With the opera over and everyone filing out of the box, Olivia was proud of Josiah for not falling asleep. Perhaps he had found it to be entertaining.
Even had Olivia thought the performance dull she would not have nodded off. How could she have with her hand taking odd turns at shivering and steaming, gloves notwithstanding?
There had been a point when she had half a mind to slip the glove off, feel Josiah’s warm flesh curled around hers.
She would not—no, never. It had been a very bold move to do what she had. Even so, she could not say she regretted it.
She had never simply held a man’s hand for the sheer tenderness of it.
Her husband had not been one for tenderness, at least not once the vows had been recited, but, no, even before that he had only play-acted at it. As naive and open-hearted as she had been, she had not known the difference between genuine and false.
She knew it now.
There was no doubt that Josiah Steton’s attentions towards her were an expression of open-hearted—something—and whatever it was, it was quite genuine.
Indeed, every bit as genuine as the reason she had taken his hand in the first place. The man needed comfort for the loss he feared coming. She wanted to give that comfort. She was adept at giving comfort—did she not give it to Victor daily?
Somewhere between the first and second act of the opera, something had changed inside her. The something was not at all maternal.
What had begun as a compassionate gesture had quite turned on her.
Indeed, compassion did not lead one to wonder what his large rough hands would feel on other parts of her person. It certainly did not make one’s pulse race and her heart feel like a melted lump, all sweet and gooey.
She watched him going down the stairs ahead of her, filling the role of the Duchess’s escort.
Light from the sconces along the walls made his hair gleam a rich and engaging brown. She thought to tap his shoulder and remind him to put on the hat, but if he did she would not be able to appreciate his hair, wonder what it would be like to touch it, smell it.
‘What do you know about him?’ Roselina nudged her with an elbow.
What? Oh, Lord Grantly’s son, of course.
‘I have not heard any scandal involving him. He is Lord Grantly’s heir. The family is respectable. But take care, Roselina. Many men will seek an introduction. You will be sought after, but, please, do be more cautious than I was.’
‘Yes, I will be. And may I say something, as a friend? For we are, are we not?’
‘Indeed we are and you may.’
‘Good, then, because I tell you this in all affection. I have heard about your first husband. But you can trust Joe. My brother is as loyal a man as you will meet.’
Having been acquainted with him for some time now, she did believe it. But who would he be loyal to?
Just because they had touched hands all through the opera did not mean it would be her. She had lost count of how many ladies had glanced appreciatively at him tonight.
The advice she had just given Roselina went for her as well. Be careful, be cautious and do not let your heart be broken.
And yet—she still wanted to reach out and touch Josiah’s hair.
Would it be so horrible to forget caution for one night, begin with it again tomorrow? Really, she had already abandoned it so what did it matter?
Gracious, what a feather she had for a brain. She did not even know that Josiah wanted to have his hair touched.
While she was wool-gathering, several people stepped between her and the rest of her group.
She tried to catch up, but the effort was futile. Each second put her further and further behind them. Using the Duchess’s hat feather as a beacon, she made slow progress down the stairs.
The room suddenly flared in cold white light. By the time her eyes adjusted, thunder rumbled over the roof. Through the open doors she heard voices exclaiming over the sudden deluge of rain.
‘You seem to have been parted from your company, Lady Olivia. Allow me to escort you home.’
Cold air washed in from the open doors and up the stairs, but her chill had not to do with the temperature.
‘Nonsense, Lord Waverly. They are at the doors waiting for me,’ she said, which did not keep him from reaching for her elbow.
She neatly avoided his grasp.
‘I will take you to them, then. There is a back stairway which will get you to the front more quickly than the stairs will.’
‘You are a man with a fast reputation, my lord. The very last place I will go with you is into a back stairway.’
‘I guarantee we will have a diverting time.’
It would be useless to discuss this with him. Taunting her was all a part of his cat-and-mouse fun.
As luck would have it, Lady Greene, who was an avid conversationalist, was on the step behind. Olivia moved to the side and let her step down between them.
As she had hoped, the Baroness struck up a conversation with Waverly, which gave Olivia a chance to put several people between them.
She needed to get to her party and quickly. The Marquess had been correct about the back stairs. With him delayed by Lady Greene, she would be able to escape down them and be reunited with the Duchess’s group as quick as a snap.
