Chapter Fifteen
Augustus—
The street festival was a marvel. I had never been to that side of London before and I have been thinking of it—and you—all day.
While I have enjoyed our fresh air activities, I have to say that I yearn for four walls and, perhaps, even a bed. I know the servants’ passage to your rooms well. Would you think me too brazen if I visited you there this evening?
Olivia
*
Olivia—
It would be an honor of which I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find myself fully worthy. Nothing would give me more pleasure.
Augustus
*
Augustus—
You are so formal, sir, that I hardly know if I correspond with the same man.
Nevertheless, I hope you are indeed Augustus Carrington, or the real one will be rather surprised to find me at his bedchamber door this evening.
Olivia
*
Olivia—
You mock me, my love, but you cannot know how important such an event would be to me. To have you in my bedchamber, even if it is just to share a caramel and read the next chapter fromIvanhoe, is all I want in this life.
Augustus
*
Augustus—
I do not think we will needIvanhoe.
The caramels, however, you may bring.
Olivia
*
That ride backto Bloomsbury, Olivia would never remember. They had stumbled from the woods after their tryst. She had barely felt capable of holding herself upright. On the way back, conversation had felt impossible—but not in the same way they had struggled before. No, it felt, instead, beside the point, as if they had said all they needed to already. In fact, Olivia was sure that she had revealed too much. This courtship was supposed to be slow. It was supposed to be about him winning her trust. She was supposed to win something back that she had lost in the past. Yet, now, she didn’t feel in control. She felt wild. And utterly, desperately satiated.
Even as they left Hyde Park, she knew that, very soon, she would have him again.
When he departed from her door, he kissed her hand, all propriety, as if he had not just ravished her in a public park.
“Tomorrow night,” he murmured, “The opera.”
Olivia passed a quiet night and subsequent morning with the Mappertons. She needn’t have worried about Natasha in the park, she soon discovered; she and Percy had already returned when Olivia reentered the house. That evening, when she sat quietly with Eloisa in the parlor, when Natasha and Nathanial had already gone to bed, her friend had reassured her that she trusted her daughter.
“Are you anxious that she has set her cap at Lord Percy?” Olivia asked.
Eloisa shook her head. “Natasha is not one to give her heart without encouragement. If the boy is leading her on, it will be a heartbreak, but those can’t be helped. If he does disappoint her, he will get nothing for it. Natasha would not be so foolish as to do anything improper and ruin her prospects elsewhere. She has told me so herself.”
Olivia nodded. She was glad that mother and daughter had come to an understanding on the topic.
“Besides,” Eloisa said, “The boy may indeed be very serious about her. I couldn’t deny her a chance at happiness. And even Mr. Mapperton could not have imagined a better match for her from a worldly perspective. But enough about Natasha. She is fine, but I am not so sure about yourself. Olivia, what are you doing with the earl?”
Olivia sighed.
She knew she could be honest with Eloisa. And, so, she was. She explained about the park—with as little detail as necessary—and how confusing she found her feelings for him.
Eloisa laughed at her admission about the park. And nodded at her confusion. When Olivia had said her piece, she shrugged her shoulders.
“You will have to puzzle out how you feel about the man. There will be no easy answer.”
Eloisa was right, of course. But it calmed her to hear her friend characterize the situation so placidly.
For now, the only thing she knew for certain was that she could think of little else but Augustus. Even with her thoughts trained on Lord Montaigne, however, Olivia could not forget Eloisa’s encounter with her old friend.
“Have you seen Mr. Tombey again?”
Eloisa looked up at her and then back down at her lap. She gave a little huff of laughter.
“He has called. I’ve renewed the acquaintance.”
Olivia did not press further. She suspected that there could be more to Eloisa’s relationship with Mr. Tombey. But she knew how loyal her friend was to her late husband. She didn’t want to make her feel more conflicted than she already might. If there was more to know, Olivia knew Eloisa would tell her when she was ready.
That night, Olivia’s dreams were filled of what she and Augustus had shared that afternoon. The orgasms that she had experienced with him were unparalleled. She couldn’t remember having come that hard, well—since they had been together the first time. What she had told him, about his prowess, about his unique effect on her, it hadn’t been a lie.
