Chapter Sixteen
Olivia was in a cheerful mood when she arrived at the Keswick townhouse the following evening. The duke had not called on her like she’d hoped, but she knew she was in his thoughts.
At least, that was what his note had said, the one he’d sent to her this morning along with an enormous bouquet of dewy red roses which now graced the sofa table in the drawing room.
It was the largest bouquet she had ever received, and his choice of flower was not lost on her.
Perhaps there was hope for him yet.
Pushing aside thoughts of roses and the duke, Olivia leaned against the foot of Lady Keswick’s bed and tried to look cheerful but not too cheerful.
The poor woman had been laid up for more than a week, and the inactivity seemed to have taken a toll on her spirits.
A crackling fire blazed in the hearth behind Aunt Augusta, who sat in a wingback chair beside the bed shuffling a deck of cards. Artemis snoozed at Lady Keswick’s feet.
“And what is on tonight’s agenda, girls?” Lady Keswick barked. “Is it Mrs. Lubbock’s soirée? Or is that tomorrow evening?” Her mummified ankle was propped up on a pillow and a plate of biscuits sat in her lap, crumbs dotting the bed linens.
“No, it is tonight, Mama,” Emmy said from Olivia’s side. “And it is sure to be a dull evening. Isn’t that right, Livvy?” She turned to her with beseeching gray eyes.
“Oh, yes. Dreadfully dull.” Olivia nodded for emphasis.
Lady Keswick puffed out a wistful sigh. “I think a dull soirée sounds absolutely wonderful. I miss dull soirées.”
Aunt Augusta laughed. “You’ve been confined to your bed too long, Lavinia. You hate Mrs. Lubbock, almost as much as you hate her soirées.”
Lady Keswick harrumphed, waking Artemis, who rose with a mewl before clumsily climbing up the marchioness’ legs to her lap, as if sensing her unhappiness.
Lady Keswick set her plate of biscuits aside and gave the kitten a smile. “At least I have this little one to keep me company tonight.”
“And what have I been doing here for the past sennight but keeping you company?” Aunt Augusta said with a sniff. “Excellent company, I might add.”
But Lady Keswick only waved the question away with her hand and kissed Artemis on the top of her head.
“I still don’t understand what possessed Griffin to bring home a kitten,” Emmy said, clearly trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. “He’s never done such a thing before.”
“Oh yes, he has,” her mother said, a smile lighting her blue eyes. “He used to do it all the time when he was a boy.”
“He did?” Emmy asked, surprise in her voice.
Olivia’s ears perked up and she leaned a shoulder on the smooth oak bedpost, her gaze locked on the marchioness’s face.
“Oh, yes,” Lady Keswick said with a nod. “Kittens and rabbits and birds and squirrels, he showed no discrimination. He even brought home a baby badger once.”
Emmy laughed. “A badger?”
“To this day, I have no idea where it came from.” Lady Keswick chuckled. “I’ll never forget the look on his face when he brought it home.”
A miniature Griffin bringing orphaned animals home to his mother was just about the sweetest thing Olivia had ever heard. One had to wonder what he would say if he knew his mother was sharing stories about him as a boy. A smile curved her lips. She could almost hear his long-suffering sigh.
“I have no memory of him bringing any animals home,” Emmy said, propping her hip against the mattress.
“No. You wouldn’t have,” her mother said, her eyes dimming. “He stopped doing it after your father died.”
Olivia’s heart squeezed. She knew how close Griffin was to his sire, how deeply the loss had affected him. How difficult it must have been to lose someone he’d loved so much.
“Of course, if Richard had lived,” Lady Keswick said, her tone over-bright, “I have no doubt the two of them would eventually have turned our barn into a zoological garden. He was a lover of animals, too.” She chuckled, though there was an unmistakable hint of melancholy in her voice. “I sometimes wonder if he loved his dogs more than he loved me.”
Aunt Augusta snorted. “Nonsense. I remember how that man looked at you, Lavinia. Utter adoration.”
The marchioness gave her a grateful smile. “Perhaps he did love me more than his dogs,” she said. “A bit.”
“Well, you do smell better,” Aunt Augusta quipped.
The ladies all laughed and then, after saying their farewells, Olivia and Emmy quit the room.
“You go on ahead without me,” Emmy said as they stepped into the corridor. “I left my shawl in my chamber. I’ll meet you in the entrance hall in a few minutes.”
