Olivia gasped as Simon locked the door, then lifted her to his desk. She was still furious with him. She opened her mouth to protest, but he pulled her so tightly into his embrace, she scarcely had room to breathe. And when his mouth descended again, she gave up thinking entirely. It was impossible to argue with a man with a kiss like honey from heaven.
The heat between them blazed into a conflagration, and he had his hand inside her bodice before she realized it had come undone. Her skirt and petticoats spilled over the side of the desk, so he could not come close enough to ease the ache he created when his hand made love to her breasts.
A knock at the door interrupted, of course. She shoved at his massive shoulders, and Simon reluctantly stepped back to bellow at whoever dared interrupt him, apparently sending them scurrying.
Olivia shakily fastened her underpinnings. “You’ve the aura of a passionate man. I knew that,” she grumbled as he tried to reach for her again. She batted his hand away. “But if we must be at constant odds, we cannot do this.”
“You are the one insisting on doing foolish, dangerous things!” Pure masculine stubbornness reflected in his expression and in his position in front of her, hands fisted at his waist.
“I know you are simply frustrated and would never hit me, despite that intimidating stance,” she declared, wriggling to be certain her stays and everything were in place. “I know it because I can read your aura. Taking away my gift would be like taking away my eyesight or my sense of smell. It is that valuable to me.”
She jumped down from the desk, even though he didn’t give way. If she’d been wearing higher heels, they’d practically be nose-to-nose. She put her palms on his chest and shoved.
He took a step backward but continued to glare down at her. “Anyone with half a brain knows I’m a passionate man! You don’t need bloody witchery for that.”
“But they fear your tempers and cannot see that your passion is the good kind, the kind that does no harm.” Trying to regain her usual unruffled calm, Olivia took a deep breath.
Simon’s gaze immediately dropped to her breasts, and the longing rose in her again. She crossed her arms defiantly. “Your fury is directed inside. You do not lash out as others might.”
“I throw men out windows and flip carriages!” he roared, not bothering to be discreet.
“Because you never learned to direct your gift as Enoch is doing,” she admonished. “You take all your fury inside you until it builds and needs an outlet. When the unexpected happens, you can’t control it, harming yourself and anyone in your path.”
“And you are not endangering yourself with your insane desire to gamble with scoundrels?” he demanded.
“I am not,” she insisted. “I will remove myself from beneath your roof as soon as possible so you need not be concerned for my welfare any longer, but I beg your indulgence for a while longer. The viscount needs a healer’s care, and I need to find a place large enough for Evie and Aloysius and probably Lily and her son.”
Calmer now, Olivia unlocked the door and fled before they could argue more. She didn’t dare look back.
She hoped Simon hadn’t noticed she’d said healer and not physician. Emma had said she had an elderly great-aunt with a healing gift and a knowledge of herbs.
Phoebe waited in the small room Olivia had adopted as her office. “I gather our host is not happy with your plan?”
“He does not know our plan, and he’s not happy with it,” Olivia said in disgust. “Did Letitia never tell him he’s a stubborn arrogant ass?”
A cold breeze blew across her neck. Olivia pulled up her shawl, then laughed as she realized there was no draft in this close room. “Sorry, Letitia. I need Clare to translate.”
The breeze blew a paper scrap in a swirl, then vanished.
“Letitia is here? She’s a power to be reckoned with.” Phoebe picked up the scrap and studied it in puzzlement. “It’s a receipt written to Letty’s Cottage. The address just says Greybridge.”
“I found that in a drawer earlier and didn’t think it important.” Olivia took the scrap and studied it. “I’m not familiar with any such cottage, but if Letitia wants us to know about it, perhaps Emma could tell us?”
They hurried upstairs, where Emma attempted to preside over the nursery dinner table. Enoch and Aloysius were arm wrestling. The twins fed apple bits to the dolls. And Evie was hovering anxiously over the whimpering infant in its cradle.
Emma looked up in relief. “Daisy and the new nursemaid had to run to the kitchen for a proper meal. I gather the staff is still cleaning up from the visitation?”
“I believe Aunt Maggie is still dealing with guests, yes, sorry. I was distracted and not paying attention. You’re a gem.” Olivia hugged Emma. “I don’t know what Simon would do without you. You can’t marry until the children are grown!”
Emma laughed. “Not a chance. Once spring comes, I’m back to my garden. He’d have to build me a conservatory before he could keep me here.”
