by Tamara Gill
"All you have to do is lean a fraction closer and touch your lips to mine." He reached out and caressed her hand, relishing the feel of her soft skin. "Kiss me, Olivia." Her gaze dipped to his lips, and he leaned closer still. So near now that he could almost taste her. "Use me to make Oglemoore pay for his crime." If this is what both Olivia and Oglemoore wanted, Jasper would serve them both well. He may not have always wanted the position he was placed in, but this turn of events was fortunate indeed.
He would enjoy everything she would give and be a good friend to both her and Oglemoore at the same time. It was indeed a perfect plan.
At the mention of the marquess, Olivia's decision to kiss the duke was made. She closed the small gap between them and pressed her mouth to his. For a moment, she did not move, simply kept her mouth shut and against his, feeling for the first time what a man's lips felt like. His were warm and so very soft. She had not expected that from him. Her mind whirled at the idea of kissing him whenever she liked, and she found herself quite excited about teasing Oglemoore over the next week with her new beau.
If she hoped for a ravishing kiss, she was utterly wrong. Hamlyn did none of those things. Oh no, he did something so much worse. His hands cradled her face, tipping her head to one side as his mouth explored hers in languorous, deep strokes that made her toes curl in her silk slippers.
He tasted of tea and strawberries. The kiss was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. It was raw, new, and addicting. How many women had this rogue kissed to know how to make a woman purr?
Olivia pushed the unhelpful thought aside, not wanting to think about how many women he may have had in his life. Men, such as the duke, kissed many women. She wasn't a simpleton to believe she was his first.
But maybe you could be his last…
Heat pooled between her legs, a reaction that was new and wonderful. The idea of crawling onto his lap, of rubbing herself up against him to soothe the ache that thrummed at her core taunted her. This kiss stole her wits. Made her want things no well-bred young woman ought to want.
This kiss was dangerous. How unexpected and pleasant.
Olivia pulled back, staring at him, trying to right her addled mind. Any kiss she shared with the duke—Jasper, as he wanted her to call him—was not supposed to muddle her mind and distract her from her plan.
His Grace had one purpose and one purpose only. To make Oglemoore jealous, to make him show his true colors and nothing more.
Her mind whirled with thoughts, anything to diminish the fact she may have just experienced a kiss she would dream about for years to come. Long to do over again and again.
His Grace studied her, a curious look in his eyes.
"Do you think Oglemoore saw our kiss?" she said, tearing her gaze away from Hamlyn and looking back at the house where they'd seen Oglemoore and Athol last. Anywhere but the handsome face that tempted her more than it ought. More than Oglemoore ever had.
Oglemoore was nowhere to be seen, and a small part of her was thankful for it.
"I do not believe so."
Olivia glanced at Hamlyn, not missing his curt, annoyed tone. With a small shake of his head, he stood, brushing down his breeches. "Shall we return indoors, Miss Quinton?"
Unsure what his lordship’s matter was, she shook her head, leaning back against the tree. "No, I shall remain here a while longer. Thank you again for your assistance, Your Grace. I look forward to seeing you at dinner this evening," she said, not giving voice to her concern toward his suddenly cool demeanor.
"Of course, good afternoon." He strode from her, back straight and hands fisted at his sides. She narrowed her eyes. Perhaps he had not liked kissing her as much as she enjoyed kissing him. He'd kissed many women, and this was a game after all.
Olivia picked up her sketch pad and pencil and started to draw the river, supposing it may all be in her imagination that he was rather put out. She would be a fool indeed if she thought his kisses meant anything more than their agreement.
She made a terrible error of judgment with Oglemoore. She would not make the same mistake with the duke.
Chapter 4
"I saw you this afternoon sitting with Duke Hamlyn. Do tell me if he's showing an interest in you, Olivia. If you become attached to his grace, perhaps we can have a double wedding," Athol said, grinning across the bed from Olivia as they drank hot chocolate before retiring for the night.
