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

Chapter Twenty-Three

The next sennight passed in relative peace as Olivia settled back into the normalcy of daily life. She attended church service, planted a new rose bush in the garden out back, and even completed the embroidery sampler she’d been working on for the past several months.

Tuesday brought a new letter from Sophie—though, thankfully, she’d received not a word from her father—and on Wednesday, she and her aunt took tea again with the Duchess of Paxton. Not the most enjoyable hour Olivia had ever spent, but the duchess seemed to be warming to her, and her coconut cakes were divine.

Despite how busy she kept herself, her thoughts often strayed to Griffin. How could she help it after the evening they’d shared together? It was an experience she would always remember, but now that it was over, she knew she must let him go.

She’d only seen him once since that night in his bed, and only in passing, a swift ‘good afternoon’ as they passed each other in the hall. Her heart had stuttered at the sight of him, and for one brief moment of weakness, she’d imagined an alternate version, in which he’d dropped to his knees and begged her to marry him before sweeping her into his arms and kissing her senseless.

It was a fool’s fantasy, of course, but she was only human, and an occasionally foolish one, at that.

“Olivia?” Paxton’s soft voice drew her gaze to his. “What is your answer? Will you marry me?”

She studied the man seated beside her on the sofa in her drawing room, taking in his hopeful smile, his kind eyes, and she thought of their outing yesterday in a rowboat on the Thames. It was an unusually warm day and the duke, red-cheeked and sweating in his beautifully-tailored suit, must have been miserable beneath the hot afternoon sun, but he never uttered a single word of complaint. He just seemed happy to be with her.

And she knew, if she asked him to, he would do it all over again.

“Yes, Paxton,” she said with a smile. “I will marry you.”

“Excellent.” He beamed and took her hands in his, leaning forward, his eyes dipping to her lips. “May I claim a kiss from my betrothed?”

She nodded and his lips pressed to hers, soft, cool, respectful. A sweet kiss from her sweet husband-to-be.

“Well,” he said, drawing back, his brown eyes bright with contentment. “I suppose I should leave you now. I have some news to share with my mother”—he grinned—“and I’m sure you will wish to speak with your aunt straightaway.”

She nodded again, her lips tiring from the strain of so much smiling. “Yes, of course. She will be most pleased.”

“And I will see you tonight at Almack’s?” Paxton asked.

“Yes, I will be there.”

“Excellent,” he said again. “I cannot wait to dance my first waltz with my betrothed.”

He waggled his eyebrows and Olivia widened her smile before rising to her feet, suddenly anxious for him to leave.

The duke bowed and bid her farewell, and Olivia watched him walk from the room, listening for the sound of the front door closing before sinking to the sofa again. She fell back against the cushion with a heavy sigh and closed her eyes.

Good heavens, he could be exhausting sometimes.

But she supposed she would have to get used to it. He was to be her husband now.

Her eyes popped open as the words took root in her mind. It had finally happened, hadn’t it? She was betrothed now. She would finally be a duchess. It was everything she’d been working toward, everything she’d hoped for since the start of the Season.

She sat up, nibbling her lower lip as hope and uncertainty crossed swords in her belly. Would her father be happy with the news of her betrothal? Would he be proud?

She pictured his face, imagined him gazing down at her with affection in his eyes, a beaming smile curling up the ends of his mustache. Hope won out and she smiled. Soon.

“Knock, knock!”

Olivia sat up with a jolt as Emmy sailed into the room, looking lovely in a muslin morning dress a shade darker than her eyes.

“Emmy.” Olivia’s gaze darted to the clock on the mantel. “Is it time for our outing already? Where is your mother?”

“She is in the garden with your aunt,” Emmy said. “We are a few minutes early.” She plopped down onto a chair across from Olivia and stared at her expectantly. “I passed the duke on my way in. He seemed in unusually high spirits.”

Olivia nodded. “I…just accepted his proposal of marriage.”

“I see.” Emmy was silent for a moment and then her hands clapped together, and her lips stretched into a bright smile. “Well! Congratulations, Duchess.”

