Chapter 14 Livy
Livy
Livy’s smile faded. Lord Dunmore had been silent for some time now. Long enough that she was beginning to fear she was going to start sprouting grey hairs. He glowered at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
With every heartbeat, her face grew warmer and warmer, and inside, she grew colder and colder.
She’d gotten carried away. When Lord Dunmore hadn’t seemed thrown off by her interest in mathematics, she’d let her guard down.
He’d seemed to accept her unusual interest so readily.
She’d forgotten to hold herself back. To hide her deftness with numbers.
Her eyes slid shut. When he’d doubted her ability to do the calculation, her affront had gotten the best of her.
That was always her failing. Her wayward tongue would be her demise.
She knew she needed to hide her intelligence, but she also wanted to throw rocks at all the oafs who believed her head was vacant behind her blue eyes.
Now Lord Dunmore surely thought she was a freak.
Disappointment dragged down her shoulders.
Opening one eye, she peeked at Lord Dunmore. He studied her, head tipped at an angle that had his roguish waves falling distractingly over his brow. She was going to lose his assistance, she just knew it. Could she convince him to continue to help her?
“Forgive me, my lord. I—” She faltered. She didn’t know how to explain away her slip. How did she recover from this? She stared down at her lap, worrying her bottom lip. Her lip. Her lips! She could let him kiss her. Surely he’d forget the slip if she did that.
The floorboards creaked as Lord Dunmore approached the settee. Once again, he sat next to her. Once again, he was much too close. Once again, he overwhelmed her. His thigh rubbed up against hers, his foot pressed into her skirts. She took a steadying breath.
Her turn to seduce.
She slowly lifted her gaze to his. And held it. His eyes had darkened, pupils dilated so large his irises appeared a deep evergreen. She lost herself in that forest. What an exquisite place to be lost.
Hold on to control, Livy.
Her turn to seduce.
He reached out and took her jaw in a biting grip, stroking her bottom lip softly with his thumb.
And just like earlier, her skin came to life under his touch, an incessant buzzing taking up just beneath the surface.
She licked her lips, her tongue clashing with the tip of his thumb.
His pupils flared. Visions of their encounter at the ball came flooding back.
Her breath quickened. She could almost feel the heat, the hardness, the heaviness of him pressed against her again.
Livy stared into those heavy-lidded eyes. It was time to poke the beast. Not because she was curious. This was purely strategy. A calculated decision to keep him thinking he was making progress. Distract him from her slip.
Her turn to seduce.
Nothing more.
“Say probability one more time.” His voice was low, soft. Laced with threat.
A shiver stole over her skin. She almost didn’t realize what he’d just said. He…wanted her to say probability again? The way he asked… It was like he craved it. Her pulse sparked to life, a dangerous heat flowing through her veins.
One that inspired dangerous actions.
She whispered one word.
“Probability.”
In the next moment, Livy’s jaw was wrenched forward, and Lord Dunmore’s mouth collided with hers. He didn’t bother with soft and coaxing kisses this time. His tongue surged forward, like he feared if he hesitated, he would miss his chance, determined to be granted entry. And she let him.
She didn’t just let him.
She kissed him back.
Even though she’d yielded to him, let him think he was making progress, she wouldn’t let him dominate her.
She pushed back. Pushed his tongue out of the way.
Pushed into him. A startled sound came from deep in his throat, and a thrill shot through her.
Maybe it was bad that it thrilled her, thrilled her that she’d surprised him.
That wasn’t what she was supposed to want.
She was supposed to conform. Be the expected.
Frustration simmered in her blood, and she kissed him harder, her hand sliding up to grip his cravat, a burning urge to attack rising inside.
Because this kiss was a battle. She wasn’t sure who was fighting whom, if she was fighting him or fighting herself.
Or maybe the injustices of the world they lived in.
He tilted her jaw, better aligning them, deepening the kiss. At the next slide of his tongue, she bit down softly. A growl rumbled deep in his chest. Against her chest. Oh dear. The beast purred. Heat pooled low in her belly.
One of his hands slid around to cup her nape.
What would it be like to surrender to this man, to be fully at his mercy?
A man untamed, unrestrained. His fingers were a whisper over her skin, a contradiction to his hard grip on her jaw.
He prompted a reaction in her, conjured up vivid fantasies.
Fantasies she would never have thought herself possible of imagining.
Like what it would be like to be imprisoned by him.
Bound. Restricted while he used that gentle touch over the rest of her.
