by Darcy Burke
He’d taken a drive in the park and made a point of speaking with Lady Philippa, stirring rumors of a possible courtship. She’d been charming and serene, everything a future duchess ought to be. Why then, was Jasper still overcome with thoughts of Olivia?
Because he wanted her more than ever. To circumvent his lust, he spent every night at the Black Horse honing his fighting skills. Tonight, however, he had to go to the Faversham Ball. Had to. If one were in Town during August, one simply didn’t miss this annual event. Especially when he’d told Lady Philippa he’d be there.
His valet, a tightly-coiled, middle-aged Welshman called Williams whom he’d employed after finding him stranded on the road to York, stared at the powder on the dressing table. “You’re going to put that on your eye?”
Sevrin had recommended cosmetic powder to lessen the discoloration of the bruised eye he’d received last night. It was that or go out with a purplish tinge that would no doubt invite stares.
“Do you have a better idea?” Jasper asked, looking at Williams in the mirror.
“I’m no lady’s maid.”
“You’re the next best thing.”
Williams harrumphed, his very favorite vocalization. “Well then, turn around. Can’t very well slap this on with your back to me.”
Jasper turned. Williams was not tall, which made his height quite functional for applying the cosmetic. Using a cloth, he dabbed the powder beneath Jasper’s eye. Williams frowned. He dabbed a bit more. “Too bad you aren’t Welsh. With a darker complexion, all of your bruises would scarcely register.” Another frown. Followed by more dabbing. If his lips turned any lower they might just slide off his face. Finally, he harrumphed.
“What?” Jasper turned back to the mirror. A ghastly white circle surrounded his eye. He looked as if someone had doused him in flour.
“I suppose if we made your entire face that color it wouldn’t look so…odd.”
“Never mind.” Jasper took another cloth and wiped at the powder. It streaked, but didn’t neatly come off. “Water, please.”
Williams dipped his cloth into a basin of water atop the dressing table. “Turn.”
Jasper did so, allowing his valet to return him to his normal appearance, even if it was bruised.
Nearly an hour later he strode into the Favershams’ ballroom. There was little breeze to stir the hot, late summer air, but the windows were open in the hope of some small relief. Though the crowd wasn’t as large as during the regular Season, this was undoubtedly the most attended private event of the summer.
He scanned the throng, seeking the dark brown locks of Lady Philippa. Except his gaze fell upon Olivia’s auburn beauty. She stood next to Louisa, cooling herself with a gentle sway of her fan. A handful of male admirers clustered about her like rutting stallions.
Though he ought to avoid her, he made his way toward her anyway. It was as if his feet weren’t connected to his brain. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only person seeking her company. His mother and father had chosen the same moment to meet Louisa’s protégé. The clinging group of men dissipated in the presence of the duke and duchess.
Jasper’s gut clenched. He couldn’t imagine what Holborn would make of Olivia. Would he see right through her ruse and call her out?
Louisa inclined her head toward her brother and sister-in-law. “Holborn, Your Grace, this is Merry’s cousin, Miss Olivia West. Olivia, my brother, His Grace, and his wife, Her Grace.”
Olivia delivered an acceptable curtsey.
Holborn gave her a cursory glance. “You’re from Devon, is that right? I once purchased horses from Devon. Never actually went there myself, of course.”
Olivia nodded. Her acting skill seemed to hide any anxiety. Or perhaps she simply wasn’t nervous. For some people, lies were as easy as breathing.
Jasper’s mother turned her blue-gray gaze upon Olivia, giving her a rather pinched look. But then, that was how she regarded everyone. “How fortunate that you found Lady Merriweather.” She gave Louisa a bland smile. “I imagine this is quite an improvement over your life in Devon.”
Louisa’s eyes narrowed, but she possessed too much savvy to draw attention to the duchess’s rudely insinuating commentary.
Olivia, for her part, merely blinked and said, “I’m thrilled to be here with Louisa, thank you.” Well done.
The duchess gave a shake of her impeccably coiffed head. “Still, it must be difficult. A severe change in station, I should think.”
