Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

D espite what she'd said to him, Olivia admitted it would have been nice if he'd accepted her offer to be the one to introduce her to the art of pleasure. She supposed it was still difficult for him to see past his vision of her as his respectable young neighbor, but she was determined that by the end of this evening he would be looking at her through newly opened eyes.

With that in mind, she set out to be as outrageous as she possibly could. Men flocked to her, so there was no need to seek them out, and she flirted and laughed and tossed her head, trying not to show how secretly horrified she was by some of their remarks. At least, those that she could understand.

The other women, at first wary and occasionally hostile, seemed to become more friendly as the night wore on. One even insisted on fetching her a drink to quench her thirst, and the sweet, syrupy liquid was rather like lemonade. Olivia had no qualms in accepting a second glass. Afterward, things became a little blurry around the edges, and it crossed her mind that the kindness might have been a trick, in order to remove a rival.

But by then it was too late.

"I am tipsy, quite, quite tipsy!" she cried.

Olivia tilted back her head and watched the chandelier spinning around, and it wasn't until she nearly fell that she realized it was actually she who was spinning. Her skirts belled out, her loosened hair whipped about her face, and she laughed aloud with the sheer joy of being alive.

As night slipped into morning, the noise grew louder and the company slipped further out of control. Some of the couples disappeared into dark corners, or the rooms upstairs, or else rode off in their carriages. Several of the dancers were putting on an impromptu show amid wild shrieks of laughter and applause. Nic had found a woman—or she had found him—and now she was clinging to his side like a burr. He thought it was probably so that she didn't fall over, rather than because she fancied him—she had drunk a great deal of champagne.

Nic was surprisingly sober. He smiled politely at the high jinks around him but he wasn't enjoying himself. He'd been keeping an eye on Olivia as she flitted from one besotted gentleman to the next, cleverly holding them at arm's length, then moving on before it became awkward. Once, he lost sight of her, and he found himself searching the room in a state of pure funk until he found her again .

If she noticed his nursemaidish attitude she didn't show it. Never once did she turn to see if he was there, or try to catch his eye. He alternated between wanting to take her into a corner and show her exactly how frustrated he felt, and wanting to bundle her up, toss her over his shoulder, and take her home.

"Mmm." The darkhaired beauty at his side licked her lips. "Do you want me to kiss you? I am famous for my kissing." Her gaze slid down over his trousers and she licked her lips again, so that he couldn't mistake her meaning.

"I'm sure you are."

Her eyes were brown, with a slight squint that was not unattractive, and he knew at any other time she would make him a perfect companion for an hour or two's entertainment. She would know her place and never disturb his peace of mind.

Unlike Olivia Monteith.

Nic glanced about, realizing he'd lost sight of her again. To his horror, he saw that she was climbing up onto the dais, with the dancers, and preparing to join them. Her admirers—she seemed to have gathered a dozen or so by now—were clapping their hands and stamping their feet and calling for her to dance. She looked down at them with a fond and slightly lopsided smile. The black dress was slipping again, but she probably didn't notice, and probably didn't realize she was showing far more of herself than was proper.

Proper. He snorted. It was not a word Nic had used for a long time. And yet here he was, like some sort of puritan knight, guarding his property from the lechery of men who were behaving just as he himself had behaved in years past.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand what she was doing to him. It was time he reminded her, and himself, that he was no tame pussycat. Nic shook off the surprised brunette and began to fight his way through the crowd until he reached the dais.

By now Olivia was kicking up her feet, her black dress lifting to show quite a lot of slim stockinged leg. One of her slippers came off, sailing into the crowd, and there was a mad scramble to souvenir it. Olivia stumbled, doubled over with laughter, and Nic took his chance to jump onto the dais and swing her up into his arms. Running down the steps at the side, he made off with her to shouts of protest, cries of "Foul" and "Unfair," and "Let the doxy make her own choice, Lacey!" He ignored them all, as well as Olivia's breathless squeaks and wriggles.

He was still carrying her, out into the hall and up the curving flight of stairs, right to the top, without even taking time to catch his breath. He felt like a warrior of old, claiming his prize of war, as he strode boldly along the wide, opulent corridor. Several of the bedchambers were already engaged, but he finally found one that was empty. With the door closed and locked, he set her free.

She backed away from him, looking cross and disheveled, and he saw that her neckline had slipped again. She noticed his interest and tugged it up, watching him suspiciously, her eyes overbright from champagne, while her fair hair tumbled around her shoulders. She looked, he thought, completely adorable. But that didn't make him any less furious with her for spoiling his night and turning him into some kind of unwilling fairy godfather.

"You don't have to do this," she said, her words running into each other. "Prprotect me, I mean. I am pperfectly capable of looking after myself."

"Yes, I can see that," he sneered.

"I—I never realized before what a boring old prprude you are, Nic."

Nic knew then that he'd reached his breaking point. He had tried to be good and do the right thing, and where had it got him? No more Nic the gentleman. It might be reprehensible, but now he was going to do what he'd wanted to from the first moment he set eyes on her on the ballroom floor.

Slowly he prowled toward her, watching her, a hard smile flicking at his lips. "Is that what you think I'm doing, Olivia? Protecting you?"

"Yes. Because you think I—I can't look after myself." But despite her air of selfrighteous certainty, her glance slid nervously from his.

"Well, can you?"

"Absolutely." Her dress began to slip again as she turned to keep him in sight as he circled her.

"Do you know why I attend the demimonde ball, Olivia?"