Athol had stolen into her room after she had procured two cups of hot chocolate, and now it would seem that at least Athol had noticed her outing with the duke. Did that mean Lord Oglemoore had too?
"I was sketching the river, and he joined me, nothing more. Please do not read into his attentions any further than that."
"I will not. I promise," Athol said, finishing her cup of chocolate and placing it on the bedside cabinet. "I wanted to talk with you about something, and I want you to be honest with me."
"Of course," Olivia said without thought, wondering what it was Athol had to say. Perhaps Lord Oglemoore had asked her to be his wife already, and her plans on making him pay were lost already. The thought soured her hot chocolate on her tongue.
"Elliott mentioned he thought that you may have been upset with him upon his arrival. Say it isn't so. I need you both to be friends, to like each other if I'm to marry him."
Olivia choked on her drink and coughed. Did Lord Oglemoore suspect her past hopes toward him? Oh, how mortifying!
"What makes you think such a thing?" she asked, frowning, and in truth, not wishing to know how Athol, or Elliott—since her friend seemed to be on a first-name basis with Lord Oglemoore—would think such a thing. Only Hamlyn knew of her plan, and he would not dare tell anyone.
"I was having afternoon tea with Elliott today, and he mentioned it in conversation. I know he grew quite fond of you when you were in town last year, but I'm sure he was just being polite. It would not make sense that he is courting me now if he wanted you as his bride last Season." Athol giggled, but Olivia could hear the nervousness in her friend's tone. "Do you not agree?"
Athol was not the type of friend to believe words Olivia would state about Oglemoore, she needed to see with her own eyes what type of man he was. If she could make the marquess show what his true make up was, she was certain Athol would not marry him.
"Lord Oglemoore was one of the kindest, most honest gentlemen I met last year in town. I would hope he would not play any woman a fool. If he has asked you to be his bride, I'm certain that our friendship was nothing more than that…a benign friendship." Not that Olivia believed that for a moment. The fiend had used her, played her like a string on a harp, and had now seemingly moved on to greener pastures. Well, she would not allow it. He would pay, or she'd die trying to make it so.
Athol frowned, staring down at her clasped hands in her lap. "He has not asked me yet, but I expect him to any day. I am, after all, an heiress and an earl's daughter. Surely it is only a matter of days before he offers me his hand."
Olivia stared at her friend, unsure she'd ever heard her sound so desperate to have a husband. What had come over her? "Lord Oglemoore and I did spend time together in town, but I'm sure you do not have anything to worry about. It seems he has chosen you to be his wife, even if he has not yet voiced such declarations out loud." Olivia could not help but plant the seed of doubt in her friend's mind. She no longer trusted Oglemoore to be true, and Athol deserved much better than him. Marriage, after all, was a lifelong commitment. One did not want to make a mistake.
At her friend's worried frown, a pang of guilt pinched her conscience. She did not want them to be at odds over a gentleman, but Oglemoore had been overly familiar with her. What else was she to think but that he wanted to court her? Possibly marry her. His being here at her cousin's house party, she had thought, was proof of his attachment. The Quinton pride ran deep, and it wasn't in Olivia to simply leave things as they were and move on. She had thought her hunt for a husband over. She could not simply walk away and allow his lordship t
o get away with what he had done, nor could she allow Athol to marry such a man. A flippant, untrustworthy one.
Athol had said herself she had multiple gentlemen seeking her hand. Why did she want Oglemoore anyway? She did not love him.
"He will voice them soon, I feel. I think you shall find before the house party comes to an end, I shall be happily betrothed to Lord Oglemoore."
Olivia smiled at her friend’s words, not wishing to say any more on the matter. "What do you think of Duke Hamlyn?" she asked, the reminder of his kiss this afternoon still fresh in her mind. Of how her body had turned to liquid heat. He was simply the perfect vessel to make another man rue the day.
"He's so very handsome, Olivia. When Elliott introduced me for the first time, I imagined myself rather in love with him and somewhat mad at myself that I had allowed Oglemoore to believe I was in love with him more."
