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

Chapter Fifteen

Hunched over the escritoire in the drawing room, Olivia touched the tip of her quill pen to her cheek and studied the list of names before her. “No,” she muttered, slashing a line through Viscount Amberson’s name. “Far too fond of horses.”

With a weary sigh, she leaned back in her chair and rolled her shoulders to loosen the knots. She’d been at this for hours, laboring over her list of potential husbands, and the exercise had left her far from optimistic. She knew she was probably being too choosy for someone racing against the clock as she was, but then, it was hard not to be, considering she was selecting the man she would spend the rest of her life with.

Her gaze wandered to the window, and she scowled at the bright blue sky, the cheerful sun, which seemed to be mocking her. A lovely spring day awaited her outside and she was in here, trapped at her desk like a schoolgirl with makeup work to do.

That was what this list felt like. Makeup work. Making up for wasted time.

Her shoulders slumped. How had her life come to this? How had her future gone from happy and hopeful to frighteningly unclear?

In her first Season, she’d been peppered with offers, turning down viscounts and earls and rich pillars of the community as if it were nothing, as if they would never stop coming. She’d been flattered by the offers, of course, but not one of them had actually tempted her to accept.

She’d told herself it was because she wasn’t ready to settle down yet, that she’d wanted to enjoy herself before starting a family. And this had been true, at least in part. But what she hadn’t realized—or perhaps, hadn’t wanted to realize—was that she was waiting for an offer that hadn’t yet come.

An offer that never would come.

She’d been waiting for Griffin, whether she realized it then or not, and had foolishly tossed aside those offers that had come—good offers, like Paxton’s.

“What a ninny I was,” she whispered to herself.

It would be so easy to be angry with Griffin, to blame him for her predicament, but she couldn’t do it. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t feel for her what she felt for him. What she used to feel for him, that is.

It was her own doing, laying all her hopes at his feet, waiting for him to love her. He’d never given her any reason to hope, had never encouraged her or made her think he thought of her as anything more than his sister’s friend.

Yes, he teased her, and some might be tempted to read something in this behavior. But he’d also called her a silly, shallow flirt, so perhaps he’d always poked at her because she annoyed him. It made more sense than the alternative.

Olivia set her pen down and rubbed at her tired eyes. Why was she thinking of Griffin again? She was supposed to be thinking of her future husband, and the Marquess of Keswick certainly did not fit the bill.

He seemed wholly disinterested in taking a bride, and even if he was looking to marry, he wouldn’t marry her. He’d kissed her, yes, and seemed to find her attractive, in a begrudging sort of way, but none of this meant his opinion of her had changed.

You’re the strongest person I know. You’re remarkable.

His words ghosted through her mind, but she shoved them away, ignoring the frisson of pleasure skating up her spine. Perhaps his opinion of her had improved in these last few days, but nothing had changed because of it. He wasn’t in love with her, he wasn’t going to marry her, and she would do well to remember that and shove him from her mind.

Resolutely, she picked up her pen again and turned back to her list of names, determined to finish the task today. There was no time to waste.

“What are you doing?”

Olivia jumped in her seat then threw Emmy a glare over her shoulder. “You nearly scared me half to death!”

Emmy smiled as she perched on the edge of the klismoi chair situated beside the escritoire. “Apologies. I did say your name, but apparently you did not hear me.” Her curious gaze dropped to the sheet of paper on the desk. “What are you working on with such concentration? A love letter?”

Olivia snorted. “Hardly. I’m compiling a list of potential husbands.” She pursed her lips. “It isn’t going very well.”

“Oh.” Emmy’s brow knit. “But I thought—” She broke off, her frown deepening.

“You thought what?” Olivia asked, notching her head to one side.

“Well…” Emmy hesitated. “You know how much I hate to pry—”

“Oh? Since when?”

“However…” She flicked Olivia an unamused glance. “After last night, I’d hoped you would no longer have need for a list of potential husbands.” She speared Olivia with expectant eyes.

