Tempting the Marquess

by Sara Lindsey

  Chapter 11

  “He does it with a better grace, but I do it more natural.”

  Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene 3

  ”That is quite all right, Sir George. It didn’t hurt a bit,” Olivia reassured her partner as he trod on her toes for the eleventh time. It wasn’t a lie, either, she thought. Her poor feet had ceased to register pain after their seventh squashing or so.

  Sir George was a man who evidently liked his food. He also evidently liked her chest, since his eyes never strayed up to her face, even when he was apologizing for trampling her. She was most relieved when the dance ended and she could excuse herself to the retiring room.

  As she had no desire to dance again until her feet were recovered, she made her way to the refreshment table, which had been set up at the far end of the Great Hall, off to one side of the enormous fireplace. She selected some sweets for the children as she had promised, though Edward would be lucky to receive so much as a bite with Charlotte around.

  Charles came up beside her. “You look ravishing, my dear. It’s a pity you’re so stuck on my brother- in-law.”

  She batted him with the fan in her free hand. “Keep your voice down. Someone will hear you.”

  He laughed. “With the way you’ve been watching him I doubt there’s a person in this room in question of your feelings, except perhaps Jason.”

  “Have I truly been that obvious?”

  He regarded her a moment. “No. I suspect I am overly sensitive since I wish those languishing looks were directed at me.”

  “You’re only saying that to make me feel better.”

  “Is it working?”

  She shook her head. “I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I?”

  “It’s not too late to convince everyone that you’re madly in love with me instead,” he joked.

  Olivia eyed him speculatively.

  Charles took a step backward, his palms raised as if to fend off an attack. “I wasn’t serious.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have suggested it.” She smiled sweetly and placed her hand on his shoulder, gazing up at him with what she hoped was as languishing a look as those she had apparently been bestowing on Jason.

  Who was he dancing with now? She glanced around the room in search of him.

  “Livvy, my love, your admiration for me becomes less believable when you turn to look at him.”

  “I can’t help doing so. He hasn’t asked me to dance. Wouldn’t you want to dance with a woman you found desirable?”

  “Maybe he wants to avoid singling you out,” Charles suggested.

  “Then he’s going about it the wrong way,” she growled. “I am practically the only female here he hasn’t danced with, and I’m meant to be the guest of honor. More of a statement is made by his avoidance than there would be if he danced with me.”

  “Perhaps he wants to give you the chance to dance with other men. You certainly haven’t been lacking in partners. This is the first dance you’ve sat out.”

  “But it isn’t as if most of these men are prospective suitors. Nearly all are married. Besides, he would hardly be pushing me at other gentlemen if he wanted me for himself,” she argued.

  “Ah, but if you were attached to another man, you would be off- limits. Then he would be safe from temptation.”

  “I shall never understand how the male mind works.”

  He grinned. “We’re simple creatures. Our thoughts revolve around women and food.” He picked a piece of toffee off her plate and popped it into his mouth.

  “Stop that,” she scolded him. “These are promised to the children. Do you want me to tell Charlotte you ate her sweets?”

  “Heaven forbid!”

  “That’s what I thought. If my aunt asks for me, tell her I’ve just gone to place these in my chamber.”

  “Why not let a footman see to it? We can’t have the guest of honor disappearing.”

  She leaned close. “If you want the truth, the guest of honor needs to make certain Sir George did not break any of her toes.”

  He laughed and nearly choked on his toffee. “Go on with you, then. I’ve a fair notion to escape myself.”

  Once she was in her room, Livvy allowed herself a few quiet moments to relax. She frowned at the thought of the lecherous stares that had been directed at her by Sir George and other men of his ilk. Worse, though, were the even more predatory gazes their wives cast in Jason’s direction.

  These women were less the swooning sort than the pursuing sort. A pack of bloodhounds that had scented something they liked. Perhaps the setting had incited some ancient compulsion to hunt and conquer; the Great Hall dated back to the days when the mighty Marcher Lords had sought to subdue the native Welsh. Livvy wanted to tell all of them that Jason was not a tasty bit of meat to be slavered over by a pack of hungry dogs but, if he had been, he was her prize morsel.

  It wasn’t true, of course. She had no claim on him. Except she couldn’t quite persuade herself of that. Ever since she had found that first clue leading to the brooch, Jason had been hers. Her special secret.

  She felt she knew him on some higher plane, understood him on some deeper level. This wasn’t to say that she didn’t find him puzzling and aggravating a good deal of the time, because she did. But she couldn’t shake the growing feeling that they had been brought together, and that her coming to Castle Arlyss was all part of some greater plan.

  And perhaps she was trying to convince herself that all this was predetermined—that Jason needed her—because she was beginning to fear he was necessary to her future happiness. She had never dared hope she’d find a man able to live up to the hero archetype that had gradually taken shape in her mind. Over the years, with each new novel she read, the ideal had been refined and rewritten, like a palimpsest, until only the very best attributes remained.

