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

Chapter Nineteen

Two nights later, Olivia stepped down from the carriage onto the pavement in front of Vauxhall Gardens and tipped her head back to gaze up at the night sky. Not a cloud in sight, she noted with a satisfied smile. It was the perfect canvas for fireworks.

“Thank you, John,” Aunt Augusta said cheerfully as the footman handed her down from the carriage.

The two ladies set off toward the entrance to the pleasure gardens, joining the stream of fellow patrons with the same destination in mind. The clap of Aunt Augusta’s walking stick on the pavement kept time as she hummed an offkey tune, her voluminous emerald-green skirts swishing with every step.

“You’re certainly in a good mood this evening,” Olivia said with amusement.

“I am,” Aunt Augusta said. “It feels good to be out. I was beginning to grow weary of card games.”

“And of Lady Keswick, I imagine.” Olivia sent her aunt a knowing glance.

The lady’s hazel eyes twinkled, but she only said, “I adore Lady Keswick.”

“I know you do,” Olivia said. “But two people can spend too much time together. Even the best of friends.”

Aunt Augusta sighed. “I cannot disagree with that,” she said. “Still, I have to wonder at the swiftness of Lavinia’s recovery. I think, perhaps, it is more wishful thinking than anything else.”

Olivia nodded. “You cannot blame her for it, though. I should hate to be cooped up in bed for two weeks.”

“As would I,” Aunt Augusta said. “I only hope her impatience does not lead to a setback in her ankle’s healing. Regardless, my services are no longer needed, and I have been relieved of duty.” She threw Olivia a sidelong glance. “I hope you are not too disappointed to have your old auntie as chaperone again.”

“Nonsense,” Olivia said, looping her arm through her aunt’s. “You are always my first choice for chaperone.”

“Good,” Aunt Augusta said briskly. “Because you have no choice in the matter.”

Olivia laughed. In truth, she was excited to spend a night out with her aunt. She’d seen very little of her these last two weeks, and Lady Keswick’s mended ankle meant things would return to normal now, which meant she would see more of her aunt. And less of Griffin.

It was for the best, of course. Nothing good came of their spending time together, willingly or not. What had happened during their last encounter was testament to that.

Her cheeks flushed hot as she remembered what they’d done on that bench in Mrs. Lubbock’s garden folly, the whispered words and heated confessions they’d shared. She’d thought of those moments many times these last two days, and still she could not understand how it had happened. Or why.

Why had he kissed her again? And why had she let him? Nothing would come of it—nothing good, at least—and she was nearly betrothed to another man, for heaven’s sake. So why had she allowed herself to fall under his spell again?

What was this effect he had on her that made her lose her senses so?

It was a good thing Lady Keswick’s ankle had healed. It was past time for things to return to how they’d been before, to the sanity and safety of normalcy.

Shoving thoughts of Griffin from her mind, Olivia and her aunt paid for their admittance before stepping through the doors and into the Proprietor’s House, and after a brief walk down a short corridor, finally reached the pleasure gardens.

Hundreds of flickering lamps beckoned, the blue glass globes suspended from posts and obelisks, and even the trees. Twin rows of sturdy oaks framed the Grand Walk before them, casting the long path in a warm, romantic glow.

A large rotunda loomed on their left and from their right, music could be heard from the Orchestra, a tiered wooden building nestled between the Walk and a large grove of deciduous trees where patrons could gather to dance and enjoy the musicians’ skillful play.

“I wish Sophie could be here tonight,” Olivia said as they strolled up the gravel path, passing their fellow patrons with smiles of greeting. “It is odd going to Vauxhall without her. She loves it so much.”

Aunt Augusta smiled. “That she does.”

“Do you remember the first time you brought us here?” Olivia chuckled as memories of that night two years ago filled her mind. “Sophie was like a little girl, watching the tightrope walkers and the fire breathers, her eyes as big as saucers. She talked about it for weeks after.” Her smile dimmed and a sigh escaped her lips.

Aunt Augusta patted her hand, still looped around her aunt’s arm. “You will have many more chances to visit Vauxhall with Sophie, my dear.”

Olivia nodded. “I know. But things will never be the same again, will they? It will never be the three of us, the way it used to be.”

“No. It won’t. But such is life. Nothing can remain the same forever.”

The wistfulness in her aunt’s voice, the bittersweet smile turning her lips, made Olivia pause, and it dawned on her then how much her aunt’s life would change in the coming months. Sophie was already married, and once Olivia followed suit, Aunt Augusta would be alone.

Shame washed over her as she realized how focused she’d been on her own future, giving no thought whatsoever to her aunt’s, or what her plans entailed.

