“I am not afraid of you,” she retorted.
“You should be.”
“Youare the one who is afraid.”
“And what, precisely, am I afraid of?”
“Of…of wanting me.” She wetted her lips, a provocative swipe. “As much as I want you.”
The chit wanted to play, did she?
He raised his free hand, trailing a fingertip down her throat, feeling her nervous swallow. He brushed the tiny crown before moving lower. Beneath his touch, her skin rose and fell in a silken wave. He stopped at the neckline of her gown, resting the tip of his finger on the fabric just above the crevice of her breasts.
Her eyes were glazed, her lips parting on uncontrolled breaths. Her fresh, girlish scent of peach blossoms was ripened with a woman’s sensual musk. He knew she was aroused. Knew that beneath her bodice her nipples would be stiff and aching, and in the secret cove between her thighs, she would be wet with virginal dew.
Aye, Lady Olivia McLeod had grown into a vixen who tested his restraint. She had transformed from his trusted little friend to a young woman whose innocence and boldness was an arrow headed straight for his Achilles’ heel.
She was temptation, and she was forbidden.
The recognition raged through him, yet he remained in control. As much as he craved dark games, he would never, ever allow himself to despoil his little queen. No matter how much he craved it.
“I do not play with little girls,” he said softly. “Nor do I tolerate manipulation. Try it again, Livy, and our friendship will come to an end.”
He released her. Saw the shock in her eyes and did not wait to see the pain.
Turning on his heel, he walked out.
8
Entering Lady Charlie’s Mayfair townhouse with her friends, Livy was unsurprised to find the antechamber as elegant and fashionable as its owner. The marble floors and rosewood paneling gleamed, the scent of lemon polish mingling with the perfume of roses. The man who had opened the door introduced himself as Hawker, and Livy assumed he was the butler, although his strapping build, eye patch, and rough-hewn features gave him a distinct resemblance to a pirate.
As the girls trailed Hawker to the drawing room, Fiona whispered, “Charlie has a rather unusual butler, doesn’t she?”
Livy thought everything about Charlie was uncommon, which was why the Willflowers were intrigued by her. Fiona was obsessed with the lady’s style, Glory with the promise of adventure, and Livy…
She stifled a sigh.I came because I need a distraction.
Two nights ago, Hadleigh had rejected her…again. She was stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. He had made it abundantly clear that he was not interested in her—as a woman, at any rate. Perhaps he could only ever see her as a younger sister, she thought, the ache in her chest billowing. The wise course of action would be to cut her losses; if she persisted in trying to win his affections, she might end up losing him altogether. Where would she be then?
You have to move on,she told herself.If you love Hadleigh, then you must not destroy your friendship. You owe him your loyalty…even if he doesn’t want your heart.
She’d shed tears on the sympathetic shoulders of her friends. Fi had suggested taking a break from Hadleigh. Since it was the rare instance in Livy’s life when she did not know what else to do, she’d agreed. Allowing her mind to spin like the wheels of a stuck carriage was miring her deeper and deeper into despair. If she could not have her heart’s true desire, then she would focus on her second love: adventure.
The butler deposited the girls in the drawing room, a chamber papered in blue silk and furnished with warm woods and goldenrod velvet. Small niches throughout the room displayed alabaster statues of Greek goddesses. It was an ideal setting for their hostess, who glided over to meet them.
“Welcome, Willflowers.” Charlie greeted each girl warmly in turn. “I am delighted that you decided to join me today.”
“But not surprised,” Livy said.
Charlie smiled. “No, not surprised.”
Livy had the impression that her hostess was rarely caught off guard. Although Charlie looked every inch the society lady in her ivory walking dress embroidered with a pattern of flowering vines along the hem, pearl pins studding her honey-gold hair, there was a shrewdness to her grey gaze that hinted at experience beyond tea parties and balls.
“I hope you do not mind an informal luncheon.” Charlie waved toward the sideboard, where a petite woman dressed in a bombazine gown was arranging platters of meat, cheese, and fruit. “This is Mrs. Peabody. She keeps my house—and my life—running smoothly.”
The housekeeper dipped her knees in a curtsy. She had shiny brown hair wound in a thick coil at her nape and appeared to be of mixed race, perhaps with Asian ancestry.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Livy noted that Mrs. Peabody’s bun was anchored in place by two silver hair sticks. “What lovely and unusual hair ornaments.”
