shall have to get you a more... a more appropriate ring than this,” he murmured quietly.

Her breath catching at the comment, Olivia regarded him with a frown. “What ... Why is this one inappropriate?” she wondered, a bit of a crinkle appearing between her brows.

Because I can afford far more. Because you deserve gold. Michael smiled at her protest. “It was the best I could do on short notice,” he stated, remembering the odd look Robert Comber, the village blacksmith in Shipley, had given him when he asked what he might have available in the way of wedding rings. “Your brother helped me pick it out,” he added. Of all the things he arranged prior to his latest visit to the Waterfords, the most important item had been, well, not forgotten as much as overlooked.

His sister had not mentioned him needing a wedding ring!

So he purchased the next best thing from the blacksmith, knowing he would pay a visit to his favorite jeweler once he was back in London. And he’d bestowed Olivia with the iron ring in the meantime.

“George?” Olivia responded, her brows furrowing. She remembered seeing Michael and George as they were walking back to the house. From The Ship, she was sure.

“Yes. He took me to the blacksmith’s shop Thursday morning so I could buy a ring. But it’s far too plain for a woman of your beauty,” Michael commented, not mentioning the ring wasn’t really silver and it would probably turn her finger green if she wore it much longer.

Olivia cocked her head and a look of surprise passed over her face. “You think me beautiful?” she asked in disbelief as she watched his eyes focus on the ring on her finger.
So, he didn’t go for a drink at the pub the morning of our wedding!

His grin broadening as a wash of red colored his face, Michael returned his attention to Olivia’s face. His thumb, having abandoned her hand and the ring, moved up to slowly caress her jaw line and follow the curve down her neck and across her throat. “Of course,” he whispered, his gaze sending her into a hypnotic trance. “May I ... may I kiss you?” he stammered in a quiet voice, his thumb working its way back up her neck and behind her ear to allow his hand to pull her face toward him. He saw panic in her eyes, though, and stopped his hand.

“I have never been ... kissed. Properly kissed, I mean,” Olivia murmured. “You saved me from Eli Babcock, remember?” she added, her mouth left slightly open by the admission. She wasn’t opposed to him kissing her, but if he expected her to know what to do, he would be sorely disappointed.

“Oh,” Michael acknowledged, his eyebrow arching. This is a pleasant surprise! “Well, there’s really not much to it,” he replied. Leaning down, he allowed his lips to brush lightly over hers before he captured them in a light kiss. Quite pleased that she did not back away from him, Michael deepened the kiss, suddenly realizing that he rather enjoyed kissing her.

Olivia allowed his lips to caress hers until they very nearly thrummed.

The scent of roses filled Michael’s nostrils. Her skin beneath his fingers warmed until he thought he might be branded by her heat. And then he was aware of the subtle change as his lips moved again.

Olivia’s lashes tickled the top of his cheekbones as she closed her eyes and returned the kiss, her lips eager to taste him.

Although he was tempted to use his tongue to further part her lips, Michael resisted and simply used his mouth to guide hers. She willingly followed, a small moan emanating from her throat when Michael nipped her lower lip. When he finally let go and slowly backed away from her face, mostly to catch his breath, the scent of roses wafted past his nostrils. I could do this all night, he realized, his senses suddenly on fire.

Stunned at the intimacy of the kiss, Olivia inhaled sharply and opened her eyes to find Michael staring at her with a curious expression. Did I do something wrong? she wondered, but decided after a moment that his look wasn’t one of disappointment or disapproval. “Would it be acceptable for me to kiss you now?” she whispered, wondering why he was looking at her as he was.

Michael did his best to suppress a grin. Well, that wasn’t as hard as I was expecting it to be, he found himself thinking. For obvious reasons, he figured Olivia Waterford wouldn’t allow him to kiss her this early in their forced marriage. Nor did he expect that she would ask to kiss him! “I ... would be honored,” he answered, suddenly breathless, barely able to hide his enthusiasm.

Olivia shifted herself on the settee so that she could better face him. Reaching up with her left hand, she combed her fingers into his dark hair until they were just behind his head. Pulling gently so that his face would come down to her level, Olivia angled her head up and brushed her lips against his eager mouth, the way he had done with her. A moment later, she had her other hand on his shoulder and her lips pressed against his, matching his moves one for one. At last, she pulled away, a slight gasp escaping her. Before she could sit upright, though, Michael had wrapped both his arms around her shoulders and pulled her against him so that her head lay in the hollow between his shoulder and arm. He felt her body mold into his, its comforting warmth seeping into the front of his body.

“Did I do it right?” she murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt.

Michael chuckled in response, the vibrations causing Olivia’s head to bounce against the hard muscle and bones of his chest. “Oh, yes, my love,” he whispered, his lips touching the hair along the top of her forehead. They sat in silence for several minutes. Michael finally took a deep breath. “I owe you an apology for what happened Tuesday night,” he whispered finally. When he did not hear a response from Olivia, he went on, “My behavior was most unforgivable and very unlike me, I assure you,” he explained in a whisper as he gently rubbed one of her arms. “But I must admit that I do not regret what happened and can only hope that one day, probably many years from now, you will not, either.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.