And even though she tried not to, somewhere, in the back of her mind, she began to hope. Maybe, this time, their relationship could be different.
Maybe, this time, she wouldn’t walk away with a broken heart.
Maybe, this time, she wouldn’t have to walk away at all.
*
When Augustus andLord Percy pulled up to the Mapperton town house the next night, Olivia felt a shiver ricochet down her spine. Each Carrington man had come in a separate carriage.
Of course, they could hardly have done anything else, given the size of their party, but Olivia knew what it meant. She knew what being in such close quarters with Augustus would lead to.
Her gleeful anticipation stuttered, however, when, just as she gained the stairs from their apartments down to the ground floor, a young footman stopped her.
“A letter just come for you miss,” he said, pushing a missive into her palm and striding away.
From the direction and the hand, she knew immediately who it was from. Mr. Laurent. She tore open the seal and perused the contents. She gave a little huff of laughter at the hot-pressed paper that he used. In England, such paper was regarded as fussy. Mr. Laurent regarded it as a sign of his cultivation.
As she skimmed the letter, she saw, at first, nothing to alarm her. He had told her that he would write to her and so here was the letter, an indicator of that reliability in him that she so prized. He gave an account of himself, his manor, and his mother that proved that they had not varied since she left France. He inquired mildly after her activities in London, hoping that she was enjoying the sights. All in all, it was the type of letter that she had expected from him.
There was nothing in it to justify her sense that it was irksome. That the letter was an intrusion of reality onto her fantasy.
Until she reached its end.
Here, Mr. Laurent surprised her.
Dearest Olivia,he wrote, I hope you will not think it very forward of me to say that I have missed you greatly since your departure. And my feelings on the subject press me to secure from you an answer to that question which I asked of you last spring and on which you have given me such hope. Would you finally consent to be my wife?
With you so far away at present, I wish for the satisfaction of your final answer—of finally being able to say that we will become one upon your return. I press for this answer in part, I must confess, because I am confident in an affirmative. I know your heart and my own are united in our ultimate desires.
Now, this was unexpected. She had not thought the demure Laurent, who hardly ever seemed to bestir himself over anything, would insist in this way. Even though she did not at all appreciate the application, it did give a little relief. It justified her initial irritation. With a sigh, she folded the letter and shoved it into her reticule.
She would be in no hurry to respond to it.
Olivia had made herself very clear before her departure. She could give no answer until she returned to France.
Laurent knew he was pushing her.
Olivia swept down the stairs and found the rest of her party waiting for her. Natasha was already engrossed in conversation with Percy. It pleased her to see that Nathanial and Eloisa spoke to Augustus. He stood by the doorway, attired in his evening clothes, his face pensive as he listened to Eloisa. On a bland, gray night in February, he had no right to look so handsome.
When he saw Olivia, he stepped forward.
“Miss Watson,” he said, taking her hand and bowing, “I hope it will be acceptable to travel to the theater with me. I have given Percy our barouche for the purpose of taking the rest of our party.”
“That is very acceptable—” she began to respond.
Nathanial scoffed beside her.
“Lord Montaigne, I hardly think that would be proper.”
The room took on a strange silence. Everyone whipped their heads around to look at Nathanial.
“I am sorry, Count Mapperton?” Augustus said, clearly in a confusion.
“I will ride with you and Miss Watson,” Nathanial said, “While I am sure you’ll be a perfect gentleman, Lord Montaigne, I must protect the reputation of all the ladies in this house. My mother, of course, can chaperone Natasha, but it would not be right for Miss Watson to ride unprotected.”
Olivia was shocked. She looked to Eloisa, who appeared just as perplexed.
“I must say,” Natasha chimed in, “that my brother, for once in his life, has a point, Lord Montaigne. It would hardly look proper.”
The siblings exchanged a look that fairly announced that they had planned this attack.
Olivia did not know whether to laugh or cry. On one hand, she was moved that Natasha and Nathanial thought she needed protection. On the other, she wanted nothing more than to be ensconced in a dark carriage with Augustus. It seemed, however, that Natasha and Nathanial had caught wind of his reputation.
“Of course, Count Mapperton,” Augustus nodded, but Olivia could see a muscle working in his jaw. “I defer to your judgment in this matter, naturally.”
