At the front door Cato eased Phoebe off his shoulder. Games were all very well in their place, but Lady Granville couldn’t appear before the servants in her present position.
“Ugh!” Phoebe said, shaking out a foot. “I’m sure I’m frostbitten.” She moved through the door that Bisset now held open and said mischievously over her shoulder, “My thanks for the ride, sir.”
Cato shook his head at her retreating back, then, drawing off his gloves, turned to the butler. “Bring a decanter of madeira to my study, Bisset. Ah, Brian… I trust you’ve been made comfortable.” He greeted Brian, who was coming down the stairs. “You’ll forgive me if I leave you to your own devices until dinner. I have to gather some papers and change my dress for the ride to headquarters this afternoon.”
“Of course, my lord.” Brian offered the rigid Olivia a half bow. “Olivia, my little sister. You do seem to have grown up since I saw you last.” He regarded her with a faint smile.
“I do hope you won’t find the c-climate in Woodstock as unhealthy as you found it in Yorkshire,” Olivia said sweetly. “You had such an uncomfortable t-time. Was it fleas… or lice, Brian? I don’t recall.”
A mottled flush spread across Brian’s thin, pointed countenance. Cato was already halfway across the hall and didn’t hear Olivia’s mockery.
“And as I recall, you also ate something that disagreed with you,” Olivia continued. “I do t-trust you won’t have a similar problem on this visit.”
Brian’s thin mouth flickered. The fine line of his eyebrows lifted in a supercilious question mark. “You talk in riddles, little sister. I’m sorry to see that you haven’t managed to overcome that unfortunate stammer. It makes you sound like a simpleton. I wonder you have the courage to open your mouth at all. But at the very least, you should try to make sense. It might lessen the unfavorable impression.”
Olivia felt the old surge of frustration and the nasty cold tremor in her belly that Brian had managed to engender as far back as she could remember.
With curled lip and mockery in his eye Brian watched her struggle. “Poor little girl,” he murmured. “But so amusing.”
Olivia’s hand closed over the friendship ring in her pocket. Portia had exorcized this demon once and for all. Now Olivia met Brian’s smile with her own and concentrated fiercely.
“Excuse me. I have to take off my cloak.” There, she’d managed the stumbling block. It was the hardest sound of them all for her. With a little nod of satisfaction she turned to the stairs.
She was feeling so pleased with herself that she almost skipped down the passage towards Phoebe’s bedchamber.
Phoebe was sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed, wriggling her white numbed toes at the fire in an attempt to get the feeling back, when Olivia came in. “I’m sure I’m frostbitten,” she declared.
“They do look rather dead,” Olivia said, peering at Phoebe’s feet with some fascination. She hitched herself onto the edge of the bed, observing cheerfully, “It was funny to see my father c-carrying you like that.”
“My feet were wet,” Phoebe offered, a slight flush blooming on her cheeks.
“I’ve never seen him do anything like that before,” Olivia said. “He doesn’t tend to be spontaneous. Maybe all these surprises you k-keep giving him are having an effect.”
“What kind of effect?” Phoebe hopped off the chest to fetch clean stockings from the linen press.
Olivia considered. “Well, he laughs more,” she said finally. “He never used to laugh when Diana was around, but now he’s often amused. I like it,” she added. “I used to think he was sad a lot of the time. But he doesn’t seem so now.”
“Really?” Phoebe paused, her clean stockings in her hand. “Do you really think so?”
“Mmm.” Olivia nodded. “Haven’t you noticed how his eyes seem to gleam sometimes?”
“Yes, they do, don’t they?” Phoebe smiled to herself.
“Well, I’d better take off my c-cloak before dinner.” Olivia jumped up. “We’ll go and see Meg this afternoon.” She went to the door just as it opened to admit Cato, intent on changing into riding dress.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said with a curtsy. “I was just talking to Phoebe while she changed her stockings.”
Cato nodded a mite absently. He had rather a lot on his mind at present. He closed the door behind Olivia.
“How are your feet?”
“Warmer now.” Phoebe eased her stockings over her toes, then slowly pulled them up, stretching her leg in front of her as she did so, flexing her foot.
Cato watched her. There was something undeniably sensuous about the whole maneuver. She fastened her garters just above the knee and then looked up as if aware of his scrutiny for the first time. Her teeth closed over her bottom lip, and a smile touched her eyes, a smile where diffidence blended with invitation.
“I’ve ordered dinner for noon,” Cato said slowly. He began to unbutton his doublet. “I have to ride to headquarters this afternoon.”
“Will you ride home today when you’ve completed your business, sir?” Phoebe remained perched on the bed, her skirt still hitched up above her knees.
They were very prettily rounded knees. Cato’s fingers were now on the waistband of his velvet britches. “I had not thought to be absent this night,” he said.
Had the previous night really happened? Had it just been a trick, an artful pretense? He had a sudden mad impulse to test the waters.
“Come here,” he said, crooking a finger at her.
Phoebe slid off the bed, her rich velvet skirts sweeping once more to her ankles. She came slowly towards him, her eyes as brilliant as a sun-filled midsummer sky.
Chapter 10
Cato stood very still, making no attempt to touch her. He wanted to see what she would do.
Phoebe looked a little puzzled at the lack of a lead. She hesitated, then as if of their own accord, her hands went to his waist, to the fastening of his britches. She pressed her hand against the hard bulge at the apex of his thighs, feeling it stir beneath the rich dark velvet. Her face was upturned to his and Cato watched her, his eyes glittering with an almost predatory light that flooded her with excitement, set her loins pulsing, her stomach tightening.
Slowly she lowered her eyes and unfastened his britches, button by button. She slipped her hands into the opened waist to hold the slim hips, before sliding behind to the taut muscular slopes of his buttocks. She was breathing fast, her hands operating as if without instruction from her brain. Slowly she peeled his britches and drawers away from his hips, slipping to her knees in almost the same movement.
The turgid shaft of flesh jutted from its bush of black curling hair. Phoebe placed her palms flat against his hips and her face against his belly. The earthy fragrance of his arousal filled her nostrils, sending her senses spinning. She licked the column of dark hair running down from his navel, enjoying the rasp on her tongue as taste mingled with scent. Her hand slipped between his thighs to grasp the tender globes. She felt their weight, the softness of the taut skin.
She ran her hand up the shaft of flesh, enclosing it in her palm, feeling the blood pulse strong against her hand. Her tongue darted, to lick the dew clustering at the dark swollen tip. The salty taste of him entranced her. Taking him fully within her mouth now, she drew her lips up the length of the stem as her hands continued to stroke and knead between his thighs.
Cato was lost. He had been pleasured thus by women for whom sex was both a toy and a commodity, but this young woman with her flawlessly knowing touch was unlike any other he had experienced. There was a paradoxical innocence to the instinctive deftness of her touch, to the clear delight she was taking in pleasuring him. When she looked up at him, her blue eyes were sparkling with her own excitement, her cheeks delicately flushed, her parted lips offering a near irresistible invitation.