Love Reacquainted (Loves of London Book 1)

by Kate Rolin

  Deciding him simply trying to be charming, Olivia laughed. “Yes, Derrick, tutoring. For my son Josef.”

  “Olivia, I’ve arranged for you to sit beside Derrick at the supper so you can discuss the matter in more detail. Oh look! They’re calling us to supper now.”

  “Shall we?” Derrick offered his arm to Olivia, as well as another charming smile.

  Olivia decided she liked this friendly Derrick fellow after all and smiled in return. “Yes, we shall.”

  Cyrus silently watched it all from afar, suddenly regretting his suggestion of Derrick for a tutor.

  ~

  Having sat down to supper, Derrick to Olivia’s right and Lord Willingham to her left, she soon found herself in pleasant conversation with the former as the latter took to stuffing his mouth with food right away. They discussed Josef, her wishes to provide for his education, and Derrick’s credentials. He agreed to pay a visit in two days to meet Josef and see if the arrangement appeared to be agreeable for all.

  Derrick then asked Olivia about her time in Austria. For some reason, he made her feel so at ease she told all about her family and her time there—more than she’d told anyone since returning. She explained how her father was sent there commissioned by the Crown. She even discussed her parents’ deaths, one from a fever and the other a broken heart, something she’d yet to speak to anyone about in great detail.

  He told her about some of his time in Africa, but was not at liberty to discuss his business there, something Olivia understood as her father had never been able to discuss his business on behalf of the king as well.

  When the third course arrived, Derrick asked how Olivia was enjoying her stay with His Grace. At the mention of him, she realized she had not seen nor spoken with Cyrus since they’d arrived hours ago. She’d been kept so busy and was honestly enjoying herself. It had been a wonderful distraction after the miserable day she’d had.

  As she replied, she scanned the great dining table for him. Looking further down to her right she found him listening to something Lady Wainwright was telling those around them. Without warning, Cyrus’s eyes cut sharply to hers, as if he’d known exactly where she sat all along. And now he knew she’d been watching him.

  Her face warmed and she did not hear whatever it was Derrick was saying now. She watched as humor lit Cyrus’s eyes.

  Maybe it was the glass she’d already drank with dinner, not to mention the sherry beforehand, or maybe it was the attraction she felt with his eyes on her now, but what Olivia did next was quite uncharacteristic for her.

  Smiling seductively, she lowered her lashes down slowly and then back up to look at Cyrus—something she remembered being told of as a young girl as a way to catch a man’s interest. She hadn’t used it in years. Not since Karl.

  The smile on Cyrus’s lips died and his mouth went dry. He’d not seen such forwardness by Olivia before—and here she was using it for him! After the miserable evening he’d spent so far in everyone else’s company but hers, and she in the company of every other male there, it now appeared to him that he was what she wanted after all—no matter how much she seemed to enjoy herself next to that blasted Derrick fellow.

  Olivia found she enjoyed the shock on Cyrus’s face, knowing she put it there. It made her feel bold. Eyes still on him, she raised her white lace fan coyly. She continued watching him the entire time Lord Willingham attempted to say something to her around a mouthful of food, while Cyrus regarded her with dark eyes over every glass or bite of food that he slowly lifted to his lips.

  And so the remainder of the supper continued as something of an unspoken back and forth game of desires between Cyrus and Olivia. Unnoticed by everyone except a certain mother and son.

  ~

  The supper ended and Derrick and Olivia rose. Offering his arm to her, he said, “I suppose you must have every dance for the rest of the night claimed already.”

  Knowing she had just one remaining, one she’d hoped Cyrus would have taken, she glanced back to see Cyrus watching with a look she’d not seen in his eyes before—one of jealousy. She knew she should not continue to play games with him, but…

  Maybe she could dance with Derrick after all—and hopefully, finally get the full attention of His Grace.

  Olivia smiled up into Derrick’s handsome face. “As a matter of fact, this next dance is the only one remaining.”

  He smiled that charming smile, “Well, then, may I have this dance?”

  A last glance to Cyrus, Olivia then smiled back at Derrick and placed her hand on his arm. “I’d be delighted.”

