‘Do you not understand the risk you run by being in here with me?’
She dismissed his query with a wave of her hand. ‘No one will find us here. It is Sophie’s room.’
‘Sophie?’
‘Lady Sophie Wray. The daughter of the house. You must know her. It was her debut this year.’
‘No. I do not concern myself with young misses straight out of the schoolroom.’ Hurt flashed in her beautiful silver eyes, leaving a blend of satisfaction and shame souring his mouth. ‘Besides. That is not what I meant.’
Her eyes flared with sudden awareness. She put her hand on his arm. ‘But you would not harm me. I know you.’
He fought the urge to knock her hand away as he battled to control other, baser urges. That scent of violets was doing strange things to him...baiting him...drawing him down an avenue he knew could only lead to trouble.
‘You do not know me.’
He stepped back, needing space between them. He reached into his pocket and extracted the necklace, holding it out to her, expecting her to snatch it from him and to disappear back to the ballroom. The necklace that had caused him nothing but trouble. It would be a relief to be rid of it.
She squealed. And the next thing, his arms were full of warm woman and his senses were full of that violet scent. Her arms were around his neck and she hugged him tight, her smooth silky cheek pressed to his, her curves soft and yielding as her body moulded to his.
Chapter Nine
Instinct had Hugo in its grasp before his mind could catch up. He slipped the necklace back into his pocket and then, with both hands free, he stroked down the delicate curve of her spine to the deliciously rounded swell of her buttocks. His demons urged him on, and his grip tightened, lifting, pulling her closer as his hips flexed instinctively. A sensible, sane corner of his mind warned him to release her, but he thrust it ruthlessly aside. This was his reward. She’d had him running around in circles, trying to help her out of a predicament caused entirely by her own impetuous and scandalous behaviour. She appeared to have an unshakeable belief in her own ability to cope with whatever happened, but the sooner she realised there were some situations she could not control merely by the force of her will, the better.
A kiss was the very least he deserved.
His plan—such as it was—was to shock her. Make her wary. Scare her, even.
He pulled his head back and gazed down at her. She tilted her face to his. Her eyes sparkled; her petal-pink lips were stretched in a smile. The joy and trust in those silver eyes nearly undid him. Hell and damnation. Why did his normally well-hidden and tightly controlled protectiveness choose now to surface? He released her bottom, sliding his hands back to her waist. But before he could follow through with his intention to move her back, away from him and away from temptation, her arms tightened around his neck, her lids fluttered down—her sooty lashes a fan against her creamy complexion—and she pressed back into him, rising on tiptoes.
Her lips found his. Soft, lush, beguiling. His fingers flexed on her waist, pulling her close once more, and he lost all conscious thought. The only reality was the slide and glide of her lips over his. The kiss was erotic in its innocent, untutored style. She had never done this before—his experience told him that. Her hands moved, rising to either side of his head, her fingers thrusting though his hair. Battening down his deep sense of foreboding, he traced her mouth with his tongue, gently urging her lips apart. A split second of resistance—of tension beneath his hands—and then, with a very feminine murmur, she relaxed, opening her mouth and allowing him in.
Dear God.
It was a kiss. Only a kiss. But a kiss such as he had never before experienced.
He lost himself in that kiss, his fingertips exploring and caressing everywhere her silky-smooth skin was open to his touch—her face, her neck, her arms.
Her scent surrounded him. Filled him. Lured him.
His heart pounded. He was hard. Painfully hard.
He groaned and gathered her closer still, revelling in that yielding of her supple curves as they pressed to the length of his body. The inexorable feeling rose within him that she was part of him...she must be part of him.
That stray thought alone caused his throat to constrict. It brought emotions—unfamiliar and nerve-racking—to crowd his brain. Self-preservation reared its head and he forced his lips from hers and—too late—he finally succeeded in setting her away from him. He studied her face: her dazed eyes, heavy-lidded, her swollen lips, the flush that washed her skin a delicate pink. And he battled the craving to kiss her again. To go further.
