Chapter Twenty-Nine
Montaigne spent most of the night planning with his friends. By the time they left in the early morning, he felt better than he would have thought possible last night—and he had put away the bottle of the whiskey, having, in the end, only had those first three glasses.
He was even able to doze off on the sofa for a few hours. He didn’t dare go into their bedroom, for fear that he would somehow miss Olivia’s reentrance into the house, and also because he couldn’t bear to sleep there without her.
That is how he woke to a most welcome sight: Olivia, looking much fresher than he was sure he did, standing over him.
“Augustus?”
For a moment, he thought she was a hallucination. She had to be, he thought, because she was so beautiful. Olivia was always beautiful, but in his hazy, lovesick state and the early morning light, she looked like an angel, honey-brown eyes and smooth, buttery skin catching the rays of the rising sun.
“Olivia?” he said the word like a prayer, sure that she would disappear when he said it, but instead she stayed. It began to dawn on him that she was real.
“You’re here,” he said, reaching for her, “You came back.”
She frowned at him, the little vexing crinkle in her brow the second sign that she was very much flesh-and-blood. “Of course I came back. Where else would I go?”
“To France?” he said, with a smile that he had hoped came off as roguish, but he feared read pathetic.
She sat down next to him on the couch, clearly exasperated. “Do you think I am so disloyal as that?”
“You did it it once before.”
“Under very different circumstances.”
He found her hand once more. “I know. I was just frightened I’d somehow lose you again.”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
“Then why did you leave Edington House without telling me?”
She shook her head. “You know why. I couldn’t stand to see what being with me does to your life—”
“You are my life, Olivia.”
She smiled at him. “That’s what Eloisa said to me. She said that I have to let you decide what is important to you, that I can’t determine that for you.”
“Wise woman.” He felt infinitely grateful, in this moment, for Mrs. Mapperton.
“I was upset,” she continued, “That I would be the cause of such a row between you and Leith.”
“His own actions were the cause of the row between me and Leith,” he huffed. “If you never want to speak to him again, I would understand. It is hard for me to imagine forgiving him myself, when I think of it.”
Olivia shook her head. “It was a cruel thing to do, no doubt. But what experience in the world did he have that would have let him think differently of me? I have been so worried about how our marriage will be perceived because, in my heart, I know that I’ll never fully be accepted.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is true, Augustus. Or, at least, it will never be as if I’m from your world, as if I had grown up in it. But I’ve also realized that it doesn’t matter. I might not belong in your world, but I belong with you.”
These words melted his fear. If someone had asked him what words Olivia could say to make him feel that she wouldn’t leave him, he wouldn’t have been able to say. But these words—once he had heard them, he knew they were the ones.
He gathered both of her hands in his own and brought her fingers to his lips.
“Thank you,” he said, simply.
“I do not want to cause strife with you and Leith,” she continued, “What he did was—”
“Despicable,” he supplied.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But it would be foolish of us to blame him completely for what transpired between us. We were both young and insensible to the risks of our situation.”
“I did not understand how much power I had over you. How vulnerable you were.”
She nodded. “And I could not see how much real care you had for me, having so little experience of love of any kind. When I received the letter, I should have waited to speak with you before leaving. Even if you had left it, it so went against everything you had said and done up to that point—I should have made sure it was what you really wanted. But, really, I should have expected it wasn’t you who had written it at all.”
“But how could you have known?” Montaigne said, not understanding how she could blame herself. “You had no reason to doubt that it was me. Leith knows how to write my hand very well.”
He watched as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small square. She handed it to him and, dread in his heart, he unfolded it. He knew, somehow, despite never having seen it, what it was.
Olivia—
Over the past weeks, I have contracted a liaison with you that is not suitable for either of us. As you must know, what we have cannot continue forever. I have my duty to my family to think of and my place in the world to assume.
Please accept this token of my affection. I have departed for my cousin’s estate and will return within the fortnight. I ask that, when I return, you be gone from Carrington Place. My gift should, I hope, help you in securing another post. Consider it the payment I have long promised.
Lord Montaigne
To finally read the letter pained him—and yet, in a way, he was glad to see it, because nothing could be worse than the missive he had imagined in his head. He blinked back tears. But there was one consolation.
“It sounds like Leith,” he said, with a laugh.
“It does. I see that now. And there was one way that I should have known that it wasn’t you.” She put her finger over the signature. “Lord Montaigne. You never signed yourself that way—in any of our letters. I’ve never called you by your title.”
