Page 12 of This Marquess of Mine

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Madame Adelasia’s shop, and a moment later the door swung open. Olivia exited first, her head high, her back ramrod straight, coolly regal in her snow-white gown as she descended the steps with the assistance of a liveried footman.

Griffin looked at Emmy, expecting her to follow suit, but instead he found her watching him. Her gray eyes, so like his own, teemed with a mixture of exasperation and curiosity.

“What?” he asked, his tone more defensive than he’d intended.

“Why do you say things like that to her?” she asked, her voice low. “You never behave that way with anyone else. I don’t understand it.”

Griff grunted, resisting the urge to tug at his cravat. “She’s hardly an innocent lamb. She insults me every chance she gets.”

“True,” Emmy said, nodding. “But her insults are nearly always provoked. The same cannot be said for you.”

She exited the carriage then, leaving him with the echo of her words, unwelcome but undeniably accurate. He did provoke Olivia and, worse, he enjoyed doing it. He’d like to pretend he didn’t understand the reason why, but he knew damn well what it was.

Olivia Blakely was a frivolous, spoiled, title-chasing flirt and he did not like her.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

He hated himself for the weakness, hated that he couldn’t eradicate the feeling, that no amount of reasoning or self-admonishment could kill the attraction. He’d tried it all and still he wanted her.

Disgust soured his belly and, with gritted teeth, he stepped down from the carriage and headed toward the shop, his steps clipped and impatient.

Ignoring her used to be easier, he thought as he pushed the shop door open. Before December, before the Stevensons’ Christmastide ball where a tipsy Olivia had found him in the library and angled for a kiss beneath the mistletoe. He thought of the mischievous twinkle in her bright blue eyes, the shy, sweetly seductive smile curving her generous lips. How tempted he’d been to say yes, to give her what she wanted—what he’d wanted, too.

Thank Christ he’d come to his senses in time.

And that was why he pushed her buttons, wasn’t it? Because if he could keep her at arm’s length, and make her believe he found her company undesirable, she would be less likely to turn her considerable charms on him. Charms he knew he would be powerless to resist. He had no defense for them, and he knew it.

He thought of that sweet, tipsy smile again and his gut clenched. And then he remembered his cutting words, and the way her smile had withered on a mortified gasp.

It was for the best, of course.

But he wasn’t proud of it.