She took a step backward. “How do you know…?”
“From Lord Hertford’s ball. He told me he’d propositioned you, and that you rejected him soundly. He didn’t tell me exactly what happened, though.”
She jerked her gaze away from Max and crossed her arms over her chest. “He is a terrible man. And I dislike him. Strongly.”
“I dislike him, too. But tell me, Olivia. Did he hurt you?”
She squeezed her arms tightly. “No, he didn’t hurt me. But… he would have, I think.”
The muscles in his jaw moved, and he shook his head. “Stay away from that man, Olivia. I don’t trust him. If he hurt you, I’d—”
“I’ll stay away,” Olivia said quickly. “Trust me, I have no desire to see him ever again.”
“Good.” Max blew out a breath. “It’s unfortunate he’s your neighbor.”
“Well, it’s fortunate that he’s rarely in Sussex, I suppose. And when I hear he’s in the area, I’ll simply stay at home until he’s gone.” Her voice sounded far stronger and more confident than she felt about the matter. Truthfully, the mere thought of Lord Fenwicke turned her insides into burning acid.
They walked in silence for a time. Then Max murmured, “I’ve never met anyone like you before, Olivia Donovan.”
She gave him a faltering smile. “All of us Donovans are rather odd. We attribute it to our pasts. Our lives have been…” Her voice dwindled and she shook her head. “You see, it has been… challenging for us. My father died of malaria soon after we arrived in Antigua.” She swallowed hard. She’d survived the disease, but Papa had succumbed to the very first fever.
“I’m sorry,” Max murmured.
“He left us stranded on an island far away from home and quite poor: five sisters and a mother determined to fashion us into proper ladies so we could one day marry proper English gentlemen.”
“But you have rebelled.”
Olivia shook her head. “Not overtly. My mother has no knowledge of my decision not to marry. It would infuriate her.”
Mother had insisted she lie about her health when she came to London, but it was unconscionable for Olivia to do that. Her sisters knew her well enough to understand. So did Mother, really, but Mother was Machiavellian. She would command Olivia, or her sisters, to change her very nature in order to acquire a suitable husband. That was one of the many reasons Serena had made certain Mother stayed in Antigua, at least for now.
“What prompted this decision to never marry?”
“London, among other things,” she answered, not exactly lying but evading the real truth. “Experiencing the Season.”
“Why? Most young ladies are all a-flutter about marriage during and after the Season.”
She shrugged. “It just made me feel… Oh, I don’t know. Like an item of finery for sale at an auction, I
suppose. I felt as though I should be flaunting my wares to be snatched up by the highest bidder. The whole business made me terribly uncomfortable.”
“I understand.”
“It was just me, though. Jessica enjoyed every minute of it. I drew great satisfaction from watching how she glowed at the parties and balls.” She laughed softly. “And she had so many suitors.”
“Not everyone is satisfied by the same things.”
“Even sisters,” she agreed.
“Yes, even sisters.”
“But I do think I am odd. Most ladies enjoy the Season, and they should—it’s exciting and so romantic. I suppose I’m just made differently from most ladies, though, because it didn’t appeal to me at all. And the gentlemen… Well, the thought of marriage…” She hesitated, struggling to explain her feelings adequately. “In the midst of it all, I spent some time thinking about what makes me happiest in life—what I find most fulfilling, and what my future should entail. And I came to the conclusion that marriage to an upstanding London gentleman won’t suit me nearly as much as remaining with my family. I never have such a feeling of satisfaction as when I’m surrounded by my sisters, and they’re all happy.”
“But what about
your
happiness, Olivia?”
She smiled at him. “Their happiness makes me content.”
“Is that enough, though?”
“Well… yes.”
But the answer hadn’t emerged as strongly as she would have liked. In truth, his question rocked her.
Is it enough?
Surely it was. Of course it was.
So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the raindrops until one struck her on the cheek and jolted her out of her reverie.
She blinked. Fat, heavy drops were falling all around them, plunking down on the branches and crisp leaves. She looked at Max in rising alarm.
“It’s going to rain cats and dogs,” he said grimly. “I can hear it coming.”
Glancing up at the sky, she agreed. In a matter of moments, both of them were going to be soaked to the bone. “I’m sure Captain Langley and Jonathan are home by now. I suppose you’re regretting your decision to walk with me.”
