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Reluctantly Oliver withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts. His cock was hard and aching and he wanted nothing more than to push inside her and give himself release. But now was not the time. A quick glance toward the window showed him that they were well on their way to Candlewood. At any moment they would be turning through the ornate gateposts.
Gently, with particular care and attention, he rearranged her petticoats and skirts back over her stockinged legs and, shifting her into the crook of his arm, he smoothed and straightened the remainder of her clothing. She lay complacent against him, as trusting as a child. When he was done, he lifted her, both hands firm around her waist, and placed her back on to her seat on the opposite side of the coach.
Vivianna sat there and stared at him with an expression of growing and absolute horror.
Oliver was tempted to laugh, but he guessed she would not appreciate levity. Instead, he said, “We are nearly there. If we had half an hour more, Vivianna, I would not stop. I would take you right here, right now. And I will have you. I have just marked you as mine.”
His voice was so low and fierce, he thought he had frightened her, until he saw the flash of anger in her eyes.
“How can you say such a thing?” she managed. “Have you no sense of what is proper?”
He grinned. Proper? After what they had just done? “I have your scent,” he said. “You’re mine.”
She opened her mouth as if to retaliate, but it seemed she could find nothing to say, and she closed it again. She picked up her bonnet and put it on, tying the ribbons with fingers that trembled violently.
Oliver did his best not to remember the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her on his fingers, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as his body throbbed and burned. But
he promised himself that he would have her, and if he was any judge of women he did not think she would put up much resistance.
Chapter 9
Vivianna could not believe what had just happened.
After ignoring him seemed to have run its course, after he had put his warm mouth against her wrist and made her feel dizzy and strange, she had taken out Aphrodite’s letter and read the last part of it. The final instructions.
When you have his attention then you must put it to good use. Lick your lips and imagine kissing him. Remove your hat and gloves slowly, as though you are undressing just for his pleasure. Brush your hands over your clothing as though you are naked. Rest your hand upon his knee and flatter him. Be assured, he will respond, but it is important that you keep him at arm’s length. You are in charge, mon chou, remember that.
She was in charge? Well, she had been for a time. As she smoothed her skirts and licked her lips, Vivianna had found she was enjoying herself. It might be wicked, it might be shocking, but it was also the most exciting and daring thing she had ever done.
And, astoundingly, Oliver had responded, watching her as though she were the most fascinating creature in London. Were men really such simple creatures? she had asked herself with a new and growing awareness. She had him in her power. She really, really did.
And then it had gone wrong. Suddenly he was kissing her and touching her, and she had forgotten the instructions and everything else but the sensation of his hands on her body.
She had failed.
If she wasn’t so terribly embarrassed—and so terribly aware of him—she would have asked to be set down. She would rather have walked along the roadside like a journeyman than be seated here with him. Her body tingled and ached—especially the place he had touched and rubbed and plucked like a violin string, until…good Lord, he had made something happen to her! A great wave of heat and pleasure had rippled through her and she had cried out. Her skin felt as if the top layer had been taken off; so sensitive that even the still air in the coach abraided it.
Of course she knew she should have stopped. But she hadn’t been able to. She hadn’t wanted to, she corrected herself. She had been so caught up in the experience, in the pleasure, in being held in his arms like that, that she hadn’t wanted to stop at all. It was what she had wanted from the beginning—to experience physical passion with the man of her choice without ties. To place herself into the hands of an expert.
Did that make her a fallen woman? An immoral woman? Vivianna did not believe that. She did not accept that. She could not! But, sadly, however much she had enjoyed herself, she was no closer to gaining her promise of Candlewood from Oliver Montegomery.
“Vivianna.”
She didn’t want to look at him. Not yet.
“Vivianna,” he said, his voice low and caressing. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to fear.”
“I am not ashamed, and I do not fear you,” she said in a jerky little voice she hardly recognized. No, she didn’t fear Oliver.
Vivianna feared herself.
She had completely forgotten all of Aphrodite’s instructions, and she had forgotten the shelter. How could she have forgotten the shelter? She had fallen into the arms of a rake and allowed him to pleasure her, and forgotten her real reason for being here.
“Vivianna?”
Slowly, unwillingly, she turned to him. She knew her face was scarlet, but she kept her eyes steady on his. He did not look like a monster. He did not look like a man who was about to wrestle her to the floor and have his way with her, although after what had just happened he probably thought she would welcome it. He looked like Oliver, and although his eyes were still dark with desire, and his mouth red from hers, there was a teaspoonful of doubt behind his usual indolent self-confidence.
“You enjoyed what we did, Vivianna. There’s no reason to feel guilty.”
