WidowsWickedWish (14 page)

“I attended school with Rachel Goode,” she explained as she
began to wander about the room. “I often called upon her here before my
marriage.”

Jack watched her trail her hand along the edge of an ornate
table and over the back of a spindly chair he’d never been brave enough to sit
upon. “Is there no one of consequence you don’t know?”

Olivia shrugged delicately in answer as she continued about
the room, stopping to peer at a vase paying homage to some Chinese dynasty.

“London’s Darling,” he murmured.

Olivia shot a quick look over her shoulder, one Jack couldn’t
begin to decipher. Surprise perhaps, maybe chagrin. Before he could place it
she turned back to the vase, her hands gliding over the squat base and long
neck. “I have it on the highest authority that I am nothing more than the
daughter of an earl, the widow of same and the mother of yet another.”

“Is that all?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Funny, that was my question, as well,” she said as she
turned to face him across a garish Turkish carpet in shades of purple and
yellow. “Somehow I don’t think we meant the same thing by the question.”

At a loss as to how to respond to her words, to the rather
surly look upon her face, Jack chose to take the bull by the horns.

“I want to apologize for the other night,” he began as he
stepped onto the carpet, one step closer to where he wanted to be.

“Whatever for?” she asked.

“For that ridiculous remark I made about your gown.”

“My gown?” she asked with a laugh that sounded anything but
joyous. “You needn’t apologize for finding my gown lovely.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Jack ran a hand
through his hair. It appeared the lady was not going to graciously accept his
contrition.

“How would I know what you meant? I hardly know you.”

“You knew me well enough this winter.”

She shrugged before resuming her promenade about the room.

“I did not mean to imply that you didn’t look lovely,” he
continued. “Of course you were lovely. You are always lovely.”

“Lovely,” she murmured more to herself than him. “That’s it?
I’m lovely?”

“Beautiful,” he hurried to assure her, surprised that she
seemed to want to be flattered. The Olivia he’d known at Idyllwild hadn’t given
him to believe she needed to be praised and petted. Nor was he one to spout
such blarney, but hell, if she needed pretty words, if she wanted to be courted
with poetry and sweet talk, then he would do his best.

“Your skin is like rose petals, your hair like…like the most
luxurious silk.”

She spun about and pinned him with a glare down her pretty
little nose. If it weren’t for the pulse beating at her throat, and the rise
and fall of her breasts with each rapid breath she took, he might have mistaken
her renewed temper for haughty disdain.

“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Caught off guard by the cold fury radiating off her in
waves, Jack floundered.

“Go on,” she hissed.

“Your breasts are two pillows,” he began, grimacing as the
words tripped from his lips.

“Where did you hear that? London’s Darling?” she
interrupted.

“What? Nowhere,” he muttered in confusion.

Olivia advanced on him until she was close enough that he
might have reached out and grabbed her.

No sooner had Jack lifted his hands to do just that when she
spun around and returned to wandering about the cramped parlor. Jack turned to
follow her, to keep her in sight in case she made to stride from the room, from
the house, from him.

“This room really is dreadful,” she said after another
charged silence, a silence during which Jack attempted to figure out what he’d
done to set her against him. It couldn’t be his careless remark the night of
her mother’s ball, not entirely.

“Awful,” he replied carefully to her back.

“I seem to remember Mrs. Dumfries having a knack for
decorating,” she continued, peering up at a painting of two boys rolling a hoop
in Hyde Park. “Likely Miss Dumfries inherited her mother’s talent. Perhaps you
should ask her to help you with this room.”

Jack let out a bark of laughter, relief and amazement
mingling to make him almost lightheaded.

“Is that what this is about, Livy?” he asked incredulously.

“This what?” Olivia turned to face him, her chin lifted in
the air.

“You’re jealous.”

“Of Miss Dumfries?” she asked with a sniff. “Don’t be
ridiculous. I wouldn’t trade places with that child for all the tea in England.”

“It was just a harmless bit of flirtation,” he said as he
stalked toward her.

“It matters not a bit to me if you flirt with every woman in
Town.” She stepped back from him until her hip grazed a statue of a blue
elephant and she was trapped in the corner between the elephant and a carved
wooden screen with butterflies painted in various shades of pink.

“Livy—”

“Although I must say it was rather déclassé to do your
flirting in my brother’s house, at my mother’s annual ball!” Her voice rose
with each word until she was screaming at him as she’d done in the snow all
those months ago.

At the time he’d found her behavior shocking, now he found
it encouraging, hopeful.

“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed as he stepped into the
corner with her. “I apologize. My behavior was beyond boorish.”

