by Tamara Gill
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 carriage 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."
And yet, that is exactly what he had done. He had cast her aside in Kent and had made no pains to hide his affections for her friend.
"I shall enter society and finish the Season, but I think next year I shall return to Fox Hill. I feel at my age I'm no longer obligated to attend every year. And Fox Hill is my home, the estate my papa left me. I do not need a husband if I do not find one to my liking. I can become an old, unmarried maid and do well enough on my own."
Of course, she would seek out Hamlyn now that they were all returned and see if he would continue to help her. Oglemoore had been everything she'd wanted in a husband, but now he would rue the day he treated a duke's granddaughter with no respect.
The image of Hamlyn's handsome features fluttered in her mind and erased all thoughts of Oglemoore. If only the duke were more marriageable material. He was not. He had a longtime mistress for starters and one whom she doubted he was ready to part with. The idea of his lordship taking his pleasure with a nameless woman made her want to snarl. Not that it surprised her his lordship would seek a woman away from the ton for his pleasure. He showed no interest in marriage or searching for a wife when she'd crossed paths with him last year, and never had she heard a rumor he was courting anyone in particular.
The memory of his kiss before her room at Chidding Hall made her stomach flutter. What a shame he was off the market, and his kisses were all for show and nothing more.
Olivia frowned as a light knock sounded on the door, a footman entering with a tray laden with food.
"Ah, your dinner is here," Anna said, taking it from the servant.
Olivia picked at her meal, thinking on her musings of Oglemoore and Hamlyn. She had marked Oglemoore simply because he'd taken a keen interest in her. The idea that she had thrown herself before an uninterested gentleman was humiliating.
Olivia shook the disturbing thoughts aside. She would finish off the Season with the help of Hamlyn and have retribution. No longer would she seek out Oglemoore, or try to keep the friendship she thought they had.
One day she would like to marry, have children, a family to call her own. The man she married would be loving and loyal, not fickle and false.
"The Davenport ball is tomorrow evening, Olivia. Do you wish for me to send a note to her ladyship to tell her you will be attending now that you're back in town?"
"Yes, please, Anna. That would be best, I think." Olivia finished her meal and wished her companion goodnight. The Davenport ball was as good a place as any to start her next phase in her plan, and there was little doubt Hamlyn would be there.
A smile quirked her lips at the thought of seeing him again. It was pleasant having a friend who knew her secrets, her wishes. That he had not denied to help her or teased her mercilessly over her plan helped her estimation of him.
With Hamlyn on her arm, one never knew. Other gentlemen may show awareness, and Oglemoore would be nothing but a passing phase, an apparition of her past before she stepped into her future. A mistake one was wont to forget.
Chapter 8
The Davenport ball was a crush. The multitude of scents, perfumes, powder, and sweat that mingled in the air not always pleasant. Laughter and chatter overrode the possibility of quiet conversation. The only lovely feature of the ball was the music and the skill of the orchestra hired for the evening.
Olivia stood alone at the side of the room, content to watch the ton at play, Anna not far from her side. Couples danced, people drank champagne in abundance—a ball resembling the madness and gaiety of a night at Covent Garden more than a Mayfair dance.
She had not seen Athol here this evening, and she could only assume she had not returned to town in time to attend.
A tall gentleman who towered half a head over most present started her way, his golden, wavy locks giving her a clue as to who he was. She bit back a smile, unable to stem the hope that swelled within her that Hamlyn was here and had not forgotten their plan. Had not forgotten her.
He came before her, his eyes twinkling in mirth and pleasure. He bowed. "Miss Quinton. How pleased I am to see you here this evening."
She smiled up at him, giving him her hand. His lips brushed her silk glove, and the pit of her stomach fluttered. He was so handsome, and on seeing him yet again, she had to admit that perhaps he was even more handsome than Oglemoore. How had she not noticed him at a ball before now?
"I'm happy to see you too, Your Grace."
He pulled her toward the floor as the first strains of a waltz sounded. "Dance with me, Miss Quinton."
She chuckled, unable to refuse him and not wanting to if she were honest with herself. They made their way onto the floor, taking their places. Other couples stood about them, and with the crush of the night, it placed them closer than they ought to be.
The hem of her golden, silk gown touched his boots, and she wa
s certain he could feel her heart pumping hard in her chest. His eyes raked her, taking in her dress, warming in appreciation. He swung them into the dance, and Olivia laughed, feeling as light as a feather in his arms.
"You look beautiful this evening, Miss Quinton. That gown is quite fetching."
She could not look away from his stormy, blue orbs. "You're very good at this game I have asked you to play, Your Grace. One would even think that sometimes you mean what you say, so proficient that you are."
He cocked his head to the side, pulling her close as he spun them at the end of the room. "What would you say if I were to admit to not playing your game? That what I say is heartfelt?"
"I would say you're lying, but I would enjoy the compliment in any case. A woman is never unhappy to be told she looks beautiful or fetching or something thereof."
His hand slipped lower on her back and pulled her ever so slightly closer to him. The breath in her lungs hitched, and her body liquified. Hamlyn made her feel things she'd never felt before. A simple touch, like the one on her back, should not be enough to discombobulate her, but it did.
She had not reacted so with Oglemoore, and the knowledge gave her pause. She had liked Oglemoore, they had got along well enough, but she'd never wanted to kiss his lordship as much as she longed to kiss Hamlyn right now.
Olivia tore her gaze away from his lips, which were slightly tilted in a knowing grin. She met his eyes, and the hunger she read in his blue orbs sent her pulse racing. "You know it as much as I do you're the most handsome woman here this evening. Are you so blind that you cannot see every married and unmarried gentleman ogling you, wanting you? Men, no matter what they may say to disavow my opinion, are tonight jealous that you're in my arms and not theirs."
Hamlyn gestured to a place somewhere over her shoulder, and he spun her, giving her the ability to see what he had. "Look, Oglemoore is no different. He has been glaring at us both these past few minutes. I think you may safely say that his lordship is jealous of our association."