“Very well,” Nathanial nodded and headed out the door.
Olivia looked at Augustus. He gave a tight nod. When Olivia saw the taut lines of his broad chest constrict with the movement, she felt a low, wild pulse of desire beat through her. She loved Nathanial and Natasha, but, right now, she couldn’t help but be very irked by their interference.
The drive to the theater with Nathanial and Augustus was, mercifully quick. Augustus and Nathanial talked agreeably about horseflesh for nearly the entire journey. Olivia did not have to contribute more than a few words, which was for the best. Whenever the carriage swayed, Augustus’s knees brushed against her own. She bit her lip to keep calm.
Before they reached the theater, Nathanial had a sneezing fit. He had been having these attacks as of late. He claimed it was his reaction to what he called this English spring. Olivia, Eloisa, and his sister had said nothing on the subject. All four of them knew well enough that he had the same problem every spring in France.
While Nathanial opened the carriage window and continued to sneeze vigorously, Olivia had to admire the way in which life conspired to surprise one. She had anticipated spending this journey in Augustus’s arms. Instead, they were trapped with Nathanial and his sneezing attack.
“Olivia,” he said between sneezes, “Handkerchief.”
Of course, Nathanial did not have his own.
She dug into her reticule and handed him her handkerchief, which he nosily made use of. Thankfully, soon after, they had arrived at the theater and were ready to alight. The footman handed Olivia down and then she was followed by Nathanial.
She stopped and turned for Augustus. He was still in the carriage, a piece of paper clutched in his hand. His eyes were affixed to it.
At first, she was confused. Then she saw the hot-pressed paper and her stomach dropped.
Mr. Laurent’s letter. It was now clutched in Augustus’s hand.
And he was reading it.
*
The next hoursat the opera were some of the most torturous Olivia had ever spent on this earth—and she counted the many she had devoted to scullery work. They were seated in the box belonging to the Duke of Edington. Augustus was on its subscription list, because of his close friendship with the duke. The box was lovely, far superior to the pit seats that they had taken two weeks ago. Nevertheless, seated next to himself and the Mappertons, with no opportunity to address Augustus about Mr. Laurent’s letter, she was in agony.
His stony expression testified that he had, indeed, read what it contained. Not that she needed such confirmation. He had handed her the letter when he had alighted from the carriage, saying nothing as he did so, his expression so grave that she had wanted to burst into tears on the spot.
If his gaze had fallen on her, she was sure she would have shrunk from it—but he did not look at her for the entirety of the show, keeping his eyes on the stage. She had hoped that, during the intermissions, that the Mappertons and Lord Percy would have reason to remove themselves from the box so that she could speak with him privately. Unfortunately, when the time came, none of them did so. The little efforts at conversation she made Augustus answered politely, but there could be no mistaking his shift in tone.
Under these circumstances, the opera meant even less to her than usual. Growing up as she had, she had never acquired an ability to appreciate the art form, although she had attended the Parisian opera many times with Eloisa, who had a real taste for it.
Instead, the hours were filled with mortification. She could only concentrate on what Augustus must be thinking of her. She found herself frightened that he would retract the courtship into which they had entered. The idea that she would never feel his touch again—that she would not get to return to what they had experienced together at Hyde Park—left her bereft.
He must think her the worst kind of trifler. And, worst, he would not be completely wrong. She had, of course, still been intending to accept Mr. Laurent’s proposal. Empirically, she had no reason to feel guilty. She had still not forgiven Augustus for what he had done in the past. For how he had dismissed her, how he had discarded her. Wasn’t this what he deserved, after all?
Yet, after the park, her heart constricted at the thought of what he had read. And what he might think it meant about her relationship with Laurent—and himself.
Finally, blessedly, the opera ended. At this point, Olivia found herself frantic to speak with Augustus alone. As they waited for the carriages in the crush, the din making all talk nearly impossible, Oliva took her chance.
She pulled Nathanial aside.
“I need you to ride with your mother and sister in Lord Percy’s carriage.”
Nathanial grimaced. “Natasha and I are worried about you, Olivia. Lord Montaigne is regarded as one of the most wicked men in London. He is not to be trusted with unmarried ladies—or ladies, it seems, of any kind.”