Or maybe…the other way around. Him at her mercy.
Her skin prickled, her nerves thrumming.
Nothing could have prepared her for this. For the way the clashing of teeth and tongues would mix with pent-up frustration and combust into this wild, reckless war. They dueled with tongues, maimed with teeth, bruised with fingertips, neither willing to be conquered.
Somewhere deep down, she hated herself for getting lost so deep in him, in his kiss, in this moment.
But now that she’d realized her intellect wasn’t something he detested, but something he desired—her defenses were crumbling.
And for the love of gooseberry pie, the man wore spectacles.
How was any woman supposed to resist that?
Her fingers slid up until she found bare skin.
For the first time ever, she was grateful for her threadbare garments, for how easily she could feel the heat of him through them.
He shivered against her, and something heady and sharp rushed through her.
It was powerful, seducing this man. But how far did she go?
When did she retreat, let him think he’d won, even though she was really the one in control?
Soon. She would revel in the glide of his tongue over hers for a moment longer. Of this man melting into her.
This was so much different from kissing Warren.
Oh God, Warren.
She shoved herself away from him. She fisted her skirts, panting heavily, and stared unseeing at the floor. A bone-deep nausea took up in her stomach. She had let it go too far. Felt things she shouldn’t have felt.
The click of heeled slippers echoed from the hall.
“I beg your pardon for my tardiness, Lord Dunmore. I apologize for any inconvenience.” Aunt Mellie’s cheerful tone rang through the parlor.
She curtsied deeply to Lord Dunmore, who had instantly stood upon her arrival.
And apparently divested himself of his spectacles—back to cold, brooding marquess.
Aunt Mellie glanced at Livy, but besides an infinitesimal widening of her eyes, she didn’t let on that anything looked out of place.
“Lady Elliot.” Lord Dunmore bowed. He turned toward Livy, a glint in his eyes. “Not an inconvenience at all.”
Livy’s cheeks burned. She drew in a slow steadying breath, stood, and met his gaze head-on. “Lord Dunmore was just taking his leave.”
His lips slid into a knowing smirk, and he bowed. A devil cloaked in gentleman’s clothing.
“Miss Forester, it has been a pleasure. I was hoping you both would join me for a stroll through Hyde Park next week.” He looked at Aunt Mellie. “I will send word with more details, if that pleases you?”
“We would be delighted,” Aunt Mellie said brightly—a little too brightly. Livy didn’t miss the discerning glint in her aunt’s eyes.
He bowed once more to them both and took his leave.
Collapsing onto the settee, Livy rubbed her forehead.
Her aunt padded over to Livy and paused. “Why are your notes on society out during a social call with Lord Dunmore?”
“Because it wasn’t a social call, Aunt Mellie. I have enlisted Lord Dunmore’s help with navigating society.” She glanced at her aunt. Skepticism stared back at her.
“And I am to believe he appeared out of thin air and offered himself up to help? One of the most commonly written about men in the gossip columns?” She ran a finger over Livy’s cheek. “Quite the blush you are wearing.” Her gaze darted to Livy’s lips, and she arched a soft golden eyebrow.
Livy glanced away and cleared her throat. “Does it matter how his assistance came to be?”
“If he ruins you, he won’t do right by you. There is only one thing a man like that wants.”
Shooting an incredulous look at her aunt, Livy scoffed. “Do not be silly. I have you as my chaperone. There is nothing improper about him calling here at this hour. Where were you anyhow? I alerted you upon his arrival.”
Her aunt winced. “I may have fallen back asleep. Got a tad too pickled last night.”
Livy’s lips quirked. Oh, Aunt Mellie.
Her aunt smiled, but the concern was still evident in her blue eyes. “It appears you took full advantage of my absence. Be careful, dearest.”
“Aunt Mellie, we need his connections. His best friend is the Duke of Ironcrest. She stared meaningfully at her aunt. “Whose grandmother is a patroness of Almack’s.”
Her aunt’s smile fell, and she was the most serious Livy had ever seen her. “I understand that, Olivia. And a stolen kiss is one thing…”
Livy’s gaze darted away.
“Be careful with how far you go with this, Olivia. With what you are risking.”
“I can’t toss aside such a favorable connection. I can’t.” She met her aunt’s sharp blue gaze. “In any event, most interactions will take place in public, surrounded by other people. Truly, what could possibly go wrong?”
She forced a smile.
What could possibly go wrong indeed?