She’d completely unraveled in his arms, and he’d loved it. He loved the taste of her. He loved the feel of her in his arms, against his mouth. He loved looking at her. Her hard, rosy nipples had turned red as cherries and puckered right before she’d come. And the look on her face. God, he’d thought her beautiful before. He’d do anything to see that look again.

Now he slid up beside her. Her eyes were closed, her breath coming in gasps, her breasts rising and falling with each one. He cupped one, and she jerked, her eyes opening. “You liked that,” he said, fondling her soft flesh. It wasn’t a question. He’d known she’d like it. Though he hadn’t expected her to come so easily. She’d been ready to climax from just his gaze on her.

“It was...I don’t know.”

“Yes,” he said. He bent to take her cherry-red nipple in his mouth. When he sucked lightly, she moaned as though helpless to the pleasure of it. “Will you let me do it again?”

“Again?” Her voice was almost a screech. “I couldn’t possibly...”

He slid a hand down and cupped her.

“Oh.” Her hips rocked slightly, pressing her center against his palm. He sucked harder on her nipple and she shuddered.

“Will you let me pleasure you again?”

She swallowed, and he thought she might refuse. But when she looked at him, her eyes were large with desire. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

She sat and allowed her robe to fall from her shoulders then she pulled the night rail over her head so she was completely naked. She saw his look and her cheeks turned pink. She started to cover herself, but he grasped her hands.

“I like looking at you, and you like me looking.”

She gave a slight nod and lowered her hands. “Before I said I wanted to stay dressed.”

“You’re allowed to change your mind. You’re allowed to tell me stop or more or yes, yes, yes.”

She closed her eyes at the echo of how she’d sounded just a few minutes ago.

“Lay back,” he said.

She opened her eyes, and the dark blue irises glittered. She lay back. “Now what?”

“Your turn to give me an order.”

“Kiss me...”

He kissed her, exploring her mouth for a long, long time. When he pulled back, she shook her head. “You’re not done.”

“No? You said to kiss you.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Go on then.”

“Kiss me...everywhere.”

He obliged her.

***

AT SOME POINT BEFORE dawn she rose, dressed, and he made sure she was safely back inside her room with the door locked. He lay on his bed with the intention of sleeping for a few hours, but the bed smelled like her. It smelled like the two of them. His cock was still hard. She touched him again, stroked him, but she hadn’t wanted to go further. He’d take whatever she was willing to give him. And if she hadn’t even been willing to allow him to touch her, he would have still wanted to spend the night with her.

What did it mean? He had a suspicion it meant he felt a hell of a lot more for her than mere affection. And that was too damn bad because tomorrow they’d be back in London and that would be the end of these late night rendezvous. She’d be home with her parents. He’d watch over initially and stay as close as possible. It went without saying that he’d have a few words with Withernsea to ensure the duke stayed well away from her. And then eventually she wouldn’t need him any longer. He’d go back to his life in the rookeries and she’d go back to raising her son. One day her father would probably find her an acceptable man to marry, and Jasper would read about it in the papers. Someone else would be touching her, kissing her, making her gasp. Someone without a ruined face and a scarred past and a profession that meant he spent an inordinate time in bawdy houses and flash kens and ended up talking like the rogues and doxies half the time. Olivia thought he was a gentleman, and he’d been born a gentleman, but he’d long since forgotten how to be one.

Except with her. It had been easy to slip back into the formal speech and the proscribed manners with her. But that wasn’t who he was. And when she realized that, she wouldn’t want him.

He must have dozed off at some point because he awoke to a pounding on his door. Jasper rose, hastily donned his mask, and stumbled to the door. He opened it, a harsh word on his tongue, but bit it back when he saw Richard bounding on the threshold.

“It’s morning!” Richard hurled himself at Jasper, giving him no choice but to catch the lad. “Can we go now? Can we?”

“I have to dress first.” Jasper set the boy down and pulled his shirt over his head. His wound still gave a twinge of pain once in a while, but he largely ignored it.

Richard grabbed his hand and tugged. “Let’s go.”

“Where is your mother?”

“Dressing. She said to fetch you.”

He didn’t doubt it. She’d probably sent the boy out and crawled back under her covers. They were close to Town, and there was no hurry. He’d give her time to sleep. “Have you ever eaten in the public room at an inn?”

The boy shook his head. “No.”

“You can’t go to London without having done so at least once. Are you hungry?”

