“I will make certain of it.”
“Tempers were high this evening; let us pray cooler heads will prevail tomorrow afternoon,” Olivia said. “I will speak to my father again at breakfast and assure him that nothing untoward happened in the coach.”
“I do not understand why you are so determined to protect my brother.”
“I see no reason for him to be punished for kissing me,” she replied. “I know I am not the first lady he has kissed.”
Gideon chuckled. “No, you are not.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “You are too good for him, Olivia. I would not see you wounded because of his selfishness.”
Olivia brought her hand up and placed it over his. “I am not a child, Gideon.”
He nodded. “It was easier to ignore a child.”
“I do not—”
Gideon’s hand fell away and he stood. “You should return to the house before someone discovers that you have slipped out of your bedchamber.”
Olivia rose from the bench. “Will you advise your brother not to bait my father? I love your family. It will be awkward if I am forbidden to speak to anyone with the Netherwood name again.”
“I vow, it will not come to that.” In a small gesture to comfort her, Gideon bowed his head and kissed her lightly on the lips.
Olivia stilled.
Gideon drew back and his dark green eyes met hers that likely reflected her shock. “I should not have done that. Do you want me to apologize?”
“No,” was her weak reply. “No harm done.”
She blindly reached out for his arms and firmly grasped his limbs as the ground beneath her feet rolled. Or at least that is how she felt at the moment. Hot and dizzy, and perhaps a little nauseous.
He mistook her response as encouragement so he lowered his mouth to hers again. Gideon’s kiss was sweet and tentative as if he was kissing her for the first time.
The first time.
“Good night, Olivia,” he said, backing away from her.
Her throat was too tight for her to speak. Olivia raised her hand to signal her farewell and turned away.
* * *
After Gideon strolled away and Olivia slipped into the town house, Thorn stepped out of the shadows. He had been too far away to eavesdrop on the couple’s conversation, but he watched how his twin had touched her cheek so lovingly. The kiss had been unexpected. It had taken all of his control not to explode out of the shadows and tackle Gideon to the ground. No words would have been necessary when his fists smashing to his brother’s face would have conveyed his displeasure.
Nor was he happy with Olivia Lydall.
His brother tossed a few pebbles at her window, and she rushed down to meet him. It was difficult to discern her attire under her silk cloak but the late hour suggested that she wore her nightclothes. What if his brother had desired more than a kiss? Would she have shed her cloak and allowed his twin to pleasure her with his fingers?
Thorn was jealous. It didn’t seem to matter that Gideon’s kiss was chaste and brief. Olivia was not overwhelmed by the kiss. He should have been comforted by that realization, but he was not feeling particularly reasonable when it came to Olivia and his brother.
After Gideon had stormed out of the gaming room, Thorn had not expected his twin to leave the house and head directly to Olivia’s window. What had they discussed? Him?
The speculation would likely keep him up the rest of the night.
* * *
It wasn’t until Olivia had reached her bedchamber that she started to shake. Her distress was not over Gideon’s kiss. It was what it confirmed—Gideon was not the one who had kissed her in the garden. It had been Thorn. He had pretended to be his brother.
Why?
Olivia sank to the floor of her bedchamber. Her fingers touched lips still tender from the earl’s earlier kisses. She was indecisive on what she should do with this newfound knowledge.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“His lordship is in the library, Lord Kempthorn,” Tink, the Lydalls’ butler, announced as Thorn entered the front hall.
“And Miss Lydall?” he asked, mildly curious if Olivia would also be waiting for him in the library.
“I believe Miss Lydall is in the drawing room.” The butler escorted Thorn to the door and knocked.
“Enter,” the baron’s muffled voice could be heard from within.
Tink opened the double doors and strode into the library. “Lord Kempthorn, milord.”
Thorn walked past the butler and bowed to the baron who was seated at the French mahogany pedestal desk. “Good afternoon, Lord Dewick.”
The older gentleman stood and inclined his head. “Lord Kempthorn.” He nodded to the servant. “You may leave, Tink. See that no one disturbs us.”
