Betrayed by Your Kiss (9 page)

“Olivia! Bloody hell.”

She rolled into a tight ball on the edge of the bed and hugged her arms around her middle. She didn’t think he’d intentionally hurt her. But she was frightened.

Her head pounded as she struggled to breathe, and her heart thundered in her breast. She moved farther away from him.

“Are you all right?” He turned her over and looked down on her. His eyes were wide with fear, his breathing harsh and labored. His hands moved over her with frantic urgency. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“No. I’m fine.” She coughed.

He ran his fingers over her face and down her arms. He touched her gently, then brushed her hair back from her face.

“Ah, bloody hell! Do you know what could have happened to you?”

He ran the callused pads of his fingers down her neck, touching the spots where his fingers had clamped against her. He jumped from the bed with only the slightest stumble and rinsed a cloth in the cool basin water. He came back to the bed and laid the cloth over her neck.

There was still a look of panic on his face. “What the hell were you doing in here?”

“You were having a nightmare,” Olivia choked out. “I came to wake you.”

“Don’t
ever
do that again! I could have—”

He rinsed the cloth in the water again and laid it back on her skin. Their gazes locked and held. Neither of them could look away.

“I’m fine, Damien. You just frightened me, that’s all.”

“You’re going to have marks in the morning.”

“I’ll wear something high that covers them.”

His voice grew quiet. Softer. “Why couldn’t you have left me alone?”

He stared at her, his breathing still harsh and jagged. Then he leaned over her. His body angled across hers, his hip touching her, burning her. He braced his left arm on the other side of her at her waist, his nearness more disturbing than she could fight.

For just one moment, Olivia was certain Damien no longer remembered the scar that ran the length of his face. For just one moment he’d forgotten his vow not to love her. For just one moment she forgot he would never love her. And that kissing him would be the biggest mistake of her life.

He lowered his head, and it was too late.

His lips pressed against her with a desperation that stole her breath. He wanted her. She could feel it in the pressure of his mouth against hers, in the way his lips moved over hers.

Again and again he kissed her, long, hard, deep. Until his breathing was a part of her. There was no gentleness in his taking of her. None of the refined passion he’d shown her in their youth, but a raw, needy demand that left her weak. Then his mouth opened atop hers, and his tongue entered her mouth.

She was on fire, burning from a desire she’d harbored in desolation. She wanted him. Wanted him with a need that was all-consuming.

Olivia wrapped her arms around his neck and gave in to him. His tongue sought her out, touching, finding. And she welcomed him with every ounce of her being. She needed him. Couldn’t get enough of him.

Low, earthy moans echoed in the heated darkness, hers, his, their frantic breaths a part of each other. She’d never known such desire.

She reached for him, holding, touching, rubbing her hands over his shoulders, down his arms. She couldn’t get close enough to him, and with each kiss of desperation, she knew he battled the same desires that raged through her.

His hands touched her breasts as his mouth drank from her lips. Olivia arched into him, the fiery need inside her building until it was nearly out of control. And he kissed her again. And again. His tongue working her to a mindless frenzy. She held on to him, fearful she might drop from the frightening height where they’d flown together.

She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders then moved her hands up and down his body. He was so strong, his muscles hard and knotted beneath her fingers. She moved her hands over the corded ripples across his shoulders, then cupped the sides of his face in her palms and—

He pulled her hands away from him and pinned them to her sides. “Don’t touch me. Not there.”

Olivia felt the air leave her body. The realization of what they were doing—of what she’d allowed him to do, filled her with a deep-seated anger. She was such a fool.

“Please, get off me.”

He didn’t move. “Why? So you can pretend this didn’t happen? So you can pretend you don’t want me?”

“I don’t want you.”

She gasped for air. Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe. What had she done? She was in shameful disarray, her gown up around her thighs and her wrap gaping to reveal her exposed breasts. She fought to free her hands from his grasp, then pushed her gown down as she rolled away from him and slid from the bed. The moment her feet hit the floor, she pulled her wrapper closed and covered herself. When there was some semblance to the way she looked, she walked silently to the door.

“It’s no use, Olivia. You enjoyed what just happened.”

