A Scandalous Wager Read online

  ***

  Oliver had been quiet on the way back to her townhouse. He was thinking, she suspected. Probably going over the night, trying to see how he could have prevented their confrontation with Blackhurst. He would blame himself, she knew it. He had, after all, been looking for suspicious persons before they had even ascended the stairs at the beginning of the evening. He had sensed something wasn’t right, but she had not believed him, not really.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lisbeth said as soon as they had disposed of their coats in the hall. Her confession seemed to startle him.

  He frowned briefly. ‘And what are you apologising for?’ His eyes turned so warm and comforting like the amber on her father’s favourite walking stick.

  ‘I put my grandmother and sister in danger. I put you in danger. It was never part of our agreement to put you in that kind of situation. Never.’

  He waved her off. ‘Blackhurst is nothing but hot air. Air that smelled overpoweringly of gin.’

  ‘It isn’t funny, Oliver. If he had hurt Marie or…you.’

  ‘I have been in danger before. Quite a few times in fact. Soldier, remember? I quite like it—imminent death and all that.’ He gave her a grin.

  This made her smile, despite not wanting to. Her joker, her jester, always trying to make her feel better. ‘You are such a liar.’

  His smile turned contrite. ‘Alright. I might not like it quite as much as I have made out, but I do know how to protect you. I will protect you. I’ll just be more prepared in the future.’

  ‘I know you will. This is why I am breaking our agreement,’ Lisbeth said as she walked into the parlour.

  Oliver stopped mid-stride in the doorway. ‘What? I don’t think so.’ He strode in after her.

  She turned to look at him. ‘I think we have to, don’t you? What if something happens to you? I could not…’ She was surprised by the quiver in her voice. She told herself she was going to be strong but, as usual lately, her resolve was worthless around this man.

  ‘Lisbeth,’ he said as he walked towards her, ‘when this is done, when you have your justice —’

  ‘Ever the optimist, Oliver?’ Lisbeth said on a sad sigh. She went over to a sofa and sat down patting the seat next to her. ‘You must be exhausted.’

  He looked at her intensely for a moment but did not laugh. ‘It is one of many such blights on my personality, but what can I do?’ He smiled almost apologetically as he sat. It was such a dear smile, one she was beginning to depend upon. She wanted to reach out and cup his cheek, run her fingers along the roughened skin of his jaw, trace his lips…

  ‘I wish I could be like you,’ she said now. ‘Smiling and joking all the time. All I feel is worthless…’ Oh, why had she said that? She had never meant to say it, at least not like that. Not to him. Tears sprang to her eyes and it took all her determination to keep them at bay.

  He studied her face for a moment then said, ‘How is that possible when you are as rich as Croesus? Try being me, worthless and penniless.’

  Was he boosting her ego, again? ‘Oliver, I am trying to be serious.’

  The smile dropped from his face and she saw a raw emotion in his eyes that made her want to cry all the more.

  ‘Then try being serious about something worth the effort.’ His speech was soft and low and he smoothed his knuckles over her cheek in the softest of caresses. Then he let his hand drop. ‘My, my, we have become melancholy. Only one way to remedy this pitiful situation—a nice hot cup of chocolate! I’ll ask Mrs Rollands, shall I?’

  She grabbed his hand as he went to stand pulling him back down next to her. ‘No, Oliver, really I’m fine. I just wanted to say thank you. You have been good to me.’

  He looked down at his hand in hers. ‘Well, I’ll admit you didn’t make it easy for me at times.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Stop, please. Even I am starting to feel sorry for you. Perhaps if you kissed me I might feel more forgiving?’ The lopsided smile appeared on his too handsome face.

  He was just teasing she knew but she took up his hands and kissed them both on the top, near the knuckles.

  He tipped up her chin and with a chuckle said, ‘Not exactly what I had in mind, but it’s a start. I shall simply have to show how it’s done…Like this.’ He kissed the knuckles of the hand she had been holding his with. He turned it over and kissed her palm, the inside of her wrist, the soft spot inside her elbow, and right up to the top of her shoulder and the turn of her throat.

