While the sympathetic innkeeper had been helping Alexander to make his escape through a back door of the inn, Alex had been planning dastardly ways to get back at the chit.
Arriving home on horseback, he’d seen her sitting on a bench that bordered his estate, quite alone which had suited Alex just fine. He’d dragged the impertinent hoyden off to a more private spot deep in the hedgerows where he’d delivered a furious set down without having to control his temper or his volume. The two had been toe to toe, arguing at very nearly the top of their lungs. Alex had been, admittedly, rather insulting about the girl; she had been more so, claiming that it wasn’t her fault the village idiot seemed to have taken a liking to him. It was when she’d said that she should perhaps set up a charity of sorts, to help poor Sophie and other women cure themselves of their lack of taste in men that the last of his control had slipped.
To this day, Alexander had no idea what had possessed him to grab the infuriating woman and pull her toward him. In the split second before his sanity had returned, he’d gazed into those pretty brown eyes and lost all sense. Even now, every so often, most especially in the still, dark night, Alex remembered the feel of her soft, slender body against his own. He remembered the gasp of surprise. He remembered the scent of honeysuckle that reminded him of her to this day. Most of all, he remembered how, after her initial resistance, she’d melted against him as though she belonged wrapped in his arms and turned her face towards his.
Unfortunately, he also remembered the moment she’d reared back and smacked his face, the sound reverberating around the quiet gardens…
The sound of a shout of laughter brought Alexander crashing back to the present and to the fact that he was staring at the girl, practically drooling where he stood. Worse still, his friend was doing the same.
Alex darted a look at Elliot, wondering if his friend would be fooled into thinking Olivia Darington was anything other than an utter shrew. And he didn’t like what he saw. Elliot’s eyes were on stalks. And it shouldn’t surprise Alexander to see the effect Olivia had on the other man. Itdidn’tsurprise him. But it damn well bothered him.
Alexander had the sudden urge to plant a facer on his friend’s jaw, or at least cover the other man’s eyes. Which was nonsensical. Why should he care who admired her? Why should he care that she was slowly, torturously, removing a deep green, velvet cloak, revealing smooth, supple skin, a delicate décolletage, and curves to make a man weep.
All right. That was enough. Alexander took a subtle step in front of Elliot, blocking the other man’s view.
He’d clearly been more than a little obvious since Elliot’s chuckle sounded gratingly behind him. Alexander turned to scowl at him.
“Looks like you’re in a spot of trouble my friend,” Elliot smirked causing Alex’s temper to rise.
“Do be quiet, St. Clare,” he responded darkly, but his eyes never left the door where Olivia Darington stood oblivious to him and the confusion she had caused.
Two
Olivia’s temper was soaring, and she hadn’t even set eyes on the blasted Fincham lout yet. She’d just been hearing Jane’s tale of her encounter with the Elliot character and his scandalous words to her. How dare Mr. St. Clare make her sister feel like some sort of lightskirt? Though Jane was worryingly unoffended.
“He told me I was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. He told me he wants tokissme, Livvy. How wonderfully romantic!”
Olivia had missed the exchange since she’d been hiding in a corner trying to avoid Alexander Stratford.
It did seem a bit of a waste of her best ivory gown. She had taken an age to pick it. She wanted to look her absolute best so that she was fully prepared to meet Lord Fincham again. Not that she cared what he thought of her, of course. Why should she?
And speaking of Fincham, Olivia had yet to set eyes on the man.
She had asked if her sister if she had seen the man when Jane had finally come hurrying over to find her, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed. But her Jane’s head had been so filled with this St. Clare character that there hadn’t been any mention of Fincham.
Then she’d had to sit tight while Jane rabbited on about the scandalous Elliot St. Clare and romanticised the fact that he was clearly a rake of the highest order. Jane had been adamant that they were lucky to be included in tonight’s event and would be the epitome sophisticated young ladies for the duration. Olivia heartily disagreed. They would rise above old childhood foolishness, Jane had demanded, and thank Lord Fincham profusely for the honour of the invitation.
The only thing Olivia wanted to rise above was her hand over her head so she could deal out another slap or two to the arrogant earl’s face.
“I am not,” Olivia responded hotly, “calling him ‘my lord’ and bowing and scraping at him. Lord only knows what he’ll do with that kind of ego elevation.”
“I understand your – ah – issues with the earl, Livvy. But we are ladies with little to no prospects. And this is an opportunity. We mustn’t waste it by holding on to childish grudges.” Jane folded her hands on her lap in that annoyingly ladylike way of hers.
And Olivia felt suddenly weary of the whole thing. She’d been living on nervous adrenaline all day, awaiting the moment of confrontation with Alexander Stratford, and the horrible man hadn’t even had the decency to turn up.
“You are far too trusting of that St. Clare fellow, Jane. You really should be careful,” she said tiredly. She wanted to go home. Yet she couldn’t in good conscience leave Jane alone. And so, she was stuck in this blasted house until Jane agreed to leave.
At that moment, Mr. St. Clare appeared at the sisters’ side. Jane made introductions, and Olivia tried not to scowl too much as she eyed the man’s lecherous countenance.
What on earth did Jane see in the man? He was quite revolting as far as Olivia was concerned.
Handsome enough, perhaps. But his blonde hair was a little too perfect, his blue eyes a little too cold.
Olivia did her best to supress a shudder as he bent over her hand.
She answered all his chit-chat with rigid stoicism and then watched in consternation as he swept Jane away with a hand scandalously low on her waist.
Glancing around the ballroom, Olivia realised that she didn’t know a single person in attendance. And Jane had left her quite alone. Judging from some of the leers pointed in her direction, she was attracting attention unwanted attention standing here all alone. It would be safer elsewhere, Olivia decided. And so, sneaking away from the party, she wandered aimlessly around the darkened hallways of the house, eventually finding her way to the darkened conservatory.
