Haunted Hearts (18 page)

But Phoebe’s scold had altered, shifting into a sharper interest. “So tell me, what did you and Lord Ewald squabble over?”

“If you must know, he interfered in my life, as you do now. He bid me not to see Lord Quinn anymore.” Olivia looked down her nose at her sister, daring her to agree with the man.

Phoebe’s reply was never to be known, because the object of their discussion, Lord Quinn, stepped before them. He looked well in buff pantaloons and a blue coat to match his dark blue eyes.

He bowed. “Ladies. I pray the evening finds you well,” he spoke to them both, but his eyes were all for Olivia.

“It does,” Olivia answered. “My lord, I believe you already know my sister, Mrs. Tilman?”

“I’ve had that privilege.” He gave a quick greeting smile to Phoebe, only to immediately return his regard to the younger sister. “I was hoping you were free for the next dance and would be willing to bestow it upon me.”

Olivia felt Phoebe stiffen beside her and became aware of the perfect way to distinctly inform her sister she must mind her own business: she offered her hand to Lord Quinn at once. “That would be all that is delightful.”

Phoebe made an uncertain noise, but Olivia was escorted to the edge of the dance floor and chose not to give it any more thought. She felt a flash of pleasure at her act of independence.

It was only then, as she chatted inconsequentially with Lord Quinn as they waited for the music to begin, that she recalled she’d been attempting to hide from Lord Ewald. The sudden realization caused her to circle the ring of waiting couples with her eyes; she found Lord Ewald across the way, off the dance floor, standing alone. He was lounging against a support column, his arms casually crossed in front of his silver-worked waistcoat, his black evening clothes fitting him so well as to make his tailor’s reputation. His eyes were on her, and as soon as she saw him, he made a bow in her direction. She hesitated a moment, chagrined to have put herself in the position of having to respond, and then gave a curtsy in return, to which he responded by inclining his head. She looked away at once, so as not to have to acknowledge the fact that the movement plainly said he’d seek her out later.

Lord Quinn followed the interchange, and perhaps because of it, when they squared off for the dance, her back had been placed to the other gentleman.

“Are you feeling well?” Lord Quinn ventured when half the dance was gone and she hadn’t said more than a word or two, despite his fleeting attempts at conversation between movements.

“I’m quite well,” she said, blushing a little. She was behaving quite unforgivably. Because one gentleman flustered her, she was neglecting the other. That would never do. In fact, if she was really in command of her life as she wished her siblings to believe her to be, she ought to be able to at least carry on a conversation despite her own inner inclination to sit down and think her confusion all the way through. It was not Lord Quinn’s fault she felt increasing awkwardness in Lord Ewald’s company.

That thought almost made her laugh, for any other lady would find just the opposite to be true, that it was Lord Quinn who ought to discomfort her and not the thoroughly non-Druid and genial Lord Ewald. But that was her very problem, of course. He was genial, likable, and overall had only treated her well, more of a friend than one had a right to expect on such short acquaintance.

That acquaintanceship could have gone on, would have been fine…if only he would cease kissing her…

But…his last kiss had been so different somehow.
It had been so light, scarcely touching her mouth, barely there for even the length of a heartbeat. Yet still it had been brushed with attraction, and had awoken something that felt too much like appetite. She finally understood the elemental magnetism between a man and a woman, so sharp and clear and tempting that even the once reclusive Olivia felt it, tasted it, wanted to explore more of it.
All that, in the merest touch, for the merest stretch of time? Oh yes.

It had also had the hint of a promise in it--until he’d pulled away, and the spell had broken.

She hadn’t truly known she was wrong to encourage him, not until his pulling away showed her that even the briefest of caresses could connect you to a pull that was ruthless, making you want to fall into it with abandon; it was an especially cruel connection when, once made, it became severed.

Was it worse, knowing
why
he’d pulled away? For she’d grasped the cause at once: what man could want more of her, she who, out in those mews, had shown herself to him as a wanton? He distanced himself because he didn’t want her, not in any respectable kind of way.

Perhaps not even disrespectable. He found her to be a low creature--and she could only admit her own actions had proved his point.

