She tightened her inner muscles on him and tweaked his nipples. His sac grew tight, his seed rising, heating. Bloody hell, he was ready to spend himself and she had just begun.
“Of course, love,” he groaned, willing to give her anything she asked. “There’s no rush . . . for me to depart. I’ll stay . . . as long as you . . . think is best. Just do that again . . . oh, yes . . . again . . .”
Olivia’s smile was triumphant as she rested her palms flat on his chest and began to ride him in earnest, lifting and falling in a pounding rhythm, moaning in a way that drove him insane. The part of his brain that still functioned realized she’d managed him to her liking with the use of her body, but the part of him presently being milked inside her didn’t care. She loved his cock—loved to ride it, kiss it, suck on it—and he loved to give it to her. He was mad for her, mad for her pleasure, mad for her touch.
As her body spasmed around him and she cried out his name, Sebastian found he didn’t mind being managed at all. He clutched her hips in his hands, holding her still while he thrust upward into her, prolonging her pleasure. Only when her head fell forward in exhaustion did he allow his own release, spurting his seed in endless bursts against her womb, his body wracked with a pleasure so piercing it robbed him of all thoughts but one: she wanted to keep him with her.
“What in hell are you doing?” Olivia cried as she stepped into the cabin.
The knife in her husband’s hand clattered into the bowl of water on the vanity, creating a fine mess. Sebastian stood in front of her cherry-framed mirror, naked from the waist up and impossibly gorgeous. As always, her heart skipped a beat just looking at him.
In the last few weeks, he’d shared daily living with her in every way a man would share his life with his wife. He’d observed her in the bath, watched her eat, and assisted her toilette. In return, she’d become fascinated with watching his masculine ablutions. She relished brushing his hair and mending tears in his clothing. She adored taking care of him and giving him the affection he’d gone so long without. Sebastian absorbed every drop with an awed appreciation that tugged at her heart.
“Damnation,” he groused, brushing the splattered water off his torso with a towel. “You are like to scare the wits from me, woman!”
“I’ll be scaring more than your wits if I ever find you attempting that again!”
He took a deep, slow breath. Olivia set her arms akimbo and tapped her foot indignantly.
“You said it was unfashionably long,” he explained, still holding his hair in his hand.
“So it is.”
“Well, we’re docking in a few hours.”
“I’m aware of that.” And she hated it, hated that soon they would lose the wondrous intimacy of their long sea voyage and endless days of pleasure in their bed. Within hours, she would be simpering and smiling at the vultures of Society, the very ones who had picked her flesh to the bone only a year ago. And she would have to share her darling husband with them, a man who bore wounds that still festered. The thought made her stomach turn.
“Therefore I’m cutting it,” he said curtly.
“No, you are not.”
His blue eyes met hers, capped with a frown. “Make sense, Olivia, and hurry up about it!”
She released her breath and stepped toward him, not stopping until her body was pressed against his. She wrapped her arms around his lean waist. “I like your hair the way it is.”
Disbelief etched his handsome features.
“I like running my fingers through it when you are sitting down and I’m standing at your shoulder. I like seeing strands of it left on my pillow. I like it swaying around my shoulders when you are thrusting deep inside of me.” With gentle fingers, she pried his hair from his tense grasp and rubbed her face in it.
“I was cutting it for you,” he said hoarsely.
“Keep it for me,” she whispered, meeting his intense gaze. “When we stand in crowded ballrooms, I will see your queue and know that you are mine. I will be reminded of how wild you are, how you struggle against the bonds that hold you, and I will think to myself, ‘He chose the bonds that bound him to me.’ And I will be happy.”
Her hands stroked up the rippled expanse of his torso and came to rest over his heart. It beat beneath her palm in a panicked rhythm.
“God, Olivia,” he breathed in a strangled whisper. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
Stepping backward, she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the bed. “We have a few hours left. Why don’t you show me?”
Sebastian looked out over the smelly, sooty mess that was the London wharf and, despite his best efforts, felt his stomach tie up in knots. He’d fled England the day after Edmund died and had never returned, had never wanted to, still didn’t.