It was raining harder every second.
“Not at all,” he said smoothly. Then he gripped her wrist. “Look.” He gestured at a tall outcropping of rock just off the trail. “Let’s wait underneath those rocks until it passes.”
She looked up doubtfully, only to have her face instantly drenched by a shock of cold raindrops.
“Yes… all right.
If
it passes.”
“I think it will. There’s a break in the clouds.” He hurried her underneath the outcropping. He didn’t seem to be upset by the rain—he was smiling as he shrugged off his coat and laid it on the ground for her to sit upon. His dimples were deep in his cheeks and his green eyes twinkled as he collapsed beside her, removing his hat.
His shirt was open at the top, and he wore no cravat, so she could see a bit of his chest at the vee of his shirt. His black hair was wavy from the moisture in the air, sparkling water droplets dripping from the sleek curls.
She stared at him, acutely aware of the heat of her blood pumping through her veins. He was… riveting. And she wanted to touch him. She’d wanted so badly the kiss that had almost happened after she’d won that first game of tennis. She’d thought about it, she’d dreamed about it, she’d secretly craved it for days.
Slowly, hardly aware of what she was doing, she raised her hands and slid them around his neck, filtering the bottoms of his curls through her fingers. His hair was cool and silky smooth.
“Mm,” she murmured. The feel of him, damp yet so vibrant against her fingers, warmed her, made her feel utterly alive. The expression on his face, his wide green eyes, those dimples frozen into his cheeks with his surprise, made her want to draw him closer to her.
And that was exactly what she did. She tugged him closer, and closer yet until she felt his soft breath against her skin. She touched her lips to his dimple and pressed a kiss to the indent.
She pulled back, intending to move to the other side, but as she passed his lips, they caught hers in a tender kiss.
“Oh,” she murmured again. The feel of his lips against her mouth was like nothing she could have imagined. He tasted wild, like the forest. He tasted like freedom.
He kissed gently but insistently, his lips moving with a rhythm that had her heart thumping and her nerves buzzing. He kissed her with a kind of raw power that made her feel utterly safe. And…
desired.
The rustle of the rain pummeling the leaves seemed far away. It seemed as though she and Max were the only two people in the world, the only connection that mattered.
Ever so gently, his lips coaxed her mouth open, and his tongue touched her lip, making her gasp. His arm pressed around her waist, holding her firmly against him. His other hand cupped the back of her head, preventing her from pulling away.
Heat. And sweetness. Wildness, and such exquisite pleasure. She felt like a flower bursting out of its pod, unfurling its petals, opening to the beauty and warmth of the sun.
Crack!
Olivia jumped back, gasping. Max leaped to his feet.
Was it a gunshot? Olivia pressed her hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath, when lightning flashed, brightening Max’s features for a split second.
He sank beside her, releasing a breath. “Just thunder.”
She nodded, but she was shaking. Not from fear. Not even from cold.
He saw, and in an instant his arms were around her, drawing her close against him. He leaned his back against the surface of the stone, drawing her with him so that she lay pressed to his shoulder.
Holding each other close, they relaxed in relative dryness as the storm raged around them.
It was nearly dark by the time Max and Olivia returned to Stratford House. The rain had softened into a not unpleasant mist, but Max could tell Olivia was chilled to the bone. He herded her inside, sat her on one of the chairs in the entry hall, and called for her maid. When they were left alone, he studied her carefully. She was pale and shaking, even wearing his coat.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Perfectly fine.” She smiled up at him, and the smile
reached her eyes, making them sparkle like sapphire jewels. “Just a little chilled.”
Burdened with an armful of towels, Olivia’s maid entered and proceeded to usher her out of the entry hall. Max started to follow them upstairs but stopped when he heard the sound of a door opening behind him. It was Jessica, coming from the direction of the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re back, Lord Hasley. We’ve all been worried about you and Olivia caught out in the rain, though we knew you’d take care of Olivia. But Beatrice…” She sighed.
He remembered that tonight was supposed to be the night of the dinner Lady Fenwicke had planned with Jessica. “Hasn’t Lady Fenwicke arrived?”
Jessica sighed. “No. And she was due hours ago. I’m afraid the dinner is a disaster—only half prepared. I haven’t the talent she does for these things, alas.”
