Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She had anticipated the ton’s long memory but found it discomfiting, nevertheless.

  Prickles along her spine warned her that dozens of guests watched their progress, some not at all pleased with the turn of events. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed Miss Rossington’s pinched face and fuming gaze.

  Precisely what was Allen’s relationship with the woman?

  Please God, don’t let them be betrothed.

  He bowed, and Olivia curtsied, somehow managing to keep from teetering over from nerves. The floor soon filled with other couples, many of whom craned their necks and rudely gawked in her and Allen’s direction. She felt rather like a curiosity at Bullock’s Museum; a peculiarity to be stared at and discussed.

  Why couldn’t they mind their own business? She conceded this public reunion might not have been the wisest course after all, but the bread had been put to rise and there was no unleavening it now.

  Allen took her in his arms, his stance too near to be considered wholly respectable. Nonetheless, she melted into his arms, reveling in their familiarity and comfort, much like returning home after a lengthy journey, which ironically, she had just done.

  Shoulders stiff and coolly silent, he began circling them about the room.

  He’s angry.

  Olivia peeked up at him through her eyelashes.

  He looked straight ahead, his jaw clenched and a scowl pulling his eyebrows together.

  No. He’s livid.

  While she couldn’t get enough of him, he barely tolerated touching her. Why had he asked her to dance when he obviously struggled as much with her proximity as she did his, though for entirely different reasons?

  For appearances? To prove she meant nothing to him?

  She should never have come to the ball.

  Such utter foolishness to think something might be salvaged of their love. She would endure this dance with some semblance of dignity, and afterward, she would make short work of finding Bradford and Aunt Muriel. They would bid their hosts a hasty farewell, and Olivia would leave her dreams of happiness and reconciliation behind forever.

  Expertly guiding her between two couples, Allen’s shoulder muscles stiffened even more when she clutched him during a complicated turn. Relaxing her grip, she tried to ease away, to put a bit of distance between them. He either ignored her effort or was so lost in his thoughts and discomfort, he didn’t respond to her subtle attempts.

  Like strangers forced to spend time together, silence loomed, awkward and heavy. She and Allen had never had trouble talking before. In fact, their ease at conversing is one of the first things that attracted her to him. Now a cavernous chasm, eroded by years of separation, misunderstanding, and hurt divided them.

  Nibbling her lower lip, she strove for something sensible to say, but all coherent thought had vanished the instant he touched her. His hand upon her back branded her with possessive heat, and each time his thighs brushed her gown, her legs responded by going weak in the knees.

  Ridiculous things.

  Ridiculous her.

  For pity’s sake. Allen was just a man, not a god with divine powers capable of mesmerizing the fairer sex. True, he was the first man to hold her in his arms in years, and the only one she ever wanted to from now until eternity flashed to an end, but she reacted like a wanton.

  She concentrated on counting in time to the waltz’s lilting strains—one, two, three, one, two, three—in an attempt to keep her mind occupied, but her cluttered thoughts hurtled around, bouncing off each other, dissonant and jarring, like church bells clanging on Sunday morning.

  How could she have been so naïve as to think they might put the last three years behind them? While she had remained trapped in the Caribbean, caring for her dying father, Allen had gone on with his life. A tiny sigh escaped Olivia at the injustice, but then fate never claimed to be a mistress of fairness.

  The lulling music wound its way around her taut nerves until she became lost in the music and gradually began enjoying the dance. She truly did adore dancing. With him.

  She closed her eyes, remembering another waltz, where she and Allen had danced indecently close. Cheeks heated by the recollection, she opened her eyes and searched Allen’s dear face. Though tall herself, she had to look up to meet his eyes.

  He still stared at some point beyond her, tension ticking in his jaw.

  His slightly spicy scent wafted past her nostrils again, flooding her senses. She stifled the impulse to bury her nose in his neck and kiss his throat, but she couldn’t help drawing in another deep breath and inhaling his essence, not only into her lungs, but into her spirit.

