WidowsWickedWish (11 page)

From the top of the half dozen steps that led into the
recessed ballroom, Olivia surveyed the assembled guests, most of who were
related to her one way or another.

Along one wall she spotted her uncle, the Earl of Somerton,
in deep discussion with the Earl of Piedmont. Lady Piedmont, Olivia’s cousin
Alice, stood beside him wearing a shockingly low-cut gown of emerald silk and
an expression of absolute boredom.

Turning toward the wall of french doors that led to the
balcony, she saw Viscount Moorehead dressed in dark gray with a red waistcoat
around his ample belly that matched her dress perfectly. Dear Bertie was
flirting shamelessly with yet two more cousins, Lady Heloise and Lady Margaret.

The dance floor was sprinkled with more cousins, uncles and
aunts. From the corner of her eye she spotted her great-aunt Margaret, the
Dowager Countess of Singleton, chastising her former daughter-in-law’s new
husband, the beleaguered Mr. Simms.

“Ah, there’s Bentley,” Simon murmured and Olivia pulled her
gaze from the family drama unfolding.

Jack Bentley in evening attire fairly stole Olivia’s breath.
Dressed all in black but for the crisp white cravat jauntily tied at his neck,
he stood out among the dandies in their peacock blue and garish gold. His hair
was shorter than it had been when last she’d seen him, the silver threads at
his temples gleaming in the light cast by hundreds of candles.

He stood just inside the ballroom beside a tall column,
conversing with someone not visible through the crowd that swirled around the
base of the steps. That unseen someone was both short and amusing if the way in
which he leaned down to speak before tossing his head back to laugh was any
indication.

“I understand he paid a call upon you at Idyllwild while on
his journey south,” Simon said.

“Just a short visit,” she replied carefully, lest her sudden
breathlessness be noticed.

“Bentley’s a good chap,” Simon continued as he took the
first step. “He’ll make a wise choice.”

“Wise choice?” Olivia repeated without moving to join him in
descending the steps.

The crowd began to part, a rather large woman and her
equally large daughter moving toward the refreshment table, no doubt.

Simon looked at Olivia over his shoulder, a wry grimace
curling his lips. “Of wife.”

“Yes, of course,” Olivia murmured as Jack leaned forward to
rest his forearm against the pillar in a pose so masculine, so entirely
inappropriate in her mother’s ballroom, so completely Jack that she felt the
floor shift beneath her as a wave of lust hit her.

“Why else would a sane man venture to Town if he didn’t have
to,” Simon replied before turning away once more. “Looks like he’s making
headway, too.”

Olivia barely heard his words over the roaring in her ears
as a gentleman in a pink coat ambled off toward the wallflowers sitting in the
shadows and Jack’s invisible companion became all too visible.

The woman was stunning. From her golden-blonde hair piled
high atop her head in a masterful confection of curls and ribbons, to her
dainty gold slippers tapping to the beat of the violins playing across the
room, the lady was absolutely beautiful.

The blonde goddess, surely the Diamond of the Season, leaned
ever so slightly back against the pillar, her head tipped back on her long,
slender neck, and gazed up at the raven-haired man towering over her.

Olivia watched the woman tap Jack on the shoulder with her
fan, a coquettish move she herself had mastered during her first Season. When
he leaned down to whisper in her ear, Olivia imagined she could see their
mutual attraction shimmering around them like a soft yellow halo.

Good Lord, they were practically embracing, their bodies
almost touching. Surely Jack’s arm brushed her hair, perhaps his fingers even
trailed into her curls. And the lady, the beautiful, young, imminently
marriageable lady, must feel the heat of his big body along her arm, her
breast, her hip.

The scene was so reminiscent of the day she’d peered into
the stables to find Jack towering over Elizabeth Portman that she fully
expected him to lean down and capture the pretty blonde’s lips in a passionate
kiss.

Shock slammed into Olivia with enough force to send her
stumbling backward.

“Easy there, Ollie,” came a laughing voice behind her.