It was a kiss. Only a kiss. But it was a kiss that rocked Hugo to his toes.
She recovered first. She caught her plump bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes—the pupils huge, reducing that ring of silver grey to a sliver—roamed his face. He fought to keep his expression blank, but any concern that she would turn missish on him was banished as she released her lip and her mouth widened into a smile: a satisfied—even slightly smug—smile.
‘I enjoyed that,’ she said. ‘Do you know that is the first time anyone has kissed me?’
It was Hugo’s turn to bite his lip. Against the urge to haul her back into his arms and kiss her all over again. Instead, he turned away from her. Resisting temptation.
‘I could tell.’
He heard the whisper of a gasp behind him and instantly felt shame at his brutish riposte. He had intended to frighten her a little...to teach her to be cautious around strange men. Instead, it now struck him that he had merely roused her curiosity. There was none of the maidenly bashfulness he had anticipated.
‘Did I not do it properly?’
He faced her again. Slowly. She stared up at him, her fine brows arched. He felt his eyes narrow.
‘Do you expect me to score your performance?’
‘Why are you behaving so oddly? I merely asked a question. I am curious.’
Hugo thrust his hand through his hair. ‘The kiss was...acceptable.’
She pouted. ‘Well, I do not think that is a very gallant thing to say.’
‘You expect me to be gallant?’ He stepped closer and curled his hands into fists to stop him grabbing her and shaking her...or hauling her close again. ‘I am not one of your brothers, my dear. Do not expect me to behave as such.’
She stuck her nose in the air, spun around and flounced to the door. Hugo gritted his teeth. Lady Olivia Beauchamp was no longer his concern. He had returned the necklace—
‘Wait!’ He delved into his pocket.
She pivoted to face him.
‘Have you not forgotten something?’
He walked towards her, allowing the necklace to swing gently from one finger. This time she snatched it from his grasp and, opening her reticule, she stuffed it inside.
‘Thank you.’ She turned to go.
Now he had returned the necklace, assuaging his guilt at having provoked her into gambling at such high stakes. His responsibility for her was over, other than to stay close to Clevedon. Which left her brother. Lord Alexander.
‘Is your father home?’
Olivia paused, her hand already on the door handle. ‘No.’ She twisted again to face him. ‘Have you not heard?’ Her voice sounded brittle. Her temptress eyes glittered with suppressed emotion. ‘My uncle is getting married and Papa has stayed in the Midlands to attend the wedding.’
Married? He masked his astonishment. Lord Vernon Beauchamp...married! That little on dit ought to be headline news.
‘I had not heard, no.’
‘Dominic and Aunt Cecily left this morning to attend the ceremony. I—’ her eyes were icy now ‘—had to pretend I was ill because you—’ she poked his chest with an accusatory finger ‘—could not be bothered to let me know you had my necklace.’
‘We have not been formally introduced, my dear. I can hardly call upon you and whi
sper secrets in your ear without causing gossip and speculation.’
‘Hmmph. You could have... I don’t know...signalled to me or something in the Park yesterday. Instead, you just ignored me as though we had never met.’
‘As I said, we have not met. Not in the eyes of society. I take it you do not wish to provoke a scandal? Besides, I did not then have the necklace. Clevedon has been out of town. I only retrieved it last night.’
And now—his heart sank at the realisation—not only must he continue to pretend friendship with Clevedon, a man he was growing to despise, but he must also continue to dog the footsteps of her scapegrace brother now the Duke would not be home for several more days. He had given his word.
‘You had better return to the ballroom,’ he said. ‘Before you are missed.’
‘Not yet.’ She dismissed his concerns with a nonchalant wave of her hand. ‘Nell knows to cover for me with Lady G.’ She moved towards Hugo and every muscle in his body stiffened. ‘I wish to know what you said to Lord Clevedon to persuade him to give up my necklace.’
‘I appealed to his better nature. He allowed me to redeem the necklace on your behalf as a gesture of goodwill.’
He had offered to pay Clevedon the one hundred guineas and the man had near bitten his hand off in his eagerness to take the money.
