WidowsWickedWish (23 page)

“Olivia,” he murmured and she looked up, that damn tranquil
smile lifting her lips.

He couldn’t think what to say, how to break through the
shell of reserve that surrounded her.

He was saved from wading into unknown territory by their
arrival at Hastings House.

Another interminable carriage ride punctuated by the
occasional comment about the wedding breakfast rounded out what had been a
truly dismal wedding day.

Olivia could remember very little of the actual ceremony and
even less of the celebration that had followed.

And now they were in her husband’s carriage on their way to
her husband’s house, presumably to take tea in the horrendous parlor before
retiring to separate chambers to change for dinner.

Then what? The thought brought a tightening to her chest and
she drew a shallow breath. She hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate the
wedding night, had only just managed to get through the endless days leading up
to the ceremony.

When no whispers of her scandalous behavior surfaced, she’d
contemplated ending the betrothal. She could set him free, set them both free.

Except the reprieve from gossip might prove short lived.

How could she condemn Jack and Justine to a life spent
hiding in the north of England?

How could she cast her own children’s futures into certain
disgrace?

For herself she would not have minded the scandal. Save her
mother, her family would have continued to receive her. She might have retired
to the country, perhaps to live the rest of her life at Idyllwild.

But Olivia could no longer think only of her own selfish
desires. She’d done quite enough of that and look where they’d ended up. On a
silent carriage ride through the busy London streets to yet another home that
would never truly be hers, to a life spent with a husband she was doomed to
disappoint.

“I thought we might take dinner informally this evening.”

Jack’s softly spoken words brought her out of her melancholy
thoughts. She looked away from the carriage window to find him watching her.
She focused her gaze on his jaw, on the muscle that ticced beneath the shadow
of whiskers. It was a wonder he hadn’t done permanent damage. It seemed that
every time she’d seen him of late his jaw had been clamped tight.

“With Charles and Frances ensconced at Hastings House and
Justine with my father and Lucille for the night,” he continued, his voice low,
“I see no need to have the servants lay a proper dinner in the dining room.
There is a pretty sitting room between your bedchamber and mine where we might
share a quiet dinner.”

“As you wish,” Olivia agreed, careful to keep any trace of
her thoughts from her voice.

What did he mean share a quiet dinner in the sitting room
that connected their chambers? Surely he did not intend to spend the night with
her. What would be the point?

“What do you wish?” he asked, leaning forward in the seat
across from her, his blue eyes intent upon her.

“I wish…”

What did she wish? She hadn’t a clue in that moment.

“You wish?” he prompted.

“I wish we might find a way to be happy together.” The words
tumbled from her lips unbidden, tumbled into the shadowy carriage where they
seemed to swirl around them.

As if surprised by her admission, Jack leaned back against
the seat, his hands landing on his knees.

“But you don’t believe we will,” he whispered.

“I will do my best to be a good wife to you,” she hurried to
assure him, pasting a practiced smile on her lips. “You have only to tell me
how to please you.”

“You don’t have to please me,” he breathed.

“I am sorry to have stolen your dreams from you.”

“You did not—”

“Twice, no less.”

“Olivia, listen to me.” He leaned forward, his hands coming
out to grasp hers where she’d twisted them in her lap. “I’ve had time to think
these last few days. It is obvious to me now that you did not know Elizabeth
and I had been forced to marry.”

“I swear to you that I did not run to my mother. I never
even saw her that day.”

“Yes. I realize that what happened all those years ago was
not your doing.”

“But it was. My mother saw the way I…she saw and she set a
trap for you.”

“Your mother, not you.”

“You can’t have forgiven my part in it?”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“When I think of how I followed you about all pie-faced…”

“I think you mean moon-eyed,” he corrected with a smile.

“Moon-eyed, pie-faced, whatever,” she replied. “And now I’ve
done it again.”

“You’ve hardly followed me about,” Jack responded slowly.

“Didn’t I? If I hadn’t foolishly believed I could dare to be
wicked,” she said, injecting a trilling laugh into the words that grated in her
ears. “I imagine you found the entire episode ridiculous.”

