Page 10 of This Marquess of Mine

Too bad, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me, just as I’m stuck with you.

He followed after her and made his way into the corridor, the scent of jasmine and the subtle sway of luscious hips threatening to annihilate his peace of mind.

Ignore her.

Admittedly, ignoring Olivia Blakely was not an easy thing to do, but neither was it impossible. He’d had plenty of practice these last two years, ever since he’d realized how beautiful she was. On the outside, at least.

He was there the night she made her debut, just eighteen years old, looking quite different from how he’d remembered her. Elegant and mature with her blond curls swept up and her pink satin dress accentuating womanly curves he’d never seen before. Or, at least, never noticed before.

The first lick of desire low in his belly had caught him totally unaware, and he’d shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the idea of lusting after little Olivia Blakely, the girl he’d known since she was eight years old. His sister’s longtime friend. She’d never been anything more than that.

Until that night.

He’d watched her all evening, a blonde goddess surrounded by slavering admirers, all of them hungry for her attention. He’d been hungry for it, too, but he’d kept his distance. She was beautiful, yes, and she knew it. She reveled in the attention she received, teasing and toying with every man in her orbit, though none were good enough for her. Countless proposals, countless rejections.

Olivia, his sister’s sweet little friend, had grown up, and grew into a shallow, title-chasing flirt.

“Have you named the kitten yet, Griff?” Emmy asked over her shoulder, interrupting his reverie as the group made their way into the entrance hall.

He cleared his throat and shoved all thoughts of that long ago night from his mind. “I haven’t,” he said. “I thought I would leave that to you and Mother.”

“But she’s your cat,” Emmy pointed out, turning to face him with raised brows.

Olivia stood a short distance behind her, busily situating her velvet cloak around her shoulders.

“She is not my cat,” he returned. “I brought her home for you.”

Emmy smiled. “Be that as it may, she likes you best. She chose you. Therefore, she is your cat, and you should be the one to name her.”

Griffin frowned and glanced down at the kitten in his arms. “But I wouldn’t know what to name her. I’ve never named anything before.”

Emmy threw him a speaking glance, clearly disappointed in him. “It is hardly a monumental decision. If you name her something awful, she won’t care. She won’t even know.”

Griff hesitated, unsure exactly why he was so reluctant to give her a name. She was only a kitten, after all. Hardly a life-altering commitment. Still...

“Oh, very well,” Emmy said, throwing her hands out. “I shall name her. Let’s see…” She scrunched up her nose and eyed the kitten thoughtfully. “What about…Pudding? Or Pumpkin? Parsnip? Persimmon? No, no, I have it! Princess Plum Cake.”

“Oh, I like that last one,” Olivia said, her lips trembling with mirth.

She would choose now to speak.

Griffin scowled. “Don’t be absurd,” he said. “That isn’t even a real name.”

Emmy shrugged. “If you don’t like it, I suppose you’ll have to name her yourself.”

Griff sighed and looked down at the kitten’s furry face. She returned his gaze, her yellow eyes bright with mischief, and then one eye winked, reminding him of a flickering star in a sky black as night.

“Artemis,” he said promptly.

The kitten mewled, as if affirming his choice, and Griffin smiled. “Yes. Artemis.”

“Artemis?” Emmy notched her head to one side, considering the name. “Artie. Yes, I like it.”

Griffin shot her a stern frown. “No, not Artie,” he said. “Artemis. A strong name befitting the feline goddess of the hunt.”

The feline goddess in question chose that moment to grip her tail between all four paws and gnaw on it as if it were a furry sausage.

“Goodness me,” Emmy said, her voice dry as dust. “You had best arm yourself, Livvy. A fierce and terrifying predator walks among us.”