A Countess by Chance(14)

She took a step back, just out of his reach. “Is that why you brought me in here, to growl at me? I was having a perfectly lovely evening.” Wretched evening, more like, but she smiled convincingly. He needn’t know she’d been thinking about him all night, about all the things he’d said in the garden, about all the wicked things she wanted him to do to her.

His eyes narrowed at that, as though the very thought of her enjoying herself made him want to lock her in this room all night. Perhaps he would.

“Tell me one thing, Olivia. If you loved me, why did you leave me for Whitmore?”

The sudden change in topic stunned her silent. Years ago, she’d practiced her answer to this very question—the apologetic words were branded into her memory, ready to recite on command. But now that he stood before her, in the flesh, the penitent words seemed feeble and insignificant. How could she possibly explain?

She glanced down at the red and white Persian carpet, then back up at him. His eyes glinted in the candlelight. “My feelings were genuine, Adam, I assure you. But my family…” She paused, started over. “Everything depended on me making a good match.”

The weight of it pressed on her continually.

“And my modest fortune wasn’t enough.”

Nodding, she swallowed and glanced away. “I couldn’t bear to confess the truth. I was sure you’d hate me.” Not that it made any great difference. In the end, he’d despised her anyway.

His features softened. “I could have helped you, Olivia. I could have taken some of the burden. We would have found a way.” Just months after Olivia had jilted him, his uncle and cousin had died in a carriage accident, instantly elevating him to the title Earl of Huntington. “I would have given you anything.”

And that was precisely the problem. Everything he’d earned, everything he’d worked so hard to build, would have gone to the creditors. And still they would have demanded more.

“No, I would never have asked you to give what money you had to pay my father’s debts.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t bear the thought of it.”

His lips were pressed into a firm, implacable line. “And what of Whitmore? Did you form a genuine attachment to him?”

“I cared for him.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides. She pulled a fist into her hand and forced it to open, twining her fingers with his. “But never in the way I cared for you.”

“And the caricature?”

Oh, yes. That. Good heavens, would she ever live that down?

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could strike that horrid day from her memory forever. When she opened her eyes, Adam was staring at her, waiting. She let out a sharp breath. “We went for a ride through Hyde Park, and must have grazed a beehive. I don’t really know how it all came about. In seconds, the ghastly things had surrounded him. I tried to help him…” She swallowed. She should have done more, somehow. “But it happened so quickly, and there was nothing I could do.” She frowned. “By the time someone came to help, I was straddling him, attempting to rouse him. I can only imagine how it must have appeared.”

“Were you stung as well?”

“Once or twice. He only had a few as well. The doctor said he must have had a reaction.”

Her hand was still entwined with his, and he used it to tug her forward, into his embrace. He was strong, so powerful, and when his arms encircled her, she felt safe. Protected.

For long seconds, she leaned against him, absorbing the steady rhythm of his heart, drawing on his heat.

“I should warn you, Olivia. I haven’t any intention of letting you go.”

His voice was deep, commanding, and it sent fire sweeping through her veins.

She swallowed. “I’m supposed to ask for it, remember?”

His lips twisted into a slow, sensuous smile. “You will, love. Trust me, you will.”





              Chapter Six



You couldn’t possibly mean here, now.” Though the thought of it, mere feet away from where the party raged, made her blood heat.

“Yes, here and now. I find I am compelled to claim what’s mine.” He leaned in close again, his hand splayed on her waist possessively. “I don’t like seeing you with Wood,” he whispered harshly in her ear. “It drives me mad with jealousy.”

“Does it?” By God, the room was alarmingly hot, the air thick in her lungs. “In that case, I shall endeavor to engage him in conversation more often.”

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that rumbled through her every limb, right down to her toes. “What makes you think I will allow that?”