Chapter 29

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

O livia was shaking inside. A storm of emotion she struggled to hide behind her serene exterior. The confrontation with Miriam Cathcart had been worse than she'd thought it would be, but then she hadn't bargained on Nic having been the woman's lover. On the other hand, it was pleasing when Lady Querrol asked for the name of her dressmaker, and had shown none of Mrs. Cathcart's bias when Olivia spoke Esmeralda's name. Several other women, hearing of Lady Querrol's interest, had followed her lead and also asked Olivia. For Esmeralda's sake, Olivia hoped she had found her some new clients among the cream of London society.

Meanwhile, her inner storm raged on.

How could Nic spend his time and his kisses on a woman like Miriam Cathcart? She was truly awful. Attractive, yes, but with a sly, destructive manner that spoke of many hearts broken and many lives ruined.

"Olivia . . ."

Nic stopped her progress effectively by slipping his arm about her waist and turning her about. Breathless, she pressed her palms to his chest, to keep some space between them as they stood surrounded by the moving river of guests.

"Will you dance with me?"

Surprised, she looked up into his face. He was smiling his selfmocking smile, as though preparing himself for rejection. Surely no one ever rejected Nic? Olivia's fingers crept to his cheek, stroking his skin. He turned his face and kissed the hollow of her palm, before folding her fingers over and holding them in his.

"Will you? Dance with me, Olivia? It would make the night complete."

She nodded, a lump in her throat. "Yes. I will dance with you, Nic."

For a time, she simply enjoyed the feel of him moving with her, his strong arms about her, the touch of his hands, the dark gleam of his eyes, his masculine scent and charismatic presence. He seemed to draw every other woman's gaze toward him without even trying or being aware of it, and there was something very attractive about being with a man like that.

"I thought you'd be angry with me," she said, meeting his eyes and holding them.

"Why would I be angry with you? Because you said what you thought? Olivia, I enjoyed every moment of it."

"But she was your lover once, wasn't she?" After the words left her mouth, Olivia wondered whether she'd gone too far, especially when Nic allowed some time to elapse before answering her.

"Yes, she was," he said, his voice dropping, this conversation for her alone. "You could call her my first love. I thought my heart was broken, but now I know it was my pride."

"She left you?" Olivia asked curiously.

Nic's gaze lowered to her décolletage, warming her skin as he took in the curves of her breasts and the dark shadow of her cleavage. But Olivia wasn't about to be distracted, and she pinched his hand, where he held hers.

He sighed with mock despair. "She left me for another man. I considered it the worst insult. I was a lord and a Lacey, and he wasn't anything very much at all. It was a terrible blow to my self-worth."

Olivia laughed softly. "I can see you've suffered, Nic. Is that the only time you had your heart broken?"

"Yes. I made sure that the next woman knew our relationship was nothing more than a business contract. No promises, no vows, no ever afters, just money for services provided."

Olivia already knew that Nic was a good man, and now she understood that his seeming coldness where his mistresses were concerned came not from a lack of heart, but from too much heart. He was protecting himself. It made sense. Such a sensual man would be prone to feeling everything more keenly.

When the dance ended, he didn't let her go, giving a young fellow in a green jacket a baleful glare as he tried to cut in. The next dance was a waltz—until recently considered shocking because it allowed dance partners to actually clasp each other in their arms. Olivia nestled into Nic's embrace, enjoying every moment, as they did their best to twirl around the cramped ballroom without cannoning into any of the other couples.

He spun her around and Olivia gasped, allowing her head to fall back, while the ceiling with its painted panels spun above her. Nic tightened his grip, and she felt his muscular thighs pressing to hers through the layers of her skirt and petticoats.

"I'm sorry about Miriam Cathcart," he murmured, slowing to let her catch her breath. Olivia rested her head against his shoulder and he nuzzled her hair, his warm breath tickling her ear. "She is nothing to me. And I'm sorry about what I said to Querrol. He was ogling you with his blasted monocle and what I really wanted to do was shove it down his throat."

Olivia glanced up at him from the corners of her eyes, before dropping her lashes to hide her thoughts. "I'll forgive you as long as you don't do it again," she said, a smile in her voice.

"I promise not to do it again," he recited like a schoolboy.

She giggled and lifted her head. She was well aware that he would see in her eyes that she desired him, even here, in the middle of the ballroom .

He did see. His dark eyes flared, his face grew taut, his fingers tightened on hers. "We should leave," he said huskily.

"We've only just arrived."

But she was teasing him. She wanted to leave, too. Her skin was tingling, sensitive to his touch, and she felt flushed and languid. His mouth was close, and she knew she'd like nothing better than to taste him . . .