  He whisked her off to the dance floor and the band struck up a song. Resolved not to look at Cyrus at all until the dance was ended, she smiled up into Derrick’s green eyes and they danced and talked the song away.

  When it was ended, Derrick bowed, “You dance just as beautifully as you look, if I may be so bold.”

  Olivia blushed as she always did at receiving praise and curtsied. “You were splendid as well.”

  As her next dancing partner approached to claim her, Derrick sighed, “Ah, I find I am remiss to let you go. However, I will comfort myself in the fact that I will see you again in two days’ time.” With that, Derrick bent to kiss her hand, lingering longer than was proper. With one last look into her eyes, he departed.

  Olivia’s cheeks now burned as she greeted a Lord Hurst. They bowed and began the next dance. While they exchanged pleasantries, she sensed Cyrus looking on from an opposite wall. Olivia had managed to continue to avoid looking at him, but she could feel his dark eyes on her the entire time.

  She smiled to herself, satisfied with that reaction, knowing she had just dance with the second most handsome man in the room.

  ~

  Cyrus had stood along the outer edge leaning against the wall after supper, appearing outwardly to be in conversation with others, but inwardly brooding, having avoided Lady Wainwright for yet another dance. His desire had been inflamed by Olivia’s flirtations all throughout supper. It was so forward, so unlike her.

  It was meant for him—and he liked it.

  Then, she’d turned her back to him and he had to suffer watching her dance and laugh and touch that wretched Stratton.

  Cyrus had never been one to feel insecure in his whole life, but tonight, watching Olivia with a man who was obviously handsome, strong, and much younger than himself, he felt inferior and jealous—and it angered him.

  When he saw bumbling Lord Hurst claim the next dance from Olivia, he couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Propriety be hanged—he’d had enough.

  Leaving whomever it was speaking to him now in mid-sentence, Cyrus pushed off from the wall and stormed across the dance floor. He raptly tapped the shoulder of Lord Hurst and said firmly, “I’m afraid your time is up. I’m cutting in with the lady.”

  Both Lord Hurst and Olivia looked up in surprise. Unfortunately, Lord Hurst was not ready to part from Olivia’s attentions, “I’m sorry Your Grace, but I have reserved this dance with Lady von Klor.”

  Cyrus towered over the poor man, and glaring at him, gritted through his teeth, “I don’t believe you heard me. I am cutting in.” He raised a dark brow, daring the man to contradict him again.

  “B-b-but…” Lord Hurst fumbled for a moment, finally giving in to the outrank of a Duke. He then sulked his way over to the nearest wall, taking a drink offered to him to nurse his pride.

  Stunned, Olivia resumed the dance with Cyrus. Chancing a look at him, he appeared angry.

  Quite furious, actually.

  Despite her liquid courage, Olivia now felt weak at the knees, as if they could buckle any moment. Summoning all her strength, she lifted her chin, schooling her features. Managing to keep her voice even, she said, “That was rude. If you’d wanted to dance with me you should have asked earlier. Poor Lord Hurst has waited all evening for this dance—so he said to me anyway. It’s not my fault you waited and my dance card filled up.”

  “Oh, believe me, I wasn’t p
lanning to ask, but I couldn’t have you humiliated by a dance with that buffoon.”

  “Cyrus!” Olivia glared at him. There was no need for name calling, even if he was right.

  “Although, you seem to be enjoying the company of every buffoon present tonight. One newly returned from Africa in particular,” he clipped. “So perhaps you would have enjoyed a dance with a local buffoon just as well.”

  Olivia glared up at him, momentarily speechless. He had never acted this way towards her before. Of course, she’d noticed since returning to London that he seemed to have developed somewhat of a gruff and harsh temperament, but he had never been unkind to her and she had found it…somewhat attractive. But this…this was different.

  Perhaps she’d played her game too well.

  The tension between them now was so thick, her heart thundered in her chest as she felt her own anger rising.

  “And you, I am to assume, are so superior? As a dancer, and a man?”

  They spun around for the next turn and when they rejoined, his eyes even darker, he said, “Allow me to demonstrate and you will know it without a doubt.”

