Infinite care and consideration should be given when a lady chooses her

words and even more so when she elects to speak them.

~A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment

 

 

 

Allen cursed inwardly for asking Olivia the confounded question. He’d sworn to himself he would ask her to dance, uncover her scheme, and send her on her way. Completely unaffected, he would then go about his life and she about hers

What a colossal, stinking pile of horse manure.

“You humiliated me, Olivia, practically leaving me at the altar.”

Holy hell, do stubble it.

She gasped and stumbled, and he tightened his embrace, steadying her.

Her azure gaze, huge and alarmed, flitted about the room, probably seeking a means of escape. The tip of her pink tongue darted out and touched the pillow of her lower lip. “That’s not true. We hadn’t told anyone of our plans to marry. You had just proposed. No one knew.”

He ought to give her that, but his anger wouldn’t allow any concession.

The moment he’d seen her standing in the entry, he had sworn he wouldn’t acknowledge, let alone speak to her. Olivia was none of his concern. She held no interest any longer. He didn’t want anything more to do with her. When she had chosen her father over him and left to go gallivanting off in the tropics, he’d slammed that door closed and drove the bolt home.

Ballocks, you unmitigated liar. You love her every bit as much as you did the night you rejected her.

His tongue, fueled by offended pride, paid his conscience no heed. “There were wagers on White’s books, betting we would wed by summer’s end. The entire bon ton recognized me as a besotted fool.”

Maybe not the entire ton, but a sizable number had.

Olivia’s beautiful eyes widened in wounded shock, and her lower lip quivered the tiniest bit before she dropped her thick-lashed gaze to stare at his shoulder.

The pulse in her throat beat erratically, and she trembled. “I beg your pardon. This dance was a mistake. Please return me to my aunt or brother.”

“Like hell I will.” He grated the words out beneath his breath, his voice a harsh rasp.

She stiffened and looked about, half panicked.

Dragging in a juddery lungful, he hauled his attention back to his surroundings. At the end of the opulent, overheated ballroom, his parents stood beside the Duchess of Daventry, concern etched upon their countenances.

They feared he would make a scene.

He feared he would make a bloody scene.

Allen had never been this out of control before. Olivia’ presence had damned near knocked him head over arse, and he still hadn’t completely recovered his composure.

Drawing in another fortifying gulp of air, he forced a smile to his taut lips and nodded at the gawkers stretching their necks to see what transpired between Olivia and him.

Bloody ballroom full of giraffes and ostriches.

Allen would’ve loved to tell the lot to bugger off.

Instead, he elevated a brow and leveled them a civil, yet quelling look.

Dancing nearby, Miss Rossington jerked her attention away with such abruptness she mashed her partner’s foot. Tripping, the man muttered an oath and bumped into another couple. They too, faltered before regaining their balance.

An amusing vision of the dancers tumbling over like stacked cards, one after the other, and ending in a writhing pile of arms and legs upon the floor flashed before Allen. The corner of his lips skewed upward. It would give the guests something to blather about other than him and Olivia.

“Mr. Wimpleton, I demand you release me at once.” Her face constrained, Olivia attempted to pull away. She gave his shoulder a small shove. “Let go.”

She had tried that earlier, too, but he held her fast, craving her nearness. Desperately, dammit.

“Cease.” He bent his neck, his mouth near her small ear. Another inch and he could trace the delicate shell with his tongue. How would she react if he did? He drew in an extended breath. God, she smelled divine. Warm, and flowery with the faintest hint of citrus. The creamy column of her neck beckoned, as did the silky spot just below her ear, and the velvety hollow at the juncture of her throat.

He swallowed, lest he give into the urge to trail his lips from one, to the other, to the other. “We shall finish this waltz, and you shall smile and pretend to enjoy the dance. I’ll not intentionally give the gossipmongers a single morsel to toss about at my expense ever again.”

Casting the dancers a sidelong glance, she stopped trying to escape. Her lips ribbon thin, she shook her head. A russet tendril sprang loose, toppling onto her ear. “Too late for that, I’m afraid. My being here has stirred that unpleasant pot into a bubbling froth. I never should have come. It was foolish of me.”

“Why did you?”

“I ...” Her shoulders slumped, and she tucked her chin to her chest. “I wanted to see you.”

He had to strain to hear her whispered words.

Her head sank lower. “Just one more time.”

As simple as that. No pretense. No expectations or demands.

Was it possible Olivia had missed him as much as he had missed her? Despite his reservations, his treacherous heart rejoiced. Words were beyond him at the moment, and swallowing, he canvassed the room.

Mother poked Father with her fan and sent the duchess a sly, knowing smile at something her grace said.

The Duchess of Daventry looked much too pleased.

By thunder. Did she just wink at him? Had she orchestrated this?

Given her reputation for being unconventional and high-handed, he shouldn’t be the least surprised. Befuddled, he wasn’t sure whether to thank or curse her.

Allen edged Olivia even closer, until the crown of her head almost touched his chin. Despite insisting he release her a moment ago, she didn’t resist.

Her light perfume tormented him, shooting a blast of sensation to his loins and sending his lust soaring. Hound’s teeth, as if his manhood bulging in his breeches wouldn’t cause more whispers and titters. And trying to dance with a stiffened rod bumping against one’s leg presented an uncomfortable challenge.