"To enjoy yourself as gentlemen are wont to do, I iimagine. "

"To find a woman I can tutor in my likes and dislikes."

"Tutor?" she said, doubtfully. "In conversation, do you mean?"

"In bed," he corrected her, moving closer still.

Her eyes widened, her lips opened, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat. "Do gentlemen have likes and dislikes in bed? Well, I suppose they do. It makes perfect sense that—"

He cut her short. "I think, seeing you've succeeded in ruining my chances of finding a companion I can tutor, you should offer yourself up in her place."

Now he had her full attention. "Oh you do, do you? I offered you the chance to show me the plpleasures of the flflesh before, and you refused. I don't think you should get a second chance."

"I deserve a second chance, Olivia."

He looked down at her breasts, and with one finger reached out to trace the pink half circle of her areola, peeking above the black velvet and lace. She began to speak, but when he delved beneath the cloth and stroked her nipple, whatever she'd meant to say ended as a gurgle.

"I've been wanting to do that all night," he said in a deep, rough voice. "But you knew that, didn't you, minx? You've known it all along. Well, I hope you're satisfied."

She shook her head as if to deny his words, but when he put his arm around her, she swayed into its curve, her eyes fluttering closed. He bent his head and took her nipple delicately between his lips, using his tongue to touch and tease. She tasted like raspberries.

"Is that one of your likes?" she gasped.

"Oh definitely," he growled, and pulled her further into his arms, until her body was crushed so hard to his it was difficult to tell where one began and the other ended.

The desire in him erupted. He'd been fighting this ever since she called on him and proposed to him, and he was going to fight no more.

Her remaining slipper arced across the room as he swung her into his arms, her breasts bare to his gaze and his mouth. He proceeded to lavish attention on them as he carried her to the bed. She clung to his neck, her voice a meaningless low murmur, but he was on fire and the time for talking was over.

He tossed her onto the bed and stripped off his jacket and pulled the shirt over his head, careless of torn seams. She'd rolled onto her back and was propped up on her elbows, watching him, her hair tangled about her, her eyes heavylidded, her lips partly open.

He began to unfasten his trousers, watching her, waiting for her to grow shocked and coy, perhaps hide her face in her hands. She didn't. Her gaze took in his body as it was revealed, only widening when his cock sprang free.

"Ggoodness," she managed. "Does it always do that?"

"Only when I'm aroused," he said, "and believe me, I am very aroused right now. "

"I can see you are." She brushed her hair from her eyes for a better view. "How can you tell if a woman is, eh, aroused?"

Nic couldn't remember ever having a conversation like this one, but then Olivia Monteith wasn't like other women.

"Your breasts. See how your nipples are peaked. Hard."

She looked down at herself and then reached to touch a pink bud with her fingertip, her face flushed and rapt. Nic tried not to groan aloud. He climbed onto the bed and moved closer, his heavy erection swaying between his legs.

"I see," she whispered, touching herself again. "And there's an ache . . ." Her bright eyes lifted to his.

"An ache?" he rasped, running his hand up her stockinged leg, bunching up her skirts as he went. "Where does it ache?"

"I can't say . . ."

Or she wouldn't.

Nic smiled to himself as he carefully lowered his body onto hers. She made a sound, falling back into the soft mattress, and he propped himself up on his arms so that he could see her glorious face.

"The ache means you're getting ready for me," he said. "Growing warm and moist and soft, so that I can slide all the way inside you. Deep inside you."

"How deep?" she whispered .

He bent his head to hers, anticipating the kiss. "Deep enough to make you mine," he told her.

Her lashes lowered. She smiled. "I think I would like that."

Her lips were soft and eager, and he slid his tongue inside her mouth, aware of her thighs beneath his, the hard nubs of her breasts against his naked chest. Desire, the need to possess, had overcome all his scruples. He'd have her, and the consequences be damned.

Nic reached down and closed his fingers over her hip, caressing the satiny flesh, moving lower. She was wearing something silky in place of the usual hideous drawers that women tended to wear under their pretty skirts, but the fact that she was wearing anything at all made her unique at this gathering. Still, there was a slit into which he could slip his hand. His fingers touched soft hair and slick flesh, and he felt her instinctive withdrawal. He began to murmur soothing words as he continued to stroke her, feeling her respond. Her nectar coated his fingers as he pressed them inside her, preparing the way.

Knowing he was the first had a peculiar effect on him. Before tonight he'd never thought of himself as possessive, but now the need to hold on to her, to own her completely, gripped him with an unstoppable urgency. Nic told himself not to be ridiculous, but the feeling remained. Was it some fundamental male urge left over from the days of the cavemen, who had to fight for everything they wanted and then fight to keep it?

But what right have I to keep Olivia Monteith? This will only lead to trouble. Remember Sarah . . .

"Nic?" Her soft voice pierced his distraction. She was touching his cheek, and then she began to nuzzle her lips against his jaw. "Nic, don't stop," she breathed. "I don't want you to stop. I like what you're doing to me."

But it was too late. The intrusive voice in his head had acted as a brake. Nic had come to his senses with the realization that he was about to deflower Miss Olivia Monteith. Remember Sarah? How in God's name could he forget her and the tragedy that had ripped his family apart, a tragedy Olivia knew absolutely nothing about? Why the bloody hell did everything have to be so complicated?

He lifted his head and met her eyes. "Olivia . . ."

She stared at him, reading his words before he could utter them, and the desire in her face drained away, leaving her white and tired, and suddenly very vulnerable.