Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)

She huffed and faced the stream. “It’s easy for you to laugh. Nothing ever bothers you. You’ve never cared how people regard you.”

He sobered quickly at the pain in her voice. Elizabeth had the same fears as any woman he’d known. Their reputations were all the value they had. He understood now why her emotions were so stirred. The worst she had done was return his kisses. He tried not to smile at the memory and sought a way to ease her discomfort. “Were you supposed to have enjoyed my brother’s phantom attentions? I imagine with the duchess in the picture too it must have been quite a wild romp.”

Her mouth dropped open and then her hands covered her face. “Oh my. The duchess will be furious when she hears the tale.”

He eased closer until their shoulder’s touched enough that she could lean against him if she wished. “I’d say she is already aware of any gossip and has dismissed it. She’s in a unique position to know the truth and has quite rightly ignored the wild rumor. Leopold wouldn’t be anywhere but in her bed.”

Elizabeth straightened, her cheeks flaming. “How can you possibly say such a thing to me and not expect me be shocked? You must think me a woman of low morals, too.”

“If you had no morals, you would have assumed I was offering to marry you yesterday.” He drew in a deep breath as disappointment filled him. For a moment, he had actually considered it a good idea, but she had dismissed it as impossible.

Elizabeth stiffened. After a moment, her blue eyes slid to the side to stare at him. “I knew you could not be serious. Why discuss an absurdity?”

“Absurdity or not, I made an offer, which you rejected out of hand. I doubt many women faced with similar circumstances and desperate for a way out would allow such an opportunity to slip from their grasp so easily.” He shrugged. Her indifference to his suggestion hadn’t bothered him at the time but discomfort filled him now. “I suppose I would make a terrible husband. However, there are other things I’m quite good at in private. Pleasures that you have not been indifferent to so far.”

Her lips clamped together and she did not offer a response to his discreetly made suggestion that she’d enjoyed kissing him. Oliver leaned back against the rock behind them and studied her profile. For a woman who liked chatter and expected a response to her words, he would be a terrible husband. But there were other aspects of life he could easily take up without burdening her with his constant presence. One of them he knew Elizabeth already liked. Touch. He set his hand flat against her back, out of sight so her son could not see should he glance away from the swirling waters.

She gasped as he caressed her spine, curving his fingers to the contours of her body, studying, memorizing while he could. She softened a touch, leaning into his hand, and turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. “You should stop. You’re leaving.”

“You’re leaving, too.” His hand curved around her waist and her eyes widened at his daring. His lips lifted as desire filled him with impatience. “And this is far too pleasant to halt just yet, isn’t it?”

The speed of her breathing increased; her eyes grew slumberous and soft. “What do you think you’re doing, Oliver? This is madness.”

He squeezed her bottom. “You said no to my proposal with absolute assurance, but you’re not asking me to end this with any confidence now. What do you really want, Elizabeth? More of this, or none at all?”

He slid his hand farther around her back, fingers following the curve of her waist and up until the fullness of her breasts began. Just an inch more and her breast would fit his hand. He’d gauged the size as a perfect fit for his palm before and he longed for proof now. Her breath caught, but she didn’t move out of reach. Her eyes were wide, her breathing hastened.

The look in her eyes confirmed his suspicions. She desired more of his touch and kisses, but wouldn’t say so out loud. Reluctantly, he removed his hand fro

m her body, sat forward to rest his forearms on his thighs, and stared at the water until his desire for the woman beside him ebbed. Upstream, George peered at the water in blissful ignorance of Oliver’s behavior. Soon, they’d need to return to him and perhaps he should be ashamed of tempting the widow. But for now he and Elizabeth had a moment’s more privacy to be completely honest with each other.

“I want you in my bed, Elizabeth. I want to run my hands over every inch of you and commit you to my memory.” The truth tumbled from his lips with more blunt force than he’d like but he preferred to be honest with Elizabeth about the desire she stirred in him. “If you’re willing, my door will be unlocked tonight and every night until I leave if you’d care to continue our intimate discussion in more privacy than this. There is no need to say anything now. Think on it and come to me if your answer is yes.”