  These last treasured moments, dancing with him, were all she would ever have, and she was determined to savor each one fully.

  Did he hold the minutest trace of warm regard for her still, or had his disappointment and anger irrevocably hardened his heart? Did he remember that fateful evening—their dance and kiss too?

  His focus lowered, lingering on her lips for a brief moment. His nostrils flared, and his molded mouth tightened.

  Yes. He remembered.

  His expression closed and unreadable, except for the amber shards sparking in his eyes, he met her gaze. “Why are you here? Did you think to take up where we left off?”

  Infinite care and consideration should be given when a lady chooses her words and even more so when she elects to speak them.

  ~A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment

  Chapter Five

  Allen cursed inwardly for asking Olivia the confounded question. He’d sworn to himself he would ask her to dance, uncover her scheme, and send her on her way. Completely unaffected, he would then go about his life and she about hers.

  What a colossal, stinking pile of horse manure.

  “You humiliated me, Olivia, practically leaving me at the altar.”

  Holy hell, do stubble it.

  She gasped and stumbled, and he tightened his embrace, steadying her.

  Her azure gaze, huge and alarmed, flitted about the room, probably seeking a means of escape. The tip of her pink tongue darted out and touched the pillow of her lower lip. “That’s not true. We hadn’t told anyone of our plans to marry. You had just proposed. No one knew.”

  He ought to give her that, but his anger wouldn’t allow any concession.

  The moment he’d seen her standing in the entry, he had sworn he wouldn’t acknowledge, let alone speak to her. Olivia was none of his concern. She held no interest any longer. He didn’t want anything more to do with her. When she had chosen her father over him and left to go gallivanting off in the tropics, he’d slammed that door closed and drove the bolt home.

  Ballocks, you unmitigated liar. You love her every bit as much as you did the night you rejected her.

  His tongue, fueled by offended pride, paid his conscience no heed. “There were wagers on White’s books, betting we would wed by summer’s end. The entire bon ton recognized me as a besotted fool.”

  Maybe not the entire ton, but a sizable number had.

  Olivia’s beautiful eyes widened in wounded shock, and her lower lip quivered the tiniest bit before she dropped her thick-lashed gaze to stare at his shoulder.

  The pulse in her throat beat erratically, and she trembled. “I beg your pardon. This dance was a mistake. Please return me to my aunt or brother.”

  “Like hell I will.” He grated the words out beneath his breath, his voice a harsh rasp.

  She stiffened and looked about, half panicked.

  Dragging in a juddery lungful, he hauled his attention back to his surroundings. At the end of the opulent, overheated ballroom, his parents stood beside the Duchess of Daventry, concern etched upon their countenances.

  They feared he would make a scene.

  He feared he would make a bloody scene.

  Allen had never been this out of control before. Olivia’ presence had damned near knocked him head over arse, and he still hadn’t completely recovered his composure.

  Drawing in
another fortifying gulp of air, he forced a smile to his taut lips and nodded at the gawkers stretching their necks to see what transpired between Olivia and him.

  Bloody ballroom full of giraffes and ostriches.

  Allen would’ve loved to tell the lot to bugger off.

  Instead, he elevated a brow and leveled them a civil, yet quelling look.

  Dancing nearby, Miss Rossington jerked her attention away with such abruptness she mashed her partner’s foot. Tripping, the man muttered an oath and bumped into another couple. They too, faltered before regaining their balance.

  An amusing vision of the dancers tumbling over like stacked cards, one after the other, and ending in a writhing pile of arms and legs upon the floor flashed before Allen. The corner of his lips skewed upward. It would give the guests something to blather about other than him and Olivia.

  “Mr. Wimpleton, I demand you release me at once.” Her face constrained, Olivia attempted to pull away. She gave his shoulder a small shove. “Let go.”

  She had tried that earlier, too, but he held her fast, craving her nearness. Desperately, dammit.

