Gideon shrugged. “With you distracting Norgrave, it seemed sensible to come up with a plan of escape before the man demanded to search the rooms.”
“You broke that bottle deliberately.”
“Aye,” his twin said, nodding. “I thought the marquess would take advantage of your divided attention and force his way in. He would have never taken your word alone that Chance was not here.”
“Impressive,” the duke said, staring at Gideon with new appreciation.
His brother shrugged off the praise, but he was obviously pleased. Hell, even Thorn was proud of his twin’s quick thinking.
“This calls for a toast,” St. Lyon said, wandering over to the table that was laden with wine bottles and a tray of refreshments. He selected one of the bottles and inspected it.
Thorn was not staying. Norgrave was correct about one thing. He did not possess the temperament for the Acropolis.
Rainbault picked up Thorn’s discarded hat and tossed it at him. “Extend my apologies to your cousin. Tell him I will grovel later.”
Thorn caught his hat and chuckled. His Grace was too arrogant to grovel to anyone. “Are you staying?” he casually asked his brother.
“Aye,” Gideon replied. “I will find my own way home.”
“Very well,” he said, acknowledging St. Lyon by raising his hand. “Next time we meet, I vote someone other than Rainbault picks the establishment.”
“Agreed,” Gideon and St. Lyon said speaking over the duke’s halfhearted protest.
“Has everyone forgotten that I am stuck down here with the rats and filth?” Chance’s voice drifted into the room through the open window.
Chapter Twelve
The town house was ready for Lord Dewick’s arrival.
Olivia strode through the library. The owner’s book collection was not as grand as her father’s, but it was diverse. When she had joined her father last spring, she had selected over twenty books that she planned to read during her stay. She had gotten through twelve of them, which, according to Lady Felstead, was eleven books too many. The marchioness had scolded her about turning down the scores of invitations that arrived at her doorstep each day.
It was pride that kept Olivia from admitting she and her father were often overlooked by the matrons of the ton. After her mother’s death, Lord Dewick had shunned the ballrooms and chose to spend his evenings at his favorite clubs. Spurned matrons struck his name from their guest lists and, over the years, everyone had forgotten that he had a daughter. Oh, she attended a few balls last spring and the theater on four occasions. She visited the museums and sat in on a few scientific lectures. She had been content with her quiet evenings at home, while other young ladies her age were caught up in the whirlwind of nightly social events.
Nevertheless, Lady Felstead was practically apoplectic when she gradually deduced that Olivia’s father had done nothing to rectify the situation. Her father and the marchioness had several fiery discussions behind closed doors that ended with the older woman marching out of the house with her generous mouth a straight line of disapproval and the heat of indignation in her eyes. At the end of their stay, her father had pulled her aside and vowed that next Season would be better.
Olivia had her doubts.
Oh, she was certain that between her chastened father, Lady Felstead’s efforts, and Lady Grisdale’s determination to be mistress of Treversham House this spring would be different than last year’s. As she hired servants and readied the house, Olivia mentally braced herself for stepping into the social whirlwind that everyone expected her to enthusiastically embrace.
No one seemed to appreciate the simple pleasure of reading a good book.
Lady Arabella had told her that reading was best done in winter or when foul weather limited a lady’s choices of amusements. Perhaps she was correct. However, it would not deter Olivia from selecting a few books during her stay just in case London’s whirlwind tossed her into the Thames.
Olivia giggled at the thought.
She tugged off her lace cap and scratched the back of her head. The curly ends of her chestnut hair tumbled and bounced against her shoulders. Placing her cap on a bust of a Roman emperor, she playfully rubbed her nose against his marble one.
“I require your opinion, kind sir,” she said to the statue. “Would it be untoward for me to have a glass of wine at this late hour? The servants are in bed. No one will know.”
Olivia titled her head and waited for his response. “You agree. How wonderful! I knew there was a reason why I like you,” she said flirtatiously over her shoulder as she walked to the cabinet and opened it. “Just one glass, of course … and none for you. The last time I allowed you to have one, you spilled it—”
“Who the devil are you speaking to?”
Olivia jumped and let out a shriek as she turned around and saw one of the Netherwood twins standing near an open door that led to the back gardens. Her hand fluttered up to her throat and then slid over her heart. She could feel it pounding in her chest.
“If I drop dead from fright, I hope the magistrate hangs you!”
“I never realized what a bloodthirsty creature you are.” He stepped inside without asking her permission.
He was drunk.
The Netherwoods were so proper about everything that it was rare to see any of them in a state of undress. Her midnight visitor wore a wrinkled white linen shirt with the three buttons at his throat unfastened. His shirt was partially untucked from his dark brown breeches and he wore boots. Was this Gideon? She could not imagine Lord Kempthorn so disheveled. Even when he fell into the lake with her and Gideon, he had been wearing a waistcoat.
Gesturing to the marble bust, he asked, “Were you speaking to this fierce-looking gent with a lady’s cap on his head?”
Why did I place that silly cap there? “Ah.” She glanced at the door, contemplating her escape.
“Does he ever answer?”