She shook her head, so frustrated by the events of the evening that she could feel tears threatening in earnest. “You cannot take rumors so seriously. What they say of him, it is not true.”
Nathanial did not look reassured. “I am not trying to question your judgment, Olivia. But how could you know such a thing?”
“I just do, Nathanial. Please. I am asking you. Begging you, in fact. I need you to trust me.”
Nathanial appeared alarmed by the urgency of her words. But he must have seen something in her expression that made him defer to her greater years.
“Very well.” He gave her a little bow, and at just that moment, Augustus’s carriage was announced. “I will see you in Bloomsbury.”
Olivia quickly moved to enter the carriage and felt Augustus himself follow her.
Once they were both seated and Nathanial appeared nowhere, he asked, “Where is Count Mapperton?”
“He is riding with Percy.”
She saw Augustus pause and then nod. He signaled to the footman and the door closed. Relief flooded Olivia.
And then she saw the expression on Augustus’s face and felt anything but relieved.
The carriage pulled away from the opera and they sat in silence. She could bear it for no more than a minute.
“I saw that you read my letter,” Olivia broke in, “From Mr. Laurent. My—friend. In France.”
“Pardon me,” Augustus said stiffly, “I should not have done so. I did not know it was yours.”
“You do not have to apologize. I am not affronted. I only want to make sure you understand. I know how it must look.”
“How does it look, Olivia?”
His eyes met hers for the first time all evening. They were lit with an emotion she did not quite understand. That otherworldly blue appeared even stranger under the cast of this emotion. “If you think I am angry with you, you needn’t worry. Nothing in our arrangement has changed. I have no claim on you and you have done nothing wrong. Another man wants to marry you and you have nearly accepted him. That much is clear.”
“I have not nearly accepted him,” she insisted, even though she knew his assessment was not inaccurate. “And he is—his view on the matter is not the same as mine.”
“Very well. It is your business. I am not entitled to know of your affairs. It is I who ruined our relationship the first time. I do not pretend dominion over you. If you seek only to enjoy yourself with me and then return to France to marry this man, I cannot stop you. I certainly cannot keep myself from you or what you will offer me. I am a desperate man. Desperate for you. I see no reason to hide that truth from you. I have made clear that you can do with me what you wish.”
The words, so liberal and generous, cut her. She was not sure what she had expected from him. It was not this vulnerability. She had supposed he would be full of masculine bitterness and reproaches. Instead, she felt torn open by his gentleness.
“Augustus.” She leaned towards him. He looked at her, immobile, his body completely still. “Mr. Laurent has proposed to me. But I have not accepted. Our relationship is not—it is not anything like—what you and I share.”
“What does that mean?” His tone was soft, but his eyes were blazing. “I do not presume to ask questions of you, Olivia, but if you insist on speaking of this matter, then you cannot blame me for asking them.”
“I do not blame you—”
“If you mean you have not fucked him, that you have not found your pleasure again and again with him, as you once did with me, as you did with me yesterday in the park, I cannot pretend to be sorry. I am not that generous.”
“Yes,” she blurted out, “We have not—that is not the nature of our relationship.”
“Good. As I said, I cannot regret it.”
It was curious, she thought, staring at him as he absorbed this information. She knew, intellectually, that he had no right to be jealous over any liaison she had had in the years since their parting. He was a rake, a renowned one, even if he wasn’t a seducer of servants. Before her now, he didn’t feel any inch his reputation.
Instead, he was someone else. Augustus. Her Augustus. The one she had known as a girl of twenty. With whom she had eaten caramel. The boy into whose chambers she had snuck, night after night, and with whom she had shared every intimacy. Not just the physical things, but about her past, too. She had told him, she remembered, about her childhood at the orphanage. She had explained her loneliness when she had worked for the rich widow. He had held her as she had talked about such intimate things. Before him, no one had done that for her.
ThatAugustus, who she had not been able to see in so long, sat before her now.
This feeling, more than anything, made her reach out towards him. She placed her hands on his knees. As she did so, he made a slight sound of content.
“Can I kiss you?” she asked.
“Of course,” he retorted, as if offended by the question. His tone almost tempted her to laughter.
But she wanted him too much to laugh.