  Lisbeth, eyes closed, had never experienced anything quite like it. She was quivering. She had never quivered in her life, but somehow he had achieved what she had never thought possible. It was more than just what he made her feel, or the tenderness of his attentions. It was so much more than the way he made her heart flutter or her pulse race. He cared. He cared about her. She cared about him too, and she was just beginning to realise how much. It was an ache in her heart that was so painful she could hardly bear it. Could she let this ache for him grow, knowing it could all end soon, leaving her with a broken heart?

  Lisbeth should have stopped him. She should have made him go, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. And for once she let her heart have its way. The hot tingling sensations of his mouth on her flesh were bliss. He was awakening nerve endings that had lain dormant for more years than she dared count. His lips seemed to be mapping every dip and curve on their journey to who knew where. She held out for as long as she could before she sought those lips with her own.

  Oliver could feel the tension in her body. She was wound tighter than a clock spring. One false move and she could explode. She was holding so much back. She was afraid. Whether it was of him or of their passion he didn’t know. He hoped it was the latter. The thought of her being afraid of him was abhorrent. He was not Blackhurst and he desperately wanted to show her that.

  He knew he should not have put himself in this position or her, especially after the turmoil of this evening but he simply couldn’t help himself. She was like his favourite sweet set down in front of him. He couldn’t resist. He wanted desperately to be all over her, inside her, on top of her, underneath her, but mostly just with her. To finally be on equal terms, with equal longing and desire was a dream that he had never thought would come true.

  She broke the kiss and put her palms on each side of his face so that he had to look at her. ‘Come upstairs with me?’

  Chapter 13

  Closing his eyes he thanked the fates for their impeccable timing. He kissed her long and hard. Kissed her while his heart beat crazily against his ribs and his lonely soul filled with hope.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  In answer she took his hand and led him to the door of the parlour. They walked into the hall, past Rollands, who still held Oliver’s coat. Lisbeth nodded towards her butler and headed up the stairs. Oliver spared a quick glance behind him as he followed Lisbeth.

  Her butler was gone.

  He let her lead him down the hall. When they stopped outside her door, she turned, reached up, and kissed him. Her lips were warm and soft, her kiss slow and lingering, her fingers curled into his hair. It made his insides do a jig and his cock stir from its slumber.

  It was the first time she had kissed him on the mouth. Lisbeth was initiating this intimacy. He sensed her need to be in command of what was to happen. The idea appealed to him, excited him, but he worried about his own control. He had to tread carefully here.

  When she broke the kiss and let her hands drop, he felt bereft. He instantly tried to gather her back into his arms but she had opened her door and walked in. He followed. He looked around briefly.

  ‘The room is a little stark, isn’t it?’ she said. Her face was sad. He hated seeing her sad.

  ‘It isn’t so bad. It is most annoying to bump into a veritable obstacle course of furniture on the way to one’s bed. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Such a layout would be troublesome, I’m sure.’

  ‘Fraught with all sorts of dangers,�
� he said, his voice lowering to a husky whisper.

  She smiled, placing her small hands on his chest and moving them over his jacket. Her questing fingers found the buttons and set to work freeing them. He remembered another time when her hands had been busy at his buttons.

  ‘What? Why are you smirking?’ she asked.

  ‘I am hoping you are not simply going to attempt to correct the slowness of my timepiece.’

  She gave a little laugh, obviously remembering the scene in the parlour on their first night. ‘I have come to learn that neither time nor you, Lord Bellamy, like to be constrained.’

  ‘Time flies when one is having fun. Who am I to clip its wings?’

  She nodded. ‘Sometimes time is your friend and sometimes it’s not. In my case I had to learn to use it for protection. I know you don’t understand and I don’t want to talk about it right now.’ Her nimble fingers made short work of his jacket and waistcoat. Peeling each item off his body she placed it on top of the chair by the fire with infinite care. She watched him through her thick lashes as she undid his cravat and placed it on top of his other clothes.

