by Tamara Gill
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 t
hought 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, and 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."
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.