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Authors: Celeste Bradley
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your skin?"
She could only nod frantically. Dane eased her from his hold, propping her gently against the wall. She leaned there, her impressive bosom heaving, her wide gaze locked on his.
Dane straightened with a smile. "Thank you, my dear. I shall look forward to it." With a swift, impersonal peck to her dampened brow, he turned away and strode back to the study and the more important issues at hand.
That had taken care of matters nicely. He doubted if Olivia could even remember the conversation she'd overheard.
Now all he had to do was diminish his towering erection before he got back to business.
5
« ^ »
Dane needn't have worried, for it was several long moments before Olivia could even recall her own name, much less anything that had happened before that devastating, marvelous, extraordinary moment of public arousal.
He hadn't even kissed her, not really. He'd scarcely touched her, although she could still feel that line of fire leading to her cleavage. Yet here she was, breath short, pulse pounding, knees weak, having given her word that she would wait for him in the altogether—well, frankly it was a relief that he hadn't asked for something more scandalous. She'd likely have promised him anything! It was quite obvious that she became a complete fool at his touch.
She smiled shakily, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. She liked it very much. She shook her head briskly, taking a deep breath to quiet her panting. Goodness, how was she to think on anything else for the rest of the day?
If she'd thought her husband mad for her—well, she rather thought she was becoming mad for him as well!
Olivia spent the afternoon getting to know the house, at least the parts she was permitted to enter. The housekeeper, Mrs. Huff, a ferociously elegant figure in widow's black, made it quite clear that her ladyship needn't bother with belowstairs or the servants' quarters and the cook had nearly popped a vein when Olivia had thrust her head through the kitchen door with a bright "Good afternoon!"
So Olivia wandered the three floors she was allowed, from the entrance hall to the guest rooms, searching out morning rooms and withdrawing rooms and music rooms—she hoped Dane played, for she most certainly did not—finding every room lovely and perfectly furnished, every surface spotless, and every passing servant far too busy and far too proper to chat.
For the first time, Olivia understood why a lady might employ a companion, although it did seem tremendously wasteful to pay someone to listen. If a listener had to be paid, it rather reduced the joy of speaking, did it not?
Finally, Olivia wandered back to her bedchamber. Petty was turning the covers on the bed.
"Good afternoon, Petty." Olivia was determined to be cheerful.
The girl turned and bobbed. "Pardon me, my lady, but I'm Letty."
Olivia blinked at her. Same height, same coloring, same spray of freckles across her nose, same resentfully furrowed brow. Olivia folded her arms. Petty was having a bit of "wind up the new mistress" fun. "I was sure you said your name was Petty."
"No, milady," a voice came from behind her. "I'm Petty."
Olivia turned to see Petty—again—in the doorway to her dressing area. "Oh." She turned back to see Letty concealing a smirk.
"Mrs. Huff presented us to you yesterday, milady."
Mrs. Huff had rattled off the names of a line of servants that could have gone round Cheltenham's front drive at breathtaking speed. Apparently, Olivia was now expected to remember them all.
Oops.
"Well, yes, of course she did. How very nice to see you again, Letty."
"Letty's the chambermaid, milady," Petty pointed out.
Hence the tending of bed linens. Olivia should have noticed. Things at Cheltenham were a bit more loosely organized. The elderly remaining servants did what they were capable of and hired out the rest to the work-hungry village.
"But you must be related, then." She was positive on that point. She might be confused, but she
She could only nod frantically. Dane eased her from his hold, propping her gently against the wall. She leaned there, her impressive bosom heaving, her wide gaze locked on his.
Dane straightened with a smile. "Thank you, my dear. I shall look forward to it." With a swift, impersonal peck to her dampened brow, he turned away and strode back to the study and the more important issues at hand.
That had taken care of matters nicely. He doubted if Olivia could even remember the conversation she'd overheard.
Now all he had to do was diminish his towering erection before he got back to business.
5
« ^ »
Dane needn't have worried, for it was several long moments before Olivia could even recall her own name, much less anything that had happened before that devastating, marvelous, extraordinary moment of public arousal.
He hadn't even kissed her, not really. He'd scarcely touched her, although she could still feel that line of fire leading to her cleavage. Yet here she was, breath short, pulse pounding, knees weak, having given her word that she would wait for him in the altogether—well, frankly it was a relief that he hadn't asked for something more scandalous. She'd likely have promised him anything! It was quite obvious that she became a complete fool at his touch.
She smiled shakily, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. She liked it very much. She shook her head briskly, taking a deep breath to quiet her panting. Goodness, how was she to think on anything else for the rest of the day?
If she'd thought her husband mad for her—well, she rather thought she was becoming mad for him as well!
Olivia spent the afternoon getting to know the house, at least the parts she was permitted to enter. The housekeeper, Mrs. Huff, a ferociously elegant figure in widow's black, made it quite clear that her ladyship needn't bother with belowstairs or the servants' quarters and the cook had nearly popped a vein when Olivia had thrust her head through the kitchen door with a bright "Good afternoon!"
So Olivia wandered the three floors she was allowed, from the entrance hall to the guest rooms, searching out morning rooms and withdrawing rooms and music rooms—she hoped Dane played, for she most certainly did not—finding every room lovely and perfectly furnished, every surface spotless, and every passing servant far too busy and far too proper to chat.
For the first time, Olivia understood why a lady might employ a companion, although it did seem tremendously wasteful to pay someone to listen. If a listener had to be paid, it rather reduced the joy of speaking, did it not?
Finally, Olivia wandered back to her bedchamber. Petty was turning the covers on the bed.
"Good afternoon, Petty." Olivia was determined to be cheerful.
The girl turned and bobbed. "Pardon me, my lady, but I'm Letty."
Olivia blinked at her. Same height, same coloring, same spray of freckles across her nose, same resentfully furrowed brow. Olivia folded her arms. Petty was having a bit of "wind up the new mistress" fun. "I was sure you said your name was Petty."
"No, milady," a voice came from behind her. "I'm Petty."
Olivia turned to see Petty—again—in the doorway to her dressing area. "Oh." She turned back to see Letty concealing a smirk.
"Mrs. Huff presented us to you yesterday, milady."
Mrs. Huff had rattled off the names of a line of servants that could have gone round Cheltenham's front drive at breathtaking speed. Apparently, Olivia was now expected to remember them all.
Oops.
"Well, yes, of course she did. How very nice to see you again, Letty."
"Letty's the chambermaid, milady," Petty pointed out.
Hence the tending of bed linens. Olivia should have noticed. Things at Cheltenham were a bit more loosely organized. The elderly remaining servants did what they were capable of and hired out the rest to the work-hungry village.
"But you must be related, then." She was positive on that point. She might be confused, but she
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