“What will you do, Aunt? After I’ve married?”

She turned to look at her and watched as her aunt drew in a deep breath of air. “I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “I might reside in London, or I might go and stay with my cousin Mary in Bath.” She smiled. “I suppose I’ll go where the wind takes me.”

“I shall miss you,” Olivia said. “It will be strange not seeing you every day.”

“I know, dearest. I know. But I will write to you every week, and I will visit you often. So often, in fact, that you will hardly have a chance to miss me.”

Olivia gave her a small smile, though it was sad. She was sad. How would she get by without her aunt there with her, as she’d always been?

“And pretty soon,” Aunt Augusta went on cheerfully, “you will start a family of your own, and you will be far too busy with your brood of children to even notice I’m not there.”

Olivia nodded, unconvinced but heartened a bit by the mention of children. “I am looking forward to having a baby. I hope I will be a good mother.”

“You will be,” Aunt Augusta said, patting her hand again. “After all, you come from a long line of excellent mothers. You never met your mother’s mother—your grandmother—but she was a wonderful woman, and she adored your mother. Just as your mother adored you.”

Olivia smiled, hugging her aunt’s arm as they followed the path, the colored lamps lighting their way.

What would she have done without this woman? What sort of person would she be now if not for the love and guidance she’d received from her all these years? Aunt Augusta had played such an important part in her life, had always been there for her, when she didn’t have to be.

She was her great-aunt, her grandmother’s sister, a grandmother Olivia never knew. Aunt Augusta had never owed her a thing, and yet, she’d taken her under her wing and provided the love and attention she’d so desperately craved.

Olivia would be forever grateful for that.

An hour or solater, at Aunt Augusta’s announcement that she was beyond famished, Olivia and her aunt made the short trek to the pavilion where they rented a supper box.

As they passed the colonnade of boxes on their way to their own, Olivia’s name was called out.

“Lady Olivia!”

She turned and spotted the Duke of Paxton in one of the supper boxes, his face wreathed in smiles. His mother sat beside him, as rigid and unapproachable as ever in a high-necked gown of olive-green wool.

“Good evening, Your Graces,” Olivia said as she approached, Aunt Augusta beside her. “What a delightful surprise to see you here.”

She bobbed a curtsy in greeting to the duchess and received a regal nod in return.

“Are you enjoying your evening?” Paxton asked, setting his glass on the table and cupping both hands around it.

“Oh, yes. We are having a lovely time,” Olivia said with a bright smile. “We have just rented a supper box. Aunt Augusta is hungry.”

“Famished, in fact,” her aunt said, the hint not subtle in the slightest.

“I suggest you avoid the ham, Lady Augusta,” the duchess said, wrinkling her nose. “The fare tonight was less than satisfying, and the portions less than generous.”

“But the arrack punch more than makes up for it,” Paxton said, raising his glass. “I tried to convince Mother to order a glass of her own, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

His easy smile suggested he might have had his fair share of said punch this evening.

“Rum punch is not a suitable drink for ladies,” the duchess intoned. “Indeed, it is barely suitable for gentlemen.” She peered down her nose at his glass and gave a disapproving sniff.

Olivia dipped her head to mask her amusement.

“Thank you for warning me on the ham, Your Grace,” Aunt Augusta said to the duchess, clearly battling a smile of her own. “Olivia and I will leave you to your meal now. I do hope you enjoy the fireworks later.”

Olivia bobbed a curtsy and turned to follow after her aunt, but the duchess’s voice stopped her.

“Lady Olivia?”

She turned back, surprise surely showing in her eyes. The duchess rarely addressed her. “Yes, Your Grace?”

The lady’s smile was not warm, but it was considerably less frosty than Olivia was accustomed to receiving from her. “I would like to invite you and your aunt to take tea with me,” the duchess said. “Perhaps later in the week?”

Olivia blinked. “Oh. I—yes, of course, Your Grace. We should be delighted.”

The duchess inclined her head. “Very good,” she said. “You may expect an invitation from me soon.”

A summons, more like. But Olivia was too stunned to be irritated by the duchess’s queenly manner. Too stunned and too thrilled. She didn’t dare look at Paxton, lest she break into a triumphant grin.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

She bobbed another farewell curtsy and then she and Aunt Augusta made their way to their rented supper box and sat down at the table.

Aunt Augusta propped her walking stick against the empty chair beside her and sent Olivia a speaking glance. “Tea with the duchess,” she said. “That is certainly a good sign.”

