by Tamara Gill
Olivia stilled at his lordship's words. Did Oglemoore mean the waltz she and Hamlyn had shared or their kiss, that to this day made her toes curl up in her silk slippers? "The duke dances well."
Oglemoore chuckled. "Well, of course, he does, my dear. He has had the best dancing masters to teach him during his youth. A marquess I may be, but I still hope to do our dance justice this evening."
"I'm sure you shall, my lord. It is only a waltz, after all." She studied his profile as he sipped his wine. What was he up to? He had not sought her out at her cousin's house party. In fact, for a time there, Olivia was certain she had the pox or some other type of illness that would make her unpalatable to his lordship.
His interest in her yet again, hot and cold, was like a season gone topsy-turvy. Had her marked interest in the duke made Lord Oglemoore see her in a new light? Did he wish to court her again over her friend, who seemed less than interested in the marquess? She hoped that was the case so she could stomp on his emotions like he did her.
"I see Hamlyn has arrived. The ladies will be pleased," Oglemoore professed, a small smile playing on his lips.
At least his friendship with the duke did not seem affected even after Hamlyn played her game of making Oglemoore jealous. Olivia glanced over to where the duke was giving his regards to the host and hostess, bowing over her ladyship's hands.
"You've been friends with the duke for many years. How was it that you became acquainted?" She had not asked before, and they were an unlikely pair, having such different personalities.
"Hamlyn saved me from a bloody nose at Eton. I was not much liked for whatever reason. He stopped the Earl of Dormer as he is now from giving me a thorough thrashing for merely bumping into him during a change of class. We have been friends ever since."
So Hamlyn was also an honorable man and loyal. She liked him even more now knowing that about him. She glanced over to where she saw him last and caught him talking to Lady Graham and The Duchess of Carlton. Hamlyn took a sip of his brandy, and his eyes met hers over the rim of his glass.
From across the room, Olivia felt the reaction to his gaze. It smashed into her like a thousand horses toppling her to the ground. The glance was filled with promise, questions she was unsure she had the answers to.
After their kiss the other evening, something had changed between them. Certainly, the presence of Oglemoore at her side was not having the same response she had last year. In fact, he may not even be standing beside her for all she cared about the matter.
Was she a terrible person changing her mind so quickly on whom she wanted for a husband? She had been determined to marry Oglemoore. But his denial of her, his treatment in Kent had put paid to that thought. She did want him to regret his choice, but she would no longer entertain the idea of marrying him herself.
Oh no. And while she may not marry Hamlyn either, so long as she continued receiving his delicious kisses, she would be well pleased.
"The duke is a good man. You are fortunate to have him as your friend."
The strains of the waltz sounded, and Oglemoore bowed before her. "My dance, Miss Quinton."
She allowed him to lead her onto the floor and take their places. The music started, and then they were gliding about the room, another uncomfortable silence descending between them. What was wrong with her that she could not keep up a conversation with the man? Had her kissing Hamlyn stripped her of her wits when it came to other men?
Refusing to speak of matters that were wont to bore one to death, Olivia elected to remain silent and simply to enjoy the glide and steps of the dance. Oglemoore was well versed as a dance partner, but she may have been dancing with Athol for all the influence it caused in her.
No shivers of delight, no hunger for a man's lips to take hers, no desire to hear his voice whisper sweet words against the whorl of her ear.
They spun and moved beside and around the other couples, and all the time not a word was said. As the dance came to an end, Oglemoore swept her to a stop, smiling over her hand. "Thank you for the wonderful dance, Miss Quinton. I hope we shall partner again this evening."
Olivia thanked him, stepping off the floor only to run directly into a wall of muscle. She stumbled, and a pair of strong arms wrapped about hers, holding her steady.
"Did you enjoy your dance, Miss Quinton?"
Hamlyn.
His voice sent her nerves to jump, and she steadied her feet. She met his gaze, and had she hoped to see pleasure written across his features, she would be sadly disappointed. She schooled her emotions, wondering whatever she could have done to vex him.
