Chapter 2
Olivia’s temper was soaring, and she hadn’t even set eyes on the blasted Fincham lout yet.
She’d just been hearing Jane’s tale of her encounter with the Elliot character and his scandalous words to her.
How dare Mr. St. Clare make her sister feel like some sort of lightskirt? Though Jane was worryingly unoffended.
“He told me I was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. He told me he wants to kiss me, Livvy. How wonderfully romantic!”
Olivia had missed the exchange since she’d been hiding in a corner trying to avoid Alexander Stratford.
It did seem a bit of a waste of her best ivory gown. She had taken an age to pick it. She wanted to look her absolute best so that she was fully prepared to meet Lord Fincham again. Not that she cared what he thought of her, of course. Why should she?
And speaking of Fincham, Olivia had yet to set eyes on the man.
She had asked if her sister if she had seen the man when Jane had finally come hurrying over to find her, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed. But her Jane’s head had been so filled with this St. Clare character that there hadn’t been any mention of Fincham.
Then she’d had to sit tight while Jane rabbited on about the scandalous Elliot St. Clare and romanticised the fact that he was clearly a rake of the highest order.
Jane had been adamant that they were lucky to be included in tonight’s event and would be the epitome sophisticated young ladies for the duration.
Olivia heartily disagreed. They would rise above old childhood foolishness, Jane had demanded, and thank Lord Fincham profusely for the honour of the invitation.
The only thing Olivia wanted to rise above was her hand over her head so she could deal out another slap or two to the arrogant earl’s face.
“I am not,” Olivia responded hotly, “calling him ‘my lord’ and bowing and scraping at him. Lord only knows what he’ll do with that kind of ego elevation.”
“I understand your – ah – issues with the earl, Livvy. But we are ladies with little to no prospects. And this is an opportunity. We mustn’t waste it by holding on to childish grudges.” Jane folded her hands on her lap in that annoyingly ladylike way of hers.
And Olivia felt suddenly weary of the whole thing. She’d been living on nervous adrenaline all day, awaiting the moment of confrontation with Alexander Stratford, and the horrible man hadn’t even had the decency to turn up.
“You are far too trusting of that St. Clare fellow, Jane. You really should be careful,” she said tiredly. She wanted to go home. Yet she couldn’t in good conscience leave Jane alone. And so, she was stuck in this blasted house until Jane agreed to leave.
At that moment, Mr. St. Clare appeared at the sisters’ side. Jane made introductions, and Olivia tried not to scowl too much as she eyed the man’s lecherous countenance.
What on earth did Jane see in the man? He was quite revolting as far as Olivia was concerned.
Handsome enough, perhaps. But his blonde hair was a little too perfect, his blue eyes a little too cold.
Olivia did her best to supress a shudder as he bent over her hand.
She answered all his chit-chat with rigid stoicism and then watched in consternation as he swept Jane away with a hand scandalously low on her waist.
Glancing around the ballroom, Olivia realised that she didn’t know a single person in attendance.
And Jane had left her quite alone. Judging from some of the leers pointed in her direction, she was attracting attention unwanted attention standing here all alone.
It would be safer elsewhere, Olivia decided.
And so, sneaking away from the party, she wandered aimlessly around the darkened hallways of the house, eventually finding her way to the darkened conservatory.
The conservatory was blissfully quiet but unfortunately it wasn’t the best choice of rooms, given the biting cold outside.
Shivering, Olivia went to peruse the shelves of potted plants; most of them sadly empty at this time of year. But some were filled with shrubs and winter flowers, and they gave the room a pleasant, fresh smell.
Much as she tried to stop it, Olivia couldn’t prevent her mind from wandering back again.
She had come to her own conservatory all those years ago after that confusing moment with Alexander Stratford in her father’s garden.
She had been furious; with him for daring to act as though he would kiss her and with herself for wanting it so much.
What the blazes was wrong with her? He had been the enemy, and she had turned to a shameless mess in his strong arms. Thankfully some tiny semblance of common sense had slipped through the unexpected haze of desire and saved her from Lord Fincham. Nay, from herself.
Her embarrassment had been acute as had been her confusion.
Usually, she would have gone straight to Jane to discuss such an event.
