His jaw tightened. “Don’t feel too distressed over it. I surely don’t. The loss of my father’s good regard or his place in my life does not worry me overmuch.”
She wanted to ask more, but Olivia had a feeling she’d just poured alcohol over an open wound. He’d acted carefree in front of the dowager, but his façade crumbled a bit for a moment, and she’d seen pain in his eyes. There was more to this story besides the Duke of Wharton disinheriting his son.
They stepped into the swirl of other dancers.
They’d taken several turns around the room when his lighthearted mood seemed to return. The man’s smile broadened, and Olivia could understand why women flocked to him. He made her think of Anthony with his carefree ways and handsome looks.
She returned his smile, then glanced toward the stairs. She almost trounced on Lord Talbot’s feet when she saw Anthony making his way down the steps into the ballroom. She’d always thought him striking, but tonight he looked the picture of masculine beauty. Dressed in black evening wear and a head taller than most he stood out like a sleek and primal panther in a room of domesticated cats. She swallowed the lump of emotions that climbed up her throat.
Women turned and blatantly stared. Some guests looked startled by the black sheep of the Trent family attending such a tame event. An event where women would be on the prowl, searching for marital compatibility.
Some would think him too wild to tame. Others would look favorable upon the challenge. And Olivia presumed there were those who would just want a dalliance because of his handsome face and glorious body and because they too liked to be a bit wicked behind closed doors.
Two men dashed up the steps to talk to Anthony, but he seemed uninterested in joining them in conversation. Most likely, he was put off by having to attend.
“Ah, Anthony has arrived,” Lord Talbot said, pulling her attention back to him.
Like Anthony, Lord Talbot seemed out of place here. Another big cat in a den of tabbies, but she didn’t feel the same pull toward her dance partner. Not the burst of excitement she’d experienced while dancing with Anthony. The same desire that made her want to both move to him, yet run from the room.
* * *
Anthony had barely set a foot on the steps leading down to the ballroom at Lord and Lady Dayton’s Mayfair residence when he was approached by two young bucks from his club.
“Trent,” one called out, raising his hand in greeting as he jogged up to meet him. “Tell me who is that ginger-haired goddess who arrived with your grandmother.”
There was only one redheaded woman who would have accompanied Grandmother.
The fellow gave him a friendly clap on the back. “Come on. Tell us her name. Your grandmother won’t let any of us approach her. It is like she is to be seen but not conversed with.”
Anthony narrowed his eyes. Was Grandmother treating Olivia poorly?
“You won’t tell us either? A woman of mystery, is she?”
He ignored the young buck and continued into the room. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so anxious to see a woman. In truth, he’d missed Olivia the whole time he was at the family’s country home in Essex. And when he’d gone down to the local pub, the Hog and Thistle, for a pint of ale, he’d ignored Martha, his curvaceous serving girl, even when she’d offered him something besides his normal pint. He’d drank his tankard and gone home. To a house that was cavernous without the sound of his family milling about.
One by one men approached him, asking about the woman with his grandmother. He ignored their inquiries and searched for Olivia in this bloody crush.
Sir Harry walked up to him. “Who is she?”
“I’d like to know, where is she?”
“She’s dancing with Talbot. He was the only one brave enough to venture up to her with your grandmother looking as if she’d strike anyone who approached with her cane.”
What was his friend about? As he searched the swirl of dancers, a wave of jealousy washed over him.
His gaze settled on Olivia, and it felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.
Everyone’s eyes were on her and Talbot. Her lovely red hair was upswept, not in its usual severe way, but loosely, allowing tendrils to fall and frame her face. Her yellow gown fit tightly to her breasts and waist before flaring out into a mass of shimmering silk that reflected the lights from the chandeliers. How could he have not noticed her? It was as if all the lights in the room were drawn solely to her, emphasizing her, like an actor on center stage at the Lyceum.