Fighting the urge to grin, Olivia glanced down at the menu and pretended to peruse the fare. “Paxton assured me he was chipping away at his mother’s resistance, but I wasn’t certain I believed him.” She pursed her lips. “I hope our visit goes well.”

“It will, dearest,” Aunt Augusta said. “Simply be yourself and everything will be fine. Now”—she slipped the menu from Olivia’s hands—“let’s see what less-than-satisfying fare appeals to me tonight.”

Olivia laughed. “I’m more interested in the punch.”

“So am I, truth be told.” Aunt Augusta’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “But you heard the duchess. Rum punch is not a suitable drink for ladies of refinement.”

Olivia sighed. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind being a little less refined on occasion.”

“Well, that is an odd thing for a hopeful-duchess to say.” Aunt Augusta flicked a pointed glance in the direction of Paxton and his mother. “If everything goes as you hope it will, you shall have a lifetime of refinement ahead of you.”

Olivia’s brows dipped and she parted her lips to reply, but she had none. Her aunt was right. Life as a duchess would be different from the life she knew now. Better in some ways, yes, but more restrictive, too, with greater responsibilities.

“Oh, dear. Have we interrupted an argument?”

Olivia’s head came up as Lady Keswick approached, pausing at the edge of their supper box. Griffin was with her, his gaze trained on Olivia’s face, and she flushed hot at the sight of him, memories of their last meeting flooding her mind.

“Lavinia!” Aunt Augusta blurted out. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Lady Keswick’s brows rose. “Isn’t it obvious, Augusta? I’ve come to ruin your evening.”

Olivia bit back a grin.

“That isn’t what I meant,” Aunt Augusta said. “I am only surprised to see you—”

“I know, I know.” Lady Keswick shooed her words away with a wave of her gloved hand. “I was only teasing you. It was an impulse, wanting to come here tonight, and my wonderful son agreed to escort me.”

She turned to Griffin with a beaming smile, which he returned with a gallant bow of his head. Olivia’s heart melted a little at the obvious affection in his eyes as he smiled at his mother, and she forced herself to look away.

“Well, now you’re here, would you like to join us?” Aunt Augusta asked, motioning at the table.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Lady Keswick said, and then she entered the supper box and waited while Aunt Augusta moved her walking stick out of the way, eyeing the appendage with wary distrust as she claimed the chair beside her.

Griffin sat down in the empty chair at Olivia’s other side as the two older ladies bent over the menu to discuss what they would order.

“How are you?” Griffin asked, his voice a low murmur. He leaned his elbows on the table and crossed his forearms, flouting etiquette, and Olivia caught a whiff of his soap, sweet and spicy and wholly him.

She cleared her throat. “I’m very well, thank you,” she said with all the nonchalance she could manage. “No Emmy tonight?”

He shook his head. “She’s at home with a headache, I’m afraid. But Mother wanted to visit Vauxhall, so…” He trailed off with a shrug, as if to say, what else could I do?

Olivia smiled. “You’re a good son.”

“I do try.” He turned his head, his gaze flicking to the dance floor and then back to hers. “Will you dance with me?”

She hesitated, tempted to accept, even as the offer surprised her. She’d had no idea what to expect when she saw him again, no idea how he would behave with her after what they’d shared in Mrs. Lubbock’s folly.

Evidently he was still willing to help her catch her duke.

But dancing with him, touching him, did not seem wise, not after all that had happened between them, even if it was solely for the duke’s benefit.

“It is kind of you to offer, Griffin,” she said, “but unnecessary. The duchess has—”

“Hang the duchess,” he whispered, mischief sparking in his eyes. “Dance with me, Olivia.”

It was the look in his eyes that convinced her. There was no resisting it, the warmth, the daring there in those dark gray depths, urging her to say yes.

She nodded once and Griffin rose to his feet, holding out a gloved hand. She placed her fingers on his palm, ignoring the shiver of warmth working its way up her arm as she stood and followed him onto the dance floor.

The orchestra plucked the beginning strands of a waltz as Griffin shifted her hand to his shoulder and settled his long, powerful fingers around her waist. Her skin burned beneath his touch. Oh, she loved the feel of his hands on her body.

Thoughts of their last encounter invaded her mind as he guided her around the dance floor in slow, sweeping circles, and her throat went dry at the memory of his hands on her flesh, his mouth hungry for hers, his whispered words in the dark.

She’d thought of little else since then, but it was clear Griffin did not suffer from the same malady. He was behaving as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But then, perhaps that was exactly what it had been for him. Perhaps it was something very ordinary to him, something that occurred as regularly as the sun rose.

It was silly of her to allow what had happened to go to her head. It had been an extraordinary occurrence, but it was over now, a fading memory, and it would do no good to dwell on it. Especially not here.

