TuesdayNights (42 page)

“Indeed,” Olivia answered with a cocked eyebrow, not the least bit embarrassed. “And there isn’t a one of them I would want in bed with me.” After a short pause and a snort from Michael, she added, “Besides, their pricks are far too small.”

His mouth, open in shock at her comment, suddenly closed and he settled back into bed. “You are a wanton woman!” he accused in a hoarse whisper, covering himself with the counterpane. There wasn’t a hint of amusement in his tone. “Tell me, how is it that you are not ... modest .. with me?” he wondered, remembering that her sister was quite modest the day he helped her dress for their walk to meet Arthur. But Olivia had never covered herself nor asked that the lamplight be extinguished when she was unclothed.

Olivia considered his question, her face coloring up a bit. “I have imagined you making love to me many times over the past few years,” she replied in a whisper, “So, I suppose I thought you had already seen me ... nude,” she reasoned, wondering if he was really as shocked as his accusation would indicate.

Michael considered her words, taking them as a compliment and feeling quite satisfied with himself. “And ... how did I do in your mind’s eye?” he asked then, surprised that she had fantasies about him.

Perhaps even on the same nights he was fantasizing about her.

Olivia regarded him for a moment, aware of what he might be thinking. “Reality is far better,” she answered as she climbed atop him, kissing him quite thoroughly.

10:30 a.m.

“Here, allow me,” Olivia said with a grin as she took the jewelry and fastened it around Eloisa’s neck. “This is so beautiful with the gown,” she said as she admired the string of pearls in the mirror’s reflection. The matching earbobs were already in place, their tiny diamonds providing a bit of sparkle against the smooth, matte surface of the pearls. “Your groom is here. He is quite a catch, I think. Are you ready?”

Eloisa nodded, glad to hear her sister’s approval. “As I’ll ever be,” she replied. She followed Olivia down the steps to the parlor and was shocked when Arthur kissed her on the mouth in front of her sister and Michael. “Arthur!” she admonished him, her face coloring to a deep pink.

“Good morning, my princess,” he replied, not about to show the least bit of embarrassment given the display of affection put on by Michael and Olivia only moments before. “You are the most beautiful bride I could hope for,” he whispered, kissing her temple and giving her a hug about the shoulders. “Are you ready to become Mrs. Arthur Huntington?”

Eloisa beamed, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, yes!” she replied with a nod.

3:30 p.m.

“You are so beautiful when you are in ecstasy,” Michael whispered, wrapping an arm under Olivia and pulling her so that she was resting against him, her head in the small of his shoulder. Only moments before they had returned from having ices at Gunter’s, Michael driving a single horse that pulled his fashionable curricle back to Grosvenor Square while one of Arthur Huntington’s grooms drove the newlyweds’ barouche to Arthur’s house in Cavendish Square, its occupants no doubt currently enjoying the same afternoon delight in which the Cunninghams were engaging.

The short wedding ceremony, nearly identical to the one Michael and Olivia experienced the week before, seemed more solemn, more serious somehow, but Olivia figured it was just because she followed this one word for word, when her own had been such a blur she could hardly remember any of the details. As witnesses, she and Michael had held hands throughout, occasionally glancing at one another. And when the vicar pronounced Eloisa and Arthur husband and wife, it was Olivia and Michael who kissed one another.

Olivia wrapped an arm over his chest and slid a leg between his, the top of her thigh touching him suggestively. “And how often might I be that beautiful?” she teased, her fingertips circling his nipples and tickling him where the crisp curls hovered over his chest.

Inhaling sharply, Michael captured her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “I should think at least every Friday night,” he replied, his teasing smile hidden from her.

Frowning, Olivia lifted her head and regarded him, wondering if he was being serious. “What about Monday nights?” she asked, her lower lip pouting just a bit.

Michael sighed and did not respond right away, his eyelids heavy and sleep about to take him away from her. “Monday nights, yes,” he whispered. “And Thursdays, and ...” His voice trailed off and Olivia smiled as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“And Tuesday nights?” she wondered, her hand still held by his and resting on his chin.

His lips captured the end of her fingers and suckled them. “Since I have been pretending to make love to you on Tuesday nights for a year, I believe it is high time you were here for it,” he whispered as he lifted himself on one elbow to look down on her.

Olivia smiled at his comment and turned to kiss his bicep. “Then I will not miss it for anything,” she replied sleepily, her hand cupping the side of his head.

Michael leaned over her and kissed her softly. “Neither will I,” he murmured before laying back in the pillows. He was asleep in a moment.

Despite the frissons that still coursed through her body, Olivia sighed happily. “I think I will like Tuesday nights the best,” she murmured.

She was soon sound asleep.

