Lady Olivia To The Rescue (19 page)

“I am certain of that,” he assured her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I…I don’t know what came over me.”

“The shock of seeing me in your chamber, no doubt.” He handed her the cloth and walked across the room to the adjoining door. “Don’t worry. I will leave you alone now.”

“But Drew…”

“Rest well,” he said, going through the door.

Glancing back, he gave her a quick smile and shut the door.

Olivia jumped off the bed and then grabbed the table to steady herself as the room began to spin. Taking even breaths, she walked slowly to the door and opened it.

Crossing the room to the fire where he sat, she stood before Sheridan, her hands on her hips.

Mustering all her frustration and anger, she snapped, “You are the rudest man I have ever encountered!”

“In what way?” he said calmly, his very composure fuelling the flames of her anger.

“You know very well, in what way. I told you nothing happened between me and Sir Richard, and you didn’t believe me.”

“If I recall correctly, I did say that I believed you, my lady.”

“And that is another thing. Why is it Richard calls me Olivia, but you do not?”

He actually smiled at this, reached out, and took her hand. He held it in his, turning the palm up and tracing her lifeline. She shivered.

“Am I to be judged by Richard’s standards?” he said, his voice so soft and seductive, she forgot to breathe.

Olivia felt light-headed again and looked for someplace to sit down. He sensed her need and took her onto his lap. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to put her head on his shoulder.

“Am I?” he whispered.

“No,” she replied, her breath coming in short rasps as he took her chin and lifted it to meet his kiss.

Slow and deep, stirring her soul, robbing her mind of any thought except the hope that it would continue. Hands moving and touching, thrilling her body in a way…

“I came at once, my lord! ” exclaimed Fenwick as he opened the hallway door and minced across the room carrying one of Drew’s coats above his head.

Olivia leapt up and stumbled toward the adjoining door. She was gone before anyone else entered the room.

“Come along, Olivia. Mr. Jenson has surprised me and driven all the way out here for the evening. He has asked me if l might waltz with him. He has been taking lessons to please me, you know.”

“How kind of him, Aunt,” said Olivia. “Aunt Amy, do you know how to waltz?”

“Of course, I practiced it several times, and how difficult can it be when your partner guides you through it.”

“Not too difficult, I hope,” said Olivia, managing to refrain from uttering the nervous giggle that was begging to escape.

By now, they were at the top landing of the stairs. Olivia put out a hand to stop her aunt.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered.

“Not go through with it? Rubbish! Of course you can go through with it. You are not some milk-and-water miss to be vanquished by a couple of men. Besides, you should be flattered to have two such handsome men fighting over you.”

“They are not fighting over me so much as…oh, I don’t know. At times, I would like to horsewhip both of them!”

“If you ask me, Sheridan…”

Two ladies passed them on the stairs, and Olivia and her aunt remained silent until they were alone again.

Olivia waved her fan to cool her heated face as she recalled that kiss. She had thought the kiss they shared at Vauxhall was breathless. She hadn’t realized a kiss could make one absolutely mindless.

“So what are you going to do?”

Olivia smiled and shook her head. “I grant you, he is maddening, Aunt, but oh, when he smiles…”

“I smile, you smile, everyone smiles, my dear child. Calm yourself!”

“I know, I know,” she said, taking a deep breath and beginning the too-short descent.

“There is Charles,” whispered her aunt. “You will be all right?”

Olivia nodded and gave her aunt’s hand a squeeze. Then she was alone, poised to enter this ballroom by herself. Never had she felt so unsure of herself.

“May I have the pleasure of sitting with you while you wait for the next dance, my lady?” asked the boring Mr. Campion.

“Certainly,” she replied and took his arm.

He led her to a small alcove where they sat down on a sofa.

“I wanted to apologize for upsetting your friend’s punt. I did not spend a great deal of time practicing such sports when I was at university.”

“Do not trouble yourself about that, Mr. Campion. None of us came to any lasting harm,” she said, hoping that was all he was going to say. Oh, to sit there quietly with her thoughts, but it was not to be.

Mr. Campion liked the sound of his own voice very much, and he proceeded to drone on about boats and steam engines for the next ten minutes. Every once in a great while, he required some response. Being the good listener that she was, Olivia paid enough attention to fill these short gaps.

The music ended, and Tony asked for the honour of that waltz. Olivia was glad. If it had been Richard, she would have been tempted to turn him down, especially with Drew watching.

Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t recall seeing Drew since he had come into her room.

As the evening progressed, Olivia felt her nerves were being stretched to the limit. Drew never left the dance floor, but he never approached her. Had their kiss given him a disgust of her? She prayed it had not. She certainly had not felt one iota of disgust—only raw passion.

Waltzes, cotillions, quadrilles. All passed without Drew approaching her. Finally, she sat out one dance with Mr. Pendleton. The music ended, and the old man rose to speak to other guests.

When a shadow fell across her lap, Olivia glanced up and drew in a quick breath.

“Good evening, Lady Olivia.”

