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This was Nic’s bedchamber.
He smiled at her over the rim of his glass. “Good morning,” he said, gesturing toward the window. She followed his glance and saw that it was truly morning now, the sun outside setting the undrawn curtains aglow.
Her body ached in places that were new to her, and she felt sleepy and wildly alive at the same time. She reached up to touch his jaw, feeling the rasp of the beard that was a dark shadow against his skin. He was still wearing his evening clothes, and despite the circles under his eyes and his slightly rumpl
ed appearance, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
He lifted the glass to her lips and she sipped, some brandy trickling down her chin. He set the glass down, and got busy with the tip of his tongue, lapping up the liquid. When he was done, he smiled and began to kiss her, slowly, intensely.
Olivia knew there were so many things to say, so many things to do—the most important being to get home without causing a shocking scandal—but right now nothing seemed to matter but returning Nic’s kisses and the growing warm rush of returning desire.
Rakes definitely made the best lovers.
“Nic…”
“Mmm?”
He was exploring the curve of her ear, and she felt the rasp of his teeth against her earlobe, sending a shiver down her backbone. He cupped her breast through the black dress, and the sight of his long fingers doing something so intimate was enough to make her gasp and squirm into his arms.
It occurred to her that he had spent a great deal of time touching her, undressing her, and she wanted to do the same to him. Was she brave enough, did she dare? Olivia ran her fingers across his broad shoulder, until she reached his neck. He hadn’t put his neck cloth back on after she all but tore it from him, and now she stroked his warm skin. His shirt was open at the top, and she could see a tantalizing strand or two of hair from the thick mat across his chest. There was a pulse in his throat and she pressed her lips to it, and the scent of him, the feel of him, ignited a spark inside her.
Olivia knew she could do this; she would.
“Take off your jacket,” she said, reaching to help him slip his arms from the sleeves, tugging the garment from him and dropping it to the floor. Next came his shirt, and he raised his arms as she pulled it over his head, and also discarded it. His naked chest was right there in all its masculine glory, and she ran her palms over it, enjoying the different textures of skin and muscle and hair. She traced a circle around his left nipple with her fingertip, fascinated by the flat, dark shape and the desire-hardened nub in the center. When she bent to close her lips over him, he made a murmur of approval, and the knowledge that he was enjoying what she was doing as much as she was enjoying doing it gave her even more confidence. It urged her on.
Olivia found his other nipple, and spent some time there. The sensation was intensely erotic for her, the realization that she was in control of him and he was submitting to her. Next she explored his stomach, and the dark line of hair running down to his navel and on to the fastening of his trousers. Suddenly it seemed very important she follow that line. She ran her tongue as far as she could, feeling him shudder, and then her fingers began to work on the buttons.
Her heart was beating hard. She was seducing him, and he was allowing it. In fact—she glanced up at him—he was enjoying it. Nic was watching her beneath half-lowered lids, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath he took. She thought he might tell her what to do, after all he’d made her believe he preferred his lovers to be well tutored in his likes and dislikes, but he said nothing.
This sense of power, of being in control, was something Olivia had never imagined she’d feel in such a situation. All her life she’d been told that the man was to be deferred to in such matters, that the woman must be compliant, bearing it as best she could. But here she was, doing exactly as she wished, and Nic was allowing it.
Olivia slipped her hand inside his trousers and found him, hard and ready. She took him in her hand, exploring this part of him with a sense of wonder. Steel and velvet, she decided, but there was nothing inanimate about him. He was so alive. She bent closer, and then ran her tongue along his stem.
He groaned. “Yes.”
Olivia pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked up at him. He was sprawled back in the chair, hands clenched on the carved wooden arms, his face a taut mask of pleasure. He was hers, she thought in wonder. Who would have thought that an inexperienced young lady could have a rake at her mercy like this?
Emboldened, Olivia bent over him again, and this time she took him into her mouth.
He jerked, catching her head, holding her still while he thrust gently. The experience was new and exciting, and she was prepared to go further, but he had other plans. Nic stood up. Half naked, he stared down at her, like some magnificent and savage idol, with his shaft rising up toward his belly, and his skin gleaming in the firelight. Beneath his hooded lids his dark eyes glittered with an inner fire of their own, and he reached down to her, fingers outstretched.
“Come to bed,” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered, taking his hand and rising to her feet.
The bed was old and grand, with four posts and the tapestry hangings. It looked like something that was befitting Lord Lacey of Castle Lacey. A little voice murmured in her head: How many women have lain here? But she ignored it. The past didn’t matter, she told herself firmly. It was now, the present, that was important.
Perhaps he read something of her thoughts, because he spoke in a low, deep voice. “Do you think a Lacey and a Monteith have ever stood here before now? The first Lord de Lacey held droit du seigneur over his tenants. My wicked ancestor had only to see a girl in the fields and fancy her, and he could have her brought to his bed.”
Olivia had been struggling with her dress fastenings, and now the black silk and velvet pooled at her feet. She began to take out her few remaining pins, letting her hair fall. “Your ancestor doesn’t sound very nice,” she said.
He came and stood before her, a strange smile on his face. “He wasn’t.”
She eyed him doubtfully. “Nic?”
“It’s said he had a way of transfixing the girls, forcing them to his will by the sheer power of his personality.”