“What episode?”

She pulled a shuddering breath deep into her lungs, fought
to calm her racing thoughts. She would not fall apart before him. She would be
the proper wife he wanted.

In truth that was all she had to give him, her new husband.
She would be London’s Darling for him, the oh so proper Lady Bentley. She would
be a credit to his name, seeing as how she’d assured it would end with him.

“What sort of lady goes down on her knees in a carriage?”
she asked with a wry grimace that she immediately forced from her lips.
“Trapping you yet again.”

“You did not trap me.” His hands tightened around her
fingers.

“We must cry a spade not a spade,” she answered. “Or
something like that.”

Jack chuckled, the sound dark and gravelly. Olivia shied
away from his touch, from the memories evoked by his husky laughter. Carefully
she extricated her hands from his.

“You did not get the wife you’d hoped for, I know,” she
continued relentlessly, determined to get it all said. “I cannot give you what
you want—”

“Olivia, stop this,” he interrupted with a shake of his
head.

“Please, you must allow me to say it,” she implored. “Then
we will never speak of it again.”

She waited until Jack settled back against the carriage
seat.

“I cannot ever give you a child, a son. But I can give you
all the rest. I want to be the wife you’d hoped for in all other respects. With
the help of my family, I will open every door you wish to enter, for you and
for Justine. I will be a loving stepmother to your daughter. I will be a proper
wife to you.”

Jack made no reply to her speech, in fact he seemed not even
to hear her words. Or perhaps he waited for more. But there was nothing else
she could offer him.

“It will be enough,” he finally answered with a decisive
nod.

Olivia smiled across the space that separated them, hoping
he spoke true, hoping she would prove to be enough for him, hoping that they
might find a way to live a peaceful life together.

“Welcome home, my lady,” Pendergrass greeted when she
entered the narrow foyer, Jack following behind her with one hand pressed to
the small of her back.

“Thank you, Pendergrass,” she replied as Jack handed his
gloves and hat to the butler.

His rented house in Bedford Square was just as she
remembered it. Cluttered with outlandish bric-a-brac and too many furnishings.

“I believe I will rest before dinner,” she said when it
appeared her husband intended to usher her into the front parlor. She was not
ready to enter the room where only weeks before she’d demanded he put his cock…

She pushed the memory from her mind as she’d done a hundred
times in recent days. It hurt to remember how she’d crawled all over him that
day, how she’d fallen to her knees and cried afterward, how he’d carried her to
his bed and made love to her with his mouth.

Worse yet, how he’d forged the head of his shaft into her
swollen cunny, intent upon planting his seed in her barren womb.

What a silly, wanton woman she must have seemed to him with
her endless curiosity and her shameless response to his every touch. She
couldn’t decide which had likely plagued him more, her quiet adoration all
those years ago or her unrestrained lust of the last few months.

It mattered little. She would not torment him with either,
not ever again.

As she slowly made her way upstairs, she vowed that she
would lock away that wicked part of her. She would make no demands of him. If
he should ever decide to come to her bed, and truly she could not imagine why
he would, she would behave with the decorum expected of Lady Bentley, the
decorum expected of any proper wife.

Three hours later Olivia sat in the window seat of her
chamber, her legs curled beside her on the floral cushion. Celeste had assisted
her in bathing and dressing in a lavender muslin dress, one of a dozen she’d
ordered her maid to retrieve from the depths of her closet where she’d shoved
them when she’d returned from Idyllwild.

Olivia had taken one look at the bed covered in a bright
pink comforter and brimming with pillows of every imaginable shape and size and
opted for the padded window seat where she could watch as evening descended
over the small garden behind the house.

She turned at the soft knock on the door which she assumed
led to the sitting room.

“Come in,” she called to whichever servant waited on the
other side.

But it was Jack who opened the door and strode into her
chamber. He wore a long blue robe belted loosely at his waist. His legs and
feet were bare beneath the embroidered silk. His chest gleamed in the deep vee
between the wide lapels.