"I hope I did not hurt you just then, Your Grace. I was not watching where I was going."
He humphed out a disgruntled breath before holding out his arm for her to take. She did not dare refuse him. He strode to the side of the room, away from the ballroom floor. "I suppose you were otherwise occupied dancing with Oglemoore. Our newfound friendship seems to be having the effect that you wished. He is taking an interest."
Hamlyn stopped and flicked his chin in a direction across the room. Olivia looked to where he pointed, only to see Oglemoore watching them, a contemplative look in his eyes.
"Perhaps it is working," she admitted, not wanting to have Hamlyn leave her so soon should he think his work to gain her a husband served. That was no longer the case, not if she were honest.
Oglemoore was not honorable, nor likable now that she knew him better. Hamlyn, on the other hand, was a catch for any woman in England.
"How many more nights do you think you will need my help in securing him? Mayhap I ought to lean close to your side, like this," he said, dipping his head, the breath of his words kissing her neck. "So he shall think we're speaking secretively."
Olivia closed her eyes, reveling in his nearness. Having him with her again after three days was too long. She turned her head, placing her lips within a breath from his. His eyes dipped to her lips. Need thrummed between them.
Her stomach flipped, and for the life of her, she could not look away. "Where have you been these last days? I had wondered if you had changed your mind in helping me." Not that she wanted him to help her in that sense any longer. Oh no, now she wanted Hamlyn close to her for another selfish reason altogether.
Now she wanted Hamlyn by her side so she might have a chance with him. The man she had thought to use for her own means.
"I am not incensed," he replied, stepping back and giving them space.
Olivia looked about and noted a few eyes upon them, Oglemoore's too. "Yes, you are, or you would not be so curt with your answers. Is there something the matter? Has something happened that you're now so put out with me?"
A muscle worked in his jaw, and she could see he was fighting to voice what was running through his mind. Dare she hope Hamlyn was no longer interested in making Oglemoore jealous any more than she was? Dare she hope he too was fighting the blossoming feelings that she herself was having?
"I have been busy elsewhere, that is why you have not seen me."
Olivia stared at him, not believing that for a moment. "Is that the truth?"
Hamlyn sighed, a muscle working in his jaw. "Oglemoore mentioned at Whites the day after the Davenport ball he had noted our dance and stroll on the terrace. I hoped that it would be enough for him to figure out who he wanted to marry. That I come here tonight and find you dancing with his lordship, hanging off his every word, I suspect my deliberations are right?"
They were not right, and nor was she hanging off Oglemoore's every word. She could not care a hoot what the marquess had to say. In fact, they had hardly spoken at all. "I think I shall need your assistance for a while longer, Hamlyn. Oglemoore spoke of Lady Athol, and so I do not think he's turned his attention back to me as yet," she lied.
Olivia, unsure how to react to Hamlyn's strange mood, fought to find the words to keep him from storming off yet again. His disagreeable nature this evening may not have anything to do with her. May, in fact, have something to do with his mi
stress or some other matter.
The thought made her blood run cold, and she fought not to glare at the guests in the room.
"So, I'm to help you still?" Hamlyn ran a hand through his hair, leaving it on end. "How much longer shall you need me to act the besotted fool? I'm not one to play such a character ever."
Olivia's attempt to remain cordial gave way to irritation. She looked up at him, pinning him with a warning stare until he met her eyes. "You agreed to help me. Stop acting like a jealous fool."
"I am not jealous, madam."
She scoffed. "Then why are you talking to me as if you're angry with me for dancing with Oglemoore? As if you do not want to see me with him. That was the deal, was it not?"
"Damn it, yes, that was the deal," he seethed, taking her hand and pulling her from the room.
Chapter 11
Yes, God damn it all to hell it was the deal. And one he, after having arrived tonight, wanted to discard. Along with Oglemoore. He could bugger off as well.
