by Gill, Tamara
Besides the fact that her best friend wanted to marry the man she coveted as her husband, no everything was perfectly well. "It is nothing, I assure you. Perhaps I have had too much sun today."
A footman opened the carriage door, and Lord Oglemoore jumped out, clasping Mr. Grant's—Stephen to those who knew him well—hands in welcome. He then turned to Athol, who stood waiting close by. Pleasure crossed his features, and Olivia felt the devastation of his attachment to her friend to her core. He liked her, to his credit. More than she'd thought, considering Athol merely liked the fellow, not actually loved him. Even so, Lord Oglemoore smiled lovingly at her friend, and Olivia did not miss the blush that stole across her friend’s cheeks.
The carriage dipped a second time, and another gentleman appeared in the door. Olivia glanced at the man who jumped out of the equipage, dismissing him when Lord Oglemoore spoke.
"How wonderful to be back here again. It has been too long, Lady Clara, since you've opened the house," he said, smiling at her cousin before his gaze met hers.
He stepped toward her but did not drop Athol's hand that sat upon his arm. "Miss Quinton. You are a welcome sight, to be sure. I hope you're well?"
Somehow in all the despondency that pumped through her veins, she remembered her manners and smiled. "I am well, Lord Oglemoore. It is good to see you again too."
Oglemoore gestured to the gentleman behind him, and for the first time, Olivia took in the other house guest. He was taller than his lordship, athletic in build and surprisingly handsome.
She frowned, feeling as if she'd met him before, but unable to place where.
He smiled in welcome, a contemplative look in his eye when his gaze landed on her.
"This is my friend, His Grace, the Duke of Hamlyn."
Stephen held out his hand to His Grace, shaking it. "It has been too long, Hamlyn. I'm glad you're able to make the trip to Kent."
"Thank you for having me stay and congratulations on your marriage," the duke said, in a honeyed, deep tone.
Olivia watched as the duke kissed her cousin's cheeks. She turned for the doors, ready to go inside where she may be able to slip away for a moment or two to gather her wits. The house party loomed like a week of torture, and she wasn't so sure she wanted to be here anymore.
Her escape was blocked when Clara caught up to her, leading her into the drawing room where an array of refreshments and a light lunch were prepared.
"Where do you think you're disappearing to, my dear? You have guests whom you must help me with."
Olivia sighed, letting Clara lead her into the room. "I need to speak to you when you are free. It is imperative."
Clara glanced at her, her brow furrowed. "Of course. I knew something was troubling you. We shall speak as soon as we can."
"Thank you." Olivia blinked away the sting of tears as she watched Athol and Lord Oglemoore seat themselves together on the settee by the window that overlooked the river. The duke hovered near the unlit hearth, speaking to Stephen.
"I'll come to your room before dinner this evening, and we'll have a chat," Clara said, patting her hand in comfort.
"Thank you." Olivia seated herself on a single leather-backed chair, willing the time to go by fast. A shadow passed over her and she glanced up, only to meet the amused gaze of the duke. She raised one brow, contesting his inspection of her with one of her own. "Is something amiss, Your Grace? You're scrutinizing me as if I have a blemish on my nose." Her question was, she supposed, rather rude, but she was no longer in the mood to be congenial. When one's hope of happiness was stripped, one was allowed to be curt.
"I do believe we've met, Miss Quinton. Last Season, in fact," he answered, his lips catching Olivia's attention for a moment before she tore her gaze away.
She shrugged, not willing to admit she knew him as well. A passing acquaintance and nothing more. He certainly never asked her to dance, she remembered that all too well. "It is possible that our paths crossed, Your Grace. I've met many people over the last few years in London." Pity he had not deemed her worthy of his interest, for he was known as a most sought-after catch.
He kneeled beside her chair, his hand resting on the arm. Olivia glanced at it. Really, did the man have to invade her space as well as ask her questions about a Season she'd prefer to forget?
