The Love Match (Entangled Scandalous) (4 page)

Chapter Four

“She’s so…odd,” Lady Sarah said to William from behind her fan.

“Of whom are we speaking?” he asked, but he’d already guessed. She had taken an instant dislike to Miss Middleton. Probably a combination of the fact that Olivia was a bit unusual and that Lady Sarah hadn’t liked it when she wasn’t the center of attention during their card game—particularly when she lost that title to someone she thought beneath her.

“Miss Middleton, who else? Just look at her.”

He looked. He had to admit he had no difficulty doing so; he’d wanted to look at her for the past hour.

He nearly smiled. Miss Middleton had managed to sneak a book down with her. She had it resting in her lap, her head bowed low. Anyone who was at a different angle might think she was very focused on listening to the song Miss Ashworth played on the pianoforte.

He wondered if it was still
The Monk
or if she’d started something new.

But Lady Sarah was watching him as he watched Olivia, so he didn’t smile. “She likes to read,” he said wryly. “It’s not a crime, is it?”

“No,” she admitted. “But there’s a time and place. If she were more personable, I would allow her more liberties. One would think she’s a duchess, how little she deigns to speak to everyone.”

“Or perhaps she’s just shy,” he commented, keeping his voice mild.

“Shy,” she echoed, as though she’d never heard the word before. “I don’t know about that. She
is
plain, though. If I were her, I would not be so quick to separate myself. Her sisters are scandalous. She has no beauty, no talent. She’ll never receive a good offer if she doesn’t make herself amiable.”

Was Olivia plain?

William studied her as surreptitiously as he could. A tendril of brown hair had fallen from its pin, brushing the back of her neck like a lover’s caress. And her hair wasn’t simply brown; he noticed glints of blond in it, as though a painter had touched it with gold. Nothing about her face particularly stood out—her nose was a bit long, but other than that, her features were feminine and symmetrical.

And her lips… His groin tightened as he remembered their kiss. Her lips were pink and curved down slightly, as though she were perpetually concentrating on one thing or another. But, most of all, they were soft and fit perfectly against his own.

Not beautiful, maybe. But he wouldn’t make the oversight of calling her “plain.”

He decided to change topics before Lady Sarah said something that angered him to the point where he wouldn’t be able to hide his reaction. So he did what he did best, and what he knew would distract Lady Sarah from her target.

“I’ve heard enough about Miss Middleton,” he said. “I’d prefer to talk about you.”

…

Olivia glanced up and then back down, perturbed. Mr. Cross and Lady Sarah were whispering about something. She could only guess what. But Lady Sarah smiled at the man next to her as if he were the only person in the world who mattered. And her fan wouldn’t stop moving. She kept fluttering it around and resting it against her cleavage like a big obscene arrow.

Olivia couldn’t tell from this angle if Mr. Cross’s eyes followed the motion of the fan or not.

It wasn’t of consequence. He could look at any woman’s bosom if he desired. But really, it was a bit tasteless to do so while they listened to Miss Ashworth play, wasn’t it?

She sniffed and bent her head even lower, trying to shut them out.

A few minutes later she was forced to look up because her book was ripped from her hands. The music had stopped, and the other guests had risen from their chairs and were now broken off into little chatting clusters.

“Stop this at once!” her mother said, the vein on her forehead twitching. “You are wasting a perfectly good opportunity.”

Olivia sighed and stood up. She started, with reluctant footsteps, toward the group containing Mr. Cross, Lord Ashworth, and, unfortunately, Lady Sarah. The woman was never too far from either of them.

“And speak to Lord Ashworth,” her mother whispered loudly behind her. Her mother had never seemed to grasp the point of whispering. “Not the other one.”

Olivia halted awkwardly just outside of the small circle, directly behind Lord Ashworth. No one noticed her sudden appearance. She glanced back at her mother, who was glaring and twitching.

She sighed again, and was about ready to clear her throat or utter some banality like, “Hello, everyone,” so they might break apart and include her, when Mr. Cross glanced in her direction.

He must have heard the sigh. His eyes fell on her lips first, before darkening and lifting. Warmth flooded her as she remembered their kiss.

“Miss Middleton,” he greeted.