Talbot leaned close and whispered something, causing her to smile, and Anthony bit back the desire to stomp onto the dance floor and cut in. Such an action would cause a stir and the type of gossip his grandmother abhorred.
Where was Grandmother? Anthony’s gaze traveled over the guests. He spotted her. Like him she was staring at Olivia and Talbot with a face that looked sourer than her usual expression.
He strode over to her. “I’m here, as promised.”
“You’re late.”
He ignored her waspish tone and turned back to the dance floor to watch Olivia in the swirl of dancers. Once again, he questioned why he’d thought her plain. She was lovely. A beacon of light in a dark tunnel. She outshone all the others. It was not the gown, it was her, the sparkle in her eyes, the smile on her face, and that glorious hair he was forever imagining unpinning.
“Anthony, Lord Pendleton’s granddaughter is here. I’d like to introduce you.”
“Of course,” he replied, not paying much attention to what she said. Damn Talbot. The bounder was holding Olivia too close.
“Are you listening to me?” Grandmother growled, thumping her cane.
“What?” The song would end shortly. He needed to save Olivia before the other men who’d approached him asked her to dance. Laughable that he thought he was trying to be noble. The truth was he wanted her all to himself.
“Dash it all, man, get your head out of your—”
“Excuse me, Grandmother.” As he headed to the dance floor, he heard his grandmother squawking like an irate goose.
He reached the dance floor as the last strains of the waltz drifted in the air.
Olivia looked at him, her cheeks high in color. Had Talbot said something outlandish to her or was it the dancing that raised the color of her fair cheeks?
Talbot flashed one of his suave smiles as he led her to where Anthony stood.
“Olivia, how lovely you look,” Anthony said.
“Thank you, my lord. Your grandmother will be pleased you have arrived.”
“Talbot,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended as he glanced at his friend.
The man’s cocksure smile broadened.
“I didn’t expect to see you here. This isn’t the type of gathering you normally attend.” Anthony forced a smile.
“I decided I wanted to see how the more acceptable members of the ton live. I wasn’t expecting to see you or your grandmother in attendance, especially with such a lovely companion.”
The man was flagrantly flattering Olivia. “I think Sir Harry is expecting you in the cardroom, Talbot.”
Lord Talbot offered a sly grin. “If I didn’t know better, Anthony, I’d think I was being dismissed.” He faced Olivia. “It was a grand pleasure, Miss Michaels. Perhaps after I return from the cardroom, you might grace me with a second waltz.”
Looking unsure, Olivia gave a slight bow of her head, without offering a commitment.
The strains of another waltz began.
Anthony held out his arm. “Olivia, might I have this dance?”
She peered over his shoulder to where his grandmother sat. Obviously, she was battling her desire to say yes against the anger she presumed the old woman would clearly make known. “I believe your grandmother would wish you to dance with someone else.”
He reached for her hand and set it on his arm. “She’ll get over it. Excuse us, Talbot.”
His friend nodded.
As they walked away, Olivia peered at him.
“He said he is your friend. Is that not true?”
“He is. I just do not think . . .”
“What?”
They reached the dance floor, and he twirled her in time to the music. A delicate floral scent reached him. “He is a libertine. He compliments a woman until she . . .” His lips pinched into a tight line.
She smiled. “I have heard the same of you.”
He wasn’t surprised, especially since she’d worked for that gossiping windbag Lady Winton. “Well, Talbot is very good at flattery.”
“Hmmm, a woman does like to be complimented occasionally, but I fear I am immune to sweet words and not so easily swayed.”
She wouldn’t be. She was keen. Smarter than most, but he did want to compliment her. Not to win her favors but because everything he said would be true. That knowledge, along with the fact that he’d missed her a great deal while in Essex, unsettled him.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Your grandmother is shooting daggers at us,” Olivia said as Anthony took her into the next turn.
