Chapter Thirteen #2
Olivia’s eyes followed his down to the faint rise in the blankets lying across his lap. She sighed. “That was awake before you were, if you must know.”
He chuckled. “That is often the way of it.”
Nothing was served, least of all her own appetites, by keeping him at arm’s length.
Olivia launched herself onto the bed, catching him unaware so that he was tipped sideways and she had the immediate upper hand.
She pinned his wrists and shimmied under the blankets, a little breathless by the time she had him restrained to her satisfaction.
Griffin grinned up at her. The curling ends of Olivia’s hair tickled his shoulder until she threw her head back and tossed it behind her. “You cannot mean to ravish me again.”
“I do,” she whispered, her eyes darkening. “I certainly do.” She bent her head and brushed her lips against his. She nudged them open, tasted his upper lip with the tip of her tongue, then the lower one. She kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, then used her teeth to worry his earlobe.
Her breath was warm, humid, and Griffin felt his pulse quicken as she teased him with her lips, teeth, and tongue.
She whispered something he could not quite make out, but what she said was infinitely less important just now than how she said it.
How she said it raised ribbons of heat that twisted and curled under his skin.
He tried to catch her mouth when she lowered it a second time, but she darted away at the last moment and turned her attention to the cord in his neck and the underside of his jaw.
Her breasts rubbed against his chest, pleasing her, but pleasing him more.
She squirmed a bit, balancing the need to find a fit for herself against his frame with delicious discomfort each time she failed.
He snagged a breath, held it, as she traced the line of his collarbone with the damp edge of her tongue. She sipped his skin at the curve of his neck and shoulder just as he had done to her last evening, leaving her mark on him, taking possession.
He tentatively attempted to lift one of his hands, but she was having none of it and pressed his wrist back.
He thought he let her, but he wasn’t entirely certain that in an earnest battle that she might not emerge the victor.
Certainly he’d have bruises for it, much less enjoyable in the making than the one she was giving him now.
“Do I amuse you?” she asked darkly, lifting her head so her mouth hovered a fraction above his. “You chuckled.”
“Chuckled? You are mistaken. I would not.” He cleared his throat, pushed back the laughter that threatened to reveal his lie, and suffered the thorough study she made of him. “A guilty man would confess, you know,” he told her. “You are uncannily persuasive.”
“I am merely looking at you.”
“My point precisely.”
She put her mouth to his, kissed him warmly. “You are kind to flatter me.” She smiled, feeling the rumble of laughter in his chest tickle every one of her nerve endings. Rather than take him to task for it, she deepened the kiss.
Olivia made free with his body. She let his wrists go because holding them only hampered her search and discovery.
She welcomed the contrasts between them, the broad plane of his hard chest to the more yielding softness of her own, the spread of his hand against her smaller one, the narrow line of his hip still capable of cradling her curves.
She indulged herself in the taste of him, the scent of him, and finally, the sound of him as he whispered her name in a way that spoke to his pleasure…and later, to hers.
The heat that came upon them made their clothing an irritant.
They grappled with her belted robe and his drawers.
He bunched yards of her nightgown in his fists as she reared up and released it again when she straddled him.
He helped her take him into her, shifted his gaze from the point of their joining to her eyes, watched her and saw his own need and satisfaction reflected there.
She moved slowly at first, arching over him like a water nymph rising from the sea.
He held her hips, pressed his fingers against her bottom, but let the rhythm, the pace, be what she wanted.
She worked him slowly, but not for long.
Frustration overtook her, need overcame her, and she surrendered all of herself to a tidal wave of selfish, primal pleasure.
And took him in her wake.
Neither of them spoke in the immediate aftermath.
The tremors were too sweet to interrupt.
They lay unmoving, waiting for their hearts to cease hammering.
Griffin had one arm flung across his eyes, the other across Olivia’s back.
Her face was turned toward his neck, the rest of her lay flush against him.
She could not find the wherewithal to push herself away and the arm lying heavily on her back like a paperweight made certain she stayed precisely as she was.