Lord Ashworth’s head swiveled as he tried to find her. She stepped out from behind him, resisting the urge to lift her hands and say, “Here I am!”

“Ah, there you are,” he said with a smile. “We were just discussing going for a ride. I recall you enjoy riding?”

“Oh… Yes… I did say that.”

Mr. Cross glanced at her, his mouth curving. She knew exactly what he was thinking. He was rather insufferable. She didn’t know why she’d let him kiss her.

Except, she’d thoroughly enjoyed herself and would probably let him do it again.

But then she looked between him and Lady Sarah. Did he bestow his kisses as indiscriminately as he flirted? If that was the case, she didn’t want to be just one woman in a long line, indistinguishable from the one before and the one after.

“Will you come with us?” Lord Ashworth asked.

She didn’t like horses. Not at all.

She glanced back at her mother, who hadn’t yet been distracted by gossip. She still held Olivia under a fierce hawk-like glare.

“I’d be delighted.”

…

It was unnatural to sit on a beast that could crush its rider like a fly if it decided to roll over. Olivia had always thought this, since the first time she’d been forced through riding lessons at the tender age of seven. Her initial fear of the creatures had only decreased slightly in the last twelve years.

So, it was with great trepidation that she stood on the mounting block and allowed Lord Ashworth to assist her onto a gray mare.

The mare shifted a bit, and Olivia squeaked, holding on tight to the pommel.

He peered at her with concern. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said shrilly. “I’m well.”

He frowned and bent to adjust the stirrups while she smoothed out the skirt of her dark green riding habit, taking care not to flash her ankles.

Mr. Cross looked over while he assisted Lady Sarah and Miss Ashworth. “They can tell if you don’t like them,” he offered, unhelpfully.

“I like horses,” she said. Or at least she tried to tell herself she did, since she was already mounted on one, and it was too late to feel otherwise.

Lady Sarah’s cool blue eyes narrowed, and she sought to regain William’s attention. “I’ve been riding since I was four. My mother always tells me I’m a natural.”

He turned back to her with a smile. “Indeed, you look like you were born to it.”

Olivia stared down at her gloved hands clasping the pommel, wishing this whole excursion done with.

Miss Ashworth fronted the group, with Lady Sarah, Lord Ashworth, Mr. Cross, and Olivia following. The sunlight slanted across Mr. Cross’s head, bringing out hints of color she hadn’t noticed before, ranging from pale blond to gold to nearly brown. She was tempted to count them and name them, but she turned her head and focused on the reds and oranges of the fall leaves instead.

In another week or two, a cold wind would leave the branches bare. She would have to enjoy the leaves now or miss her chance.

But it was difficult to enjoy nature when the mare veered alarming close to one of the surrounding trees, as if she wanted to scrape the cumbersome human off her back. Olivia watched the toe of her ankle boot miss the trunk by a mere inch and gulped. She tugged at the reins, but her gentle attempt to move the creature passed unnoticed.

The horse knew who was in charge, and it wasn’t Olivia.

She lasted for all of five minutes between mounting the horse and giving up. But it wasn’t due to lack of effort. The mare must have noticed something in the grass, unseen to Olivia, or maybe the mare was just tired of carrying her around. It whinnied and reared back, not enough to throw her off, but enough to make her scream and grab the pommel.

Mr. Cross was at her side in an instant.

“What is it?”

“I’m not certain,” she said. The horse was still nervous. It snorted and pranced, and her hands hurt from the tightness of her grip. Her heart thudded against her ribcage. “Let me down,” she said.

He didn’t mock her, or condescend, or try to talk her into continuing. He was silent as he got down from his horse gracefully and placed his hands on her waist to lower her. Her own hands fluttered to his shoulders when her feet touched the ground, and she looked up at him. His eyes were dazzling in bright daylight—subtle flecks of gold, unapparent in darker lighting, appeared near the inner edge of the iris. For a second they just stood together, nearly in an embrace but not quite, like two dancers who didn’t know which direction to move.

“Mr. Cross?”

They both stepped back, hands falling, at Lady Sarah’s voice.

“We’ve decided to walk the horses back,” he said. “Miss Middleton’s mount is a bit jumpy.”

“A nervous rider can make a nervous horse,” Lady Sarah replied, looking cool and resplendent on her own black mount.

