Lady Olivia And The Infamous Rake. Janice Preston
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of believing her weak. Or lacking in experience.
‘It is delicious, thank you.’
She tilted her chin. He was as bad as her brothers...all her life she’d had to prove herself to them—prove herself capable of matching whatever they could do. She drank again. It tasted better this time and she felt the warmth hit her stomach, reminding her that she’d been so excited about tonight she’d barely eaten a thing at dinner and now—she glanced around the table—they were clearly too late for any supper here. She was conscious of the weight of Lord Hugo’s gaze upon her. She knew him by sight, but they’d never been introduced—he was not the sort of man who attended come-out balls or who frequented Almack’s. In fact, he was exactly the sort of man her Aunt Cecily would warn her to avoid: a disreputable rake and definitely an unsuitable acquaintance for a young lady in her first Season. She glanced at his lordship and saw his attention had been diverted by Mrs Bartlett, his head cocked towards her as she spoke into his ear. He smiled at her words and from looking rather dangerous—with his dark, sardonic good looks—his features were transformed. He looked much younger as his eyes crinkled—lines fanning out from the corners—and his lips parted to reveal strong white teeth. His right hand rested on the white tablecloth, his fingers moving—drumming lightly, as though he was restless—and that ruby ring on his third finger caught the light.
Olivia found her gaze riveted to those reflected darts of colour as she drank again and she realised, with a sense of shock, that she had drained the whole glass. Lord Hugo’s hand moved, picked up the jug and refilled her glass. Startled, she met his gaze again and a curious shock rippled through her. Again, she recognised nervousness and excitement all tangled up together. And something more. Something...deeper and slightly thrilling.
Anticipation?
His smile turned arrogant. Knowing. She recognised the look from that of her brothers when they were being particularly annoying—convinced they knew her better than she knew herself. Her brows twitched into a frown and she wrenched her eyes from Lord Hugo. Across the table, Lady Shelton was draped all over Alex, so Olivia avoided looking at them, too, embarrassed by their lack of shame in behaving in such a way in public—kissing and...and...fondling like that. Even Neville was taking no notice of her; he was too busy flirting with a gaudily made-up woman—clearly no lady—who had paused outside their box. She was starting to wish she had never goaded Alex into that wager. This was not as much fun as she had thought it would be.
‘Oh!’
Lady Shelton’s gasp brought Olivia’s attention back to her.
‘Oh, heavens.’ Lady Shelton fanned herself vigorously. ‘It is so very hot. I wonder, Alexander, would you be an absolute angel and escort me outside for some air?’ Her free hand disappeared beneath the table. ‘Perhaps we could dance...or something?’
Alex leapt to his feet, his cheeks flushed. ‘It would be my pleasure, ma’am.’
He helped her from the box, then appeared to remember Olivia, for he leaned across Neville and whispered, ‘I shan’t be gone long. You’ll be safe enough here with Nev. Just don’t be tempted to wander off. With anyone.’
And he disappeared into the crowd, Lady Shelton on his arm. Soon afterwards, Lord Sudbury, Mr and Mrs Bartlett and Lady Sale followed them, leaving Olivia alone with Lord Clevedon, Mr Randall, Lord Hugo and Neville. She edged closer to Neville, even though he was still flirting with that same woman. The prickles of awareness chasing over her skin warned her that Lord Hugo’s attention was once more upon her, so she studiously avoided looking in his direction. In doing so, however, she inadvertently caught Mr Randall’s eye. He was a bulky man of around five-and-thirty and he immediately moved, coming to sit on her side of the table, sliding along the bench until he sat right next to her, his thigh pressing against hers as he twisted his upper body to face her and fingered the edge of her hood.
Then his hand swooped down to land on her thigh and she squeaked a protest, knocking his hand away.
‘Just a bit of fun, darling,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Why not?’
‘Randall.’ There was a note of warning in Lord Hugo’s voice.
‘Alastair?’
‘The lady does not appear to welcome your attentions.’
‘What business is it of yours?’
Mr Randall then fell silent as Lord Clevedon rose to his feet. Olivia did not know whether to be relieved or alarmed. She was acquainted with Lord Clevedon, having met him at several functions—so he was clearly a respectable gentleman—but she was anxious he did not recognise her and this was drawing far too much of his attention. Up until now he had been too busy talking with Lord Sudbury to take much notice of anyone else. His gaze wandered casually over Olivia.
‘My guest is clearly a lady, Randall. You will oblige me by treating her as such at my birthday party.’
‘My apologies,’ Randall muttered. He was so close Olivia could smell the spirits on his breath and his cheeks were flagged with hectic colour. He shifted away until he no longer crowded her and she smiled at his lordship.
‘Thank you, my lord.’
His eyes narrowed slightly. Then he bowed, a smile playing on his full lips.
‘The pleasure is all mine, my dear.’ He gestured at Lord Hugo. ‘I shall leave it to you to ensure our glasses are kept topped up, Alastair. I cannot have it said that I am an ungenerous host.’
Lord Hugo—with a sardonic grin—obliged and, because she was overly warm in her velvet domino, Olivia continued to sip the punch. She dare not remove her domino, for that would uncover her hair—distinctive with its blue-black sheen—and she was now desperate not to be identified. She reached for the bow at her throat and pulled it loose, parting the front of the cloak to allow some air to reach her skin, but still leaving her head covered. As she did so, she glanced across the table at Lord Hugo.
Dark eyes lazily surveyed her chest area, then rose to linger on her lips and she trembled. She’d thought this would be an adventure. Now, it just felt dangerous and she felt very foolish and very inexperienced. She broke out in a light sweat even as her mouth dried and she snatched up her glass again and drank thirstily. She might never have been introduced to Lord Hugo, but she knew his reputation as a devil-may-care rake. A shiver tiptoed down her spine as she recalled some of the tales she had heard...stories she could well believe of the man who lounged opposite, a mocking edge to his hard gaze as he drank liberally and refilled the glasses on the table—including hers—at frequent intervals.
Uneasy at being alone in the box with the four men—even though one of them was Neville—Olivia distracted herself by drinking as the men chatted idly and made pithy comments about the people passing by. Gradually, though, she relaxed and she regained her normal, bubbly spirits, giving her the confidence to join the conversation.
Some time later, Lord Clevedon produced a pack of cards from his pocket and he smiled at Olivia. ‘May I challenge you to a few hands of piquet, my dear? I cannot offer an alternative game, for I only have the reduced pack here.’
Olivia had often played piquet with her family, and prided herself on her skill, but she hesitated, knowing that playing cards in a public place was not at all the same as playing cards at a private function. Neville dug his elbow into her ribs at that point and muttered, ‘Not at all the thing, La—Beatrice’ under his breath.
Olivia glared at him. Then stuck her nose in the air. If she wished to play a hand or two of cards with Lord Clevedon, why should she not? Nobody knew it was her, except Neville, and he did not count.
His lordship shuffled the cards before fanning them between long, elegant fingers. ‘Do not concern yourself, Wolfe. We shall play the classic game—the first to gain one hundred points wins. Your...er...friend has already proved herself admirably bold, venturing