She made her way back to the upper landing. With the crowd thinned out it was an easy matter to get to the stairway. Being lit by sconces, the two flights down were not perilous. At the bottom and down a long hallway there would certainly be a door which opened to the lobby.
She was only halfway down the hallway when she heard the stairway door above squeak open. There was nothing for it but to exit one of the doors that lead to the alley before Waverly—and that had to be who was opening the door—spotted her.
She went out the closest one and shut it softly.
Cold rain hit her head, soaked her hair and washed over her face.
Lightning blanched the alley. The thunder seemed very close, but further away than the first strike had been. Oh, but the rain came down in a torrent.
In an instant her gown was a ruin. What a mess she was going to make of the Duchess’s carriage.
She started to run, her slippers splashing in puddles that grew deeper by the second.
Looking down, she did not see the large figure coming towards her, but she did hear the running footsteps.
All at once a coat covered her head. Everything went dark until a face popped under and lifted the coat, making a makeshift umbrella of it.
‘It’s only me.’
Only Josiah Steton, who always seemed to be there in the instant she most needed him.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, beginning to shiver.
‘I came to get you.’
‘I see that.’ Rain hit the coat he held over them, but cold wind blew in sideways. ‘But how did you know where I was?’
‘I lost you in the crowd. Then there was Waverly pushing his way towards the side door up there. He seemed in an all-fire hurry. I figured there must be an alley door so I came looking.’
‘Do you come after every damsel in distress?’ She asked this in jest, but only to lighten the deep emotion washing over her. She knew it was not only the weather making her shiver.
As a widow she put on an independent face, even to herself. While she could not deny the man made her shiver, he also made her feel watched over—safe and cherished.
‘It is you I came after, Olivia, only you.’
Lightning flashed again, thunder rolled away in the distance but she felt as though it was rolling through her.
‘We should go back to the others,’ she said because it was oh, so sensible.
Her comment might have been more convincing had she not reached up to touch his rain-slicked hair and sighed out loud.
‘Yes, we ought.’
And she might believe his answer if he were not drawing a line down her cheek with his finger, tracing the shape of her lips with his thumb.
‘Josiah, I cannot—’ But she could and she wanted to.
‘Joe, I’m just Joe.’ His head dipped an inch closer to her face. She felt the warmth of his breath, which stole hers quite away. ‘You can if you wish it, Olivia. And the bald truth is, on my part, I wish it very much.’
‘I’m afraid... What if—?’
But what if she did not? Would she shun joy for ever? Would she allow Henry Shaw to reach beyond the grave to rob her joy today, just as he had done with her past?
No! She would not.
‘Be gone, wicked shade,’ she whispered.
Joe began to back out from under the coat, but she caught his coat, drew him back.
‘I was not saying that to you.’
‘Ah, good then.’
The warmth of his breath returned, but only for an instant. The gentle pressure of his lips came in its stead, igniting a delightful simmer under her skin.
He dropped the coat. She heard it splash on the stones. He drew her closer, one arm around her back and one hand cupping her head. He tasted like—like—in the moment it escaped her.
The alley faded away, puffed into mist. Indeed, the only real and solid thing she was aware of was being kissed—nearly devoured—by a cowboy. Being dressed in the highest fashion did not make him any less of one.
Joe Steton was rugged to the bone. The most elegant of gentlemanly apparel would not change him.
Tangling her fingers in his hair, she realised how very grateful she was for it.
The crunch of carriage wheels on wet stone sounded at the end of the alley.
Joe let go of her with a softly whispered curse that she took no offence to. Had she not been raised a lady she would have uttered it, too.
‘They’ve come for us, I reckon.’ He stooped to pick up the coat.
The carriage door opened and one of the men with their party peeked out. ‘Ah, you’ve found her, then!’
Oh, indeed he had. He had found more of her than anyone knew. He had unearthed a part of her that she had buried long ago.
What no one could know—well, perhaps Joe knew it—was that inside, she was laughing, twirling jubilantly and quite over the moon.
There was not much she feared more than that.
By the next morning the storm had moved on, leaving behind clouds and scattered drizzle.
At least the storm involving lightning and thunder had passed.
