Kiss the Wallflower: Books 4-6

by Gill, Tamara

  Jasper? The name suited him. It was nice to hear a name that was different from the norm. Not another boring Arthur or William. "I would like to have your assistance with a concern I'm having, but it is one that is quite personal and sensitive, if I'm honest."

  He leaned his head on one hand, watching her keenly. At some point, he'd picked up a piece of straw and slipped it between his lips. The sight of his tongue flicking the tiny plant from side to side made her stomach flutter. The man was awfully distracting.

  "Intriguing, Olivia. Do tell," he teased her, wickedness dancing in his eyes.

  Olivia took a deep, fortifying breath to say what she must. This was for the best. Oglemoore must pay for his crime. "I need your assistance, Jasper. I need you to help me portray that we're courting, and possibly falling in love. I need you to do this with me to prove Lord Oglemoore for the fiend he is. I know, he is your friend, and I’m sorry for speaking ill of him, but he played me the fool last year and he shall not get away with it, or court my friend only to throw her aside as well. Will you help me with this?"

  There, she had done it. Said the words she'd not thought to ever utter to a man, and not just any man, but one she hardly knew. But what better ally to help her with her revenge than his best friend? If one was to become jealous over affections, one must be in the mind's eye at all times. The duke was always about Lord Oglemoore. It was the perfect plan.

  His tongue halted flicking the straw. He pulled it out, throwing it aside. "Let me understand this. You wish for me to court you to make Oglemoore jealous and therefore want you back, only this time you will tell him to go hang and in turn prove to your friend Lady Athol that she is better rid of his lordship and his fickle nature?"

  She nodded. "Yes, that is exactly what I propose. Are you a willing participant, or do I need to find someone else?"

  Chapter 3

  Bloody hell. He could not believe what Miss Quinton proposed. Had she really asked for him to help her torment Oglemoore? His friend had asked him to befriend her only two days ago, distract her from his courtship with Athol. Were the two of them playing some sort of game on him he wasn't aware of? What were the odds of both of them asking for such assistance?

  What had he managed to get himself into now?

  Her eagerness, her desire to right the wrong Oglemoore had bestowed upon her pulled at a place within him he'd not thought he had. He reached out, sliding a finger across her jaw, taking in the few freckles that sat across the bridge of her nose. Hell, she was pretty, sweet, and headstrong, a woman to be reckoned with and one who had asked for his assistance. He could not deny her, nor could he stop assisting Oglemoore. He would do as both asked and hoped he survived the ordeal.

  One boon of helping Miss Quinton was that he could be near her person whenever he wished. After all, she was handsome, and someone had he taken the time to meet last Season, may have flirted with the idea of courting himself.

  "What would it entail should I assist you?" he asked, sliding his thumb across her bottom lip. “Can I touch you as I am now?” Her lips were smooth and as soft as a feather. His body hardened at the idea of teasing his friend Oglemoore into imagining he'd made an error for his choice of bride. Of the stolen kisses Miss Quinton may now allow.

  This house party may not be such a bore after all…

  "Well, we can stroll about the house and gardens together. Always look as if we have important things to discuss, have our heads together, that sort of thing. Hand-holding, but only when Lord Oglemoore is about so he may catch us. You must stare at me adoringly and often."

  He stared at her now, adoringly, and knew all too well it would not be an effort to pretend to like this woman. Not that he wanted to marry her or anyone, but to pretend, well, that was safe, was it not? They were deceiving everyone else, not themselves. It was the perfect way in which to satisfy both his promise to Oglemoore and Miss Quinton.

  "Is that all I'm allowed? What about a stolen kiss or two? How I touched you just now? If we know Oglemoore will see it, what harm could that do, do you think?"

  A pretty blush kissed her cheeks. He grinned, lying back on his arms to stare up at the sky through the dappled leaves of the oak above them. "I must admit that to kiss you would be no chore, Olivia."

  He heard her small intake of breath. "We cannot kiss, Your Grace. That would be too scandalous," she said, her tone outraged, along with her features.

  He chuckled. "Pity," he sighed. "I could teach you so you would be an expert by the time the gentlemen of the ton do come to their senses and offer for your hand. A man such as the marquess would know how to kiss a woman, and you should be prepared if you wish to marry."

  "You think I'm terribly wicked for doing this to Oglemoore, do you not?" she asked, a frown between her perfect brows. “My friend must come to her senses and see him for the fiend he is. I will not let him get her hopes up only to disappoint her as he has done to me.”

  He glanced at her and reached out to smooth the small line away. "If you believe this is truly a mistake and your friend is yet to find the man whom she will love with all her heart, then perhaps not so bad. But," he said, his hand dropping to his side, "should Oglemoore turn out to be a good match for your friend, and you hurt Athol through this scheme, then you risk losing more than you would gain."

  She sighed, lifting up her knees to lean atop them. "No matter what I do, this I promise you, Your Grace. I shall not throw myself at your friend, no matter how he reacts to our flirting. I shall allow Athol to see that his affections are not honorable toward her and that she should not marry him. As for Athol's own affections, I believe they are not engaged. Not as one's emotions should be, I assume. I think, therefore, what I am doing is a service, not an injustice."

  The sound of laughter caught their attention, and they both watched as Oglemoore and Athol strode together, arms linked, into the house.

  Jasper took the opportunity to study Olivia. How was it that a woman such as herself had not been swooped up and carried down to the altar already? Was she so set upon Oglemoore that she'd failed to see who else was trying to gain her attention?

  "We're quite hidden here under this oak, and even though you can be seen from the house in this position, I do not think that is the case. Perhaps you ought to lean down and kiss me now, Olivia. We can start your kissing lessons early."

  She gasped, staring at him, but the small, teasing light in her eyes told him she was intrigued. He sat up, placing his face as close to hers as he dared. "Have you ever kissed a man before?" he whispered, his attention dipping to her sweet, sensual lips.

  "No," she murmured. The reply pleased him. He didn't want to think of her kissing anyone else, and certainly not Oglemoore. He did not know where that odd thought came from, and he pushed it aside for later evaluation.

  "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 wors
e. 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 to 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 f
or 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.