Chapter Seventeen
Oh, how the tables had turned.
Olivia smiled to herself as she slipped into the night, her soft-soled slippers silent on the granite stone floor of the terrace.
Only days ago, it was she who had lured Paxton into the gardens for a kiss, and now, here she was, meeting him for a tryst at his invitation.
Stepping out onto the lawn, she made her way into Mrs. Lubbock’s well-groomed garden and headed toward the decorative folly nestled within a tidy grove of cherry trees bursting with blooms.
Miss Winters was here tonight, as well, but Paxton had only danced with her once and only because his mother had asked him to. Otherwise, he’d barely left Olivia’s side, and had claimed both a waltz and a quadrille from her. Yes, he was being most attentive tonight.
And it was all thanks to Griffin.
Odd, that. Never in a thousand years would she have guessed that Griffin, the Marquess of Keswick would one day help her catch her duke.
“Over here,” came a whispered hiss from the folly, a miniature Chinese pagoda painted red and gold.
Squinting into the darkness, she spotted Paxton, tucked away in the shadows, beckoning to her with his hand. A smile touched her lips and she went to him, satisfaction warming her insides.
Here it is, she thought. The moment has finally come. Paxton would at last claim his kiss, the kiss of a man courting the woman he hoped to marry, one he should have claimed ages ago.
“Thank you for meeting me,” Paxton said, making room for her on the wooden bench. “I know this is…unusual.”
Olivia sat and settled her shawl around her shoulders against the bite in the night breeze. “I admit, I was surprised by the invitation,” she said. “Considering what happened the last time we were alone in a garden together.”
He had the grace to look mildly sheepish. “I know. I behaved like a nincompoop.” He sighed. “I was…nervous, you see. And worried.”
She shot him a quizzical look. “Worried?”
“Of disappointing you.”
She shook her head, her smile gentle. “It is only a kiss, Paxton. It is not a test with only one chance at passing it.”
He nodded, doubt still wrinkling his brow. “I know, but…” He swallowed, the workings of his throat audible in the quiet. “I…am not a man of experience, you see. I—I’ve never kissed a woman before.”
Oh. Olivia’s consternation eased as understanding—and surprise—came over her. It made sense now, his reluctance to kiss her. It was all down to his male pride. She should have guessed. If she’d learned one thing about men over the years, it was how much they hated to look foolish.
Taking Paxton’s hands in hers, she smiled at him. “That is nothing to be ashamed of, Your Grace. On the contrary, I think it speaks well of your character. It shows you to be a gentleman of patience and restraint, and those are qualities any man would be glad to have.”
Paxton puffed out his chest a bit, clearly pleased by her assessment. “Thank you, Lady Olivia.”
His gaze roved over her face, and Olivia held on to her smile, hoping it conveyed her understanding, her patience. She would not press him this time. If he wanted this kiss, he would have to claim it.
“May I kiss you now?” he asked, his voice hesitant yet hopeful.
“You may.”
He leaned in, slowly and somewhat awkwardly, and Olivia’s eyes drifted closed. His warm, minty breath puffed against her lips and then his mouth touched hers, soft and cool and respectful.
And then it was over.
She opened her eyes and returned Paxton’s smile, even as a tiny frisson of disappointment skittered down her spine. She squashed it.
So there had been no jolt of pleasure, no spark of desire. It was only one kiss, and it was his first. Their first.
It will get better, she told herself. It will.
“Thank you, Lady Olivia.” Even beneath the shadows, she could see the pink in his cheeks, and he looked rather pleased with himself.
She dipped her head, hoping to look demure as she hid her smile. At least the duke had enjoyed their kiss.
“We should probably return to the ballroom,” he said, clearing his throat. “We’ve been gone for quite some time.”
Olivia nodded. “And your mother will certainly be looking for you.”
“Yes. She certainly will.” He rose and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
She shook her head. “You go on. I would like to stay here for another minute or two. I am still overwarm from all the dancing I’ve done tonight.”