Olivia nodded before heading up the corridor toward the stairs, her slippers a soft shush on the rug. Smiling to herself, she smoothed her gloved hands down the pink satin of her gown and a little thrill shot through her. She absolutely adored this gown, everything about it from its tiny puffed sleeves and fitted bodice, to its full skirt with the white beads adorning the hem.
Most of all, she adored how it made her feel, and she was glad she’d decided to wear it tonight.
She’d considered donning another blue dress for Paxton’s sake, but in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was sick to death of blue in all its shades. She needed to wear pink tonight, to wear something she adored, something that made her feel good. Something just for herself.
If Paxton admired her as he claimed, he would admire her in pink, as well.
Descending the stairs, she chuckled softly, amused by the little rebellion. Paxton likely didn’t care a jot what she wore tonight. In her experience, men were more interested in what a gown did for a lady’s attributes than in the actual gown itself.
“Good evening, Olivia.” Griffin’s words greeted her as she stepped into the entrance hall, his voice, low and smooth, an instant, unwelcome reminder of all the sinful things he’d said the last time they were alone.
“Griffin. Good evening,” she said, the words stilted as her gaze met his. “Emmy will be along shortly. She is collecting her shawl.”
Her heart kicked up as she came to a stand before him, her fingers fussing nervously with the dance card tied to one wrist. She hadn’t seen him since their…conversation in the drawing room two nights ago, when he’d kissed her senseless, and pleasured her with his hands against the door. Her cheeks warmed.
She’d promised herself she would behave as if that night hadn’t happened, but standing here, gazing into his dark gray eyes, the task proved more difficult than she’d hoped.
“You look beautiful,” Griffin said, the words gruff in their escape, as if he hadn’t meant to free them.
Olivia swallowed, surprised by the compliment. She smoothed her palms down her skirts and thanked him, her voice surprisingly even given the tingles skating up her spine. Had he ever paid her such a compliment before?
“And you are looking very elegant this evening,” she said, taking in his dark gray coat and black breeches. “Even with cat fur on your cravat.”
Before she could second-guess herself, she reached out and brushed away the strands of black fur, so stark against the snowy white of his cravat.
“There. That’s better.” She looked up, and found him watching her with inscrutable eyes, his lips unsmiling and only inches from hers.
Desire sparked within her, heating her blood until her skin tingled with it. Hastily, she took a step back and clasped her hands behind her, lest they try to stray again.
Clearing her throat into the dense silence, she thrust all thoughts of kisses and drawing room doors to the back of her mind and conjured up Paxton’s smiling face instead. He was who she should be thinking of tonight.
“So…” She cleared her throat again. “I understand you spoke with the Duke of Paxton yesterday.”
Griffin’s gaze met hers and he hooked a questioning brow. “I did.”
A smile touched her lips. “He came to see me afterward,” she explained. “I don’t know what you said to him precisely, but whatever it was, he did not care for it.”
Amusement lit his eyes. “Truthfully, I said very little.”
Olivia raised her brows. “But?”
“But…when he asked if I was courting you—obviously unhappy with the idea—I couldn’t resist letting him think I was considering it.”
The mischief in his eyes made her want to laugh. “That wasn’t very nice of you, Griff,” she said, even as a smile pulled at her lips.
He shrugged. “Paxton wasn’t very nice to you.”
Her gaze went to the floor, her throat suddenly tight. What he’d said to Paxton…it had been more than just a prank. He’d done it for her. Because he didn’t like what Paxton had done, because he cared for her. At least a little.
“Paxton was never betrothed to Miss Withers,” she said quietly. “He is not going to marry her. He’s going to marry me. He told me so.”
The statement was met with a long silence.
Olivia raised her head and looked at him. Their gazes locked and her heart thudded at the probing intensity in his eyes.
“Your duke finally found the courage to stand up to his mother then?”
She pressed her lips together. “Well, no. Not yet. But he assures me it is only a matter of time.”
Griffin’s jaw clenched. “I see.”
“He asked me to give him another chance, just a little more time, and I agreed. I believe we are meant to be married,” she said. “And I am not ready to give up on him.”
“Because he’s a duke.”
There was no recrimination in his voice, no judgment, only frustration and regret. As if he wanted better from her. Maybe even for her.
But Olivia could not permit herself to care about his opinion of her. She would do what she must and would make no apologies for it.
“Good things come to those who wait,” she said with a little shrug.
“I hope you’re right.”
He studied her openly, as if trying to understand her, and she tipped her chin up as if she did not care.
“If you are truly so concerned for my future happiness, perhaps you would be willing to help me,” she said.
His brow crooked. “What sort of help?”
