Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

" Y es, Mama," Olivia called over her shoulder as she left her mother's bedroom chambers. "I will be sure to keep a steady watch on the time."

She made the promise and intended to keep it but was so anxious to have this bit of a reprieve that she hurried from her mother's sight to extend the period in which she might seek some solitude. Her desire to be locked in the library with nary a soul around with whom she was forced to converse was overwhelming.

I did not know I lived such a withdrawn life.

This fact had dawned on her following the fencing tournament.

When she had dashed from that scene only to be accosted by a group of gentlemen and ladies who pressed her into playing a game of lawn bowling with them, Olivia suddenly realized that her quiet, country life had not only left her ill-prepared to mingle with and understand the nature of what happened at weeklong house parties, but it also permitted her to live a sheltered existence. She could, on her whim, sit in her library, go for a walk, or even just find a bit of repose by adjourning to her bedchambers. At her home, she was free to do as she wished. But here, amongst the members of the ton, she was expected to be visible, cordial, and above all available for conversations when it suited her companions.

So, she rushed to the library, and for good measure, slowly closed the door behind herself, making not a single sound to attract attention or encourage others to follow her and strike up a discussion about the best books to read.

Ah…home at last.

Delighted, Olivia moved away from the door and headed toward the nearest bookshelf, but she stopped right in her tracks when she heard a rustling noise.

Hmm…could be just a mouse or even a squeaky floorboard underfoot.

Testing that theory, she stepped lightly onto the extravagant carpet that lay just ahead, but she heard the sound repeated.

Is that the ruffling of pages?

Immediately, Olivia recognized her error. She had been so eager to lock herself away from Society, that she had not bothered to check the corners of the room, or the comfy seats provided for readers.

I am not alone.

As that thought occurred to her, it also sprung to mind that sharing the library with another person was not so very unfortunate.

If someone has also come here, seeking a few moments of peace, I will hardly be the one to ruin that for them.

She crept toward the leather wingback chairs that were stationed nearest the fireplace. There was a fine blaze burning in the hearth. It had provided enough light so that she might select her novel, and now, she looked forward to sitting next to it and reading the first several chapters. But as she dropped into the chair on the left heavily, she heard a grunt and looked at the chair next to it only to find that the other occupant of the library was quite unexpected.

"What are you doing?" she asked, leaping from her seat that very second.

Lord Frontershire held a small, leather-bound book in his left hand, and at her exclamation, one of his eyebrows hooked high on his forehead. "Reading," he answered simply.

"But why are you here?" Olivia asked, allowing a hint of petulance to creep into her tone.

Again, he looked at her as if she ought to know the answers to such commonplace questions, but he humored her by saying, "I did not pack any books of my own, so I needed to borrow one from Auntie Aggie."

"But could you not have made your selection and then retired to your room?" Olivia shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She knew it was impolite to suggest he be the one to leave, especially since he'd found the library before she had, but she did not wish to go back to her room now that she was here. She knew that if she did attempt to sneak back to her room, she would likely run into others in the hall and be asked to join in their merrymaking, and then she would miss out on exploring the travels of Gulliver.

Slowly, Lord Frontershire closed his book, and as he made this movement, Olivia realized the depths to which she was annoying him. He had been slouched in his chair with one leg crossed laconically over the other. He was dressed for the evening's entertainment, just as she was, quite formally, but he had undone the buttons on his overcoat. He did not appear unkempt or less than tidy, but he did exude an air of relaxation, and suddenly, she sorely regretted disturbing his tranquility.

"I do not want to return to my room," he said in a subdued tone.

Intrigued, Olivia slid back into the vacant chair next to him and asked, "Why not?" She recognized that she might be prying into his personal business, so she hastily added, "I know that I cannot go back to my room because I will encounter other revelers in the hall and be pressed to join their ranks, but you…? You seem so at home with the members of the ton. Why should you wish to stay here and avoid their company?"