There was another one going on inside Joe which could not be cleared by pacing the parlour. Roselina, sitting at the secretary and writing a letter to Ma, was giving him odd glances, no doubt wondering why he was behaving so strangely.
So he went out, collected his horse from the livery and went for a ride in Hyde Park.
It was the thing to do, he’d heard. To ride out in the morning and socialise—be seen.
Which was not the reason he was in the park. Giving Blue some much-needed exercise wasn’t it either.
He needed good clean air and outdoor movement while wearing his familiar Stetson in order to think clearly.
By sugar, he sure didn’t seem to be able to think right in the blamed top hat. With any luck the rain had ruined it beyond fixing. Same for the tight black boots that had lost their sheen to a mud puddle.
Glancing about, he noticed he was travelling in the opposite direction of the other riders. That was fine since he did not want to converse with anyone but himself.
He needed to give himself a good, stern talking to. Set what had happened last night right in his mind. He hadn’t gone looking for Olivia with the intention of kissing her. He only meant to see to her safety.
If she hadn’t looked so appealing with water washing her hair out of its coiffure, with her face slick with raindrops, her lips dotted with them, or if she hadn’t been shivering, he might not have.
He shook his head, heard the tap of drizzle on his hat brim. It wasn’t true. All those reasons were excuses.
Kissing her had been on his mind for a good long while, since he’d first come across her in the cemetery.
Blue snorted at another animal passing, its rider genteelly attired. Joe tipped his hat by habit, not really paying attention to the gesture. The fellow tipped his in return and rode on.
Whether the gent smiled or not, Joe did not notice, being eaten up with guilt for what he had done.
If Olivia thought he offered more than a kiss, he was a cad. He ought to have fought against the need to be so close to her. Resisted it—a true gentleman would have.
Just went to show he was too rough to be turned into a silk purse. He might manage a show of it for the time it took his sister to find what she was looking for. After that he would go back to acting the fellow he really was.
In the eyes of proper society, he was the son of a baron. What he actually was, was a heathen, following his desire about like a bull with a ring in his nose.
Apologising for his behaviour would be right and proper, except that he was not sorry. It was more that he was repentant, which was a far different emotion as far as Joe was concerned.
He would never be sorry he kissed Olivia. The memory of it would stay with him when he took his last breath. But he was repentant for what damage his indulgence might have caused her.
‘Come on, Blue.’ He patted the horse’s neck, then turned him for the livery. ‘I’ve got some forgiveness to beg.’
After breakfast, Olivia called for the carriage and went shopping. Fencroft House felt as though it was closing in on her, as if the air was stifling and the ceiling pressing down.
With Victor busy at his lessons, there was nothing with which to occupy her mind. Which was far more occupied than it ought to be—with things it ought not to be. The more she indulged in thoughts best forgotten, the more a muddle her mind became.
Last night, holding hands with Josiah had made her oblivious to the fate of the shepherdess and her flock, but his kiss—well, that made her oblivious to anything needing attention this morning.
Purchasing a new gown was something that would take time and require concentration.
Surely giving her full attention to silk and brocade would help her forget the scent of the cowboy.
Mr Creed assisted her down the carriage steps. It was not right that it was Josiah’s face she saw smiling instead of the driver’s. She blinked hard to clear the image.
As she entered the shop, the first thing she spotted was a dress in shades of green and amber. There was no way she would not see again the way Joe—Josiah—had been looking at her while holding the coat over them and waiting for her to give him a signal to kiss her.
It was wrong. She should not have done it, yet she had never felt such a connection with a man before. Certainly not with Henry The Unfaithful.
Roselina had been correct when she’d said that Joe would be loyal.
She could only pray that she had not given him hope where none existed. For all the joy and elation she had felt in the moment, she did not mean it to indicate a commitment to him.
Vowing a future to a man was not something she was ready to do. Most especially to one who would be leaving London at the end of the Season—perhaps sooner given all the attention Roselina was receiving.
There was but one thing to do, she decided while fingering the fabric which was the shade of Joe’s eyes. That was to confront him this afternoon. Admit it had all been a huge mistake.
And, no, that was not a tear she just whisked from her eye.
Olivia did not watch for Josiah crossing the garden for his afternoon lesson.
