Olivia recognized the put-down for exactly what it was; a rebuke, as an unmarried and unaccompanied young lady, for having dared to introduce herself to a single gentleman in such a forthright manner.
Except, from the moment she had been introduced into Society four years ago, she had found the narrow dictates of that polite Society to be far too restrictive for her straightforward nature.
She did not believe, if one wished to speak to someone, she should have to sit meekly and wait for an introduction, which might never occur, before she could do so. Meekness had never been something which came naturally to her.
Especially in this case, when she doubted, from the expression of veiled dislike on the face of the haughty and imposing Rockborne, that he would have sought out that introduction.
In view of the lack of a response from him on the subject of his name, she inwardly decided to address him as Rockborne in all their future dealings together. Admiral was far too formal and smacked of subservience. Yes, Rockborne would do nicely, with my lord as an occasional added politeness.
“I have little patience with such antiquated customs. I am Lady Olivia Buchan.” She affected a polite curtsy. “I am a visitor to the island too, as a guest of my mother’s cousin and her husband, Lord and Lady Cormac Fitzgerald. Perhaps you will allow me to make the introductions?” She placed her gloved hand in the crook of his arm before turning in the direction of where she could see her aunt and uncle in conversation with their closest friends, the Halls. “Rockborne?” she prompted when he failed to move, his booted feet remaining firmly in place.
Those sky-blue eyes narrowed. “Who the hell are you?” He looked completely unabashed, and he made no apology for his ungentlemanly language.
Not that Olivia required one. She was accustomed to hearing far worse from her older brother and the group of disreputable friends he had maintained during his time at university and since.
She looked at Rockborne with some concern. “I have just told you my name is Lady Olivia Buchan. Can it be your memory is troubling you in your advanced years? If so, I cannot believe it suitable that you remain in command of several of His Majesty’s ships—”
“In my advanced…” Magnus spluttered his incredulity at this outrageous comment. “I am aged seven and thirty, madam, not seven and seventy!”
“And yet you have again omitted to address me by my name or title.” She tutted. “And after I have taken such trouble to address you correctly by yours,” she added in rebuke.
Magnus had never met such an outspoken young lady in his life. She was truly outrageous, both in manner and speech.
Things which, he acknowledged with a grudging respect, made her the most interesting young woman he had met for many years.
If ever.
Young she might be, and unfortunately, she also bore that marked resemblance to Emelia Brigham. But there was no doubting Olivia Buchan’s beauty or her courage in approaching and demanding the attention of the Prince Regent’s envoy.
In other circumstances, Magnus knew he would have been intrigued enough to want to know her better. But there was that vast difference in their ages, as well as the suspicion that because of this young woman’s undeniable resemblance to Emelia Brigham, the two women were related in some way.
It would explain her likeness to the woman Magnus had once thought himself to be in love with, but had instead only served to teach him of the cruel fickleness of a woman’s affections.
The name Buchan was also, unfortunately, a familiar one.
“Would your parents be the Earl and Countess of Aldrich?” If so, he had been quite correct in supposing that familial connection. This young lady was Emelia’s niece.
Magnus had no desire to open up any of the scandal that was almost his ruin, which an acquaintance with Olivia Buchan would surely succeed in doing. Having spent the last eighteen years banishing the memory of even a hint of scandal from his name, Magnus had no wish to revive any old gossip by furthering an acquaintance with Olivia Buchan.
She eyed him curiously. “You know my parents?”
Damn it, she was Emelia’s niece. “I do, yes,” he answered tersely. He remembered very well how the Earl and Countess of Aldrich had failed to curb the waywardness of the countess’s younger sister, despite having become her guardians and taken her into their household after the death of her parents. No doubt they would remember him too.
Her lips quirked into a half smile. “And you do not like them very much, from your displeased expression and the tone of your voice. Oh, do not worry,” she assured airily as he would have politely demurred the suggestion. “I do not like them very much myself either, at the moment. My mother in particular,” she added with feeling.
Magnus knew he was going to regret continuing this conversation, even for a few extra minutes, but he found Olivia Buchan’s bluntness too entertaining to walk away from yet. “What has your mother done to provoke such strong emotions in you?”
She snorted. “By sending me, without a by-your-leave, to stay in her cousin’s household on the Isle of Man. Not that my mother’s cousin and her husband, those I now call aunt and uncle, are not exceedingly kind, and their daughter, Cecelia, is now my best friend,” she added hastily. “I have also fallen in love with the island and the people. But, still, it was not by my own choice to come here, and my mother had no assurance when she arranged for me to do so, that those affections or love for the island would occur.”