"Stop it," he groaned softly.

Her lips smiled and she darted the tip of her tongue over them, aware she was increasing the tension, building the passion. "Stop what?" she said innocently.

His hand splayed over her waist, holding her firmly against him, so that they were molded together at the hips and thighs. She felt him growing hard against her, and knew from his wicked smile that he was quite prepared to play her at her own game.

She went deeper into his arms, brushing her breasts against his waistcoat, knowing they couldn't be seen in the crush of couples around them. He dipped his head and nipped her fingers, then sucked them. She felt the warmth between her legs, the trembling in her thighs, and the ache in her breasts. Her hand slid down, delving through the folds of her skirt, and brushed the jut of his shaft.

Olivia wondered at her own daring. She was behaving in a manner she could never have imagined before she met Nic—although perhaps she could have imagined it, and that was why they were so ideally suited.

But she had pushed their game too far, and as soon as the music stopped again, he was hurrying her off the dance floor, zigzagging through the other guests with ease.

"Nic . . . ?" she began, breathless.

The coach was waiting, and he could barely wait to collect their outdoor garments, before he was urging her inside the vehicle and closing the door.

"The long way home!" he ordered the coachman.

They moved off, heading into the London night.

Nic leaned into her as they rounded a corner, pressing her into the soft leather seats, his mouth almost but not quite touching hers.

"I've been wanting to do this since the moment I saw you at the top of the stairs," he said, his voice low and soft, making her skin tingle. "I want to make love to you at least ten times a day, do you know that? If I had my way you'd never leave the bedchamber."

She looked up at him through her lashes, aware of heavy tension between them, making it difficult to breathe evenly.

He stroked one finger down the side of her face, moving to her mouth and tracing its shape, slowly, intently. And then he began to kiss her.

Olivia felt herself melting. Her arms went around his neck and clung, their lips meeting and melding, her tongue sliding against his. He reached down, brushing aside her skirts and her petticoats. She felt his hand seeking and then he stopped, lifting his head to stare down at her.

"You're naked," he said, with a startled grin.

"I thought it would save time," she replied innocently, knowing she looked anything but innocent.

He bent to press openmouthed kisses across her bosom, edging down her dress so that he could suck at her nipples. Olivia groaned and let her head fall back. A moment later Nic was pushing into her, his shaft filling her, stretching her. They paused, panting, and then he began to move, while Olivia met him with urgent jerks of her hips. When she reached her peak she muffled her cries against his shoulder, while Nic groaned deeply against her throat, resting his chin against her as he sought to catch his breath.

It felt wonderful. It always did.

Olivia reached up to brush the rogue swath of dark hair from his eyes, feeling a wave of love so powerful it made her ache all over again. The words trembled on her lips, but for a moment she held them back, uncertain whether saying them would change things between her and Nic. There was a great deal of vulnerability in not only giving your heart to someone, but in saying it aloud.

"I love you," she whispered.

Nic's dark eyes were hooded as he returned her gaze. "Do you realize what you've done by saying that to me?" he said.

"What have I done? "

"You've made yourself my prisoner for life."

Olivia kissed his mouth, tenderly. "A willing prisoner, Nic."

He rested his brow against hers and sighed.

"I love you, too, Olivia. I believed my heart was locked up safe and tight, but you snuck in and stole it before I was even aware of you being there."

She caught his face in her hands, lifting it for more kisses.

"How can I maintain my reputation as Wicked Nic if I'm in love my wife?" he protested half seriously, eagerly returning the kisses. "As a rake I'm a ruined man."

"You'll always be Wicked Nic to me," she teased.

Outside the traffic rumbled and jostled around them, and Nic cursed as he saw they were nearly home. He smoothed her skirts and tucked her breasts out of sight. Sitting back, he cast a narrowed look over her, brushing back a curl here and smoothing a wrinkle there, until he seemed satisfied with her appearance. As for himself, he looked immaculate, and Olivia wondered darkly if that was part of being a rake, the ability to never appear rumpled, as if one has just been making violent love, even if one has.

The coach turned into their square, and he smiled at her. Olivia knew then that her happiness was complete. She was aware that she had the Husband Hunters Club to thank for much of her success—if they hadn't given her the confidence to pursue the man she wanted, she'd probably have ended up married to Theodore Garsed, gazing at Nic from afar, and wishing "if only." Instead she'd gone after what she wanted, and she'd won.

Not that there weren't possible problems and differences looming on the horizon, but right now Olivia was certain in her heart that they could work anything out. They loved each other, and surely that was all that really mattered?