Page 35 of Mesmerized

But now, as it happened in dreams, the woman in his arms changed. Suddenly she was Olivia, and it was Stephen who was holding her, not Sir John. Her mouth was warm and damp, her body eagerly clinging to his. Passion surged in him as his hands roamed her soft flesh.

* * *

THERE WAS A sharp noise; he wasn’t sure what it had been, only that it jerked him out of his dream. Stephen awoke with a gasp, his body still boiling with lust. Blinking, confused and dazed with passion, he slowly raised his head.

A few feet away from him, Olivia was sitting straight up in her chair, the book that had been lying in her lap now on the floor at her feet. She was wide-awake and staring at him, her mouth, soft with passion, opened in a startled “O.” Her brown eyes were luminous with desire, her cheeks flushed. Yet at the same time, there was a look on her face of mingled surprise and embarrassment.

He gazed at her, unable to speak, and suddenly, with a jolt, he was sure somehow that she knew what he had been dreaming. “Olivia...”

She let out a strangled noise and jumped to her feet, the light blanket falling unnoticed to her feet, then turned and ran out the door.

* * *

OLIVIA SOUGHT OUT Tom Quick early the next morning and explained to him her need to have Mr. Babington’s room searched for the presence of a black robe such as the “ghost” in the garden had worn the day before.

That task done, she spent the rest of the day assiduously avoiding Stephen. When she saw him in the sitting room with the others later in the morning, she quickly turned and went for a walk in the garden. Though she disliked causing extra work for any of the servants, she had Joan bring her midday meal up to her room on a tray, and then she spent the rest of the afternoon cooped up in her room reading a long and rather boring novel she found there.

The only break in the monotony came when Tom reported to her on his search. He had found nothing untoward in Mr. Babington’s room, including a black robe. His words did not surprise her. After they had lost Babington the night before in their amazement over seeing “Lady Alys,” she had been sure that Babington would retrieve the incriminating evidence from wherever he had hidden it and get rid of it. Still, she had hoped that Babington might have been careless enough to store it in his room, so Tom’s news made her spirits sink even lower.

She would have to tell Stephen, of course, about the results of Tom’s search or, rather, the lack of them. But she thought surely that task could be put off until tomorrow. She simply could not face him today—not after that bizarre, licentious dream she had had last night.

It was bad enough that she had fallen asleep in Stephen’s study. It was not the sort of thing ladies were supposed to do. Besides, it was embarrassing. Had he thought her rude and uncouth? Had her hair been mussed? Had she talked in her sleep? Worse yet, what if she had snored?

But none of that was as bad as the dream she had had. She had once again dreamed of the medieval woman and man whom she had seen in her dream the other afternoon, the very same woman whom she and Stephen had seen in the great hall. She supposed that was natural enough, as her head had been filled with the woman and the earlier dream, but it still disturbed her to have seen her again. At first it had been like the other dream, as if she were watching a play, and then it had seemed somehow as if she herself was the woman—Alys, he called her—who was speaking and looking at the knight. They had started kissing, and she had felt the onrush of desire, the throbbing hunger that centered in her loins and radiated out through her body.

And then, somehow, she was no longer the medieval lady but herself again, and the man was not the medieval knight, but Stephen. And the heat and passion had been even more intense. She had been alive with sensation, every inch of her tingling and aware. She had ached for him, thrilled to his kiss...his touch... Even thinking about it the next day brought a flush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with desire.

The passion had grown so strong, the sensations so intense, that finally she had jolted out of her dream and sat straight up, the heavy book in her lap sliding down to the floor with a bang. She had stared at Stephen, dazed and astonished, unable for an instant to separate reality from dream, her loins still heavy with desire.

Then he had raised his head and looked straight at her, and his face had been slack with passion, his eyes hungry and hot. And she had been certain in that instant that he knew exactly what she had been dreaming. Stunned, all she had been able to do was run away.

And she had continued doing so all day long.

She knew, of course, that it was impossible for him to have known what she was dreaming. He wouldn’t even have seen her face as she dreamed or heard her say anything revealing, for he obviously had been asleep also, his head resting on his arm on his desk.

But she could not forget the look of passion on his face or the way his eyes had bored into hers. In that moment she had been certain he had seen everything inside her, had felt the blood coursing wildly through her veins, heard the breath coming sharp and fast in her throat, that he had known what lay in her heart and mind.

Since what lay inside her was lust for him, she was humiliated, sure that he must think her forward, licentious, foolish. And no matter how many times she reminded herself that he could not possibly have known, still she could not bring herself to look him in the eyes.

Olivia knew it would be rude to excuse herself from supper altogether unless she were ill, but fortunately, it was impossible for Stephen to actually hold a conversation with her there. Afterward, however, he managed to catch her as she left the room.

“Olivia...”

She glanced at him briefly, then away. He looked frowning and serious, and it made her stomach churn with anxiety. “I, um, you must excuse me,” she said quickly. “I have a bit of a headache, so I’m going to retire early tonight.”

“But—”

She smiled stiffly, still not looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry. Really. Another time. Excuse me.”

She turned and walked away quickly, and short of grabbing her by the arm, he could not keep her there. She was almost to her room when she heard quick footsteps behind her.

“Lady Olivia.” It was Pamela’s voice.

Olivia turned, surprised. Roderick’s widow had hardly spoken to her the whole time she had been here, other than to not-so-subtly insult her family. But there was a smile on her porcelain-doll face now as she walked up to Olivia.

“I trust you are not feeling ill, are you?” Pamela said, a hint of concern on her face.

“It’s nothing. Just a touch of headache, that’s all,” Olivia assured her.