This Marquess of Mine: (Romancing the Rogue Book 2)

Chapter Four

Madame Adelasia’s Fashion Boutique was small yet tidy and always busy, and today was no exception. With its variety of unique goods from bonnets and parasols to incense and rouge, the shop was highly favored amongst the fashionable ladies of the ton.

Standing before the giltwood mirror in an empty corner of the noisy shop, Olivia turned her head this way and that, admiring the bonnet’s little pink bows and delicate lace trim.

It was frilly and feminine, a decadent pink concoction that would pair beautifully with her silk slippers with the pink and white stripes. A covetous sigh escaped her lips. She wanted it.

She’d always loved pink, ever since she was a little girl, though she’d worn very little of it this Season. Paxton preferred her in blue, so she wore blue. Lots and lots of blue.

Not that he’d asked her to, of course. The duke seemed to admire her no matter what she wore, but when a girl was attempting to snare a husband, she must use every weapon in her arsenal.

Men were visual creatures. They liked to look at beauty, liked knowing the effort was made for them.

Olivia knew she was pretty. Or, rather, she knew men found her pretty. She’d heard more than enough odes to her beauty over the years to understand there was something about her that men found pleasing to the eye, something that blinded them to her faults.

Yes, she was blessed with a creamy complexion and large, blue eyes. A pleasing figure, full lips, a dainty nose.

An English rose, or so she’d been called.

But she’d also been gifted crooked front teeth, too-pale eyebrows, and one ear that stuck out a fraction more than the other, which she carefully masked with a strategically-pinned curl. Of course, not one of these features had ever found its way into a sonnet.

Men—most of them, at least—seemed to notice only the picture as a whole, missing the details.

How like her to fall in love with one of the few who missed nothing.

Olivia pulled a face, and the looking glass caught it, reflecting it back to her. She was not in love with Griffin. At least, not anymore. Not ever, really.

Oh, she thought she was once, for a little while, but she’d realized soon enough it was nothing more than a girlish infatuation, and only a fool would love a man who did not feel the same. Olivia was no fool.

Still, there is no denying he is a handsome man, she thought, catching sight of him in the mirror. He stood some distance behind her, staring out at the street with his hands clasped behind his back, his strong jaw and big, powerful body illuminated by the muted sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Her heart stuttered. While she’d vowed never to pine over him again, she hadn’t quite managed to eradicate his effect on her. Not completely. The sight of him still made her pulse skip and when he smiled at her—or at a kitten, apparently—her knees weakened. But only a little.

His new role as Emmy’s chaperone was an unforeseen and wholly unwelcome surprise, but there was no reason for her to lose her head over it. She could behave normally—would behave normally—as if this was nothing but a routine shopping trip with Emmy. She needn’t speak to Griffin. Indeed, she would pretend he wasn’t even there.

And she would definitely pretend she hadn’t embarrassed herself before him last Christmas. The incident—that moment of utter madness—never should have happened, but it had, and there was nothing she could do about it now except pretend she’d forgotten all about it and hope Griffin would continue to do the same.

“That’s a pretty bonnet,” Emmy said, coming up behind Olivia and eyeing her reflection in the glass. “Will you buy it?”

“I don’t know,” Olivia said. “Perhaps.” She turned to face Emmy and lowered her voice. “Why didn’t you warn me that your brother would be our escort today?”

Emmy had the grace to look mildly ashamed of herself. “Because I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t come.”

“Yes, I would.”

Emmy raised a brow.

“Probably.” Maybe.

“Well, I thought it best if you had no choice in the matter,” Emmy said, glancing at the front of the shop where her brother still stood. “You’ll have to get used to being around Griffin again someday. You might as well start now.”

Olivia turned to face the mirror again, biting back a frown. Get used to it? Impossible. But she knew Emmy was right. She would have to try. She would have to accept the fact that he disliked her, and ignore it, and refuse to allow his disregard to injure her any further.

She would be a duchess soon, after all, the wife of a powerful duke. What did she care what a mere marquess thought of her?

From now on, she would simply be herself. Silly, spoiled, flirtatious—unabashedly herself. Perhaps even obnoxiously, if the mood should strike.

Plan set, she shoved Griffin from her mind and studied the bonnet again with a critical eye. “Do you think this bonnet suits me?” she asked Emmy. “You don’t think it’s a touch too…frilly?”

She adored the bonnet, but even she had to acknowledge that frills could be overdone.

Emmy cocked her head to one side, studying Olivia’s reflection. “No, I don’t,” she said. “But perhaps we need a third opinion. A male one.”