  He found he couldn’t move. Like a dream he seemed to be observing his own seduction and it was fascinating. Not wanting it to end he decided to do nothing she didn’t direct him to do. He thought it might be difficult but when she started to kiss his neck, his shoulder, his breastbone where his shirt lay open, he realised it may be impossible to give her what she wanted. A man was just blood, bone, and randy flesh, after all.

  Every muscle in his body was fighting not to take her in his arms and crush her against him, rip her clothes from her body and ravish her within an inch of her life. He also knew such an act would not do, not for this woman.

  Not for his woman.

  His eyes widened in recognition of his thoughts. The fact that she had her fingers down there, in the midst of chaos, so to speak, wasn’t helping. He wanted to stop her, still her fingers, but she brushed them so softly over him through the fall of his pantaloons that his head fell back in abandon and he groaned.

  He recited his catechism—Lord forgive him for the bits he simply made up. Eventually he could stand no more of her torture, as sweet as it was. He stilled her hand.

  ‘Lisbeth,’ he warned.

  It did not deter her, despite the fact that her name came out more as a growl. She simply moved on. He felt with agonising clarity the rest of his clothing leave his body, scraping and grazing over sensitive nerves and skin. He kicked off his shoes, thankful that boots were not attire worn to the theatre.

  He now stood before her naked and proudly erect. The need to be one with her was infinitely more powerful than he had expected. He was hard and throbbing, just for her. He wanted to say things to her, lover’s words, but he didn’t want to scare her off. As confident as her actions appeared he knew how much this cost her. Was she doing all this for him, so he wouldn’t have to be noble? Sweet, sweet Lisbeth. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her softly and with everything he had to give.

  He lifted his head and looked at her. She took a step back and looked over him with those amazing eyes of hers. Had she felt it too? That rush of feeling, of one’s heart filling with infinite hope and joy.

  Her expression was changing to…alarm.

  Apparently not hope and joy then.

  Her expression was dismayed, like she couldn’t believe they were doing this. She looked down at him, looked directly at it, standing so proudly before her, and…giggled.

  Giggled! Now it was his turn to look horrified. What the hell? Everything looked in order to him, quite impressively in order, actually. Perhaps that was the problem. He frowned and shoved both legs back into his pants in record time. He should have known it was too soon for her.

  ‘No, please!’ She grabbed his wrist and he left his pants unbuttoned. ‘I’m sorry. I’m…I’m just so nervous,’ she said, her face blushing a furious red.

  ‘You giggled at my —’

  ‘I didn’t! I mean I wasn’t giggling at it.’ She tried to pull him towards her. ‘It’s lovely, really.’

  ‘Lovely? Lovely! I don’t think so. Your breasts are lovely, your hair is lovely, and your eyes are particularly lovely. This,’ He pointed at it shaking his head, ‘is not lovely!’

  He placed his hands on his hips and gave her a displeased look. A man could only take so much…description.

  ‘Oliver.’ She took a step towards him.

  ‘Lisbeth,’ he replied, holding up a hand to stop her from advancing or, horror of horrors, describing further.

  She sighed and flashed her eyes at him. ‘Fine, it is not lovely.’

  That’s my girl, he thought.

  ‘In fact it is rather…cylindrical.’

  Cylindrical? Oh, please. ‘That will be enough of that—ever. Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?’

  She nodded and put her hand on his chest, curling her fingers into his chest hair.

  ‘I can’t help seeing that this situation is very lopsided,’ he said. ‘Besides, I am getting damn chilly standing here like one of Elgin’s marbles.’

  ‘You certainly seem made of marble,’ she said, moving her fingertips lightly over his pectoral muscles. He made them dance up and down and she laughed. He loved it when she laughed. He wanted to make her laugh forever.