Paxton hesitated, as if he couldn’t decide whether he should leave her there or stay. She made the decision for him.
“Go on, Paxton,” she said with a smile. “I will be along shortly.”
He wavered another beat and then sketched a bow before turning and heading for the house.
Olivia watched him cross the lawn and disappear from sight. Then she slumped against the bench and blew out a heavy sigh.
Well, Paxton had finally done it. After weeks and weeks of waiting, he’d finally kissed her. And it had been fine.
She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting exactly, but she had to admit, she’d expected better than fine. Still, it was a beginning, and a good sign that he meant what he said. He wanted to marry her, so much so that he’d given her his first kiss.
Rising from the bench, she strolled to the opposite end of the pagoda and rested her shoulder against the first pillar she reached.
Tucking her shawl around her chilled arms, she gazed out at the darkened garden beyond and drew in a breath of cool night air, faintly scented with new grass and cherry blossoms.
She smiled, still thinking of Paxton’s blushing cheeks and the bashful way he’d asked her for a kiss. He really was the sweetest of men, so respectful and considerate. She would be fortunate to call him husband.
“Well? Was it magnificent?”
A sputtered gasp escaped her lips, and she whirled around, her hand at her throat. “Griffin?” She squinted at the figure reclining on a wooden bench. “What are you doing out here? Did you followme?”
His lips curved into a smile, just visible in the dark. “I was here before you, Olivia.”
“Hm.” Her galloping heart slowed to a trot, and she leaned against the pillar again, folding her arms across her chest. “I haven’t interrupted another tryst, have I?”
He chuckled. “No. There is no tryst. I came out here for a breath of fresh air, nothing more.”
The tension in her shoulders eased a bit and she nodded, though she knew he likely could not see the motion in the dark. Her gaze dropped to her slippers, and she studied the pink satin bows on her toes. A little sigh escaped her lips. What an unusual evening this was turning out to be.
“Speaking of trysts…” Griffin said, his voice low and teasing. “Was it magnificent like you hoped?”
Her jaw clenched and she ignored the question for a moment, irritated by it, and by him for remembering those silly words she’d uttered that night at the opera.
Paxton will kiss me when the time is right, and when he does, it is sure to be magnificent.
“You know that is none of your business, Griffin,” she said with a disapproving sniff.
He smiled. “That bad, was it?”
“It wasn’t bad,” she shot back with more venom than was warranted, but really, her first kiss with Paxton should have been private, dash it all.
Why had Griffin gone to the pagoda for fresh air? Why did he always seem to be there to witness her most vulnerable moments?
“But it wasn’t magnificent, either,” Griffin said, and it wasn’t a question, as if he knew her thoughts.
She could feel his gaze on her, curious and encroaching. Why she chose to answer him truthfully was anyone’s guess.
“It was pleasant,” she said. “It wasn’t the best kiss I’ve ever received, but it wasn’t the worst, either. Far from it, actually.”
Griffin shifted on the bench seat and crossed one leg over the other in a distracting display of graceful, unhurried strength. She swallowed. He moved like no other man she had ever known. It was frustrating how regularly she seemed to notice.
“Tell me about it,” he said. “Your worst kiss. Who gave it to you?”
“You want the gentleman’s name?” She shot him a reproachful look. “Would that not violate some centuries-old code of honor amongst men?”
He smiled at that. “Come. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Well…” She wrinkled her nose. “It was Roger Osterbrook, if you must know. He had fishy breath and presumptuous hands.” The unpleasant memory sent a shudder up her spine.
“Did he harm you?” Griffin’s voice was low but hard as iron, and a silly little thrill shot through her. She ignored it.
“No, but I did harm him,” she said with no small amount of satisfaction. “I kneed him right in his delicate bits.”
He chuckled. “Good.”
A companionable silence settled between them and neither said a word for several moments as a gentle breeze rustled the trees around them. A lone nightingale trilled in the distance, its song soft and sweet.
Olivia shifted on her feet and let her head fall against the smooth pillar. She should probably return to the party soon. She would be missed.
