Chapter 10 Livy
Livy
Livy was having quite the difficult time moving her feet.
Because that was a naked man standing in front of her. Touching her.
Oh my puddings and pies.
This may be her first London ball, but even she knew people didn’t encounter naked men at balls.
Wait. They didn’t, did they?
Of course they don’t, you ninny.
Her brain had clearly stopped working. Not something that happened often to her, but at the moment she didn’t think she’d be able to perform her basic sums, let alone integration.
Because she’d just witnessed this man pull his smallclothes over his very bare, very naked bottom.
Very firm-looking bottom. Not that she’d been looking or paying any attention.
At all. It wasn’t her fault she had eyes.
Heavens, the man was a mountain towering over her.
Coal-black hair, roguish waves, shoulder length and in complete disarray.
Like the thoughts scrambling in her brain.
When he’d prowled over to her…the way the muscles in his legs had flexed—chiseled thighs, corded calves, sweat-slicked skin.
She shivered. Goodness, it was as though he’d been carved from metamorphic rock, all lean hard ridges, rippling abdomen, protruding hip bones.
They looked painfully sharp. Like her beating heart.
His hooded, vivid-green gaze was holding her lungs hostage.
Her wits too, clearly. He was far too close.
But those eyes…green like the moss covering the old stone wall on her father’s country estate.
Green like blades of grass after a much-needed rain.
They were dark, glittering with something that had nerves dancing under her skin.
His lids lowered, and the corner of his mouth hooked up.
She finally managed to rip her gaze away. But unfortunately it fell to his torso. Oh dear. He had muscles in places she hadn’t known muscles existed. She tilted her head. And a very oddly protruding rib bone. She wanted to touch it. Oh my goodness, what is wrong with you, Livy?
She hastily lifted her gaze—to his chest, dusted with black hair, glistening in the candlelight with…
sweat? Why was he sweating? Heavens, she was sweating.
Her brow furrowed. The lady she’d seen exiting this very room flickered in her mind.
Oh. Ooooh. The man had clearly just been involved in a tryst.
Wasn’t she supposed to be leaving? It was odd, because her feet still weren’t moving.
Livy, exit the room now!
He tugged on her bottom lip. “Yes, you will do quite nicely for dessert.”
Then he leaned in.
Reality hit her.
He was going to—
The man pressed his lips to hers, and for a heartbeat, she forgot her own name.
LIVY! Right.
She cocked her arm, pulled away from his kiss, and let her fist fly. Straight into his nose.
A roar ripped from him, and he stumbled backward.
Livy ran over to the settee, shaking out her fist. Peas and carrots, that hurt!
She grabbed his breeches, shirt, and waistcoat and clutched them to her chest. She knew it was bold.
She knew it was mad. But she’d had a thought when he’d leaned in to kiss her.
He wanted to use her. Use her body. So why couldn’t she use him?
She knew exactly who this man was. The notorious Marquess of Dunmore.
Notorious, yet one of the most sought-after peers of the ton.
Wealthy with a knack for investments, ties so close with the Duke of Ironcrest most considered them brothers, and a Marquess of his own accord.
And frequently featured in the scandal sheets.
He turned toward her, blood running from his nose.
She winced. She’d always had a fair right hook.
That was one of the perks of growing up with the neighbor boys.
It had been Quinton who’d taught her to throw a punch.
And she was pretty vexed at men at the moment.
She had perhaps put some of her frustration with Warren behind it.
Oh, it had felt good. Egads, was she becoming violent?
Petty and violent. Oh dear, what was happening to her?
“What in the blazes do you think you’re doing?” The Marquess’s demanding tone snapped her attention back to the present.
He wiped his nose with the back of his arm, and his mouth dropped open as his gaze landed on the blood smeared on his forearm. “You do realize you just punched a marquess in the face. I should have you thrown out, never to be allowed to show your face in society again.”
Her chin jerked in. Well, that was just completely unfair. He was about to ravish her. Was she supposed to just lie down and toss up her skirts for him? That was probably what the ladies did for him. She crossed her arms and smirked. Not this one.
“Are you laughing at me?” His black brows jumped to his hairline, his breathtaking green eyes widening.
No, not breathtaking. Good Lord, did this man possess some sort of dark magic that muddled women’s brains? She wouldn’t fall under his spell.
“Pardon. I just thought it was comical that you would assume I would stand here and allow you to ruin me without any thought of defending myself. Was I supposed to be honored that the revered Marquess of Dunmore wanted to have his way with me? From what I understand, you ravish anything with a pair of…”—she gestured to her chest—“that walks.”
He gawked at her. He shook his head and ran a hand down his face. “Tits, a pair of tits. At least say the word if you’re going to attempt to give me a set down.”
Jutting out her chin, she met his challenge. “Tits.”
His eyes darkened.
Hmm, perhaps not the best idea to poke the beast, Livy. She never had been good at backing down from a challenge.
“You are a contradiction, aren’t you?” he murmured.
She shrugged and started discreetly moving toward the door. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
He tilted his head. “I mean that you are the picture of innocence. Blonde hair, the palest of skin, the largest blue doe-eyes I’ve ever seen.” He paused and added, as if lost in thought. “Petal-soft lips.”
She took advantage of his distraction and slid a few steps toward the door. His stare collided with hers, and she stilled.
“But then you plant me a facer, without warning. And, though I admit you caught me off guard, which added to the effectiveness, you threw one bloody hell of a punch. And then”—he flicked his hand in her direction—“you have your little set-down speech. And say tits. Which I wouldn’t mind hearing you say again. ”
The hard, cool wood of the door pressed against her back. She rested her fingers on the handle, ready to unlatch the door and flee. “Yes, well. As fun as this was, I must be going.”