And now she was not only avoiding him, but neglecting Lord Quinn. Face burning, she nonetheless forced herself to suppress the heavy feelings of self-censure, for now. There would be time enough later, alone in her bed, for mental lashings.

She tried once, and then again, finally conjuring up a smile for Lord Quinn’s benefit.

He responded to her smile. More than responded, for soon Lord Quinn was flirting with her quite openly.
You flirt with any man who will respond to you. How does that
not
make you seem a tart?

When the dance ended and she made her curtsy, Lord Quinn must have seen she meant to take flight, because he caught her arm to prevent her leaving his side.

“If you might indulge me for a moment longer?”

Her mute nod was accepted at once.

“I speak bluntly at times, Lady Stratton,” She nodded again, just wanting him to say his piece and let her leave. “And now I wish to tell you, directly, how pleased I am you do not shun my company.”

“My lord--”

“I know you were shocked at my party. Yet, tonight you do not flee my presence just because, through me, you were exposed to new notions.”

“I hope to be accepting of--”

“And I have been hoping, too, dear lady. Hoping for, waiting for, such a woman. An intelligent, thinking, rational woman.” He stared down at her, a glow in his eyes. “Now that I’ve met you, I have to let you know I cherish your company.” He took her hand and squeezed it possessively.

“My lord--!” she began.

She got no more words out, for Lord Quinn pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He was so much taller that she was held almost suspended in his arms, so it took her a moment to wriggle free of his embrace. “My lord!” she said again, scandalized.

If he was embarrassed to kiss a woman in public, and at a party not even his own, he gave no sign of it. “I know I shock you, my lady, but I wanted you to know. I want everyone to know of my regard for you.”

“You ought to have at least warned me,” she said, instead of the more obvious scold that he had no right to manhandle her thusly.

That was when she looked past him and saw Lord Ewald, frozen in place with a scowl, not twenty feet away.

Now what must you think of me?
Nothing fine, she was sure. She gathered her poise and wrenched her eyes back to Lord Quinn. “Might I have a glass of lemonade?” she said in a voice she hoped was not as brittle as it sounded to her.

“Of course. I will fetch it for you at once,” Lord Quinn said, tucking his arm to his waist for a little bow of acknowledgement. He hesitated a moment, as though he could not bear to part from her for even a minute, but then he stepped away.

The moment he left her side Olivia closed her eyes, filled with aggravation. Not only had she been involved in a scene that must surely cement Lord Ewald’s opinion of her scandalous nature, but too, she’d overcorrected her error and allowed Lord Quinn to be encouraged. Perhaps Phoebe and Alexander were right to be looking over her shoulder; it seemed she was incapable of handling herself with any refinement.

Well, there was nothing for it. She must correct, again, her errors. She knew the surest way to change Lord Quinn’s current assumption, and that was to simply abandon him, to see him no more.

A last glance toward Lord Ewald showed her he’d not moved so little as an inch toward her, and his eyes were yet rounded with something she feared was aversion.

She pushed her way into the crowd, her head hanging.

***

Lady Stratton didn’t see Quinn turn back to her, two glasses in hand, nor the dismay on his face when he’d clearly lost sight of her in the crowd. Ian watched as Quinn put the glasses aside and pawed his way through people, head twisting from side to side to locate her direction.

Another man might have pointed him in Olivia’s trail, but Ian had no such thought. Instead, his rather furiously spinning thoughts led him to wonder what it meant that she’d fled immediately after that outrageous and so-public kiss. She
was
fleeing, wasn’t she? If she meant to rendezvous with Quinn, both of them were displaying peculiar behavior.

Unlike Quinn, Ian hadn’t lost Olivia in the crowd. Thoughts still whirring, yet his body won over reason, and he moved swiftly after the retreating glimpses of blue silk.

She was gone through the door, and he hurried out into the night, faster and faster, to get her back in sight. He was rewarded for his lightness of foot when he saw her turn away from ordering her carriage be brought around.

He stepped rapidly to her side, where she waited just inside the reach of the lamp’s glow outside Lady Mackleby’s door. Perhaps he’d meant to scold her for the vulgarity of that unprivate kiss, but something in the way her eyes flashed and her lips thinned as he approached softened his rebuke.