And that was quite enough. Jasper offered his arm to Olivia. “Miss West, I believe this is our dance.”
Olivia took his arm and inclined her head to the duke and duchess as Jasper led her onto the dance floor. “Actually, you’re not on my dance card,” she said.
“Would you prefer to remain with my parents? Her Grace was just getting warmed up.”
“No, thank you. However did you grow up with them?”
“I had nurses, governesses, tutors. A younger sister to torture. I rarely saw them.” Which had been true until James died. Then Jasper had seen Holborn much more than he ever would have preferred.
She nodded as they moved into a square for the dance.
He bent his head next to her and murmured, “I didn’t think to ask. Do you even know how to dance?”
She arched a brow and lifted her wrist. “Clearly, since I have a dance card.”
He’d noticed the card, of course. “It was a fair question given what I know about you. I didn’t mean to insult.”
The music began, and for the first few minutes, she focused very intently on the steps. She did, in fact, know the dance, but it seemed to have been awhile since she’d executed it.
They moved apart and then together within the square of dancers. He caught sight of Lady Philippa dancing in another square. He ought to be focusing his attention on her instead of the lovely siren who’d beguiled him, but he still needed to monitor Olivia’s actions. The steps came easier to her now, and she moved with grace and precision. She seemed able to comport herself well, and he knew from Farringdon’s dinner party that she was more than capable of holding her own in a conversation. He’d been the one who’d panicked and thrown sherry down her dress.
Despite all of that, he couldn’t trust that her lies wouldn’t be exposed. He had to ensure they weren’t or somehow remove the threat. Unfortunately, one didn’t “remove” the Duke of Holborn.
When they came together again, she frowned. “You look as if you’ve engaged in another altercation since I saw you last.” She lowered her voice to a discreet level. “I know you fight at the Black Horse.”
Never, ever did he allow himself to betray surprise or any other strong emotion in the center of a ballroom, but he faltered and fought to remember the next step. Her hands tightened where they touched him, as if she sought to keep him focused. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that here,” she whispered.
She’d rattled him with her curiosity and concern. If they’d met under different circumstances, he was certain he would’ve liked her. However, given the complications of their acquaintance, he couldn’t allow himself to become too familiar. “No, you shouldn’t have. But neither should you mention it anywhere else. It’s none of your concern.”
The dance finally concluded, and Jasper quickly ushered her back to Louisa. Thankfully, his parents had departed the ballroom.
Time to find Lady Philippa. She, too, had just left the dance floor and was now making her way toward the refreshment table in the corner.
Halfway to his mark, an annoying chap called Twickersham stepped in his way. “I say, who’s that lovely miss you were just dancing with? I hear she’s some distant cousin?”
Jasper looked over the shorter man’s shoulder at Lady Philippa. Several men were vying for her attention as one procured her a glass of ratafia. His patience, never in danger of being lost in public, thinned to almost nothing. What was wrong with him this evening? Was he on edge due to Olivia? And if so, was it because of her deception, or
because he wanted to take her into a dark sitting room and toss up her skirts? Do not think of that.
Or maybe his bad mood had been brought on by Olivia’s query about the club. He knew he’d be inviting curiosity with the bruise on his face, but she’d gone one step further. She knew something no one else did. The thought was discomfiting. He preferred people know only what he wanted them to.
“Might I ask for an introduction?” Twickersham continued as if Jasper had answered his initial query.
He curled his fingers into his palms. Twickersham was a sycophantic leech. Jasper would sooner introduce him to a sinking ship. “You’ll have to ask my aunt.”
Twickersham’s tiny brown eyes narrowed. “I suppose I shall. I say, did you get that bruise at Jackson’s? Haven’t seen you there in some time. Did your opponent eschew hand mufflers? Nasty looking. You oughtn’t box without the proper equipment. Quite dangerous.”
Surely he wasn’t lecturing Jasper about the rules of boxing? Already vexed, Twickersham’s nonsense only annoyed him further. Jasper bit back an insult and made to continue on his way.