Her hand froze on the door handle and the blood roared in her head. “Not as much as I regret what just happened. Not nearly as much as I regret it.” And she opened the door, stepped out into the hallway and left him.

The hallway was dimly lit, the carpet thick beneath her slippers. Her heart thundered with each step away from his room. By the time she was back in her own room, she felt as if the weight of the world had been placed on her shoulders. As if the painful heaviness pressing against her breast had grown ten times.

And she knew she would remember the kiss they’d shared until her dying day.

Chapter 11

“The Earl of Rotham to see you, my lady.”

Olivia looked up from the papers she was working on and glanced at Chivers standing in the open doorway to her study.

“Are you receiving?”

Olivia laid down her pen, then shoved her chair back from the desk. “Yes, Chivers. I’ll see the earl in the morning room. Please see that tea is served.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Chivers left the room and Olivia rose to her feet. Even though Rolland didn’t know it, she was eager to see him. Her whole future seemed at risk, and she thought Rolland held the key. Especially after the way Damien had kissed her the other night. She needed Rolland’s predictability so she could erase Damien’s demanding turbulence.

Olivia followed Chivers down the hall, trying to forget the memory of Damien holding her, of his lips moving atop hers, of his tongue invading her mouth. For two days, she’d done everything in her power to avoid him. Everything to keep herself hidden. And during the daylight, she’d been successful. It was during the long, sleepless nights that his memory haunted her, that she lay awake, thinking of him, listening for him. And when she could take no more, she’d get up and sit in the dark and watch for him to come home.

She didn’t know where he went or whom he saw, but he left each night after dark and didn’t return until the wee hours of the morning.

Only once since that night had she heard noise coming from the room down the hall, and knew he was in the throes of another nightmare. But she didn’t go to him again. She didn’t want to risk a repeat of the other night.

Olivia’s cheeks fanned with heat as she walked through the door to where Rolland waited for her. The concerned look on his face when he turned to her forced her to forget Damien’s kisses, but her fingers flitted across the fluted chiffon she wore at her neck, arranged just high enough to cover the ugly bruising.

“Olivia. Are you all right?”

The Marquess of Rotham rushed across the room and clasped her hands in his.

“Yes, Rolland. I’m perfectly fine. Is there something wrong?”

Rotham led her to a sofa and sat down beside her. He kept her hands clasped in his.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been attacked the other night?”

Olivia wanted to laugh. She’d nearly forgotten about the attack. So much more had happened since then. So much that was far more monumental than a mere attack. “Because nothing happened. It was just a drunken lecher,” she lied, “intent on stealing what little coin I had with me.”

“But you could have been hurt.”

“I’m fine.” She looked down at her hands nestled in his because she couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Someone came to my rescue.”

“Olivia, I’ve been far too lenient with you. But this last attack leaves me no choice.”

Rolland released her hands and stood, towering over her like an avenging angel. “Olivia, I forbid you to go to the docks unless I go with you.”

“You what?”

“You heard me. It’s for your own good. I don’t want you to go down there again if I don’t accompany you. And never after dark.”

Olivia was stunned. “And if you aren’t available to escort me?”

“Then you will postpone going until I am available.”

Olivia tried to stamp down her temper. She took several deep breaths like she’d learned to do over the years. But this time it didn’t help.

“I have a business to run,” she said through clenched teeth. “I have to go to the docks.”

“Olivia, it’s not safe.”

She couldn’t handle this. Not with everything else. “Rolland, please. I don’t want to argue.”

Lord Rotham sat back down beside her and turned so his knees touched hers. “Neither do I, Olivia. I care for you. You already know that. We’ve discussed it repeatedly. Just as we’ve discussed the advantages of a marriage between us.”

Rolland took her hands in his and held them.

Olivia let her fingers rest in his, let the cool touch of his palms seep into hers. Then she pulled her hands from his grasp and walked away from him.

“What is it, Olivia? Something’s wrong. What is it?”

Olivia knew what she wanted to do, what she
had
to do. She wiped her damp palms against her skirt and slowly turned to face him.

“Could I ask a favor?”