Perhaps just a few minutes more.
“Does that happen often?” Griffin asked her, his tone quietly curious. “With men?”
She lifted her head. “What? Presumptuous hands?”
“Yes.”
“Not terribly often, no.” She threw him a reproachful look but kept her tone light. “I don’t let just anyone kiss me, you know. Silly and shallow I may be, but I am not totally without scruples.”
His chest rose and fell with his sigh. “I know you’re not,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said those things. It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
She swallowed, surprise and pleasure warming her chest. She had not expected an apology from him.
“I admit to enjoying the company of gentlemen,” she said with a shrug, “but I am not a flirt.” A rueful smile tugged at her lips. “I can understand why you would draw such a conclusion, though, after my behavior that night in the Stevensons’ library.” Her gaze fell to the floorboards, and she toyed with the fringe on her shawl. “I am not usually so forward, but I had overindulged on mulled wine and I’m afraid it made me a bit…foolish.”
She looked at him, saw his lips curl at the corners, but she could not decipher the message in his smile.
“Was that the only reason?” he asked. “The mulled wine?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I will admit to feeling some small measure of curiosity, as well. I did wonder a time or two what it would be like to kiss you.”
This, it seemed, was a night for confessions.
“Only a time or two?” Griffin pressed a hand to his heart as if wounded.
She rolled her eyes, battling a smile. “Yes, during those rare moments when I wasn’t fantasizing about strangling you instead.”
He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dark. “So?” he asked. “What was it like?”
He would ask that, the scoundrel.
She held silent for a long beat, chewing on her lip as if giving the question a great deal of thought. “You are…not unskilled,” she finally said.
“A glowing endorsement.”
The wry drawl brought a smile to her lips. “But surely the Marquess of Keswick, breaker of hearts, needs no endorsement from me. Your reputation is endorsement enough already.”
He huffed out a sigh. “My reputation is greatly exaggerated.”
She wondered at that remark, and nearly asked him what he meant by it, but something made her hesitate. His reputation was none of her business, true, but it was more than that. It was self-preservation.
She did not want to think better of him. Her defenses were shaky enough already.
“Well, I envy your exaggerated reputation,” she said. “Men may do as they please, while us women must be good every day of our lives.” She shook her head. “If the ton knew I had kissed fourteen different gentlemen, I would surely be tossed out of London like so much spoiled fruit.”
“You’re right,” he said quietly. “It isn’t fair.”
“No, it isn’t.” She had long thought society’s dictates were unjust, but what could she do about it? One must have power to effect change, and women were all but powerless. Perhaps one day that would not be so.
“Fourteen, eh?” Griffin said thoughtfully.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Too many for your delicate sensibilities?”
He smiled. “Certainly one too many from Roger Osterbrook.”
“True.”
He draped an arm along the back of the bench and cocked his head to one side, regarding her openly. “So, if Osterbrook gave you your worst kiss…”
Olivia froze.
“...who gave you your best?”
The question grated like an unwelcome surprise, and she turned her back on it, shifting to face the garden where his knowing gaze could not reach her.
“That is an impertinent question, as you well know.” Her tone was light, but with a hint of warning, too; one she hoped he would heed.
The bench creaked and then Griffin was beside her, his hands in his pockets, his gaze on the sky. “I’d still like to hear the answer,” he said.
Gripping the ends of her shawl, she stepped forward, away from him, his proximity a complication she could not afford. Not if she wanted to keep her wits about her.
“You first,” she said, infusing the words with a teasing lilt. “Who gave you the best kiss you’ve ever had?”
“You.”
She froze, warm tingles unfurling in her belly. She heard the shuffle of his footsteps as he drew near, felt the warmth of his body at her back, and she let out a breathless little laugh as she turned to face him.
“You’re teasing me,” she said faintly, searching his face for a smile, a glint of mockery and finding none.
He shook his head. “No.”
“No?”
Her breath stuttered as his hands curved around her waist and gently pulled her in, his eyes ablaze.
“No,” he whispered. And then he covered her lips with his.