When Lady Felstead had told her that Gideon and Lord Kempthorn had rented the town house behind hers, she had declared it happenstance. The earl had seemed less enthused, but he and his brother had agreed to check on Olivia while she waited for her father to join her.
“Well, does he?”
“It is a marble bust,” she said warily. “If the Roman spoke, I would be sleeping at your mother’s house.”
He gave her a lopsided grin that was so endearing the knot in her stomach eased a degree. “A very wise decision,” he said solemnly. “Talking statues will cause you nothing but trouble.”
Olivia giggled at the odd remark. Her lips parted to ask him how often he chatted with statues, but she resisted because he was likely teasing her.
This had to be Gideon. Lord Kempthorn was too dignified to approach her in such an outrageous and informal manner.
With a sigh of delight, he noticed the glass decanter she had been reaching for when he had startled her. “Ah, the wine!” he said, picking up the decanter and removing its glass stopper. He sniffed the wine and nodded with approval. “Since the emperor will not be drinking this evening, do you mind if I drink from his glass?”
“But I was not really—oh, never mind,” she said, deciding that his head was too muddled to appreciate her explanation on why she was chatting with the marble bust. “Before your arrival, I was planning to pour myself a glass of wine.”
Olivia selected two wineglasses and placed them on the narrow shelf. She tried to take the decanter from him, but he waved her off. His hand was surprisingly steady when he filled the first glass and then the second one.
“Do you often imbibe wine at midnight?”
“It seems like a dreadfully personal question,” she teased. “I will give you an honest answer if you tell me which twin visits his neighbor in the middle of the night?”
He sent her a disappointed look. “Can’t you tell?”
She shook her head.
“No, you never could. Have you considered wearing spectacles?”
“I do not need th
em. Besides, even if I did, Lady Grisdale would not approve,” she confessed as she picked up her glass.
“Why not?” He returned the decanter to its proper place.
“Well, according to the countess, spectacles are for wallflowers. It is better to be lovely and blind than to observe another lady win your handsome suitor with your new pair of spectacles.”
He frowned down at her. “That is atrocious advice.”
“No gentleman wants to marry a lady with flaws,” she said with a shrug. “Poor eyesight would definitely be considered one, and if there are discernable imperfections, there are likely hidden ones as well.”
“Another one of Lady Grisdale’s misguided observations?”
Olivia peered over her glass. “I will have you know that the countess is a fount of information when it comes to the subject of gentlemen and marriage.”
“And most of it should be shoveled into a dustbin and burned.”
Olivia privately agreed. “We are speaking of my father’s future bride, so I will politely ignore your insulting comment and answer your question. I occasionally imbibe wine at midnight.”
He blinked owlishly at her, so she turned away and resisted the urge to comb her hair with her fingers. This afternoon she had absently stuffed it under her cap, and it must look like a squirrel’s nest.
“Just like you occasionally dance under the stars,” he said, trailing after her.
Olivia closed her eyes and smiled. “Gideon.” She tried not to think about their kiss.
He came up behind her and placed his hand on her waist. “Who else could it be?”
Most definitely, not Lord Kempthorn.
“What are you doing here? Did you attend a ball this evening?” she asked.
“Not a ball,” he replied, not elaborating on what he had been doing. “As for why I am here. I noticed the lamps were lit in the library so I thought you would like some company.”
“That was very sweet of you,” she said, feeling a bit warm with him standing so close to her. “Did your brother object? After all, it would be unseemly if anyone caught you slipping through the iron gate that connects the two gardens.”
“I am not worried about the gossips. As for my brother, he is not at home.”
She supposed a gentleman like Kempthorn kept a mistress in Town. He might not return home until dawn. Olivia heard the clink of glass and turned around. Gideon was refilling his glass.
He raised the decanter. “More?”
“I am fine,” she assured him.
He took a hearty swallow of his wine and gave her a considering look.
“What?”
Hooking the neck of the decanter with two fingers, he walked toward her. “Come on. Let’s take a stroll in the gardens.”
“There is not much to admire in the dark,” Olivia said, feeling her arms tingle at the thought of an adventure.
“You would be surprised,” he said, handing her his glass. He walked to the double doors and opened one side. “I left my lantern on the terrace.”
Olivia did not hesitate in following him outdoors. If another gentleman had issued the invitation, she would have declined. However, she trusted Gideon. She glanced up at the dark sky.
“I see the clouds have cleared,” she said, admiring the moon.
“There is enough moonlight that I could have navigated the garden paths.” He leaned down and picked up his abandoned lantern. “The hedge maze is still unfamiliar to me and cast in shadow upon shadows. Never fear, I have a good sense of direction.” There was a flash of white teeth as he grinned in anticipation.
“You have no sense at all,” she said cheerfully, matching his pace. “I am not wandering into a dark maze with you, Netherwood.”
“Where is your sense of adventure, young lady? What happened to the girl who set out to explore every inch of Malster Park and the surrounding lands with me and my brother?”
Tiring from his swift pace, she halted near the fountain at the heart of the garden. She leaned against the edge of the stone basin. “My governesses began to order my maid to tighten my stays to discourage my outdoor adventures,” she confessed.
