Page 19 of A Lady Most Wayward
‘Strange. I don’t feel like I’m flat on my back. And it isn’t my pretty neck that is at risk this time.’ She flexed her fingers, squeezing gently as she leaned close enough for Olivia to see the fine lines spanning around Philippa’s eyes.
Frustration at Olivia’s own ineptitude manifested in tears.
Bollocks to that! I will not cry in front of this woman. I will not show her weakness.
Olivia pressed her lips together and breathed deeply through her nose, but that only brought the scent of jasmine and frankincense into her lungs. A heady aroma tangling her thoughts and melting something low in her belly. ‘You’re nothing but a bully.’ Her voice quavered, and she hated the duchess even more for highlighting Olivia’s inferiority. Which made the strange tingling erupting where Philippa’s fingers continued to stroke against her pulse even more baffling.
‘You are full of insults this evening.’
‘Only because you are so deserving.’ Olivia willed her legs to transform back from pudding to flesh and bone. ‘I spent ten years in the vilest pit of hell while you dined at the Queen’s table.’ Impotent rage rose like poison in her blood. ‘And all the while, the beau monde gleefully tangled themselves in the web of lies my husband judiciously circulated. I became nothing more than a whore in the eyes of high society, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. You think I should be punished for the crimes I’ve committed? Rest assured. I’ve been punished.’
Philippa’s indigo gaze cut through all of Olivia’s shields. ‘I’ve read some people can taste a lie.’ She leaned closer, her mouth only a breath away from Olivia’s. ‘I wonder if it’s possible.’
‘I dare you try. I’ve nothing to hide.’ Rage coalesced into something just as hot, just as fierce, and far more dangerous.
Philippa’s grip loosened, her fingers tracing up the side of Olivia’s neck, sinking into her hair. ‘Tell me to stop.’
‘Why? Are you frightened?’ A laughable question when Philippa was famous for her fearlessness. If Olivia hadn’t been so lost in Philippa’s gaze, she would have missed the flash.
My God. She is frightened. Of what? Kissing me?
It was enough to push Olivia past the fraction of space existing between them. Pressing her mouth against Philippa’s sinfully stained lips, bursts of sweet, sharp sensation coalesced in her belly and exploded out like sparks.
Philippa’s hand tightened in her hair, tugging just hard enough to feed the flames of Olivia’s desire. Philippa moaned a throaty sound of pleasure that hummed over Olivia’s lips.
Emboldened by Philippa’s response, Olivia licked the seam of her mouth and thrilled as the duchess opened to her. She tasted of whiskey and wild winter wind.
Olivia gripped Philippa’s hip, pulling her closer, hating the layers of skirts between them. Philippa pressed her thigh between Olivia’s legs, a soft promise of sweet friction.
Perhaps Philippa was making good on her query, trying to taste Olivia’s words. She slid her tongue over Olivia’s in a velvet slide, exploring in languid sips and bold thrusts. Heat washed up Olivia’s body, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. She wanted more. Needed the weight of Philippa’s body holding her to earth, reminding her she was real and alive and still vital.
Diving intrepid fingers into Philippa’s glorious hair, she broke the kiss and tugged Philippa’s head back, exposing the elegant column of her throat. Olivia pressed her mouth just beneath Philippa’s jaw in a gentle caress before nipping hard enough for Philippa to gasp. It was glorious to hold such a powerful woman in her arms and feel her body soften against Olivia.
A throat cleared, loud and shocking in the quiet room.
Philippa stumbled back as Olivia looked over her shoulder to the door. The innkeeper’s wife stood with a tray in her hand.
‘My ’usband really was sniffing up the wrong skirts. I ’ate to innerupt but I ’ave your supper.’ She walked far enough into the room to deposit the tray on the desk next to the door.
‘We were just, erm…’ Olivia grasped for any plausible reason why she and Philippa would be in such a compromising position. The woman could call the guard. Accuse them of being inverts. Have them thrown from the inn for their immoral behaviour.
‘I’m sure your friend ’ere had summink down ’er throat and you were jus’ tryin’ to ’elp ’er get it out. I’m no stranger to ladies ’aving passionate friendships ’ere abouts. ’oo doesn’t need a chuckaboo to stay warm on cold nights like this?’ The woman winked at Olivia. ‘If I reported every person in this inn doing summink left of the moral centre, I wouldn’t ’ave a customer to serve or a pot to piss in. You ladies ’ave a good night. But do yerselves a favour and make use of that lock.’ She gave a hearty laugh and turned, shutting the door behind her.
Philippa walked to the door, doing just as the woman instructed. When she turned back to Olivia, her cheeks were flushed and her gaze focused on the window instead of Olivia’s face. ‘Well. That was… I’m not sure exactly. But it shouldn’t have happened. And it won’t happen again.’
Why shouldn’t it have happened? Because I’m not worthy of the grand duchess? Just a weak woman who did terrible things out of panic and desperation?
Olivia pressed her lips together, refusing to voice her questions for fear of the answers. ‘Fine. Good. I should hope not. Are you convinced at least that I’m not lying about Europe?’
Philippa refused to answer, instead shifting her focus to the tray. Lifting the linen cloth draped over their food, she inspected the two bowls of steaming stew as if they might contain the clues to eternal life. She sniffed. ‘It smells edible.’ Taking a bowl and spoon, she sat on the one chair available.
Olivia rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of their situation. She strode to the tray, ripped a healthy chunk of bread from the loaf sitting next to her bowl, and plopped it into the rich stew. Philippa was wrong. It didn’t smell edible. It smelled divine. Carrots, potatoes, onions, and chunks of mutton swam in a thick broth spiced with salt, pepper, rosemary, and thyme. Her mouth began to water. She took her food to the bed and perched on the edge.
It was an awkward meal, but the food tasted as delicious as Olivia imagined. Philippa opened the bottle of wine that the innkeeper provided and filled one of the two glasses.
‘What fine manners you have. I would have thought a duchess with such esteemed friends as the Queen of bloody England would at least have the decency to offer me a glass of wine.’
Philippa raised a perfectly sculpted brow and sipped before answering. Olivia ignored the clench of her belly as the duchess licked a droplet of wine from her lips.