The boy nodded vigorously. Jasper pulled on his coat and boots. “Let’s go then.”

After a hearty breakfast and a visit to the stables so the boy could see all the horses, Olivia was dressed and ready. She didn’t look as though she hadn’t slept, though she looked pretty. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Jasper realized she was probably nervous to see her parents again after so many years.

It was an easy drive to London, and once they were a few miles out, Jasper allowed Richard to sit on the box with him so the boy might see all the city had to offer. He wondered what the capital must look like to this child who’d spent his entire life on a remote seaside cliff. To him she looked as dirty and squalid as always. Smoke hung around her buildings and streets, making the city look gray from a distance. It was gray inside as well. Limestone and marble buildings that had once been white had turned dingy and sooty over the years. The streets were muddy and packed closely with carts, carriages, and horses. Men and children weaved between the conveyances with seemingly little care for their lives. Others moved like ant colonies along the sidewalks. The sounds and smells were a dissonant cacophony to the senses. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the contents of the chamber pot thrown from a window. The city always hummed with the sound of wheels, horses, and low voices, and above it all rose the shouts of hawkers calling, “Juicy red apples!” and “Ha’penny for a posy!”

Richard’s eyes were wide as he took it all in, but Jasper noted the boy had also slid closer to him and placed his hand on Jasper’s leg as though needing to feel connected to someone or something safe. “My grandmother and grandfather live here?” he asked as Jasper turned down Piccadilly.

“Not far now. They live in Mayfair.” Jasper might have taken a faster route to the town house, but he enjoyed pointing out the sights and shops he’d loved when he’d been a child—Green Park, the Serpentine in Hyde Park, the shops in Old Bond Street, Gunter’s Tea Shop. Finally, he made his way to Brook Street and stopped the carriage before Viscount Carlisle’s home.

The child looked at the whitewashed building with its flowers spilling from window boxes. “Is this another inn?”

“No.” Jasper swung him down. “This is the residence of Viscount Carlisle, your grandfather.” He opened the door to the carriage and helped Olivia stepped down. Her hand shook in his. “I’m right here,” he said quietly.

She clutched his hand tightly. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”

He nodded, though the decision was her father’s, not his. With a smile and cheeriness he knew must be forced, Olivia released him and bent to look Richard in the eyes. “Shall we go and knock on the door?”

But Richard had suffered a sudden attack of shyness, and he lifted his arms for her to pick him up. She did, holding him tightly, while he buried his face in her shoulder. Jasper walked behind them, and when Richard raised his head to peek at him, Jasper stuck out his tongue. The boy giggled. Jasper knocked on the door, sparing Olivia the awkwardness of knocking and holding Richard, and then the three of them stood in silence.

“What if they’re not at home?” Olivia whispered.

“The knocker is on the door,” he answered. “They’re home.”

She hoisted Richard higher, attempting to secure her hold. “Do I look well enough? I tried not to muss my hair in the coach.” Her dark blue eyes were wide and concerned.

“You look like a rum-dutchess.”

“I seem to recall that’s a good thing.”

He heard footsteps inside. “A very good thing.”

Finally, the door opened, and an elderly butler blinked at them. He looked at Jasper, then Olivia, then Richard, whose face was still hidden. And then he almost crumpled.

“Oh, dear Lord.”

***

OLIVIA WOULD HAVE RECOGNIZED Dimsdale anywhere. She’d known him since she’d been Richard’s age and he’d come to work for the family as an underbutler. Seeing him now made her feel every single year she’d been away. His dark hair had thinned so he had a bald patch on the top and his kind eyes seemed smaller. And though he was still taller than she, his shoulders looked thin and stooped. He staggered at the sight of her. “Is it really you?” he asked, hand to his heart.

“It is, Dimsdale. May we come in?”

“Of course!” He moved aside then fluttered his hands, apparently forgetting to close the door. “I should announce you. Your father...oh, but your mother—”

“Take a moment, Dimsdale,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. Funny how seeing his disorientation had relieved her of her nervousness.

“Why don’t you show us to a parlor or the drawing room?” Jasper asked. “Then the viscount can come to us when he’s ready.”

“Yes.” Dimsdale nodded. “That’s right. Yes.” He led them up the stairs she had scampered up and down a thousand times as a child. Olivia had to put Richard down because he was too heavy to carry upstairs. Her son went directly to Jasper who lifted him as though he weighed nothing. At the top of the stairs, Dimsdale opened the door to the drawing room and showed them in. “I will have the housekeeper send refreshments. You won’t know her, Miss—er—Miss. She’s new.”

