Thorn had to tread carefully with the young lady. If she mentioned the kiss she had surprised him with while they explored Lady Purles’ gallery, Lord Flewett would demand an explanation. The last time he was confronted with similar circumstances, he ended up betrothed.
Of course, to be fair, he had done much more than indulge in a few kisses with the lady.
The vision of Olivia moving against his wet fingers had left him craving more from her. Each night as he crawled into his empty bed, he had reached for his thickening cock and thought of her silky flesh and the scent of her arousal. Concentrating on the head, he stroked the straining rigid length as he thought of filling her and watching her cornflower eyes glazing over in pleasure. It was her face that he saw in his mind when his cock jerked and he orgasmed, spilling his seed on his stomach.
Just thinking about Miss Lydall stirred his cock. His lack of control was humbling.
“I cannot stay, Lady Millicent,” he said, regretting the disappointment he saw in her light brown eyes. “I am meeting someone.”
“Miss Lydall?” she asked, her pleasant features hardening with annoyance.
Thorn wondered if Lady Millicent had heard the news of his engagement.
Lady Flewett leaned forward. “Lord Kempthorn,” she said to gain his attention. “Someone told me that you are betrothed to Lord Dewick’s daughter. Is it true?”
The flash of pain in Lady Millicent’s eyes filled him with guilt. He had not encouraged the young lady, but he had not discouraged her either. Or at least until she had ambushed him with that kiss. He sent her an apologetic glance before his gaze switched to her mother.
“Aye, madam, it is,” he admitted.
“Well, this is good news. Allow me to congratulate you and Miss Lydall. I cannot recall the last time I spoke to her. The poor motherless girl. She was such an odd scrawny creature. I hope for your sake the lady has improved with age,” Lady Flewett said.
Thorn resisted the urge to chastise the countess for her unfavorable description of Olivia. “Miss Lydall has grown into a beautiful young lady, Lady Flewett. I am extremely content with my decision to ask for her hand in marriage.”
Thorn was fibbing a bit on the details. He had not asked Olivia to marry him. Her father had ordered her to accept the engagement. In hindsight, her resistance to the notion is understandable. Most ladies expected a bit of flattery and romance.
“Are you ready to depart?” St. Lyons asked.
“Aye.” He bowed to Lord and Lady Flewett and to Lady Millicent. “I will pass your regards to my family. I bid you all a good evening.”
Once they stepped out of the private box, Thorn’s hand lifted to stop his friend. “I know where to find Miss Lydall.”
“Where is she?” the viscount asked.
“Lord Norgrave’s box.”
* * *
“When Chance told my sister and me that you and Lord Kempthorn were betrothed, neither one of us could believe it,” Lady Arabella confessed in a hushed voice so her brother and father could not eavesdrop on their conversation. “How did you keep your courtship a secret for so long?”
Olivia laughed. “It has not been a courtship in the usual sense. I have known Thorn for most of my life so we did not need to fill our days with drawing room visits and chaperoned walks in the garden. In the past year or so, our friendship … changed. I cannot describe it. Suffice to say that Thorn recognized our growing attraction before I did.” She nibbled her lip as she mixed a bit of truth with her lies to satisfy her friend’s curiosity. “My father has been quite vocal about his aspirations for me this spring, and it prodded the earl into declaring his intentions to my father.”
“Chance told Tempest that Lord Kempthorn has always been guarded when it comes to matters of his heart,” Lady Arabella said, truly delighted for Olivia’s newfound happiness with the earl. “Could it be that he has been secretly in love with you for years?”
Lady Arabella possessed such a romantic heart. Olivia grinned at the notion of the earl harboring an unspoken passion for her or any lady. “The earl is not one to be ruled by his emotions. I suspect he was caught unaware by his feelings as much as I was,” she said.
It was then that Olivia noticed that her friend was not listening to her. Lady Arabella’s attention seemed to be fixed on a private box on the opposite side of the theater. In the front seats, she noticed a handsome couple. The gentleman had dark straight hair tied at the nape of his neck in a queue. At his side, sat a beautiful lady with light blond hair attired in a brown Spanish-style dress with a very low bodice.
