by Gill, Tamara
"I shall observe His Grace and get back to you on my findings. We shall discuss the matter at the end of the house party."
Athol slid off the bed, a mischievous grin on her lips. "A wager? Five pounds says he becomes an admirer of yours."
Olivia held out her hand, shaking her friend’s. "That is a wager I'm willing to take." And win, considering the duke's attention on her this evening like a besotted fool was merely part of his acting as if enamored of her already. Poor Athol, she did not stand a chance at winning this bet. The five pounds was hers for the taking.
Chapter 5
Jasper thundered across the land at blistering speed, his mount well worth the thousand pounds he paid for the gelding he'd had sent for from London for the duration of the house party. The horse was fast, strong, and capable, and went a long way in distracting him from the alluring Miss Quinton back at Chidding Hall.
Oglemoore, he could see out the corner of his eye, could not keep up to his mount’s speed. He laughed aloud, knowing how much that fact would annoy his friend. Jasper pulled on the reins, slowing to a walk.
"Ah, this is living, do you not agree?" Oglemoore said, pulling his mount up alongside Jasper.
He nodded, relishing the green, picturesque fields of the late Duke of Law's lands. "It is beautiful here. I can see why Lady Clara invited us all down to Kent for a well needed distraction during the Season."
"Yes, and speaking of distraction, how is your courting of Miss Quinton coming along? I can assume by the fact she's not been chasing me about the estate that it is going better than I planned."
Jasper thought about how he would reply. He was, in fact, working for both parties, but for different reasons. His friend Oglemoore to keep Miss Quinton from having designs on him, and Miss Quinton to make Oglemoore regret his choice of bride and to stop him from gaining her friend Athol. A muddle anyone could make an error performing.
Jasper hoped for both his friend’s and Miss Quinton's sake he could be of assistance, but he was starting to doubt that he would. After his kiss with Olivia yesterday, his mind had been less clear on his conduct and the rules he'd promised to obey.
His own rules regarding his life and his decision not to yet look for a wife himself.
She was a handsome woman, intelligent, if not a little misguided by her past affection for a man who clearly sought his future elsewhere. "We are becoming better acquainted," he answered, not wanting to tell Oglemoore everything that had passed between them. "I shall keep her occupied enough that she will not trouble you while we're here."
Oglemoore grinned. "I knew I could count on you. There are few women who would not look for a diversion in your arms, a verified rake that you are. But keep in mind, I do not wish for you to seduce her. That would be unfair to Miss Quinton."
The whole of Oglemoore's plan seemed unfair to Jasper already, but with Miss Quinton having her own scheme, he could not see the harm in assisting them both. So long as neither found out.
"Tell me," he said, changing the subject, "what is new between you and Lady Athol? Are you certain you want to marry the chit now that you're spending more time with her?"
Oglemoore looked out over the land, a frown between his brow. "I believe so. She's a sensible woman and compliments me well. I kissed her the other evening and was quite pleased with the outcome."
Jasper stared at his friend. Pleased with the outcome? Whatever sort of reaction to a kiss was that? After he'd kissed Olivia, he'd all but lost his wits. He'd forgotten entirely his scheme with his friend and the one the lady herself had made him promise to follow. All he'd thought of afterward were her soft lips. Her sweet exhale when he'd deepened the embrace. He wanted to do it again with a need that was foreign to him. The idea of kissing Miss Quinton outdid his desire to see his mistress in town. And he received far more than kisses from his mistress. An odd reaction, no doubt.
"Was the kiss not as passionate as you would like?" Jasper asked, adjusting his grip on the reins.
Oglemoore shrugged. "It was pleasing, but," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Lady Athol is a hard nut to crack. I do not think she allows her emotions to come to the fore. I had hoped she would be more passionate when I kissed her for the first time, but she was not. I'm unsure of how to make her respond to me."