“Of course. Anything.” Rolland slowly rose from the cushion and walked toward her. There was a frown on his face, a look of concern. She felt a twinge of guilt, but was far too nervous for it to bother her.

“What do you need, Olivia?” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders.

It was a friendly gesture, a familiar, yet proper gesture that couldn’t be mistaken in any manner as being intimate.

He was a tall man, as tall if not even taller than Damien, and as broad. But that is where the similarities ended. Rolland was as fair as Damien was dark; as straightforward and readable as Damien was closed and mysterious; as easygoing as Damien was explosive. And he offered her everything Damien withheld from her.

“Olivia. What is it?”

Olivia swallowed. “Would you please kiss me?”

Rolland dropped his hands from her shoulders as if she’d burned him, and took a step back.

“What?”

“Would you kiss me?”

Olivia saw the shocked look on his face and stumbled to explain herself. “You’ve never kissed me—other than a light touch on my forehead when bidding me good night.” Olivia twisted her hands in front of her. “You’ve asked me to marry you, even demanded it,” she said with a shaky smile, “but you’ve never kissed me. Would you kiss me now?”

He stepped closer and smiled. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

And he kissed her.

His lips were warm and smooth atop hers, his kiss perfect in execution, with just the right blend of heat and emotion. There wasn’t a hint of unrestrained passion, but that of a quiet giving, of a sharing of emotions while holding passion in check. And yet, Olivia thought she felt a deepening of desire simmering just beneath the surface. A passion she was sure would develop into something more than friendship. And he kissed her again.

Rolland wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. And Olivia gave in to him, kissing him back, shoving Damien far back in her memory and giving Rolland as much as she could. And it was there, a stirring deep in her belly. The awakening of emotions she thought had died when she thought she’d lost Damien. The relief she felt was indescribable. The delight of knowing that physical pleasure would be part of her marriage to Rolland.

He kissed her once more, then lifted his mouth from hers and stared down at her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her breathing rushed, yet controlled.

He ran his fingers down the side of her face and nodded. “Neither of us are under any delusions, Olivia. We have both found the loves of our lives and lost them. I don’t expect to find the love I had with Felicity ever again, and I know you don’t expect to find what you had with Iversley. But that is not to say that something special will not grow between us. We are already more than comfortable with each other. I am confident in time a strong fondness will develop.”

Olivia sadly agreed. She didn’t expect a grand passion from her marriage to Rolland. His words forewarned her of that. But she could have something else. She would have happiness. She would have a home. She would have a companion with whom she would always be comfortable. And in time, perhaps even come to love deeply.

And she would have children. The love she needed would come from them. The love she had inside her would be given to them. She would be content.

“I will call for you tonight at eight. Lady Conover is hosting a musicale featuring an evening of Mozart. I know how fond you are of that composer’s music.”

Olivia smiled again and gave Rolland her hand. He kissed her fingers, then lifted her chin and kissed her gently on the lips.

“We’ll talk later,” he said and turned to walk out of the room. He stopped before he reached the door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Felicity’s aunt, Lady Chandler, and cousin Prudence are in town for a few weeks, and I promised to show them around. Felicity and Prudence were the closest of friends, and we have stayed in touch even after Felicity’s death. Would you mind if they joined us for the Conover musicale?”

“Of course not. I’d be delighted.”

“Thank you, Olivia. I’ll see you tonight.” And Rolland left.

Olivia watched his retreating back, and when he was gone, she walked over to the far side of the room and stared out into the garden.

“That was a foolish thing to do.”

Olivia spun around to see Damien standing in the open doorway. He wore no jacket or waistcoat, but was dressed in a loose white shirt that he’d tucked into buff breeches. He leaned casually against the doorjamb and studied her with his arms crossed over his chest and one booted foot over the other. There was a dark look on his face, and her breath caught in her throat as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came down to talk to you but noticed you had a visitor.” Damien picked up a small hand-painted vase and studied it closely. “You shouldn’t have let him kiss you.”

Olivia felt her temper rise. “How dare you.”

“Aren’t you going to ask why?”

“No.”

