Lady Olivia’s head canted to the side. “Did you never know young love?”
“I did.”
“And you weren’t caught in its sticky web?”
“I was.”
“Yet here you are, disavowing it.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Need I ask?”
Her brows knitted together, and her gaze darted away from his. “Perhaps not. Perhaps we are both done with love.” A brittle crack sounded in her voice. “It can never live up to the perfection of its promise.”
“Yet—” He hesitated, attempting to slow the conversation. It seemed to possess a momentum that he was powerless to control. “I find that perfection bores me within minutes. Perhaps a little mess is—”
What you need. The words stuck in his throat. A blush spread across Lady Olivia’s décolletage and pinked her cheeks. He rather liked that blush. It spoke of knowledge, of connection.
He was unable to pursue that tempting line of thought when a statuesque lady stopped before them and dipped into a shallow curtsy. “Olivia,” the woman said in a low, contralto voice, “will you introduce me?”
Lady Olivia’s body tensed beneath the request, firing up a spark of intrigue. It was clear she harbored no desire to do any such thing. However, Society’s rules required a hostess to accede to the desires of a guest. Even he understood that much.
“Lord St. Alban, may I introduce Lady Nicholas Asquith?” she said, her tone rote, mechanical. “My sister.”
His eyebrows shot skyward. “Your sister?”
“My twin, in fact.”
Lady Nicholas’s eyes sparkled playfully. “You don’t see the family resemblance?”
It was immediately apparent that the sisters were, in fact, complete opposites, but in such a way that one complemented the other. They must have excited a bit of a stir when they debuted.
“It’s true that we don’t much favor,” Lady Nicholas continued. “A not uncommon occurrence for twins, I hear.”
“No one would take you two for common,” he replied, the words flattering, but genuine.
Lady Nicholas met her sister’s gaze, and her brow lifted, a world of silent conversation happening between the sisters. Then her amber eyes shifted to continue her evaluation of him. She looked privy to a joke that he hadn’t yet caught onto.
“Olivia, this is quite possibly the most morbid soirée you’ve held yet.”
A long-suffering sigh escaped Lady Olivia. He couldn’t help feeling charmed by the push and pull of the sisters. “I was explaining to Lord St. Alban that art isn’t simply sunshine and rainbows. Must I explain the concept to you as well?”
“Well, I prefer the sunshine and rainbows.”
Lady Olivia held her tongue, but a grudging smile for her unconstrained sister tipped at the corners of her mouth. These two were opposites, but they were close, too.
Lady Nicholas’s determined hand snaked its way into the crook of his arm. “Shall we take a turn about the room?”
Jake held out his free arm for Lady Olivia, and her body, her entire being, went motionless, her eyes glued to his extended hand. She didn’t want to touch him.
A possibility slid in: perhaps shecouldn’ttouch him. Not without a little . . .mess.
She began backing away, for all the world a skittish deer in the crosshairs of a bow. “I’ve only recollected that I must see to a guest with a special dietary request.”
“Lady Bede’s goat milk?” Lady Nicholas asked.
