Chapter 7 #2
Over the years, he had pieced together a vague image of his savior from the brief glimpses his memory provided.
However, Olivia was far more stunning than he’d imagined.
The glimmer of fire that burned in her eyes, the tilt of her unyielding chin that tested his self-control, and her plump lips tempted him like no other.
Driven to find his angel had been maddening, yet after having met Olivia, he knew he would endure everything over again — the sleepless nights, the constant fear of missed chances, and the gnawing feeling of being left alone.
Hands clasped behind his back, he retraced his path once more.
For ten long years, he had vowed to track down the girl who had saved him and repay her good deed.
When he had spied her at the Velvet Hell, he had set his mind on marrying the woman.
Who in their right mind married a stranger?
Thank goodness Olivia was sensible. Why then had his heart and mind been at war since his meeting with her?
Slow sleep-waking footsteps in the hall had him marching to the door. He wasn’t ready for the day to begin, and if his mama’s slumber was disturbed, she’d begin her insistent chatter about how he was to woo Olivia.
Warren peeked his head out and barked, “Who is there?”
“It’s me, my lord,” his aging butler yelled. The old man’s hearing was deteriorating, but with no family and no home to retire to, Warren kept him on. Shoulders stooped, the butler announced, “You have a visitor. I’ve asked the young… lady to wait for you in the front room, my lord.”
“And what is the lady’s name?” Warren asked and then sighed as the butler’s white brows knitted. “Never mind. You may retire.”
With a nod, his old butler turned and trudged down the hall, and Warren followed, ensuring the man headed back toward the servants’ quarters.
As soon as his faithful servant was out of sight, he turned back to take the stairs to the ground floor.
Half-fearing and half-hoping his visitor were Olivia, Warren quickened his pace until his hand rested on the drawing room door’s handle.
As he pushed it open, a small figure jumped to her feet and spun around.
“Lord Guernsey,” Olivia said in a sweet, even tone.
“I thought we agreed to drop formalities when it is the two of us.” The candlelight from the wall sconce flickered over her features that he wished to see more clearly.
The nervous energy swelling within propelled him over to the hearth to start a fire.
When the logs were ablaze, Warren stood, walked over to the window, and pulled back the curtain to peer out onto the street.
There was no waiting coach nor a hack. “Pray tell me you didn’t venture out alone. ”
"Of course not. I had an escort.”
He let the curtain fall back into place. “Where is he now?” He turned away from the window to turn and look at the woman he was determined to marry.
“Well…” Olivia crossed her arms and drummed the fingers of her right hand against her shoulder. “That, my lord, is a very good question. However, I have no idea where Ian disappeared to.”
Ian? The footman! Jealousy rolled through him at her continued use of formalities with him while addressing another man by his given name. Fists balled at his sides, he asked, “How are you related to the footman?”
Her arms unraveled, and her hands landed on her hips. “You really do not recall the events from a decade ago?”
“I only have fragments of memories and the lies I’ve been fed.
” He raked a hand through his hair. Who was this blasted Ian?
The man’s name was common enough, and while the footman appeared to be of a similar age, Warren had no recollection of having met him before.
He left his post by the window and slowly closed the gap between him and Olivia.
She rolled back onto her heels and stumbled, falling backward to sit upon the settee she’d occupied earlier. Was she afraid of him? He stopped and waited for her answer.
Olivia smoothed out her skirts and then primly clasped her hands in her lap. “I’ve not summoned you from your bed to rehash our past; however, I wished to revisit your question from earlier today.”
Her tone made a knot form in the middle of his chest. Rather than joining Olivia on the settee as he wanted to, Warren walked over to the winged back chair opposite her in order to maintain a respectable distance.
He sat down then and, with legs crossed, he waited for her to continue, hoping the tightness in his ribs would quickly abate.
Distracted by her inquisitive eyes, he found himself wondering if Olivia found him as intriguing as he found her.
Gazes locked, Olivia said, “I can understand your wish to repay a debt. However, you owe me nothing.”
“How can you say that when you saved my life?”
“You would have done the same for another. I acted because it was the right thing to do, not for you to be indebted to me.”
“What if I told you our past bears no weight on my wish to marry you?”
“I’d call you a liar.”
“I’ll admit my recollection of events from years ago is faulty, but the moment I saw you, I was drawn to you in a way that no words can accurately describe.”
Olivia raised a hand and interjected, “Are you certain it was the moment you saw me, or your signet ring?”