She leaned forward and placed her hands on his face, kissing him softly. Almost at once, she found herself pulled into his lap, the carriage swaying slightly with the shift in their movements. He groaned when her bottom made contact with his groin and she felt his hardness there, grinding, insistent, against her.
She kept kissing him, exploring his mouth, enjoying the simple sensations and the stark intimacy of the act. As she did so, she rocked against him, and he groaned into her mouth once more.
She loved that sound.
It made moisture pool between her thighs.
Olivia kept at it, kissing and grinding against him, until she was so distracted by the heat between them that she lost focus on the kissing.
“Stop,” he said, at the exact moment when she had been unable to bear the tension. “You’ll make me spend. You know you will.”
“I want that.”
And she did. In Hyde Park, he had not let her touch him. He had found his pleasure anyway, as he used to do, from pleasuring her. But it was not the same. She wanted to give him that.
“No. You will not give to me. Not yet. I haven’t earned it. I am not worthy.”
“Augustus—”
“No,” he repeated, gently, positioned her so that she was back on the opposite seat. Then he slid to his knees. “And you know that I cannot help but take my pleasure from you. It is natural to me as breathing.”
He had his hands on her ankles now, pulling up her skirts.
“Your legs,” he said, “You can’t know how I have missed them. How I have fantasized about them.”
She shut her eyes at the absurdity of the compliment. Usually, she wasn’t self-conscious about her body. Her legs were full, like she was. Still, she had been called plump, too large, by others. She knew the reality that confronted her in the mirror. Some saw her size as a defect, others as plain fact, and others thought her very comely, for it or despite it. She herself did not dislike her size, did not abhor it or try to change it—she found herself quite beautiful, even, at times. But her legs were the one part of herself she struggled to accept.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know I am too stout.”
“Nonsense. You’re perfect.”
He kissed the inside of her knee, worrying the sensitive skin there. Anticipation ran straight to her core.
“I have dreamed about these legs. Wanted nothing more than to lose myself in them again.” He buried his face into her thighs, kissing until he reached her core. “Open for me.”
She gave in. Of course, she did.
His tongue had always been wicked. She had been with other men since and none had even come close to his skill in this regard. Whereas she had had other lovers with large cocks, some equal to Augustus in length if not girth, she had never encountered a man with his skill in giving this pleasure.
He plundered her now without mercy and the sensations overtook her. She tried not to moan aloud but it was impossible. The feeling of his tongue inside of her, his lips on her clit—it was too much to experience without gasping.
He somehow managed to give her the fullest pleasure possible without letting her tip over the edge. It had always been his talent. To let her ride this pleasure for the longest time possible before sending her to ecstasy.
From within her pleasure, though, she still had a sense of his body. And she realized that her foot was rested on his thigh. She wanted to have some part in pleasing him—to give him something, even if it was small. She moved her foot and soon found his cock.
Immediately, he moaned into her at the pressure. His cock was hard and pulsing below the sole of her foot. He must be very close to coming himself.
For a moment, she thought he might object to the contact as he had previously, but he did not stop feeding on her. With what he was doing to her, she only had the ability to palpitate him gently. And yet he groaned as if she were the one pleasuring him with her mouth.
Just as she was on the brink, she felt the carriage slow. No, she thought desperately, he couldn’t stop now.
“Augustus, please.”
“Don’t worry,” he said into her, the words barely distinguishable, the vibration of his mouth making her cry out again.
Then, she felt him enter her with his fingers and he leaned down and brought his tongue to her clit, licking and sucking and teasing, somehow all at once. She kept her foot on his cock, delighting in the hardness there, and feeling when, just before she was about to find her own ecstasy, he shuddered beneath her.
When she came, she saw stars, the sensation rocking her body and forcing her to take leave of her senses.
She felt Augustus right her skirts. She was unequal to helping in the matter.
With her eyes still closed, she heard the coach door open. Cool night air sliced through the carriage.
Olivia opened her eyes and saw Augustus’s footman looking down at them. Augustus was still on his knees, spread out before her, his dishevelment attesting to their tryst.
Augustus removed himself to the coach seat. The footman had the restraint to keep his expression neutral.
As the man handed her down, Olivia recollected that it was probably not the first time that this servant had seen such things.
After all, the Earl of Montaigne was a notorious rake.