  She arched a brow, “As a dancer, you mean?”

  “Both. That is, if you really wish to know.”

  Her stomach dropped at his implied meaning. It didn’t help that he never once took his eyes off of her. There was no wink, no teasing half-smile. Olivia realized with a start that he was most serious.

  She needed to calm things down.

  She was finally dancing with Cyrus, what she’d wanted all evening, and she needed to enjoy the moment. Taking a deep breath, she then smiled softly, “Well, you are not far from the mark as to the talent—or lack thereof, rather—of many of my dancing partners tonight. And as for Derrick, I am purely interested in the tutoring position. He’s coming by in two days to meet Josef. That’s mostly what we’ve discussed tonight, which, I believe, was all your idea.”

  At that, Cyrus visibly relaxed and, although his eyes remained dark, he smiled that half-smile and stepped closer. “I’m sorry Olivia, I know I’ve behaved badly. You have a power to bewitch a man and I am finding myself a most willing victim.”

  Olivia’s heart stopped, she could hardly believe her ears. “Well, I’m afraid I’m not completely innocent.” She went no further to admit her games with him that evening had been deliberate.

  The remainder of the dance was passed in silence. They held each other’s eyes the whole time, no matter where the dance steps took them. Though jealousy and anger were diffused, a tension between them remained, but instead of pushing apart, it drew them together, invisible, like a magnet.

  The dance ended and the clock in the great hall chimed just then. There was likely still another hour or two of the ball remaining.

  Cyrus and Olivia stood in silence, unable to look away from each other, their breathing labored. They were oblivious to the room around them and felt only they existed in that moment.

  “Olivia, would you like to go home?” Cyrus spoke first, his voice low, never looking away from her.

  She could only look back at him with wide blue eyes. Swallowing, she nodded.

  “Are you sure?” His dark eyes searched her face for any hesitancy.

  “Yes, Cyrus. Let’s go home,” she whispered. Placing her hand on his arm, she added, “Please.”

  Cyrus grabbed her hand and half-ran, half-dragged Olivia across the room. He stopped briefly to thank Lady Wainwright for the nice evening, but Olivia wasn’t feeling well and they had to get her home. The full blush on Olivia’s face did make her appear feverish. He then nearly lost his mind over the slowness with which the footman retrieved their belongings.

  After what felt like an eternity, their carriage pulled around to the door. Anticipation buzzed in Olivia’s ears. She’d never felt such…urgency before. She began to feel a bit of shyness creep in as she couldn’t quite comprehend the fact that this was Cyrus, actually Cyrus. And he wanted her.

  From all indications, including practically yelling at the footman, he wanted her fiercely.

  Cyrus himself could hardly think straight. Yes, he’d been alone in every sense of the word for the past four years, but his impatience was motivated by the woman who now stood next to him.

  They could not get home fast enough.

  Finally, he helped her up into the carriage as he called out instructions to his driver to make for home “with haste!” He slammed the door and the carriage lurched forward.

  Olivia sat in the far corner as Cyrus remained seated just inside the door. They simply stared at each other in the dim lantern light as if bound by a spell both were afraid of breaking.

  Shyness forgotten, she reached for Cyrus just then and he quickly pulled her into his arms.

  This kiss was more urgent than the one he had given her just the night before, fueled by a mutual desire that was escalating quickly. Olivia reached up to untie her mantelet, but fumbled with her gloved fingers. Without breaking the kiss, Cyrus removed her hands and untied it for her, while she moved to unbutton his waistcoat. Feeling her tug on his cravat, he speedily removed it as she tore off her gloves. Reaching up, she slipped her arms around his bare neck and then wove her fingers into his black hair that now hung loose.

  Somehow it registered with Olivia that she was now lying on the velvet seat with Cyrus on top of her. She could feel his warm hands roaming and she moved her own to grasp his broad shoulders, tightening her grip. He moved his mouth to kiss just below her right ear and she could feel his hot breath on her skin. A gasp escaped her then as he expertly blazed a trail down her throat with his mouth and she could no longer think straight—no concern for what they were doing or about to do.