“Thank you, Emmy,” Olivia said. “I do appreciate your words of felicitation, even if you don’t quite mean them.”

Emmy shrugged. “I only want you to be happy.”

Olivia noticed her friend had not refuted her charge. “I know you do,” she said. “And I will be. You’ll see.”

“I am certain you’re right, of course, but…” Emmy nibbled at her bottom lip, as if debating whether to speak. “I do think you would be happier with Griffin. Why will you not tell him how you feel?”

Olivia sighed, only just resisting the urge to throw her hands up in exasperation. They’d had this discussion before—more than once, in fact—in the days since she made love with Griffin. When she and Emmy met the next day, she couldn’t bring herself to tell her the truth. At least, not all of it. She said only that she’d lost her nerve and left without confessing her feelings.

“We’ve been through this before,” Olivia said, as evenly as she could manage. “I told you, it would be a waste of time. He does not share my feelings.”

“You don’t know that,” Emmy said. “And I happen to think he does. If you would only talk to him, I am sure he would—”

“No.” Olivia surged to her feet and began to pace, agitation driving every step. “It is done. It is time to move on. Your brother and I…” She shook her head. “It is not meant to be. And I’m engaged to be married, if you remember. I am promised to the duke.”

“But you haven’t married him yet,” Emmy said stubbornly. “You haven’t even signed the marriage contract yet. There is still time.”

“No, Em. Time has run out on that hope. I am ready to move on with my life.” She paused and leaned her arms against the back of the sofa. “Besides, I want a peaceful home, and your brother and I argue far too much to allow for that. We would drive each other to madness before the wedding breakfast was over.”

Emmy returned her smile, though it did not reach her eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps you and Griffin would be miserable together, whereas you and the duke will spend the rest of your days in perfect, polite coexistence.”

Olivia nodded. “Precisely. A pleasant, peaceful marriage is exactly what I want.”

She would write to her father straightaway, of course. The news that his only daughter would soon be a duchess was sure to please him. At least, she hoped it would.

At the very least, he would be happy to learn she had finally chosen a husband as he wanted her to do, but she hoped her betrothal would mean more to him than that. She hoped her choice of husband would make him proud, and maybe even help to bridge the chasm between them. That would make all of this worthwhile.

And if life with the duke was a little dull, a little prosaic, so be it. She could do a lot worse than a dull duke for a husband, could she not?

And if her husband’s kisses left her cold…

Well, there was more to life than passion, and more than one kind of happiness. It would be enough. She would make sure of it.

Griffin leaned forward inthe large leather chair and rested his elbows on his desk, raking both hands through his hair, certain he must be losing his bloody mind. A week had passed since that night with Olivia—seven blasted days—and he swore his study still smelled of jasmine. Ridiculous.

Of course, it didn’t help that the chaise was in here with him, just feet away, an ever-present reminder of the passion they’d shared.

Needless to say, very little work was done these last few days. The memory of Olivia spread out on the chaise, her gorgeous skin flushed pink with exertion, her mouth parted on a silent scream as her quim pulsed around his cock was simply not conducive to concentration.

Of course, he couldn’t blame it all on the chaise nor the room. Wherever he went, whatever he was doing, he thought of her. He ought to be used to it, Olivia under his skin, but this time was different. This time was…lunacy. Madness.

She’d driven him mad with her eager kisses, her soft, curious hands, her gorgeous eyes, darkened to the color of cobalt. The color of desire. And the way she’d moaned his name, as if the taste of it on her tongue pleased her...

Griff groaned. For God’s sake, she was a virgin, not some celebrated courtesan practiced in the art of pleasure. He shouldn’t be mooning over her like a lovelorn lad.

Then why was he? Why could he not stop thinking of her? Why had their lovemaking shaken him to his core?

Frustrated, he shot to his feet, shoving his chair back with unnecessary force. Enough of this. He needed some air, a change of scenery, and then, once this…fog had lifted and he was himself again, he would return to his study to work.