Read on for an excerpt from
Linda Rae Sande’s
Book 2 of “The Sons of the Aristocracy” Series

The Widowed Countess

“You cannot go to breakfast dressed like that, my lady,” Missy announced just as the perfectly coiffed Clarinda was about to open her bedchamber door. Wondering what Missy meant by the proclamation, Lady Norwick looked down and realized she only wore her chemise and corset under a silk dressing gown. A black kerseymere gown was spread out on the bed. Black silk stockings dribbled over the edge of the mattress, and a pair of black slippers were on the floor beneath. Black would be the extent of her wardrobe for a long time to come, she realized.

“Oh,” Clarinda managed to get out before her shoulders slumped. Good grief
!
Had she really almost left her bedchamber wearing nothing more than a dressing grown? Well, so what if she had? No one would even notice what she was wearing given the elaborate hair style Missy had managed to create!

Once Missy had her dressed, Clarinda once again announced she had every intention of eating and then made her way downstairs to the breakfast room. Moving through the doorway, she smelled the kippers long before she realized they were on the sideboard.

And on the plate in front of Daniel Fitzwilliam.

Her stomach suddenly roiling, Clarinda gasped and hurried through the room, passing her startled brother-in-law and holding a hand against her belly as she mumbled an, “Excuse me,” and disappeared into the butler’s pantry. She found a chamber pot underneath the silver cabinet just in time.

Well, it wasn’t really a chamber pot, she realized too late. The rather large and elaborately decorated soup tureen worked just as well, though.

“My lady! Are you unwell?”

Clarinda whirled around to find Rosie, one of the main floor servants, carrying a stack of dishes through the butler’s pantry. The sudden motion did little to settle Clarinda’s stomach, but at least the smell of fish didn’t reach her here. “I’ll be quite fine, thank you,” Clarinda answered as she finished wiping her lips with her hanky.

But Rosie’s eyes widened. “My lady! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Gasping, Clarinda’s own eyes widened. Damnation! Was it that apparent she’d been visited by David? she wondered as she straightened and put one hand up to her face. “Oh?” she ventured as calmly as she could manage, wondering what gave it away.

“You’re quite pale, my lady,” Rosie said as she put down the dishes. “Should I have Porter send for the physician?”

Swallowing hard, Clarinda considered the offer. There really was no need to have Dr. Collins come over when she already knew why she felt sick. All he would do is confirm her state of impending motherhood and probably attach a few leeches to her. She shuddered at the image of the slimy things on her skin, deciding the thought alone made her sicker than the smell of kippers in the next room. “No, Rosie, that won’t be necessary,” she managed to get out before she inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m feeling better already, although I do think I’ll just make my way back to the hallway using a different route,” she said as she left the butler’s pantry from the direction the maid had come.

“Yes, my lady,” Rosie reluctantly replied as she bobbed a curtsy. “May I say, my lady, your hair looks very nice today.”

Clarinda fought the urge to look up. “Thank you, Rosie.” Once again very hungry, Clarinda wanted nothing more than to have breakfast, but the thought of going back into the breakfast parlor was rather unappetizing. Not only did it smell like kippers, but Daniel was in there. She thought he’d been reading The Times – at least, he’d been holding up a newspaper as he ate, she remembered – so perhaps he hadn’t even noticed her quick trip through the room. To him, she probably just looked like a black whirling dervish, although she was sure her skirts created a breeze that probably ruffled his dark, silky, wavy hair. She was quite sure he hadn’t taken his attention away from the newspaper, though. But from the very brief glimpse she’d had of him, he was still the epitome of David in appearance. So handsome, so fit, so very much a man.

“So the mere sight of me makes you ill, does it?”

Clarinda had just come around the corner from the servant’s hall into the main hall, nearly colliding with Daniel as she did so. As tall as David and just as developed across the shoulders and chest, he made for an imposing figure. And, at the moment, a rather frightening one.

“Daniel!” she gasped, stopping suddenly, one hand pressed to her bosom. After another loud heartbeat, she took another breath. “No,” she added with a shake of her head when she realized what he’d said. She could feel ... was that anger emanating from his body? “I just cannot bear the odor of...”

“Oh, so now I smell bad?” he countered, his eye blazing with barely contained fury.

Taking an involuntary step backward, Clarinda dropped her hands to her sides, allowing her fists to clench. “You don’t. Truly. But the kippers do,” she managed to get out in a voice that belied the sudden embarrassment that colored her face.

There was a very long pause as the two regarded one another. Clarinda’s hands unclenched and Daniel’s stance seem to relax just a bit.

“Kippers?” he replied, one eyebrow cocking into an expression that suggested disbelief.

“Kippers, yes,” Clarinda acknowledged with a nod, her face still red with embarrassment. Of all the things to happen when she was faced with the prospect of seeing Daniel for the first time in three years, she never would have expected to feel nauseous and have to cast up her accounts, especially in front of a servant.

