The Marquess and the Maiden(20)

Before Oliver could answer his mother was swiftly walking toward him.  "We have a bit of a problem," she said once she reached him.

"What?"

"It would seem that our neighbors, the Manchesters, whom I invited out  of courtesy … " She glanced at Benedict. "Hello, Benedict, I did not  realize you were coming." She smiled. "Always lovely to see you."

"Lady Davenport," he said.

"In any case, the Manchesters had house guests and they brought them along."

"Why does any of this matter?" Oliver asked. Then he looked up at the  French doors where the guests were arriving. "Son of a bitch!"

"Yes, well, that is what I was trying to tell you," his mother said. "I  can't believe she'd actually show her face in this house."

He could. This was precisely like Catherine to come into his home and  gloat. She'd no doubt heard of his bride hunting. "Let us go and welcome  our guests, Mother." He linked her arm in his elbow and caned his way  over to the people who'd just arrived. He made certain to hit that cane  on the floor nice and loud so she could hear it, so she could watch him  painfully walk toward her.

Catherine met his gaze and sucked in a breath. Her eyes warmed, and her  lips parted. "My lord," she said with a curtsy. Her husband stood staid  beside her, handsome and tall and perfect.

"Davenport," he nodded.

"Burgess," Oliver said. He turned his gaze back to Catherine. "I did not realize we'd invited you."

"You'll have to excuse our intrusion," Catherine said. "We were guests of the Manchesters, and they insisted we come along."         

     



 

His mother smiled, though he noticed it looked as if it were made of  glass and could break at any moment. "Welcome," she bit out. "Goodness,  Catherine, when was the last time I saw you?"

It was not an authentic question. Of course, they all knew when it had  been. When she'd seen that Oliver was crippled and she'd turned tail and  ran.

The woman didn't even have the decency to blush. "I can't recall. It has  been years. You both look well." Her eyes took in the length of Oliver  and, if he wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn he saw desire in their  depths. "Quite well." She licked her lips and gave him a seductive grin.

When he looked at her, he felt nothing, not even anger or hatred, just  nothing, as if she were a stranger he passed on the street.

Suddenly he wanted Harriet at his side. He'd seen Catherine now, up  close and real, with her perfect husband at her side, who was  practically glaring a hole through Oliver's chest. He, in turn, wanted  to parade his own choice around, flaunt Harriet's seductive curves in  front of Catherine and her tall, lithe frame. But he couldn't do that.  Not yet, at least.

"Invited or not, I suppose you're here now. Do enjoy your evening," Oliver said, then pulled his mother away.

"I cannot believe she's here," his mother said.

"Of course you can, Mother. This is entirely her. Catherine heard I was on the bride hunt and she came out to watch."

"She was flirting with you while standing right beside her husband. That woman has no shame."

"No, she doesn't." He needed to see Harriet, to bask in her warmth and  light for a while and rub off the sensation that seeing Catherine had  left behind. He had no feelings for the woman. She was a coldhearted  bitch. But seeing her certainly reminded him of everything he was not-a  whole man with a perfect form and the ability to dance and many other  things she'd deemed so important that she'd backed out of their  betrothal. His mother scurried off to meet other guests, leaving him to  look for Harriet.

He had no trouble locating her. She was a beacon to his damaged ship,  her golden gown accenting the pale curls atop her head. He reached her  side and pulled at her elbow. "Harriet, I need to speak with you."

Her cinnamon-colored eyes looked up into his face, and she nodded. She walked out onto the balcony with him.

"What is the matter?" she asked once they were outside. Concern filled  her gaze, and she placed a gloved hand on his forearm. "Oliver?"

The cool air and her presence calmed him immediately. "A ghost." Nothing more.

"What did you want to speak with me about?"

He pulled her farther into the shadows of the balcony. There were only a  few people who had wandered outside, since the ball had barely begun.  People were mostly inside eating or dancing, but he needed something  else.

It was easy enough to hide her body with his own, she was so small, her  head barely coming to his chest. He slid his hand to the side of her  face.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you."

Then he bent his head and kissed her. Just a taste was what he told  himself he needed. Just a reminder that she was here, and this desire  between them was hot and thick and always at the ready. He wondered when  he'd ever get enough of her. When her soft curves wouldn't tantalize  him. When her pliant mouth wouldn't tempt him. When she wouldn't taste  so damned good.

His tongue swept into her mouth, and she gripped the lapels of his  waistcoat, pulling him closer. She wanted him with a ferocity that met  his own and that nearly tipped him over the edge. He slowed down their  kiss before he did something to embarrass himself. He pressed his  forehead to hers and held it there. Just them, close like this, in the  cool evening.

This was what mattered. Not Catherine and her rejection. Hell, it hadn't  taken him long to be thankful she'd walked out on him. But rejection  was rejection and it still stung, even if he didn't want her anymore.  Obviously his own rejection of Harriet still clouded how she saw him  now.

Yet he was determined to have her. No matter what. He knew she wanted  him as well, she'd admitted as much. But for that damned notion of love,  she refused to allow herself to accept his proposal.

"Tell me about joining the Ladies of Virtue," he said quietly.

She nodded. "Let us walk so we are not hidden here and tempted."

He held his arm out to her and led her down the lantern-lit path that  wound to the gardens, the pond, and the maze. Brookhaven had been his  playground as a child, all of those elements his favorites.         

     



 

"I was approached nearly four years ago by Lady Somersby; she's the  leader. She interviewed me extensively before explaining her interest."  She went on, telling him about how the woman had created the  organization when she was younger after posing undercover as the queen  and needing skills to protect herself. "Her idea bloomed into not only  wanting women to protect themselves, but also acknowledging that we can  aid in the removal of criminals just as men can. Oftentimes, more  effectively because we can do so less noticeably."

He chuckled. Merely the sound of her voice and the nearness of her had  calmed his addled nerves. She was a balm to him, and he didn't want to  examine what that meant. He only knew he needed her in his life.

"Do you ever get frightened?" he asked.

"Of course. Though I'm not as skilled as some of the other members at  handling things on the street. My friend Iris can locate a pickpocket in  a crowd and effectively stop him in his tracks with nothing more than a  hatpin." She smiled up at him. "We should turn back."

He nodded.

"My skill lies more in the fact that I seem to make people feel  comfortable. They let down their guard with me, tell me secrets. I've  been able to identify several households where servants were not being  treated fairly."

"You are an amazing woman."

"Thank you." She was quiet for a few moments. "Have you found any women you are interested in?" She bit down on her lip.

"More so than you? No."

She smiled. "You are relentless, I shall give you that." They climbed the stairs to the balcony.

"One more, sweet Harriet, then I shall let you go." Making certain no  one was there to see, he pressed her back into the darkness and stole  another kiss. He'd never get his fill of her taste, the way her body  molded to his. He forced himself to pull back before he compromised her.

 …

She could still taste him. Still feel his heat. Something had happened,  and she could have sworn he'd sought her out because he'd needed her,  not merely to scandalize her with a stolen kiss, but something deeper,  more real.

But she knew that couldn't be the truth. She wasn't certain what was  going on, but she needed to gather her wits about her, because this was  not what she was supposed to be doing with this weekend. If she wasn't  careful, she'd fall prey to this game of his and lose her heart.

She wasn't supposed to be indulging in stolen kisses. She was supposed  to find him a wife as well as some additional clues into the mysterious  Lady X's identity. But with his head pressed to hers, and his hand still  holding her to him, she couldn't pull her thoughts together into  anything cohesive.