Page 20 of This Marquess of Mine

This earned him a swift glance of surprise before she faced forward again, her expression unchanged. “I beg your pardon?”

A smile curled her lips as she exchanged nods of greeting with a passing guest, a pudgy young man with a curling mustache and the most hideous checkered waistcoat Griffin had ever seen.

“You’ve always called me Griffin,” he said, his unfriendly stare dissuading the man from approaching. “Why is it ‘my lord’ tonight?”

The question was met with a long silence until, finally, she gave an indifferent shrug and said, “Calling you by your Christian name was acceptable when I was a child, but such familiarity is no longer appropriate. We are not family. And neither are we friends.”

Griffin had no ready reply. A small part of him wanted to argue with her, but there was no argument to be made. They were not family, although he’d known her since she was a child, and while they were more than mere acquaintances, he would never call them friends.

They were something to each other, though; he just didn’t know what. At the very least, their long-standing connection made them familiars, and he’d grown accustomed to her calling him by his Christian name.

Anything else felt odd. Wrong.

A frown marred his brow, and he parted his lips to speak, though he hadn’t a clue what he intended to say.

He was given no chance to find out.

“Lady Olivia!”

Griffin glanced up to see the Duke of Paxton headed their way. Annoyance stabbed at him.

The duke’s mother was with him, of course, clutching the sleeve of her son’s pea-green coat and looking as austere as ever in a long, gray gown, her cool smile in direct contrast to her son’s affectionate half-grin.

“Good evening, my lady,” Paxton said warmly as he bowed to Olivia. His gaze met Griff’s. “Lord Keswick. Good evening.”

Griffin inclined his head.

“Good evening, Your Graces,” Olivia said, dipping into a flawless curtsy before turning to the duchess. “How lovely to see you again, Your Grace. Your gown is positively divine.”

“Thank you, Lady Olivia,” the duchess replied with a cool nod of her head.

She did not return the compliment.

Olivia must have noticed it, too. She’d widened her smile, as if by doing so she could infuse some warmth into the older woman, but the duchess appeared unmoved. Her lips thinned as she peered down the generous length of her beaklike nose, and it seemed a cruel pairing; a nose that could devour, a mouth that could only nibble.

“Are you looking forward to the performance?” Paxton asked into the uncomfortable silence. “I hear Giulietta Bianchi is an extraordinary talent.”

“Oh, yes,” Olivia said brightly. “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. It is sure to be an evening to remember.”

The two continued their exchange of pleasantries and Griff, only half-listening, studied the man Olivia seemed so determined to claim.

He did not know the Duke of Paxton well. He’d only spoken with him a handful of times over the years, but he seemed a decent enough sort, if a bit eager to please. With his thick auburn hair and animated eyes, he reminded Griff of a perky Pomeranian.

Paxton’s devotion to his mother was well-known amongst the ton, and normally Griff would find this trait admirable, feeling as he did about his own mother. But there was something about the man’s relationship with the duchess that rubbed him the wrong way. He was too devoted to her, too attached, and seemed incapable of making a decision without her counsel.

Griff couldn’t help but wonder how much that would change after the duke married. If it changed at all.

Paxton made no secret of his feelings for Olivia; it was clear he wanted her. The adoration was there in his smile for all to see. The duchess, however, did not seem to share her son’s opinion, and Griff had to wonder why.

Olivia was sought-after by many and admired by all. It seemed odd that anyone should disapprove of her or find her lacking in any way. Besides him, of course. But then, he knew Olivia better than most, knew of her flaws and foibles. On the surface, she was a prize most men would covet and most mothers—even the mother of a duke—would be more than happy to welcome into the family.

So, what did Paxton’s mother have against her?

“...think we should start making our way to our box, don’t you?” the duchess was saying as she took her son by the elbow, a tight smile on her lips.

“Of course, Mother.” Paxton gave Olivia a parting bow, his smile anything but tight. “Goodbye for now, my lady. I hope you enjoy the performance.”

He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, lingering over the task a beat too long. Griffin’s hands clenched with the potent, irrational urge to knock the man on his dukely arse.