Page 50 of This Marquess of Mine

The marchioness gave her a grateful smile. “Perhaps he did love me more than his dogs,” she said. “A bit.”

“Well, you do smell better,” Aunt Augusta quipped.

The ladies all laughed and then, after saying their farewells, Olivia and Emmy quit the room.

“You go on ahead without me,” Emmy said as they stepped into the corridor. “I left my shawl in my chamber. I’ll meet you in the entrance hall in a few minutes.”

Olivia nodded before heading up the corridor toward the stairs, her slippers a soft shush on the rug. Smiling to herself, she smoothed her gloved hands down the pink satin of her gown and a little thrill shot through her. She absolutely adored this gown, everything about it from its tiny puffed sleeves and fitted bodice, to its full skirt with the white beads adorning the hem.

Most of all, she adored how it made her feel, and she was glad she’d decided to wear it tonight.

She’d considered donning another blue dress for Paxton’s sake, but in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was sick to death of blue in all its shades. She needed to wear pink tonight, to wear something she adored, something that made her feel good. Something just for herself.

If Paxton admired her as he claimed, he would admire her in pink, as well.

Descending the stairs, she chuckled softly, amused by the little rebellion. Paxton likely didn’t care a jot what she wore tonight. In her experience, men were more interested in what a gown did for a lady’s attributes than in the actual gown itself.

“Good evening, Olivia.” Griffin’s words greeted her as she stepped into the entrance hall, his voice, low and smooth, an instant, unwelcome reminder of all the sinful things he’d said the last time they were alone.

“Griffin. Good evening,” she said, the words stilted as her gaze met his. “Emmy will be along shortly. She is collecting her shawl.”

Her heart kicked up as she came to a stand before him, her fingers fussing nervously with the dance card tied to one wrist. She hadn’t seen him since their…conversation in the drawing room two nights ago, when he’d kissed her senseless, and pleasured her with his hands against the door. Her cheeks warmed.

She’d promised herself she would behave as if that night hadn’t happened, but standing here, gazing into his dark gray eyes, the task proved more difficult than she’d hoped.

“You look beautiful,” Griffin said, the words gruff in their escape, as if he hadn’t meant to free them.

Olivia swallowed, surprised by the compliment. She smoothed her palms down her skirts and thanked him, her voice surprisingly even given the tingles skating up her spine. Had he ever paid her such a compliment before?

“And you are looking very elegant this evening,” she said, taking in his dark gray coat and black breeches. “Even with cat fur on your cravat.”

Before she could second-guess herself, she reached out and brushed away the strands of black fur, so stark against the snowy white of his cravat.

“There. That’s better.” She looked up, and found him watching her with inscrutable eyes, his lips unsmiling and only inches from hers.

Desire sparked within her, heating her blood until her skin tingled with it. Hastily, she took a step back and clasped her hands behind her, lest they try to stray again.

Clearing her throat into the dense silence, she thrust all thoughts of kisses and drawing room doors to the back of her mind and conjured up Paxton’s smiling face instead. He was who she should be thinking of tonight.

“So…” She cleared her throat again. “I understand you spoke with the Duke of Paxton yesterday.”

Griffin’s gaze met hers and he hooked a questioning brow. “I did.”

A smile touched her lips. “He came to see me afterward,” she explained. “I don’t know what you said to him precisely, but whatever it was, he did not care for it.”

Amusement lit his eyes. “Truthfully, I said very little.”

Olivia raised her brows. “But?”

“But…when he asked if I was courting you—obviously unhappy with the idea—I couldn’t resist letting him think I was considering it.”

The mischief in his eyes made her want to laugh. “That wasn’t very nice of you, Griff,” she said, even as a smile pulled at her lips.

He shrugged. “Paxton wasn’t very nice to you.”

Her gaze went to the floor, her throat suddenly tight. What he’d said to Paxton…it had been more than just a prank. He’d done it for her. Because he didn’t like what Paxton had done, because he cared for her. At least a little.

“Paxton was never betrothed to Miss Withers,” she said quietly. “He is not going to marry her. He’s going to marry me. He told me so.”