“Max! You’ll burn your jacket.”
He jumped back. “Yes, of course. Let’s sit down.” He walked over and sat in a nearby chair. Embarrassed, he took another long swallow. The brandy burned down his throat. He probably shouldn’t have poured this third glass, but if there was ever a time to have too much, the day you find out your cousin has returned from the dead is the day to do it.
Olivia perched on the seat opposite of him. A small furrow appeared between her eyes as she took a sip of her sherry. His thoughts clanged like church bells. Not a widow. Still married to his cousin. What would her reaction be when she saw that Henry was still alive? Would she be angry?Of course, she would.Would she go along with Henry’s plan? Could she carry on with her life knowing that her husband was still alive? And where did that leave him? Leave them?
He glanced up and found her staring at him. He struggled to rein in his thoughts. “Um, I have decided not to go to London tomorrow. I think the sale can wait until the new year. After all, that contraband has been sitting in the attic for years.”
“Oh, that’s good. Perhaps it can wait until the roads are better,” Olivia replied. The line of worry between her eyes eased. She gave him a soft smile. “I didn’t want you to leave.”
Max wished he could whisk her away upstairs and lock them away in his room for the foreseeable future. But that was impossible, tomorrow would come, and secrets would be spilled. Perhaps Henry was right, and they shouldn’t tell Olivia. It was a terrible, selfish thought, taunting him like a little devil on his shoulder. Before it could sink its claws into him, he said, “I wondered if tomorrow perhaps you would come with me to your old cottage to take a final inventory of things needed to have the place ready for Mr. Bromley in the new year.”
“Yes, can we do it in the morning so that I can still open the bookshop on time?”
“Certainly, what time?”
“Perhaps ten?”
“Fine.” They would go over and surprise Henry. The bastard deserved it.
Olivia opened her mouth as if to say something, but the door opened, and Mr. Galey entered the room. “Good evening, Lord Rivenhall, ma chérie.”
Good, just who he needed to see. Max rose to greet him. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.
“A glass of wine would be nice, thank you.” Mr. Galey followed him over to the bar cabinet.
“Mr. Galey, Olivia and I will head over to the land steward’s cottage tomorrow morning. Would you care to join us? It makes for a pretty ride.” He passed Julien a glass of wine.
“I suppose so. I haven’t ridden at all since it began snowing.”
Max could tell the man was on the fence but did not want to be rude. “There is also something I wish to get your opinion on.” Max improvised. “A tree that looks dead to me. And I wondered if I should have it cut down so that it does not fall onto the roof.” Max sipped his brandy and waited to see if the man would take the bait.
“Cut it down?” Mr. Galey’s eyes widened. “Don’t be too hasty. Many trees dormant in the winter months may appear to be dead but will bloom again in the spring. I will take a look at it.”
“Excellent.” Max covered his mouth with his glass as a smile of satisfaction bloomed. Now, if he could just avoid making conversation with the two of them for the rest of the evening, he might stand a chance at keeping his secret until tomorrow. He would leave the dinner conversation to his chatty family. There was one definite benefit of being the only man in a houseful of women. Sometimes you just couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
*
Olivia lay inbed staring up at the shadowy canopy. The banked fire across from her cast a warm glow across the wooden floorboards. It was late, but she couldn’t sleep. Max had acted so strangely tonight. He’d said everything was fine between them, but yet he’d been so jumpy and he hadn’t said two words at dinner. She debated whether to go see him tonight. It seemed like a bad idea since she had firmly decided not to be in love with him.
She turned from her back to her side and fluffed her pillow before sinking into its feathery softness. How she wanted to touch him though, to be wrapped in his arms. All evening, this pull of desire pulsed in her veins. How was she ever going to live without him? Now that she knew the wicked way he aroused her with his drugging kisses, how good it felt to yield to his soft demands, to melt under his caresses. And the glorious way his golden skin stretched over taut muscles, the salty taste of it as she licked his throat, his chest, and along his rigid length. She flipped again to her back and dragged her nightshift up her thighs; she rubbed her clit as she thought about him.
The door creaked open, and Olivia bolted up. Max slid into the room. He closed the door behind him. “Livvy, may I come in?”
She reached out a hand to beckon him to the bed.Thank God.He crossed to the foot of the bed and, with a flick of his wrist, untied the belt of his banyan robe. He crawled up onto the covers, leaving the robe behind on the floor. “Livvy, I couldn’t stay away. I need to have you in my arms tonight.”
“I need you too. I can’t think of anything else.” She reached for him, sliding her hand behind his neck to grip his hair. “How have you so thoroughly seduced me?”
He leaned in and kissed her softly. Brushing his lips against hers again and again. His hands cupped the sides of her face holding her in place for a barrage of tenderness for which she was not prepared. He kissed the tip of her nose and placed kisses at each temple. He nuzzled her neck right below her ear, and she could feel his intake of breath as he inhaled.
“You always smell divine, like a fruit tart fresh from the oven.”
Olivia giggled. “My perfume is a mixture of florals with a touch of raspberry.”
He nibbled at her earlobe. “Ah, that must be it. Raspberry tart is what you are.” His mouth traced a path down to the crook of her neck, and he nibbled there as well as his hands roamed down to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed against her nipples through her nightshift in a frustrating tease.
Olivia scrambled to her knees. She reached down and lifted her shift up and off in a desperate move to be skin to skin with him. But when she pressed herself flush against him, he unwrapped her arms from around his neck to slide her back a few inches.
“Oh no, you little tart, I want to go slow tonight. Didn’t you say you wanted to go slow?” His hands returned to her breasts to play anew with her nipples.