Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(44)

“Very nice,” Shaw remarked.

Swinging her bonnet, Livia led him to the glasshouse, a cozy nook that no more than two people could occupy at the same time. “When I was a little girl, I used to sit in this glasshouse with my books and dolls, and pretend that I was a princess in a tower.”

“You grew up at Stony Cross Park, then,” he said.

Livia opened the glasshouse door and looked inside. It was clean and well-kept, the wooden seat gleaming from a recent polishing. “Lord Westcliff is my brother,” she finally admitted, her voice sounding hollow as it resounded inside the little glass-paned room. “I am Lady Olivia Marsden.”

Shaw stood behind her, close but not touching. Her awareness of him was so electric that it compelled her to step forward into the glasshouse. Shaw remained in the doorway, filling it with his lean body and broad shoulders. When Livia turned to face him, she was struck by the differences between him and Amberley. Shaw was at least ten years older than Amberley had been. A powerful, worldly man, and so clearly a disen-chanted one, with tiny lines of cynicism etched around his eyes. But when he smiled, it temporarily banished every sign of disillusionment, and made him so attractive that her heart nearly stopped.

“Lady Aline mentioned that she had a sister,” Shaw said. “However, I had the impression that you lived away from the estate.”

“No, I am definitely a resident of Stony Cross Park. But I keep to myself. The scandal, you understand.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a relaxed smile. “Tell me, Princess Olivia…why do you have to stay in your tower?”

The soft entreaty made Livia feel as if she were melting inside. She laughed unsteadily, wishing for a moment that she dared to trust him. But the habit of independence was too strong. Shaking her head, Livia approached him, expecting him to back away from the doorway. He retreated a half step, his hands still grasping the edges of the doorway, so that she couldn’t help but walk into an open-armed embrace. The bonnet ribbons slipped from her fingers.

“Mr. Shaw—” she began, making the mistake of looking up at him.

“Gideon,” he whispered. “I want to know your secrets, Olivia.”

A bitter half smile touched her lips. “You’ll hear them sooner or later from other people.”

“I want to hear them from you.”

As Livia began to retreat into the glasshouse, Shaw deftly caught the little cloth belt of her walking dress. His long fingers hooked beneath the reinforced fabric.

Unable to back away from him, Livia clamped her hand over his, while a hectic blush flooded her face. She knew that he was toying with her, and that she once might have been able to manage this situation with relative ease. But not now.

When she spoke, her voice was husky. “I can’t do this, Mr. Shaw.”

To her amazement, he seemed to understand exactly what she meant. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said softly. “Just let me come closer…and stay right there…” His head bent, and he found her mouth easily.

The coaxing pressure of his lips made Livia sway dizzily, and he caught her firmly against him. She was being kissed by Gideon Shaw, the self-indulgent, debauched scoundrel her brother had warned her about. And oh, he was good at it. She had thought nothing would ever be as pleasurable as Amberley’s kisses…but this man’s mouth was warm and patient, and there was something wickedly erotic about his complete lack of urgency. He teased her gently, nudging her lips apart, the tip of his tongue barely brushing hers before it withdrew.

Wanting more of those silken strokes, Livia began to strain against him, her breath quickening. He nurtured her excitement with such subtle skill that she was utterly helpless to defend against it. To her astonishment, she found herself winding her arms around his neck and pressing her br**sts against the hard plane of his chest. His hand slid behind her neck, tilting her head back to expose her throat more fully. Still gentle and controlled, he kissed the fragile skin, working his way down to the hollow at the base of her throat. She felt his tongue swirl in the warm depression, and a moan of pleasure escaped her.

Shaw lifted his head to nuzzle the side of her cheek, while his hand smoothed over her back. Their breaths mingled in swift puffs of heat, his hard chest moving against hers in an erratic rhythm. “My God,” he finally said against her cheek, “you are trouble.”

Livia smiled. “No, you are,” she managed to accuse in return, just before he kissed her again.

The bag for the morning was respectable, consisting of at least twenty grouse and a half-dozen woodcocks. The women joined the sportsmen for a hearty breakfast by the lake, and they all chattered and laughed lazily while the servants kept their plates and glasses filled. Afterward the guests separated into groups, some of them going for carriage drives or walks through the grounds, others retreating to the manor house to write letters or play cards.

When Aline saw the considerable amount of uneaten food that had been brought back to the kitchen, she and two housemaids packed it into jars and baskets, to be distributed to villagers in Stony Cross. As lady of the manor in her mother’s absence, Aline was mindful to call on the families who had need of extra food and household supplies. It was an obligation that she did not always enjoy, for these visits took up a full day or more of the week. She would enter cottage after cottage, sit by a multitude of hearths, listen diligently to complaints, and dispense advice when necessary. Aline feared that she was insufficiently equipped with both the wisdom and the stoicism that such calls required. On the other hand, the knowledge of how little the cottagers possessed, and how hard they toiled, never failed to humble her.