  Jason obviously didn’t entirely fit this image of perfection. He was too knowledgeable about Shakespeare’s canon for her comfort, and he tended toward grumpy and withdrawn over gracious and welcoming. She shouldn’t, by her reckoning, have been at all tempted by so clearly flawed a specimen. Perfection was her standard, love her divine inspiration.

  Was she ready to accept the idea that a perfect love didn’t have to be, well, perfect? Could she admit that desiring a fallen angel had greater appeal than worshipping one on high from afar? Was it possible for love to be at once sacred and profane?

  And why was she bothering to ponder these questions when she had yet to answer the most important one? How would she ever figure out if what she felt for Jason was love or some other confused emotion?

  She had never questioned her sister’s insistence that James was the only one for her. He was the love of Isabella’s life and that knowledge was as much a part of her as her fingers and toes. More so, really, since her sister could survive without fingers and toes, but without James she had lost the will to live. Livvy accepted what was between Izzie and James as a fact of life. Like moths and flames or stars and the moon, they simply belonged together.

  But because Isabella had always been so certain of her feelings, Olivia had never thought to ask her how she knew James was the man she was meant to be with. And Livvy guessed that even if Izzie was standing right beside her so she could ask, her sister would shrug and say: “I just knew.” Which would really be no help at all because Livvy never just knew anything.

  She didn’t have that same trust in her feelings or the ability to leap without knowing where she would land. She thought Jason might be her match, but thinking it wasn’t the same as knowing it. There were moments when she thought she knew, like when he smiled at something she said although he clearly didn’t want to. Sometimes as she watched him with Edward and Charlotte she imagined him playing with a child of theirs and it seemed less like a daydream and more like a vision of the future.

  But what if Jason had known that Laura was the only one for him? Was it possible to love that deeply more than once in a lifetime? If it wasn’t, was she prepared to accept a
lways being second best? And did that mean she was actually jealous of a dead woman?

  Yes.

  How lowering. Love—or whatever these mixed-up feelings were—certainly didn’t seem to be making her a better person. But at least she wasn’t a married woman ogling a man other than her husband. She was unmarried and thus well within her rights to ogle. Perhaps if she ogled long enough she would know. That was, if she even wanted to know. She was certainly safer not knowing, but she was having an increasingly difficult time remembering just why she wanted to be safe.

  To know, or not to know: that was the question.

  Oh, heaven help her, she was quoting Shakespeare, or misquoting in this case. Now she knew one thing for certain. She knew she was going mad.

  Olivia headed back to the party, taking a shortcut by using the stairs off the solar, which was being used as the ladies’ retiring room. She had just opened the door to slip inside when she heard voices and realized the room was not empty. She opened her mouth to announce her presence so as not to startle the other women, when one of them said something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

  “You know I hate to speak ill of anyone, but that niece of Lady Sheldon’s is really too much. Did you see the way she was watching the marquess?”

  Livvy’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “Jealous, Callista?” the other woman asked.

  Callista. That was Lady Vernon, Sir George’s wife. Olivia hadn’t liked her on sight. Not because she was beautiful, and not even because of the come-hither looks she had cast at Jason all throughout dinner. No, Livvy disliked her because she so obviously thought herself superior to everyone around her.

  “Jealous? Of that little innocent? Hardly.”

  Her barking laugh grated on Olivia’s raw nerves.

  “In any case, I have no need to be jealous. I’ll have Jason Traherne in my bed before the month is out.”

  “You had best be careful with that one,” her companion warned. “He’s got the look of a lean, hungry wolf.”

  “Then he’ll need a woman in his bed, not a girl,” Lady Vernon declared with no small amount of satisfaction.

  “And what makes you think you’re the woman he wants?”

  “I sat by him during the meal. Believe me when I say I have irrefutable proof of his desire.”

  Olivia felt sick, yet she couldn’t walk away.

  There were whisperings back and forth that she couldn’t make out, and then a startled gasp.

  “No! You didn’t! Really? And. . . ?” the other woman inquired.

  “A lady can be assured of a good ride with a mount like that.”

  The two women burst into gales of laughter.

  Olivia couldn’t stand to listen to another word. She forced her legs to function and rushed back the way she had come. Her eyes were filled with tears, so she did not see the person standing in front of her. She slammed up against a hard masculine body.

  Hands came up to grasp her shoulders. Steadying her. Trapping her.

  She knew at once it was Jason.

  Fate wouldn’t be so kind as to let it be anyone else.

  Besides, she had been in contact with any number of men that night, and not one of them had produced the sort of thrill that ran through her body when she touched him.

  “There you are!” His voice was angry. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

  “Charles knew where I was,” she said woodenly, keeping her eyes fixed on his shoulder.

  “He disappeared as well. Damn it, Livvy, if you’ve been with him—”

  She couldn’t believe he had the gall to accuse her of sneaking off with Charles—Charles, for heaven’s sake—after what she’d just heard. She wrenched herself free of his grasp and took off running.

  Cursing under his breath, Jason set off after her. He caught her easily and dragged her into the nearest available room. His emotions were running high, his control frayed so it was hanging by a thread.

  “Were you with a man just now?”

  Damn, he hadn’t meant to sound quite so accusatory.

