He snorted, then took a sip of his drink, his gaze lingering on her. “That he didn’t want to discuss me.”
“Yes, of course I found that odd,” she admitted honestly. “But the few times I asked about his family and former friends, he gave me a quick answer, then changed the subject jovially enough for me not to really concern myself with what I now think was evasiveness.”
“It no doubt was,” he remarked wryly. “When one is running from something, or someone, he usually doesn’t want it discussed.”
She took a sip of very tasteful sherry, desperate to have questions answered but not wanting to appear too anxious. “Well, since he at least mentioned you, I suppose I’m relieved to know he wasn’t running from you.”
The man’s dark eyes narrowed significantly, and Olivia had to admit she felt rather proud to have irritated him. He wasn’t certain if her words were spoken facetiously, or if she really had no idea how Edmund despised his brother, and she was glad to have the upper hand, at least in one regard.
After a long moment he took a step closer to her so that he stood near enough for her to notice the stubble on his firm jawline. In any other gentleman she would have been annoyed that he hadn’t bothered to shave again for dinner. In this man it seemed almost… distinguished. In an alluring sort of way.
“Am I that fearful, Lady Olivia?”
She shook herself, annoyed that she’d let her thoughts stray.
Focus!
“Fearful?” She held her shoulders back rigidly. “Fearful of what?”
He laughed. A solid, deep laugh of honest enjoyment.
It startled Olivia so much she almost dropped her sherry. The Duke of Durham was positively gorgeous when he laughed.
Moments later, his amusement subsiding, he gazed forcefully into her eyes and murmured, “In the past, madam, I’ve been more fearful to bold ladies who’ve learned I’ve discovered their lies, however small.” He leaned toward her slightly and lowered his voice. “Or however extravagant.”
It took several seconds before she could react to such a telling statement. Then grinning purposefully, she said, “I’m so glad to know you’ll continue to be your charming self with me, then.”
He tried not to smile again, but failed halfheartedly, and she couldn’t help noticing the small dimple in his right cheek—a facial feature Edmund surprisingly lacked. Suddenly she was enjoying their bantering. She cocked her head in his direction as if they shared a secret. “But just to guard myself, your grace, who are these bold ladies?”
Without pause, his smile hardened into a line of sharp bitterness. “Frenchwomen, Lady Olivia. I’ve never met one I trusted.”
He wasn’t enjoying her any longer. And in fact, with the look of sheer contempt etched into his countenance from just that one, innocent question, she realized he would never trust her, or even like her because of her duel heritage. She wished she knew the reason behind his animosity, though it wouldn’t make one slight bit of difference in any relationship they might have. She didn’t care much for him, either. Arrogant ass.
With a snicker, Olivia took another sip of sherry and turned away from him, fairly gliding across the carpeted floor toward the far end of the dining table, knowing instinctively that his gaze followed her every move. Reaching out with a delicate touch, she slid her fingertips along the hard, polished surface then rubbed them gingerly on a lace napkin. “So, in using such… refined logic, I suppose you think that at least half the time you’ll not know if I’m telling you the truth. Pity that.”
He didn’t immediately respond, as she thought he might if for no other reason than to avoid an increase in the awkwardness between them. Finally, after a few lingering seconds of silence, she glanced back at him through lowered lashes, noting with a kind of odd pleasure that he seemed to be scrutinizing every bit of her—from the dark curls that framed her face and sat dressed with pearls on top of her head, to the line of her jaw and the curve of her bosom, to the intricate details of her expensive, scarlet satin evening gown. And he liked what he saw. As a woman, she knew that instinctively.
Olivia felt a sudden twist of knots in her stomach, a flicker of something undefined creep under her skin. She’d never felt such a charged response, this sort of…knowingness, with Edmund. The feeling startled her as much as it confused her, since not only was this man standing across the room, but just seconds ago she’d come to realize how much he didn’t like her, wouldn’t trust her, and resented her entering his obviously well-ordered life.
“You certainly know how to tease a man, don’t you, Lady Olivia?” he murmured in a husky timbre, the intensity of his words slicing into her thoughts.
She raised her brows fractionally, trying her best to control the moment by keeping it civil and pleasant. “Tease? In what manner am I teasing you, sir?”
His dark eyes narrowed, and in one quick motion he finished off his drink, placing the empty glass on the fireplace mantel. Very slowly he said, “I didn’t necessarily mean you were teasing me, madam, at least not right now, or with intention.” He clasped his hands behind his back and began to stroll toward her, eyeing the carpet as he spoke with some contemplation. “I mean, rather, that everything about you—your refined, haughty look, your elegance, your obvious… glamour—is molded with perfection and triggered into action by desire on the part of a man, any man.” He glanced back into her eyes as he moved to her side once more. “Whether you created this image yourself or were molded into such a stunning creature by God is unknown, and probably irrelevant.” He lowered his voice to a deep, hard whisper to add, “You’re a product of beauty, Olivia, just like the perfume you market, and naturally I’m very impressed by it, as you no doubt intended me to be. But a product is still a product. I won’t be deceived by it.”
