A Countess by Chance(19)

Wood approached just in time to catch her admission. “By forcing his hand…,” he repeated, his tone dripping with anger. “You trapped the man? Good God, Annabelle.”

Annabelle whirled around to face him and gasped. “I only meant… What I mean to say, is I…”

He glared at his sister, his lips pressed into a hard, implacable line. “You only meant what? That you have dishonored yourself by resorting to the actions of a desperate, grasping child? It’s no wonder Lord Huntington refused to wed you.”

“If I am desperate, it is only due to your constant reminders that I must find a wealthy, titled husband before I am too old!”

Before she could reveal more, Wood grabbed Annabelle by the elbow and flashed Olivia a tight smile. “Please excuse us, Miss Dewhurst. It seems my sister and I have some unpleasant matters to discuss.” Pivoting sharply on his heel, he dragged a whimpering Annabelle down the hallway and toward the main staircase.

Olivia almost felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. Almost. She considered herself a forgiving woman, but she wasn’t quite generous enough to excuse Annabelle’s behavior toward Adam. It was a shame, really. It was only a matter of time before the rumors began to circulate, and by then Annabelle’s reputation would be in tatters. And all over one ill-conceived kiss.

The minute Annabelle and Wood were out of sight, Olivia slipped into Adam’s room, clicking the door shut behind her. Sunlight spilled in from two arched windows on the far side of the room, glinting off the polished mahogany furnishings. Her eyes traveled past the chase lounge, past the stately writing desk, to the elegant four-poster bed beyond.

Adam.

Her heart leapt when she saw him. He was asleep, completely bare-chested save the white bandage wrapped tightly around his upper arm. Blankets were tangled around his hips and legs, as though he’d thrashed at some point during his sleep.

Biting her bottom lip, she stepped forward. Good heavens, how could she possibly ask his forgiveness? She’d thought him a liar, refused to speak to him, and then shot him—all in the span of a single day! He must despise her, and rightly so. After everything, she’d had no faith in him.

She lowered herself into the chair beside his bed and let her gaze travel freely over his angular features. He looked well, at least. A bit rough around the edges, perhaps, but breathing and whole.

She reached out and touched a fingertip to the seam of his lips. They were warm, soft, and she longed to taste them again. Just once more before he awoke and turned her away.

Standing, she leaned over him and gently pressed her lips to his. His scent curled around her, and she drew it into her lungs, committing it to memory. Spice with just a hint of earthy musk that was entirely his own.

Just as she began to pull away, he reached up with his good arm and cupped her head, pulling her deeper into the kiss.

He was awake and kissing her. She sank onto the bed as he claimed her mouth, hot, urgent, demanding. He kissed her as though these were his last, fleeting moments on earth.

He sucked in a sharp, pained breath and she pulled away instantly, her heart racing. “Did I hurt you?”

He ignored her question, his lips tilting into that wickedly charming smile that never failed to send shivers down her spine. “Does this mean you’re speaking to me again?”

“I should never have doubted you,” she said.

“How could you ever have believed I wanted Annabelle, when I have you? There’s no comparison.”

Her heart clenched at his words. “Will you forgive me?”

“You did shoot me. And as I see it that puts you in my debt yet again.”

“In point of fact, Wood shot you. I was trying to stop him.”

“I could list any number of reasons why you are in my debt—a bullet in my arm is one among many.”

Perhaps there was merit to his argument.

“Very well, I concede. I am forever in your debt.” Smiling, she traced the ridges of muscle that lined his stomach. “What, pray tell, is your price this time?”

He gazed at her intently, all traces of humor gone. “Marry me.” He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, gentle, reverent. “Say you’ll be my wife.”

She blinked several times, certain she’d heard him wrong. For so long, she’d imagined him uttering those very words again. Now, here, it felt like a dream.

He smoothed his hand over her backside, over the fabric of her nightgown, then drew it back and slapped her hard. She jumped as the sharp, exquisite pain lanced through her, igniting every nerve, every wicked desire. “Say it, Olivia.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, I will marry you.” She smiled. Joy swelled in her chest, spreading through her like rays of sunlight. “Looks like you won me, after all.”