“Boorish but effective.” She stepped to the left, clearly
intent upon sidling around him.

Jack shifted with her, effectively forcing her farther into
the corner.

Undaunted, Olivia tossed back her head. “Although I must
admit, I am a bit confused as to why you called upon me day after day, why you
accosted me on the street today.”

“I wanted to see you,” he answered, not sure where she was
going with this new tangent. Christ, keeping up with Olivia’s agile mind was a
lot like following a conversation in Latin. Jack had never been much good with
Latin.

Olivia sucked in a breath, all the color leaving her face.
“You don’t intend to offer me some bauble, do you?”

“Bauble?” He’d purchased a ring but the large square-cut
sapphire hardly classified as a bauble.

“Isn’t that what men do? They give a mistress a piece of
gaudy jewelry, something no lady would ever wear, something meant to be sold to
hold her over until another man comes along?”

“What are you talking about?” Jack growled as her meaning
became clear. “You are not my mistress!”

“Well, I don’t need your tacky jewels,” Olivia growled right
back, giving him a shove to his shoulder that didn’t budge him. “Let me by!”

“There won’t be another bloody man,” he snarled low in his
throat.

“Don’t you curse at me.” She grabbed him by the lapels of
his coat as if to shake him. “I am not some cheap doxy you can curse at
whenever you choose. And I am not London’s goddamn Darling!”

The Countess of Palmerton had finally reached the end of her
tether. Seething with rage, burning with a lust so powerful she’d been forced
to flit about the room in order to refrain from grabbing Jack Bentley and
wrestling him to the ground, Olivia did the only thing a lady can do when
backed into a corner.

Tightening her hold on Jack’s lapels, she rose onto her toes
until they were nearly eye to eye.

“Either put your cock inside me this instant or get out of
my way,” she demanded, her voice vibrating.

Olivia didn’t give him time to make a choice. Snaking one
hand around his neck, she fisted her fingers in his hair and pulled his mouth
down to hers.

Jack groaned, whether in shock or passion Olivia didn’t know
nor did she care. She simply took advantage of the opportunity, spearing her
tongue into his mouth, dragging it over his, circling, dipping, sweeping over
the hard ridge of his teeth, along the soft flesh of his lower lip,
rediscovering his wet, hot mouth.

Then she bit him. Hard enough to drag another groan from
deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against her breasts that were suddenly crushed
against him as his arms wound around her and his hands grasped her bottom. He
lifted her off her feet and slammed her none too gently against the wall.

Olivia moaned into his mouth, the sound dark, desperate, a
mirror to the desire roaring in her veins. She lifted her arms to his shoulders
and curled them around his head, her fingers clutching in his hair, holding on
to him, holding him to her.

Jack took control of the kiss, his mouth ravenous upon hers.
He tilted his head, changed the angle of their mouths, sealed them together and
thrust his tongue against hers, around, above, beneath, his tongue scoured her
sensitive flesh.

In the next instant, Jack’s hands were twisted in her skirts
and Olivia felt the air on her calves, her knees, her thighs. Taking advantage
of this new freedom, she wrapped her legs around his hips and locked her
ankles, pulling him tight against her. His cock was hard, unbelievably,
gloriously hard. She tilted her hips, pressed her mound against his rigid
length and cried out as pleasure and need mingled, swirled, overwhelmed her.

Jack squeezed her bottom, held her tight as he thrust
against her. He dragged his shaft over her sensitive flesh, again and again,
setting up a tempo that had Olivia panting into his mouth, writhing against him
in an effort to get closer, to ease the ache that he’d created, that only he
could satisfy.

Olivia was nearly mindless with the need to have him inside
her. If she could have formed a thought, a word, she might have shrieked her
desperation aloud. Instead she released the death grip she had on his head and
wedged her hands between them. Down over his broad chest, still fully covered
in shirt, waistcoat and jacket, to the placket of his trousers. With clumsy
fingers, she jerked at the buttons until they finally, finally came free and
his cock sprang into her hands.

Jack groaned, his hips bucking, his shaft gliding through
her hands.

Then his hand was fumbling in the yards of fabric bunched
around her waist and hips, delving through the mass to land hot and hard
between her legs. He hooked two fingers through the slit in her drawers and
yanked.

The sound of rending cloth was music to Olivia’s ears, the
feel of his calloused fingers dragging over her folds the sweetest pleasure,
the most agonizing torture.

Without warning those two long fingers drove into her, the
force of his invasion pinning her against the wall.

He thrust his fingers into her cunny, over and over again.