Olivia felt heat rise to her cheeks and quickly ducked her
head.

“Dinner awaits, Mrs. Bentley,” he drawled. “That is, Lady
Bentley.”

She scrambled off the window seat, disconcerted by the
reminder of her married state and his near nakedness.

“I hadn’t thought…” she began, uncertainly. “That is I…you
are dressed as if for…as if to retire for the night.”

“I fully intend to retire for the night,” he agreed with
smile. “To bed in fact. With my bride. As soon as I’ve fortified her for the
coming ordeal.”

“Coming ordeal,” she repeated, tempted to grin back at him,
tempted to toss back some naughty quip.

They looked at one another through an awkward beat of
silence.

“Did you think I would not wish to make love to you on our
wedding night?” Jack finally asked in obvious surprise.

Of course. They must consummate the marriage or it was not a
true marriage.

“How silly,” she said as much to herself as to the man who
stood staring at her from across the room.

“Indeed,” he agreed, holding his hand out to her.

Olivia walked to him and placed her hand in his, a shiver
racing up her spine at the feel of his fingers engulfing hers.

The sitting room was cozy, or it would have been had there
not been a huge stuffed bear in one corner.

“Goodness,” Olivia said as she took in the ferocious beast
with his great clawed paws raised above his massive head.

“I should have thought to have him removed before now,” Jack
replied with a laugh. “In truth I have found him to be a soothing companion
these last days.”

Mrs. Good had curbed her tendency to over accentuate a room,
but only just barely. The walls were a soft buttery yellow above white
wainscoting. Blue drapes were pulled back from the tall open windows to reveal
the night beyond. The furnishings were a hodge-podge of dark wood and delicate
white pieces. Portraits and landscapes dressed the walls at uneven intervals,
creating a haphazard jumble that appealed to Olivia.

In the center of the room before the cold hearth sat a round
table draped in rose silk. A dozen candles scattered about the room cast
flickering light over silver trays of cold meat and cheese and fruit. A bottle
of champagne rested in a matching ice bucket, two glasses already having been
poured.

Jack seated her on a chair before circling the table to take
the seat across from her.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ordered a light dinner,” he
said.

“Not at all.”

“I thought with the weather being unseasonably warm a full
seven-course meal would be too much.”

“It has been dreadfully hot this past week,” she agreed,
watching as he served her from the various platters.

“The past two weeks,” he replied.

“We could do with a bit of rain,” she added.

Olivia worked hard to keep the conversation casual, steering
them into a protracted discussion of the weather, the latest gossip, and
finally which invitations they should accept in the final weeks of the Season.
And all the while she was painfully aware of Jack’s wide chest visible across
the table, of his hands refilling her glass, of his warm gaze on her face, on
the column of her throat, on the swell of her breasts above the bodice of her
gown.

Only a few weeks ago she would have imagined she saw desire
in his hooded gaze. She might have pushed back from the table to clamber into
his lap. Perhaps she would have fed him with her hands, her fingers teasing
over his lips, trailing over his jaw and down his neck to disappear beneath his
robe.

She shook her head at her foolish thoughts. A proper wife
did none of those things.

“Is the custard not to your liking?”

She looked up in surprise to find him watching her stabbing
her spoon into the warm desert.

“It’s fine,” she replied, shoveling a spoonful past her lips
to prove it. She darted her tongue out to catch a wayward drop and Jack’s eyes
fixed on her mouth.

Her breath caught at the fierce look in his eyes. His jaw
clamped tight.

“I should,” she began, not at all sure what she should do.
He was looking at her as if he desired her. But Olivia was no longer fooled. It
wasn’t desire that she saw in his eyes, in the clenching of his jaw. It was the
same cold determination she’d seen a dozen times, every time he’d forced
himself to bed her.

“You should prepare to have your husband make love to you,”
he whispered, his eyes lifting to hers.

“Of course.” She pushed her chair back and rose to her feet,
her heart racing. “If you will give me a moment to call my maid. I will receive
you shortly.”