"I assumed when you did not return to London this year that you had married." A light blush stole across his cheeks. Olivia narrowed her eyes, undecided if she would let him get away with what he was implying, that she was still unwed, an old maid in the making.
"I did not think gentlemen cared whether women they hardly favored to know married or not." He glanced at her, an amused look she found annoying filling his eyes. Did the man have no shame?
"I merely was surprised that an intelligent and beautiful woman such as yourself had not been swooped off her feet and carried into the sunset. That is all."
Olivia shut her mouth with a snap and tore her gaze away from him. He did not need to be so forward as that. Nor did she like his light flirtation with her. She did not want it from the duke.
She wanted it from Lord Oglemoore. Not that that was a possibility since the gentleman had his whole purpose fixed on her best friend. "I have not found anything to tempt me to the altar, my lord."
"Is that so?" he stated, glancing at his friend and then back to her. Olivia refused to blush or break her gaze. To do so would give credence to what he was saying, and she would not give him that pleasure. He continued to stare, not giving an inch on their little challenge and her blush deepened, their fixation on each other growing awkward.
Stephen cleared his throat, coming to stand beside Olivia. "Everything well, my dear?" he asked her, touching her shoulder.
Olivia nodded, cursing that she had to look away before others noticed their frivolous game and made a comment.
"Of course. His Grace was just telling me how fond he is of your home and would like a tour," she lied.
Olivia stood and strode from the room before her cousin's husband asked if she would do the honors. Under no circumstance was she in the mood to play tour guide, and certainly not to a man who seemed amused by what was going on between her and Lord Oglemoore.
She strode toward the stairs, not caring she did not resemble the duke's granddaughter she was. She needed to reach the sanctity of her room. A place she could think and plan.
What that plan was, however, she was not certain just yet. Would she try to dissuade Athol into marrying Lord Oglemoore should he ask? Over the years, she'd certainly heard plenty of tales about the gentleman's antics both in London and Bath.
Some of which had made even herself blush a time or two, but after his kindness toward her last Season she had dismissed the stories as false.
Olivia made her room, closing and locking the door before she flopped onto the bed. How could this have happened? She had been so sure of his regard for her. Last Season, Lord Oglemoore sought her out, danced and took supper with her. The horrible thought crossed her mind that it was all for show, a game he enjoyed to play with unattached women.
She sighed, staring up at the wooden beams lining her bedroom ceiling. There were two choices she could make regarding this awful turn of events. She could wish them well and move on with her life. Have another Season and see if any offers were forthcoming.
To parade herself again would be a humiliation she doubted she could ever recover from, and she wasn't certain she had it in her to do again. To walk into a ballroom, night after night, and try to find love.
She swiped a tear from her cheek, annoyance thrumming through her. Athol deserved better than a man who would treat her friend or any woman with so little respect. What was stopping him from throwing Athol aside when someone better in his opinion came along? Nothing.
Olivia sat up, thinking of what could be done. He would pay for his callousness. She would show Athol he was unworthy of her during the week that he was here. Olivia chewed her bottom lip, frowning in thought. But how, that was
the question, and one she would mull over before tomorrow.
Chapter 2
Later that evening, Jasper sat before the hearth in the blue salon, sipping a whisky and thinking over Miss Olivia Quinton. He could not fathom why his friend Oglemoore had not courted the woman himself. She was a beautiful lady. In fact, he'd almost choked on his own tongue when they had been introduced for a second time. She had changed from the last time they had met. Her body had transformed into a generous feminine curve. Breasts that a man's hands hungered to knead. Hips one wanted to press against one's own. She would look absolutely stunning lying pliant and ready, wet and willing before him.
He adjusted his seat as footsteps sounded on the wooden passage leading to the salon.
"Ah, Hamlyn, just the man I wished to see. May I join you in a drink?" Oglemoore asked, striding into the room toward the decanter of whisky.
"Of course." Jasper observed the flames in the hearth as they licked at the wood, conflicted over his agreement with his friend to seduce Miss Quinton so as to make his life more palatable. If Oglemoore had shown more affection than he ought, then he needed to face the consequences of his actions and man up.