Olivia tightened her grip on his cock, matching her strokes
to his.

It was wondrous, glorious, amazing.

It wasn’t enough.

Before she could voice her thoughts, before she could
demand, beg, plead with Jack to give her what she needed, his fingers left her
body and he shifted her, lifted her.

Olivia guided his cock to her quim, locked her ankles tight
against his lower back, and pulled him into her body, moaning into his mouth as
the thick head penetrated her, stretched her.

And all the while he kissed her as if he could not get
enough of her, as if he would never stop. With lips caressing, tongue
thrusting, teeth nipping, he consumed her.

“Christ, Livy,” he growled into her mouth.

“Take me, Jack,” she begged. “Now, damn you…”

Her words left her on a long, savage moan as he thrust his
cock into her. In one long, hard lunge he was buried in her body, so deep
inside her that light danced behind her closed eyelids as pleasure and pain
mingled to create a vortex of swirling sensations.

Olivia wound her arms around his neck, her fingers clutching
his head, her mouth open and wet on his. He dragged his hands from her bottom
to her thighs, his fingers biting into her flesh.

“Hold on,” he grunted as he lifted his lips to race them
over her jaw and down her neck.

Olivia tightened her grip, her legs squeezing his hips, her
boot heels digging into the hard muscles of his backside.

He withdrew his shaft an inch, two, three, slowly dragging
his hard length against her sensitized flesh, before thrusting back into her,
trapping her hard against the wall. His mouth clamped around the tendon at her
shoulder, his tongue hot against her skin. He bit down gently, holding her
flesh between his teeth as he began to rock against her, barely withdrawing
before slamming back into her, grinding his hips between her spread legs with
each thrust, his pelvis pushing against her clitoris in exquisite torment.

“More,” she begged. “Please, oh God, faster.”

Jack shifted her higher against his chest, widened his
stance, and gave her more, gave her faster, his hips pumping between her legs,
his cock thrusting hard and deep, over and over again. His weight holding her
to the wall, his breath panting against her neck, he took her hard and fast
until, with a cry that reverberated around the room, Olivia climaxed around his
invading shaft. She clutched him to her, her fingers digging into his back, her
legs encircling and squeezing him, pulling him hard against her as she bore
down, impaling her warm, wet flesh upon his cock, pleasure washing over her in
undulating waves of fiery heat.

Her orgasm was long and violent, seeming to go on and on
without end. Dimly she heard Jack let loose a growl before she felt his seed
shoot into her body, felt the liquid heat scorch her inner walls, and she
pulled her muscles tight around him, wanting to capture his essence, capture
the promise of life that could never be.

That one thought, that futile hope, arrowed through her,
straight to her heart. Suddenly it was all too much, all her worries, all her
fears, came bubbling to the surface of her wounded heart, her battered soul.
Fire burned beneath her closed eyelids, her fingers against his strong back
began to tingle, to tremble.

She clamped her mouth closed, her upper lip between her
teeth. It was no use. A long, guttural sob tore from her chest and past her
trembling lips to echo about the room.

“Livy?” Jack panted against her neck.

Olivia turned her face away until one cheek rested against
the gaudy wallpaper as scalding tears began to fall from her eyes.

“Jesus Livy, are you crying?” Jack leaned back and she knew
he could see her, see the tears rolling down her cheek.

She sucked in a deep stuttering breath, let it out on a low
moan, keeping her eyes shut tight.

“Did I hurt you?” Jack asked, his voice barely above a
whisper. “Livy love, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head furiously but knew better than to open
her mouth. She could feel another sob working its way up her throat. If she let
it out, if she set it free it would drown her.

Carefully Jack pulled his cock free of her body and
disentangled her legs from around his waist. With his hands on her hips holding
her steady, Olivia allowed her legs to slide down his until her feet hit the
floor. The fabric of her brocade walking gown rustled in the quiet room as it
drifted down to cover her. His knuckles brushed against her belly as he hurried
to right his clothing.

She pulled her hands from his shoulders and pressed them
over her face, wanting nothing more than to hide, to hide from the man whose
worried gaze she could feel on her, to hide from the daunting responsibility of
raising two children alone, to hide from her mother’s contempt and scorn, to
hide from the judging eyes of a society that would always and forever see her
as the Countess of Palmerton.

London’s Darling, she thought on a hiccupping laugh that
turned into a raspy moan. She would never be more.

She twisted away from the silent man before her, her body
doubling over, her arms coming around her waist in an unsuccessful attempt to
hold in the sorrow that overwhelmed her. Her legs gave out and she slid down
the wall, would have landed hard on her knees had Jack not dropped down and
caught her. He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, pushing
her forehead against his shoulder.