“You’ve gone awfully quiet,” Griffin murmured, his voice low and keen with interest. “What are you thinking about?”

She would rather swim naked in a leech-infested lake than answer that question truthfully, so she looked up at him and blurted out the first thought that popped into her head.

“How many lovers have you had?”

Surprise flashed in his eyes, mirroring her own bemusement, but she did not take the question back. It was not what she’d meant to say, but it was out there now and, right or wrong, she wanted to hear the answer.

“Five,” he said evenly.

She blinked. “Five?” Skepticism threaded her voice, and she nearly trod on his toes.

“Yes, five,” he repeated, arching a single dark brow. “Shall I name them for you?”

“Of course not!”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and she realized he was teasing her. Only their position on a public ballroom floor kept her from scowling at him.

“I told you before,” he said softly, “my reputation is greatly exaggerated.”

Olivia eyed him, searching his face for signs of deception but his expression was open, his gaze frank.

Even so…five? Surely that could not be right. His reputation as a rake and a rogue was well known amongst the ton, if not well documented. How could he have earned such a reputation without…earning it?

And was it five before her? Or five including her? Could she even count herself as one of his lovers? She had no idea if what they’d done in the folly qualified, but she would sooner die than ask.

Besides, it hardly mattered, did it?

“Are you disappointed?”

The amusement in his voice drew her gaze and she shook her head. “Surprised, that’s all. I always thought of you as a great lover of women.”

Like a handsome bird flitting from branch to branch, singing his songs of seduction. It was an odd feeling, reassessing an opinion she’d always thought to be an incontrovertible truth.

“You seemed happy enough two nights ago,” Griffin said, his voice low, his eyes alight with mischief.

Warmth flooded her cheeks, and she gave him a scolding look. “You know that is not what I meant.”

His smile deepened as he whirled her around the dance floor, and he fell silent for a long moment, his eyes thoughtful, as if examining a truth he’d never considered before.

A rare moment of uncertainty from the ever-confident Marquess of Keswick.

“I like women, of course,” he said finally, the words slow and measured like a newly-born thought. “And I am well aware of my reputation as a prolific lover. I have done nothing to refute it because what I do is nobody’s business but my own.”

Olivia pressed her lips together. If only women were afforded the same freedoms.

“I enjoy lovemaking, but I am not some rutting beast.” His voice was quiet, his eyes serious and steady on hers. “When I take a lover, it is because I want her. Because I like her and enjoy spending time with her.”

She nodded her understanding, even as envy thickened her throat and tightened her chest. Her gaze fell to the simple folds of his white cravat and she briefly closed her eyes. What was it like, being Griffin’s lover? Being desired by him? Chosen by him? What was it like to have more of him than she’d already had?

What was it like to have all of him?

She looked up at his face, a tangle of emotions tying her belly in knots. “Did you love them?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

His gaze met hers and he smiled. “No.”

It was one of his enigmatic smiles, equally irresistible and irritating, and Olivia could not tell whether he was laughing at her or at himself. She fought to keep her expression clear, trying to sort through her emotions. Was it silly to feel relieved? Griffin did not love her, but neither did he love someone else. That shouldn’t matter, but somehow it did.

Foolish girl.

Blessedly, the music drew to a close, signaling an end to the waltz. Olivia pasted a smile on her lips and exited the dance floor on Griffin’s arm.

Her gaze collided with Paxton’s on the way back to her supper box, and the unhappy look on his face filled her with guilt, but she shoved the feeling away. She had done nothing wrong. He was not her husband nor even her betrothed, and there was no reason she should not dance with other men.

“Thank you for the dance, my lord,” she said to Griffin as they neared the supper box, tossing him an airy smile.

“The pleasure was all mine, petal.”

His voice was a husky whisper, intended only for her ears, and Olivia’s throat went dry as a desert. She tore her gaze from his and swallowed hard, struggling for composure as tingles skittered up and down her body.

Dratted man.

Were his intimate words and affectionate looks genuine? Or was it all for Paxton’s benefit?

It all felt so real, so thrilling, but how could she trust her own senses where Griffin was concerned?

And if it was real, what did it even matter? What would it change?

Straightening her shoulders, she shoved the last remnants of their waltz from her mind and entered the supper box, her smile and her self-preservation firmly restored.

Griffin’s behavior was baffling and intriguing, but she could not allow him to distract her from her goal. She could not afford to play the fool again. Not when she was so close to securing the future she’d worked so long and so hard for.

She’d come too far to squander her time on fantasies best left abandoned.