“Why? This is practically ground level.”
Quin swung a leg over the sill and dropped the foot or so to the ground. Then he held out his arms, grinning up at her, his eyes frankly lustful. “I just realized that there is no way to reach the bedchambers without going through the kitchen.”
Olivia pulled up her skirts as demurely as possible and managed to get a leg over the windowsill. It was harder than it looked, and she ended up toppling into Quin’s arms in a flutter of petticoats.
“So,” he said, holding her very tightly as he placed her feet on the ground, “we are not going back into the house. I think we’ll go climbing instead.”
“Climbing? Climbing where?” Olivia looked around. They were on the side of the house, around the corner from the ballroom. Except where yellow light spilled from the windows, the gardens were silver, cool with the light of a full moon. “Are you talking about a ladder reaching to your bedchamber? Because I absolutely refuse to climb a ladder. I am not a hapless fool, eloping in the moonlight.”
“Didn’t you tell me that I could only look at you like that if we were high in a tree?”
“I don’t want to climb any more trees, Quin! What if you fall again? You’re lucky not to have been killed.”
Quin just grinned. “Even at my advanced age, I can climb this tree.” He reached out a hand.
But Olivia hung back. “It’s chilly out here. I don’t know what you have in mind, but I’m sure it’s not proper.”
“It’s not proper at all. And don’t worry about the cold. I’ll grab a horse blanket or two from the stables.”
“You want to stay outside?”
Olivia was about to voice a whole string of objections, but Quin chose to counter her arguments by kissing her. The kiss was so successful that she found herself perched on the windowsill again, which put her breasts at a level that Quin obviously appreciated.
“It’s a good thing that door is closed,” Quin said sometime later, his voice rough with need.
Olivia gulped, and came to her senses. Her hairpins were long gone and her hair was around her shoulders. What’s more, her bodice had fallen almost to her waist. Skin—far too much skin—gleamed in the moonlight.
“Oh, oh!” she cried, yanking at her gown. “Oh, no.”
“Yes, yes,” Quin said, his hands catching hers, holding them wide so that he could admire her breasts. “I will never have enough of you, Olivia. You’re like a drug.” He dropped her hands and bent his head again.
Olivia stilled, hand on the black hair that fell like silk onto her breast as he kissed her, open, wet-mouthed kisses that sent stinging needles, a sweet kind of torment, down her legs.
“I’m not cold any longer,” she whispered, taking her courage in her hands. This was the right thing to do.
She was choosing her own duke.
“Where is your tree?”
She followed him. But in reality she followed the solemn laughter—and it was laughter—that bloomed in his eyes when she yanked her bodice up; the sweet heat of his mouth; the raw sound of his voice breathing her name.
She would follow him anywhere.
Twenty
The Lucky Lady from Peedle
The tree turned out to be behind the stables. And it wasn’t just a tree. It was a house in a tree.
Olivia stood at the base, looking up with stupefaction. “What on earth is it?”
“A tree house. Alfie’s tree house.”
“Alfie had a tree house?” That was a stupid question; after all, there it was, a tiny house, perched in a tree. It even had windows and a door.
“Alfie liked to ask questions,” Quin said, still holding her hand. “He had questions about everything: What was holding up the moon, why apples turn brown, and who made up the alphabet. One day he wanted to know why we live on the ground rather than in trees.”
Olivia leaned over, brushed a kiss on his mouth. “He was your little sparrow.”
“Yes.” But his voice wasn’t heavy with grief. In fact, it was joyous. “I had the tree house built for Alfie because I thought it was a particularly good question and merited experimentation. We lived there for two days.”
“And what did Alfie decide?”
“That the Dukes of Sconce live on the ground because it’s very difficult for footmen to climb the steps up the trunk with a supper tray, and Cleese couldn’t come at all. Alfie pointed out that Cleese is never happy unless he knows what everyone is doing, so it wasn’t very kind to him if the two of us decided to live in a tree forever.”
Olivia laughed aloud. “Reasoning that befits a future duke. Wait! Did I hear someone laughing beside myself?”
Quin pulled her against his hard body. “If you climb into that tree house with me, Olivia, there is no going back. I will never allow you to marry Rupert. And make no mistake—I allowed Evangeline to wander where she would, but I feel differently about you. If you even make eyes at a man, I’ll probably kill him.”
Olivia reached up on tiptoe, nipped at his chin. “That goes both ways. If I catch you ogling someone else’s breasts the way you do mine, I won’t kill her—I’ll go straight for you. Consider yourself warned.”
Quin laughed.
“That’s twice in one minute,” Olivia teased. “At this rate, you’ll horrify my mother by turning into a belly-laugher.”
“I was faithful to Evangeline,” he said, ignoring her funning. “And I feel twice for you what I felt for her. I suspect I’m not capable of being unfaithful to you.”
Olivia’s smile wavered, and she felt a lump in her throat. She took a deep breath and turned toward the tree trunk. “How does one get up there?”
“There are steps nailed to the trunk. Wait one moment.” He ducked into the stables, reappearing with two blankets flung over his shoulder. Olivia was in the house a moment later.
The tree house had windows on all four sides open to the moonlight, which poured in like fairy dust turned liquid silver. It was just tall enough for Olivia to stand up in; Quin had to bend his head. The floor was covered with matting, onto which Quin threw the blankets.
Olivia hesitated. It was all very well for Quin to talk about how much he loved her breasts. But there was no way to block these windows. She had thought they would make love in a bedchamber, in the dark.
Quin sat down, held out his hand.
She gave him a weak smile.
“Second thoughts not allowed,” he said cheerfully. He reached forward, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into his lap.
“It’s just that there are no curtains.”
“I know . . . and sound travels.”
“You needn’t sound so gleeful! I think I prefer the old Quin who never smiled.”
“Too late.” He nipped her ear, soothed the sting with a warm tongue. “I sent all the stablehands around to the kitchens except for two old men who are too deaf to hear you.”
“Hear me?” The comment was not welcome. It made her seem as if she had no self-control.
In a swift roll, Quin toppled backward and positioned himself on top of her, settling between her legs. They fit together perfectly. Olivia felt as if her skin suddenly woke up. Perhaps she did have no self-control.