Chapter Thirteen #3
The second half of the opera was uneventful, and they did not see Blackhurst again.
Still, Lisbeth could not concentrate on the activities on the stage.
What if Fenwick did forbid Marie from seeing her again?
After what had happened with her brother-in-law, Lisbeth couldn’t really blame him.
What if the consequences of this evening were too much for Marie to bear?
For there would be scandal, and it would be in the papers tomorrow. There would be no hiding from it.
*
Oliver had been quiet on the way back to her townhouse.
He was thinking, she suspected. Probably going over the night, trying to see how he could have prevented their confrontation with Blackhurst. He would blame himself; she knew it.
He had, after all, been looking for suspicious persons before they had even ascended the stairs at the beginning of the evening.
He had sensed something wasn’t right, but she had not believed him, not really.
“I’m sorry,” Lisbeth said as soon as they had disposed of their coats in the hall. Her confession seemed to startle him.
He frowned briefly. “And what are you apologizing for?” His eyes turned so warm and comforting like the amber on her father’s favorite walking stick.
“I put my grandmother and sister in danger. I put you in danger. It was never part of our agreement to put you in that kind of situation. Never.”
He waved her off. “Blackhurst is nothing but hot air. Air that smelled overpoweringly of gin.”
“It isn’t funny, Oliver. If he had hurt Marie or… you.”
“I have been in danger before. Quite a few times in fact. Soldier, remember? I quite like it—imminent death and all that.” He gave her a grin.
This made her smile, despite not wanting to. Her joker, her jester, always trying to make her feel better. “You are such a liar.”
His smile turned contrite. “All right. I might not like it quite as much as I have made out, but I do know how to protect you. I will protect you. I’ll just be more prepared in the future.”
“I know you will. This is why I am breaking our agreement,” Lisbeth said as she walked into the parlor.
Oliver stopped mid-stride in the doorway. “What? I don’t think so.” He strode in after her.
She turned to look at him. “I think we have to, don’t you? What if something happens to you? I could not…” She was surprised by the quaver in her voice. She told herself she was going to be strong but, as usual lately, her resolve was worthless around this man.
“Lisbeth,” he said as he walked towards her, “when this is done, when you have your justice—”
“Ever the optimist, Oliver?” Lisbeth said on a sad sigh. She went over to a sofa and sat down patting the seat next to her. “You must be exhausted.”
He looked at her intensely for a moment but did not laugh.
“It is one of many such blights on my personality, but what can I do?” He smiled almost apologetically as he sat.
It was such a dear smile, one she was beginning to depend upon.
She wanted to reach out and cup his cheek, run her fingers along the roughened skin of his jaw, trace his lips…
“I wish I could be like you,” she said now. “Smiling and joking all the time. All I feel is worthless…” Oh, why had she said that? She had never meant to say it, at least not like that. Not to him. Tears sprang to her eyes, and it took all her determination to keep them at bay.
He studied her face for a moment then said, “How is that possible when you are as rich as Croesus? Try being me, worthless and penniless.”
Was he boosting her ego, again? “Oliver, I am trying to be serious.”
The smile dropped from his face, and she saw a raw emotion in his eyes that made her want to cry all the more.
“Then try being serious about something worth the effort.” His speech was soft and low, and he smoothed his knuckles over her cheek in the softest of caresses.
Then he let his hand drop. “My, my, we have become melancholy. Only one way to remedy this pitiful situation—a nice hot cup of chocolate! I’ll ask Mrs. Rollands, shall I? ”
She grabbed his hand as he went to stand pulling him back down next to her. “No, Oliver, really, I’m fine. I just wanted to say thank you. You have been good to me.”
He looked down at his hand in hers. “Well, I’ll admit you didn’t make it easy for me at times.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Stop, please. Even I am starting to feel sorry for you. Perhaps, if you kissed me I might feel more forgiving?” The lopsided smile appeared on his too handsome face.
He was just teasing, she knew, but she took up his hands and kissed them both on the top, near the knuckles.
He tipped up her chin and with a chuckle said, “Not exactly what I had in mind, but it’s a start.
I shall simply have to show how it’s done…
Like this.” He kissed the knuckles of the hand she had been holding his with.
He turned it over and kissed her palm, the inside of her wrist, the soft spot inside her elbow, and right up to the top of her shoulder and the turn of her throat.
Lisbeth, eyes closed, had never experienced anything quite like it.
She was quivering. She had never quivered in her life, but somehow he had achieved what she had never thought possible.
It was more than just what he made her feel, or the tenderness of his attentions.
It was so much more than the way he made her heart flutter or her pulse race.
He cared. He cared about her. She cared about him too, and she was just beginning to realize how much.
It was an ache in her heart that was so painful she could hardly bear it.
Could she let this ache for him grow, knowing it could all end soon, leaving her with a broken heart?
Lisbeth should have stopped him. She should have made him go, but she didn’t.
She couldn’t. And for once she let her heart have its way.
The hot tingling sensations of his mouth on her flesh were bliss.
He was awakening nerve endings that had lain dormant for more years than she dared count.
His lips seemed to be mapping every dip and curve on their journey to who knew where.
She held out for as long as she could before she sought those lips with her own.
Oliver could feel the tension in her body.
She was wound tighter than a clock spring.
One false move and she could explode. She was holding so much back.
She was afraid. Whether it was of him or of their passion he didn’t know.
He hoped it was the latter. The thought of her being afraid of him was abhorrent.
He was not Blackhurst, and he desperately wanted to show her that.
He knew he should not have put himself in this position or her, especially after the turmoil of this evening, but he simply couldn’t help himself.
She was like his favorite sweet set down in front of him.
He couldn’t resist. He wanted desperately to be all over her, inside her, on top of her, underneath her, but mostly just with her.
To finally be on equal terms, with equal longing and desire, was a dream that he had never thought would come true.
She broke the kiss and put her palms on each side of his face so that he had to look at her. “Come upstairs with me?”