Before Olivia could stop her, Emmy turned and called out Griffin’s name, beckoning him over.

“Emmy, no,” Olivia hissed. “That isn’t necessary—”

But it was too late. Griffin was already walking over to them, his gaze on his sister. Olivia drew in a breath and turned, clasping her hands at her front.

“What do you think of this bonnet?” Emmy asked him. “I think it is lovely. Simply perfect for a drive through the park with a certain gentleman caller, but Olivia isn’t so sure. What do you think?”

Griffin’s gaze flicked from Emmy to the bonnet to Olivia’s face, and she could feel her cheeks warming beneath his perusal. The seconds felt like hours as he considered his answer, and suddenly, the weight of the moment grew uncomfortable, and the thought of hearing his opinion was simply too much to bear.

She could not stand another of his veiled insults or, worse, an insincere compliment.

“I have no need for your brother’s opinion,” she said lightly as she removed the bonnet and returned it to its perch. “He and the duke have vastly different tastes, after all.” She set about securing the ribbons of her own bonnet, avoiding Griffin’s gaze.

“And besides,” he said, his deep voice laced with amusement, “if I said I liked the bonnet, she wouldn’t want it, and if I said I didn’t, she would.”

Olivia clucked her tongue and forced a serene smile. “Don’t be silly. That would suggest your opinion matters to me and, I assure you, it does not.”

The bell on the door gave a pleasant jangle, interrupting the moment, and two women walked into the shop, one older, the other a younger version, clearly mother and daughter.

“It’s Miss Stanhope and her mother,” Emmy said, heading off to greet them. “Miss Stanhope! What a beautiful shawl. You must tell me where it came from.”

Olivia watched as Emmy joined the ladies, well aware she ought to do the same, but she was too aggravated for social niceties.

Ignoring the infuriating man at her side, she stepped around him and wandered over to the display case of earrings, irritation thrumming through her veins.

No one tested her patience like Griffin. No one. And no matter what she did or how hard she tried, she seemed incapable of containing her temper with him.

Dratted man.

She knew he thought very little of her, but why did he have to be so rude? Why did he derive such pleasure from mocking her, and provoking her temper?

Could he not simply suffer her presence in silence?

She stared at a pair of earrings with unseeing eyes and blew out a frustrated breath. He’d called her a silly, spoiled flirt, and maybe he was right, but surely she wasn’t the only silly, spoiled flirt in London.

So why did he dislike her so much?

When she was a little girl, he’d tolerated her as his younger sister’s little friend, and she’d been fine with that. He’d ignored her more often than not, but he was never mean. It wasn’t until she made her debut that his behavior changed toward her, as if he sensed her budding attraction for him and sought to repel it.

A peal of giggles drew her gaze to the center of the shop where Emmy stood chatting with Miss Stanhope and her mother. Griffin had joined the group, though she knew him well enough to recognize that he didn’t want to be there. His smile was tight, likely due to the fact that Miss Stanhope was flirting with him, her smile coy, her eyes coquettish. Griffin shifted on his feet.

With a soft chortle, Olivia turned back to the display case, pleased as punch to see him suffering so. Petty, perhaps, but she didn’t care. Just add it to my long list of transgressions.

Shoving Griffin from her mind yet again, she studied the display of earrings, searching for a pair that would complement her costume, something in deep blue or bright green.

A slash of scarlet caught her eye, a stunning pair of earrings with gems of bright red, violet and orange intertwined like flames. She stroked one with the tip of her gloved finger, her eyes transfixed on the work of art. They were bold and daring and gorgeous. She adored them.

But Paxton liked her best in blue. Indecision warred within her.

“Those are pretty.”

Olivia stiffened at the intrusion, Griffin’s low voice invading her space. “Yes, they are,” she murmured, her tone impassive even as awareness skittered up her spine.

He was close, too close, his arm scant inches from hers, and the warmth of him, the scent of him—sugared almonds and bergamot—seemed to be everywhere.

He reached out, his forearm brushing hers, and though it was only their sleeves that touched, she felt it all the way to her toes.

“I like the purple pair, too,” he said. “They would make your eyes shine even brighter, I think.”

She blinked, captivated by the sight of his gloved fingers skating over the amethyst beads like a caress. A compliment from the Marquess of Keswick? Surely she was dreaming.