He looked at her. “I never wanted you to.”
“I know,” she said, softly. “So, you see, I should have known.” She paused. “If I had been more secure, more sure of you, more sure of myself, I may have seen it. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not at that time.”
“I should have told you how special you were to me. I should have made it clear.”
“Yes,” she said, taking his hand again, “But, as you once said, I struggled to give you encouragement. And you were practically a boy.” She shook her head. “It is all in the past now. And we have the present. We are getting married. We do not need to worry about what happened back then. I trust you now. I want to be your wife. So much.”
He put the letter on the table, pushing it to the side.
“You’re right.”
He needed her, he realized. Even one night without her beside him had him aching for her. He touched her cheek and then kissed her, pulling her towards him. She returned his enthusiasm, her hands finding the planes of his chest and then beginning to rove downward.
“I can’t believe it,” she said, “But I don’t think we have ever copulated on this sofa.”
“How can that be true?” he said, his breath coming faster as she snaked her hand down his breeches and found his erect cock.
“I cannot say, but I think it is something that we should remedy immediately.”
And, with no more preamble, she unsheathed him. He groaned as her hand made contact with his bare cock. She kissed him and toyed with him, clearly reveling in the involuntary reaction of his body, the small spurts of seed that he couldn’t help.
“Olivia,” he said, when he felt he couldn’t take the teasing any longer.
“Shh, I know,” she said. She stood and quickly, more quickly than he thought possible, had her dress and petticoat around her feet. She stood there in her chemise and stays and he gloried in the sight.
Then, she was straddling him, and he was inside of her. She didn’t move at first, they just stared at one another, the intensity of the moment beating down on him, the feel of her around him like heaven distilled. He palmed one of her heavy breasts through her chemise and stays. As delicately as he could manage, he exposed her to the air, gasping when he saw the familiar, dusky color of her nipples and the silvery pale of her most intimate skin. He felt her nipples pucker under his hands. She moaned and then rose up so that her breasts were in his face.
He buried himself in her sweetness, sucking on her nipples until she was mewling and unable to stay still on him any longer. Her gorgeous cunt began to tease him.
“Move, Olivia,” he gasped, “I need more of you.”
She obeyed his command, pumping upward and then downwards, and his cock swelled in response.
“You feel so good,” she panted, “Your cock is so perfect.”
“Fuck,” he murmured, reveling in the feel of her, her silken heat clenching and unclenching over him, the sight of her breasts tantalizing him. Her round stomach and thick thighs looked unbelievably sensual as she rode him. He reached down to grip her ass and guide her. She cried out as he brought her down in quick, rhythmic motions.
“Never leave me, Olivia,” he said, even though he already knew she wouldn’t. He just wanted to hear her agree.
“Never,” she gasped.
And then he just enjoyed the sight of her, her hair unbound and skimming over her bare shoulders, her strong, full body driving him closer to ecstasy.
“Oh, I am going to come,” she moaned, “Oh, Augustus.”
“I want you to, my love. I want to see it.”
“I want you to come, too. I want all of you. I want you to fill me up.”
He knew what she meant. He had never spent inside of her. Not long after their engagement, only days ago, she had told him that he could spend inside of her, that she wanted it, that she wanted to have his child. He had told her that he wanted the same, but that he wanted to wait for the right moment to do it for the first time. In all of their time together, he had never done that. Not once. He had wanted to wait for a special moment.
He realized that moment was now. With her looking so glorious above him. And their intimacy so complete.
“Yes,” he agreed, “I will.”
He kept guiding her with his hand and he felt her grow tighter and tighter around his cock. He was on the verge of spending himself but he wanted her to come first. He wanted it to be perfect for her.
“Oh, god,” she gasped, and then she came. And her release was so strong that, almost immediately, he was joining her. It was the first time that he had filled her with his seed and the feeling was indescribable. Where his orgasm would have usually come to an end, it continued, building into the most intense and complete of his life.
He filled her, as she had requested, and, if he had not been as secure in her love, in her resolution to never quit his side, the depth of his climax, the rightness of it, would have scared him beyond his comprehension.
But he was secure in it.
As the last of his orgasm left him, she bent down and kissed his lips.
“I love you, Augustus.”
He looked up at her, dazed and utterly, wretchedly happy.
“I love you, too, Olivia.”