The way Lord Lowell tilted his head and clenched his hands into fists at his sides suggested a deep unease. Considering how long he had been a recluse, she was not surprised. She also found it difficult to re-don her Lady Allenmask after a significant amount of time away from society, as if her body had forgotten the movements.
She realized she was squeezing her fan again and forcibly relaxed her muscles. This was her chance to confront him. If her marriage had taught her anything, it was that men responded favorably to women who were willing to stroke their egos, among other things.
“That must be his daughter,” Saffron said. “I haven’t seen Constance since she was a babe.”
Olivia wrenched her attention away from Lord Lowell. There was indeed a slip of a girl in a peach gown pressed to his side. The girl stepped forward and made a perfect curtsey before Mrs. Zephyr, who had cut her way through the crowd to greet the new arrivals. Their host, who was only a few years older than Saffron, all but bounced out of her frothy, pink gown as she greeted the marquess. Her words were lost amid the murmur of the crowd, but it was easy to guess what she was saying.
“Oh, how utterly lovely, how wonderful to meet you,” Olivia said in falsetto, as Mrs. Zephyr ran her white-gloved fingers through the loose, blonde curls at her nape. “Please do admire this expensive, hideous gown. I chose it just for you, my lord.”
Saffron snorted. “That’s probably not even much of an exaggeration.”
Lord Lowell’s tense posture did not alter as Mrs. Zephyr held out a hand in a move clearly intended to pressure him into giving her his arm. Instead, he gave a sharp bow, then ascended the steps to the terrace with Constance at his side.
“Quite a cut,” Saffron said. “Mrs. Zephyr does not look pleased.”
Olivia was too busy watching Lord Lowell to care about their host’s sensibilities. It could not have been more perfect.She would not have to arrange a private audience, because his path led directly to her table.
He reached the top of the steps, and his gaze met hers. Although she couldn’t see his lips from beneath his wiry beard, the lines around his eyes suggested a smirk.
He stopped a respectable distance away and inclined his head. “Lady Allen.” Then he turned to Saffron. “Miss Summersby. My mother sends her regards.”
“It’s Lady Briarwood now,” Saffron said. “My aunt will be pleased to learn you have returned to town. How long will you be staying?”
“That is yet to be determined.” He lowered his voice. “May we join your table? There is a matter I wish to discuss.”
Gooseflesh pebbled Olivia’s arms. His voice was so deep. She imagined his head between her thighs, his thick beard caressing her most sensitive areas, his rumbling baritone vibrating her flesh. The sheer size of him suggested she would not come away unsatisfied.
What am I thinking?
The man was a blackguard. He had ruined her life. She should have been thinking of ways to bend him to her will, not imagining them in bed together. No matter how attractive she found him.
The silence stretched. Saffron coughed delicately into her napkin.
Olivia straightened her shoulders. “Of course. We would welcome your company.”
Before she had even finished speaking, he was pulling out a chair for his daughter, as if the thought of her refusing him, a marquess, had never entered his mind. It was true, but that didn’t dampen her anger in the slightest.
At least he waited for his daughter to sit before doing the same.
“You should apologize for our rudeness, Father,” Lady Constance said. “It was not appropriate to impose upon Lady Allen’s time without first requesting an introduction.”
Lady Constance was as much a surprise as her father. Olivia recognized the careful hand of a governess who was plentiful with both correction and praise, rather than punishing every perceived slight. The girl could not be older than nineteen, yet she displayed the poise of a mature woman.
The footman returned with two other servants. One placed a three-tiered stand of fruit-laden cakes on their table, a second set down four glasses of lemonade, and a third provided them with additional plates.
“No need to apologize,” Olivia said. “Our actions will have convinced the watchers below that we are of long acquaintance. I see no reason to correct anyone of that notion.”
Settling their dispute would be awkward enough without Mrs. Zephyr hovering over them.
Lord Lowell’s shoulders sank. “Then you have surmised my intent. Excellent. I fear I have spoken to, and been rejected by, every matron in London.”
“You have… what?” The conversation wasn’t heading in the direction she’d expected. “Surely, there is a more pressing matter for us to discuss.”
He frowned. “What might that be?”
The man was either obtuse or frustrating her on purpose. “What do you want from me, Lord Lowell?”
He blinked several times before shaking his head. “As you wish, I will be direct. I desire your services as a matchmaker.”
