by Tamara Gill
Oglemoore who? Olivia no longer cared about what Hamlyn's friend thought or decided. All she could think of was being in this man’s arms—his secure hold, his height, and devilishly handsome face that was hers to enjoy. Savor.
"My plan would not have worked had I not too had one of England's most fetching rogues on my arm, making everyone envious. Do you not see the young women who flutter their fans when you pass, their mothers discussing your assets and worthiness for their daughters? If I am making men jealous, you too are making women equally so."
His eyes narrowed. He closed the space farther between them, and the breath in her lungs hitched. He would not dare kiss her here. Hamlyn may be a rogue, but he was no fool.
"It is fortunate then for you that I have you in my arms and not anyone else." He threw her a wicked grin, his thumb making tiny circular motions against her back. "How do you wish to play this game now that we're back in London? I cannot steal you away here and kiss you. Oglemoore will not be able to see."
The idea of Hamlyn kissing her made her yearn for him to do precisely that. It had been several days since she'd tasted those delicious lips that smiled down at her. Felt his hunger for her, to have more of what he could make her feel.
Her heart quickened, and she flexed her hand on his shoulder, reveling in the feel of his superfine coat beneath her palm. "You do not wish to kiss me in any case, Your Grace. You are a veritable tease, and you know it."
His chuckle was deep and laden with promise. "Would you care to walk with me and see if that is the case?" he whispered against her ear.
She shivered. What was this that he was doing to her? It was any wonder women fell at his feet, and he had kept his mistress so long. No sensible woman would want to lose a man as seductive and charming as Hamlyn.
"You would not dare. There is no point to us stealing away. It would serve no useful purpose with our plan."
He shrugged, maneuvering them close to the side of the ballroom floor. "No useful purpose, you are correct, but a pleasurable one when all told. Shall we?" He spun them to a stop, stepping back and holding out his arm for her to take.
Without thought, Olivia placed her hand on his arm and let him lead her out of the ballroom. They stepped outside onto the large, flagstone terrace. Other couples mingled out-of-doors, groups of guests spoke and drank champagne under the light of the full moon and lanterns that were hung from the wisteria growing on the trellis above.
After the cloying, overwhelming scent of indoors, the purple flower's sweet perfume was refreshing. They strolled down the terrace, speaking to guests who turned toward them.
Hamlyn kept his hand atop hers, unfazed if his marked attention was noted. A footman passed them two champagne flutes, and His Grace handed her one, clinking the glass rims together.
"To the Season. May you gain what you're looking for, my sweet Miss Quinton, and have a happy heart."
She tipped her glass against his, unable to hold the smile his words brought forth on her lips. "You know, Your Grace, you can be quite the flatterer and a sweet man when you want to be. You speak of me and my unmarried state, but what of yours? You're what, one and thirty from what I hear? Do you not think a wife ought to be in your life sooner rather than later?"
He shrugged, sipping his drink. "Are you applying for the position, Olivia?"
Since the day of their kiss, he had not used her name, and to hear it on his lips now sent her wits to spiral. How lovely it sounded coming from him. She would never get sick of hearing it, she was sure.
"No, of course not, and you should stop your teasing. We're supposed to be tricking other people of our acquaintance, not ourselves."
"Hmm," he answered noncommittedly. "Very well, you are right. I'm not searching for a bride as yet, but that is not to say I shall never marry. I'm certain there is someone out in the world who will pique my interest, and I shall court her."
A pang of jealousy, strong and unexpected, tore through Olivia. She did not want to think of Hamlyn courting another woman and one he would promise to love and cherish for all time. It was almost as bad as His Grace having a lover tucked away in town.
"Ah, yes, but what will your mistress think if you start to court a woman? I should imagine she will be terribly displeased to lose your protection," she said, unable to hold back the words a moment longer. And wanting desperately at the same time for him to deny her claim.
Chapter 9
Jasper sucked in his champagne and understandably choked. He coughed, his mind reeling at the knowledge that Miss Quinton, Olivia, knew he had a mistress. How on earth had the woman found out?
"That, my dear, is a conversation subject decidedly off-limits."
"What a shame?" She grinned, the gesture not reaching her eyes. She sipped her wine. "I know that if I were your lover, I would be terribly upset to lose you. There is something unique about you, Hamlyn, that I do not even think you're aware of."
"Really?" he asked, curious, the idea of having her as his lover an image he’d thought of quite a lot these past days. "Do explain, my dear."
"You're likable. Honest and trustworthy. Both men and women of our social sphere know this of you. It is why I trusted you with my plan to make Oglemoore madly in love with me again just to spite him. I know you will not abuse my trust in you and tell anyone of what we've spoken. I think you're a good person. A good friend to have. Your mistress knows you are not violent and would not mistreat her, so yes, I think she would miss you terribly should you marry and leave her to find a wife."
Jasper cleared his throat. "We should not be talking about my mistress." He took another long swallow of his champagne. "It isn't appropriate."
"Neither were our two kisses in Kent, but they still happened." She paused, staring up at him, her eyes narrowing as her gaze flittered over his features. "Would it be so terribly crass of me to admit that I would like to kiss you again?"