Women didn’t realize their good fortune in wearing skirts, for their arousal didn’t tent their trousers—bloody apparent for the world to see.

Sixty seconds in his arms and Olivia had him at sixes and sevens.

And hard as marble.

Only she had this power over him. Even after an extended absence from her, he responded like a wet-behind-the-ears pup with his first woman.

Well done, old man. Your self-control is pitiable.

He dismissed his musing. All that mattered was this moment and holding her in his arms. Caressing the curve of her rib, Allen guided her through another difficult turn, made more so by the blatant eavesdroppers pressing near.

A slight smile edging her mouth, she unerringly followed his lead.

They had always been superb dance partners, and he hadn’t a doubt she would have been unequaled as a bedmate. He’d been eager to introduce her to passion’s promises once she became his wife.

His already-stirred member jerked, yanking his attention back to the present. He scrutinized Olivia through half-closed eyes.

She had grown even more beautiful.

Her gorgeous red hair, untamed and wild, like her, was streaked with gold, no doubt from exposure to the tropical sun. A jeweled ruby band peaked between artfully arranged curls—curls every bit as silky as they appeared.

Her eyes, the clearest ocean blue he’d ever seen, stayed riveted on his neckcloth. Her unique gown—cherry-red with an overlay somewhere between ivory and light gold—enhanced her glowing skin, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. Few red-heads dared wear crimson tones, but she managed to look exquisite in the becoming gown. A slight pout marred her pretty lips, slightly damp and pinkened from being nibbled, and vexation creased her usually smooth brow.

She possessed a woman’s figure now. Her breasts were fuller, the creamy mounds surging above the neckline of her gown hinting at the treasures hidden beneath the fabric. Treasures he longed to sample. No, was desperate to taste and touch.

Fiend seize it, he had thought himself over her, and truth to tell, feared ever again experiencing the pain her betrayal caused him. He’d drowned himself in drink and staggered about half-foxed for a month after her departure. If he was honest, he taken to drinking too much since, as well.

The waltz’s steps brought them near the French window at one end of the ballroom. The terrace doors stood wide open, summoning him. Before his conscience had a chance to raise an objection or dared to spout good sense, Allen whirled Olivia out the opening, just like he had that fateful night.

She stopped dancing at once and pulled from his embrace, glowering at him.

Not the same as three years ago.

“This is most improper.” She attempted to step pass him and reenter the house, but he blocked her path. Her color high, she glared at him. “I must return inside immediately or my reputation will be compromised.”

“Not until I’ve spoken my piece.” Allen grasped her elbow, preventing her escape. Intent on seeking a private bower, he glanced swiftly around before releasing her elbow only to clasp her hand.

“Allen, let me go.” Eyes narrowed, she wriggled her fingers. “You cannot go about dragging ladies here and there willy-nilly at your pleasure.”

His pleasure? Not by a long shot.

“Don’t kick up a fuss. I simply want to talk without a score of ears listening to my every word.” He steered her down the narrow flagstone steps and onto the lawn. Lanterns dotted the landscape, bathing the flowers and shrubberies in a warm glow, and where the lanterns couldn’t penetrate the darkness, the moon’s silvery beams provided a subtle half-light to all but the remotest recesses.

A woman’s giggle echoed from somewhere within the garden. Seemed he wasn’t the only one intent on bit of air and privacy. Her laughter sounded again, likely from the arbor further along the curving path that split the lawn as neatly as parted hair. A few stolen kisses might be had there away from the sharp eyes of the dowagers and watchful mamas.

“What are you doing?” Olivia tugged at her hand clamped within his. “Are you trying to ruin me? You just said you didn’t want any more gossip. You don’t think this,” she gave another yank and bobbed her head toward the veranda, “won’t signal the rumormongers that something’s afoot?”

That halted Allen in his tracks. Standing in the center of the manicured garden, he scanned the area. They were fully visible to the few guests taking the air on the terrace, but far enough away that no one could easily overhear their conversation. Her reputation would remain intact, and he could say what he had burned to say since she stepped into the ballroom.

“I’m sorry I came tonight. It’s evident my presence has upset you. That was never my intent.” Olivia released a jerky breath, misery etched upon her lovely face. “Please let me return to the house, and I shall leave at once and not bother you with my presence again.”

“Not yet.” He shook his head and straightened his waistcoat before slanting her a wry glance. “I must confess, I am grateful I didn’t wait the year you asked for, Livy.” He leaned closer, holding up three fingers. “Since it has taken three for you to reappear on the London scene.”

Gasping, she flinched as if struck. Her gaze faltered, but not before raw pain darkened her eyes, and she took a reflexive step back.

He released her hand. Hell, he was an unmitigated, chuckleheaded ass.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to return.” She lifted her chin a notch, her incredible blue eyes lancing him with accusation. “I remember your words from that night quite clearly, Allen.”

God, he remembered, too, every grating, cold syllable spewing from his lips. Guilt and shame kicked him in the ribs, pulverizing his pride.

She stared at a point beyond his shoulder, her eyes swimming with tears. She blinked several times, and swallowed audibly, obviously attempting to control her emotions. Her voice hoarse, she repeated his hateful words.

“‘Don’t expect me to wait for you, Olivia. If you choose your father over me, we’re finished.’”