Dark Tides by Philippa Gregory

Author:Philippa Gregory
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2020-11-24T00:00:00+00:00

NOVEMBER 1670, LONDON

Livia was determined to arrive at Avery House looking her best, and spent the shillings Alys had given her for her earrings on a waterman to take her to the private water stairs at Avery House. She tipped him to carry her up the green wet steps so that her black silk shoes would not get wet. “Oughter wear boots,” he remarked sourly.

She gave him a penny without replying to him, and turned away to walk through the orchard, past the garden statues and the pretty marble fawn, and up the stone steps to the handsome terrace and the big glazed doors at the rear of the house.

Sir James was waiting to bow; but she slid into his arms and raised her face for his kiss, without even taking off her bonnet. He could not step back and kiss her hand, she was in his arms in a moment. The broad wings of the bonnet meant that he could not peck her on the cheek; there was nothing he could do but return her kiss and feel, with astounded desire, her warm lips part, as he tasted her mouth and the liquid softness of her tongue, which licked his. Raised as a celibate, and lately as a widower, he felt Livia’s shameless sensuality like a physical shock. He felt an immediate burn of desire that drove all doubts from his mind. He tightened his grip on her and felt her lean back against his arm, as if he could have her, right there, on the terrace.

He forced himself to release her and step back from her, though he was breathless with desire, to find her eyes were bright, and she was laughing. “Allora!” she said delightedly. “I see that we must marry at once! We will shock the servants. Is this how you Englishmen greet your fiancées?”

“Forgive me!” At once, he was ashamed of his own need.

She laughed and untied her bonnet strings, the wide silk bow unfolding and tumbling down, reminding him of a petticoat opening on nakedness. He flushed at the thought and hoped that she did not guess it.

“No, there is nothing to forgive!” she assured him. She lifted the bonnet from her head and held it carelessly, swinging by the ribbons, so the black plume brushed the floor. “I am so glad to be an English wife again, you know we say in Italy that the only nation that loves their wives are the English? I cannot wait for our wedding day.” She stepped a little closer so he could hear her whisper: “I cannot wait for our wedding night.”

His desire for her drove any caution from his mind. “Oh, Livia… I…”

She turned and preceded him into the house without invitation, opening the glass door to his study and sitting in his own high-backed chair before his desk as if she were already his wife. She picked up the replies to the tea party and glanced through them. He seated himself on the visitor’s chair, rather glad to have the desk between them.

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