Was the baron worried that his daughter might interfere? He was learning that Olivia was not as timid as he had once thought.
“Very good, milord.”
Thorn listened to the butler’s footfalls and then the door closed.
“Sit down, Kempthorn,” the baron said gruffly, pointing to red-upholstered walnut fauteuil a few steps away from Thorn. Lord Dewick took his seat. “I will get right to business. What are your intentions toward my daughter?”
Thorn had anticipated such a question would be asked by an irate father who had come across his only daughter in a compromising position, but he still felt like an insect pinned to a board.
“My intentions?” He was stalling.
After stroking Olivia’s sweet, honeyed quim last evening, he had several plans for the lady—not one could be shared with her father.
“It is no secret that I would like to see my daughter settled with a husband,” Lord Dewick said. “I am intending to marry Lady Grisdale and she—uh—we feel that Olivia would be more content setting up her own household. With this in mind, I have increased her dowry to encourage ambitious gentlemen who are seeking a sweet-tempered lady to marry.”
Sweet-tempered? Olivia was stubborn and opinionated.
Though she purred for me when I kissed and stroked her with my fingers.
“Increasing her dowry will draw fortune hunters, my lord.”
“It is a concern,” the baron conceded as he clasped his hands in front of him and rested his arms on the desk. “Or it was, until you decided to dally with my daughter.”
“Lord Dewick,” Thorn began.
“Do not deny it. I know what I saw and I have witnesses, which includes your twin brother.” The baron’s harsh expression would have made most men falter in courage. “You have ruined my daughter and I will have my pound of flesh. Can you guess which part of your anatomy I plan to start with, Kempthorn?”
Lord and Lady Felstead would not approve of their son facing Lord Dewick, a friend and neighbor, in a field at dawn. His father might shoot Thorn himself if he heard the baron’s version of events. His mother and father adored Olivia. A dalliance with her would be frowned on. Gideon barely spoke to him at breakfast.
“Lord Dewick, your daughter is not ruined,” Thorn said, attempting to calm the gentleman. “If you summon your physician—”
The baron slammed his fist on the desk, toppling a silver candlestick over. “I would never humiliate Olivia in such a fashion.” He slowly stood and braced the palm of his hands on the surface of the desk. “You and I both know that the gossips do not quibble with facts. Olivia was compromised the second she climbed into your coach alone with you. With most of the ton crammed into Lady Purles’ town house, did you not consider that someone was bound to notice and speculate on your relationship with my daughter?”
The question had him straightening in his chair. He had not considered that anyone had noticed his and Olivia’s departure. Her fright at the hands of the drunken ruffians and Norgrave’s timely rescue had knocked him off-balance. Once she had been found, all he wanted to do was separate her from the older gentleman. Thorn had been troubled by Norgrave’s interest in Olivia. No one seemed to notice when he and Olivia ha
d exited the countess’s town house.
Unless someone had deliberately set out to spread rumors about him and Olivia.
It could have been Norgrave.
Olivia’s reputation could have been an unfortunate casualty of the marquess’s attempt to hurt anyone connected to the Duke of Blackbern and his family.
“This is my fault,” Thorn said finally. “My family and I will quell any rumors—”
“By god, it is your fault, you arrogant whelp!” the baron said, his voice thundering. “You will quell this mess by announcing your betrothment to my daughter.”
Thorn tugged at his cravat. “You wish for me to marry Olivia?”
Lord Dewick’s eyes narrowed. “As your betrothed, Olivia will have certain protections. No one will question your interest in my daughter and many will forgive your eagerness to steal her away for a kiss,” the older gentleman said, his grimace revealing his feelings on the subject of Thorn kissing Olivia. “Once the rumors die down, you and Olivia can discreetly end your arrangement.”
Thorn thought of Lady Millicent and how her young gentleman had abandoned her.
“Olivia will never agree to such a ruse.”