“He might need to consider your offer. It’s not as if anyone normal will work with his children,” Olivia said darkly, picking up Lily’s squirming infant and sitting in a rocking chair where Evie could climb up beside her. “At least he can pretend your plants are just a green thumb.”
Phoebe produced their scrap of paper. “Do you know what Letty’s Cottage is? We think your sister is trying to tell us something.”
“Mama wants Miss Livvy to stay with us,” Clare said, crumbling a buttered roll to feed to her doll.
Olivia’s heart almost broke. She’d love to stay with the children. Unfortunately, that meant staying with a man who thought everyone should be normal. Maybe she’d ask him to define normal when he could blow carriages down hillsides. His bigotry made her furious all over again.
Emma pressed a kiss on her niece’s golden hair. “Tell your mama to quit meddling.”
“Her colors are fading,” Cat said matter-of-factly. “And Miss Livvy is brighter. Evie is all blue. What does that mean?”
“It means Evie is loving and caring. Clear blue is a color that can be trusted,” Olivia answered. It meant more in Evie’s case, but she didn’t want to overwhelm Clare with details.
She didn’t know whether to be sad or glad that Letitia was fading, slipping to the spirit world where she belonged. Malcolm tradition claimed Malcolm spirits could linger in this world—or maybe return to it—if they wished to inhabit unborn babes. Olivia hadn’t experienced that with Bobby, but judging from her precocious children, Letitia had.
Olivia waited for Emma to explain about the cottage.
Emma waved the scrap. “Letitia wanted to start a business selling herbs, jams, vegetables, things women in the village made or grew. And she hoped to rent out the upstairs to women who wished to live independently. She was thinking schoolteachers and the like.” Emma tucked the scrap in her pocket and said sadly, “She died before the cottage could open.”
Excitement surged through Olivia. “Is the cottage still there? Did Simon sell it?” she asked, trying to tamp down her eagerness.
“I doubt he’s given it a thought. It was part of one of the properties he bought. He has no use for it. So it’s sitting there, abandoned. The shop portion was almost ready but I doubt the living quarters are. What are you thinking?” Emma asked.
“For the moment, I think it’s the neutral ground I need to bring together a card game. But if I can’t win back the Hall—” Olivia thought she really would burst with excitement. She glanced out the window, but it was already dark. A visit would have to wait. “Do you know where to find the key?”
“With all Letty’s keys, in that cubbyhole you’re using,” Emma said, looking interested.
“It’s dangerous for women to live alone,” Phoebe objected. “And if the scoundrels continue to inhabit the Hall, you’ll still be an obstacle to be removed.”
“It’s only an idea at this stage,” Olivia said dismissively. “It’s just good to know I have alternatives. First, I must teach Hargreaves to play poker.”
“Phoebe and I will need to return to the city soon,” Drew warned Simon after dinner. The women had departed for the drawing room, and the viscount had demanded dinner sent up. “She has classes and I have a dozen meetings lined up over the tenement rebuilding.”
“It was a blessing having you here,” Simon said, sipping his whisky. “But I do not expect you to mollycoddle me. I’ve muddled along all these years. I can do it again.”
“You had Letitia to keep you in line for the better part of them,” Drew pointed out. “And now you have a nursery full of children and a useless viscount on your hands.”
Simon snorted. “Olivia means to take half the nursery with her. And we’ll both boot Hargreaves to the street eventually.”
“He needs an occupation. I’ll take him back to the city with me and put him to work. He’d make a fine butler,” Drew said with a grin.
“Or a doorstop. Do you know how to play poker?” Simon didn’t know where that question came from. It was purely ludicrous to use pieces of cardboard to defeat villains when a good dirk would do it.
“Poker?” Drew asked in astonishment. “Why an American game no one knows if you’re to take up cards now? Start with Brag or whist. They’re easier to learn and the ladies play them.”
“I wish to play with scoundrels, not ladies,” Simon asserted, angry with himself for giving in to temptation.
The pure truth of the matter—he didn’t want Olivia to leave, not after she’d responded so eagerly this afternoon. That was justification enough to keep her from harm. He was above all else a practical man.
A passionate one, she’d said. So, beating villains at their own game to protect a lady was what a passionate, practical man did.
“I can teach you the basics,” Drew said warily. “But the game is more complicated than learning the names of the cards. I’ve only played a few times for low stakes. I’ve a good mind for the cards and apparently what is called a poker face. I surmise that you are more likely to throw the table over.”
“Show me,” Simon demanded, not acknowledging Drew’s correctness.
He’d bring dirk, pistol, and cards to the table.