“There’smy Olivia!” she said. “It’s good to see you smile again. You have such a kind and merry disposition that Devereaux cannot fail to love you. If he doesn’t, I’ll personally throw him into a pile of horseshit.”
Olivia couldn’t contain her laughter at the notion of the duchess picking up such a giant of a man and tossing him about. Eleanor kissed her forehead, then the two women exited the parlor.
As they approached the study, they heard muffled voices. Eleanor lowered her voice to a whisper.
“Go to the morning room.”
Olivia nodded, optimism rising in her heart, then a voice filtered through the study door.
“My master has said he appreciates your wish to keep your sister behind closed doors, given her birth and the events of last night. He does not want her to disgrace herself and him any more than she has already.”
Olivia drew in a sharp breath, her stomach twisting with horror.
“Come away, dearest,” Eleanor whispered. “No good can arise from…”
Tears stung Olivia’s eyes as the voices continued.
He thought her a disgrace, to be hidden away lest she taint his good name.
Then she heard her brother’s voice.
“You may go, unless you wish for an audience with my sister?”
She paused, grasping a weak flicker of hope—which died at her brother’s next words.
“I thought not.”
The study door burst open, and the huge man strode out, slamming into her. She caught her breath and cried out, but before she could dart free, two muscular arms wrapped around her—the same arms that had embraced her last night…
…and, to her shame, the same arms she’d dreamed of in her bedchamber while she imagined them holding her, cherishing her.
But it had been just that—a dream. He was no suitor, nor a lover. He was merely a beast who wanted nothing to do with her.
She let out a cry, and the beast’s nostrils flared, the anger in his eyes intensifying. Then she caught a flicker of desire in them before he released her.
“F-forgive me, sir,” she stammered, and approached the stairs, driven by shame and the need to be in her chamber—anywhere but next to the man who so clearly despised her.
“Olivia.”
She froze at her brother’s voice.
He emerged from the study, together with a smartly dressed young man. While Montague’s expression radiated anger, the young man’s eyes showed nothing but guilt, which turned into frank admiration as he cast his gaze over her.
“Where are your manners, sister?” Montague said. “We observe propriety in this house, even if others do not. You must invite your betrothed to take tea.”
My betrothed…
“B-but I heard you say…” Olivia said. Shame engulfed her and her eyes misted with tears.
“We were on our way to invite Lord Devereaux to tea, my love,” Eleanor said, taking Olivia’s hand. “We know how forgetful you can be at times in issuing such invitations.”
She turned to the beast. “Lord Devereaux, will you take tea?” She nodded toward his companion. “Your man is invited also, of course. We have some excellent shortbread, do we not, Olivia?”
Olivia cringed as the beast’s dark eyes turned to her once more.
“Y-yes, I baked them myself, with a little vanilla to make them—”
“Olivia,” her brother warned. “Of course, we keep a cook here, Devereaux. The kitchen is no place for my sister.”