Magnus had known Margaret Buchan eighteen years ago. Even then, she had been a demanding and waspish woman, the polar opposite of her husband. No wonder poor Henry Buchan had chosen to spend so much time at his club.
Magnus’s curiosity got the better of him. “Why did your mother wish for you to visit the island?”
“Because at one and twenty, I am neither betrothed nor married, nor showing any signs of ever being so,” Olivia stated with dismissive scorn. “With two younger sisters, also of marriageable age, I am become something of an embarrassment to my mother. Sending me to visit my aunt on the Isle of Man before the London Season had even ended was meant to give Elizabeth and Charlotte their own opportunity to find suitable husbands.”
“And did they?”
“Yes.” She chuckled without the least sign of envy. “Both my sisters are now betrothed to suitable gentlemen. At least, suitable according to my mother,” she added with a frown. “I, apparently, am not beautiful or obedient enough for any man to wish to marry me.” The last was said dismissively, as if it was of no great consequence to Olivia as to whether or not that should be the case.
Magnus sincerely doubted it was the whole truth of the matter. Olivia was certainly beautiful enough to capture the attention of any gentleman. Just as no doubt many of those same men would find her forthright speech and independence of manner to be unsuitable traits in a wife.
Most men preferred a placid and undemanding woman in their home, one whose sole purpose was to give them sons to perpetuate the family name.
Magnus would venture to guess that Olivia Buchan would not be a meek and obedient wife, in or out of the bedchamber.
What the hell…?
Magnus reared back at the realization that not only had he been slowly leaning closer and closer toward Olivia as the two of them spoke quietly together, but he was now allowing his thoughts to wander into speculation regarding how passionate and responsive the outspoken Olivia might be in the bedchamber.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even felt the inclination to bed a woman, let alone indulge in the anticipation of how passionate she would be once he had her there.
He often spent months away at sea, when allowing himself thoughts of beautiful and desirable women was not only impractical, but could become physically intolerable.
Such thoughts had created a problem when he was younger, but with the passing of the years, and a lack of mistress or wife, Magnus had become adept at controlling and dampening his carnal passions.
To such a degree that for the past five years, apart from an occasional liaison with a lady of the demimonde, he had not given much thought to sexual matters.
God, when had he become so old?
As he had just told this young lady, he was seven and thirty, not seven and seventy. Far too young to have decided that sex with any woman other than a paid companion—and even that only rarely—was an unnecessary complication in his life.
Although that disinterest did not appear to be the case in regard to Olivia Buchan, as images of her completely naked now filled Magnus’s head.
Her slender body would be all delicate, pale curves as she rode his cock, the dark curls on her mound mingling with his with each delicious stroke. He imagined her breasts tipped with deep rose nipples, and that glorious dark hair loose about her shoulders and down the slender length of her spine as she arched and undulated her body above and against his.
These vivid imaginings caused Magnus’s cock to first stir and then engorge completely. Within seconds, it had become a painful throb inside his breeches.
As if, despite his earlier thoughts, he was a callow youth unable to control or master his passions!
It was also something which would become patently obvious to Olivia if she were to glance down and see that thick length pressing against the tailored perfection of his cream evening breeches.
Would she be shocked or flattered by such an obvious physical response toward her?
Magnus knew instinctively she would be neither of those things. That very little shocked Lady Olivia Buchan, nor was she easily flattered.
He liked that about her, Magnus realized with some dismay.
As he liked her.
Against his better judgment, against all sense, he liked her very much.
He also admired her outspokenness.
It was unusual for one so young not to suffer fools gladly, even more so when it was a female doing so. She would likely be formidable in her old age.
Which, Magnus knew, was many years hence, and offered no solution as to what he was to do now in regard to this unexpected desire he appeared to feel toward her, despite her family connection to Emelia Brigham.
Emelia Brigham.
It was a name guaranteed to shrivel his balls and deflate his cock in seconds!
It also served to completely banish any further thoughts from his mind of bedding the beautiful Olivia.
He straightened before stepping back from the hold Olivia’s hand still had on the crook of his arm. “I am sure you are mistaken in that regard, Lady Olivia,” he dismissed with stiff politeness. “Now I am afraid I must forgo the pleasure of enjoying any more of your company to instead go meet and speak with the governor’s other guests.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Why do people do that?” she mused. “If you are tired of my company, then you should simply say so,” she explained dismissively when he raised questioning brows. “I do not require, nor need, insincere platitudes, from you or anyone else.”
“Perhaps—”
“I need your pity even less.” Her eyes flashed deeply violet.
And that sharp tongue, Magnus knew, was the reason why Olivia Buchan was not yet either betrothed or married.
