Page 67 of This Marquess of Mine

Seated beside Emmy on a plush velvet sofa, she sipped her sherry and pretended to listen while Miss Highwater performed on the pianoforte. Her skill was exceptional, her voice a gift from the heavens, but Olivia was too distracted to pay the performance its due.

She’d been distracted all evening, almost from the moment she first arrived, and there was only one explanation for it.

Griffin.

It was all his fault.

Battling a frustrated frown, she stole another glance at the reason for her evening’s discontentment. He was seated beside his mother nearer to the pianoforte, watching Miss Highwater as she played, his profile only partially visible. The sight of his strong jaw and broad shoulders made Olivia’s belly flutter.

Foolish girl.

It was no secret that Lady Keswick had invited Miss Highwater tonight in the hopes she might catch her son’s eye.

And maybe she would. She was a lovely young lady, and more than qualified to fill the role of marchioness. Griffin would be lucky indeed to catch her.

In fact, Olivia hoped he would. Then, perhaps, he would finally cease tormenting her.

Irritation prickled anew at the nape of her neck as she recalled the cool greeting she’d received from him when she arrived tonight. A distracted welcome and a half-hearted bow and that was that. Dismissed without so much as a smile.

It was the only attention she’d received from him all evening, and it was driving her mad.

What had happened to the man he’d been that night at Vauxhall Gardens? Where was the man with admiration in his smile, and warmth in his eyes?

She liked that Griffin, and she wanted him back.

And that was what frustrated her the most. Why did she care? So what if he ignored her? So what if his behavior had changed?

None of it mattered and, truth be told, she was more frustrated with herself than with him. She should be happy tonight. No, she should be ecstatic tonight.

She’d spent nearly an hour in the Duchess of Paxton’s morning room today, making small talk and drinking tea. And it had gone well. Better, even, than she had hoped. After weeks and weeks of trying and waiting, she was finally making strides and still she allowed Griffin to distract her.

She sighed. What a ninny you are.

Miss Highwater’s song ended with a flourish on the keys and her small audience erupted into enthusiastic applause. Olivia joined in, forcing a smile as she clapped her free hand against her glass and leisurely rose to her feet.

She needed another sherry.

Crossing the room to the refreshments table, she paused at the tray of sweets, eyeing the raspberry tartlets. Oh, why not? She deserved a little indulgence tonight.

Nibbling on the sweet, she poured herself another glass of sherry then turned to face the room just as Emmy approached her, a frown marring her heart-shaped face.

“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.

“What’s wrong is that I was not born a man,” Emmy said, her voice a low grumble.

With a huff, she began piling biscuits and tarts onto her plate, the plunk of pastry on porcelain an audible show of her agitation.

Fighting back a smile, Olivia asked, “What happened?”

“It’s Griffin,” Emmy muttered. “He’s leaving the party early.”

Olivia flicked a glance over her shoulder and watched as Griffin leaned down to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek. A lock of thick, dark hair fell over his brow and a smile touched his lips. Longing struck her heart, sharp and sweet, and she tore her gaze away.

“Why is he leaving?” she asked.

“He told my mother he has work to do tonight in preparation for an important meeting tomorrow morning,” Emmy groused. “I think she suspects he’s fibbing, but what can she do? He is the marquess, after all.” She sighed. “It isn’t fair.”

“You don’t really want to be the marquess,” Olivia said. “Do you?”