She really was a natural. Olivia hated both her and her horse.

“Possibly,” Mr. Cross said, remaining neutral. “Or it might have spied something in the grass.”

The woman’s lips thinned.

Lord Ashworth cut in. “We can continue. It won’t be a problem.”

“It’s not proper for them to walk alone,” Lady Sarah said waspishly. Olivia was certain the woman didn’t give a fig about what was and wasn’t proper.

“We can turn toward the rise,” Miss Ashworth said, “and we’ll be able to see them until they reach the house. There shouldn’t be any impropriety in that.”

“Very well,” Lord Ashworth said happily. “My sister and I shall continue with Lady Sarah, and Mr. Cross will escort Miss Middleton back. Is that agreeable?”

Lady Sarah hesitated. She glanced between the two men and her chest rose with a deep inhalation. “Very well.” She shot Olivia a nasty look before turning her horse and continuing.

“Enjoy the ride,” Mr. Cross said to the Ashworths.

And then they were alone.

“I feel completely ridiculous. I didn’t want to be a burden,” Olivia said.

“You’re not a burden. Though”—this with a smile—“I’m not certain why you said you like to ride when you actually hate horses.”

“It just sort of…slipped out. Lord Ashworth was speaking to me and I didn’t know what to say. But really, they’re terrifying creatures.”

“I like them well enough.”

“They don’t try to buck you off.”

“That’s because they know I don’t wish them ill. They
can
sense your dislike.”

“Yes,” she muttered. “So everyone keeps telling me.”

He laughed, and they started down the hill toward Eastwold Abbey. Mr. Cross had taken both reins, and the horses were content to trail after him.

A silence settled between them, not entirely comfortable or uncomfortable, but a mix of both. Olivia peeked to the side and found him studying her. He met her gaze boldly, unembarrassed at being caught.

“Have you kissed Lady Sarah, too?” she asked. Then clapped her hand over her mouth with the same fervency as if she’d sworn in front of the king.

He, wily man that he was, answered with a question. “Would that make you jealous?”

“Of course not,” she said. A lie. Just as he’d chided her for. “Although,” she added, “I think it shows a lack of character to go around at a house party accosting debutantes.”

“I’ve only accosted one debutante at this house party, and she seemed to enjoy the kiss as much as I did, so I don’t know if that’s the term I would use.”

“
Oh
,” she managed. She was the only one—an easing in her chest at that news. An easing she should ignore.

“Does it still show a lack of character,” he asked curiously, “if it’s only one?”

“I suppose that would depend on your intentions.”

“Ah.” His face seemed to draw shut. “Marriage, you mean?”

“Not necessarily.” She slowed her steps, giving them more time before they reached the house. “Are you opposed to marriage?”

“For myself, not for others.” He studied her. “What do you mean by ‘not necessarily’?”

“It would depend on whether it was an impulsive kiss or a calculated seduction.” She looked down at her moving feet, and then she added quickly, “Not that I think you’d have any reason to seduce me. Or, indeed, any desire. Why is marriage not for you?”

“Wait.” He held up his hand, halting her. They turned to face each other, and one of the horses snorted at the abrupt movement. “Why shouldn’t I desire you?”

“You’re, well…you. And I’m me. No one would expect you to look twice at me.”

“That’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard,” he said bluntly. “You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit.”

She tilted her head back to peer up at him from under the brim of her riding hat. “I know that being quiet and bookish doesn’t exactly make one sought after.”

“Being sought after and being desirable aren’t the same thing. Some people don’t know what to look for,” he said.

He was so vehement that her head jerked back slightly. Her eyes traced the sullen set of his jaw. “What do you see when you look at me?” she asked.

He opened his mouth. Hesitated. Then his lips curved in a wry smile. “I see an intelligent, passionate woman who’s too used to hiding what she really thinks. Although, with a mother like yours, I can’t say that I blame you.”

“Is that sincere? Or is it like your gray to silver?”

“It’s sincere.”

And she believed him. She didn’t know why, but she believed him.

“I think my sisters and I all responded to our mother in different ways. Elizabeth did her best to please her. Anne took the opposite approach and became defiant. I simply tried to stay out of view.”