But usually she wouldn’t have allowed herself to be touched by the beast, let alone pressed so wantonly against him!
She’d almost been kissed by him! By the arrogant, cocky, Alexander Stratford.
As time had gone on, however, and she had replayed that almost kiss over and over in her mind, she began to na?vely think that perhaps Alexander cared for her. Hard as it was to believe, there was no way he could have held her like that if he hadn’t wanted to, was there?
So it was, that in the space of thirty minutes, Olivia had managed to convince herself that Alexander Stratford had been secretly, desperately in love with her all this time, and that was why he’d put worms in her bedchamber and rotting kippers in her bed.
The poor soul hadn’t had any outlet for his feelings.
And, if she were being honest with herself only, she could admit that as much as she hated him, there was a small but persistent part of her that didn’t hate him at all… that felt quite the opposite.
Most of the gentlemen of her acquaintance were far too young and immature. Or far too intense and inappropriate. Not one of them held even a flicker of interest for her.
But Alexander; Alexander was always so laid back, so relaxed about things. He had a charming manner, a wicked smile, and a penchant for never really taking anything seriously. That had been a heady combination to a young lady in the first flushes of adulthood.
Olivia looked around the conservatory, seeing it as her own had been that day. Hot and humid and filled to bursting with exotic flowers, their colours and smells combining to make her head spin.
Stupidly, she had allowed her mind to wander so far that she could practically hear church bells ring as she and Alexander walked down the aisle, her in a confection of satin and lace, him looking devilishly handsome in wedding clothes fit for a king.
A sudden noise behind her brought Olivia back to the present day, and she whirled round to see the source.
Oh, how she was brought back down to earth with a bang.
As though her memories had conjured him up, there stood Alexander Stratford in all his conceited, handsome glory.
Olivia was horrified at the jolt of lust she felt upon seeing him. Had she learned nothing in the past few years?
It had been three years; here was her chance to show him how sophisticated and singularly unaffected she was by him.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted out, sounding petulant and very much unsophisticated.
“I live here,” he drawled in response, and Olivia ruthlessly pushed away her reaction to his mellifluous voice.
“Here in the conservatory?” she snapped back. “Quite a tumble from lord of the manor.”
He smirked in response.
“I see time has not mellowed the viper, though it has improved you drastically in other areas.”
His heated gaze travelled leisurely down her body and back up making her feel as though she were slowly catching fire. She didn’t know whether to slap him or throw herself at him.
“I would thank you for the compliment, but since it’s you, I can only assume there was an insult in there somewhere.”
This time his smile was a full blown grin, and Olivia almost staggered back at the impact.
The dratted man! He had no business making her stagger.
“If you must know, I followed you in here,” he spoke now, stepping closer to her, his voice quiet and deep and wicked.
“How could you have followed me in here? Nobody knew I was even coming in here, and you weren’t at your own ball.”
“I was at the ball. And I have been watching you all evening.”
Olivia gulped.
If anyone else had said such a thing she probably would have worried for her life. But as awful as Alexander had been over the years, she’d never actually feared him. Rather than make her afraid, therefore, his words made her positively combust.
Stop it, Olivia, she scolded herself, remember how he has tormented you.
Deciding to ignore his words, because really, what sort of answer could she give to that, she focused instead on the reasons for his shadowing her.
“Why did you follow me?” she demanded.
“Perhaps I’m hoping for a repeat of the last time we were alone.”
His words, spoken so softly, had the effect of rendering Olivia entirely speechless. And that was a first.
“Come now, Olivia, do not pretend you have forgotten.” He smirked wickedly, stepping closer to her.
“I-I don’t know what you mean,” she stuttered, desperately wanting to back away from him but refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“Oh, you don’t?” He quirked a brow and Olivia had the ridiculous urge to reach up and run her finger along it. She, who had never been particularly attached to eyebrows in her life.
“No,” she said forcefully, hoping to remind herself, as well as he, that they were sworn enemies, and this was highly inappropriate.
“Hmm. I must admit to a rather bruised ego,” he said with a rueful grin that was much more endearing than it had a right to be. “Perhaps I should pick up where I left off.”
Yes, her body cried out.
“No,” her mercifully more logical mouth said. “You should not.”