"He does have a pleasing face," Olivia conceded, not wanting to give too much away. It was not like their repartee was true and possibly the start of something between them.
"Pleasing face," Athol mocked. "I wager it's more than pleasing. Hamlyn's face is sculpted to precision. His eyes are the deepest shade of blue I've ever seen. As for his aristocratic, perfect nose and lips that were made for sin, I wager he's more than pleasing. That he's here in Kent and for a whole week, la, I'll wager the ladies in London are most displeased."
"That does not mean anything," Olivia said, watching the flames in the hearth. She already knew what those lips felt like, how they incited a need she'd not known she possessed. He was too handsome for his own good and had a sweet temperament that was equally charming. Not many gentlemen would help her taunt a fellow friend into believing they had chosen the wrong woman to marry.
"It means a great deal," Athol argued. "It means you may have a chance of winning him. He certainly looks at you a great deal. Why at dinner this evening, I often caught him watching you, listening to your every word. He appeared very much in awe of you, in fact."
Warmth filtered through her at the thought of the duke being interested in her outside her own scheme. Surely not. He was one of London's rogues. On top of that, she was sure she'd heard he had a longtime mistress set up in town.
"What did he look at me like?" she asked anyway, despite her own warnings to herself and the fact it didn't matter how he observed her. It was all a game anyway and not real life.
"We're both maids," Athol continued. "But the duke watched you this evening as a rake watches his prey. Contemplated all the naughty things you could do together if you were alone."
"Athol!" Olivia gaped, as her friend laughed and shrugged.
"It's true, no matter what you may say to the contrary. The next time you're around Hamlyn, I suggest you watch him, catch him yourself eyeing you, and then you will see what I say is true."
Olivia could not believe it was so, but what if it were? The duke certainly seemed put out this afternoon with her. Was he jealous? It was not possible! They had an agreement. She was seeing things where there was nothing to be seen at all. Even if the idea of the duke's interest in her was enticing and flattering notion to consider.
"I shall observe His Grace and get back to you on my findings. We shall discuss the matter at the end of the house party."
Athol slid off the bed, a mischievous grin on her lips. "A wager? Five pounds says he becomes an admirer of yours."
Olivia held out her hand, shaking her friend’s. "That is a wager I'm willing to take." And win, considering the duke's attention on her this evening like a besotted fool was merely part of his acting as if enamored of her already. Poor Athol, she did not stand a chance at winning this bet. The five pounds was hers for the taking.
Chapter 5
Jasper thundered across the land at blistering speed, his mount well worth the thousand pounds he paid for the gelding he'd had sent for from London for the duration of the house party. The horse was fast, strong, and capable, and went a long way in distracting him from the alluring Miss Quinton back at Chidding Hall.
Oglemoore, he could see out the corner of his eye, could not keep up to his mount’s speed. He laughed aloud, knowing how much that fact would annoy his friend. Jasper pulled on the reins, slowing to a walk.
"Ah, this is living, do you not agree?" Oglemoore said, pulling his mount up alongside Jasper.
He nodded, relishing the green, picturesque fields of the late Duke of Law's lands. "It is beautiful here. I can see why Lady Clara invited us all down to Kent for a well needed distraction during the Season."
"Yes, and speaking of distraction, how is your courting of Miss Quinton coming along? I can assume by the fact she's not been chasing me about the estate that it is going better than I planned."
Jasper thought about how he would reply. He was, in fact, working for both parties, but for different reasons. His friend Oglemoore to keep Miss Quinton from having designs on him, and Miss Quinton to make Oglemoore regret his choice of bride and to stop him from gaining her friend Athol. A muddle anyone could make an error performing.
Jasper hoped for both his friend’s and Miss Quinton's sake he could be of assistance, but he was starting to doubt that he would. After his kiss with Olivia yesterday, his mind had been less clear on his conduct and the rules he'd promised to obey.
His own rules regarding his life and his decision not to yet look for a wife himself.
