Page 51 of This Marquess of Mine

The statement was met with a long silence.

Olivia raised her head and looked at him. Their gazes locked and her heart thudded at the probing intensity in his eyes.

“Your duke finally found the courage to stand up to his mother then?”

She pressed her lips together. “Well, no. Not yet. But he assures me it is only a matter of time.”

Griffin’s jaw clenched. “I see.”

“He asked me to give him another chance, just a little more time, and I agreed. I believe we are meant to be married,” she said. “And I am not ready to give up on him.”

“Because he’s a duke.”

There was no recrimination in his voice, no judgment, only frustration and regret. As if he wanted better from her. Maybe even for her.

But Olivia could not permit herself to care about his opinion of her. She would do what she must and would make no apologies for it.

“Good things come to those who wait,” she said with a little shrug.

“I hope you’re right.”

He studied her openly, as if trying to understand her, and she tipped her chin up as if she did not care.

“If you are truly so concerned for my future happiness, perhaps you would be willing to help me,” she said.

His brow crooked. “What sort of help?”

She smiled. “As heartened as I am by Paxton’s renewed promises, I think a bit of competition will be good for him. It will…keep him focused.” She bit her lip. “I would like to use you, Griff. If I may.”

He blinked, and his mouth took on a befuddled twist, if a mouth could look befuddled. “Use me?” he asked. His voice was strangely frayed.

She nodded. “To make Paxton jealous.” She shook her head, a frown pulling at her lips. “I know it is devious to manipulate him so, perhaps even unscrupulous, but, well, I find I no longer care. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.”

Griffin’s jaw flexed. “You shouldn’t have to manipulate him, Olivia. If I loved a woman the way he supposedly loves you, nothing would stand in my way.”

She flicked a fingernail along the edge of her dance card. “Yes, well, Paxton is not like you.” It was a gross understatement, and entirely irrelevant.

“So, will you help me?” she asked. “It will not require much of your time, only a waltz or two, perhaps a ride in the park. Just enough to make the lie believable.”

The look on Griffin’s face suggested he didn’t entirely support the idea, but eventually he gave in. “Yes. I will help you.”

She beamed. “Excellent. Then you will dance with me again tonight?”

“Of course.”

He withdrew a pencil from his coat pocket then reached out and took hold of her wrist, turning her hand so he could lay the dance card in her palm. The heat from his hand seeped through her satin glove, searing her body as surely as if his hands were upon her.

She held very still, her breathing shallow as she watched him scrawl his name on the card, desperately trying not to think of the pleasure those hands had given her only two nights ago.

“There,” he murmured, releasing her before taking a small step back.

She looked at him, his head bent, his face expressionless as he slipped the pencil into his pocket.

“Thank you, Griffin,” she said, her voice slightly breathy. “I—”

“I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting!” Emmy breezed into the entrance hall and for the second time today, Olivia nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I couldn’t find the shawl I wanted to bring,” Emmy went on, “and had to ask Ivy where it had got to.”