Was it also the reason why Magnus felt so drawn to her?
Possibly.
Despite knowing it was what he should do, Magnus was reluctant to step away from Olivia’s company in order to exchange pleasantries with people he did not know and would probably never see again once he and his ships had sailed away from here.
Any more than, as he had never made her acquaintance until now, he would see Olivia again after enjoying these days of celebration on the Isle of Man?
“My brother, who is two years older than me, assures me, however,” she continued with an affectionate chuckle, “that he finds that form of flattery to be highly effective with the ladies.” She wrinkled her tiny nose. “If that should be the case, I admit to feeling disappointed with my fellow females for both their deplorable gullibility, if they are truly charmed by my rake of a brother, but also, their lack of self-pride if they are not charmed but allow Simon to think they are.”
Without Magnus having asked a single question on the subject, he somehow seemed to now know a great deal about the personal lives of the whole of the immediate Buchan family.
Olivia’s mother was still a harridan who did not try nor wish to understand her independently minded eldest daughter.
Her father was as weak as he had ever been, having allowed his wife to dictate the fate of that unmarried daughter by sending her off to the Isle of Man.
Her two younger sisters, Elizabeth and Charlotte, were as self-centered as their mother for having allowed Margaret to send Olivia away for their benefit.
Her brother, Lord Simon Buchan, future heir to the Aldrich earldom, was a charming and unrepentant rake.
The Fitzgeralds, whom she called aunt and uncle, welcomed and appreciated her presence into their household.
Their daughter Cecelia was now Olivia’s best friend.
Magnus considered himself to be a caring and considerate commander to his men, and he took an interest in their lives as much as he was able to do with almost two thousand men and three ships currently under his direct command.
But this single conversation had told him more about Olivia Buchan’s private life than he currently knew of any of his officers and men.
But also must be listed amongst those facts was that Olivia was Emelia Brigham’s niece.
Magnus drew himself up stiffly to once again look at Olivia down the length of his nose. “You really will have to excuse me, Lady Olivia. My duty takes me elsewhere.”
She eyed him curiously. “And you are all about performing your duty, are you not?”
He frowned his irritation that she was continuing to engage him in conversation, despite his having already taken his leave of her company.
Twice.
With any other woman, Magnus would have suspected a reluctance on her part to end the acquaintance. But there was no covetous or flirtatious gleam in Olivia Buchan’s unusual violet-colored eyes, only a curiosity to know the answer to her question.
“Duty is my sole purpose for being on the island,” he answered.
“But do you not sometimes find that dedication to duty irksome?” she ventured curiously.
The honest answer to that was, yes, Magnus was finding the strict regime of naval life during peacetime to be exceedingly irksome. It was the reason, after almost twenty years in the navy, that he was thinking of retiring his commission.
As the youngest of two sons, it had been expected he would enter one of the services, and he had chosen the navy. Unfortunately, his older brother, Adam, had ironically been killed five years ago by drowning in the lake on one of the family estates. Adam had been unmarried and without a son and heir, thus making Magnus the new Earl of Rockborne.
Magnus had spent those interceding years remaining in the navy and continuing the battle to defeat Napoleon’s navy. But the deposed emperor had now been incarcerated on Saint Helena for over a year, with no signs of his ever escaping that imprisonment as he had Elba the year before.
In the circumstances, Magnus believed now was a good time for him to resign from the navy and fully take up the reins of being the Earl of Rockborne.
Up to now, he had left the day-to-day running of his estates completely in the hands of the managers he employed, and the care of the Rockborne households to the butlers and housekeepers.
But recently, he’d had a yearning to sit beside his own fireplace for more than a few weeks at a time. To walk and ride about his estates to meet and tend to the needs of his many tenants.
Yes, it was another form of duty, but this one would be dictated by his own needs rather than the whims and fancy of the Crown. No doubt Prinny would try to talk him out of such a move. But to Magnus’s mind, it was time, past time, for him to live his own life. It was not too late, at seven and thirty, for him to marry and enjoy a family of his own—
He couldn’t claim to have ever thought of doing that before!
“You seem to be taking overlong to answer my question, my lord,” Olivia derided at his continued silence.
Not that she believed him devoid of thought on the subject. The dark frown on his brow and the slightly unfocused expression in those sky-blue eyes were clear indication of the depth of his inner musings.
He straightened. “Duty has taken up much of my life for most of the past twenty years.”
“Then I should think that to be even more reason for you to wish to now throw off that burdensome yoke and be your own man.”
His brows lowered over stormy blue eyes. “I do not believe I have ever been anything but my own man,” he bit out icily.
