Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
She’d dreamed of kissing Devlin Hamilton on many, many occasions, but the reality was better than her most fevered imaginings.
Dev made a satisfying little grunt of surprise as her lips smashed against his, then slid his hand around the nape of her neck and took control. His fingers cupped her skull as he molded his lips to hers.
The fit was utter perfection.
Livvy closed her eyes, and her breath hitched as he gently nipped her lower lip before soothing it again with another soft kiss. And then another, grazing away the sting and making her stomach swoop and liquefy with pleasure.
When she let out a shaky gasp he took shameful advantage, sliding his tongue between her lips to tangle with her own.
She almost swooned at the new sensation.
Who knew kissing could be like this? Heat flashed through her, scalding like wildfire.
He was tasting her, consuming her, and all she wanted to do was consume him right back.
The scent of him was in her nose, the hardness of his chest against hers, and she tightened her grip on his arm as she swayed against him, desperate to get closer still.
Her enthusiastic participation seemed to loosen something inside him.
It became a never-ending string of kisses, each one hotter, deeper, more drugging than the last. With a guttural groan he tightened his fingers against her nape, tasting and teasing as if she were the most perfect thing he’d ever encountered. As if he never wanted to stop.
“Liv—God, I—”
A water bird shrieked as it came into land, skidding inelegantly over the icy surface of the lake with a flurry of wings.
They jolted apart. Dev’s hand fell from her head as he took a step back and she shivered at the sudden, unwelcome blast of cold.
They were both breathing heavily. Liv’s eyes were wide as she pressed her fingertips to her throbbing lips, half in shock, half to keep the feel of him trapped against her skin.
His cheeks were tinged faintly pink, his pupils blown so wide the black almost swallowed the brown of his irises.
He took another step back and cleared his throat. “We should go back inside. It’s too cold out here.”
Liv started to shake her head; she wasn’t cold. She was burning up. And all because of him. Dear God, he’d been right; there was passion between them, an infinite well of it, and he seemed to know exactly how to kindle it into a flame.
He turned and set off toward the house, and she stared at his retreating back and took a deep, freezing lungful of air. The cold made her chest hurt, her throat tingle, but it helped to clear her head. She followed him at a slower pace, trying to calm her racing heart.
Once they were back inside, he excused himself, saying he had business to attend to in his study.
“You’re welcome to inspect the library,” he said, as if nothing had happened out by the lake at all. “Daisy mentioned you like to read; I’m sure you’ll find something to entertain you. Fletcher will bring you lunch at noon.”
Livvy nodded, scarcely able to look at him. He seemed completely unaffected, whereas her body was still pricklingly aware of his proximity.
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
“In that case, I’ll see you at dinner. At seven?”
“All right.”
To her relief, Livvy found countless things of interest in the library and temporarily managed to forget about their kisses with the aid of a fine copy of Robinson Crusoe. By late afternoon, however, she was forced to abandon the shipwrecked adventures and go and dress for dinner.
The butterflies in her stomach returned as she descended the stairs wearing a beautiful blue velvet evening gown, another of Daisy’s castoffs, and Fletcher directed her to a large wood-paneled dining room at the end of the east wing.
Devlin was already there, standing by the fire with a glass of amber liquid in his hand, and he raised it in a jaunty toast to her.
“Evening. You look lovely.”
She fluffed her skirts and tried not to blush.
The dress was more sophisticated than the ones she usually wore, more suitable for a married woman like Daisy than a spinster like herself.
The front was cut in a deep V, making her painfully conscious of the exposed skin on her chest, but the warm appreciation on Dev’s face made her glad she’d chosen it.
She raised her chin and pretended she was as confident and sophisticated as a duchess.
You could be his duchess, if you just say yes.
She quashed the invasive thought.
A servant pulled out a chair, and she sat opposite Dev, then took a sip of red wine to bolster her nerves. Just being in the same room as him made her jittery.
“So,” she said, keen to break the awkward silence. “Tell me about the party. How many people have you invited?”
Dev took a sip from his own glass. “Over a hundred, I should think. Although not everyone will come. And your Uncle Hubert will never get an invitation.”
“Good,” Livvy admitted with a soft smile. “He might be my closest living relative now, but I’d be quite happy never to see him again.”
“Fletcher will have him ejected from the premises if he dares to show his face.”
“Thank you.” She took a careful sip of soup, aware of Dev’s gaze resting on her mouth for a second before he picked up his own spoon and followed suit.
“Have you ever been to a Twelfth Night party before?” he asked.
“Never. Why? Are they particularly scandalous? People aren’t expected to dance naked around a bonfire howling at the moon or anything like that, are they?” she teased.
The twinkle in his eyes suggested he was imagining her in just such a scenario, and she hoped the candlelight hid her burning cheeks. Really, he brought out the worst in her.
Thankfully, he didn’t rise to the bait. “According to the church, Twelfth Night is the last of the twelve days of Christmas, but it’s associated with all sorts of stories and legends that are much older than that.
It’s a night where none of the usual rules apply.
Everything’s upside down and back to front.
Jesters become kings, servants become masters, men dress as women and vice versa.
” He tilted his head. “Haven’t you ever seen Shakespeare’s play Twelfth Night? ”
“Is that the one that starts with a shipwreck, and the twins who get separated and washed ashore?”
“It is. Viola and Sebastian,” he nodded. “Half the characters are in disguise, and they all fall in love with the wrong person, but everything works out in the end.”
“I remember it because there’s a character called Olivia.”