She was a handsome woman, intelligent, if not a little misguided by her past affection for a man who clearly sought his future elsewhere. "We are becoming better acquainted," he answered, not wanting to tell Oglemoore everything that had passed between them. "I shall keep her occupied enough that she will not trouble you while we're here."
Oglemoore grinned. "I knew I could count on you. There are few women who would not look for a diversion in your arms, a verified rake that you are. But keep in mind, I do not wish for you to seduce her. That would be unfair to Miss Quinton."
The whole of Oglemoore's plan seemed unfair to Jasper already, but with Miss Quinton having her own scheme, he could not see the harm in assisting them both. So long as neither found out.
"Tell me," he said, changing the subject, "what is new between you and Lady Athol? Are you certain you want to marry the chit now that you're spending more time with her?"
Oglemoore looked out over the land, a frown between his brow. "I believe so. She's a sensible woman and compliments me well. I kissed her the other evening and was quite pleased with the outcome."
Jasper stared at his friend. Pleased with the outcome? Whatever sort of reaction to a kiss was that? After he'd kissed Olivia, he'd all but lost his wits. He'd forgotten entirely his scheme with his friend and the one the lady herself had made him promise to follow. All he'd thought of afterward were her soft lips. Her sweet exhale when he'd deepened the embrace. He wanted to do it again with a need that was foreign to him. The idea of kissing Miss Quinton outdid his desire to see his mistress in town. And he received far more than kisses from his mistress. An odd reaction, no doubt.
"Was the kiss not as passionate as you would like?" Jasper asked, adjusting his grip on the reins.
Oglemoore shrugged. "It was pleasing, but," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Lady Athol is a hard nut to crack. I do not think she allows her emotions to come to the fore. I had hoped she would be more passionate when I kissed her for the first time, but she was not. I'm unsure of how to make her respond to me."
"Do you think her feelings are engaged?" Jasper certainly knew from Miss Quinton that she believed they were not. The thought that Olivia’s scheme in making his friend regret his choice left a cold shiver to run down his spine. He didn't want her to be anyone's second choice, not even his friend’s. Oglemoore no longer deserved her attachment. He'd chosen another, and he ought to live with that decision.
Miss Quinton deserved to be loved for the strong, amusing, competent woman she was. Not simply because his friend could not engage another woman's desire and make her fall at his feet as he
would like.
"I shall continue to court her and hope for the best." Oglemoore waggled his brows, mischief in his gaze. "I can always fall back to Miss Quinton, I suppose. She will always be there waiting in the wings should Lady Athol turn out to be a cold fish."
Jasper schooled his features, disdain for his friend running hot through his veins. There was no way in hell he'd allow Miss Quinton back into Oglemoore's arms after how he just spoke. As for Lady Athol, Olivia was right, she too deserved better than Oglemoore. What was wrong with the man that he spoke in such a demeaning, unlikeable way toward women?
Marriage may not be a situation he wished to be involved in at present, but he did hope that when he decided to marry, he would desire his bride, want her in his bed, and beside him in all things. Oglemoore spoke of marriage with such aloofness that it turned his stomach.
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, at least on Jasper's part. Oglemoore did not seem to have noticed that his words were offensive. "Enough with all the talk of the ladies present, shall we go for a run? Stretch our horse's legs?" Oglemoore said, kicking his mount into a gallop and sprinting ahead.
Jasper let him gain some distance, content to canter behind and mull over his friendship with Oglemoore and his developing one with Miss Quinton. He liked her, and one truth he did know was she was not for his friend, and he'd ensure that at the end of the house party, that remained the case.
Chapter 6
There was something seriously wrong with her. Olivia sat in the blue drawing room upstairs and watched as Lord Oglemoore and the duke played a game of piquet. For all her distress at having to watch Oglemoore court her friend, it was not his lordship who held her attention this day.
With a will of their own, her eyes kept flicking up from the book she read to Hamlyn. A small lock of hair kept falling over his brow, and he seemed to frown and bite his lip when he concentrated on his game.