Olivia spun to face a smiling Henry.

“Oh Henry,” she whispered, blinking furiously.

“What’s amiss?” Henry gripped her arms above her gloves, his
smile disappearing to be replaced with a look of worry.

“Nothing at all, Henry,” she answered. “Other than the fact
that you know I detest that childhood name.”

“Has someone upset you?” he demanded, his gaze swinging
about the crowded room as if he might see some sign of the miscreant.

“No, of course not,” Olivia replied before looking beyond
her brother to see her mother standing behind him, her gaze bouncing from her
children, and a look of confusion clouding her eyes.

“Hastings is to escort me down,” Lady Hastings told her
daughter in a trembling voice.

“Yes, of course,” Olivia replied.

“Lucky me, escorting the two prettiest ladies.” Henry cocked
out both elbows.

Olivia waited until her mother had grasped one, her tiny
hand curling around his arm in a tight grip, before she rested her hand upon
his forearm and turned to face the crowd below.

On cue the music came to a close and the assembled guests
turned to the staircase.

“The Countess of Hastings, the Countess of Palmerton and the
Earl of Hastings.”

Henry’s butler’s booming voice bounced about the cavernous
room and Olivia found herself the center of attention, a fate she’d hoped to
avoid this evening.

There was nothing for it but to brazen her way through it.

She gave a toss of her head to show off the jewels in her
tresses, pasted a practiced smile upon her lips, and sailed down the stairs on
her brother’s arm, her gaze resolutely turned from the man lounging against a
pillar with the ghost of his wife all but in his arms.

“Oh look,” Miss Madeline Dumfries whispered in awe as she
turned toward the marble staircase that marked what Jack was beginning to think
of as the Gates of Hell.

He followed her gaze to the landing above in time to see a
dark-haired woman enveloped in yards of rich dark-red silk spin about and all
but tumble into the Earl of Hastings’ arms.

It defied logic, but Hastings had become quite the rake in
the years Jack had been away from Town. He kept two mistresses and had still
managed to seduce a good dozen women in the first month of the Season.

And it appeared as if he’d found the woman to share his bed
tonight.

Jack ran his gaze over the back of the woman draped in silk
the color of the finest red wine. The gown was cut daringly low, exposing the
lady’s shoulders and upper back, and hugged her body like a glove almost to the
tops of her legs, legs that promised to be incredibly long. A row of tiny
buttons trailed down her spine and over a backside shown off to perfection by
the astounding fit of the gown.

“I doubt very much Hastings is looking for a wife,” Jack
said to Madeline, the lady who’d thus far been the only entertainment to be
found in the crowded, gaudily decorated and slightly malodorous ballroom.

“Oh hush, you naughty man,” Madeline cooed, her fan raised
to take another swipe at his shoulder.

He feinted left and her fan glanced off his upper arm. “You
are deadly with that thing.”

“I only use it to keep naughty men like you in their
places,” she replied with a rather toothsome smile.

“How’s that working for you?” he asked.

“As you continue to flirt shamelessly, I would have to say
not very well.” She peered up at the landing once more. “I thought I saw...”

Jack caught a movement, a blur of red, from the corner of
his eye and turned fully around to face the raised dais that was the upper
landing.

“The Countess of Hastings, the Countess of Palmerton and the
Earl of Hastings.”

The voice announcing their hosts for the evening echoed off
the walls and a steady hum filled the air.

Olivia stood poised beside her mother and her brother, her
hand lying upon his forearm, her head held regally high.

Christ, if the gown had been astounding from the back, seen
from the front it was nothing short of miraculous. Deep-red shimmered over her
breasts, barely covering them as she drew in a deep breath. Candlelight
glimmered over her exposed shoulders and dark curls, setting tiny jewels in her
hair winking like fiery stars.

With slow, graceful steps Olivia descended the stairs, her
hips gently swaying, the froth of her skirts flowing out around her. She kept
her head tilted up and her shoulders back as she stepped onto the marble floor
a dozen feet from where he stood transfixed.