‘Does he...did you tell him who Beatrice really is?’
‘No. I did not tell him.’
He could see no advantage in her knowing Clevedon had been aware of her identity from the start—it would only worry her to no purpose. She would live in fear of Clevedon revealing her escapade to Vauxhall, not realising her secret was perfectly safe because of Clevedon’s plan to court her—a plan that made Hugo’s blood run cold. Or made his blood boil. He couldn’t quite decide which.
Plus, she was too transparent. If he told Olivia the truth, she would never be able to hide that knowledge from Clevedon, who would lose his trust in Hugo, making it nigh on impossible for Hugo to keep track of any more of his plans.
‘But you should stay away from Lord Clevedon in the future,’ he added.
Her brows twitched into a frown. ‘Why?’
‘The reason is not important. Please, just stay away from him.’
Her lips pressed together. Then she sighed.
‘Well, I am exceedingly grateful to you for returning my necklace, in any case,’ she said.
She reached up to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over Hugo’s forehead and his loins tightened at that intimate, tender gesture.
‘We must arrange a time and place to meet,’ she continued.
He’d thought he was tense before, but now he was as rigid as a marble statue. ‘I beg your pardon?’
She sank her teeth into that lush bottom lip of hers again, but her eyes smiled at him.
‘Why, Lord Hugo. What a fearsome frown.’ She tapped his arm in coquettish admonishment. ‘I merely meant that I now owe you a sum of money.’
He might be frowning, but he felt like smiling. She did that to him...she, somehow, lightened his spirit...her joie de vivre...the way she had bounced back after such a stressful ordeal. But he could not afford to relax too much around her. It would be too easy to forget who she was. Who he was.
‘I do not—’
She put a gloved finger to his lips. ‘No. I shall not renege on my gambling debt. It is a matter of honour. That is what Alex always says. Although...’ her dark brows met, furrowing her forehead ‘...I hope you will agree to my paying in instalments? I promise I shall pay it all, as soon as I can. Nell and I were going to pool what’s left of our allowances, but I should prefer not to involve her if you do not object. Will you trust me?’
His heart clenched and then felt as though it expanded until his whole chest was flooded with warmth. ‘Of course I trust you.’
Their gazes fused and he saw her eyes darken again as her lips parted, releasing a soft sigh. He wrenched his gaze from hers.
‘It is time you went.’
He clasped her upper arms and moved her aside, then reached for the handle. A quick glance ascertained the landing outside was empty. She was at his back. He could hear her breathing. Smell those violets. He could feel her presence as every single hair on his body stood to attention. He did not risk looking at her...if he did, he would not answer for the consequences. He reached behind him, grabbed her arm and propelled her from the room. He closed the door behind her and, with a shaky sigh, he bent his head and rested his forehead against the door panel.
What had just happened?
* * *
Olivia stood on the upstairs landing, glaring at the door Lord Hugo Alastair had just shut in her face. How exceedingly rude. She huffed a sigh. She’d thought—although, to be sure, she had no experience—but she’d thought their kiss was...oh...wonderful...full of shooting stars and bursts of light and firecrackers exploding. But she was wrong. It had meant nothing to him...he had even...well, almost...accused her of being useless at kissing. Although he had appeared to enjoy it at the time. It was only afterwards he had pokered up on her.
She rubbed her tingling lips. Her heart was still racing and skipping. She longed to go back inside the room and...
And what? Accost him? Make him kiss me again? Prove I can do it better? Hmmph.
She forced her feet in the direction of the staircase. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He was as bad as her brothers, dismissing her as a silly little girl and as someone who could be ordered about and who was too insignificant to warrant a rational explanation. She’d had enough of that throughout her childhood: her brothers had left her out, refusing to let her tag along, accused her of spoiling their games, rejected her.
Like Mama...
She felt tears scald her eyes as that all-too-familiar feeling of never quite being good enough invaded her. Well, no more. She was out in society now and she was a success! She would show them she was more than just an insignificant female who could be brushed aside whenever it suited them. She gritted her teeth, brushed the foolish, self-pitying tears away and marched down the stairs, her back straight and head high.
