Page 90 of House of Thorns
Olivia stilled.
“Grandfather brought him here this very morning,” Deborah explained in a hushed voice. “You’ll be living here now. That is, when you’re not printing music. I heard grandfather saying how you’ll probably have a print house built nearby. He’s even sent for several of London’s finest printing presses, as a gift.”
Still, Olivia didn’t move.
With a smile, Deborah bobbed a curtsey and started toward the stairs and the gaiety of the ballroom below as Nicholas slipped up behind Olivia and slipped his arms around her waist.
For a time, they stood there, listening to her father play, but at the end of the third song, she suddenly twisted in his arms. He let her go. She passed down the hall, her fingers clenched, and then, at the sound of approaching voices, she reached for the nearest door and vanished inside.
He followed.
They stood in a bedroom, a small guest room, decorated in rose patterned paper with an ivy-green settee and four-poster bed.
“What is it, my love?” he asked, coming up behind her once again.
She turned to face him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I…I’ve hated him for so long.”
Nicholas smiled. “Your grandfather?”
She nodded.
“The two of you are so very much alike, my love.” He chuckled.
Her brows furrowed with displeasure.
“Time,” Nicholas said, running his hands down her back. “Take time to learn who he is, my dear. He clearly is a man of regrets.”
She nodded, and then the line of her brows deepened. “This is so…so unexpected.”
“Aye.” He dropped his voice. “Now, I fear, I cannot ask you to wed me any longer.”
Olivia blinked. “I never took you seriously, Nicholas.”
“You should have,” he teased, threading his fingers through hers. “Now, it is too late. I can no longer ask. As a duchess, now, it is you who outranksme.”
A light entered her eyes. Her lashes lowered. “Then, shall I ask you to wed me, Lord Blair?”
“I accept,” he didn’t hesitate.
He kissed her then, deeply, taking his time in tasting the sweetness of her mouth.
Then, she tore her lips from his. “Take me,” she whispered.
Take her. Aye, he would. He would make her his. At last. How fortunate that they had picked a room with a bed.
He caught her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, his cock hardening in anticipation as he lay back with her across the counterpane. As the ribbon about her waist fanned across the bed, he found himself grinning. With one swift jerk, he tore the ribbon free.
“Nicholas!” she gasped, staring at her ripped gown.
The tear revealed the curve of her breast. Blood rushed to his cock at the sight. He grinned and, setting the ribbon aside for later, slid his hand through the opening to cup her breast.
She moaned and closed her eyes. Aye, he knew she’d like that. He caught her nipple between his fingers and teased it into a peak. Then, he withdrew his hand, grabbed the material in each hand, and ripped her dress the rest of the way.
Her eyes flew open in surprise.
“It’s already ruined,” he murmured lightly, quite enjoying himself and the sight of her breasts laid bare to his eyes.
Any further objection she might have had was shushed when he latched onto her breast and began to suck.