He left them alone, and Olivia turned to survey the room. “It looks different,” she said. “It used to be done in the Grecian style, all white with gold braiding. I wasn’t allowed to touch anything for fear my dirty little fingers would smudge something. I like this better.” The furnishings had been reupholstered in bright colors—blues, greens, and deep yellows. She went to the window and pushed the heavy draperies aside. Still the same view of the street and the neighboring town houses.

“I’m hungry,” Richard said, his voice beginning to take on that whiny tone that she knew meant he needed a nap. Jasper sat on a blue and white couch, and Richard sat on his knee. It was strange to see Jasper with his mask now that she’d grown used to seeing him without it. He felt like another person to her, not the man who’d lain with her the night before, teasing and torturing her until she dissolved into a puddle of satiated splendor.

“The housekeeper will bring tea and cakes in a few moments, darling.” She tried not to look at Jasper for too long, but she wondered what he saw, what he thought when he looked at her. Did he remember her kneeling naked before him? Did he think about all the sounds she’d made when he touched her? She was mortified to think of it now, in her parents’ home and in the light of day.

The door opened, and Olivia turned, expecting to see the housekeeper, but it wasn’t her at all. Her father stood in the doorway. Olivia held her breath, staring at him with as much interest as he stared at her. She didn’t know what he saw, but she saw a man who had grown old in five years. His hair was almost completely white now and the lines on his face had deepened. He still stood straight, his clothing tailored and crisp, but there was something defeated in his eyes. “It’s you,” he murmured. “You’re really here.”

Olivia blinked several times, surprised at the way his voice wavered. She’d always hoped her parents would greet her with open arms, the prodigal daughter returned home again. But now that her daydream was coming true, she wasn’t certain what to do. Her father moved forward, his arms held wide. Olivia spared a glance at Richard and Jasper, but they were both watching her with interest.

And then she was in her father’s arms again, her cheek pressed to his chest, and the familiar smell of his tobacco surrounding her. She couldn’t help but let out a small hiccup as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Papa!”

“My dear. My darling. You’re here. You’re alive.” He stroked her hair, his hands tender and light, almost as though he feared she might disappear at any moment.

“I’m here. I’ve missed you.”

He pulled back and kissed her forehead. “Your mother has been ill. She isn’t well enough to come down. You must come and see her.” He took her hand, but she resisted. She looked at Jasper and Richard then took a shaky breath.

“Does she know I’m here?”

“Not yet. Come. Seeing you again is her fondest wish.”

“Before we go, there’s something I must tell you. It might be better if you don’t tell her about me.”

“But you’re all she’s talked about.”

“Papa, I ran away because—”

“That doesn’t matter, Olivia. Your mother and I made a mistake. We take the blame. We never should have tried to force you to marry the duke. You’re home now, and that’s all that matters. We have you to thank, my lord,” he said with a nod at Jasper.

“But that’s not all that matters.” She looked at Richard and nodded to him. Jasper murmured something to the boy and gave him a little push toward Olivia. Richard walked slowly across the room, and as he did so, her father’s eyes grew large. Finally, her son stood beside her. “My lord, allow me to introduce you to my son, Richard Carlisle.”

She’d deliberately used the boy’s surname, her own, to make it clear she had not married while away. This was her son, born out of wedlock.

Her father stared at Richard, and Olivia’s heart clenched painfully. Richard’s blue eyes met the viscount’s, and the little boy looked so hopeful. Please, God, don’t let him say anything to hurt Richard.

Slowly, very slowly, the viscount moved forward. He stood before Richard and held out his hand. “So you are my grandson?”

Richard nodded and whispered, “Yes, my lord.”

“Your name is Richard?”

Richard nodded.

“We have something in common then.”

“We do?” Richard smiled at her as if to ask if she knew what it could be.

“We do. My name is also Richard.” The viscount held out a hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Richard.”

Richard took the hand and giggled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Richard!”

Olivia felt all the tension inside her float away, like a bubble on the breeze. But then she saw her father’s face. He was close to tears.

She put a hand on her father’s arm, and he took a breath, attempting to compose himself. “We will talk later. Now I want to take you to your mother.”

“Shall I bring Richard?”