Bemused, she looked at him, wary of what she might find in those dark gray eyes of his, but for once there was no mockery, no judgment.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I—”

Another peal of giggles erupted behind them, and Olivia turned at the sound, peering over her shoulder in time to catch Miss Stanhope sneaking a glance at Griffin with covetous eyes. Her gaze snapped to Olivia’s and her lips thinned before she looked away, her nose in the air.

Ah. There it is. The reason for the anomalous compliment.

“You’ve found yourself a new admirer, I see,” she said crisply, turning back to gaze at the earrings again. “Is that why you’re here, paying me false compliments? You’re hiding from the girl?”

She shot him a sidelong glance, masking the hurt behind an amused smile. Griffin’s gaze met hers then dipped to her mouth and lingered for a beat before falling to the display case.

“Gentlemen do not hide,” he corrected. “We evade.”His tone was light, though his voice had deepened to gravel.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Olivia nodded with faux solemnity. “How silly of me.”

Absently, she reached out and systematically straightened the row of earrings with her forefinger until they all fell in line like good little soldiers.

Another burst of female laughter trumpeted behind them, startling her, and she snorted a laugh, her shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.

“It isn’t funny,” Griffin grumbled.

“Oh, but it is,” she said through trembling lips. “I feel as though I’ve walked into the middle of a mating ritual.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “This is why I avoid places like this. It isn’t safe for me here, with all these women around, falling at my feet.”

Olivia shot him a dubious look. “Falling at your feet?”

He shrugged. “Practically.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Well, you can hardly blame the girl for trying to catch you,” she said. “You are single, after all, and—”

“And devastatingly charming? Dangerously handsome?” His half-smile was both in spades, but Olivia ignored it and rolled her eyes.

“Deliriously rich, then,” Griffin offered.

She smirked. “I was going to say a marquess.”

He cocked his head to one side, his gaze quizzical. “Meaning what? That women wouldn’t want me as much if I weren’t a marquess?”

“No,” she said cheerfully. “Meaning, they wouldn’t want you at all.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Griffin’s mouth, and Olivia couldn’t help herself. She smiled back at him. Their gazes held for a moment, and she allowed herself the luxury of admiring his eyes, stormy gray, mischievous, arrogant. Wholly irresistible.

Resist.

She turned from him, her heart thudding in her chest, ridiculously affected by the man beside her, despite his opinion of her. His rejection of her. Fool.

Drawing in a slow, brain-clearing breath, she moved farther down the long table of goods, past the earrings and gloves until she came to the display of hand-painted silk fans nestled into one corner. She paused to admire the colorful assortment of butterflies and blossoms and seascapes, each design unique and expertly painted, and so beautiful people traveled from all over England to buy one.

Olivia treasured her own, a jungle forest of vivid reds and purples and greens. Perhaps she should treat herself to another.

“I’ll have you know,” Griffin said, coming up beside her. “My company is highly sought after. I’m told I make a charming companion.”

His voice was low but light, his big body dwarfing the already crowded space and self-preservation had her shifting away from him, as far as the little corner would allow.

“Are you, indeed?” she asked mildly, picking up a fan painted with purple pansies. “I wouldn’t know. You’ve certainly never tried to charm me.”

He cocked his head to one side, slipping his hands in his pockets. “Would you want me to?”

Yes.

The word teetered on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it whole. And then she lied. “Of course not,” she said, studying the fan with feigned interest. “And, anyway, it would be an exercise in futility. I am immune to your charms.”

She could feel his eyes on her, a whisper of awareness prickling at the nape of her neck, and she forced her chin up to meet his gaze.

He arched one brow and a smile toyed with the corners of his lips as his gaze dipped to her mouth. “I think we both know that isn’t true, Olivia.”

She stiffened as his meaning sank in, and embarrassment followed, flooding her face with heat. He was thinking of last December, of her moment of weakness beneath the mistletoe, and was using it against her. Awful man.

“Pardon me,” she said faintly, her throat suddenly very dry. “I need to look at the earrings again. The blue ones. Paxton is sure to adore them. He does like to see me in blue.”

She brushed past him, biting her tongue lest it try to run away from her completely.

Her skin prickled beneath the weight of his stare, delving, distracting, and more than a little perplexing. Just like the man.

She reached the earrings display and, with her head down, inhaled a deep, calming breath. Being around Griffin should not be this difficult. All she had to do was act as if he meant nothing to her, as if everything was as it used to be, but all it took was one allusion to that night in December and her composure crumbled like dried rose petals.

Avoidance. That was the answer. She must avoid him as much as possible. Speak only when spoken to, display nothing but cordiality, and avoid, avoid, avoid.

How difficult could it possibly be?