He then turned to her. “Why there? Could it be the name matches my title?”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “It is the home of my brother, Crispin,” she answered. “It is where I am living while he is away on his wedding trip to Greece.”
“Who resides there with you?”
“Nobody, other than servants.”
“May I ask why you are living there and not with His Grace?” Angelo hoped he already knew the answer.
“As you eavesdropped on my conversation with Lavinia and my intentions of this Season, I thought it best if I resided alone.”
Angelo had not even considered where such a seduction would finally take place, but he was glad to know that it wouldn’t be an issue when the time came. And there would be a seduction. Every moment he spent in her company, he wanted Octavia more and more.
Octavia gave a shiver. He wasn’t surprised that she would be cold given how damp her clothing was, but he truly did hope that she did not become ill. In order to warm her, he placed an arm along the back of the squabs and his hand about her shoulder, drawing her close so that she could make use of some of his body heat.
She tilted her chin and looked up at him out of the corner of her eye.
“That is not necessary.”
“I know.” He then pulled her closer.
Chapter 11
Octavia was disappointed when the hackney came to a stop before Crispin’s home. She should not have allowed Bolton to hold her, but she had been chilled, and it had been comforting. When he moved away to open the door, an emptiness overcame her.
It had nothing to do with her desire for a lover, but affection. It had Octavia asking herself when was the last time she had been touched or held, and could not recall and in that moment, she longed to be held. A deep aching need to be close to someone with their arms wrapped around her and hers around him. It almost made her cry the need was so great.
Goodness, she must get a hold of herself.
Taking Bolton’s hand, she allowed him to assist her from the hackney just as the door to the townhouse was opened by Crispin’s butler.
Angelo told the driver that he would return in a moment to be taken to his set of rooms in St. James.
For some reason, Octavia assumed he lived with his parents, who also had a home in Mayfair.
“Ye’ll need to find another ta take ye,” the driver said. “I’m not keeping the cattle out any longer. Can’t afford an injury or for them to get sick.”
“Another hackney?” Bolton demanded.
“That is what I said.” And without a by your leave, he set the cattle into motion and pulled back out into the street with Bolton staring after it.
The rain was still pouring down and Octavia was getting wetter by the moment. Further, there were no hackneys, nor anyone out. “Oh, do come inside,” she insisted.
“What if someone sees?” he asked.
It was a risk she would need to take, because she couldn’t leave Bolton to walk home in the deluge. “It is too miserable for anyone to be concerned with what we are doing.”
He glanced about one last time then followed her into the townhouse.
“Please build the fire in the drawing room, bring towels and tea,” she instructed the butler then glanced at Bolton. His suitcoat may just be ruined by the rain, as likely were his Hessians. “Assist Lord Bolton to see that he is made comfortable.”
Water dripped from them, creating puddles on the marble floor.
“Goodness!” the housekeeper exclaimed. “Come away with me, Lady Kepple and we will see you set to rights, or at least dried off.”
Octavia followed the housekeeper to her set of rooms where a maid rushed about pulling another dress from the armoire. She was happy to be out of her damp clothing and into dry stockings, shoes and a dress. There was not much that she could do with her hair, but it was towel dried until it was only damp and then Octavia found her way to the drawing room as she did not wish to keep Lord Bolton waiting.
She found him standing at the window, without his boots and suitcoat. His trousers were damp but neither his shirt nor his waistcoat had been damaged from the rain, though his cravat was a bit wilted.