He stared at her intensely for a moment, and Olivia could see he was debating with himself, determining what sort of answer to give. His soft, bluish-gray eyes glittered because of the way the firelight hit them just so. His thin lips were settled into a straight, firm line, and she wondered what he was pondering and meant to say next. He could very well order her to leave him at once, but she hoped he might do otherwise and explain.

He cleared his throat, then murmured, "Following the fencing exhibition, I drank one too many cups of wine far too quickly, so I retired to my bedchambers for a refreshing bit of repose, but when I fell asleep, I…I…"

"Yes?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, then breathed heavily through his nose. When his eyes opened once more, Olivia could see a sense of pain or perhaps anguish there. "Let us just say that I did not sleep well."

"Do you suffer from bad dreams?" Olivia questioned. Again, she knew she was crossing a line, but she simply could not help herself. She had been at the Dowager Countess of Langford's little party for more than a full day and had yet to have a conversation like this one, a real one, with any of the other guests. So, she scooted forward, right to the edge of her seat, hoping he would continue.

"Bad dreams are not the half of it," he said as he slowly uncrossed his legs and climbed to his feet.

"Would you like to tell me what is bothering you?" Olivia stood as well.

He waved his book at her, allowing the binding to flap open and show some of the fine, thin pages. "I would like it if I were permitted to continue with my reading."

"Oh, forgive me." She stepped aside so that the backs of her knees touched the armrest on her chair. "I did not mean to keep you from your book."

"Perhaps I will get a new one." He strode around her and headed toward the shelves.

Olivia turned and watched him. She did not mean to stare, of course, but as he replaced the book in its proper place and stretched to grasp hold of a new volume, she could not help but think of how he'd looked just after he won the swordplay competition. Now that he was fully clothed once more, and she could not see his muscles rippling, she could still imagine what lay underneath all those garments, and her cheeks flushed with mortification.

Stop that. This is a man you detest. Try not to fantasize about him.

Forcing herself to turn away from Lord Frontershire, Olivia slumped into the chair, and that helped marginally. Since she was no longer looking at him, she was free to start her new adventure book.

But no sooner had she flipped the novel open and scanned the first page than Lord Frontershire's voice startled her. Because she had occupied the seat, and it was facing the fire, rather than the shelves, she did not notice when he walked to her side and crouched there. She was unaware altogether that he had rejoined her until he said in a gentle voice, "And what are you reading, Lady Olivia?"

She jumped in her seat and tried to regain her composure. "Nothing yet, my lord." She closed the cover and turned it to the side, so he might read the words stamped there on his own.

" Gulliver's Travels ," he mumbled. "Not entirely what I would have expected from you."

"Oh?" It was her turn to arch a cynical eyebrow at him. "What did you think I would be reading?"

He repositioned himself so that he was kneeling then he laid his hand delicately on the armrest of her chair. Olivia's heart rate quickened when she saw just how close he was to touching the bare skin on her forearms. She had abandoned her gloves back on the bookshelf.

"I imagined you only read histories, books on politics…you know, only the most high-minded works."

"But you know I like poetry, my lord," Olivia returned. "Do you not remember the recitation we all attended one evening at Rose and Benedict's manor?"

"Ah…yes," Lord Frontershire said smoothly. "How could I forget the time we spent together there?"

Olivia scooted away from him, shrinking a little into the soft leather of her chair. "We were not there together, my lord. We were both merely guests at the party and…"

"And I regret quarreling with you," Lord Frontershire interrupted. "I see now that while your opinion was wrong, you were entitled to speak it and..."

"My opinion was wrong?" Flustered, Olivia could only manage to parrot his words.

He inclined his head slightly, indicating she had heard him correctly.

"But you would not even listen to my opinion," she said, quickly recovering and flying into a defensive attitude. "You thought you needed to rule the conversation, and I…"

He snickered, causing her to break off in the middle of her sentence. "You were indignant," he whispered. "Just as you are now." Slowly, he rocked back on his heels and stood. Looking down upon her, he continued, "You should not allow my thoughts and deeds to vex you so greatly, Lady Olivia. It is unbecoming in a lady to be so argumentative and…perturbed."