Seeing Oglemoore clutching her and smirking as he danced with Olivia sent his temper ricocheting to heights he'd never experienced. Olivia was his friend, he reminded himself. He was the one who offered to help her tease Oglemoore into proposing marriage so she may spurn him in return. Instead, kissing her three times now had made his mind more muddled and unclear than it ever had been in his life.
Today, in fact, he'd gone to his see his mistress. He'd intended to spend the day shagging, taking her in as many ways as he could possibly think. Anything to clear his mind of a particular dark-haired goddess. Yet, instead, he had spent the time discussing the end to their understanding. The pension he would gift her that would see her settled comfortably for the rest of her days. Charlotte had been good to him, and he wanted to ensure she did not have to work or find a new protector if she did not choose to.
Now, at tonight's ball, without having fucked his afternoon away, he found his blood pumping hot and fast. Seeing Olivia in Oglemoore's arms had sparked his ire, and he could not seem to rein it in.
She was not for him. He did not want a wife. His reaction to seeing her be courted by another was preposterous. He needed to get a grip on himself.
"Yes," he ground out, "that was the deal. I would therefore appreciate it if you could hurry the hell up and make him offer for you before I lose my patience."
The moment he said the words, he wished he could pull them back. Shock registered on her face, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. Oh, God damn it. Now he'd made her cry.
In an instant, Jasper's annoyance and hurt—yes, it was hurt that he was also feeling—dissipated. He pulled her along the darkened passage farther from the ball and out of sight of the guests.
The muffled sounds of a quadrille played as he walked her along the deserted hall, far enough away from the door that they would not be overheard. "I'm sorry, Olivia. I did not mean what I said."
She tugged her arm free. Fear curled in his gut that he may have lost her friendship, acting like a cad. He liked her, more than he ever thought he would when he'd accepted her proposition.
"How dare you chastise me. You agreed to my scheme. I did not force you."
He ground his teeth, hating the idea of Oglemoore marrying the woman standing before him, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. He was a bastard, and he deserved to go to hell talking to her as he had done.
Fool.
"I do not understand the attraction you had for him, my friend or no. He chose another, played you a fool. Do you not want a marriage full of desire and love? An all-encompassing union you cannot get enough of? One that has respect above anything else?"
She sniffed, meeting his gaze. "Of course I do, and I will not accept anyone's offer of marriage unless I have all those things. I want Oglemoore to pay for his treatment of me, nothing more. He has not learned his lesson yet, I think."
Her words sent a frisson of hope to course through his blood. So, she wasn't so set on Oglemoore that she would dismiss him out of hand.
Jasper stilled at his own thoughts. Dismiss him? What on earth was wrong with him? He did not want a wife. If Olivia did not stand before him, he'd smack his own self about the ears.
He pulled her into his arms, running his hands over her back, giving comfort. "I did not mean what I said, Olivia," he whispered against her neck. Her slight nod of acceptance tore at his heart, and he kissed her shoulder.
Hell, she smelled divine, clean. Like a room full of hothouse flowers. They stood so close he could feel her chest rise and fall against his. The slight shiver that stole through her when his lips brushed her skin. Unsated, he took the small lobe of her ear into his mouth and suckled it.
Thankfully she wore no earrings, and it allowed him to tease her, kiss her as much as he wanted.
"You should not be kissing me, Jasper. This is against the rules we've just been arguing about, is it not? Your demand for our fake liaison to be over."
Oh yes, he wanted it over with, but not for the reasons she thought. He wanted her for himself. Having her in his arms again, having spent the past three days thinking of no one but Miss Olivia Quinton told him there was something peculiar about his attachment to the chit.
He knew what that regard was now. He no longer wanted to help his friend keep her away from him, so he may win Lady Athol Scott’s affections. Oh no, holding Olivia now told Jasper that he wanted her in his bed.
The thought of her marrying another, being courted by anyone else, was like a stake to the heart, and he would not allow it to occur.