He set the vase back on the table and stepped closer to her. “It’s not wise to compare two lovers’ kisses.”

“I see.”

Olivia watched him for a long while, then moved toward him. She cocked her head at an angle, and he turned so the left side of his face wasn’t so exposed. She didn’t let that deter her. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“Which kiss I enjoyed more. Yours or Rolland’s.”

“No.”

“Ah. How confident you are.”

Olivia took another step closer to him. Her toes nearly touched his as her wide skirts wrapped around his legs. His face was completely exposed to her, and she knew he wanted to take a step away, but his pride wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he angled his head slightly so the scar wasn’t in her line of view.

“You are assuming, my lord, that I found Rolland’s kiss inferior to yours.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I honestly can’t say. Yours was evidently not that memorable. I barely recall it.”

She thought she saw a smile lift the corners of his mouth, but before she was certain he turned away from her, not giving her a clear view of his face.

“Then perhaps a reminder is in order.”

He reached for her, but she pushed him away. “No. I don’t want you to kiss me again.”

“Because you’re afraid this time you won’t be able to stop?”

“No. Because I find your kisses too assuming. As well as offensive.”

She heard the intake of his breath.

“There was a time you didn’t.”

She spun on him, her glare burning. “There was a time you had rights you no longer have.”

Damien smiled, then walked through the room. He stopped and filled a glass with a small amount of brandy, then sat in one of the two chairs angled in front of the fireplace. He stretched his legs out in front of him as if he belonged here, as if he were lord of the manor.

Olivia closed her eyes and pushed aside the growing ache in her chest. Oh, there was a time when she’d imagined Damien sitting here like this, when a vision of him stretched out before a fire was everything she’d always dreamed. But no more. Not now, knowing what she did. Knowing there would never be a word of affection spoken between them. Knowing he wanted her because he thought he had a right to her.

The anger she felt was like a sharp knife through her heart. She wanted him gone. She didn’t trust herself near him. Not when she remembered how easily she’d given in to his kisses.

She took a step closer to where he sat and faced him. “I see you’re nearly healed. How soon before you leave?”

“Are you in a hurry to have me gone, Olivia?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “Well, I’m not in a hurry to leave. I enjoy your hospitality. I enjoy being with you.”

“No, you don’t. You enjoy tormenting me. You enjoy threatening me. And you enjoy the idea of punishing me for the grave injustices you think I’ve committed. Injustices you consider beyond redemption. But you do not enjoy being with me.”

He took a sip of brandy, then tipped his head back against the cushion and stared up at the ceiling. All the while, he rubbed his right thigh, kneading the muscles as if loosening painful knots.

“You’re not entirely right, Olivia. I hardly think I’ve tormented or threatened you, and I don’t consider it punishment to come back to claim what should have been mine.”

“Then what do you consider it?”

His head slowly turned until his unyielding gaze was locked with hers. “Retribution. Something justly deserved. I have come back to take what should have been mine four years ago. What your father agreed I should have.” He turned his head and looked at her. “What you took from me.”

Damien’s words struck her with the force of a fist aimed at her gut. She nearly sank to her knees. “You’ll never believe I put you aboard Captain Durham’s ship that night to save your life, will you?”

“No, Olivia. Never that. You forget. I saw the doubt in your eyes when Strathern barged into our ball with his accusations. The look of condemnation on your face. The look of disappointment.” He tightened one hand into a fist. “If only you would have faced society with me. If only you would have given me a chance to prove that I loved you more than your father’s ships. But you didn’t.”

Damien sat forward in his chair and drained the little that remained in the bottom of his glass. “And now we will both live with the choice you made.”

The painful pressure in her chest tightened. “And do you blame me for the scars, too, for everything that happened to you?”

Damien slowly stood, his legs unsteady at first, then seeming to gain strength. He didn’t look at her, but walked to the window and stood with his arm braced against the wood while staring out at the carriages rumbling past the front of the house. He was quiet for several long minutes. Finally, he spoke.

“No, Olivia. The fire wasn’t your fault. You didn’t start it, and I’m sure if you would have known the
Princess Anne
was going to burn, you would have chosen another ship to take me.”