Scooping up Artemis from her favorite chair by the hearth, he made for the door, murmuring his apologies to the irritated kitten who hadn’t yet finished her nap. He turned the knob and opened the door, stepping into the corridor to find Emmy walking toward him.

“Ah, here’s my favorite sister,” he said. “Did you have a successful outing at the shops?”

His question was met with a curiously long silence before she finally answered him. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

Her voice was cool, her gaze even more so, and it was obvious she was displeased with someone. Probably him, though he had no idea what he might have done to upset her. Truth be told, he rarely knew until she told him.

“Is something wrong, Em?”

“Yes, something is wrong,” she said, and the anger in her eyes took him aback. “One of my dearest friends is about to marry a man she does not love because the man she does love is a nincompoop.”

She cocked her head to one side, her brows raised in challenge. “Or is he a coward? I haven’t yet decided.”

Griffin’s lips parted but no words emerged. He was too stunned to form a coherent response, or even to think of one.

“Olivia is going to marry Paxton,” Emmy said slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton. “And you are letting her go without a fight. I don’t understand you, Griffin. You are obviously in love with her. Everyone knows it. Everyone but you, apparently.”

The shock began to wear off as irritation bloomed in its place. Griff inhaled slowly through his nose, wrestling his temper to the floor before he allowed himself to speak.

“I care about Olivia,” he said finally, evenly. “But I am not going to marry her. I’m not going to marry anyone yet.”

His sister shook her head, as if deeply disappointed in him, and Griffin’s jaw tensed with the effort to hold his tongue. Emmy was a meddlesome bother, but he loved her, and he had no wish to say anything he would later regret.

“I understand that you are uncertain of what the future might bring and that frightens you,” Emmy said. “It frightens me, too. But, Griff, I haven’t met the person I’m meant to be with. You have. You’ve found love and you are throwing it away.”

Love? Nonsense. He folded his arms over his chest and shot her a quelling look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She plopped her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Of course I know what I’m talking about. I always know what I’m talking about.” She arched her brows. “I know you think you don’t love Olivia, and I know you think you’re not ready for marriage. But what will happen when you are finally ready? What will you do then, when it’s too late? Olivia will be lost to you, Griff. Forever.”

Her eyes held his, frustrated and imploring, but Griffin pressed his lips together and said nothing, for there was nothing to say. He could not give his sister the answers she craved.

“Now I understand why she lost her nerve,” Emmy muttered. “Who could possibly confess their feelings when faced with such a scowl?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That night in your study,” she said, flinging an arm toward the other end of the corridor. “Olivia went there to ask you to marry her. I told her you were in love with her, and that maybe the reason you hadn’t confessed your feelings yet was because you thought she would only accept a duke.” Her jaw worked. “She went there that night to find out, once and for all, how you felt about her, but she lost her nerve. And I can’t say I blame her.”

Tossing one final look of disgust his way, she turned on her heel and disappeared up the hall.

Stunned, he watched her go, staring into the empty corridor long after she’d gone, her words settling on his brain, heavy as an anvil.

Olivia loved him.

She’d intended to ask him to marry her.

It was unconventional, yes, but that was hardly the point. She’d gone to him that night, intending to confess her feelings, hoping that he would do it first, that he would marry her. That he would want her.

Guilt swamped him, and something else too. Remorse? Regret?

He did care for Olivia. A great deal, in fact, but he hadn’t been lying when he told Emmy he wasn’t ready for marriage. Even the thought of shackling himself to another person made his belly roil.

But then, so did the thought of Olivia marrying the duke.

Paxton was a decent enough fellow, but he would never be able to make Olivia happy. He wasn’t good enough for her, noble title or not. Hell, no one was good enough for Olivia. He couldn’t let her go through with this marriage. Not this like, not when it wasn’t her choice. Not when she was doing it for all the wrong reasons.

It came to him then, what he must do, and he strode down the corridor toward the stairs, determination firming his jaw. His club would have to wait for now.

He was headed to Surrey.