Not surprising. He glanced over Olivia’s shoulder to where the dowager sat. The old woman’s lips were pinched so tight, she looked like someone was attempting to force her to suck on a salt block. “I told her I would attend. Not who I would dance with.”
“She’s not pleased.”
“She’s rarely pleased. What is new?”
A slow, startling smile lifted the corners of Olivia’s mouth. He stared at her full lower lip that fascinated him, nearly as much as the raspy texture of her voice.
“Is the land steward at your family’s home in Essex doing better?”
He’d found the man in worse shape than he’d expected. For a man used to working alongside his men, the loss of two fingers was devastating. “Physically, yes. Emotionally, he might take longer to heal, but he has insisted on returning to work.”
“Were his injuries so severe?”
“Yes, though not life-threatening.”
“I wish him a speedy recovery.”
The thoughtfulness in the tone of her voice made him realize why he’d missed her. Anthony could not imagine Maria would have given one whit about someone in his family’s employ. Olivia was kindhearted. “Will you dance the next song with me as well?”
“Two in a row? I don’t think that is wise.” Olivia gave a slight shake of her head.
“Why not?” He frowned.
“Because you should be dancing with women of your own station. Not your grandmother’s companion.” She drew in a deep breath before her gaze shifted away.
The movement caused her breasts to lift, giving him a better view of them in the low décolletage of her gown.
“Are you trying to upset your grandmother by asking me to dance?” Olivia released a slow breath.
The comment and the sadness in her expression was worse than a punch to the gut. “Is that what you truly think? That I’m trying to use you as a pawn in a battle of wills between my grandmother and me?”
Her gaze returned to his face. “I think you know why she insisted you attend. She wants you to find a wife. She wants you to settle down.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. But I do not intend to marry. Ever. And certainly not some simpering miss my grandmother believes will be my perfect match. Anyway, there is only one woman here tonight that I wish to converse or dance with and she is standing in front of me, smelling of flowers and dressed in a lovely yellow gown that complements the color of her red hair. Do you honestly believe I would rather dance with anyone else attending?”
Olivia blinked. Her lips parted as a rosy color mixed with the dusting of freckles on her face. Her eyes turned glassy.
“Good God, Olivia. What did I say?”
“Things you shouldn’t be saying. If you are looking for a new mistress, I will not accept the position.”
Mistress? He admitted the idea had crossed his mind more than once. He’d fantasized about having her in his bed, under him, her lovely hair fanned against white sheets like threads of copper, while he buried himself deep into her warmth. After James returned, he’d not need her assistance with the ledgers, and Grandmother would not need her either. The old woman really didn’t need her now. What would Olivia do? Where would she go? Wherever it was, he would miss her. He’d not believed she would accept a position as any man’s mistress, and now she’d clearly stated she would not.
“Would being my mistress be such drudgery? You wouldn’t have to contend with my grandmother or be the companion to women as cantankerous as her or deal with harpies like Lady Winton. You could have more gowns such as the one you are wearing. A place of your own. Credit at all the finest stores.”
“Do you think that is all I want out of my life? I have never had a family. Perhaps I want that more than anything else.”
She averted her gaze, and he felt like a cad. A wretch. Of course she would want a family.
“And is that really all you want?” she asked, returning her regard to him. “To grow old without someone who cherishes your company? A woman who loves you? Children to coddle and adore?” She looked away again.
She made it sound so lovely. Briefly, he contemplated telling her why he didn’t wish to marry, exposing the secret he’d kept his whole life—worked diligently not to bare to anyone. Not even revealed to James. Or any of his friends, tutors, or teachers. Instead, he’d taken part in devilish pranks at school and university, so he’d be kicked out. It was easier to let them believe he was ne’er-do-well—lazy and disinterested and a hellion—than reveal the dashed truth. Yet, as he looked at the confusion on Olivia’s face, he wanted to pull her onto the terrace and tell her everything he had never revealed to anyone.
What would she think? This brilliant woman who could add sums in her head so easily.