“After last night?” Olivia frowned, even as her cheeks grew warm. Did Emmy know what had happened in the drawing room? No. She couldn’t. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Emmy’s brows darted up. “I know you were with Griffin last night. I smelled his soap on you when you finally came back to bed. Attwo o’clock in the morning. Naturally, I assumed something…interesting had happened between you.”

Flashes of wet kisses and skilled fingers and whispered demands rolled through her mind, heating her cheeks anew, but she pushed them away. Something interesting had happened last night, but it wasn’t what Emmy hoped.

“We talked, that’s all,” she said. Well, mostly all. “I couldn’t sleep, and neither could he. We discussed the duke, and I thanked him for the waltz and that was it.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Em, but there was no marriage proposal.”

As much as she loathed keeping secrets from one of her dearest friends, telling Emmy of the kiss—kisses—would only encourage her to play matchmaker, and that was the last thing Olivia wanted.

“Rats.” Emmy huffed a frustrated sigh. “I’d hoped my idiot brother had finally come to his senses.”

“I know you did,” Olivia said, a smile curling her lips. Emmy drove her mad at times, but her loyalty was second to none. “It is never going to happen, though. Your brother does not see me that way, and he never will.”

“I disagree, Livvy. I think he does—”

“Now,” Olivia interrupted, turning back to her list of names, “since you are here, you may help me with my husband list. What do you know of Earl Latimer?”

The message in Emmy’s sigh was obvious, but Olivia ignored it, determined to continue on with her task and forget all about a certain bothersome marquess.

Before she had even picked up her pen, however, there was a soft scratch at the door. She turned to find their diminutive butler, Jessup, standing in the doorway.

“Yes, Jessup?”

“A caller has arrived, my lady. It is His Grace, the Duke of Paxton.”

Olivia’s heart sank. Drat. She was in no mood for a confrontation or an apology or whatever it was he’d come for today.

“You don’t have to see him, Livvy,” Emmy said, her astute gray eyes sympathetic. “Jessup can tell him you are not at home.”

“I know,” Olivia said with an appreciative smile. “But this conversation must happen sooner or later. I might as well get it over with now.”

Emmy nodded. “As you wish. But if you should want me, I will be on the chaise in the corner, trying to control my temper. Call out to me if you need me to punch him for you.”

A small smile curved her lips as she watched Emmy head for the chaise. She turned back to the waiting butler and said, “Thank you, Jessup. You may show His Grace in now.”

“Very well, my lady.”

Olivia rose and made her way to the sofa, standing before it with her hands clasped at her front, her lips stretched into a polite smile.

“Lady Olivia.” Paxton’s voice reached her ears before he’d even entered the room. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsy as he approached, her greeting punctuating the new formality between them. “This is an unexpected visit.”

“Do forgive me for calling so late,” he said, his gaze flicking to Emmy before skittering back to Olivia. “I simply had to speak with you. Will you not sit with me?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Olivia said coolly. “But would you not care for a cup of tea first?”

“Thank you, no.” His hands clenched at his sides, and he swallowed, visibly nervous.

Good. Let him suffer a little.

Olivia sank onto the sofa and clasped her hands on her knees, the picture of patient calm.

“I suppose by now you have learned about me and Miss Withers,” he said as he claimed the seat beside her. His gaze was on his lap, as if he could not bring himself to look at her.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I understand the lady’s mother and yours are good friends.”

His nod was glum. “They’ve known each other since they were girls, and have long desired a match between myself and Miss Withers. To join our families together.”

“I see.” Olivia cleared her throat, disappointment settling over her. Paxton had come to explain, to apologize, probably. It truly was over. “I know how important your mother’s happiness is to you,” she said. “And I wish you and Miss Withers a long and joyful life together.”