Her time would be better spent reviewing today’s instruction in how to converse with a lady while not speaking of matters of great importance.
After all, one did not want to offend delicate sensibilities. Which was rubbish, of course. Ladies were as capable of carrying on an intelligent discourse on social issues as gentlemen were.
In many cases, more so.
For all that she tried to keep focused on teaching absurdity, it was not uppermost in her mind.
Figuring out how to be forthcoming with Josiah was. Especially given that she was not being completely truthful with herself.
Telling him she had made a mistake in kissing him was what she needed to do, but she could not, in truth, say that it was.
The memory was one she would cherish. However, she could not indulge in that behaviour again.
‘It would be unwise.’ She sat down suddenly in the chair at the garden table, drumming her fingers on the notes she would give him of what was, and was not, proper dinner conversation to have with a lady.
‘What would be unwise?’
She spun about, surprised that he had come in without her notice even though she had been expecting him. Clearly she had been dwelling on what was unwise—revelling in it, more to the point.
‘Good afternoon, Josiah. It has to do with your lesson today.’ Did she seem collected, as if last night had not shaken her walls? ‘I was thinking it would not be wise to speak to a lady about politics. We have delicate conditions which might be thrown out of balance if we heard that politics was nasty business.’
‘Politics might throw anyone off balance.’
And while the subject of off balance was fresh, it was time to discuss why it was.
‘Sit down and we will go over these notes.’
What a coward she was. Life’s circumstances would not change because she feared speaking of them. She had done what she had done in kissing him. Now she would do what she must in order to make sure it did not happen again.
If she meant to avoid a broken heart, she must avoid becoming too attached to the man who could break it.
She pushed the notes across the table, but he did not even glance at them.
With the way his gaze was so intent upon her, she could only wonder if he meant to kiss her again.
That would not do, not at all.
‘It would be much preferable to speak of fashion and—’
‘I owe you an apology, Olivia.’
As much as she agreed that they should not pursue what they had begun, she did not wish for him to have been unmoved by it.
In the moment she would have sworn he had been as overcome as she was.
‘No need for apology, surely. We were both rather overtaken by a moment. It was simply a temporary lapse of good sense that we will think no more of.’
‘I will think of it—always.’
It was as if she had been struck dumb. How was she to reply to his honesty? This was not a time for truth. It was a time to present what needed to be the truth.
‘The fact is, Olivia, I can’t say if it’s a pleasure or a heartache, remembering. But I ask your forgiveness if I led you to believe I could offer more. My place is not here in London.’
‘And mine is not away from it. I completely understand.’
Of course she understood. It was only sensible to do so.
But then again—he had just said he would think of their kiss—always. There was no unsaying that.
The notion that he would remember her years down the road from now, possibly even yearn for that kiss, put her off balance. Left her utterly confused.
The very last thing she wanted was to be off balance or confused.
Such a state would make her vulnerable.
‘Please,’ she said with false flippancy. ‘Think no more of it. I am a woman of some experience, after all, and am not misled by a simple kiss.’
‘Was it so simple for you? Because it was not for me.’
‘As I said, think no more of it. We will carry on with your lessons as if it never happened.’
When, she wondered, had she become so adept at prevarication?
‘Does “think no more of it” mean the same thing as you forgive me?’
‘It means, there is nothing to forgive.’ She waggled the instructions on proper conversation in front of his nose. ‘Shall we carry on?’
He took it from her, glanced at it for a moment.
‘Seems to me it would be better not to have a conversation with a lady at all if this is what we will be talking about. We will both be bored as snails in a foot race.’
‘You might discuss the opera with her.’
His response to that advice was to grin at her.
Evidently he did not regret caressing her fingers any more than he did kissing her.
Maybe he did not have regrets, but she did and they must be dealt with. Wondering what if this, or what if that, did not change the fact that his life led one way and hers another. Trying to do so was a sure path to heartache, which was one road she would not stumble down again.
‘I am glad that we have come to an understanding about last night,’ she said because even though she had momentarily diverted the conversation away from the subject, she wanted to put a final word on it.
Indeed, she wanted him to understand it was her choice as much as it was his.
An equal and sensible meeting of minds.