"What a day we've had. Thank you again for distracting Miss Quinton after dinner. I know she harbors feelings for me, but I'm hoping when she sees me with her friend, and you show a keen interest, her own emotional connection will wane."
Jasper sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, doubting Miss Quinton would do any such thing. She might be quite displeased to have been treated as a fool in London by Oglemoore. "She did not appear enthralled by my attempt to speak with her. It did not help that because I had not danced with her in London, I was seen as wanting. I cannot see how this plan of yours will work, Oglemoore. Miss Quinton has thorns, and they're aimed at my ass."
"I'm asking that you distract her from me. Marriage is not a requirement. You simply need to show her there are other options for her. She needs to see that whatever misapprehension she was living under regarding myself was misplaced."
Jasper narrowed his eyes, not understanding how his friend could not see that his interest in the chit could lead to the same problem Oglemoore now had with her.
"I do not understand you, Oglemoore. Why not marry Miss Quinton instead of Lady Athol? I confess," Jasper said, leaning back in his chair and folding one leg over the other. "She was not as I remembered her. Miss Quinton is far superior in appearances than I recalled."
"Hmm," Oglemoore said, frowning into his glass of whisky. "Which is exactly why she would not suit me. I'm a jealous sod. I dislike my paramours being ogled, nevertheless my wife. Miss Quinton is beautiful, I grant you, but Athol is more to my taste. She is rich, but not too handsome that she will be plucked from my arms by some fiend. You’ve seen how invidious I become when anyone compliments my paramour."
"You are not going to part ways with Heidi, then?" The idea repulsed Jasper. If a gentleman were going to marry, he ought to respect his wife enough to separate from his mistress. His parents had a loveless marriage, and he would not wish that on any wife or child.
Oglemoore's jaw clenched at his words. "Whoever ends up as my wife will not know that I have a mistress. Heidi is of no consequence to this discussion."
"I wish you well with that," Jasper said, knowing full well he wasn't ready for a wife or to lose his own mistress Lotty, and wouldn't ask anyone to be his wife until he was ready to. It had taken him some weeks to wear his mistress down, gain her trust. He didn't particularly want to lose the arrangement they had simply because his friend had tangled himself into a bind and needed saving. If Miss Quinton thought him in earnest to gain her affections, his life as a bachelor in London would be over.
"How am I to distract her from you when she does not want anything to do with me? Did you see her today? She all but bolted from the room at the mere mention of giving me a tour. If that does not show a woman determined not to be pursued by me, I'll eat my own gloves."
"Display some of that English charm I hear you possess. Miss Quinton will not be able to deny you her friendship. You merely have to distract her, not sleep with her."
Jasper sighed, a noose settling about his neck, threatening to choke him. This would not end well. Women, in general, always saw a man's attention for more than it may be. It gave them hope where there was not always hope to have. He liked Miss Quinton, and to play her a fool for a second time was not right. Nor could he allow his friend to marry a woman he did not want. That, too, would be unfair for Miss Quinton.
"I shall continue my friendship with her, but I shall not be seducing her or taking any privileges she may offer if she starts to believe she and I have a future together. I do not want to become embroiled in a scandal that sees my leg shackled to her. If I do, you can be guaranteed I shall not be the only one going down with the ship, Oglemoore. I shall be pulling you down under with me," he said, his tone severe.
Oglemoore glanced at him, all seriousness and joking wiped from his visage. "Thank you for your assistance, Hamlyn. Know that I do not want to hurt Miss Quinton any more than you do. I'm happy for you to be friends and nothing more so long as she stops wishing that she'll turn my head, and I'll offer to her instead."
Jasper raised his brow, wanting that to be true, and yet his unease would not dissipate. This could end badly for all of them.
Olivia snuck away the next afternoon after lunch to her favorite location in the garden. An old oak sat before the river's edge, not far from her cousin's home, where she'd spent many hours lying on the grassy bank, reading, drawing, dreaming of a future whenever she visited here.