  “I’m not angry with you”—he was bloody well furious—“but I need to know. Who was it? Christ, did he hurt you?”

  He reached for her, but she pulled back, shaking her head.

  “The only man who has hurt me tonight is you.”

  She met his gaze then, and the confusion and pain he saw in those blue depths made his heart clench.

  “Me? What the devil did I do? I haven’t spoken two words to you since the guests began arriving.”

  “Yes, I noticed. As soon as there were other women around you—Oh, why do you even care? Just let me go. We both know you would rather be with Lady Vernon.”

  He frowned. Something was definitely not right.

  “Why would I want anything to do with that harpy?” he demanded.

  Her eyes blazed with indignation. “Then you deny that you are planning to make her your mistress?”

  “Hell, yes, I deny it. Who told you such a thing?”

  “I overheard her in the retiring room. She seemed quite certain of your intentions. She told the woman she was with that she had proof of your desire.”

  Jason groaned. Callista had always been a brazen hussy, but she had gotten worse since she’d married old Sir George. She had managed to seat herself next to him at dinner, and when he had ignored her suggestive whispers, she had decided, under the cover of the table, to make a very literal grab for his attention.

  She had indeed found “proof of his desire,” as she put it, but it hadn’t been for her. He had been bored past bearing during the meal. Callista disgusted him, and the woman on his other side, a Mrs. Griggs, had been so awed at finding herself next to a marquess, her dialogue was limited to repeating, “My lord,” after every single bloody thing he said.

  Was it any wonder his thoughts had strayed to Olivia, whose clever, cutting remarks elevated conversation to an event akin to a fencing match? He found her remarkably agile brain every bit as fascinating and lust-inducing as her lush body. A verifiable pocket Venus sent to tempt this poor mortal. He didn’t know how long he would be able to hold out, especially if his son persisted in bringing up matters of the flesh.

  Edward’s questions had brought an uncomfortably arousing image to Jason’s mind. He envisioned Olivia lying beneath him, her lips parted and her face flushed with exertion. He imagined thrusting into her over and over, hard and fast, their bodies slamming together as they both reached for release. Her hips would rock up to meet him, forcing him deeper. In his mind he heard her breathless pants against his ear, and then little mewling cries when the pleasure finally overtook her. Her hot sheath would contract around his cock and he would forget everything, losing himself in her as he planted his seed in her womb.

  Heaven help him, he’d nearly come there at the table just thinking about it. Unfortunately Callista had heard the small moan he’d been unable to suppress and had attributed it to her crude innuendoes. He had thought, however, that he had made his lack of interest in her clear when he’d removed her hand from his crotch and warned her never to touch him again. The lady was persistent, he would grant her that.

  “And this is why you’ve practically thrown yourself at every man here tonight?” he asked incredulously. “You were trying to pay me back in my own coin?”

  “You can’t be serious. I don’t need to stand here and listen to you insult me.” She started to walk out but he caught her arm.

  “Christ, Livvy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You’re driving me mad. I wanted to smash in the faces of every man in there you danced with and smiled at. You needn’t torment me by flirting with other men. Whatever desire Lady Vernon may have noticed, I swear it was only for you.”

  He could see she didn’t believe him. He ought to leave it there. To walk away. He shouldn’t be telling her any of this, but the raw pain in her eyes compelled him to press on.

  “I have been aching since the moment I walked into your
chamber and saw you in that damnably low-cut gown. No, longer than that. I’ve wanted you since you fell at my feet your first day here.”

  “I did not fall at your feet. I merely landed there after your dog tried to kill me,” she corrected him, her reserve beginning to melt. “Did you truly desire me then?”

  “I am only a man, and you are quite lovely. As much as I didn’t want to want you, I should have been worried for the health of my, er, manly self if I had not.”

  “It’s my sister who is the great beauty in the family.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “So you say.”

  It amazed him that she didn’t recognize how beautiful she was. It was true he’d never seen her sister, but he could not imagine her looks held a candle to Livvy’s inner light. At first, he had thought her merely pretty, but the word didn’t do her justice. She reminded him of a wood nymph, able to blend in with her surroundings when she wished, but the magic about her—the spirit she could not dim—gave her away. And once you noticed Olivia Jane Weston, it was difficult to forget her.

  She spilled over into the castle, her delight in the place forcing him to view his home in a new light. In her light. Her scent lingered in the rooms, that tantalizing combination of soap and roses and Livvy.

  He hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t want to desire her. After Laura’s death, he hadn’t thought he would ever want another woman. He’d begun to believe, had almost hoped, that part of him had been buried with her.

  But he hadn’t counted on Livvy, with her sunny smiles and her way of coaxing him out of a foul temper. Not that she didn’t have a temper of her own, but he only liked her more for it. There was no point in denying she affected him. She pestered him during the day and plagued his dreams at night.

  It wasn’t just lust, either. Pure, simple lust he could handle. No, he cared about her, and he knew he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let her get any closer. She was too close as it was. Dangerously close. It would be better—safer—for both of them to maintain a distance. But she kept inching closer and, God help him, he didn’t have the strength to keep pushing her away.