An ardent, uncontrollable need thrummed through him at Olivia's words. He glanced at the many people who surrounded them. He could not kiss her here, even though he longed to. He took her hand, pulling her toward the steps that led down to the lawn.
As idly and unhurried as he could appear, Jasper led Olivia deeper into the gardens. The Davenport's London estate backed onto a small, wooded area if his memory served him correctly. And he wanted them to be as far away from prying eyes as they could be.
All thoughts of showing his affection, his interest to the ton at large fell away. Jasper wanted Olivia alone, all his for a small piece of the night. The idea of Oglemoore seeing them no longer mattered, nor did her request to make his friend green-eyed.
Oglemoore could go hang. The thought of Olivia kissing his friend as he was about to kiss her heated his temper. He fisted his hand at his side, forcing the troubling thought aside. Oglemoore would not have her, not now and certainly not after he had discarded her without a second thought.
Who in their right thinking would not want Olivia in their arms? She was perfection, sweet and playful, not to mention absolutely stunning. He had seen how men devoured her this evening in her red, silk gown with gold beading across the bodice.
He'd almost swallowed his tongue at the sight of her. So beautiful, alluring, and unattached. Untouched by anyone. Never married or sullied by another man's hand. Simply perfect.
The need to have her in his arms, to taste her sweet lips once again, was overwhelming. He'd carved a path through the abundance of guests, needing to be by her side. He'd left Oglemoore gaping after him, barely saying good evening in his haste to be beside her.
His reaction to Olivia did send a small tremor of fear through his mind. He'd never behaved in such a way toward a woman. Not even his past lovers had he singled out as much as he had Olivia.
Was there more happening between them besides a deal, a prank on his friend to make him covetous? Was this more than his promise to Oglemoore that he'd keep Olivia distracted so he may court Athol and ask her to be his wife.
They came to the end
of the garden, only dappled light from the terrace and the mansion behind them reached them here. He turned, gazing down at her.
Their eyes met. Held. Time stood still, his body thrummed with expectation and need.
"We're quite alone now, Hamlyn. It is highly doubtful Oglemoore will see your attention toward me out here in the bushes," she teased, amusement in her eyes.
He reached out, clasping her side and pulling her against him. She did not fight him, obliged his request. Her hands fluttered against his chest, and he wondered if she could feel his heart beating fast beneath his ribs.
It felt as though his organ would burst free from his body. The intoxicating scent of jasmine wafted in the air, taunting him further. He leaned forward, kissing her cheek, her jaw, until he found the lobe of her ear.
Her inhale of breath spurred him further. Her hands slid up his chest to settle and squeeze his shoulders.
"You smell good enough to eat, Olivia."
She shivered in his arms, and now all he could think about was eating her in truth, of lifting her siren-red gown to her waist, laying her over the nearby stone bench, and taking his fill. Bringing her to climax on his face, reveling in her sighs and begging as he made her come.
Holy fuck, he was in trouble.
He kissed her throat and groaned when she clasped his jaw in her hands, bringing his mouth back to hers and kissing him. God damn it, yes. This is what he wanted. Her, in his arms, kissing him with as much desire and need that catapulted through his body.
Her mouth fused with his, her tongue tangling with his own. The kiss was not sweet. It was hard, frantic, and had an edge of demand to it. It took ownership of him, and he was at a loss as to how to bring his senses back from spiraling.
He reached down, sliding his hand over one ass cheek that he declared the most perfectly taut piece of backside he'd ever held. He kneaded her thigh, lifting it about his hip, and pushed himself against her.
She gasped through the kiss, and he felt her undulate, taking what she could of him in this position. His cock, hard, grew to attention when she pressed herself to him.
Olivia mewled some unintelligible sound, but he understood her completely. He was as mad and as hot for her as she was him. All thoughts of his friend, of his plan to keep Olivia respectively occupied vanished.
Never in his life had he ever behaved without so much as a care when around an unmarried woman. He'd had many affairs, yes, but the women were widows, unhappy in their marriages, or were from the demimonde. Never the beau monde.
He did not need this complication in his life, but also he could not, would not, let Olivia go from his clasp. Heat rushed to his groin, and he knew he could spill in his breeches if they continued what they were doing.
Olivia seemed to have lost all thought too. She rubbed against him like a kitten seeking a pet. Her breath mingled with his, and he knew she wasn't far, could climax here and now in the gardens at a ton ball.
Jasper broke the kiss, let go of her leg, and stepped back. She stumbled before righting herself, staring up at him. Her eyes were as glassy as the moon, twinkling up at him like two bright stars that had found their purpose in the sky.
God damn it, he wanted to be her universe. He wanted to do whatever she asked him to. But he could not seduce her. Take her here and now in the garden like some rutting beast.
"Why did you stop?" Her question was breathless, and somewhat uneven.
It killed him to hear the need in her tone. He understood better than she would ever imagine what she was going through. However, there was one thing she would never know, and that was how close she came to being tupped in the outdoors at a grand London ball where anyone may be watching.