“My daughter will obey me in this.” Lord Dewick cocked his head to the side. “And this will not be a ruse, Kempthorn. You will be betrothed to my daughter. Everyone, including your family, must believe your affection for my daughter is genuine. Otherwise, any hint of deceit will lend credit to the rumors circulating last evening at Lady Purles’ ball.”
Thorn considered walking out of Dewick’s library. The wily gentleman was pushing his unmarried daughter at him, and he resented it. What stopped him was Gideon. If Thorn was betrothed to Olivia, his concerns that his brother had a tendre for Olivia were moot. His twin was an honorable gentleman. If Olivia belonged to Thorn, Gideon would stay away from her.
I will not have to witness another clandestine kiss in Dewick’s back gardens between Gideon and Olivia.
“What if at the end of the season, I do not wish to end our arrangement?” he quietly asked.
The baron snorted in amusement. “I have not decided if you are worthy of my daughter, Kempthorn. Protect my daughter, and we will talk again.”
* * *
As Thorn departed Dewick’s library, he did not feel particularly triumphant. Olivia was betrothed to him. Temporarily. Her alliance with Thorn would discourage Gideon from pursuing Olivia. If the lady desired a Netherwood, she would have to settle on his company.
Thorn paused at the bottom of the staircase, his head filling with the possibilities.
Perhaps the baron had done him a favor, after all.
I cannot wait to share the good news with my betrothed.
The butler appeared from one of the doorways. “Are you leaving, Lord Kempthorn?”
“No, I need to have a private word with Miss Lydall. Is she still in the drawing room?”
“Yes, milord,” the older man said. “Although she does have a visitor.”
Thorn hoped Lady Felstead wasn’t upstairs. He would have his hands full explaining their arrangement to Olivia without witnesses.
“You do not have to announce me,” Thorn said, heading up the stairs. “I am practically family.”
“May I be the first to offer my congratulations, Lord Kempthorn,” the butler said, thawing a little of his polite reserve. “Miss Lydall runs a solid household and she treats the staff fairly. You could do worse in selecting a countess.”
Thorn almost missed a step but swiftly recovered. He halted and stared down at the butler. “How did you know that Miss Lydall and I are betrothed?”
“It is difficult to hide such important news from the servants, milord.”
Lord Dewick was rather loud when he ordered Thorn to marry his daughter.
Not marry—their arrangement would last a month or two and then he and Olivia would go their separate ways.
Thorn’s pace slowed as he headed upstairs to the drawing room. The ramifications of his agreement with Lord Dewick were beginning to take root in his head, and any sensible gentleman would have politely declined before he escaped the eccentric household.
Fortunately, he had some experience with the unconventional and he had the discipline in handling individuals who were prone to emotional outburst and reckless decisions. If the baron could not manage his daughter, then Thorn was up to the task. Unbeknownst to either of them, he had been laying the ground rules to their relationship since the day he had stepped out onto the Felsteads’ wooden dock at Malster Park.
The door of the drawing room was open, so he walked through it as if he were already a member of the family. Although Olivia could not be credited for the interior design, the Rose Room suited her. The walls were crimson with large floral accents that included exotic birds and butterflies. The rococo-styled furniture complemented the silk wall hangings, and the white ceiling was decorated with extravagant plaster medallions. Gilt accents gleamed in the sunlight.
Olivia was seated in a chair with her back to him. Beside her, a gentleman had moved his chair closer to hers. Thorn arched his brows as he took in the intimate pose. Olivia’s slender shoulders were bowed as she leaned forward and quietly conversed with her companion.
“My apologies for my tardiness, my dear,” Thorn said, taking grim satisfaction in how swiftly Olivia and her friend started at his intrusion.
Olivia glanced over her shoulder and frowned as she squinted at him. It was not the sort of welcoming a man expected from his betrothed. She redeemed herself seconds later by immediately standing and crossing the room to greet him.
“My lord, this is most unexpected,” she said cheerfully, and extended her hand. She dipped into a graceful curtsy as he clasped her hand and bowed.