  ‘I’ve seen the statue of David, you know. When I was thirteen, our parents took Marie and me to Florence for the summer. I loved Italy—the art, the music—but I don’t think my parents knew what we were in for when we visited the Galleria dell’accademia. My mother nearly fainted.’

  ‘So, now I look like David?’ Could this get any worse?

  ‘Heavens no, you are much more…impressive.’

  He burst out laughing and reached for her. ‘Cheeky baggage! Later you may tutor me in Italian sculpture but for now let us correct this imbalance immediately. I do believe I have a few poetic descriptions of my own to make.’ He turned her around and began undoing her gown. She laughed again when he cursed at the number of buttons and tabs he found as each layer was revealed.

  ‘There had better not be some kind of medieval chastity belt under here. A man can only perform so many miracles in one night, you know,’ he growled into her ear.

  She giggled again. ‘Oh, I don’t know, you seem to be capable of many miraculous things.’

  ‘I do have a trick or two up my sleeve and the night is young.’

  Then he kissed her from just under her ear to the point of her shoulder, pushing her chemise down her arms at the same time. He marvelled at the softness of her skin, the smell of her, the taste of her. Goose bumps rose on her skin where his lips had been. He nipped and licked the slender column of her neck.

  ‘Oh, that’s nice. That is very, very nice,’ she said, with a shaky quiver in her voice.

  He liked the way her body reacted to him. Half-undressed like this, she could not hide from him. She could not say she did not want him, did not need him, as he needed her. The evidence was all over her curvaceous body, in the delectable rosy hue that stained her flesh. He could smell her arousal mingled with a subtle hint of roses and lemon drops. It was a scented net set to tempt him. She needed no such traps to snare him. Tonight he gave himself up willingly.

  His heart sped up considerably at the sight of her breasts as he exposed them to his gaze. Her nipples puckered in the cool air. He had held her magnificent breasts before, in the darkness of Selbourne’s armoire but seeing was so much better. He sent a quick thank you towards the heavens that he had not been blinded while at war. Then he placed his hands on them. They fitted perfectly in his large hands and he squeezed them with the reverence they deserved. He paid homage to them, licking and sucking until Lisbeth was gasping.

  She was better than pudding, he decided, which was a bizarre thought considering the circumstances and considering how much he loved pudding! He banished such ridiculous thoughts in quick order. He had a beautiful woman in his arms and a hunger that could only be satisfied
by her.

  ***

  Lisbeth could feel his restraint in every muscle she touched. She’d known he would be magnificent when she beheld him naked but nothing could have prepared her for the truth of him at the ready.

  Earlier she had panicked before she’d had a chance to rationalise her thoughts. Panicked at the sheer size of him. Thoughts of Nathaniel had come flooding back unbidden. There had been no tenderness in her husband. No care for tender flesh and virginal sensibilities. He had used her like a common whore and then left her to sob in fear and confusion while he snored his head off in the next room.

  Oliver was kissing her eyelids. Her eyelids! What had she expected him to do? Do as Nathaniel had? Throw her on the bed, rip the clothes from her body and roughly slap and bruise her until she cried? No, he was definitely not Nathaniel and she was glad of it. Looking at him now as he smiled at her, his eyes at half-mast as he leaned down to take her lips again, there was little resemblance between Oliver and her husband. Nathaniel had worn his height like a sword, forever ready to strike those smaller than himself. She had seen power in Oliver too but his was of the protective kind. Nathaniel’s eyes had been dark, cold, uncaring, whereas Oliver’s were light, warm and full of humour. She worried about the things she didn’t see in his eyes, the things he was holding back from her. He’d said he would not hurt her and she believed him. He might drive her crazy but he would not hurt her willingly.

  He made her feel things that scared her. This desire was new to her, this wanton fire that spread through her body with every touch of his lips, every caress of his masterful hands, every hungry look he gave her. She wanted him.

  Love me! She could feel the words forming in her throat.

  Love me! It pulsed from her with every beat of her heart.

  Love me, please, her soul implored.

  Yet she said nothing, too much the coward to say the words her whole being wanted to scream.