She smiled. “As heartened as I am by Paxton’s renewed promises, I think a bit of competition will be good for him. It will…keep him focused.” She bit her lip. “I would like to use you, Griff. If I may.”
He blinked, and his mouth took on a befuddled twist, if a mouth could look befuddled. “Use me?” he asked. His voice was strangely frayed.
She nodded. “To make Paxton jealous.” She shook her head, a frown pulling at her lips. “I know it is devious to manipulate him so, perhaps even unscrupulous, but, well, I find I no longer care. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.”
Griffin’s jaw flexed. “You shouldn’t have to manipulate him, Olivia. If I loved a woman the way he supposedly loves you, nothing would stand in my way.”
She flicked a fingernail along the edge of her dance card. “Yes, well, Paxton is not like you.” It was a gross understatement, and entirely irrelevant.
“So, will you help me?” she asked. “It will not require much of your time, only a waltz or two, perhaps a ride in the park. Just enough to make the lie believable.”
The look on Griffin’s face suggested he didn’t entirely support the idea, but eventually he gave in. “Yes. I will help you.”
She beamed. “Excellent. Then you will dance with me again tonight?”
“Of course.”
He withdrew a pencil from his coat pocket then reached out and took hold of her wrist, turning her hand so he could lay the dance card in her palm. The heat from his hand seeped through her satin glove, searing her body as surely as if his hands were upon her.
She held very still, her breathing shallow as she watched him scrawl his name on the card, desperately trying not to think of the pleasure those hands had given her only two nights ago.
“There,” he murmured, releasing her before taking a small step back.
She looked at him, his head bent, his face expressionless as he slipped the pencil into his pocket.
“Thank you, Griffin,” she said, her voice slightly breathy. “I—”
“I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting!” Emmy breezed into the entrance hall and for the second time today, Olivia nearly jumped out of her skin.
“I couldn’t find the shawl I wanted to bring,” Emmy went on, “and had to ask Ivy where it had got to.”
Settling said shawl around her shoulders, she glanced from Olivia to Griffin and back again. “Are you two ready to leave?”
“Yes,” they replied in tandem.
Emmy grinned. “Excellent. Let’s go.”
The journey to Westminster was blessedly short, though not as short as Griffin’s temper. He brooded the entire ride over, staring out the carriage window, his thoughts consumed by the maddening woman sitting on the bench across from him.
Damn it, how could Olivia even consider marrying the duke now? She meant to encourage his favors again, even after all he’d put her through, even though nothing had changed.
He didn’t understand it.
But then, he didn’t have to, did he? It was none of his business what Olivia Blakely did, or whom she married.
She wanted her duke and he had agreed to help her catch him. He would do what he could while his mother’s ankle healed, and once she was back on her feet again, it would all be over, and everything would return to normal. That day couldn’t come quickly enough.
“Here we are,” Emmy said brightly as the carriage rolled to a stop.
The finally was left unsaid but greatly implied by the relief in her voice.
It had been an unusually quiet ride.
The trio filed out of the carriage and into Mrs. Lubbock’s enormous entrance hall where they handed over their outer garments before being ushered into the lady’s lively drawing room.
Music from the pianoforte filled the air with grating cheer, and all the chairs and sofas had been pushed against the walls to make space for dancing, leaving Griff to wonder if dancing was compulsory. Their hostess, a petite, ostentatious woman of middling years fluttered around the room, seeing to her guests’ needs.
Griffin bit back a sigh as he followed Emmy and Olivia through the open doors, his gaze panning over the other guests’ faces, all familiar, none welcome. Another tedious affair with the same tedious crowd.
He turned to his sister and tried for a pleasant expression. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “Would you like a glass of—”
“Lady Olivia! Good evening!” An eager male voice broke in, and Griffin’s gaze flicked to Gregory Sanford’s youthful, pink-cheeked face. Smiling, the gentleman greeted Griffin and Emmy before turning back to Olivia.
“You look lovely this evening, my lady,” Sanford said as his gaze crawled down her body. “May I request the next dance?”
The pup’s eyes dipped to Olivia’s cleavage again, lingering and lascivious, and Griffin squeezed his hands into fists as hostility surged, heating his blood.
“Thank you, my lord,” Olivia said with a sweet smile. “I would be honored.”
The baron bent his head to scrawl his name on her dance card and had barely finished uttering his thanks when another man—a Mr. Steffington—approached to request his own dance. Olivia acquiesced with another smile, just as genuine and lovely as the first, and Griffin felt its effects like a hard pinch to his already strained temper.
That was when—God help him—the Duke of Paxton appeared, out of nowhere, like an unwelcome surprise.