Inside the ballroom an anxious-looking Nell hurried to her side.
‘You have been gone such a long time, Livvy.’ She frowned, her violet eyes scanning Olivia’s face. ‘What happened? Are you all right?’
‘Of course I am all right, Nell. Why should I not be all right?’
‘Did Lord Hugo have the necklace?’
Olivia nodded. ‘And now I have it,’ she said, patting her reticule.
‘We should return to Aunt Glenlochrie, Livvy. She has been asking for you.’
‘I shall go and set her mind at rest.’ Olivia linked arms with Nell and steered her around the edge of the ballroom, avoiding eye contact with several young gentlemen vying with each other to attract her attention. She had no intention of dancing tonight. She had used her fake illness as an excuse, claiming a lingering lack of energy, but it seemed some young men still harboured hopes. Then Lord Clevedon was before them, bowing, and she had no choice but to stop and to acknowledge him. Her grip tightened involuntarily on her reticule and the incriminating evidence within.
‘Good evening, Lady Olivia, Lady Helena.’
They both bobbed curtsies. ‘Good evening, Lord Clevedon,’ they chorused.
‘Might I engage your hand for the next dance, Lady Olivia?’
‘I regret I must refuse, my lord. I am not dancing this evening as I have been unwell.’
It had taken all her charm and persuasion to convince Lady Glenlochrie that she was well enough to attend the ball this evening, including a solemn promise that she would not tax her strength by dancing, and thank goodness she had succeeded—the weight that had been lifted from her by the return of her necklace was worth the sacrifice of not dancing for one evening.
‘I am sorry to hear tha
t, my lady. I trust you will recover your customary vitality very soon. In the meantime, might I escort you to your chaperon?’
Olivia caught sight of Hugo on the far side of the room. He was talking to his mother, Lady Todmorden, his brother and another lady—presumably his brother’s wife—but his attention was on Olivia. She could almost feel him commanding her to obey his edict even though he had given her no good reason for such an order. Besides, all Lord Clevedon had done was challenge her to a game of piquet. It was not his fault she had lost, or that she had pledged her necklace because she was unable to give him her vowel. And neither was it his fault the wager was so high. No. That was Hugo’s fault, as was the fact that the arrack punch had flowed so freely. No doubt the strength of that punch had impaired Clevedon’s judgement that night as much as it had impaired her own.
How dare he try to dictate how I must behave?
She averted her gaze and bestowed a gracious smile upon Clevedon as she placed her hand on his arm.
‘Thank you, my lord.’
See, Lord Hugo Arrogant Alastair! I can make my own decisions and if you do not find me attractive there are other men who do.
* * *
Clevedon stayed with them for the remainder of the evening: procuring drinks, escorting them to supper and generally being charming. Olivia kept her reticule—complete with the incriminating necklace—in her tight grasp the entire time, her stomach a tangle of nerves in case it somehow came open and spilled its contents. But now ‘Beatrice’s’ necklace was safely back in her possession—and without any strings attached, which was more than she had dared hope for—Olivia did start to feel more magnanimous towards his lordship.
Hugo disappeared after supper and, somehow, the ball lost any further appeal for Olivia. She felt nothing but relief when Lady Glenlochrie complained she had one of her heads coming on and it was time they went home.
Chapter Ten
Olivia tried her best over the following days to block Hugo and that delicious kiss from her thoughts. He clearly still thought her far beneath his notice, judging by the way he had bundled her out of the door afterwards, and he had made not the slightest attempt to see her since. She had looked for him in vain at church yesterday, but his mother had been escorted by his stepfather, Sir Horace. Lord and Lady Rothley and their two adorable children were there, too, but there was no sign of that despicable, untrustworthy rogue. She was clearly good enough for him to snatch a kiss when the opportunity arose, but not good enough to—
Lady Olivia and the Infamous Rake Page 10