“A beautiful noblewoman. Poor Count Orsino is pining away with love for her, but she’s in mourning for her dead brother and refuses to entertain any proposals of marriage.” His lips curved upward. “Sounds familiar.”
Livvy snorted. She was less like the rich and beautiful Olivia and more like poor, hopeless Viola, mutely longing for a man who didn’t love her back. Ugh.
“Will there be dancing?”
“Of course. And music enough music to make anyone fall out of love, if Shakespeare had it right.”
“If music be the food of love, play on’,” Liv quoted, recalling the famous opening lines of the play. “‘Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die.’”
“Brava. You should be on the stage at Drury Lane,” he teased. “But do you think it’s possible to have too much of a good thing? To fall out of love?”
Liv bit her lip. “I’m not sure. Maybe?”
She’d tried to stop loving him for years, to no avail.
It was unlikely that she’d stop any time soon, even if she saw him every day.
She didn’t think she’d ever get enough of his sly humor and burning kisses.
But there was a strong chance he’d get tired of her, as he’d done with all his previous paramours.
He spoke before she could dwell on that depressing thought.
“The skating you already know about, but we’ll also appoint a Lord of Misrule to liven up proceedings and we’ll go wassailing in the orchard.”
Livvy raised her brows, intrigued. “Wassailing? I’ve heard of it, but never actually done it.”
“It’s an ancient rite to wake the apple trees, scare off evil spirits, and ensure a good harvest in the autumn.
” His long fingers twisted the stem of his wineglass.
“The word "wassail" comes from the old English ‘waes hael," meaning ‘be in good health".
He raised his glass to her and sent her a jaunty toast before taking a sip.
“The traditional reply is ‘drinc hael’– ‘drink well.’
“Drinc hael” Livvy echoed, lifting her own glass.
Dev’s eyes lingered on her mouth again, and when she used her tongue to lick a drop of wine from her lower lip, a muscle ticked in his jaw, and a wicked thrill of heady triumph filled her.
Was this how sultry, sophisticated courtesans felt?
Powerful enough to make a man like Devlin beg? It was a heady sensation.
“It sounds exciting,” she murmured.
“Oh, it is. It’s a night where anything could happen. A night of infinite promise.”
Anticipation hummed in her veins at his soft, suggestive tone. “You mentioned it being a masked ball, though. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Never fear, Cinderella,” he said lightly. “I’ve arranged for something.”
The wicked glint in his eyes gave her a moment of disquiet. He must know how improper it was for him to be selecting gowns on her behalf.
“Another dress of Daisy’s?” she asked hopefully.
“No. This one’s just for you. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering something from Daisy’s favorite dressmaker, Madame Lefèvre.”
Livvy couldn’t hide her shock. “But . . . how can you possibly know my size?”
His expression hinted that he’d spent a serious amount of time considering every inch of her. Her traitorous heart fluttered.
“It was easy. I wrote to Daisy yesterday and asked her to her take one of your dresses from your apartment over to Madame to use as a guide.”
Livvy blinked. “But the ball’s the day after tomorrow. There’s no way she can make an entire dress by then.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “It’s amazing what’s possible when a duke offers enough money to buy an entire shop full of dresses.
” His smile widened at her appalled expression, but before she could scold him for spending money on her he raised his brow and said, “And besides, for the costume I’ve ordered, there’s not much fabric to deal with at all. ”
She sucked in a scandalized breath. “What kind of costume is it? I won’t wear it if it’s indecent.”
He chuckled. “There’ll be enough fabric to cover the most interesting parts of you, I’m sure. And besides, it’s going to be a masked ball, remember? Nobody will know it’s you. Except for me, of course.” He sent her another mock toast. “I can’t wait to see you in it.”
Livvy didn’t press him on it further; she’d wait and see what outrageous garment he’d ordered before deciding whether to wear it or not.
The rest of dinner passed with surprising ease. Devlin seemed determined to make her feel relaxed in his company, and despite the constant tug of attraction that arced between them, she found herself enjoying herself.
The conversation ranged from the last plays they’d both seen at the theatre, the latest gossip from town, and even touched on her father’s disgrace.
Perhaps it was the second glass of excellent wine that Dev poured her, or the fact that he was basically unshockable, but Olivia felt as if she could tell him anything.
Anything about her father, that was; her own feelings were something else entirely.
“I think he first went into debt in an effort to impress the King,” she sighed.
“Back when he was still the Prince Regent. Prinny said he’d be coming for a week’s visit, so father ordered a complete redecoration of the manor, including new furniture, all in the Egyptian style, because he knew Prinny admired it.
The cost of that alone was over five thousand pounds.
And knowing how much the prince liked to eat and drink, he ordered a huge amount of food and wine.
He planned to put on a lavish banquet every night, only to have the prince change his mind and only stay for one night, because he decided to go and visit his new mistress instead. ”
Dev shook his head. “Entertaining royalty is hideously expensive. And trying to stay in their good graces is even more so. Especially when they’re as flighty and unreliable as the King.”
“It’s a miracle he never ended up in debtor’s prison,” she said.
“And a pity he didn’t just leave England and go hide out on the continent, like Beau Brummell did a few years ago.” Dev added. “You could have been spared a great deal of unpleasantness.”
Livvy managed a dismissive shrug. “What’s done is done. He’s gone now, and I can move forward, at least.”
Dev held his glass aloft. “To a happier future, then.” He drained the last of his wine.
Liv nodded and repeated his toast, but added a silent question; would a happier future for her include him?