"If I do not stop now, there will be no turning back. It is not the deal we made, Olivia. We must try to remember that the next time we embark on kisses in darkened gardens where no Oglemoore will view my regard."
His words acted just as he wished, and like a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head, she stepped back, busying herself with righting her gown.
"You're right, of course. I'm so sorry." She laughed, and he did not miss the nervousness in the gesture. "You're very good at what you do, Hamlyn. You made me forget myself."
He had forgotten himself too. Utterly reprehensible actions he could not allow to happen again. He would show interest, court, and flirt with her in public, but he could not steal her away, be alone with her unless he wanted her for himself.
And he did not want Olivia, as precious and sweet as she was.
Truly he did not, he reminded himself.
He was not ready for a wife. His father had not married until his forties. He was one and thirty, too young to settle down to only one woman for the rest of his days.
She threw him a small, brittle smile, and a punch to the gut would have been less sharp. He swallowed, taking her hand and pulling her back toward the ball. Jasper did not look at her again, not even when he deposited her beside Anna, her companion, and bid them both goodnight.
Walking from the ball, he rolled his shoulders, feeling the burn of Olivia's gaze on his back. He was her friend, helping her make Oglemoore pay for his base treatment of her. What he needed was a good hard shag with his mistress.
Summoning his carriage, he tapped his feet, unease and annoyance thrumming through his veins. Charlotte would soothe his soul and scratch his itch. He climbed into the equipage, calling for Seymour street and forced himself not to look back at Davenport house.
Chapter 10
Three nights passed, and Olivia had not seen Hamlyn for as many days. Where was he? After their third kiss, she had watched him stride from the ball with a feeling of unease and uncertainty running down her spine.
She had not wanted him to leave and nor did she understand what had actually transpired between them. All she did know was she wanted to kiss him again and again. To have him hold her in his arms, tease her senseless and make her crave.
Never in her life had she wanted to act unlike the lady she had been brought up to be. She wanted him to touch her where she ached. To feel his large, erect manhood press against her sex. Take her as a man would take a woman, fill her and inflame her as much as she was already.
Oh dear, she had turned into someone she could not recognize.
Had he mentioned wanting her in that way, asking if she would permit him such liberty, Olivia was certain she would have allowed him to make love to her.
She'd been all but ready to lie on the grassy lawn and give him what they both wanted.
Her friend, having returned from Bath, stood beside her, sipping her ratafia. "I'm not certain that I want Oglemoore as my husband any longer. I went to the pump rooms while I was home in Bath, and I met with Lord Dormer. How handsome and accommodating he is. And," she said, pointing across the room, "do you see he too has returned to London? I think he is back to court me."
Olivia glanced in the direction of Lord Dormer, an earl from Derbyshire, and noted him nodding in welcome to her friend. "Is he not looking for an heiress? I thought I heard it said that his pockets are for let."
"They may be, but I'm more than capable of fixing his currency issue." Athol grinned. "He is handsome, do not you think?"
Olivia frowned. "What about Oglemoore? The last time we spoke, you were quite determined to have him as your husband, and you kissed him."
"That was in Kent, Olivia. Do keep up."
Taken aback, Olivia stared at her friend, wondering who she was or had become in the last few months. She turned, sipping her wine and watching the dancers who were partaking in a minuet. Across the room, she could see Lord Oglemoore talking with a group of gentlemen, his attention sometimes stealing over to where they both stood.
Athol, seemingly noting his lordship's notice, mumbled something about needing to go to the retiring room and disappeared into the throng. Oglemoore watched Athol leave, his eyes following her out of the room. Olivia had thought he would follow her, but he did not. Instead, he excused hi
mself from his conversation and started toward her.
Olivia watched him, again agreeing with herself that Oglemoore was a handsome gentleman, but now there were a few minuscule things she noticed that she had not before. He was shorter than Hamlyn, less refined, and had a pettiness about him she had not thought him capable of.
What man courted a woman for a Season, only to never offer for her? That was certainly how he'd treated her last year. His fixation on Athol at her cousin's house party made his conduct even worse.
"Miss Quinton," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. Where once Olivia would have reacted to his touch, to his presence, now she was merely bored. He bored her, and that in itself was telling.
"How nice to see you again. I see you returned to London safe and sound. Are you enjoying the ball this evening?"
She smiled, glancing about the room. "I am, my lord. Very much so." She gestured to where Athol had departed. "I'm sorry you just missed Lady Athol. She will be most displeased to have missed you."
He nodded, coming to stand beside her. "I shall, catch up with Lady Athol in good time, but it is you I wanted to seek out. Would you care to dance with me? I believe there is to be a waltz soon."
Olivia started at his request, not the least interested in taking a turn about the dancefloor in his arms. He continued to stare at her, seeking an answer, and she had no option but to concede.
"Of course, my lord. I would like that very much."
He smiled, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Olivia fought to think of something to say. A conversation starter or the latest gossip going about London. Anything to halt the plainly obvious fact they had nothing to discuss.
"My friend, His Grace, the Duke of Hamlyn danced with you the other evening. I hope I shall too bring such joy to your night as he seemed to achieve."
