Shifting, she squinted, trying hard to grasp what Annabelle was driveling on about. A reclusive duke was due to arrive, or some such. Whatever she was saying, Olivia hadn’t the patience to care. In the conservatory, a dashing, titled, entirely delicious man was waiting for her…and she was foolish enough to be in this room, chatting about dukes she didn’t give a whit about.
She wanted Adam. More than that, she needed him. It prickled her pride to admit it, even to herself, but it could no longer be denied.
Abruptly, she excused herself and rushed down the hall, her slippered feet moving quickly beneath her. Undiluted anticipation swept over her. The conservatory door was open, just a crack. Slowly, she pushed it open and slipped inside. The room was cold and black as pitch. Her heart galloped.
She swallowed and stepped deeper into the room. “Hello?”
Cold, empty silence.
Well, she certainly felt foolish, standing alone in the dark. Perhaps he’d already come and gone, or perhaps he’d never come at all. She stood there a moment, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Some distance away, a tall, imposing shadow loomed.
Adam.
Her heart raced as she inched forward.
Perhaps he’d forgiven her after all. She hadn’t dared hope for it, but with him here, tonight, hope began trickling in.
Smiling, she inched closer, reached out one hand…and felt the smooth, leafy texture of a fern. A fern!
She bristled. “Oh! I’m going to strangle him.”
Any anxiety she’d felt had melted into shame, humiliation, and anger—but it was anger that sparked to life in her chest. With an undignified huff, she turned and swept out the door.
She’d almost reached the parlor when she saw him.
Leaning against the doorframe, talking to Annabelle. Of course. Worse, there wasn’t any way to sneak back into the parlor unnoticed. He stood at the threshold, guarding it, almost as though he wanted to catch her slinking back into the room like a naughty child.
For half a second, she contemplated escaping to her bedroom. But the Dewhurst pride wouldn’t allow retreat. No, she would brush past him and rejoin the party as though nothing had happened—as though she hadn’t just tried to seduce a plant, for heaven’s sake.
Straightening, chin up, she moved toward the door. Breath held, she brushed past the couple, only to be stopped short by Annabelle’s lilting voice. “Miss Dewhurst!” Annabelle’s dainty hand reached out and caught Olivia by the wrist. “Come, you must help me persuade Lord Huntington to dance. He’s being quite obstinate.”
“Oh, I…” Olivia’s gaze shifted to Adam, who looked rather amused by her flustered response. Damn him! “I’m afraid it’s a useless cause. I don’t believe Lord Huntington dances.”
He’d once confessed to Olivia that he’d never had the patience to learn.
He spread his arms out. “You see? A hopeless case. Miss Dewhurst is wise to concede.” He emphasized the last word, his eyes flicking down the hall, from where she’d emerged, then back toward her. “Taking a stroll, were you?”
He’d left her standing in the conservatory, alone, on purpose.
A self-satisfied smile twisted his lips, making him look even more handsome, if that were possible—a fact which filled Olivia with hot, explosive fury. How dare he smirk at her, and then have the audacity to look irresistible while doing so.
She clenched her hands into fists, resisting the urge to slap that smug look off his face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d riled her. She turned to Annabelle. “No, in fact; I was just looking for your brother, Annabelle. Our earlier conversation was rudely interrupted, and I find I am still quite curious about the constellations and what have you.”
Adam’s smirk instantly melted into a scowl. That was more like it.
She smiled sweetly and left in search of Mr. Wood.
Chapter Five
The next afternoon, Adam leaned on the wooden handle of his mallet, wondering why in the devil he’d allowed himself to be talked out of bed at such a reprehensible hour. Noon was still early, as far as he was concerned. He should still be abed, snoring loudly, oblivious to the gaiety of his fellow houseguests.
He let out a breath. It was just as well. He’d been too tightly wound to sleep anyway. The entire night, his thoughts had swirled around a certain golden-haired vixen to the point of obsession.
Thinking about her, he’d brought himself to climax twice, and still it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough to cool the simmering heat of his arousal. He needed to be inside her; he needed to hear her sweet little moans as he brought her to the brink and beyond. Tormenting her was becoming less of a consideration.