Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“Ishouldn’t be wearing colors,” Olivia scolded as she held her hands out toward the fire roaring in the grate. A blissful heat bathed her chilled fingers and made them tingle. “Whatever he might have done, I should still observe a few weeks of mourning. He was my father.”
Devlin settled himself into one of the comfortable-looking leather armchairs that flanked the fire and stretched out his long legs.
“You can wear dark colors in public if you want, but there’s no need to do so here with me.
And you don’t need to pretend to be distraught over his passing, either.
God knows, the man doesn’t deserve to be honored.
Not when he’s left you in such an awful position. ”
Olivia bit her lip. It was hard to argue with him when she secretly agreed. Wearing six weeks of mourning seemed a little hypocritical. A performance required by the public, instead of a heartfelt desire.
“Besides, black isn’t your color at all,” he continued with a sly smile.
“You should be wearing red, my sweet. Or midnight blue. Something to complement that all that dark hair and pale skin.” His eyes slid down her body in a leisurely inspection that warmed her far more effectively than the flames in the hearth. “Or better yet, nothing at all.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she ignored his provocative comment and cleared her throat. “I will accept your hospitality for one night, Your Grace, but if you’ll be so kind as to lend me your coach, or a horse, I’ll be on my way back to London first thing tomorrow.”
“No you won’t. Not on your own.”
“Then perhaps you’ll send a maid, or a footman, as a companion?”
“Can’t spare anyone, I’m afraid,” he said with an obnoxiously smug smile. “I’m going to need every pair of hands here, for the party on Twelfth Night. It’s going to be as scandalous as your uncle predicted.”
Livvy rolled her eyes. “It can’t be that scandalous if the duke and duchess of Wansford are coming.”
His lips twitched. “That’s true. I doubt it’ll be quite the orgy Hubert was envisaging, but I like to think there’ll be at least a modicum of drunkenness and debauchery. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.”
“Who else will be there? Your sister?”
He regarded her with amusement, clearly aware of her eagerness for an ally or two. “Daisy will be coming, yes. With Lucien.”
Her heart soared. “And Ellie?”
“Yes. And her husband Harry. Quite the King banked power just waiting to strike.
“I was doing it for your own benefit,” he continued silkily. “Rakes with no intention of marrying don’t converse with virtuous young ladies for fear of risking that lady’s reputation. And to avoid raising the lady’s hopes unfairly.”
“I never had any hopes regarding you,” Liv countered, knowing it was a lie. “A dance or two wouldn’t have killed you.”
His gaze bored into her. “Dances are far more dangerous than you think. They’re like chocolate; the tiniest taste leaves you wanting more, and more, and more. A sensible rake avoids the temptation entirely.”
Livvy could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Was he talking about the two of them, or just in general? Surely it was the latter.
She shifted her feet, suddenly awkward. “Yes, well, things have changed a bit now, haven’t they?” She tried to inject a note of dry amusement into her tone. “Uncle Hubert says only pity or lust would induce a man to marry me now.”
Devlin raised his brows. “Did he? Was that before or after he proposed?”
“Before.”
“His offer wasn’t made out of pity, the old letch.”
“No.”
Something dark flashed in his eyes. “I’m glad you stabbed him.” He leaned back further in his chair. “There are other reasons a man might marry you, though.”
“My unladylike desire for independence?” Livvy suggested dryly. “My conspicuous lack of dowry?”
“For convenience.”
“For whose convenience?”
“For both parties, obviously. It could be a mutually beneficial agreement.”
“I provide an heir, in exchange for financial security, you mean?” Livvy raised her brows. “Or are you suggesting I marry a man who prefers the company of other men? Purely for the protection of his name?” She’d heard of such arrangements before, whispered behind the fluttering fans of the Ton.
He shrugged, a roll of his broad shoulders, not at all scandalized by her knowledge of such things. “It’s been done before.”
“It would make a mockery of the wedding vows.”
“The bit where the man says, ‘with my body I thee worship’?” His gaze flicked from her head to her toes and a flash of heat swept over her. The thought of being worshipped by someone like him made her feel as if she had a fever and a chill at the same time.
“And the promise to forsake all others,” she added quickly.
“But you’d be endowed with all his worldly goods.”
“He’d control my access to those worldly goods,” she countered sternly. “I’d be reliant on a husband for everything. Even pin money. He could beat me, imprison me, and I’d have no legal recourse whatsoever. I’d be trapped.”
“I suppose it would be different if he loved you,” he mused, as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather, instead of the merits of Holy Matrimony.
Livvy swallowed. “Well, yes. It would. A loving husband could be trusted to treat his wife well and do everything in his power to make her happy. Her needs would come before his own.”
She shook her head, keen to change the topic to something a little less personal, but he brushed his long fingers slowly over his lips, as though in thought.
Livvy tried not to stare. His lips were utterly sinful, and the size of his hands had always made her a little lightheaded. They were strong, and elegant; she imagined his long fingers encircling her waist. Cupping her jaw. Threading through her hair as he angled his head to kiss her . . .
She shook her head to dispel the wicked thoughts and took a step back from the fire. She was quite warm enough now. “If I’m ever invited to a society event again, they’ll all be gossiping about me behind their fans. Saying I’m desperate to snare a rich husband.”
He made an airy gesture of dismissal. “You don’t need to worry about that. Not while you’re here. To which end, I have a proposition for you.”
Livvy raised her brows. “What sort of proposition?”
His lips twitched at her obvious suspicion. “Perhaps proposition is the wrong word. Let’s call it an invitation.”
“To do what?”
“To stay. Not just until tomorrow, or until the party, but for the rest of the month.”
He raised a hand to forestall her automatic denial, and she snapped her mouth shut.
“Lay low here until the scandal about your father dies down. The Ton’s a fickle beast. In a month’s time everyone will have forgotten about it and moved on, and you can decide what you want to do going forward.”
Livvy narrowed her eyes. The thought of having a few weeks’ respite from the cruel realty of her life sounded wonderful. And far too good to be true. “And why would you offer to help me?”
His teeth glinted in the firelight. “Would you believe me if I said from the goodness of my heart?”
“You don’t have a heart. Or if you do, it’s blacker than soot.”
He chuckled, unoffended. “Too true. Perhaps it’s the novelty of helping a damsel in distress?”
“You already did that when you rescued me from Hubert and we galloped away on Ares,” she said tartly.
“I always assumed the damsel would be more grateful,” he sighed. “I just forfeited six hundred pounds for you, my lady.”
“That was your own stupid decision. I’m not repaying you.
My father’s debts aren’t my responsibility.
” Livvy put her hands on her hips. “And I know you, Devlin Hamilton. You always have an ulterior motive. You’re probably worried you’re going to be bored in this huge house all on your own for a month. ”
A dimple creased his left cheek. “I am worried about that.”
She gave an inelegant snort. “You’re a duke. You have scores of people at your beck and call to cater to your every whim.”
“Maybe I’m bored of all that subservience,” he mocked.
“Maybe I long for someone to argue with and tell me I’m a scoundrel.
” He tilted his head, watching her. “If you’re worried about any of the guests at the party recognizing you, don’t.
It’s a masquerade. Nobody will know who you are unless you choose to reveal yourself. ”
Livvy’s resistance was wavering. She was exhausted, not just from the events of the day, but from everything that had happened over the past weeks and months. How tempting would it be to just allow herself to relax?
Not that she could relax in Devlin’s company.
She worried her lower lip with her teeth, trying to decide, and his dark gaze lingered on the movement in a way that made her pulse pound.
“Of course, there’s always the alternative,” he drawled.
“Which is?”
“That I make you my duchess.”