With a long, anguished wail, Olivia came undone. She
clutched his lapels in her hands and wept against him, her fingers mangling the
fine fabric of his coat, her tears soaking his cravat and shirt. Her shoulders
shook with the force of her sobs as she poured out all of the heartbreak, the
wasted dreams, the useless hopes, the endless frustration and confusion that
she’d buried deep for days, weeks, months, years. An entire lifetime of regrets
and fears gushed from beneath her eyelids, tore loose from her chest, and
rushed past her lips.

Jack held her silently, one hand pressed between her
shoulder blades, the other sweeping over her back in ever-widening circles. He
didn’t pat her, he didn’t try to shush her or soothe her with meaningless
words. He simply held her against him and waited.

“Fanny ha-ha-hates London,” she wailed into the crook of his
neck. “Ye-yesterday I f-f-found her rifling through…my jewels…to s-s-sell and
runaway to…Idyllwild…and Charlie…my baby…his f-foot isn’t healing…and Dr.
Gold-Dr. Goldman refuses to s-s-see him.”

She released his lapels and wound her arms around his neck.

“My mother lo-loathes me,” she sobbed, ashamed by the truth
of the words. “And I’m…I’m afraid…afraid that I lo-loathe her, too.”

Jack wrapped both arms around her, slowly rocking her in his
lap as she blubbered against his neck.

“Henry is hop-hopping…from b-bed to bed…he’ll be ca-caught
by some an-angry father…and…and f-forced to marry a woman…he can never…love.”

Jack went still beneath her for a moment before one hand
came up to press her head into the warm crook of his neck, his fingers sifting
through her curls.

“I can’t f-f…find a home for us…I’ve toured count-countless
houses…but none of them…could be a h-h-home.”

Her words tumbled over one another in fits and starts that
likely made no sense whatsoever.

“I just…wished to be…wicked…to know a m-man’s…desire…da-da-dark
alcoves…su-sunny afternoons…b-but she’s so beautiful …everyone…everyone expects
m-me to…ma-marry again…he only ever wa-wa-wanted…a son…I would p-pay the price
again and again…if only…I never knew…all these years…I thought I di-didn’t
need…passion and…and affection…and you…you mu-mu-must not ask m-me to marry…not
ever again…I ca-ca-cannot…and n-now I’m a widow…London’s Da-Da-Darling…where is
the f-f-freedom I was promised?”

She finished on a raspy wail, her hands clenching and
releasing the fabric of Jack’s coat across his back. She cried until her throat
burned, until her eyes were swollen shut, until each breath was a tortured
racking moan.

A long while later, when her sobs had dwindled to piteous
sniffs and blubbery sighs, Olivia lifted her head from his shoulder and
scrubbed her hands over her face before slowly opening her burning, swollen
eyes. She peered up at Jack to find him watching her with an almost comical
look of confusion upon his handsome face.

“Might you have a handkerchief?” she asked with a sniff.

Jack reached into his breast pocket and handed her a
perfectly folded, perfectly creased square of soft white linen. Olivia dabbed
at her face and under her eyes before blowing her nose as delicately as
possible.

Jack only watched her silently, his brows pulled low in
obvious bafflement.

She held the handkerchief out to him before she thought
better of it and pulled her hand back, her fingers wrapped around the fabric.
She pressed her hand to her chest as another tear leaked from the corner of her
eye.

“Ah, Livy,” Jack murmured, wiping the tear away. “So much
weight to carry around on your slender shoulders.”

Olivia nodded her head in agreement.

“Can you stand?” he asked softly.

“I’m not certain.”

“Carrying it is.”

Before Olivia could form words to protest, Jack wrapped one
arm around her back and tucked the other beneath her legs. With a soft grunt he
rose to his feet with her held firmly against his chest.

“You don’t have to…” she began with a watery smile, twisting
her arms around his neck.

“I do have to,” he countered as he strode toward the door.
“But you’ll have to manage the doorknob.”

“The servants,” she protested against his neck as he stepped
into the hall.

“Not a servant in sight,” he replied, carrying her across
the deserted space.

“How odd,” she murmured.

“I’ve trained them to come when called and remain hidden
when not,” he told her and Olivia could hear the laughter in his voice.

“Even when hidden, they’re still watching,” she replied as
he started up the stairs.

“It seems to me you spend an inordinate amount of time
worrying about who is watching you.” Jack leaned down and Olivia obligingly
turned the door handle to what she assumed was his bedchamber.