She looked neither left nor right, her gaze fixed upon some
point across the room.

Her profile might have been carved in granite, so cool did
she appear, so completely composed, as the assembled guests swirled around her.
Her full mouth was pulled into a soft smile. Impossibly long, dark lashes hid
her eyes, but Jack imagined her eyes glowed silver in the candlelight as she
looked out over the crowd like a queen assessing her domain.

It struck Jack that Olivia was in her element in the crowded
ballroom, ladies and gentlemen clamoring forward to greet her, to curtsy and
bow to her, to be among the first to welcome her back into the fold.

“Isn’t she lovely?” Madeline whispered from beside him.

“Lovely,” Jack agreed even as he watched her greet her
adoring fans with that tranquil smile firmly in place. She spoke little, merely
nodded and smiled, smiled and nodded.

This was the lady he’d watched over the years on his
infrequent trips to Town, regal and poised, entirely at home in the glittering
ballroom. This was the lady he intended to take as his wife, the future mother
of his children. She would elevate him from outsider to insider, ensure that
his family was accepted and see his daughter well-married when the time came.

If he felt a moment’s confusion, a puzzling suspicion that
the lady before him was a stranger, that she could not be the same woman who
had charmed and seduced him during their time at Idyllwild, he pushed it aside.
This was the true Olivia, the noblewoman who held his future in the palm of her
hand.

“Devilishly daring of her to toss off her mourning
precipitously, and in so dramatic a fashion.”

Jack turned back to Madeline in surprise. “Precipitously?”

“The grays and lavenders of half-mourning would render her
quite pale,” Madeline mused.

“How long is she expected to mourn?” Jack asked in alarm.

“A full year of black and another of those dreadful grays,”
his companion replied. “When my sister’s husband passed on, I was only required
to observe a month of each and that was long enough for me to wish every member
of my family a long life.”

Jack made no reply, his mind spinning with the notion that
he’d be forced to wait another six month to publicly court the lady.

“Lady Palmerton is putting everyone on notice,” Madeline
continued breathlessly. “She is telling the entire world she is quite finished
with her mourning.”

“Is she?”

“She is telling all of Society that she is a lady of
substance, a woman not be trifled with but rather to be reckoned with.”

“You comprehended all that from her gown?” Jack asked
doubtfully.

“From the cut and color,” she agreed with a wave of one
slender arm. “And from her tousled curls and the gems winking in them. Oh, and
just look at those slippers!”

Olivia spun about to face Viscount Moorehead and two petite
ladies wearing nearly identical white gowns, her dress belling out around her
and giving him a peek at her slender ankles and the ribbons twisted and tied
above them. Those ribbons were attached to impossibly high-heeled silver
slippers.

Jack watched as the lady in question smiled at Moorehead,
the first genuine smile to lift her lips since she’d stood above surveying the
crowd, and something tight eased in his chest.

“Oh look at her, she is a jewel,” Madeline breathed as
Moorehead took Olivia’s hand and twirled her about for his inspection, his
laughter soaring about the room. “She’ll lead the gentlemen on a merry chase
now that she’s thrown down the gauntlet. Merry chase, now that’s funny.”

Jack smiled at his pretty blonde companion before bowing
over her hand with a murmured reminder of their forthcoming dance.

He turned to find Olivia looking at him with wide, dark eyes
and a frown puckering her lips. Jack met her gaze and watched as the frown
disappeared as if she’d mentally scrubbed it from her lips.

Once again she wore what he was coming to think of as her
Countess Countenance.

He strode forward, dodging a matron in a bright yellow tent
of a dress, and nodding to the Earl of Hastings who stood just beyond Olivia
conversing with the Earl of Somerton.

“Lady Palmerton.” Jack bowed over her hand, felt it tremble
in his light grip and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Mr. Bentley,” she replied, smoothly extricating her hand,
her gaze roaming about the room.

“I was beginning to think you would never arrive,” he told
her as he took her in, as relief coursed through him.