“Ah. I’m very sorry, Miss Jessica.”
“It’s not that.” Jessica waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t really care about dinner—I’m just so worried about Beatrice. It’s so unlike her not to come.”
“Didn’t she send a note?”
Jessica shook her head.
“Perhaps she forgot the date.”
“Oh, no, that’s impossible. She was just here yesterday, remember? We were working out the finishing touches to the dessert.”
“Perhaps she didn’t want to come out in the storm.”
“Perhaps.” But Jessica wasn’t convinced. She shrugged. “I rushed in here because I thought you might be Jonathan. I was going to beg him to walk with me to Brockton Hall.”
Max raised a brow. “At this hour?”
Jessica sighed. “I know.” She gave him a hopeful look. “Do you think he’d let me borrow one of the carriages?”
“To ensure your friend is all right? I don’t see why not. Why don’t you ask him?”
She clasped her hands together at her chest. “Will you come with me? Since he’s not here, he must be in the library.”
“Of course.” He gestured toward the corridor that led to the library. “After you.”
Stratford wasn’t in the library, but they encountered him, as well as the countess, as they retraced their steps back to the entry hall. Stratford was already dressed to go out, and his wife was beside him, wringing her hands.
“Oh, there you are, Hasley. I was just about to head out into the rain to find you and Olivia.”
“We’re fine, if a little damp.”
“Is Olivia well?” Lady Stratford asked, her forehead scrunched with worry.
“She’s damp and chilled, but well. We found shelter under a rock outcropping for the worst of the rain.”
The lady released a relieved breath and then excused herself to go upstairs to help her sister.
“Beatrice never showed tonight, and I’m so worried about her!” Jessica exclaimed as Lady Stratford walked away.
After questioning Jessica on Beatrice’s absence like Max had done, Stratford suggested the three of them ride together to Brockton Hall to make sure all was well with the lady. It was then that he noticed Max’s state.
“You’re soaking wet, man.”
“I am,” Max agreed.
Stratford eyed him. “I cannot fathom why you haven’t gone upstairs and dried off. You’re dripping all over my new parquet.”
“Oh, it’s my fault!” Jessica exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Lord Hasley. I was so caught up in my worry over Beatrice that I failed to see how very drenched you are. Please forgive me!”
He assured her it was nothing.
“Go up and change, Hasley,” Stratford said. “By the time you return downstairs, the carriage will be waiting.”
Max nodded and took his leave. He hurried upstairs to the bedchamber that had been assigned to him, a long-unused room in the wing of the house that was mostly closed for refurbishment, and quickly took off his clinging, wet clothes and replaced them with dry ones. As he was pulling on his coat, his valet, Gardner, entered and eyed the puddle of sodden clothing on the floor with disdain.
“Really, sir.”
Max shrugged. “Couldn’t be helped.”
Gardner harrumphed, but Max ignored him. Overly fastidious valets were all the rage, but the man tended to be overdramatic about expensive pieces of sewn fabric. Max couldn’t care less about clothing.
As he walked downstairs, he revised that thought. He cared about clothing when it was on Olivia. When its neckline drew his attention to her breasts. When it cinched tight at her narrow waist, and outlined the swell of her behind.
Olivia’s clothing did wonders for his imagination. Today, she’d been wearing a simple walking dress, but it was tight across her chest and clung to her arms, revealing
their slender length, unlike most of this autumn’s fashionable sleeves, which made women’s arms look like mutton legs. The pattern on her dark skirt had a line of blue as bright as the sky on a clear day, bringing out the expressive blueness of her eyes. The skirt became full just below her waist, which made him wonder about the flare of her hips…. did they really curve out like that, or was it an illusion caused by the cut of her clothing? Under those layers of skirts and petticoats, were her ankles as tiny and delicate as he imagined they’d be? Were her breasts as soft and creamy and pale as the top line of her bodice hinted?
He jerked to a stop halfway down the stairs. Olivia stood at the bottom, looking up at him. Her hair had been combed and it was piled on her head in sunlit glory. She wore a dress with an intricate deep purple print—butterflies and flowers. As always, her bosom peeked over the top, a tantalizing hint, but not enough. He wanted to see more. To touch that skin…