Instead he merely asked, “You’re leaving?”

She stepped back, to be out of his reach. “I am.”

He stood without moving, undecided on what she was thinking or how to act himself.

 He settled on a nobler course. “Do you require an escort?”

She didn’t snap at him, or blubber, or act as if she didn’t know he’d scowled at her for her kiss with Quinn. Indeed, she looked at him straight on, with more than a bit of challenge in the set of her chin. It crossed his mind that this was one of the reasons he was drawn to her: she had a tendency to meet things clear-eyed.

“My lord, let us be plain-spoken,” she said, proving his thought. Her voice was crisp, but not exactly angry. She put back her head, looking up at him frankly. “Lord Quinn kissed me. I did not seek his kiss, nor did I kiss him in return. You, on the other hand, I did kiss back, and on purpose. That night, and since.” Her face reddened, but she didn’t drop her stare. “I confess, I let myself be forward with you, and inappropriate, and…” Now she blinked, seemingly not liking to say such things aloud. “And I quite understand that I acted beyond the pale. I am, in your eyes, not the sort of woman to be…serious about. But, sir, neither am I a wanton. I acted out of folly--and have learned the lesson it teaches. I shall not behave so again. Still, a first impression cannot be undone, I know that. I know you cannot admire me.”

He stared down at her, aware his lips were parted to interrupt her.

But she went on. “We obliged each other with kisses, but no more. Such foolishness is behind us. There,” she stated with a firm nod of the head. “Now we can start over. We can become friends, and that’s all. If you like. Or not. I will completely accept your decision as to the matter.”

She’d made him feel abashed with a few sentences. It didn’t matter she hadn’t said anything he hadn’t thought--but the words sounded so judgmental, so how he’d shaped his thoughts but so against feelings that kept overtaking his intentions.

And…never to kiss her again…?

“It grieves me to hear I have given you such a harsh assessment of my sensibilities.”
Sensibilities I regret, not least because I must have let her see them, and I couldn’t wish to hurt her. I ache to see her poise, her grace in the face of censure; I’ve met soldiers who could not face judgment so squarely.

He stepped toward her and returned a hand to her elbow, which at least she allowed. “I must take the blame for--”

A hand came down hard on his shoulder, spinning him around. Quinn stood there, towering over the two of them. He was visibly angry, his brows drawn together as though to echo the stiff line of his mouth. “My lord, I must ask you to leave off touching the lady,” he said in a dark tone to Ian. His words were unnecessary since he’d already compelled Ian’s touch to drop away, but the message of possessiveness was clear.

“Lord Quinn, everything is--”

Quinn spun on Olivia, calling out sharply, “Has he made you an offer?”

“No,” she answered, going a bit pale.

He swung his heavy gaze back to Ian. “You are not
affianced
to the lady. You will therefore forbear from touching her henceforth.”

Ian was shorter and lighter than Quinn, but he was not afraid to show umbrage as he pulled himself up to his full height. “And you speak for the lady, why?”

Lady Stratton’s carriage arrived, the driver climbing down and eyeing the obviously tense gathering, looking for his clue on how to proceed.

“I speak for myself,” Olivia said, nodding sharply at the driver, who scrambled to pull open the coach door and lower the steps.

“It’s well enough, Olivia. I will go,” Ian said, deliberately using her Christian name. He backed away from Quinn to make her a bow. “But I will call upon you in the morning.” He did not make it an option, but a statement for Quinn to hear.

The big man’s hands were balled into fists at his sides, and his face was flushed dark. “If he comes, you’ll not receive him,” he told Olivia.

Her shoulders went rigid. “I’ll do as I decide to do.” She stepped past the two men, quickly climbing in the coach, not looking at either as she pulled the door to with a slam.

Ian moved away, to where his not yet rigged chariot waited for his horse to be brought around, not caring for a round of fisticuffs with Quinn, like schoolboys in the street. Years as an agent had taught him it was often better to withdraw rather than inflame. If that was feeble, he was nonetheless perfectly content to see Lord Quinn spin and retreat back into the party.