Page 21 of This Marquess of Mine

“And I you, Your Grace,” she replied prettily, returning his smile with one of her own.

Griff watched as the duke and his mother meandered up the corridor on their way to their private box.

“The Duke of Paxton certainly wears his heart on his sleeve,” he said, turning to Olivia. “I’ve never seen a more smitten man.”

Her hands flexed around her fan, and she wore a small smile, though it did not reach her eyes. “He cares for me,” she said lightly. “As I care for him.”

“Yet you are not betrothed.”

He left the obvious question unasked, and it hung heavy between them.

“Paxton is courting me as a gentleman should,” she said, busily straightening her long white . Her voice had cooled considerably, a warning to retreat.

Griff ignored it. “I’m glad,” he said smoothly. “I was worried the delay had something to do with his mother. She seems…less than enthused by the match.”

Olivia’s hands flexed again, his words striking another nerve. “As usual, you are mistaken.”

“Hm.” He tugged his pocket watch from his coat and checked the time before glancing down the corridor at his sister. She was still talking with her friend.

He tucked the timepiece away and slipped his hands in his pockets. “So…has he kissed you yet?”

Her gaze shot to his, her lips parted in outrage. “That is none of your business.”

Griffin smiled. “That’s a no, then.”

Her fist tightened around the fan, throttling it, and for a moment he wondered if she would hit him with it. “The duke is a gentleman,” she said. “Unlike some men of my acquaintance, his interests extend beyond mere copulation.”

He chuckled softly, amused by both her word choice and her naivety. “I can assure you, even the most gentlemanly of men are interested in copulation, Olivia. And if I were you, I’d be wondering why he hasn’t tried to kiss me yet.”

“Well, you are not me,” she said, her blue eyes flashing. “Paxton will kiss me when the time is right, and when he does, it will be magnificent.”

Griffin’s brows rose. Magnificent? It was hard to imagine the cheery, dimwitted duke doing anything magnificently, least of all pleasuring a woman.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “And what is that look meant to imply?”

He shrugged. “Magnificent is a touch optimistic, don’t you think? Your duke is a pleasant enough fellow, but teeming with passion, he is not.”

Her chin rose. “Nonsense. Everyone knows still waters run deep.”

“But even puddles can be still.”

“Well, no one would know that better than you, would they?” The arch of her brow was impressively sanctimonious. “After all, you’ve dipped your toe in more puddles than I can count.”

Griffin grinned, a slow, devilish flash of his teeth. “I’m an adventurous man, Olivia,” he drawled, “but even I’ve never thought to use my toe.”

Her cheeks bloomed with color, and she turned from him, in tandem with the slap of her fan against the palm of her gloved hand.

Griffin chuckled. Probably thinking about smacking him with it again.

An image flashed through his mind: Her, on his bed, on her knees, her curvy little body in nothing but stockings and stays, the wicked promise of the slow, sharp slap of her fan against her bare palm.

God. His mouth went dry, desire unfurling low in his gut, sweet and sharp. He forced his gaze to the floor and curled his hands into fists, squeezing until his nails bit.

What in blazes was taking Emmy so long?

He was seconds away from stalking down the corridor and herding his sister into their box when the orchestra began to play, signaling the start to the performance.

Thank God.

He waited for Emmy to make her way to the box and then followed the two ladies inside, purposefully ensuring Emmy was seated between him and Olivia. It was better this way. Safer.

He did not want to lust after Olivia Blakely.