Olivia could tell by his tone of voice and that nerve once again pulsing in Rockborne’s tightly clenched jaw that he did not appreciate her comment in the slightest.
It would not be the first time a gentleman had taken exception to something she had said. But it was the first time Olivia felt regret for having unsettled or upset one with her bluntness.
“I apologize if I overstepped, my lord.” She gave a curtsy, unsure as to why it was she felt this regret for having possibly insulted Rockborne when it had never bothered her whom her acerbic tongue insulted before now.
Luckily, the start of the music and the taking to the dance floor by a dozen or so couples proved a suitable distraction from the increasing tension between them.
Olivia gave a bright and insincere smile. “As you quite correctly pointed out, I must not keep you from the governor’s other guests a moment longer. My lord?” She frowned her puzzlement when he continued to remain at her side, despite her having given him permission to leave.
His nostrils flared, his mouth became a thin line, a nerve pulsed in his clenched jaw, and his eyes turned even stormier as he continued to stare at her.
“Are you feeling quite well?” She voiced her concern at this visible evidence of the inner disturbance of his emotions. Although quite why that should be, she had no idea. “Perhaps I should inform our hosts that you are not feeling well—”
“I am feeling perfectly well, Olivia.” He gave a tight smile at the way her eyes widened at his familiarity. “You are right, I do have to circulate now, but I would appreciate it if you would do me the honor of putting my name next to a dance on your dance card for later this evening.” His eyes widened after making the statement.
As if, Olivia mused, he were more than a little taken aback by having made the invitation.
As she was.
Her heart was pounding loudly, the blood rushing hotly through her veins at the thought of dancing with a gentleman as handsome and forceful as Magnus Forsythe. That heat increased as she imagined feeling the warmth of one of his large hands through the lace of her glove as they danced a quadrille together.
Was it her imagination or had it suddenly become overly warm in here?
Certainly, the bodice of her gown felt a little too tight across her breasts, and there was an unfamiliar moistness to the material of her drawers between her legs. Her palms felt a little damp inside her gloves too.
“Perhaps a waltz?” The corners of Magnus’s mouth turned up and his gaze warmed at the mention of that scandalous dance.
She frowned at the suggestion. “The waltz has been banned from being performed in polite company, my lord.”
“Then perhaps we might meet outside on the terrace after supper and perform a waltz together there, well away from that so-called polite company.”
Olivia stared at him, unsure as to whether he was teasing her. Except, so far in their acquaintance, he had not given her the impression he was inclined to indulge in such cruelties.
The alternative, that he was serious in that shocking invitation, did not seem at all likely either. “Are you mocking me, my lord?” she snapped.
To her utmost surprise, he laughed. Not softly, but loudly enough that several heads turned in their direction to try to ascertain what the guest of honor found so amusing about Olivia’s company.
She had not missed the curious and, in some cases, resentful glances being sent in her direction as she and Magnus talked at length together. No doubt because she had monopolized the attention of this handsome single gentleman for far too long, after committing the initial sin of introducing herself.
She could not help but stare at him now. Magnus’s humor had softened the normally harsh lines of his features, making him appear years younger. His eyes had also become the warm blue of a clear summer’s sky. He no longer held his body so stiffly and formally either.
Lingering humor continued to curve his lips. “Not mockery, but I admit I was attempting to flirt with you.” Again, he seemed as surprised by that admission as she did. “But from your suspicious reaction, I appear not to have succeeded,” he added dryly.
Olivia scowled. “I believe I have already made my feelings clear regarding insincere flattery and flirtation.”
“You have,” he drawled. “I had not realized you felt the same resentment in regard to flirtation that is sincere.” He raised challenging brows.
Olivia continued to eye him guardedly, despite the fact her stomach had given several lurching movements at the mere thought of being held in this man’s strong arms as he twirled her about the room in the intimacy of a waltz.
She had never seen it danced, as it had long been banned as being far too risqué for polite English company. She believed it to be a different matter on the Continent, and that it had become the most fashionable dance there. No doubt, now that peace once more reigned between England and France, Magnus had had opportunity to dance the waltz dozens of times with those more daring Continental ladies.
The last thing Olivia wished was to be thought of lacking in courage. “You would have to teach me the dance steps, I am afraid,” she admitted. “My mother refused to allow any of us to learn them.”
He gave a nod. “I would be happy to do so.”
“Very well then, my lord. Magnus,” she added even more daringly. “I shall save you a dance and be waiting outside on the terrace for you to join me at ten o’clock.” She turned on her heel to cross to where Cecelia now stood in conversation with her parents.