She pulled back, looking up to meet his gaze. "If you do not wish to continue with my plan, I understand. It does not mean that we cannot remain friends."
Friends? Oh no, no, no, that would never do. He wanted to be her lover and nothing less. "No more talking, Olivia." He dragged her against him, holding her face in his hands. "Kiss me," he begged, brushing his lips against hers. "Just kiss me and erase the memory of me seeing you in Oglemoore's arms."
She gasped, kissing him back. Her arms wrapped about his neck as her mouth slammed against his. It was hot, delicious, and hard. His blood pumped fast in his veins. He bent down, clasping her thighs and picking her up. She understood his motive and hooked her feet about his back. Her core pressed against his cock, hard and aching in his breeches.
Jasper closed the few steps to the wall and pushed her up against the silk wallpaper. She moaned through the kiss as he used the extra support to thrust against her heat. Stars burst behind his eyes, and he wanted to flick open his breeches, free his cock, and sheath himself in her warmth.
She moaned, pressing against him. "You make me want things I do not understand."
Oh, God almighty, she made him want things he never thought to want or need too. "As do you," he admitted, kissing her yet again, determined this time not to leave her longing for more, but to ensure she found pleasure from him and him only.
Chapter 12
Olivia was not herself, nor did she care where she was. Music continued to play somewhere in the house, laughter and clinking of glasses and plates sounded, but she pushed it all to the side, focusing on the man in her arms.
Concentrating on what that particular man was doing to her.
Her body burned, ebbed, and flowed with a need she could not sate. He was doing something to her, but what that was she could not fathom.
She clutched at his shoulders, scoring her nails into his skin as a tremble teased her most sensitive flesh. "I want more, Jasper. Please, help me."
He mumbled words that no well-bred woman ought to be privy to, and then she was standing again on her silk slippers, Jasper breathing ragged and hard before her. He looked like a wild man, unkempt and completely disheveled.
Olivia ran her hand through his hair, pulling it to bring him close for a kiss. "You are too handsome for your own good. Do you know that?"
His eyes burned into hers, and a wicked light shone back at her through his blue orbs. "The same could be said of you, Olivia."
And then she felt it, his hand, sliding up her leg and pooling her gown at her waist. He slipped his fingers between her legs, brushing his hand across her mons. She ought to feel embarrassed at his touch, push him away, mortified he dare touch her there, but she could not bring herself to care.
His fingers softly rolled a particular place, and her legs threatened to buckle. Olivia rested her head against the wall and gave in to his touch. What was he doing to her?
Bliss, utter, decadent pleasure rolled through her as he worked his magic touch against her flesh. Like a wanton she had not known she was, she parted her legs, giving him admittance.
"That's it, my darling. Open for me. Let me touch you."
Oh, she'd let him touch her as much as he liked if this is what he made her feel. Like her body was not her own. Taunting and teasing her toward a pinnacle she imagined quite wonderful, but wasn't for sure certain.
He kissed her, deep and long, all the while his touch never abated. He overwhelmed her, and she clutched at him, her only means of grounding, and then it happened. With each stroke of his hand, pleasure rocked through her body, thrumming at her core and bursting into light.
Olivia gasped his name, riding his hand like a woman outside of herself. All she knew was that she wanted more of what he had given her. Was not ready for this to end.
Where had Hamlyn been all her life, and why on earth had she taken so long to find him?
She slumped against the wall and knew she had a silly, self-satisfied smile on her lips. Olivia did not care. Jasper kissed her neck while he righted her gown.
"You're so beautiful. I shall never forget you coming apart in my hands, Olivia. You're truly magnificent."
Olivia opened her eyes, leaning forward to wrap her arms tighter about his neck. "I had no idea that such a thing was possible between a man and a woman. Can I do something similar to you to bring you joy?"
His eyes scorched her at her words, and she knew the answer to her question before he replied. "Oh yes, you certainly can, but not here. I should not have touched you in such a public place where anyone could have come across us. It was foolhardy of me."