He sighed, taking comfort in Olivia. He would not be alone in this. His wife was thoroughly consummate in the social arts.
“Good God!” she cried from behind him.
Frowning, he spun on his heel. “What is it, love?”
Olivia stood just outside the stairway, resplendent in a blue silk damask gown with lace-edged bodice and sleeves. A shiver of awareness flowed through him, bright and insistent.
Her hand was pressed to her heart. “You . . . good grief . . .” She shook her head slowly. “Damn, you stopped my heart for a moment.”
“Don’t swear,” he admonished with a roll of his eyes.
His wife had spent far too many days at sea with foul-mouthed sailors, which was understandable considering her father’s trade. While he admonished her regularly, in truth he found her colorful speech rather charming. The small foible made her seem less perfect and more real, more his. After all, he was a man of overwhelmingly numerous faults.
He waited patiently for her to explain the cause of her distress. Then Sebastian noted the feminine appreciation that lit her eyes and the smile that curved her lush mouth. In fact, now that he was paying attention, he had to admit she looked completely besotted. With him. He grinned. “I take it you approve of my attire.”
Olivia glided toward him, all graceful elegance and luscious woman. “You look quite dashing. Magnificent, actually.”
She pressed herself against him, heedless of the sailors who swarmed the deck and the pedestrians who moved along the crowded wharf. Her hands slid along the lapels of his fine wool coat, down the intricately embroidered silk of his waistcoat, over the bulge of his cock in his snug breeches, and around to the curve of his ass. Thankfully, her wandering touch was hidden from view by his long coat.
“You, my gorgeous pirate, polish up beautifully.” With a firm grip on his hips, she tugged herself toward him, smiling wickedly. “Your cock is hard. Do you never tire of bedsport, Captain Phoenix?”
Cupping the curve of her neck, he pressed an ardent kiss to her forehead. “Impossible with a wife as lusty as mine.”
He frowned at her use of his alias, reminded of a task he had set for himself and never accomplished. “Wait for me a moment, sweet. I must speak with the captain.”
She looked up at him curiously, but did as he asked without question.
It took only a moment to locate the man he sought. “Captain, did you have the opportunity to speak with your crew about my identity?”
The captain’s smile peeked out from his bushy gray beard. “Aye, milord, but as I tried to tell you, the men are loyal to Lady Merrick. We’ve all been with ’er father, Mr. Lambert, since she was a babe. As far as pirates go, yer crew were the only ones what could catch us. You kept the damage to a minimum, and ye didn’t ’urt the lass even before you knew she was yer wife. The men on this ship can respect that.”
Sebastian nodded, relieved.
A sharp screech from the quay and his name shouted in Olivia’s angry voice had him running toward the gangplank. With a quick eye, he took in the rigid set of her spine, the reticule swinging from her fist, and the finely dressed man who covered his face with his hands, cursing foully. It was easy to deduce that she’d been accosted in some manner she’d found offensive and fought back, as she was wont to do.
Filled with furious possessiveness, Sebastian launched himself at the man, no questions asked. Two quick punches, one to the face and the other to the diaphragm, had the lecher moaning in misery.
Satisfied, Sebastian leapt to his feet, straightening his waistcoat, and went to his wife. “What happened?” he asked gently, visually searching for any evidence of injury or insult to her person. Olivia’s face was frighteningly pale.
“That man—” she stabbed a finger at her assailant, “—wants a trip to Bedlam! He kissed me, then called me his wife!”
Sebastian shot a curious glance at the man on the ground and gasped. Now that his face was no longer hidden, the visage was startlingly familiar. “Bloody hell, Carr! What the devil are you doing assaulting my wife?”
“You know him?” Olivia asked in astonishment as Sebastian helped Carr to his feet.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he muttered. “This deranged man is Carr Blake, my cousin.”
Carr glanced at Sebastian and then Olivia with watering eyes. “Damnation, Merrick! What are you doing here?”
