Page 23 of This Marquess of Mine

Olivia watched the exchange with interest, her gaze flitting back and forth between them. How did they know each other?

“Thank you, my lord,” Mrs. Morris said. “And thank you for your generous gift, as well. How is the kitten faring, by the by? Did you gift it to someone else?”

Olivia’s gaze flew to Griffin’s profile before dropping to her feet as realization dawned, slow and uncomfortable. This woman was his mistress. Artemis had been intended for her, a gift for her affections.

Griffin cleared his throat. “She’s doing well,” he said. “I decided to keep her myself.”

“Oh, I am glad,” Mrs. Morris said with a smile. “Well…” She shrugged one shoulder. “I should be going now. Goodbye, my lord.” And with a nod of her head, she turned and walked away, a blonde gentleman Olivia hadn’t even noticed trailing behind her like a devoted camp follower.

In silence, she watched the woman depart, envy churning in her gut. Mrs. Morris was a beautiful woman. Raven black hair; dark eyes; long, willowy limbs. Everything Olivia wasn’t. And she wore the bold red dress with such confidence. The color suited her.

Was this the sort of woman Griffin preferred?

Her gaze flicked to his face, and she watched him as he watched Mrs. Morris’s retreating form, his expression unreadable in the moonlight. Jealousy snaked through her insides like venom, biting and bitter on her tongue, and she closed her eyes briefly, as if she could purge the feeling by sheer force of will.

Stop this at once. You do not want him anymore, remember?

She cleared her throat, desperate to fill the silence. “So…” She clasped her hands behind her back. “Found the kitten on the street, did you?”

Griffin turned to look at her, and he shrugged, his half-smile faintly chagrined. “The truth is hardly mother-appropriate.”

Olivia nodded. “The truth being that you obtained Artemis as a gift intended for your...” She trailed off, pursing her lips. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word mistress out loud.

“Intended for and rejected by,” Griffin said, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

“Rejected?” Olivia shot him a curious glance. “Why? Do cats make her sneeze?”

He smiled. “That’s what I asked, too. But no. She doesn’t like them, apparently.”

“I see.” She didn’t, though. How could anyone not like Artemis?

“I gave her a necklace instead.” His gaze flicked to hers. “As a parting gift.”

“I see.” It was all she could seem to say. She’d never had a conversation like this one before, and certainly not with Griffin. It was odd, to say the least.

She’d never imagined him with a mistress before, sharing gifts and his bed with beautiful, dark-haired widows. Jealousy flared again, hot and swift, and she gritted her teeth against the sensation, smacking her fan in the palm of her hand. She had no business being jealous. Griffin could do as he pleased, for he meant nothing to her.

Only the duke mattered now.

“You’re wrong, by the by,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “About Paxton. He is a passionate man, a wonderful man, and he will make a wonderful husband and we will have a dozen wonderful children together.”

And how dare he imply otherwise? How dare he express any opinion at all on Paxton? She let the anger in, welcomed it, a balm soothing away the unpleasant, unwanted jealousy.

She smacked her fan against her palm again, enjoying the sharp thwack, and Griffin’s gaze dipped, lingering for a moment before he turned to face the street.

“I know you like that Paxton is a duke,” he said, his voice low and oddly gruff. “But what else do you like about him?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the question, and then her chin rose. “I like many things about him.”

“Such as?” He looked at her, and she was surprised by the seemingly genuine curiosity glimmering in his eyes.

She dropped her gaze to the ground and ran the toe of one slipper over the rough pavement as she considered her answer. “Such as…his kindness, his amiable nature, his sense of honor.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I like that he’s sweet to me, and that he admires me.”

“Of course he admires you,” Griffin said, his voice flat. “You’re a beautiful woman, Olivia. Every man in England admires you. The only difference with Paxton is that he’s a duke.”

Any warm glow she might have felt at his compliment cooled and hot indignation brewed in its place. She swiped at a curl tickling her cheek and turned her gaze to the street, battling to keep her temper in check.

“So what if I like that he’s a duke?” she asked, her voice mercifully calm. “I am not the only woman with dreams of one day being a duchess.” She tugged her cloak snug around her arms and flicked him a sideways glance. “And why do you care, anyway? What difference does it make to you what I do?”

“None whatsoever,” he said mildly, his own gaze tracking the passing guests. “I was only thinking of the duke. I believe a woman should marry a man for reasons beyond his title alone.”

“So do I,” she shot back. “But men marry women for their dowries all the time and no one thinks twice about it. Why is it so terrible for a woman to marry for unromantic reasons?” She studied his profile for a moment, and then, in a low voice, mused, “Or perhaps it is only terrible when I do it.”

His gaze met hers, his eyes dark with feeling. But what was it? Shame? Apathy? Annoyance? It was impossible to tell, and she suspected he wanted it that way.

The clatter of wheels and hooves disrupted the moment as the Keswick carriage finally pulled up, and a moment later Emmy joined them, a string of enthusiastic words tumbling out of her mouth as they all climbed into the carriage.

Olivia pasted a smile on her lips and listened with determined interest, forcing Griffin and his poor opinion of her to the furthest corner of her mind.

She did not need his good opinion for he had no place in her life, and it was only a matter of time before she forgot him and this silly, ridiculous attraction completely.

She was sure of it.