"Do you think her feelings are engaged?" Jasper certainly knew from Miss Quinton that she believed they were not. The thought that Olivia’s scheme in making his friend regret his choice left a cold shiver to run down his spine. He didn't want her to be anyone's second choice, not even his friend’s. Oglemoore no longer deserved her attachment. He'd chosen another, and he ought to live with that decision.
Miss Quinton deserved to be loved for the strong, amusing, competent woman she was. Not simply because his friend could not engage another woman's desire and make her fall at his feet as he would like.
"I shall continue to court her and hope for the best." Oglemoore waggled his brows, mischief in his gaze. "I can always fall back to Miss Quinton, I suppose. She will always be there waiting in the wings should Lady Athol turn out to be a cold fish."
Jasper schooled his features, disdain for his friend running hot through his veins. There was no way in hell he'd allow Miss Quinton back into Oglemoore's arms after how he just spoke. As for Lady Athol, Olivia was right, she too deserved better than Oglemoore. What was wrong with the man that he spoke in such a demeaning, unlikeable way toward women?
Marriage may not be a situation he wished to be involved in at present, but he did hope that when he decided to marry, he would desire his bride, want her in his bed, and beside him in all things. Oglemoore spoke of marriage with such aloofness that it turned his stomach.
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, at least on Jasper's part. Oglemoore did not seem to have noticed that his words were offensive. "Enough with all the talk of the ladies present, shall we go for a run? Stretch our horse's legs?" Oglemoore said, kicking his mount into a gallop and sprinting ahead.
Jasper let him gain some distance, content to canter behind and mull over his friendship with Oglemoore and his developing one with Miss Quinton. He liked her, and one truth he did know was she was not for his friend, and he'd ensure that at the end of the house party, that remained the case.
Chapter 6
There was something seriously wrong with her. Olivia sat in the blue drawing room upstairs and watched as Lord Oglemoore and the duke played a game of piquet. For all her distress at having to watch Oglemoore court her friend, it was not his lordship who held her attention this day.
With a will of their own, her eyes kept flicking up from the book she read to Hamlyn. A small lock of hair kept falling over his brow, and he seemed to frown and bite his lip when he concentrated on his game.
She bit back a smile. He was simply the most adorable piquet player she'd ever beheld and from looking at his distress, not the best one either.
Her cousin Clara sat beside her on the settee, meeting Olivia's amused grin with one of her own. "Your attention is marked toward a certain gentleman guest. Is there something you would like to tell your favorite cousin?"
Olivia placed her book in her lap, shushing her friend and family member. "Of course not. You should not say such things, and out loud, mind you. Someone may hear."
"Hmm," Clara said, glancing at the table where the men sat. "You have a particular look that I always see on a fox before it lunges at a rabbit. Contemplation, deliberation, what the rabbit may taste like."
Olivia gasped, shushing her cousin. "Clara! You need to behave." She chuckled despite herself. "In any case, I did not know you've been hunting lately and knew how foxes look at rabbits."
Clara grinned. "Let me just admit to knowing the look well. I am married, after all." She paused, settling farther on the settee and moving nearer to Olivia. "Hamlyn is very handsome. He seems to only get better with age. Like a good red wine, I would say."
"Remember, you're married, my dear."
Clara glanced at
her husband, who sat opposite them, reading a book. Her cousin's features softened, and love all but glowed from her eyes. "I'm not looking at anyone else, I promise you. But I am a woman, and I do see your regard. I thought your heart was set on Oglemoore. That was certainly what town gossip had to say."
Olivia swallowed the awful thought that she was being gossiped about in town and in part annoyed that society had picked up on their friendship that blossomed last year. It only proved yet again he had shown considerable attention toward her and ought to be ashamed of himself being here and courting her friend.
She glanced at Oglemoore and caught him watching her. She turned back to Clara, unsure what that look meant, and no longer caring what it did mean. "At this point in time, I doubt I shall ever marry. I will admit that Hamlyn has been friendly and affable toward me. We get along quite well." So well, in fact, that his kiss still made the blood in her veins pump fast. She'd not been able to get the moment out of her head. How the slight stubble on his jaw had scratched across her face. His soft lips, what his tongue had felt like stoking her own.