Twickersham then did something extremely foolish. He grabbed Jasper’s arm, halting his progress. “I see you’ve set your sights on Lady Philippa. Your title may be one of the finest in England, but her father’s looking for a foreign husband, perhaps even royalty. I put my wager in at White’s—she’ll snare a prince.”
The final remnants of Jasper’s control snapped. He shook off Twickersham’s grasp with a harsh jab of his elbow that caught the shorter man in his oversized gut. He pinned Twickersham with a menacing stare. “Don’t touch me again. Not if you want to use that hand.”
The other man’s eyes widened. Already, Jasper could see Twickersham couldn’t wait to recount this tale.
In an effort to slow the soon-to-be-gossip, Jasper muttered, “My apologies.” He quickly strode away in search of Lady Philippa.
She was no longer near the refreshment table. In fact, he couldn’t locate her at all. God damn it. The room seemed to tunnel to a pinpoint before his eyes. His hands fisted again and he wanted to pummel Twickersham into the floorboards. He moved closer to one of the open windows, seeking any bit of cool air to soothe his temper.
Eventually his heart rate returned to normal, and the ballroom finally came back into focus. He couldn’t quite comprehend his reactions this evening. What had come over him?
“What the devil are you doing sulking in the corner?”
Holborn. This moment only needed his presence.
Jasper struggled to appear calm and controlled. “Seeking a brief respite.”
“From what? All you’ve done is dance with that worthless West chit. I don’t care if you were trying to please my sister. You spend far too much time attending Louisa, anyway. You should be courting Lady Philippa.”
Jasper’s insides ignited, and he strove to keep his anger in check. “I’m looking for her now, actually.”
“I saw her going toward the gaming room. It’s the second door to the left.”
Without a word, Jasper made his way to the gaming room. The door the duke had indicated was closed. Jasper entered. The room did not contain gaming tables or guests.
Save one.
Lady Philippa stood in the center of the room with her hands clasped before her, as if she’d been waiting for him. He fought a surge of panic. If they were caught alone…
“Lord Saxton. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Which seemed to imply she was expecting someone. Christ, he supposed he wanted to marry her, but another compromise even if it was with the “right” woman? His vision tunneled again.
A shock of clarity hit Jasper. He touched her arm as she drew near, but immediately withdrew his hand. “Who were you expecting?”
“My mother. A footman said she needed help with her gown and that I should meet her here.”
“Did anyone see you come in here?”
Her amber eyes widened. “I don’t think so. I don’t know,” she said, with an edge of alarm.
“It’s all right, but you do understand that we can’t be caught here together?” Seeking to soothe the alarm in her gaze, he gave her a benign smile. “I still plan to see you at my mother’s picnic day after tomorrow.”
She nodded. Good girl.
“Go, now. I’ll get out another way.” He gestured toward the door he entered. Another door presumably led to an adjoining room. A hopefully empty room.
“Thank you,” she said, before hurrying from the chamber.
Jasper exited into the actual gaming room and nearly bumped into Holborn’s closest friend.
Lord Dalton looked up at Jasper, startled. “I was just going to open that door, try to get a bit of air circulating. Devilish hot tonight, what?”
Holborn’s plan was obvious. He no doubt figured it would be easy to set up a compromise, especially for a man as experienced in the art as Jasper.
Before Jasper could say or do anything he’d regret, Black and Penreith hailed him from a nearby table. He quickly made his way to their side.
“Join us, Sax,” Penreith invited.
Just then Sevrin stood from a table in the corner. His gaze met Jasper’s and he quirked a brow in silent question.
“Thank you, but no.”
Penreith followed his gaze and gave a slight frown. “Sevrin?”
Jasper glared down at Penreith. “What of him?”
“It’s one thing to chat at White’s…”
Sevrin headed toward the door. Jasper followed. He didn’t care what Black and Penreith thought. He’d never needed anything the way he needed the club just then. None of the other fighters demanded anything they weren’t willing to give in return. It was a shared experience. A brotherhood.
Just now it seemed the only place he truly belonged.
OLIVIA longed to step onto the terrace to escape the suffocating heat of the ballroom. Or perhaps she only wanted to move closer to where Jasper stood conversing with his father. Their relationship seemed complicated and, being without her own father, she wanted to know why.