  “Cease.” He bent his neck, his mouth near her small ear. Another inch and he could trace the delicate shell with his tongue. How would she react if he did? He drew in an extended breath. God, she smelled divine. Warm, and flowery with the faintest hint of citrus. The creamy column of her neck beckoned, as did the silky spot just below her ear, and the velvety hollow at the juncture of her throat.

  He swallowed, lest he give into the urge to trail his lips from one, to the other, to the other. “We shall finish this waltz, and you shall smile and pretend to enjoy the dance. I’ll not intentionally give the gossipmongers a single morsel to toss about at my expense ever again.”

  Casting the dancers a sidelong glance, she stopped trying to escape. Her lips ribbon thin, she shook her head. A russet tendril sprang loose, toppling onto her ear. “Too late for that, I’m afraid. My being here has stirred that unpleasant pot into a bubbling froth. I never should have come. It was foolish of me.”

  “Why did you?”

  “I …” Her shoulders slumped, and she tucked her chin to her chest. “I wanted to see you.”

  He had to strain to hear her whispered words.

  Her head sank lower. “Just one more time.”

  As simple as that. No pretense. No expectations or demands.

  Was it possible Olivia had missed him as much as he had missed her? Despite his reservations, his treacherous heart rejoiced. Words were beyond him at the moment, and swallowing, he canvassed the room.

  Mother poked Father with her fan and sent the duchess a sly, knowing smile at something her grace said.

  The Duchess of Daventry looked much too pleased.

  By thunder. Did she just wink at him? Had she orchestrated this?

  Given her reputation for being unconventional and high-handed, he shouldn’t be the least surprised. Befuddled, he wasn’t sure whether to thank or curse her.

  Allen edged Olivia even closer, until the crown of her head almost touched his chin. Despite insisting he release her a moment ago, she didn’t resist.

  Her light perfume tormented him, shooting a blast of sensation to his loins and sending his lust soaring. Hound’s teeth, as if his manhood bulging in his breeches wouldn’t cause more whispers and titters. And trying to dance with a stiffened rod bumping against one’s leg presented an uncomfortable challenge.

  Women didn’t realize their good fortune in wearing skirts, for their arousal didn’t tent their trousers—bloody apparent for the world to see.

  Sixty seconds in his arms and Olivia had him at sixes and sevens.

  And hard as marble.

  Only she had this power over him. Even after an extended absence from her, he responded like a wet-behind-the-ears pup with his first woman.

  Well done, old man. Your self-control is pitiable.

  He dismissed his musing. All that mattered was this moment and holding her in his arms. Caressing the curve of her rib, Allen guided her through another difficult turn, made more so by the blatant eavesdroppers pressing near.

  A slight smile edging her mouth, she unerringly followed his lead.

  They had always been superb dance partners, and he hadn’t a doubt she would have been unequaled as a bedmate. He’d been eager to introduce her to passion’s promises once she became his wife.

  His already-stirred member jerked, yanking his attention back to the present. He scrutinized Olivia through half-closed eyes.

  She had grown even more beautiful.

  Her gorgeous red hair, untamed and wild, like her, was streaked with gold, no doubt from exposure to the tropical sun. A jeweled ruby band peaked between artfully arranged curls—curls every bit as silky as they appeared.

  Her eyes, the clearest ocean blue he’d ever seen, stayed riveted on his neckcloth. Her unique gown—cherry-red with an overlay somewhere between ivory and light gold—enhanced her glowing skin, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. Few red-heads dared wear crimson tones, but she managed to look exquisite in the becoming gown. A slight pout marred her pretty lips, slightly damp and pinkened from being nibbled, and vexation creased her usually smooth brow.

  She possessed a woman’s figure now. Her breasts were fuller, the creamy mounds surging above the neckline of her gown hinting at the treasures hidden beneath the fabric. Treasures he longed to sample. No, was desperate to taste and touch.

