Susan Schonberg - The Phoenix Of Love

In his most debauched states, when Olivia had been unable to avoid him, he had spouted something about her being as good as dead. His beautiful child, he would cry, was dead, just like her mother. Then, seeing past Olivia into some other life, he would drag himself to his knees and beg her, his Olivia, to forgive him for killing her. He hadn’t wanted to do it, he had said. He had just wanted her to be happy.

At other times, Wentworth would simply rage at her. He had called her names that Olivia had never heard, and had ranted that she had sold herself to the devil. Olivia had covered her ears to the abuse, but she could always hear it. Sometimes the hate echoed in her head for hours on end, and there would be no one else around to dispute the perceived truth of his words.

Perhaps Olivia could have dealt with the abuse had she felt she had not been the cause of his sickness. Just to look at her seemed to drive her father further over the edge. And when he remembered how much she looked like her mother, he was always worse.

Desperate to protect herself, Olivia had tried to wall off her feelings for her father. She tried not to pursue his love. She tried not to want to make him happy.

But at times, when Wentworth seemed more lucid than others, he would hold out his arms and beg Olivia to forgive him for saying the things that he had. He loved her, he would say, because she was his last remaining bonny lass. And couldn’t she see her way to being patient with him just a little while longer? Olivia had cried and promised that she would. And then the cycle would start again.

A heavy weight fell slowly inside Olivia, oppressing her. Diligently she struggled against its strength, fighting for control. Her father’s sickness was not her fault. She had not caused it. She had to believe that. Otherwise she couldn’t live with the truth.

With a soft thud, a furry white body landed in her lap. More by rote than by conscious thought, Olivia’s hand began to stroke the fur. Slowly, painfully, the black memories receded. Then, after a million years, as she fought down dread and remorse, the object she was holding became familiar. “Isis,” she murmured, her hand fondling the cat’s head, smoothing the softly shadowed black ears. The vitality of the other voice brought reality back with a crash.

“That cat is terribly spoiled, Olivia.”

With feigned calmness, Olivia looked up at her grandmother. How long had she been lost in her past? Minutes? Seconds? With relief, she saw that Lady Raleigh’s face was filled with mild reproach, not concern. Good, it couldn’t have been too long, then. She picked up the Siamese cat and held it to her face, looking into its eyes. Only you know how close I came to losing everything, Isis, she thought. You were the only one that was there.

“Yes, I know.”

Gently she placed the cat on the floor and picked up the teapot. More assured, Olivia started to pour the hot fluid into the little delicate china cups.

Her lips were a lush shade of red. She looked closer. Green cat’s eyes; large and seductively slanted with kohl. Platinum blond hair framed a perfectly flawless complexion. One small mole sat strategically near those full, red, pouting lips.

Lady Beatrice Chisolm scrutinized the face looking back at her in the mirror carefully. It was a beautiful face, she knew. She glanced down at the full figure carefully accented by the flimsy negligee. She took another mental inventory. Firm torso, long silky legs, magnolia petal skin. Beatrice meticulously counted up her assets. Her eyes flew back up to her face, and she smiled at her own reflection. This would be the night, she decided. She had never looked better.

The door behind Beatrice opened soundlessly, and the Marquis of Traverston emerged from the bedroom beyond. He crossed the intervening space between them, silently admiring his mistress’s form in the diaphanous gown, just as he was meant to do.

The high-heeled mules encasing her tiny feet hid more of her body than did the rest of her ensemble, Traverston thought sardonically. He treated himself to a long look at her sumptuous perfection as he finished tying his cravat.

“Don’t say you have to go now, my love,” purred the countess in her most seductive voice. “I’ve just ordered us a light supper.” She pouted her full lips with a practiced ease. It would take a stronger man than him to leave her now. She was sure of it. “You can’t just leave me to eat all by myself.” She placed a long slender finger on her lips, playfully nipping the end of it with her perfect white teeth. Then she pushed the digit more fully in her mouth, looking at the marquis through her lashes as she did. She couldn’t quite keep the triumphant smile from teasing her pursed lips.

Traverston knew this game better than she did. His response was ruthless. Turning away from her, he replied, “I’m sure you will manage.”

With another pretty pout, she picked up her hairbrush and began to stroke her gleaming yellow hair. The movement of her arms gave Traverston tantalizing flashes of her almost naked breasts, and he smiled to himself at the obvious ploy even while consciously resisting his body’s reaction to her.

“It would be a shame if I had to send it back,” she finished with a seductive glance at him from the mirror.

Despite himself, the marquis was intrigued. She seemed more resistant to the idea of his leaving than usual. They did have a good time together, true, but he sensed something more to her machinations than just another romp under the covers. What could she have planned? He smiled inwardly. She was too obvious by half. For that reason alone he was planning on giving her the congé tonight. It would be amusing to toy with her first, though. He wanted to see what petty scheme she might try on him now.

Reaching over her to take the brush from her hand, his arm rubbed against her. He could see the excitement his touch caused her through the peer glass. Her rosy nipples had grown hard, and she squirmed with anticipation as he examined the silver setting thoughtfully. Finally he pulled a chair close to hers and sat with his knees touching her back. With slow, ponderous strokes, he ran the horsehair bristles over her head.

Beatrice closed her eyes and gave in willingly to the seduction. She made little moaning noises with every stroke of the brush.

Traverston bent his head forward and began nibbling on her neck. She had a lovely neck, he had to admit. Her creamy skin, soft and appealing over the graceful arch, was incredibly enticing.

But that wasn’t all. He inhaled deeply. Her perfume was the kind that invaded a man’s nostrils. He took another whiff, its strong, heady scent yet another invitation to remain.

Beatrice purred like a cat and reached back over her head to grab his shoulder. She angled her body back to get more of his lovemaking, turning her head to receive his lips with her own.

After the first long, deep kiss, she murmured against his neck, “Oh, Trav. We’re so good together.”

It had finally come. He was a little disappointed that the game hadn’t lasted longer. The chase had an intrigue of its own which he rather enjoyed. But then he pushed that thought back. Beatrice was no school miss, and he would have to be careful around her. Whatever she had in mind, she had been a long time in planning it. She must be impatient to have done with it, though, to have brought up the subject before he had a chance to take her back to bed.

Traverston pulled back a little to look into her face. Her eyes were still closed, her lashes long and dark against the skin. As she reveled in the luxurious feel of a woman who was being admired, she purred contentedly. She kept her eyes closed and pretended to be unaware of his scrutiny.

After a short while, she pulled him by the shoulder and back up against her lips. She licked his mouth, inviting his tongue to mingle with her own. His mouth opened obligingly, and she daringly explored the upper reaches of his mouth with a slow, heavy and suggestive movement of her tongue. He was quick to capture her lips more fully with his own, and briefly he let himself enjoy the honeyed taste of her mouth as he waited for her to continue with the verbal portion of her assault.