Paxton swallowed again, his brown eyes beseeching as they rose to meet hers. “I don’t want to marry her, Olivia. I want to marry you. You know how I feel about you, how I’ve always felt about you. I…admire you so much and I—I’m sorry to have hurt you like this.”

Olivia’s small smile was tight. “I know. I’m sorry, too. If I had accepted your offer last Season, maybe things would be different.”

“I wish you had.”

“So do I.”

Paxton’s gaze flicked nervously to the corner where Emmy sat, and then he reached out and gripped Olivia’s hands in his. “It isn’t too late. I’m not married yet, and no marriage contract has been signed.” His brown eyes were fervent, more fervent than she’d ever seen them. “Please, Olivia. Give me time. That’s all I need, a little more time to bring my mother around to my way of thinking.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap and shook her head. “I don’t think—”

“Please,” he repeated. “I know I have no right to ask this of you, but my heart does not care. My heart wants only you. Will you wait for me? Will you wait just a little while longer before you accept another man? Lord Keswick is a good prospect, I know, but—”

“Lord Keswick?” Olivia’s head came up, her brows drawn together. “What does he have to do with this?”

Paxton’s smile was sheepish. “He is the reason I am here. I saw him earlier at the club and he spoke of you. He was rather tight-lipped with his intentions, but I read between the lines and came straight here.” His cheeks flushed. “I had to see you. I had to ensure you were not lost to me.”

Olivia’s lips parted, confusion fluttering in her chest. Griffin had discussed her with Paxton? But why?

She dropped her gaze to her lap and plucked an imaginary piece of fluff from her gown. “What did the marquess say to you?”

“Not much. I asked him if he intended to court you and he said he hadn’t decided yet. But he left no doubt as to admiration for you.”

Now she was more confused than ever. It was difficult to imagine Griffin, her severest critic, singing her praises to anyone, let alone to Paxton. So why had done it? Why had he—oh.

Of course. That explained it.

Griffin’s snide remarks and veiled insults had made his opinion of the duke more than obvious, specifically his relationship with his mother. Any compliment Griffin might have paid her earlier was simply his way of pranking Paxton for giving in to his mother’s demands.

Olivia parted her lips, intending to set the duke straight and assure him Griffin had only been teasing him. But the words stalled as a thought occurred to her.

Paxton was jealous. The possibility that Griffin might court her, that she might welcome his courtship, had upset the duke so much he’d appeared in her drawing room unannounced and declared his intentions.

What possible benefit was there to setting him straight now?

It was only a small deception, after all. A little white lie, really. Where was the harm in letting him think it was true? Why shouldn’t she use Griffin’s prank to her advantage?

The marriage mart was not an even playing field, not for women. Only a fool would throw away an opportunity like this one, and she could not afford to be foolish.

She still wanted her duke.

“Lord Keswick is a fine gentleman,” Olivia said lightly, her fingers toying with a loose thread on the sofa. “His good opinion is of great importance to me.”

A long beat of silence passed before Paxton spoke again, his tone hesitant. “Are you…considering welcoming his suit?”

She met his gaze. “I think I should, don’t you? He is a wealthy marquess, and you might marry another. I think it would be foolish not to consider him.”

Paxton nodded, though his lips were set in a grim line. “I understand,” he said quietly. “But please, promise me one thing? Promise me you will not rush to accept him. Please, give me a little more time before you do.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap, as if considering his words, and then she nodded. “I will be patient, Your Grace. For as long as I can.”

He excused himself then, determination shining in his eyes as he bowed to her and then quit the room.

Olivia listened for the sound of the front door closing then she slumped against the sofa with a sigh.

“There, you see?” she said to Emmy as she sat down beside her. “Your brother is helping me with the duke. He’s hardly likely to do that if he hoped to marry me himself, is he?”

Confusion creased Emmy’s dark brow. “No,” she said slowly. “I suppose not.” Her voice was thoughtful, but there was a distinct note of disappointment there, as well.

Olivia sighed. Welcome to my life.