Agitated, she popped to her feet. "I thought you said just moments ago you did not wish to bicker with me. But I see what you are doing. You are antagonizing me intentionally, pressing me just to see if I will engage with you."

"Will you…" he whispered, taking a step closer, "engage with me?"

All at once, Olivia's senses flew into a tailspin. She was standing so close to this gentleman that she could see the way the firelight danced in his eyes and could smell the pine-scented soap he must've used to wash following the fencing bouts. She had never been so near to a gentleman in all her life.

"What do you mean?" she returned, simultaneously piqued and terrified. An unmistakable look of desire darted through Lord Frontershire's eyes, and Olivia licked her lips which suddenly felt rather dry.

Lord Frontershire took one more step, eliminating the distance between them altogether. Olivia could feel the way his body pressed against hers, and she remembered noticing how the buttons of his jacket were undone. The temptation to lift her hands and press her fingertips to his chest, so she might feel those taut muscles for herself, was strong.

"It seems to me that we are locked in an awkward dance, my lady," he whispered. "We can, of course, return to our usual mannerisms and bicker with one another about books or philosophy or…"

"Or?"

"Or we can take advantage of this moment of solitude."

She gulped noisily. "If I said I wished to seize this moment and forego the bickering, what might we do instead?"

A small, roguish smile slid onto his handsome face. "Anything you like."

"You mean…you would want me to take the lead?" Butterflies darted through her stomach, causing Olivia to feel slightly unsettled but wholly invigorated.

"I want what you want," he murmured as he reached for her hand and slowly caressed just the tip of her finger.

A shiver ran up her spine. "That's a first," she quipped which only made his smile broaden. As his fingers slid down the palm of her hand and then skipped up the length of her forearm, she added, "But how do you know what I want?"

He dipped his head slightly so that his mouth hovered right above hers. "You shall tell me."

"But…" Olivia meant to say something, to retort in some way, but when that word fell from her lips, she inhaled, and her nostrils were filled with Lord Frontershire's distinct, masculine scent. It was intoxicating, and as her stomach gave another gentle flutter, it was all Olivia could do to remain standing and avoid swooning.

"Yes?" he prompted while skipping the tips of his fingers over the lace collar of her gown.

"So, this is why they call you the Charming Rake," she managed to squeak as he leaned closer and dropped a kiss onto her collarbone.

"People call me a great many things," he returned, lifting his head so he might look into her eyes. His lips brushed over hers, and Olivia's body reacted to this gentle touch too as her legs wobbled. "You may say I am charming or a rake. You might even whisper my name in a ladylike fashion. But I am hoping to hear you shout in ecstasy soon enough."

Lord Frontershire licked Olivia's bottom lip then used the tip of his tongue to slowly trace a line down her chin, working his way lower, moving down her throat until he reached the place where her bosoms were heaving as she panted.

"And if I were to cry out in ecstasy," she whispered, "what name should I call you then?"

He buried his head in the nook between her breasts and placed soft, generous kisses on every inch of her skin. Olivia did not know what to do or say, but as his lips touched her time and again, her hands instinctively wrapped around his waist, and she clung to him.

"Call me John," he said in a low, lusty growl as he lifted his head.

A devilish smile graced his lips just before he covered her mouth with his own once more and kissed her passionately. She could not breathe, let alone utter his name, but as Olivia tasted his lips, a fire ignited within her very soul, and she was filled with a longing she did not even know was there until it presented itself.

Just as John was pulling back so they both could suck in deep gulps of air, the door to the library swung open, and Olivia heard someone gasp.

"Oh!" the word popped right out of her lips as she stepped back, aiming to put as much distance between herself and Lord Frontershire as possible. He, too, seemed startled as he turned slowly on his heel to look at the person who had interrupted them.

Then, a soft chuckle rent the still air. "Auntie Aggie. Usually, I am delighted to see you, but on this occasion, I would much prefer it if you…"

"John," the dowager countess snapped, "what are you doing in here?"