He could not tell her how things that were so simple to others jumbled in his brain. That at times the numbers on a clock confused him. That he’d learned to compensate by memorizing their positions. That he won at cards because he’d discovered the tells of the gentleman he played with and had to count the symbols on the cards, one by one, because that was easier than adding the numbers up in his head.
He did not want children who would suffer from the same affliction. He’d always taken precautions so he would not father a child. A mistress understood that. A wife would not. “I don’t wish to marry, but I do want you in my life. I’ve come to cherish my time with you.”
Her gaze jerked to him so fast, she lost her step and their legs almost tangled. He tightened his hold on her and smoothed out their steps.
“Don’t say things you do not mean,” she whispered.
He released a heavy gust of breath. “Do you think I admitted that to you to sway you into my bed? That is not the reason, Olivia. I said those words because I meant them.”
“Did you say those same words to Signora Campari when you tried to convince her to be your mistress?”
“What? Good Lord, no. What we had was an arrangement.” His jaw tightened. “I should not be telling you this.”
“You’ve just implied you want the same arrangement with me. I think you have moved past the point of shocking me.”
The song came to an end and they both stood there, staring at each other.
* * *
Olivia looked around and realized that nearly everyone had walked off the dance floor. Guests were staring at them as if expecting something. Perhaps something even shocking—salacious gossip they could bandy about in their opulent drawing rooms tomorrow. Something that would have the black sheep of the Trent family’s name plastered all over the gossip columns tomorrow. What must it be like to be Anthony? Perhaps similar to what it was like to be the Phantom—everyone waiting for your next move.
“We are being gawked at,” she said in a low voice. “Will you escort me back to my chair?”
“We? Perhaps it is you they are staring at. The women in attendance jealous of your beauty. The men jealous, bereft, because they have not just twirl
ed you around in their arms.”
His words made the back of her eyes prickle. She blinked to relieve the sensation. Such pretty words. She did not deserve them. These nobs would have no interest in dancing with her if they knew her upbringing. If they knew she was without connections or family. But the way Anthony looked at her, she could almost believe he meant what he’d said. That they were not the seasoned words of a womanizer, but words spoken from his heart.
Anthony thought he knew her, but he didn’t know the whole truth. If he did, he would not be staring at her as he was now. He would despise her. No one here would wish to dance with the thief known as the Phantom.
He offered her his arm.
Olivia placed her fingers on his sleeve as they moved toward the dowager. An older gentleman and a young woman stood talking to Anthony’s grandmother.
“Who is that gentleman and young woman?” Olivia asked, breaking the wall of silence that had erected itself between them.
“Lord Pendleton and his granddaughter Mary Chester. My grandmother is already up to her matchmaking. And since you won’t save me, I fear I shall have to dance with the chit.”
* * *
A short time later, Olivia watched Anthony twirl Lord Pendleton’s granddaughter around the dance floor to the strains of a Viennese waltz. The young woman looked utterly taken by Anthony. Her father, like Anthony, was a second son. The match would be looked upon favorably.
Olivia forced her gaze away and listened as the dowager and Lord Pendleton discussed some political bill. The dowager obviously had the man’s ear. He had been the dowager’s husband’s closest friend.
Farther down the row of chairs sat Lady Pendleton. She was watching her granddaughter and Anthony with a perturbed expression. Her face reflected she wasn’t as pleased about her granddaughter dancing with Anthony as the dowager and the young woman were. Perhaps she’d heard the story about the incident with him and his mistress. If Lady Winton were here and not at home nursing a sprained ankle, the old battle-ax would have taken great pleasure in informing everyone that Olivia was the other woman involved in the fiasco in front of Madame Lefleur’s shop—the third player in that disaster. The woman who’d been found in Anthony’s carriage, sprawled atop him like marmalade on toast. She’d also have made sure everyone knew where Olivia had grown up.
Never Mix Sin with Pleasure Page 16