Daniel blinked, a mannerism Clarinda found very similar to the way David would sometimes react when she said something that befuddled him. Which, now that she thought about it, was quite frequently.

“Not because you find the sight of me somehow ... repugnant?” This last was delivered in a voice that suggested Daniel Fitzwilliam still didn’t believe her.

It was Clarinda’s turn to blink. “No! Of course not,” she replied with a bit too much emphasis.

Daniel seemed to take a step backward, even though his feet did not move an inch. “You do not find the sight of me to be ... repugnant?”

Clarinda’s mouth opened in astonishment. How can this man be so thick? she wondered, fighting to keep her annoyance from showing on her face. She took a deep breath as she gazed at David’s identical twin, looking for any sign of something that was different from her late husband. “Since you look exactly like the man I married, and since I found that man to be quite
handsome
, I have to admit I could never find the sight of
you
repugnant,” she said in a careful, measured tone, thoroughly explaining her reasoning in the hopes her brother-in-law would understand. Then she found herself hoping she wasn’t going to have to deal with Daniel’s newly inflated ego, which had probably grown several times larger given her adamant assurance that he was handsome.

Damnation, though. He was handsome. There were a few differences between him and David, she now was coming to realize, although none of them were differences a casual acquaintance would notice. The little scar near his eye, the one he’d suffered at the point of a bayonet during one of the wars in France, gave him a rakish air. And given his hair was just a shade darker and held just a bit more wave than David’s did – probably because David spent more time out of doors – she would have to admit that Daniel was just a bit more handsome than David. Damn, damn, double damn! she thought, not able to tear her eyes away from David’s twin.

Daniel’s mouth began opening and then closing, over and over, as if he was about to say something and then suddenly thought better of it. Clarinda thought he looked somewhat like the tropical fish Lord Everly kept in the large glass tank in his library. “But ... I thought you ... despised me,” he finally managed to get out.

Clarinda’s brows furrowed, a little wrinkle developing between them. “Only because ... because you despise me,” she countered, rather surprised he would voice the sentiment and she would bother to reply.

“I do not!” Daniel exclaimed, his protest a bit too loud. He reached out with a finger and poked her right between her brows, as if he was curious about the little wrinkle that had appeared there and thought he could simply press it away with a push of his fingertip.

Pulling his finger away, he stared at that spot, mesmerized. “You really need to stop doing whatever it is that creates that little ...” He pointed at the fold between her brows using the same finger he’d poked her with before, adding, “Or you’ll find it will be permanent,” he stated with a finality that suggested he was an expert on such abnormalities. “At least, that’s what Mother is always telling me about mine.”

The feel of his finger touching her sent a shock wave through Clarinda. She might have found it rather pleasant, except something akin to a volcano had began to build deep inside of her, with its molten lava heat and steam churning and rumbling. Although the rumbling was probably due to her hunger pangs, Clarinda realized the rest – the suppressed anger over his impertinent comment, the outrage she felt at his having poked her, the sudden desire to see him uncomfortable – was about to erupt all over Daniel Fitzwilliam. Pity the man who witnesses a volcanic eruption in the home he is expected to occupy for the next several years, Clarinda found herself thinking, knowing just then she would have to gain the upper hand on this poor excuse for a man right now.

But then Daniel’s last comment and the denial made just before it worked to tamp down the volcano. She felt the steam inside her suddenly dissipate. He doesn’t despise me? she wondered in awe.

“You’re doing it again,” Daniel murmured as he kept his eye on the furrow between her brows. “It’s rather ... cute when you do it, though,” he added, his words sounding as if he were in awe rather than pointing out an ugly feature on her otherwise beautiful face.

She is still so beautiful, he thought as his gaze took in her oval face with the perfect complexion, the high cheekbones, pert nose and aquamarine eyes that seemed to see right into his soul. The lashes that surrounded those eyes were dark like her hair, and curved so they seemed to sweep through the air as they fell over the light blue-green of her eyes. And when they lifted, it was like a curtain rising to reveal the aquamarine jewels of her countenance. Her maid had obviously become adept at dressing her hair. The elaborate coiffure would have been suitable for a ball at Carleton House. He noticed how she had a tooth caught in her lower lip, the plump flesh bent in just a bit where it made contact. And she was watching him as if she was trying to solve a puzzle. She is more beautiful than she was when we cursed one another all those years ago.

At the moment, he couldn’t even remember why they had cursed one another. Couldn’t remember what had brought on the accusations that caused her face to redden and her anger to erupt so forcefully. Like a volcano, he thought, all steam and molten lava roiling out of her. And then she’d slapped him. Even today, he could feel the sting of that open-handed hit. Like a steam burn, he remembered. He could feel the force behind it as her arm swung hard and impacted him like shrapnel from an explosion. He was sure it had hurt her more than it did him, but if it did, he never saw Clarinda flinch.