Deceived? Did he think she was trying to deceive him? His insults—regardless of the fact that he mixed them with compliments—inflamed her. He had intentionally cut into everything she was as a woman, defining her mere appearance as something to actually be wary of. Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she’d been accused so despicably by a gentleman. Still, she refused to move away from him, to succumb to his overbearing nature by cowering, or to react as he likely expected and slap his enigmatic, handsome face. No, she was better than he assumed her to be, and she intended to prove it to him. He expected her to be frivolous and narcissistic, as he seemed to think all Frenchwomen were, but instead she would show him restraint with balance.
Eyes flashing defiance as they penetrated his, she placed her sherry on the tabletop beside her and tightly laced her fingers together in front of her. “Thank you for your gracious compliments, sir,” she said with feigned sweetness. “I’m so glad you appreciate my efforts to look my best when in the company of others.”
His cheek twitched once, but he offered nothing in reply.
Thoroughly smug, she smiled to add, “But as you know, products can be bought and sold, I cannot. Remember that.”
Seconds ticked by in brutal slowness as he stared down at her boldly, and for the briefest of moments she feared he might dismiss her—or grab her and shake her senseless.
“Did you love my brother?”
That quietly asked question certainly came out of nowhere, and frankly startled her. Eyes widening, she pulled back from him a little, still unnerved by his proximity and enraged by his audacity, and finding it extremely difficult to understand his sudden change in subject. “I beg your pardon?”
His lip twitched with a very tiny, knowing grin. “I asked you if you loved my brother. We’ve had three conversations about him now, about the fact that he married you and stole your fortune, about your desire to find him at any cost, but not once have you mentioned a love for him.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m intensely curious.”
Olivia could feel her face turning scarlet under his scrutiny, probably the same shade as her gown. After a solid inhale, she maintained, “Of course I did.”
For seconds the Duke of Durham simply s
tared into her eyes, his features hard, his expression unreadable as he apparently gauged her rather staid response, perhaps even hoping for more, which she wasn’t about to offer. Particulars were none of his business.
And then, beyond her wildest imaginings, he did the unthinkable. He grasped her chin with one strong hand, and as he lifted it, he brought his lips down to hers—not in a crush of passion, but in a simple connection, a subtle touch of tenderness that defied the moment of exasperation between them.
It took Olivia what felt like days for her to come to the realization that he was actually kissing her. Momentarily stunned, she tried to shake her head free of his, groaning in protest as she drew her hands up and pressed them forcefully against his silk dinner jacket, attempting to shove him away. He reacted by placing one of his large palms on the back of her head and holding her steadily against him as he strengthened the bond of his mouth on hers, lightly caressing her lips until she had no choice but to succumb.
She did, with a fading measure of reluctance and a whirlwind of emotions suddenly swimming through her, making her legs weak and her body come alive beneath her corset. He radiated warmth, smelled divine, and tasted… heavenly. Pure magic. And then, just as she felt ready to melt into his arms and open completely to his urging, he gently released her, slowly pushing her face away from his, though managing to graze the pad of a finger or two across her lips as he did so.
Olivia gasped for breath and, after a moment, opened her eyes, staring at the fine threading of his waistcoat as she remained careful not to look up at him.
Oh, God, he had kissed her. On purpose. And he… he was a marvelous kisser.
Immediately, guilt and regret flooded her senses and she took a step away from his powerful physique. “Are you insane?” she whispered.
He inhaled deeply. “Momentarily,” he admitted in a husky murmur.
“You had no right to do that,” she said, her voice low and shaky. “I am married to your brother.”
“And I have every right to challenge your purpose in bringing that fact to my attention, madam.”
Her head shot up with intention to verbally attack his character. Instead, for the first time, she became aware of just how affected he’d been by their embrace. She swallowed, unnerved by his flushed face, his labored breathing, the intensity of his heated gaze as it clung to hers. Just the knowledge that he’d been physically stimulated by the simple touch of her lips to his confused her.
“How on earth was kissing me a challenge?” she asked in whispered fury.
Without hesitation, he said, “You’re attracted to me.”
Just as you’re attracted to me.
“You are insane. And a cad,” was all she managed to enunciate, her fluster limiting her ability to rationally consider a profound reply to a statement so laughable if it weren’t so disturbing.
He almost smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re not the first Frenchwoman to tell me that.”
She placed her palm on her heated cheek. “I’m certain I’m not the only Englishwoman to tell you that, either.”
He didn’t respond, just looked her up and down again very slowly, his features hard and distrusting. After a moment of waiting for something—anything from him—Olivia took another step back and turned, shifting her gaze to the loosely drawn drapes, the pads of her fingers on her lips as if to block them from his scrutiny.
After seconds of unbearable awkwardness, at least on her part, he thankfully walked away from her, toward the dining room door, and pulled on the thick bronze rope to ring the bell for service. Three footmen entered almost at once, their hands filled with food on silver trays, which they began laying atop the oak buffet against the far wall, never glancing at either of them as they worked silently and professionally.
Olivia wasn’t certain if she felt grateful for the interruption or annoyed by the sudden presence of others, regardless of the fact that servants were supposed to be invisible. In her experience they gossiped, though at this point she decided a trifle gossip was the least of her concerns.