“Lady Olivia. At last, you’ve arrived.” Paxton’s voice was like the bleating of a randy goat and even as Sanford and Steffington departed, the duke had eyes only for Olivia. Bending his head, he brushed a kiss to her knuckles, his adoring gaze never leaving her face.
Griffin’s nostrils flared.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Olivia murmured, dipping into a shallow curtsy.
“And Lady Emmaline, Lord Keswick,” Paxton said with considerably less warmth. “Good evening to you.”
Emmy curtsied while Griffin gave a cool nod.
“The ratafia this evening is surprisingly flavorful, Lady Olivia,” Paxton said, turning to her with a smile. “Would you care to accompany me to the refreshments table for a glass?”
Olivia bowed her head prettily. “That would be lovely, Your Grace.” She turned her most charming smile on Griffin, batting her lashes at him for good measure. “And I shall meet with you later, Lord Keswick, yes? For our waltz?”
Griff sketched a bow. “I will be counting down the minutes, my lady.”
Her eyes flared with humor and then she was gone, walking away on the arm of the idiot duke as if she belonged there. Displeasure raked through him, scraping his nerves, and he thrust his hands into his pockets.
She was beautiful tonight, just as he’d told her. He tracked her progress as she and Paxton crossed the room toward the refreshments, drinking in her loveliness, those shining golden curls and elegant shoulders, the dip of her waist, those lush hips swaying beneath pale pink silk.
Who was he fooling? Olivia was always beautiful. Far too good for the likes of the numbskull she intended to marry. He only wished she knew it, too.
“They make a handsome couple, don’t they?” Emmy said, startling him from his reverie.
Griffin shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“It’s nice of you to help her like this. I never thought of you as the matchmaking sort.” She chuckled. “Mother will be so proud.”
“I wasn’t matchmaking,” he grumbled.
“No? But Olivia told me you are the reason why His Grace went to see her yesterday, why he is pursuing her again.”
“That wasn’t my intention,” Griff said, shifting on his feet. “I don’t much like the duke, and I like even less what he did to Olivia. When he approached me yesterday to fish after my intentions, I decided to exact a little revenge on her behalf.”
“I see.”
Something in her tone drew his gaze, and he found her watching him—studying him, more like—as if searching his face for the answer to a riddle.
“What?” he asked, irrationally annoyed.
“You care for Olivia a great deal, don’t you?” Her voice was soft but frank.
Griff’s shoulders stiffened and his heart slowed to an uncomfortable thud. “She’s your friend,” he said, keeping his voice even. “I don’t want to see any of my sister’s friends harmed.”
Emmy gave her head a slow shake, her gaze unrelenting. “No. It is more than that.”
His jaw clenched. “It isn’t.”
“You two are obviously mad for each other,” she said softly. “Why have you done nothing about it?”
“That’s enough, Em.” The urge to flee the room was growing by the minute.
“I am disappointed in you. Do you really mean to give her up? Do you really mean to let her marry a man she doesn’t love? A man who does not deserve her?”
“Emmy.” He shot his sister a warning look. “That is enough.”
Her nostrils flared and she gave him a disapproving frown, but she said nothing more, simply heaved an exasperated sigh and walked away, shaking her head.
Griffin blew out an exasperated breath. Where in bloody blazes had that come from?
Emmy had never said anything like that before, had never even hinted at it, so what had possessed her to say something here, now?
And where had she got such a ridiculous idea in the first place?
Olivia might have fostered a tendre for him once, and there was no denying the attraction between them, but…mad for each other? God, no. She was too silly, too shallow, too…
He sighed. No. She was none of those things, was she? He used to think she was, partly because he’d grown used to thinking of her that way, and partly because that was the impression she gave, whether intentionally or not, he didn’t know.
But he couldn’t, in good conscience, continue to claim she was silly and shallow. Not after all he’d learned about her.
Still, no matter how much his opinion of her had changed, nothing else had. He could admit to being attracted to her—there was no denying it—but that was as far as it would go. Even if he were mad for her as Emmy claimed, he would not marry her. He wouldn’t even consider it. He wasn’t ready for marriage.
And whatever Olivia’s feelings for him might be, he doubted she would have him, even if he offered. She wanted a duke, and while Griffin did not much care for the one she’d chosen, even he had to admit his objections amounted to very little. She could do worse than the Duke of Paxton, and if he was the man she wanted, who was he to stand in her way?
She was his sister’s friend and she had asked for his assistance. He would do what he could to help her snag her duke and then he would let the chips fall where they may.