Instead, she plied her fan and imagined what their intense discussion might be about. Suddenly Jasper walked away, leaving the duke with a satisfied set to his mouth. He cut back through the ballroom toward his duchess. People nodded as he passed or tried to engage him in conversation. He paused for no one. His gaze, not as pale as Jasper’s, though every bit as glacial, traversed the room, but settled nowhere. She imagined it lingered in her direction, but perhaps he was merely noting his sister’s location.
“Olivia?” Audrey Cheswick, the girl she’d met at Lord Farringdon’s, stood in front of her with another young woman. Olivia was surprised she hadn’t noticed their approach. Had she been that intent upon her study of the Duke of Holborn?
“Good evening, Miss Cheswick.”
“Really, you ought to call me Audrey. Didn’t I tell you to call me Audrey?” She waved a hand as if her address was a triviality. “I’ve brought my dearest friend to meet you. Lydia, this is Miss Olivia West. Olivia, this is Lady Lydia Prewitt.”
Lady Lydia inclined her head. She was exceptionally pretty—everything Olivia imagined a young London miss ought to be: porcelain-perfect skin, warm brown eyes, bright golden hair. “Audrey has told me all about you. London must be quite a change from, where was it? Oh yes, Devon.” Was that a shudder flickering through Lady Lydia’s frame or had Olivia imagined it?
“I’m finding London most diverting, thank you.”
Louisa turned from her friend, with whom she had been conversing. She smiled at the two young women. “Hello, dears. Olivia, I’m going to take a short stroll with Lady Montrose.” Her gaze held a bit of question. She wanted to be sure Olivia was comfortable. So thoughtful.
Olivia smiled to reassure her. “If I’m not here when you get back, I’m scheduled to dance with Mr. Lyle.”
With a nod, Louisa linked arms with her friend and departed.
“Mr. Lyle?” Lady Lydia asked, her nasally voi
ce climbing an octave. “Audrey, you didn’t tell me Olivia needed our help so drastically.”
Olivia closed her fan. “What’s wrong with Mr. Lyle?”
Lady Lydia leaned forward, but didn’t lower her voice so that it looked like she was imparting a confidence, but in truth was spreading gossip to anyone who chanced by. “Terrible scapegrace. Not a farthing to his name. Charming as he is poor, however. One dance won’t hurt, but don’t dance with him again.”
Olivia began to see the benefit of making friends, although she supposed Louisa would have informed her of Mr. Lyle’s reputation later. Likely in the privacy of the Rose Room back at Queen Street. “I won’t. I believe more than one dance with a partner signifies a courtship of some kind?”
“Not just tonight. I meant, don’t dance with him again ever.” Lady Lydia shook her head as if Olivia were a simpleton.
Audrey’s friend was rapidly annoying Olivia. Audrey’s lack of comment was also troubling. Was her silence due to her inability to squeeze a word into the conversation, or did she agree with Lady Lydia?
An awkward moment passed before Lady Lydia’s face lit. “From laundering your own clothes to the premier London event of the Season, my goodness, but you’re a lucky girl! Lady Merriweather is most generous, but then she has ample resources. Even luckier, you get to spend time with Saxton in a familial setting. Tell us, what is he like?”
Olivia thought of many answers to that question, most of them inappropriate. A bit of devilish impulse beckoned her to say, if one can get past his fighting and arrogance, he’s wonderfully charitable and kind, and his kisses… She didn’t even dare finish thinking that sentence. “I haven’t spent all that much time with him. He’s most solicitous.”
Lady Lydia rolled her eyes. “How boring. He’s always so impeccably mannered in public too. Always the stiffest cravat in the room. Such a shame since he’s so attractive. Ah well, I’d be willing to put up with his excessive propriety given his title and wealth.” She tossed a grin toward Audrey. “Audrey is hoping for a chance with him, but I daresay he’s going to choose someone with a flawless bloodline. Lady Philippa Latham perhaps. In fact…” She slid her gaze around the room in a quick survey. “Neither of them are in the ballroom. How…interesting.”