“God.” Griffin made the low, guttural response with feeling.
“Mmm.”
“I am undone.”
“Mmm.”
“Did you crawl inside me?” he asked. “It seemed as if you did.”
Olivia bit the side of his neck gently.
Griffin accepted her chastisement, stopped talking, and in moments was sleeping soundly.
Nat knew nothing about card games. He offered this information in the hope that it would persuade Miss Cole to seek other entertainments.
She was not in the least put off by his ignorance, a turn of events that he found altogether disappointing.
He was of a mind to remain in his room and play with his soldiers.
He had enough for two armies now and intended to re-create the pivotal battle where Alexander met and defeated Darius, the great king of all Persia.
He did not explain this to Miss Cole because it was his experience that women found such stories tedious.
Battles and bloodshed did not appear to interest them.
It was incomprehensible.
“Shall I teach you Napoleon?” Olivia asked as she shuffled the cards. “Sometimes it is called écarté. Are you familiar?”
“écarté,” he said, dragging his eyes away from her hands as the cards flew back and forth between her fingers. “I know that word. It means far apart. Lonely.”
“Just as Napoleon was on Elba and later, St. Helena, so it is all of a piece, isn’t it?
” She stopped shuffling and passed the deck to him for a cut.
When he simply stared at her, she explained what he should do.
“It is your choice. Most players prefer to cut. They all do if they are concerned that the dealer may be moved to cheat on the deal.”
He glanced at the cards, then at her.
“I will not be offended if you make a cut. You have no reason at all to trust me.”
He separated the deck carefully, choosing to make two almost equal piles, then restacked them opposite of his cut.
“Very good,” said Olivia. She took up the cards and dealt them each three, then two.
She explained the rules and object of the game.
“It will become clearer after we play a few hands. As for the scoring, you and I should agree on what we’ll use to make our payments.
Have you any money?” At his frown, she shrugged.
“No, I didn’t think you would. It’s of no matter.
I brought a purse of farthings with me.” She reached for the small leather bag she’d attached like a pocket to her morning dress and laid it on the table.
“Go on. You open it and divide the coins between us. What you are able to win from me, you may keep, but what I am advancing you now must be returned. Do you understand?”
He nodded and divvied the coins with the same precision he’d used to cut the cards.
“If you bid that you can take all five tricks,” Olivia explained, “that is called a nap. Upon succeeding, I will have to pay you ten. But if you fail to make your nap, then you must pay me five. Bid a Wellington, and it means you bid to take all five tricks but have to give me ten farthings if you fail. Bid a Blücher, and the payout is twenty for one of us.” She paused, picking up her cards to examine them, then encouraged him to do the same.
She stole a glance at him as he studied his cards.
His small mouth was no longer set in the grim line that was his usual mien.
Earnestness had caused his expression to take a different shape, and the point of his pink tongue peeked out from one corner of his lips.
“You know who Wellington and Blücher are, don’t you? I didn’t think to explain.”
“Waterloo,” he said.
“I wonder if they know their names are now attached to a card game,” Olivia said, “and if they’re honored or find it lowering.”
He did not venture an opinion about Olivia’s musings, but said instead, “Wellington should pay more than a Blücher.”
“Ah, an Englishman through and through, aren’t you?” When he did not respond, she did not pursue and directed him to bid his hand. She was surprised, and not a little pleased, when he did so without hesitation. “I can do better than your three hearts, so let us see how you play out the deal.”
He won four tricks handily, while she managed to take the last. She settled a farthing on him and watched a glimmer of a smile surface. Satisfied, Olivia showed him how to make the deal and the play continued.
“He won twenty-three farthings from me,” she told Griffin at tea. “Can you imagine? And never played the game before. It was quite astonishing. I think he must possess a formidable intelligence.”
Griffin chose a slim slice of pound cake from the tray and slid it onto his plate. “I cannot say anything about his intelligence. What I imagine is that you pushed some very good cards on him.”