The gentleman stilled as if he sensed he was being observed. He raised his chin, his gaze searching the tiers of boxes until he saw Lady Arabella. His look of puzzlement eased into happiness. He inclined his head.
“Are they friends of yours?” Olivia inquired.
The other woman started at the question. She blinked rapidly as if she was struggling not to cry.
“Lady Arabella,” Olivia said, keeping her voice low. “Are you unwell? If you need a moment—”
Her friend shook her head and offered Olivia a wistful smile. “No, I am fine.” She brought her gloved hand to her lips and coughed delicately into her fist. “You asked about the couple. The gentleman is the Marquess of Warrilow and the lady is his wife. Theirs was a fairly recent match. I was told the couple had an autumn wedding.”
Had Lord Warrilow courted Lady Arabella? Olivia tried to recall if her friend had mentioned the handsome marquess, but the name was unfamiliar to her. The same could not be said for her friend. The young lady had feelings for the gentleman and she was doing her best to deny them.
Olivia did not press her friend with additional questions about the couple and Lady Arabella’s connection to Lord Warrilow.
“Lord Dewick has yet to arrive,” Lady Grisdale said, providing a welcome distraction for Lady Arabella when the countess entered Lord Norgrave’s private box. “At this rate, he will miss the opera.”
“Lord Dewick’s loss is our gain,” Lord Marcroft said, silently noting the countess selected the seat beside the marquess. “Do you not agree, Father?”
“Indeed,” the older gentleman said, his gaze shifting to Olivia. “Remain as our guest. We have plenty of room, and I am certain your father and betrothed would be grateful that you are surrounded by friends.”
Olivia silently disagreed. Thorn would not be happy about this at all.
“I like the idea of Kempthorn owing the Brants a favor,” Lord Marcroft drawled.
Lord Norgrave chuckled. “I would like to see you collect on it, Croft.”
“I did not realize you and Lord Kempthorn are rivals, Lord Marcroft,” Olivia said, reluctant to bring up the animosity between the Brants and the Rookes.
Lady Arabella cleared her throat to get Olivia’s attention. “My brother went to school with Lord Kempthorn and his friends. I would guess that the rivalry began when they were boys.”
Lord Marcroft appeared amused by his sister’s diplomacy. “Boys are rather thickheaded, Arabella. That’s why we prefer to settle our disagreements with our fists.”
Olivia could not conceal her revulsion.
“Croft, you are upsetting Miss Lydall,” Lord Norgrave said. “Most ladies are sickened by the brutish behavior of young men.” He addressed Olivia. “You must forgive Croft. His civility could use some polish. I confess this is more my fault than his mother’s.”
“Nonsense, Lord Marcroft has excellent manners,” Olivia said, feeling the need to defend the earl when his father was mocking him. “I have valued our conversations.”
Lady Arabella looked grateful for her defense.
Lord Marcroft acknowledged her praise by inclining his head. “A fair beauty who sees goodness in a Brant. For that alone I could despise Kempthorn.”
Olivia gaped at the earl. “Good heavens why?”
The earl’s smile was self-mocking. “Because he had the intelligence to claim you before anyone else figured out what a treasure y
ou are, Miss Lydall.”
“Well said, Croft,” Lord Norgrave murmured. “I suppose it would be rude to hope Kempthorn falls out of favor with Lord Dewick and the engagement is broken.”
Olivia wasn’t superstitious. However, the older man’s words felt like a curse. She shivered.
Lady Grisdale slapped the marquess on the hand with her closed fan. “What a very rude thing for you to say. You must apologize to Miss Lydall immediately or she will think you wish her ill.”
Lord Norgrave appeared properly chastened. “Forgive me, dear lady. Indeed, I wish you and Kempthorn well.”
“That is a relief,” Thorn said, heading toward them. His friend, St. Lyon was standing behind him. “I was about to issue challenges to you and Marcroft for upsetting my betrothed.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I was unaware you were attending the opera this evening,” Olivia said as they walked the length of the grand saloon.