  Fiend seize it, he had thought himself over her, and truth to tell, feared ever again experiencing the pain her betrayal caused him. He’d drowned himself in drink and staggered about half-foxed for a month after her departure. If he was honest, he taken to drinking too much since, as well.

  The waltz’s steps brought them near the French window at one end of the ballroom. The terrace doors stood wide open, summoning him. Before his conscience had a chance to raise an objection or dared to spout good sense, Allen whirled Olivia out the opening, just like he had that fateful night.

  She stopped dancing at once and pulled from his embrace, glowering at him.

  Not the same as three years ago.

  “This is most improper.” She attempted to step pass him and reenter the house, but he blocked her path. Her color high, she glared at him. “I must return inside immediately or my reputation will be compromised.”

  “Not until I’ve spoken my piece.” Allen grasped her elbow, preventing her escape. Intent on seeking a private bower, he glanced swiftly around before releasing her elbow only to clasp her hand.

  “Allen, let me go.” Eyes narrowed, she wriggled her fingers. “You cannot go about dragging ladies here and there willy-nilly at your pleasure.”

  His pleasure? Not by a long shot.

  “Don’t kick up a fuss. I simply want to talk without a score of ears listening to my every word.” He steered her down the narrow flagstone steps and onto the lawn. Lanterns dotted the landscape, bathing the flowers and shrubberies in a warm glow, and where the lanterns couldn’t penetrate the darkness, the moon’s silvery beams provided a subtle half-light to all but the remotest recesses.

  A woman’s giggle echoed from somewhere within the garden. Seemed he wasn’t the only one intent on bit of air and privacy. Her laughter sounded again, likely from the arbor further along the curving path that split the lawn as neatly as parted hair. A few stolen kisses might be had there away from the sharp eyes of the dowagers and watchful mamas.

  “What are you doing?” Olivia tugged at her hand clamped within his. “Are you trying to ruin me? You just said you didn’t want any more gossip. You don’t think this,” she gave another yank and bobbed her head toward the veranda, “won’t signal the rumormongers that something’s afoot?”

  That halted Allen in his tracks. Standing in the center of the manicured garden, he scanned the area. They were fully visible to the few guests taking the air on the terrace, but far enough away that no one could easily overhear their conversation. Her reputation would remain intact, and he
could say what he had burned to say since she stepped into the ballroom.

  “I’m sorry I came tonight. It’s evident my presence has upset you. That was never my intent.” Olivia released a jerky breath, misery etched upon her lovely face. “Please let me return to the house, and I shall leave at once and not bother you with my presence again.”

  “Not yet.” He shook his head and straightened his waistcoat before slanting her a wry glance. “I must confess, I am grateful I didn’t wait the year you asked for, Livy.” He leaned closer, holding up three fingers. “Since it has taken three for you to reappear on the London scene.”

  Gasping, she flinched as if struck. Her gaze faltered, but not before raw pain darkened her eyes, and she took a reflexive step back.

  He released her hand. Hell, he was an unmitigated, chuckleheaded ass.

  “I didn’t think you wanted me to return.” She lifted her chin a notch, her incredible blue eyes lancing him with accusation. “I remember your words from that night quite clearly, Allen.”

  God, he remembered, too, every grating, cold syllable spewing from his lips. Guilt and shame kicked him in the ribs, pulverizing his pride.

  She stared at a point beyond his shoulder, her eyes swimming with tears. She blinked several times, and swallowed audibly, obviously attempting to control her emotions. Her voice hoarse, she repeated his hateful words.

  “‘Don’t expect me to wait for you, Olivia. If you choose your father over me, we’re finished.’”

  A lady of refined breeding will, at all times, avoid raising her voice or engaging in public displays of histrionics.

  ~A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment

  Chapter Six

  “Olivia, I …”

  Allen reached for her once more. He mustn’t cause her more anguish, must make amends for his cruelty. In that moment, he hated himself, hated what love had turned him into.

  Olivia lurched away, hiding her hands behind her back.