“Really?”
Bett nodded. “I wouldn’t lie about something so important. I know what I saw.”
Was Bett right? Was Lord Robertson interested in her? To what end, though? She certainly didn’t want to marry again and would never place herself under the thumb of a man. Two years of Armstrong controlling her every move was enough to last her a lifetime.
But…maybe there was the possibility of a few stolen kisses. She hadn’t believed Bett when she had told her how pleasant kissing could be. That had not been Olivia’s experience with Armstrong. He was rough and slobbering when he kissed her, which wasn’t often, and she’d been relieved that it was so infrequent.
What would it be like to kiss Lord Robertson? A virile man rather than someone old enough to be her grandfather. She stole a peek at him and wondered if his lips were as soft as they looked. There was only one way to find out; before the day was done, she was determined to have her answer.
Chapter 7
Olivia looked up from herplate when their host clinked his glass with a knife.
“Ladies and gentlemen, all those who have elected to participate in the archery contest should walk over to the west lawn. My dear wife has arranged plenty of other activities for those who do not wish to partake in the contest. The sun is shining, and the day promises to be warm and pleasant. I wish everyone good luck,” Lord Fleming said with a flourish.
Lady Fleming stood after her husband finished speaking. “Any ladies who don’t wish to partake in archery may follow me to the parlor.”
All but three of the ladies rose and followed the hostess as she swept out of the room. All of the men had elected to stay and would participate in the contest.
Three ladies and ten men should prove an interesting contest. Olivia had been briefly introduced last evening to the other woman participating in thecontest today. Miss Jane Bartlett was quite attractive, with her honey-blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes. She was young, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Olivia had noticed how many times she’d stolen looks at Lord Robertson. Was she interested in him? It looked as though her mother, Viscountess Bartlett, certainly was, if their fevered whispering yesterday at tea was any indication.
Olivia had no idea if Lord Robertson was interested in marrying. Would he prefer a woman a little older, or did he want a young woman fresh out of the schoolroom? Miss Bartlett was certainly pretty enough to capture any man’s attention, but was Lord Robertson one of them? Was he looking for such a young wife?
It made sense that Miss Bartlett would throw her cap at him. Lord Robertson was handsome, wealthy, and titled—exactly what every matchmaking Mama wished for her daughter. Olivia was glad he’d asked her to partner with him today, as none of the other men in attendance seemed to strike a chord with her, although Lord Robertson’s friends, Mr. Hughes and Mr. Walker, seemed pleasant enough, especially Mr. Hughes, who seemed utterly captivated with Bett.
“Lady Armstrong, are you ready to depart for the west lawn?” Lord Robertson asked.
Olivia stood. “I am indeed. Thank you, my lord.”
He held out his arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Being so close to him made her appreciate his masculine beauty even more. He smelled wonderful—a mixture of sandalwood and bergamot, she thought. His arm was firm and strong, and she wondered how it would feel to lie skin-to-skin with him.
What?
Where did that thought come from?
Why on earth would she think about the earl like that when a few days ago she had specifically told Bett she was not interested in meeting anyone and having a liaison? A few stolen kisses were all she was willing to explore at the house party. She gave herself a mental shake to dispel the image of her and Lord Robertson lying together. She’d never lain naked with Armstrong, and she hadn’t minded. When he came to her bed, he raised her night dress, grunted and pushed into her for a few moments, and then left her. The marital act held no appeal for her whatsoever, and she’d always been relieved when he finished quickly.
“It’s going to be a nice warm day today,” Lord Robertson said.
“What? I’m so sorry. I was woolgathering. Would you repeat that?” Olivia asked. She chided herself for thinking about her late husband while walking with the earl. Armstrong was dead, and she was with a veryhandsome and virile man. It was time to put the past firmly behind her.
“I only mentioned it was going to be warm today.”
Olivia looked at him and smiled as he led her out to the west lawn. “It does appear so. My lord, I must warn you again that I’m not very skilled in archery.”
When he gave her a devasting smile, her knees nearly buckled. It wasn’t fair that such beauty should be bestowed on a man. Were the fates laughing at all the females not so blessed?
“Lady Armstrong, let me once again say that I do not care about winning the contest. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better and am glad we can spend some time together.”
Olivia nodded, but a small part of her was afraid that if he really knew her, he’d run back to London so fast it would make her head spin. She had to be careful in what she told him. Armstrong’s constant belittlement of her had made her full of indecision and afraid of making mistakes. She shook her head to dispel those feelings. Armstrong couldn’t hurt her anymore and she needed to believe in herself more. However, being called worthless every day for two years took its toll, and she was trying to work past especially if she wanted to be with someone as kind and courteous as Lord Robertson.
It didn’t take long for all the guests who wanted to participate in the contest to gather on the westlawn. Mr. Hughes and Bett had their heads together, more than likely discussing strategy. Miss Bartlett had teamed up with a young buck—Lord Pressley, heir to a viscount. He was of medium height, had a slim build, and wore his brown hair a bit on the long side. She was not the least bit attracted to him.
“Let’s have the teams with a lady be first to shoot at the target. Each member of a team should choose the same color arrow so we can keep track of the results,” Lord Fleming said. “I want everyone to relax and have fun. Let the games begin!”
Lord Pressley and Miss Bartlett lined up first. He helped her position an arrow with red feathers, and she let it fly. It wasn’t a bad shot. At least she hit the target, her arrow embedding itself in one of the outer rings. Lord Pressley aimed his arrow at the target and let it go. It landed with a thud in the second circle from the bullseye.
“Bravo!” Lord Fleming cried. “A great start. Now, who’s next?”