Thorn scowled at her polite demeanor. He had gone to great lengths to spare her from an evening with Lady Grisdale and Lord Norgrave and she did not seem to be properly appreciative of his efforts.
Not that they were alone. Lady Grisdale was too shrewd to allow him to stroll off with his betrothed unchaperoned. Lady Arabella had offered to join Olivia. She and St. Lyons were giving them a modicum of privacy by walking at a slower pace. Marcroft had also stood as if he intended to join their little party just to infuriate Thorn. However, the earl had separated from the two couples, announcing he was planning to visit the green room so he could flirt with the female performers.
Thorn did not care what the man did as long as he stayed away from him and Olivia.
“Rainbault and St. Lyons expressed a desire to see the opera,” he said, discreetly admiring the dress Olivia was wearing. The lilac silk dress was fashioned with a demure bodice, and the simplicity of its design allowed him to admire Olivia’s womanly curves rather than be distracted by rows of ribbons, bows, and rosettes that adorned too many ladies’ skirts. At the hem of the skirt, there was an elegant Greek key design embroidered in gold thread. “I thought you might like to join me in Rainbault’s private box.”
He anticipated her relief and pleasure at his invitation.
“No thank you, my lord,” she said, pausing to admire one of the paintings on the wall.
Thorn’s grin faded as her refusal registered. “Since we are betrothed, no one will question your presence at my side. The public display will confirm the rumors about our engagement are true.”
“I understand, Thorn,” she said, her generous mouth quirking in a way that warmed his blood and hinted that he had said something amusing. “However, if I abandon Lady Grisdale, my father will be disappointed. He still has high hopes that the countess and I will be friends.”
“The countess views you as a threat for Lord Dewick’s affections,” Thorn said bluntly.
“It is my opinion as well.”
“I wager she has been kinder to you since she was told of our engagement.”
Olivia glanced up at him in wonder. “How did you guess?” She resumed walking. “My father has told her everything.”
“That is not what we agreed upon,” Thorn grumbled. He had allowed his own family to believe that his decision was motivated by affection. Gideon knew the truth, but only because he had played a small role in their deception.
“You can scold my father later,” Olivia said, unconcerned about Lady Grisdale. “He cannot seem to help himself when he is around the countess. If she wanted to know all of the details that led to our engagement, I swear, the woman possesses the skill to interrogate the answers out of everyone. Not even a spy could resist her.”
Thorn doubted it was Lady Grisdale’s charm that persuaded Lord Dewick to reveal his secrets. Once she lured the baron into her bed, the man’s resolve to protect his daughter had weakened. In Dewick’s defense, he likely saw little harm in revealing the entire tale to the lady he intended to marry.
Thorn wished he shared the baron’s confidence that Lady Grisdale could resist the opportunity to diminish her future stepdaughter.
“Lady Grisdale does not deserve your kindness,” Thorn said. “However, since you are determined to remain at her side this evening, perhaps can you explain to me why you are sitting in Lord Norgrave’s box?”
“Oh, that,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “We encountered the marquess downstairs. He congratulated me on our engagement and invited us to visit with Lady Arabella. How could I refuse?”
Thorn opened his mouth with the intention of telling her how simple it would have been to decline the old scoundrel’s offer. He promptly shut his mouth. As much as he distrusted Norgrave, Lady Arabella was Olivia’s friend and Tempest’s sister. It would be unfair to punish her for her father’s sins.
“May I ask you a question?”
Wary, he nodded. “What do you wish to know?”
“Are you acquainted with Lord Warrilow?”
Olivia was purposefully changing the subject to avoid another lecture about Lord Norgrave. “Not really. The gentleman has shared business interests with Norgrave. Last year, the marquess was encouraging a match between Tempest and Warrilow.”
“What happened?”
“Chance married Tempest, and eventually Warrilow married another lady. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” she said amiably. “I noticed him and his lovely wife, and Lady Arabella was kind enough to tell me his name.”