Gideon sputtered and struggled not to laugh. “You are joking.” He placed the lantern on the narrow lip of the fountain. Next, he crouched down until he could brace his back against the basin. He slid down and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Wine?” He held up the decanter.
Olivia stared down at the two glasses in her hands. “You might need this. She handed him his.
He took the glass and filled it, and placed the decanter next to him. “Since you have refused to explore the maze with me, you might as well sit down beside me. There’s no point in straining my neck when I don’t have to, you know.”
She had always enjoyed Gideon’s irreverence for formality. He had always treated her as if she were part of his family. “If I must,” she said with an air of reluctance. She offered him her empty wineglass.
“Cheeky brat,” he replied as he took her glass. Switching the glass to his other hand so he held both in one, he extended his empty hand so he could assist her. “Careful. You will get a smudge on your ugly dress.”
He spoke so matter-of-factly, she had almost missed his insult. She slid on the gravel and landed with a slight bounce. “How rude! My dress is not ugly.” Although she conceded it was not immaculate. She had worn one of the housekeeper’s aprons, but it had not spared her dress from getting smudged with dust.
Gideon filled her wineglass and returned it to her. “Here. Drink some more wine. You will feel better for it.”
“No, really,” she said, leaning toward him. “I have received many compliments on this dress.”
His eyes widened. “You have actually greeted visitors wearing this dress?”
Olivia sensed he was teasing, but this was not the first time he had commented on her attire. “You are an awful man. If you persist in these insults, I can no longer be your friend.”
“If I spared your feelings, I would not be a very good friend,” he said, his voice roughening. He sipped his wine and stared off into the distance. “You will never capture a gentleman’s eye by wearing dresses like that one.”
Bewildered, she glanced down at the bodice. “It is perfectly respectable.”
“Precisely,” he said, stabbing a finger in her direction. “That high neckline should be worn by an eighty-year-old maiden aunt. You are too young to be hiding your breasts.”
“Gideon!”
Truly, the man had no sense of propriety at all.
“I am sure your breasts are remarkable, but it is difficult to tell when you have covered them in that ugly floral print. What type of flowers are a muted reddish brown anyway? They look like misshapen toadstools.”
“I am not discussing my breasts or my dresses with you,” she said, covering her face with her hand.
“Come now, Olivia, you are made of sterner stuff. No subject is forbidden or shameful when it is just the two of us,” he said, tugging her hand away from her face.
She peered at him through her splayed fingers. “Lady Felstead would take a wooden spoon to your head if she overheard how you speak to me.”
“Only if you tell her.”
One by one, he pried her fingers away from her face. His gaze was hooded as he leaned closer and tenderly kissed each fingertip. Against her will, her nipples hardened into peaks and she was acutely aware of a spreading ache in her breasts. Her breath quickened.
“My dear Netherwood,” she sighed. “What am I to do with you when you persist in being wicked?”
His beautiful mouth was inches from hers. “Indulge me.” The hope in his voice made her grin.
“That would be unwise.” Olivia pulled away, but he caught her by the arm.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“To find a very large wooden spoon,” she said. “Someone needs to knock some of the arrogance out of you.”
Olivia was half teasing, but he seemed to take her
threat seriously. Before she could take her next breath, his lips captured hers, and the connection was exhilarating. Netherwood’s kisses reminded her of the days when she was a young girl and would hang upside down from a sturdy tree limb and let her body swing like a pendulum. The blood would rush to her head, making her hot and dizzy. Her face would tingle and her heartbeat would pound in her ears. She loved the sensation, and would cling to her precarious perch until her fingers ached and her vision dimmed.
It was Lord Kempthorn who put an end to her mischief. One day, he had caught her dangling upside down like damp bedsheets tossed over a taut line of rope. Muttering a curse, he had grabbed her by the waist and hauled her off the tree limb. For a boy, he had seemed exceptionally strong. When her feet had touched the ground, he had done the unthinkable. He delivered a hard smack to her backside and told her that he would use his father’s horsewhip if he ever caught her dangling from another tree.
His fury and rough handling had frightened her. Her backside burning from his hand, she had kicked him in the shin and ran back to her father’s lands. She expected the young Lord Kempthorn to follow her home and report her unladylike antics to Lord Dewick. However, he never mentioned the incident and went back to ignoring her.
Just one more secret she shared with the Netherwood twins.
Now it was Gideon turning her world upside down and quickening her pulse. She giggled against his firm lips, wondering if Lord Kempthorn would walk out from the shadows and spank her for kissing his brother.
“You find kissing me amusing?” he murmured as he reached for her again.
“I was thinking about your brother.”
Her confession had him drawing back in surprise. “What?” he asked, strangling on the word. “You have been kissing him too.”
“Oh no,” she said. Her nose wrinkled in consternation as she wondered if the earl’s kiss would feel the same as his twin’s. “He caught me once, you know.”
He stared at her as if she had sprouted horns.
“Your kisses reminded me of when I used to hang upside down from a tree branch and let the blood rush to my head. I felt dizzy and wonderful—”
Waiting for an Earl Like You Page 12