“Not this time,” he said. He smiled at her son. “Perhaps later today or tomorrow when she’s feeling a bit better.”

“Mama?” Richard took her arm and held on tightly.

“I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. Jasper will stay with you.” She glanced at him, and he nodded. “And the housekeeper is on her way with treats. Don’t eat them all before I return.”

“Yes, Mama.”

He ran back to Jasper and climbed on his lap. Olivia gave him a reassuring smile then followed her father out of the room. At the landing to the stairs leading up to the bed chambers, her father paused. “The boy is Withernsea’s?”

Shame slammed through her. Her cheeks grew hot. “Yes.”

“Does he know?”

“No. And I don’t want him to know. I know you don’t like lies, Papa, but I’ve told people I encounter I was married and my husband died.”

He pressed his lips together. “I think it’s best we stick to that story, though Withernsea is no fool. He can add and subtract.”

“But he cannot be certain, and if he is kept away from Richard and me, it should not be a problem.” She took a deep breath and forced her shoulders back. “If you can’t support me in this, I will be forced to go.”

She waited for his reaction. His gaze had slid away from her, and when it returned it was even more troubled than before. “He still wants you. I don’t want you to leave again, Olivia, and I do support you. But if you’re to stay, I will have to find a way to deal with the Duke of Withernsea.”

Olivia grasped her father’s hands and held them tightly. The love she felt for him in that moment warmed her throughout. She’d missed her parents and needed their love and support more than she’d wanted to admit. “I just want to stay away from the duke, Papa. If you will support me in this then I will stay. I’m done with running, and I’m not afraid of the duke anymore.” Maybe if she said it enough it would be true.

“You have grown up,” her father said with a smile. “I imagine you had no other choice. But I am here now, and I will take care of you. Leave the matter of the Duke of Withernsea to me.” He didn’t wait for her agreement but started up the stairs. “Your mother must be wondering where I am. Don’t mention any of this to her. Not yet. You will understand why when you see her.”

With a last look at the drawing room doors, Olivia followed her father up the stairs to the room that had always been her mothers. Even before she stepped inside she could smell death. She paused and grasped her father’s sleeve. “Is she?”

“Not yet. You’ve come in time and seeing you might strengthen her.” He opened the door and she followed him into the dark room. The curtains had been drawn and the lamps kept low, and it took her a moment before she could see the figure in the bed. When she did, she halted. Her mother was but a shell of the woman she’d been. Her once long, thick golden hair was now dull and brittle as straw. Her body had withered away so that it barely disturbed the bedclothes. Her eyes, dark blue like Olivia’s own, looked too big for her gaunt face.

“My dear,” her father began, moving closer to the bed. The nurse who had been sitting beside it stood and moved into a corner and out of the way. “I have a wonderful surprise for you.”

“A new poem by that scamp Byron?” Her voice was weak and paper-thin.

“No, something even better. A visitor, actually.” He motioned for Olivia to come closer. “Lord Jasper found her, my dear. He found our Olivia.”

Olivia made her legs move, forced herself to stand beside what remained of her mother. She looked down and saw tears in her mother’s eyes.

“Is it really you, Livvy?”

“Yes.” She blinked back her own tears. “I’m here, Mama.”

“Am I dreaming?” she looked at the viscount. “Is it our Livvy?”

“It’s her. She’s really here. She’s come back.”

The viscountess reached out a hand and Olivia took it. Her mother still had a great deal of strength, though her fingers were bony. “You will stay, Livvy? You won’t go away again?”

“No, Mama. I will stay.”

“And the duke? You will marry him now?”

Olivia tensed, her gaze darting to her father.

He shook his head slightly. “Let me worry about all of that, my dear. We have our Livvy back.”

“Will you sit with my, Livvy? Will you read to me?”

“Of course.” Olivia worried about Richard. She hadn’t wanted to leave him alone so long immediately after arriving, but Jasper was with him. He would be fine. “Of course, Mama. What shall I read?”

“Twelfth Night, of course.”

Of course. It was her mother’s favorite of Shakespeare’s plays. Olivia had been named after one of the characters. She took the seat beside the bed and lifted the book of Shakespeare’s plays on the bedside table. She had to move various vials and medical implements to do so, but when she had it, she turned to the marked page. “‘If music be the food of love,’” she began. “‘Play on.’”

She continued through Duke Orsino’s speech, but her mind was on her son, hoping Jasper was keeping him too busy to notice her absence.