Her future after the last Season she'd hoped would include Lord Oglemoore, but that was not to be. He was not interested in her as he once had been, which in itself ought to vex her. The idea he'd used her poorly, teased her with the idea of them, hurt.
She caught sight of the man himself, walking with Athol and the duke. Together, His Grace was a striking man against Lord Oglemoore. Taller, broader across the shoulders, long, lean legs that looked well-toned from years of horse-riding. He was a handsome gentleman. No doubt turned the heads of many fine ladies. His buckskin breeches and black jacket fitted him to perfection, and he looked comfortable and at ease within himself. Sure of his own capabilities and situation.
She narrowed her eyes, thinking of a way to repay Lord Oglemoore's treatment. Of how she could show him what he'd overlooked by choosing another, even if that person was her best friend and someone she would not allow him to misuse either.
Olivia turned away, leaning upon the tree and watching the river's water idly float by. Her plan was not without merit, but she needed a gentleman willing to help her tease Lord Oglemoore into thinking he'd made a mistake.
"Good afternoon, Miss Quinton. What a lovely situation in which you have found yourself."
Olivia gasped, looking up to find His Grace staring down at her, a silly, lopsided smile on his lips. The scent of sandalwood and pine teased her senses. Heavens, he smelled nice for a man, as if he'd bathed in the forest just for her.
The thought of His Grace naked and lathing his skin in hot, scented water sent a frisson of longing through her. Her cheeks warmed.
"As you see," she said, turning to pick up her sketch pad and slapping it onto her lap. "Can I help you with anything, Your Grace?"
He sat beside her, leaning back on his elbows, continuing to admire the river. "I saw you just now, peeping from behind the oak." He gestured to her paper. "What are you drawing, may I ask?"
"Nothing of importance," she replied, closing her sketch pad. “Was there anything else that you wanted? Or do you simply intend to while away the afternoon in my presence?" Not that she minded his company, but now that she'd thought of her idea on how to make Lord Oglemoore pay, she needed time to think about her plan. The duke, as handsome and nice as it was for him to be sitting beside her, made her mind less clear. She was unable to concentrate as much as she should.
Laughter lurked in his blue orbs, a
nd he grinned. "Would that be so very bad if I wished to do exactly that?" he asked, meeting her gaze.
He truly did have lovely eyes. A darker, stormier shade of blue than Lord Oglemoore's. "Is there nothing more stimulating you could be doing than lying here with me? I do not have a chaperone. It's not seemly for you to be here."
His Grace glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to her, shrugging. The wickedness of his features told Olivia all she needed to know about this man. He was a consummate rake and well used to getting his own way.
"I can be seen from the house, and since I do not have you in my arms while I ravish that pretty, delectable mouth of yours, there will be no harm done."
Olivia stared at him, unable to believe he had said something so shocking. Ravish her pretty, delectable mouth? The idea of him kissing her, of pulling her hard against his chest… It would be wicked and thrilling to experience. And if Lord Oglemoore happened to see them…
"You cannot say such things to me, Your Grace." Yet, the thought he may stop at her chastisement was equally annoying. She was not so proud as to admit that while in London, she had enjoyed the attentions of Lord Oglemoore. That his consideration now seemed to be elsewhere was another point altogether. Having the duke admit he found her enticing was, in itself, a nice boost to her soul and helpful to her plan.
Olivia studied the man at her side a moment, his teasing grin firmly set on his delectable lips. If he were so bold to her, nothing was stopping her from doing the same. She was, after all, a duke's granddaughter. High enough on the peerage ladder that His Grace would not dare to slight her publicly at her words. "Your Grace, since you're quite willing to speak plainly, may I do also?"
He raised his brows, a curious light in his eyes. "Please, say whatever comes to mind, Miss Quinton."
"You may call me Olivia if you prefer."
Pleasure stole across his features before he said, "I would like that very much, Olivia. You, in turn, may call me Jasper or Hamlyn if that is more comfortable."