“Did you forget that I had an appointment with your father?”
“Not at all,” she countered. “I just did not expect you to honor me with a short visit as well.”
Thorn looked expectantly at Olivia’s guest. “It appears you have already found someone to amuse you.”
The gentleman was already standing and waiting for an introduction. He was an affable-looking fellow. Standing at five foot ten, there was a fragility in his slender, elegant frame and jaw that gave him a boyish appearance, even though he was likely close to Thorn’s age. His full lips left him with a permanent pout. His curly blond hair and large blue eyes would be deemed attractive by many ladies.
Thorn disliked him at first glance.
Olivia’s cornflower eyes grew wary at Thorn’s pleasant expression. “My lord, may I present Mr. Martin Chauncey.” She motioned for her companion to move closer. “Mr. Chauncey, may I present Lord Kempthorn. The earl’s parents, Lord and Lady Felstead, have lands that border Treversham House.”
“Lord Kempthorn,” Mr. Chauncey acknowledged and bowed. “It is an honor to meet one of Miss Lydall’s neighbors.”
“Miss Lydall is more than a neighbor,” Thorn said silkily. Olivia and Chauncey looked askance at him. “The lady and her father are almost family.”
Olivia’s smile faltered as she stepped aside so he could sit down. “If you have a few minutes, Mr. Chauncey and I would be pleased if you joined us.”
Thorn considered taking Olivia by the hand and leaving Chauncey to find his own way downstairs. Olivia undoubtedly would not approve of his highhanded tactics, so he decided to bide his time. Nevertheless there was no reason why he could not make a silent declaration. As he walked past Olivia, he shackled his fingers around her delicate wrist so she had no choice but to follow him to the crimson upholstered sofa.
Her expression was one of puzzlement when she and Thorn sat down. Mr. Chauncey returned to his chair.
“You appear to be in good spirits,” she said to Thorn. “I trust your meeting with my father went well.”
“Your father is fair-minded,” he said, ignoring her astonishment. Thorn motioned to the large book on the table. “What is this? Some kind of pocket book?”
Mr. Chauncey leaned
forward, enthused to share his treasured book. “Yes, I was showing Miss Lydall my recent acquisitions that I had collected during my stay in Wales.” He opened the book, which contained pressed leaves. This is my Hieracium tavense or Black Mountain Hawkweed.”
Thorn glanced down at the dried leaves and the hastily written notations the man had scribbled on the page with little interest. He knew Olivia had filled her father’s conservatory at Treversham House with plants she had collected over the years. What Chauncey possessed was less impressive. One good sneeze and his pressed leaves would end up beneath a broom.
“Very nice,” he lied, when Olivia discreetly drove her elbow into his ribs.
“Thank you,” the other man said, pleased by the compliment. “I was fortunate to collect several different species of Hawkweed. I also have a fine example of Centaurium scilloides.”
Thorn nodded absently, trying not to appear bored as the gentleman elaborated on his discoveries. Olivia, on the other hand, was attentive and interrupted the man from time to time with questions. Mr. Chauncey warmed to his subject.
If this gentleman was a rival for Olivia’s affections, Thorn felt he was doing her a favor by saving her from long hours of tedious lectures.
“How did you meet Miss Lydall,” Thorn asked, after the other gentleman had gone through his entire book.
“We met last spring,” Olivia replied. “We attended the same botany lecture.”
The other man confirmed her declaration with a nod. “It was quite an unremarkable speech. The speaker’s delivery was so dull, he fell asleep at the podium.”
Olivia and Mr. Chauncey laughed.
“However, fate placed me two seats away from Miss Lydall, and our friendship flourished from that day forward,” he said, his blue eyes gazing at Olivia with fondness.
It was obvious Olivia liked the young gentleman, even if his character was as flat as his pressed leaves and flowers. “Mr. Chauncey was kind enough to write to me when I returned to Treversham House.”
Waiting for an Earl Like You Page 22