“I can’t think why,” she replied with a wave of one long,
elegant arm. “My mother’s annual ball is the event of the Season.”

“No, it wasn’t your arrival tonight I doubted,” Jack replied
around a huff of laughter. “Rather I’d begun to despair of your ever returning
to Town.”

“Had you?” she asked, her eyes fixing upon a spot just
behind him. “I don’t believe I’ve made the acquaintance of your lovely young
companion.”

Jack looked to his left just as Madeline Dumfries appeared
at his side and dropped into a perfect curtsy without awaiting an introduction,
her hand extended to Olivia.

“Lady Palmerton, Miss Madeline Dumfries,” Jack said into the
awkward silence that followed. It occurred to him that the lady was likely
younger than he’d first thought, perhaps just out of the schoolroom.

Olivia hesitated the merest moment before lightly touching
the offered hand, her fingers barely brushing the tips.

The blonde girl rose with a wisp of a smile drifting over
her lips.

The two women, both beautiful in their own right, eyed one
another carefully, and not the least bit covertly.

“Are you enjoying your first Season?” Olivia asked, glancing
away to nod at a passing servant. Like magic a tray bearing a single glass of
champagne appeared at her side.

Jack nearly groaned. Miss Dumfries was just out of the
schoolroom. The manner in which she’d eyed him the moment he’d walked into the
ballroom, the way she’d angled to put herself in his path as he made his way
around the room, and the knowing look in her eyes as she’d invited him to flirt
with her had all combined to lead him to think he was whiling away the time
with a sophisticated woman who would see a bit of flirtation for what it was.

A debutant in her first Season would likely expect him to
call upon her on the morrow with a bouquet of roses in one hand and a noose in
the other.

“Champagne for Miss Dumfries and Mr. Bentley, Thomas,” Olivia
murmured to the servant before bringing the glass to her lips and sipping from
it until she’d drained a good half. She lowered the glass and held it at her
waist, one gloved finger slowly circling the crystal lip.

And all the while she kept her eyes on the younger lady.

“How did you know it was my first Season?” Madeline asked.

Olivia’s lips twitched.

“I curtsied before we’d been introduced, didn’t I?”

The Countess dipped her head in acknowledgment, her mouth
tilting at the corners.

“Mother always says I rush about without thought.”

“Your sister was the same during her first Season,” Olivia
told the girl, finally allowing the smile free rein.

Jack tilted his head to catch her eye, wanting to share that
smile, give her one of his own in return, but she kept her gaze on Madeline.

It was then that it hit him that Olivia had not looked
directly at him since he’d approached her. She’d looked everywhere but at him.

“You know Felicity?” Madeline asked in surprise. “Did you
come out together?”

“Felicity was a few years behind me,” Olivia replied.

“Truly? You look years younger than my sister.”

“Thank you. Sometimes I feel positively ancient,” the
Countess of Palmerton replied wryly.

“Well, you look lovely,” Madeline gushed. “Mr. Bentley and I
were commenting on it just moments ago.”

“Oh?” Olivia arched a brow and looked at him, finally.

Her gaze was direct, her eyes a dark pewter-gray. There was
a question there, perhaps even a dare, one that Jack found himself unable to
decipher.

“We were actually discussing your gown,” he replied and
immediately wished the words back. No such luck. He imagined they hovered there
in the space between them.

Miss Dumfries darted a surprised look his way.

“I’m pleased to know that you found my gown lovely,” Olivia
said without a trace of humor. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Bentley.”

Without thought Jack reached for her, his hand seeming to
move without volition to touch her arm, to keep her before him long enough to
fix his gaffe.

Olivia smoothly stepped away from him, the movement graceful
yet decisive.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dumfries,” she told the
other lady graciously. “I hope we see one another again before the Season
ends.”

Jack was left with no choice but to drop his hand and watch
her walk away, her head high and her back, beneath dozens of tiny gray buttons,
ramrod straight.

“We were actually discussing your gown,” Madeline mimicked,
her tone withering. “And here I thought I was practicing with an accomplished
flirt.”