  Raising his head, Cyrus looked into her eyes, reveling in the desire and admiration he saw there. He reached up and slowly traced a finger all along her skin at the edge of her low bodice before lowing his mouth again to the hollow of her neck. Her flesh felt even better than he’d imagined.

  You need to stop.

  He ignored his conscience. Being with Olivia now, he felt things he never thought he’d feel again. He felt…younger and strong. Most importantly, he felt wanted.

  Stop now, you fool!

  The culmination of weeks of attempting to curb his desire for her resulted in a frenzy. If he wasn’t careful, he would take her right then and there.

  She deserves more than this.

  He groaned.

  Yes, his confounded conscience was right. He needed to slow things down, at least until they got home. Now if only the rest of his body would get the message.

  He slowed their kiss and felt her fingers dig into his shoulders in frustration. The pain was enough to help clear his head somewhat.

  Just then, from somewhere deep inside, the full realization came to him that it could not happen tonight, not here or at even at home. Olivia deserved the utmost respect, to be loved properly.

  Reluctantly, he pulled back and sat up, drawing her with him as their arms were still entwined. “Not here, Olivia.” He whispered the words against her neck where he had continued kissing her.

  Stunned by the raging emotions and sudden halt by Cyrus, Olivia pulled away, blinking. Questioning blue eyes searched his face and it looked to him as though tears were forming.

  He smiled and pulled her back into an embrace. “No, love, it’s not that. You deserve so much more. More than…this, than to be taken in a carriage.” He spoke into her hair.

  Good grief, she smelled divine. It simply wasn’t fair.

  “You needn’t worry about my innocence, Cyrus. Josef should be proof that’s long gone.” Olivia spoke into his chest with a laugh. She noticed he smelled of the cologne she’d given him and his own musky scent.

  His low laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m not worried about that, love. It’s just, when the time comes for us, I want to love you in the way that you deserve.”

  Love. He’d called her that twice now. Did that mean he…?

  His use of the word was
enough to bring Olivia down from heightened emotions. He was right, as much as she hated to admit it. Goodness, why did she act so positively wanton around him? It was so unlike her.

  Though more calmed, Olivia still did not want to throw away the opportunity. “And when, Cyrus, will that be?”

  He laughed, gently stroking her face. “I hope soon, love. We’ll know when the time is right.”

  And so they rode on to his house in silence, due to the fact that Olivia remained on his lap and Cyrus made sure to kiss her slowly and thoroughly the whole way there.

  ~

  Upon entering his townhouse, Cyrus went directly to his study while Olivia went up to bed. He knew if he followed after her, he might not make it to his room alone. After thirty minutes of attempting to respond to some correspondence to no avail, he retired to his own room by way of the passage directly from his study. He needed to avoid the hall.

  Olivia again had not been able to sleep a wink. It was becoming too common of an occurrence, but she couldn’t help it. She kept reliving the night over and over in her mind.

  Love. He’d called her love. Funny, now, how she thought he’d hated her upon her first arrival.

  She rolled over for the millionth time. It had to be around four in the morning by now. Perhaps she could sneak down to the drawing room to her pianoforte and play quietly. If ever Olivia needed the solace of music, it was tonight.

  Climbing out of bed, she slipped on her frilly white dressing gown as she wore one of her new, too-thin nightgowns in pink and couldn’t very well be seen by a servant in such a state of undress. She did not bother with slippers and padded out quietly into the dimly lit hallway. The marble floors and steps were cool under her feet as she made her way down.

  Unlike that first night’s venture out, Olivia saw and heard no one. She was grateful for the solitude and made sure not to hum at all. She couldn’t risk waking…anyone.

  Slipping into the empty drawing room, she quietly shut the door behind her. A low fire had been left to burn out in the fireplace and it cast long shadows across the room. She walked across to the pianoforte sitting to the left of it and her feet felt the plush carpet underneath. Deciding the expanse of frills would only hinder her playing, she removed her dressing gown and sat on the bench. Ever so quietly, she began to play a soft melody she’d learned as a child. It always seemed to bring her comfort.