A shiver wracked her.
"I'm glad for it, cousin. I want to see you happy and settled, and Hamlyn will do as well as Oglemoore. More so, in fact, for he's richer and higher placed in society."
"Stop talking as the duke's daughter and seeing people for what they have and not who they are."
Clara laughed, taking no offense. "It is a hard lesson to unlearn, Olivia. And you're a duke's granddaughter, so the same as me. In any case, there is one thing that I wish to advise you of, caution you if I may, with Hamlyn."
"What is that?" she asked, eyeing his lordship for a second, or was it the third time since she sat down? A shiver of awareness thrummed through her at his dark, hooded gaze. He seemed to be listening to Oglemoore discuss the card game, but otherwise, his attention appeared solely fixed on her. She swallowed, unable to look away. Was he playing the besotted fool they had agreed to, or was there more behind the wicked, contemplating light in his eyes?
That Olivia could not answer, but she hoped it was both. That she wasn't so hideous and unweddable that she had to ask gentlemen to feign interest in her to make others take note.
"I adore Hamlyn, he is a good friend of the family and has been for some years now, but he is not without his faults."
His Grace had faults? Olivia doubted that very much. "Oh? What are his vices that you speak of?" she asked.
Clara lowered her voice to a whisper. "He has a mistress, Olivia. I feel I need to notify you of this should you look at him as a potential suitor. If he does offer marriage, at the end of my short house party or in London during the remainder of the Season, I need you to know this so you may put a stop to it before any vows are spoken."
Her stomach lurched, and she fought to school her features to one of indifference. So it was true. Hamlyn did have a lover. She closed her eyes a moment, ridding herself of the vision of them together. It was any wonder he kissed so well and knew how to make a woman dream with his devilishly handsome looks.
"I had heard a rumor, and will keep it in mind should anything progress."
"As you should,” Clara continued. "He has had her for some years now. They are quite close from all accounts. Should you marry him, she must go. That is not negotiable in the contracts."
Olivia nodded. Even without her cousin's demands, such things could never stand. She would not marry a man who had a lover tucked away elsewhere. No marriage would stand a chance of being happy under such conditions. "Let me assure you, Clara, Hamlyn is being kind to me and nothing more. He has no intention of offering for my hand. We are friends." Disappointment stabbed at her at the truth of her words. She wanted the night over with and the sanctity of her room. "I'm going to retire. I shall see you in the morning." She stood. "Goodnight, everyone," she said to the room at large, slipping from the salon and making her way upstairs.
Not far from her room, footsteps sounded fast and determined behind her. A hand clasped her upper arm, whirling her about. Before she could say a word, Hamlyn took her lips. She stilled in his arms, shock rippling through her before other emotions took hold.
Pleasure. Need.
He was too delicious for words, even if she were capable of uttering any right at this moment.
His arm slipped about her waist, wrenching her against him. Her hands wrapped about his neck, her fingers tangling into the locks at his nape. His kiss was hot, deep, and wonderful. Her body burned, came alight like a flame. Unabashedly she pressed herself to him, the secret place between her legs undulating against his manhood that stood at attention.
He made a sound, half gasp, half groan. Did he enjoy her movements? Was this how men and women found pleasure? Was this what ladies of the night wanted every time they were in their lovers’ arms?
He drew back, his breathing ragged, his eyes bright with need and something else she could not read. "Goodnight, Olivia," he whispered, and then he was gone, striding away without a backward glance.
Olivia stared after him, her body not itself. Her fingers touched her lips, still tingling from his kiss. What was he doing? She glanced up and down the hall, seeing no one else about, certainly not Lord Oglemoore, whom she was supposed to be flaunting her newfound friendship with Hamlyn with.
Why would the duke kiss her so?