Silence stretched as he listened to Elizabeth breathe. Her breath churned, her hands twisted in her lap. The long wait for any form of response drove him to look at her. She stood immediately and their eyes met. “George caught a fish.”

When she snatched up her stockings and shoes, caught her skirts in her hands, and fled back to her son without a backward glance, Oliver trailed after slowly, watching the pair’s merriment over George’s success while he buried his disappointment. He had insufficient information to judge his success or failure, but he suspected she might never come to him. She would deny her impulses for the sake of her reputation and propriety. She would cling to her morals and let the pleasure of a new adventure slip away.

When the boy displayed his catch proudly, Oliver smiled and said all the right things to make him happy. But he was very well aware that Beth kept George firmly between them for the rest of their time together. On the path back to the abbey, she refused the support of his arm as she struggled to walk with her wet skirts hindering her progress. Oliver feared it was a metaphor for their relationship.

Chapter Sixteen

BETH PUSHED OPEN the door of the east wing and quietly closed it behind her, heart racing. It was a relief to have traversed the abbey without coming across anyone, servant or master. Her planned explanation for roaming the halls of the abbey because of a nagging hunger was a thin excuse at best. Access to the kitchens was in the opposite direction to Oliver’s bedchamber, after all, and so her excuse would not have stood prolonged questioning.

The corridor before her was dim and silent. Beth rubbed her damp palms over the day gown she’d slipped on and squared her shoulders. She was not going to wonder about Oliver Randall for the rest of her life. As the duchess had remarked once, a widow might indulge if she was careful and Oliver’s blunt suggestion had reassured her that her distraction with his nearness wasn’t entirely one-sided.

At the stream, when he’d made his offer to become her lover, she had been so shocked and startlingly aroused by his suggestion that she hadn’t been able to form a coherent response. All she’d thought of at the time was that Oliver was remarkably good at seduction for a man who had been locked up for ten years of his life. Or was it because of that seclusion that he’d turned his attention to an easy mark? With her, Oliver had not needed to flatter or tease to get what he’d wanted. He’d merely stated his desire to become her lover and let her choose for herself.

She leaned against the wall as doubt filled her. She had only ever lain with her husband and had thought she could live the rest of her life without such intimacies again. But Oliver’s touch and kisses had ignited her dormant desires and her curiosity was stirred to finally know him in every way she could. To do that required courage. He was leaving and so was she. She’d risk her heart simply because she longed for his gentle touch to stir her senses again.

Resolve restored, she looked ahead. Light and the rustle of pages turning came from the chamber ahead. Beth quietly paced down the thick-carpeted hall, her pulse racing at her daring.

When she reached the open doorway, she paused to survey the scene. Oliver sat before the fire, book in hand, glass of whiskey at his elbow, silk banyan parted to reveal his shirt was undone and his cravat missing. Aside from a brief glimpse on the day after his return and then today at the stream, Beth had never seen Oliver informally dressed. He appeared so content on his own that doubts filled her mind again. She could always leave before he saw her.

At that moment, he met her gaze. Beth froze. Her feet would not move and her throat would not form a sound. She couldn’t bring herself to smile or say she’d changed her mind. There was no point in running from her desires because they would never go away. She would sleep with him and then she would know for sure what her life might have been like if circumstances had been in her favor. She would barricade her heart against loving him, but she would give her body into his keeping for just one night.

Oliver stood suddenly and crossed the room with long, sure strides. He gently lifted her chin until their eyes met. His eyes were dark, brooding pools threatening to pull her under. Her pulse pounded through her body and moisture pooled between her legs in a most disconcerting fashion. She’d never been so aroused by a touch so gentle and she feared what that meant for her plans to keep her heart uninvolved. She swallowed, suddenly unsure if she could survive this. “One night,” she whispered.

“One night,” he agreed instantly.