by Gill, Tamara
Jasper broke the kiss, let go of her leg, and stepped back. She stumbled before righting herself, staring up at him. Her eyes were as glassy as the moon, twinkling up at him like two bright stars that had found their purpose in the sky.
God damn it, he wanted to be her universe. He wanted to do whatever she asked him to. But he could not seduce her. Take her here and now in the garden like some rutting beast.
"Why did you stop?" Her question was breathless, and somewhat uneven.
It killed him to hear the need in her tone. He understood better than she would ever imagine what she was going through. However, there was one thing she would never know, and that was how close she came to being tupped in the outdoors at a grand London ball where anyone may be watching.
"If I do not stop now, there will be no turning back. It is not the deal we made, Olivia. We must try to remember that the next time we embark on kisses in darkened gardens where no Oglemoore will view my regard."
His words acted just as he wished, and like a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head, she stepped back, busying herself with righting her gown.
"You're right, of course. I'm so sorry." She laughed, and he did not miss the nervousness in the gesture. "You're very good at what you do, Hamlyn. You made me forget myself."
He had forgotten himself too. Utterly reprehensible actions he could not allow to happen again. He would show interest, court, and flirt with her in public, but he could not steal her away, be alone with her unless he wanted her for himself.
And he did not want Olivia, as precious and sweet as she was.
Truly he did not, he reminded himself.
He was not ready for a wife. His father had not married until his forties. He was one and thirty, too young to settle down to only one woman for the rest of his days.
She threw him a small, brittle smile, and a punch to the gut would have been less sharp. He swallowed, taking her hand and pulling her back toward the ball. Jasper did not look at her again, not even when he deposited her beside Anna, her companion, and bid them both goodnight.
Walking from the ball, he rolled his shoulders, feeling the burn of Olivia's gaze on his back. He was her friend, helping her make Oglemoore pay for his base treatment of her. What he needed was a good hard shag with his mistress.
Summoning his carriage, he tapped his feet, unease and annoyance thrumming through his veins. Charlotte would soothe his soul and scratch his itch. He climbed into the equipage, calling for Seymour street and forced himself not to look back at Davenport house.
Chapter 10
Three nights passed, and Olivia had not seen Hamlyn for as many days. Where was he? After their third kiss, she had watched him stride from the ball with a feeling of unease and uncertainty running down her spine.
She had not wanted him to leave and nor did she understand what had actually transpired between them. All she did know was she wanted to kiss him again and again. To have him hold her in his arms, tease her senseless and make her crave.
Never in her life had she wanted to act unlike the lady she had been brought up to be. She wanted him to touch her where she ached. To feel his large, erect manhood press against her sex. Take her as a man would take a woman, fill her and inflame her as much as she was already.
Oh dear, she had turned into someone she could not recognize.
Had he mentioned wanting her in that way, asking if she would permit him such liberty, Olivia was certain she would have allowed him to make love to her.
She'd been all but ready to lie on the grassy lawn and give him what they both wanted.
Her friend, having returned from Bath, stood beside her, sipping her ratafia. "I'm not certain that I want Oglemoore as my husband any longer. I went to the pump rooms while I was home in Bath, and I met with Lord Dormer. How handsome and accommodating he is. And," she said, pointing across the room, "do you see he too has returned to London? I think he is back to court me."
Olivia glanced in the direction of Lord Dormer, an earl from Derbyshire, and noted him nodding in welcome to her friend. "Is he not looking for an heiress? I thought I heard it said that his pockets are for let."
"They may be, but I'm more than capable of fixing his currency issue." Athol grinned. "He is handsome, do not you think?"
Olivia frowned. "What about Oglemoore? The last time we spoke, you were quite determined to have him as your husband, and you kissed him."
"That was in Kent, Olivia. Do keep up."
Taken aback, Olivia stared at her friend, wondering who she was or had become in the last few months. She turned, sipping her wine and watching the dancers who were partaking in a minuet. Across the room, she could see Lord Oglemoore talking with a group of gentlemen, his attention sometimes stealing over to where they both stood.
Athol, seemingly noting his lordship's notice, mumbled something about needing to go to the retiring room and disappeared into the throng. Oglemoore watched Athol leave, his eyes following her out of the room. Olivia had thought he would follow her, but he did not. Instead, he excused himself from his conversation and started toward her.
Olivia watched him, again agreeing with herself that Oglemoore was a handsome gentleman, but now there were a few minuscule things she noticed that she had not before. He was shorter than Hamlyn, less refined, and had a pettiness about him she had not thought him capable of.
What man courted a woman for a Season, only to never offer for her? That was certainly how he'd treated her last year. His fixation on Athol at her cousin's house party made his conduct even worse.
"Miss Quinton," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. Where once Olivia would have reacted to his touch, to his presence, now she was merely bored. He bored her, and that in itself was telling.
"How nice to see you again. I see you returned to London safe and sound. Are you enjoying the ball this evening?"
She smiled, glancing about the room. "I am, my lord. Very much so." She gestured to where Athol had departed. "I'm sorry you just missed Lady Athol. She will be most displeased to have missed you."
He nodded, coming to stand beside her. "I shall, catch up with Lady Athol in good time, but it is you I wanted to seek out. Would you care to dance with me? I believe there is to be a waltz soon."
Olivia started at his request, not the least interested in taking a turn about the dancefloor in his arms. He continued to stare at her, seeking an answer, and she had no option but to concede.
"Of course, my lord. I would like that very much."
He smiled, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Olivia fought to think of something to say. A conversation starter or the latest gossip going about London. Anything to halt the plainly obvious fact they had nothing to discuss.
"My friend, His Grace, the Duke of Hamlyn danced with you the other evening. I hope I shall too bring such joy to your night as he seemed to achieve."
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 mistress 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."