As Ben bowed to the ladies, he had a feeling that something was not quite right.
He tried to pinpoint the cause of his assessment. Lady Fayne was politeness itself, the quintessential hostess in her drawing room graced by white marble goddesses. Against the elegant backdrop, Livy glowed with a dewy freshness that heated his loins, her chestnut hair radiant against the blue walls. She was seated on a buttercup-yellow settee, the other Willflowers on adjacent chairs. All three ladies had embroidery hoops on their laps.
Everything was proper and perfect.
And therein lies the problem.
“Your Grace, how lovely to see you again.” Lady Fayne’s gracious tones drew him out of his thoughts. “To what do we owe the honor?”
He shook off his odd intuition. Told himself he was imagining things. Who was he to question why Livy was doing needlework? He ought to be grateful that Lady Fayne managed to keep the minx occupied with genteel activities…during the daytime, at least. His eyes met Livy’s, and the playful warmth in those celadon orbs hit him straight in the chest and lower.
Hell’s teeth, I amnotgoing to get hard in this bloody drawing room.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Before he departed, the Duke of Strathaven asked me to keep an eye on Lady Olivia, and I fear I have been remiss in my duties.”
“How kind of you to stop by.” The impish curve of Livy’s mouth begged to be kissed. “I’ve been thinking about you since our last visit. It has been far too long.”
Damnit, if the chit didn’t stop flirting with him, he was going to pounce on her and give them away to her chaperone.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Your Grace? I shall pour tea,” Lady Fayne said.
Joining Livy on the settee, Ben could smell her fruity, feminine scent, and it made his mouth water. She looked fetching in a gown the shade of peaches…which immediately reminded him of his dream. Of tasting and licking her juiciest part. Devil and damn, this was going to be a torturous visit. To distract himself, he studied the embroidery hoop in her lap.
Using pink silk thread, she’d stitched a pair of wings, surrounding a monogram of “SOA,” on a fine linen handkerchief. The stitches were neat and precise. He noticed with further surprise that there was a stack of handkerchiefs on the coffee table in front of her, all embroidered in the same impeccable manner.
He lifted his brows. “Your needlework has improved.”
“Has it?” She gave him an innocent look. “Perhaps I never applied myself before.”
“And you are motivated to do so now?”
“It is for a good cause,” she said demurely.
“The proceeds of the handkerchiefs go toward helping women in need.” Lady Fayne handed him a cup, settling on the other side of the coffee table. “Perhaps you would care to purchase a few, Your Grace, to help our cause?”
“I’ll take the lot.” He sampled the beverage. Oddly enough, the tea was exactly how he preferred it.
“How kind of you,” Lady Fayne murmured.
“It is my pleasure to support your charitable efforts. I confess, I am awestruck that you have managed to corral Livy into needlework.” He suppressed a grin when Livy wrinkled her nose. “Is that what you ladies do all day?”
“We do a little of this, a little of that. We also, for instance, write pamphlets that build on the foundation of Wollstonecraft’s superb treatise,A Vindication of the Rights of Women.” Lady Fayne gestured at a stack of papers on a nearby escritoire. “Perhaps you would care to take one?”
“Thank you,” he said politely.
Due to Livy keeping him tied up in knots, he’d suffered a few sleepless nights. Some soporific reading material might be just the ticket.
“I hope you find the pamphlet edifying,” Lady Fayne said. “Lord Sheffield professed to find our views on the plight of women quite enlightening.”
Ben frowned. “Sheffield has read it?”
“Indeed, he was one of the first to do so.” Lady Fayne smiled complacently. “He has been a regular visitor here since Livy came to stay.”
“Has he?” Ben swung a glance at Livy, who looked back at him with wide eyes.
Why the devil hadn’t she mentioned anything about seeing Sheffield? Was she dallying with the bastard…while keeping Ben dancing on her string? Jealousy scalded his chest. He’d been played in that fashion before. Had sworn to never let another woman make a puppet of him.
“Surely you do not disapprove, Your Grace?” Lady Fayne said with arched brows. “Sheffield is excellentton, and the Duchess of Strathaven told me that she quite prefers him.”