If she felt the same tonight in the quiet stillness of her bed, she would be beyond delighted—and surprised.
It seemed that the new Olivia, the one who wanted to dance, sing, and kiss the cowboy, made her presence known in quiet times when the real Olivia let her guard down.
Perhaps she ought to remain awake, recalling the faces of Henry’s mistresses. That would keep star-dancing Olivia in her place.
For the next two weeks Joe spent time with Olivia, attending his lessons dutifully, studiously. Somehow he managed not to kiss her, but the temptation was there like an itch under his skin.
During that time of becoming socially educated he had also learned to greet Roselina’s callers with civility. It would not do for him to behave with less friendliness than the dog did. Apparently Sir Bristle thought them all worthy.
Naturally, Sir Bristle was most partial to the one Joe harboured the greatest resentment for.
‘Young Lord Mansfield,’ he murmured, watching from an upper window while the young man paid his daily visit.
In the absence of Ma, Olivia had volunteered to act as Roselina’s chaperon. He could not express how grateful he was for it. Had Joe been chaperon, Roselina would probably have no suitors.
Except that dogged one. How old could he be? Not much older than Roselina, surely. Could he even provide for her?
Watching the two of them laughing and having a fine high time made him irritable.
He would rather look at Olivia, so he did. She sat beside the fountain, reading a book. Pretended to, anyway. Even from up here he noticed her attention focused discreetly on the ridiculously young couple.
And a good thing she did. Of all the boys coming to call, his sister seemed most drawn to peach-faced Mansfield, and he—well, besotted only began to describe the look on his face.
Joe ought to go downstairs, join Olivia in her surveillance.
The trouble was, his attention would be all for her. Keeping up his mask of indifferent camaraderie was no easy thing.
There was an understanding between them. He was obliged to live up to it. But by sugar, he was becoming more attracted to her, not less. He might appear to be the soul of cordiality but there was more to his friendly smile than she knew.
He’d spent more than a few hours wondering what he would do if it was not his destiny to return home.
If, for whatever inconceivable reason, he did not, would she want him?
Didn’t appear so. Unlike he did, she probably did not hide anything behind her smile. It was what it appeared to be.
And yet he saw the way she was with her child. A woman who loved so deeply was not likely to limit that love to only one person.
Blame it, he had no business wondering if there was more to her smile. He was going home and grateful to be doing so.
Funny, but the thought of going home used to make him feel rather buoyant. Ever since he had kissed Olivia, thinking of going home almost gave him the sensation of sinking.
Now he was being ridiculous. There was nothing he wanted more than to go home, to ride across the open range and lasso a calf or two.
Down below, young Mansfield bowed over Roselina’s hand in taking his leave. He lingered over it, but Olivia did not glance up from her book in censure. Perhaps he ought to rap on the window.
Finally Mansfield did walk away, but not without casting moon-eyed looks back over his shoulder. At last he closed the garden gate behind him.
Ah, just there, he saw Olivia’s shoulders shaking in what had to be suppressed humour.
In the instant, Victor dashed across the Fencroft terrace, scrambled over the low stone wall that divided it from the rest of the garden, then ran like mad towards his mother.
She caught him up, twirled him about in a hug, kissing his cheeks without ceasing.
One day some fellow was going to be the lucky recipient of all that love. Resentment over some imagined man ought not turn his stomach sour, and yet it did. The reason why did bear dwelling upon.
Joe Steton was not meant to be her man. He was going home to Wyoming and nothing could deter him from it.
He had nothing against London, except maybe the foul city air, but this was a town for gentlemen—a town for his father. Some day he would be required to take care of the family estates, but that time was far off. When the day came, he would do what his father did—travel between the two—but in the end it would be the ranch that roped his heart.
The hell of it was, Olivia had roped and tied him, as well.
Even if he did change his mind about where home was, there was nothing to say that she wanted him.
It was a wicked situation to be in and it grieved him.
Roselina skipped into the room, looking as happy as he’d ever seen her.
It was not for him to cloud her joy with his own inner turmoil. His job of the moment was to see that the fellow she chose was a good match for her.
After that—or perhaps before—if he could manage, he was off to the north to see to Haversmere Estate.
Once everything was settled there, he hoped the state of his own heart would be more peaceful.