Suddenly the butler entered and began speaking with the duke in muted tones. Olivia took the opportunity of his distraction to try to compose herself, inhaling a few deep breaths and straightening her skirts with calming hands, willing her speeding heart to still.
Her brother-in-law stood handsomely tall and stately, now seemingly unaffected by their brief encounter as he continued to offer instruction, she assumed, to the butler, who nodded in obedience. At last their conversation ended and the servants all departed without a glance in her direction, closing the door quietly behind them, leaving the two of them alone once again to dine casually on obviously exquisite fare, serving themselves and conversing as if nothing at all had just happened. Ridiculous notion.
He looked at her openly again, rubbing his jaw with his fingers and thumb. “Shall we eat, dearest sister?”
Olivia fairly rolled her eyes. Could his sarcasm be any more blatant?
She smiled sweetly, though she no longer felt like eating. “Of course, your grace.”
With a tepid smile, he motioned to the steaming buffet with his hand. “Please. We have much to discuss.”
He wanted a discussion now? God in heaven, the Duke of Durham had just kissed her. No explanation, no warning, and she had liked it. She had liked it terribly—enough to make any conversation they might have extremely uncomfortable, at least for her. It occurred to her suddenly that such a despicably pleasurable action might have been planned from the beginning to disconcert her, thereby giving him the advantage in any discussion they might have. If that was the case, the poor, arrogant man would be in for a true challenge of female proportions. He just had no idea who he was dealing with, and that would serve her purpose.
With a sweep of her skirts and a polite nod, Olivia grinned and walked elegantly to the waiting food.
———
He couldn’t possibly be more angry with himself for taking advantage of her like that, for using the situation to his benefit by confronting her not with words, but with overt lust. And yet he still wasn’t convinced she’d been all that surprised. She had come into his life, after all, and certainly with her own plans of attack. Yet tonight she had surprised him. Instead of storming out of the house, or breaking into tears, or even just slapping his face like any other woman might, she’d managed instead to remain composed, sitting across from him now, eating orange duckling and chestnut stuffing with grace and charm after a shockingly simple kiss that even she knew had numbed them both. The Lady Olivia Shea was different, an astute female, one who apparently enjoyed matching wits with the gentlemen in her life, and Sam wasn’t sure if he approved of her unusual nature or not. Not that his feelings were relevant in the least at this point.
“How is your dinner, Olivia?” he asked pleasantly.
She glanced up from across the table as she delicately piled stuffing on her fork with her knife. “Delicious, thank you. And how is yours, your grace?”
He grunted at her stilted demeanor. “Perfect.”
She smiled agreeably and sliced once more into her roasted game. “You’ll have to mention to your friend that he’s employed a marvelous cook. Is he here this evening?”
Sam had to shake himself from actually cursing aloud. Such a pointless and banal conversation. “Let’s discuss that rather enticing kiss we shared instead.”
He watched her hesitate for only a fraction of a second, her fork halfway to her mouth. Then, without looking at him, she lowered it and remarked, “If we’re going to talk about something besides the weather and the food, I’d rather discuss Edmund and what you’re going to do to help me get my funds returned to me.” She sat back and patted her mouth gently with her napkin. “I’ve been away from Nivan too long as it is, your grace; I need to return home soon to oversee my business. Though being a man of inherited wealth you may not completely understand that.”
Although she impressed him with her ability to appear self-possessed an
d focused on her task in light of his somewhat improper suggestion, Sam nevertheless felt insulted from nothing more than the simple smile on her pretty pink mouth. Oddly enough, her feigned confidence both disgusted and aroused him.
Shifting his chair, he placed his own knife and fork on his plate and relaxed against the cushion, resting his elbows on the armrests as he eyed her carefully. “I have a proposition for you, Olivia.”
She raised her wineglass to her mouth, swallowed a sip, and licked her lips. “A proposition for retrieving my money, I’m assuming,” she said rather than asked, lowering her glass back to the table.
This time her pleasant assurance absolutely did annoy him, though he refused to let her have the satisfaction of knowing it. Instead, he nodded slowly, pursing his lips in apparent thought. “Perhaps, although I’m not certain you’ll be so smug with yourself after hearing my thoughts.”
Her mouth dropped open a bit, then closed again to form a tight line. “I am not smug, but that’s beside the point, your grace. Frankly, what you think of me is irrelevant.”
“The point is,” he explained, darkening his voice with intensity as he sat forward, “what we think of each other is less important than what we can do for each other in this matter, Olivia.”
Her smile gradually faded as she cocked her head to eye him carefully. “What we can do for each other?”
He cleared his throat, raising his wineglass and studying her over the top of it. “You need my help, and after considering all the options, I’ve decided to help you.”
After a long moment, she maintained, “I need my funds returned to me, which is my primary concern. You seem to enjoy sidestepping that issue, but the fact that you are my husband’s brother makes you responsible for his deceit. I believe I’ve been more than clear in this matter.”
“Oh, you have,” he replied, drawing the glass to his mouth. After a swallow, he added, “But I have specific reasons for finding my brother, and you’re the first person in years who’s claimed to recently see him and spend time in his company.”
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