His brows pinched together. “Wha—” His eyes widened, and he advanced on her. “Oh no, you don’t! The fuck you think you will leave me here without my clothes!”
Grinning, she arched a brow. She twisted the doorknob, its audible click echoing through the room. “I’ll give you your clothes back…”
He halted, silent, stiff, still except for his flaring nostrils.
“I’ll give you your clothes back. But I want something from you in return.”
He raised one imperious coal-black brow. “And what is it you want?”
Livy took a deep breath. Here we go. “Society loves you. Your presence is coveted at every dinner table. You—you are the pineapple of the ton.”
His mouth went slack.
Yeeps, Livy, that was not your finest comparison.
She hurried on. “I have read all about your escapades and indiscretions. You’re rude.
You’re arrogant. You sleep with other men’s wives, sometimes multiple in the same night.
Yet, they always want more of you. You are of the uppermost echelon of society, and I want you to bring me there with you.
I need the ton just as desperate for me as they are for you.
If you put your weight behind me, I think we could make that happen. ”
He grinned, one that promised wicked sinful things. “While, trust me, darling, I would love to put all my weight behind you,” he purred. Livy’s eyes widened. “I find it hard to believe that you—miss dainty angel with the blue eyes—want to be notorious.”
Livy slashed her hand through the air impatiently. “No. I want my reputation to remain impeccable. But I need to become someone everyone in society wants at their dinners and balls. I need to be sought after.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, love. I really think it does. I don’t do anything without knowing all the facts. I’ll ask again. Why?”
A heavy sigh slipped from her, and her gaze fell to the floor. She supposed she did have to answer the question. “There’s a certain gentleman I wish to marry. He believes me to be un—unsuitable.” She tripped over the painful word.
Lord Dunmore’s gaze drilled into her, and she fidgeted under the weight of it.
“Unsuitable how?”
Strength Livy. She lifted her chin and stared into those green eyes. “No one of consequence. Poor. Not worthy of his title.”
“And you are sure he will marry you if you achieve this?”
“Most definitely,” she said with a decisive dip of her chin. “We grew up on neighboring estates and have been sweethearts for years. He told me he wished he could marry me, but a man like him cannot lower himself with someone like me. It is a difficult fact to accept, yet I understand.”
The man started slow clapping. “What a beautiful love story. I can completely understand why you would want to marry this man. He sounds like the next Lord Byron.”
Livy glared at him. It wasn’t as though Warren had a choice in the matter.
A poor, lowly baron’s daughter who was no better than a country bumpkin wasn’t exactly a prize marital prospect.
Tonight had been quite the eye-opening revelation of that.
Her lack of dance partners had unfortunately proven Warren’s assessment correct.
She might not like it, but she understood facts when they were presented to her.
She currently brought nothing to a union.
She’d change that with a standing in high society.
And to prove her point… “Would you marry me?” she demanded.
His mouth fell open again. “Did you—Are you proposing to me?”
She let out a soft groan while sending a silent prayer heavenward. “No, I’m not proposing to you. I am merely making my point. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t romantic; it is the way our world works. He won’t marry me as I am. You wouldn’t marry me as I am.”
“I wouldn’t take offense, darling. I wouldn’t marry anyone. Though with those legs and those lips, I might be tempted.”
Oh, dear heaven. This man was exasperating. His presence was much more agreeable when he wasn’t talking. “Regardless, your feelings on the matter are inconsequential,” she huffed out. “Will you assist me, or do I need to abscond with your clothing?” She smiled sweetly at him.
He studied her, and her heart thrashed against her ribcage. What would it be?
He stepped toward her, and she opened the door slightly, ready to bolt.
He raised his hands in a gesture of good faith, but the gleam in his eyes said she’d be a fool to trust him.
He stepped toward her again. “I will assist you.”
Livy sagged against the door in relief, and it closed with a gentle click.
“On one condition.”
She stiffened. “Which is?” Her stomach clenched. She wasn’t going to like this condition, was she?
He stopped before her. “I will seduce you. And you will let me.”
Her brows crashed together. “I most certainly will not!” The arrogance of the muttonhead.
“You can try to resist me,” he went on. “If you say no, I promise, on my honor, I’ll stop. But trust me, love, by the end of this…” He leaned forward, teeth flashing. “The only thing you will be saying to me is more.”
His lip curled up, disgust swirling in those green eyes. She blinked. Disgust?
“I will prove that you are no different from every other woman walking this earth. Flighty. Unfaithful. Inconstant. Only ever concerned with your own selfish desires.”
He drew a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to his. He slowly pet the bottom of her chin.
She swallowed hard, as if she could swallow away the impact of his touch on her skin. She forced strength into her voice, despite the nerves, despite the fact that this man was making her dizzy with his nearness. “Is that not what you are doing, my lord? Seducing me for your own selfish desires.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “I suppose it is a fair deal. You use me. And I use you.”
She could do this. She could resist this stupidly attractive, a tad melodramatic, seducer of women. And then she would have her Warren. Her blue-eyed, fair-haired, sweet dream boy. She just had to make a deal with the devil to get him.
Looking down her nose at him, she reached up and swatted his hand away. “You have a deal.”
She held out his clothes to him. He took them and threw them onto the settee behind him.
“Only one thing left then.”
She furrowed her brow. “One thing…?”
“We seal the bargain.”
Oh. Well, all right then. “Do you have a spare bit of parchment? We can both sign—”
He threw his head back and laughed.
“Oh no, darling. With a kiss.”