“Good evening, Lord Sheridan,” said Olivia. She knew she was smiling like a looby, but she could not stop herself.

“Lady Olivia, might I have the next dance?”

She smiled up at him and held out her hand. Rising, she followed Drew onto the floor.

“It’s about time,” she whispered as his hand clasped hers and his other arm encircled her.

“Yes, old Pendleton is a nice enough fellow, but after sitting out with him for a whole dance…”

“Not because of that,” she said with a carefree laugh. “Quite true, of course, but what I meant to say was that I wanted to explain about this afternoon, Drew. I didn’t get the chance when I came into your room.” She blushed at the remembrance of what she had done in that room.

“Shh, not now. I am counting the beats.”

She glared at him. There was no reason for him to count beats. He was now quite accomplished at the waltz. He was merely doing this to avoid conversation with her.

“Here we go. One…two…three. One…two…three.”

Shaking her head at this nonsense, she said, “You are not going to allow me to explain, are you?”

“No. I might not like your explanation, and that would put me in an abysmal mood, so I think we should not speak of it at all. Well, would you look at that? How wonderful!” he exclaimed, nodding to her aunt and the doctor as they struggled by in each other’s arms.

“How do you make this look so easy?” demanded her aunt.

Drew shrugged, and the older couple lumbered off. Olivia giggled.

“Shame on you for laughing at their efforts, my lady.”

“I cannot help it. He has taken perhaps two lessons. My aunt has only tried it once or twice. How could she have thought it would be easy?”

“I applaud them for trying,” he said, leaning closer to her as he spoke. “Bravo for them.”

Olivia could not tear her eyes away from his.

She wanted to speak but had lost the ability. The afternoon’s fiasco with Richard stood between them. Their passionate kiss stood between them. Until she explained…and now she could not find the words.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

She gulped down some air and said suddenly “It was not what it looked like. I mean, me and Sir Richard.”

“I never dreamed that it was,” he said, smiling now.

Olivia returned that smile and inched closer as their dance continued.

“You are not angry?”

There was that smile again. “No, I don’t believe I am,” he said, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

Olivia frowned. “What happened to Richard? I haven’t seen him all evening.”

Drew tried to look innocent, but he couldn’t fool Olivia. “You did not fight, did you?”

“Certainly not, I merely suggested that Fenwick, my valet, might wish to help Richard because he was not feeling well.”

“And how did he help Richard?” she asked.

“Richard couldn’t sleep, and Fenwick happened to have some laudanum in his bag. He merely…”

“That is too bad of you, Drew! ”

He smiled again and said, “Call me Drew again, and you may scold me all you wish.”

“Drew,” she whispered, returning that wonderful smile.

Too soon, it was over, and they promenaded with the other couples. Her hand was tucked into his arm, and he kept her close. When their walk was done, he bowed over her hand.

“Until tomorrow,” he said, kissing her fingertips.

“You are leaving?” she said.

“I hope you will forgive me. I cannot imagine dancing with another after you. ” He walked away.

“But we could…” Olivia’s voice dwindled to nothing.

“Lady Olivia, would you care to dance?” asked Mr. Thomas.

“Certainly, Mr. uh…,” she said.

“Thomas,” he supplied.

“Of course, I beg your pardon. My mind was wandering. I believe you asked me to dance?” she said, taking his arm.

She smiled, and while she continued fooling the world that she was enjoying herself, Olivia longed for only one pair of arms to hold her, to guide her in the dance of love.

After seeking out his host to bid him farewell, Sheridan climbed into his carriage and returned to London. He was surprised at his light-heartedness, and he knew his waltz with Olivia was responsible for it—that and the passionate interlude they had shared. People would be talking about their waltz, though—the fact that he had danced only once and with Lady Olivia.

If he had seen Richard before leaving, he would have snapped his fingers at him. He felt suddenly confident that he had nothing to fear from his old friend. Sheridan dozed as the carriage swayed back and forth, its springs protecting him from uncomfortable bumps.

When the door opened and the footman thrust a lamp toward the opening, Sheridan awoke and stretched. Climbing down, he walked up the steps and entered the house.

“Good evening, my lord,” said Silvers with a slight bow.

“Silvers.”

“We were not expecting you to be this early, my lord. Mr. Fenwick told us that it was going to be quite an extravagant affair.”

“And so it was, but I did not feel like staying,” said Drew, picking up a letter from the side table.

“That arrived while you were gone this afternoon, my lord. Mr. Butters gave it to Mr. Fitzsimmons. He said I should give it to you immediately when you returned. My lord, is anything the matter?” asked the butler.

Sheridan crumpled the letter in his list. “No, nothing. I…goodnight, Silvers.”

“Goodnight, my lord,” said the butler.

With a weary tread, Sheridan climbed the stairs to his room. He tore off his cravat and shrugged out of his coat before Fenwick found him and completed the job. Dressed for bed, he glanced down at the crumpled paper he still clutched in his hand. Smoothing it out, he held it up to the fire and read it again.