Devlin settled himself into one of the comfortable-looking leather armchairs that flanked the fire and stretched out his long legs. “You can wear dark colors in public if you want, but there’s no need to do so here with me. And you don’t need to pretend to be distraught over his passing, either. God knows, the man doesn’t deserve to be honored. Not when he’s left you in such an awful position.”
Olivia bit her lip. It was hard to argue with him when she secretly agreed. Wearing six weeks of mourning seemed a little hypocritical. A performance required by the public, instead of a heartfelt desire.
“Besides, black isn’t your color at all,” he continued with a sly smile. “You should be wearing red, my sweet. Or midnight blue. Something to complement that all that dark hair and pale skin.” His eyes slid down her body in a leisurely inspection thatwarmed her far more effectively than the flames in the hearth. “Or better yet, nothing at all.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she ignored his provocative comment and cleared her throat. “I will accept your hospitality for one night, Your Grace, but if you’ll be so kind as to lend me your coach, or a horse, I’ll be on my way back to London first thing tomorrow.”
“No you won’t. Not on your own.”
“Then perhaps you’ll send a maid, or a footman, as a companion?”
“Can’t spare anyone, I’m afraid,” he said with an obnoxiously smug smile. “I’m going to need every pair of hands here, for the party on Twelfth Night. It’s going to be as scandalous as your uncle predicted.”
Livvy rolled her eyes. “It can’t bethatscandalous if the duke and duchess of Wansford are coming.”
His lips twitched. “That’s true. I doubt it’ll be quite the orgy Hubert was envisaging, but I like to think there’ll be at least a modicum of drunkenness and debauchery. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.”
“Who else will be there? Your sister?”
He regarded her with amusement, clearly aware of her eagerness for an ally or two. “Daisy will be coming, yes. With Lucien.”
Her heart soared. “And Ellie?”
“Yes. And her husband Harry. Quite the King & Co. reunion, now I come to think of it.”
“Any one ofthemwould lend me a carriage,” she said pointedly.
“Ah, but they don’t desire your company as much as I do.”
She snorted. “You must really be starved of entertainment if you wish formypresence. You’ve hardly bothered to talk to mefor the past few seasons. In fact, you’ve been an absolutearseto me on every single occasion since you got back from Belgium.”
His roguish smile made her bite her tongue as she realized how telling that accusation was. Embarrassed heat stained her cheeks. She’d basically admitted to craving his attention.
Ugh.
“You sound as if you missed me, Livvy darling.” His eyes met hers as he stretched lazily, and there was an elegance to the movement that reminded her of the leopards she’d seen at the Royal Exchange; banked power just waiting to strike.
“I was doing it for your own benefit,” he continued silkily. “Rakes with no intention of marrying don’t converse with virtuous young ladies for fear of risking that lady’s reputation. And to avoid raising the lady’s hopes unfairly.”
“I never had any hopes regarding you,” Liv countered, knowing it was a lie. “A dance or two wouldn’t have killed you.”
His gaze bored into her. “Dances are far more dangerous than you think. They’re like chocolate; the tiniest taste leaves you wanting more, and more, and more. A sensible rake avoids the temptation entirely.”
Livvy could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Was he talking about the two of them, or just in general? Surely it was the latter.
She shifted her feet, suddenly awkward. “Yes, well, things have changed a bit now, haven’t they?” She tried to inject a note of dry amusement into her tone. “Uncle Hubert says only pity or lust would induce a man to marry me now.”
Devlin raised his brows. “Did he? Was that before or after he proposed?”
“Before.”
“His offer wasn’t made out of pity, the old letch.”
“No.”
Something dark flashed in his eyes. “I’m glad you stabbed him.” He leaned back further in his chair. “There are other reasons a man might marry you, though.”
“My unladylike desire for independence?” Livvy suggested dryly. “My conspicuous lack of dowry?”