She smiled, biting her lip before turning for her room. Perhaps his attention toward her was not wholly schemed after all. A sweet idea to mull on while she went to sleep, and if there was one gentleman who was pleasant to reflect on, it was Hamlyn and his wickedly handsome face.
Chapter 7
Olivia sat at the breakfast table the following morning, disappointment threatening to make her lose her composure.
"I am terribly sorry to have to bring our house party to an end," Clara continued, "but we must travel up to Scotland without delay.”
"I hope there is nothing wrong, Stephen," Olivia stated, knowing how close Clara's husband was with both his sisters.
"A difficult pregnancy, and I must be there for Sophie. She needs her family around her at this time. Her sister-in-law is in Edinburgh, you see, and therefore we have been summoned."
"We are sorry that our few days here will come to an end," Oglemoore said, standing and placing his napkin down with a flourish on the polished table. "We shall depart forthwith and hope to see you all very soon in town."
Hamlyn met Olivia's gaze, and she could see the regret in his eyes. He gave her a small bow. "Good morning to you all, and thank you for having us."
As the door to the dining room closed, leaving Olivia, Clara, and Stephen alone, as her friend Athol had opted to break her fast in her room, Olivia turned to her family, seeking answers. "Whatever has happened that has you racing to Scotland? I hope Lady Mackintosh is not in any danger?"
Clara reached out, taking Stephen's hand. "We have received word that there are complications with her second pregnancy. Nothing too serious, it is told, but it will be her last child. We need to be there for her. I'm sorry to have to cut our house party short, my dear."
Olivia shook her head, the house party be damned. "Lady Mackintosh comes before any silly house party. Do you wish for me to join you? I do not have to return to town."
"No, you should go and enjoy what is left of the Season. I will write to you and notify you of Sophie's progress and outcome. I'm certain we shall bestow good news on the birth of their child soon."
Olivia frowned. "If you're certain, I shall do as you ask, but you will be missed. Please give my love and good wishes to Lady Mackintosh and tell her that I pray for her every night."
"Thank you, dearest."
The remainder of the day was frantic. Trunks were packed, the house closed up, and by dusk, Olivia's carriage was rumbling into the streets of Mayfair. With both her parents long gone, she did not look forward to returning to the house on Grosvenor Square, the large, empty rooms, and quiet surroundings. Her companion, who had remained in London, stood at the door as the c
arriage rocked to a halt. A welcoming smile on her lips.
"Olivia, welcome home. I'm so pleased you've returned safely." She came down the steps, joining her. "I have taken the liberty of having your dinner ready. As soon as you're settled, I'll have it brought up to you."
"Thank you, Anna," Olivia said, entering the house. After Clara's marriage to Mr. Grant, she had grown closer with her companion Anna, and now they did most things together, going out to balls and parties. Anna, having lost her husband several years ago to a lung ailment, had sought employment.
"What a shame the house party has come to an end. When do you believe Lady Clara and Mr. Grant will return to town?"
"Not for several weeks, I would think." Olivia moved into the front drawing room, pulling off her gloves and bonnet. She sighed as she sat before the unlit hearth, pleased to be home. The night was warm, and already Olivia missed the clean and clear night skies over Kent. "I will see out the Season here alone, but we shall muddle along well enough. Athol will be in town next week. She had to travel back to her parents' house in Bath before coming here."
Anna seated herself across from Olivia, clasping her hands in her lap. "Were there any gentlemen at the house party who caught your eye? I understood Lord Oglemoore was present."
She sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Lord Oglemoore was present, but he showed scarce interest in me. More for my friend. There is nothing between myself and his lordship. He made that perfectly clear in Kent." The thought of his treatment made her tempered anger simmer to a boil. It was beyond time that the gentlemen within society who treated women like property suffered a set down or two. A good clip about the ears may help also.
"Well, now that you're back in town, perhaps he will explain himself. Seek you out and make amends. He was certainly showing considerable attention last year. I cannot see his lordship being so fickle as to treat you with so little respect as to cast you aside."