Sebastian arched a brow. “I am escorting my wife to our home. What are you doing here? And kissing my wife, for Christ’s sake! Are you mad?”
Carr swallowed hard.
Sebastian lifted his gaze and spied the waiting carriage. The equipage was new, not one he recognized, but the crest emblazoned on the door was his. “You’ve been using my carriage?”
Olivia placed her hand on his arm. “He called me his wife,” she choked out. “He came in your equipage.”
Sebastian shot a look at her, saw her blanched features, and felt his mouth fall open as the pieces fell into place. “Oh, hell!” He turned to Carr, his nails digging into his palms as he resisted the urge to throttle his relative. “Tell me, cousin, that you are not here pretending to be me.”
Carr winced a split second before Sebastian’s fist knocked him into oblivion.
Olivia said nothing during the ride to Dunsmore House. She couldn’t have managed speech even if she’d desired to, what with her mouth being dry as the desert and her throat clenched shut with apprehension. Her discomfort only worsened as the carriage rolled to a halt in front of the imposing manse.
Sebastian vaulted down and stared up at the elegant façade. “Remain here.”
“No,” she argued. “I’m coming with you. You are not facing your father alone.”
He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t want you anywhere near him!”
“I don’t want you anywhere near him either, but you insisted we come.” She lifted her chin. “Go in there without me, and I’ll follow you, I vow.”
Sebastian’s face was grim as he assisted her down. He glanced at the footman. “Wait here,” he ordered.
Olivia shivered at her husband’s starkly austere features. He led her inside, ignoring the horrified butler. They ascended the stairs, heading directly to the study, where masculine voices could be heard. His hand at the small of her back was firm and steady, despite the inner turmoil she sensed. She’d never seen him in such a mood, something akin to murderous rage, and she realized at that moment what had prompted his fierce reputation.
They entered the room, again without knocking, and Olivia paused, frozen on the threshold, shocked to find her father in a wingback chair in front of the fire. Sitting opposite him was a man who looked remarkably like Sebastian and nothing like the decrepit, miserly man she had pictured in her mind.
Jack Lambert stood, his golden hair glinting in the light of the fire. “Livy, sweet!” He came to her and kissed both of her cheeks. “You’re late, by weeks. I was worried sick. Agents at the shipping office have kept watch for the Seawitch. Your husband made haste to retrieve you when word came that she’d put into port.” He looked past her to Sebastian, eyeing him speculatively. “Where is Lord Merrick? And who is this gentleman?”
Sebastian clasped her father’s outstretched hand and dipped his head respectfully.
Olivia shot a scathing glance at the marquess. “Lord Merrick, may I present my father, Jack Lambert. Father, this is Lord Merrick.”
Her father scowled. “The devil you say!”
“You’ve been deceived,” Sebastian explained softly.
Her father turned to the marquess, frowning in obvious confusion.
Lord Dunsmore rose from his chair with arrogant indifference. He was as tall as his son, but slender and elegant in his build. He was almost frightening, with his cruel mouth and harshly lined eyes. “Sebastian,” he drawled. “I see your penchant for ruining the best-laid plans is still in evidence.”
Sebastian’s arm stiffened under Olivia’s fingertips.
Her father’s face turned a mottled red. “Explain yourself, Dunsmore!”
The marquess arched a sardonic brow, the depths of his eyes showing no emotion at seeing the son who had been absent for years. “I think I’ll leave the explanations to Merrick.”
Sebastian stood for a moment, his face an impassive mirror of his father’s as the two men stared each other down, the animosity between them palpable. Olivia tugged on his arm to draw his attention back to her father. He took a deep breath. “Mr. Lambert. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I thank you for the hand of your daughter, whom I treasure.”
Her father raked Sebastian with a more penetrating gaze. She knew what he saw—a tall, massively built male with the tan and muscles of a manual laborer. With the long hair and icy expression, Sebastian was intimidating.
“Are you satisfied with this union?” her father asked gruffly. “I was able to ascertain some of the character of the man I thought was the earl, but this man next to you is a stranger to me.”