Thorn frowned with suspicion in his dark green eyes. There was more to the story than she was admitting, but he had lost interest in discussing the young marquess.
An attendant announced the opera was about to commence. At the news, the theater patrons began to leisurely depart the grand saloon and return to their boxes.
“Thorn,” St. Lyons called out. “Quit tarrying and kiss your lady so we can return to our seats.”
Lady Arabella opened her fan as if to hide her embarrassment. Their friends turned their backs, giving them a brief moment of privacy.
He lowered his head with the thought of kissing her.
Olivia placed her hand on the front of his evening coat to halt him. “No kissing in public,” she said flatly. “It just isn’t done.”
“Little prude,” he teased, and took up her hand so he could kiss a part of her anatomy deemed acceptable. He kissed the top of her hand. “Meet me later so I can kiss you properly.”
A flash of awareness and desire flickered in her gaze as she withdrew her hand from his firm grasp. “I think not. The last time I allowed you to kiss me, I found myself betrothed.”
“I do not recall you uttering a single protest that night.” Thorn moved closer and clasped her hands. As he brought her hands to his chest, he tugged her so she had to take a step closer. He bowed his head until his forehead lightly touched hers. “Although I do recollect hearing your soft gasps, sighs, and desirous cries in my ear.”
“Oh, hush,” she said, pulling away from him and glancing around the room to insure no one had overheard his brazen words. “If I had known how much trouble you would cause me, I would have stayed at Lady Purles’.”
“Another lie,” Thorn mocked. “Deceit is not an admirable trait a gentleman looks for in a wife.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “You are not looking for a wife.”
“No, I am not,” he said, his expression growing contemplative as he studied her face. “No need, I suppose, since I am already betrothed to you.”
“But—”
Thorn kissed her hard on the mouth. “Meet me at midnight in the garden. Do not be late or there will be consequences.”
“Thorn, I cannot—” she protested.
“You can,” he countered, flashing a swift grin. “You will. Do not forget that I am aware that you used to sneak out of your father’s house to meet Gideon.”
Olivia’s sigh was ripe with exasperation. “We were children. Our outings were innocent adventures.”
Thorn knew she was tellin
g the truth since he had spied on Olivia and Gideon on a few occasions. From a distance, he had watched them play games, share secrets, and explore the woodlands together. “Perhaps. I will see you at midnight. Oh, and one more thing.”
She glared at him. “What is it? All of us need to return to our boxes.”
“You are no longer a child, and you are meeting me, not my twin,” he murmured. “I can promise that your adventures with me will not be so innocent.”
* * *
After Thorn and St. Lyons had escorted her and Lady Arabella to Lord Norgrave’s box, Lady Grisdale announced that it was time for her and Olivia to return to their private box.
They were not alone in the dim corridor. Other theater patrons were chatting with friends or making their way to their seats.
Olivia and Lady Grisdale walked together in silence. Under normal circumstances the countess made her so nervous, she had a bad habit of babbling in front of the other lady. However, Thorn’s insistence that they meet later occupied her thoughts. What did he wish to discuss? Had he come up with a new plan that would allow them to placate her father and end their relationship?
One might think Thorn was relishing his role a bit too much!
“What did you and Lord Kempthorn discuss?” the countess asked, breaking the silence.
“Nothing significant,” she lied. Good grief, Thorn was correct. I do have a penchant for lying when it suits me.
“I cannot believe it! The earl was rather insistent in securing a private word with you,” the older woman observed.
“The Grand Saloon is hardly private,” Olivia said dryly. “Lady Arabella and Lord Bastrell were also present.”
It was not unusual for Lady Grisdale to assume that everyone’s decisions revolved around her.
“Forgive me for overstepping my boundaries,” the countess said abruptly, not sounding repentant in the slightest. “I will soon be your stepmother and I speak only out of concern. Lord Dewick favors this match with Lord Kempthorn, but I worry that it is sentimentality for Lord and Lady Felstead that influences him rather than logic.”
“Have you mentioned this to my father?”
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