“Seven,” he said, and lowered his mouth back to her breast.
This time, he teased by dancing around the nipple, rising up until his lips almost touched the peak, then falling back down the other side of her breast to rise again, until she was ready to grab him by the hair and force her nipple into his mouth herself.
He indulged her deepest desire for the briefest of moments before announcing, “Eight,” and performing the same dark magic on her other breast.
Every time he almost-but-not-quite reached her nipple, her breath caught and her spine arched, shamelessly tilting her tight peak into his waiting mouth.
She could have cried with frustrated passion when he said “nine” and lowered his kisses back to her stomach.
That was, until she felt the buttons slip away over her hipbones. The flaps of her breeches gapped open in the early evening air. One small tug, and she would be bare right down to her—
He tugged.
“Ten,” he said, and put his mouth exactly where she’d hoped he’d touch her.
Her eyes fluttered backward at the onslaught of sensation. Her wide-open breeches were just loose enough to allow his face between her thighs, yet just tight enough to restrict her from flinging her legs wide to offer him more access.
She was pinned in place by her own scandalous trousers, affording her no other possibility but to melt into his pillows and attempt vainly to breathe, whilst his mouth and tongue brought her right to the edge and... over.
She came apart beneath his hands, pressing her body into his face as her trapped legs tightened with each exhilarating contraction of pure pleasure.
He stopped only when she lay spent beneath him, no longer capable of rational thought.
She managed to mumble, “Means nothing...”
“Mm-hm.” He fastened up her buttons with care, then gently pulled down her shirts before wrapping her in his arms and cradling her to his chest.
He made her feel cherished, damn him. He made her feel desirable. Wanted. He made her feel as though he might one day come to love her just as much as she—
Heaven help her. Olive squeezed her eyes shut tight. She’d fallen in love with the wretched knave.
Her head bolted upright.
“This means nothing,” she announced, firmly this time.
He nodded. “You mentioned.”
“But I’m not opposed to doing it again.”
His eyes widened, then crinkled at the edges. It should have been arrogant, not seductive. It was both.
“Are you negotiating?” he asked.
“No one consulted my opinion before you first turned up,” she reminded him. “The arrangement was ten days, and those terms stand. But...”
He arched a brow. “But?”
“We can spend the remaining three days doing anything we want.” She took a deep breath, then added meaningfully, “Everything we want.”
His gaze was hot and his breath ragged. “You have no idea what I—”
“I want it, too.” She touched his face. “I want it with you.”
He took a shuddering breath as if her words alone were enough to endanger his thin grasp on control.
“I am a blackguard,” he began, “but even I shall not force you to the altar—”
“I’m not going to the altar,” she interrupted.
“—by deflowering you,” he finished firmly.
She loosened his cravat, barely recognizing the shameless temptress she’d become.
“You’re a botanist,” she teased. “Who else should deflower me?”
“No one else,” he growled and crushed her mouth to his.
When they finally broke apart, she asked, “Is that a yes?”
He groaned. “It’s a... ‘never make irreversible decisions using parts of your anatomy other than your brain.’ There is nothing I want more than to make love to you, here, now, tomorrow, the next day.” He rose from the bed and pulled her to her feet beside him. “But before that happens, I want you to be very, very sure.”
As much as her passion-drugged body begged to differ, he was probably right.
“That... was a very un-scoundrelly speech.”
“I have my moments,” he admitted. “You still shouldn’t trust me.”
“I don’t need to trust you,” she reminded him. “You’re leaving, and I’ll never see you again. When the ten days are finished, we will be, too.”
She expected the words to fill her with power, or at least relief.
Instead, all she had was an unfurling, unquenchable longing for more.
Chapter 11
The Eighth Day
Eli jotted a few technical observations in his notebook before turning his attention to the next poorly located plant in the castle conservatory. Well, most of his attention. The back of his mind never strayed from Olive.
It shouldn’t sting so much that she didn’t care for him the way he cared for her. It wasn’t even a surprise. Their history was fraught, and this was hardly a proper courtship. It wasn’t anything, as Olive kept pointing out.
Although she wasn’t interested in marrying him, for as long as he was in a position to do so, Eli was determined to give her everything he could.
He glanced down at his notebook. It was meant to contain observations from the castle conservatory, but over the past few days, it had grown to also include detailed suggestions for the Harper farm.
With a few slight changes in pasture rotation and maintenance, Eli could ensure better nutrition for the horses and lower risk of infections from the equine parasites that thrived in certain weeds and soil conditions.
There had been a marked improvement when Eli had implemented such modifications on his father’s farm. On that occasion, Father had considered Eli’s techniques a secret advantage over his competitors.
The marquess would kill Eli if he suspected him of aiding and abetting lifelong foes.
Eli was going to do it anyway.
In fact, now that he’d had an opportunity to inspect Cressmouth’s native foliage and pastures, he had several new ideas that would be even better for the Harpers. Their already famous horses would be even healthier and more valuable by springtime.
“There you are,” came a jolly voice Eli didn’t recognize at all. “I was hoping you’d return soon!”
Eli glanced up over the eschscholzia to find the castle solicitor beaming at him. What was his name? Ah, yes.
“Good day, Mr. Thompson. I couldn’t stay away. Your conservatory is...” An unmitigated disaster? “...fascinating.”
Mr. Thompson chuckled. “Is that the word you’d use? Miss Harper led me to believe you found it something of a disaster.”
“Er...” Eli shifted his weight. Lovely. Thank you, Olive.
“She also convinced me you were the best man to consult on a grand reorganization.”
Eli blinked. “She did what?”
“She said you are a brilliant botanist here on holiday for a limited time, and it would be remiss of the castle if we did not beg for your assistance.” Mr. Thompson gestured helplessly. “If you could sketch out a plan of what ought to be placed where, as well as anything else we ought to be doing, I will arrange for your suggestions to be implemented posthaste.”