Page 8 of This Marquess of Mine

Further proof that Emmy had never been kissed. In Olivia’s experience, kissing was about giving pleasure as much as receiving it. She liked kissing, and being desired, knowing her kiss brought pleasure to the gentleman in her arms. Perhaps this made her wicked, but she’d accepted long ago that she was no angel.

“Well,” Olivia said, “perhaps you simply haven’t met the right gentleman yet. When you do, I’m certain you will feel differently about kissing him.”

Emmy’s nose wrinkled. “Maybe,” she said. “But he will have to be someone truly spectacular.”

Olivia nodded. “Like Paxton.”

A peculiar noise sounded in the back of Emmy’s throat, and then her gaze fell to her lap, and she began plucking at the lace overlay of her skirts as an unusually fraught silence fell over the room.

Olivia frowned down at the top of Emmy’s head. “What was that noise?” she demanded.

Emmy’s gaze met hers, innocence personified. “Hm? What noise?”

“The noise you made with your throat,” Olivia said, throwing her a pointed look. “It is obvious there is something you wish to say, Em, so say it.”

Emmy shook her head. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Come on. Out with it.”

Emmy’s gaze turned wary, and she pressed her lips together, finally huffing out a breath. “Oh, all right. If you insist.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “You know I have nothing against the Duke of Paxton. He is a decent man with impeccable manners and an unimpeachable family line, but, well...” She frowned. “Don’t you think he is just a little too...nice?”

Olivia’s brows shot up. “Too nice?”

The sharpness in her words roused the kitten from her nap, and Olivia stroked her fur in apology. “What do you mean, he’s too nice?”

Emmy pursed her lips. “He’s always smiling, always spouting off compliments and waxing optimistic. It’s too much.”

“It is not too much.”

“Well, it is for me.”

Annoyance had Olivia’s lips dipping into a frown. “Well, you are not going to marry him. I am. And I don’t think he’s too anything. I like his optimism, and I am certain we will share a long and happy marriage together.”

Just as soon as he asks me.

“I hope you’re right, Livvy.”

“I am,” she said firmly. “I know I am.”

Emmy nibbled her lower lip, her eyes shadowed with concern. “I know you have your heart set on marrying the duke, but time is not exactly on your side and, well, I’m worried you might be putting all your eggs in one basket.”

Olivia’s stomach clenched, but she would not give credence to Emmy’s fears. Even if they mirrored her own. “It’s true, Paxton has not proposed marriage to me yet, but I know he wants to. And he will. I’m certain of it.”

“But if he doesn’t—”

“He will.”

“But if he doesn’t,” Emmy said, holding up her hands. “If he should—I don’t know—suddenly fall ill and die, what will you do? Have you an alternative option? Another gentleman waiting in the wings?”

“I don’t need an alternative option,” Olivia insisted. “Nothing is going to happen to Paxton. He will offer for me, and I will marry him.”

She had to. She must.

“There are other men, Livvy,” Emmy said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Men who are just as handsome, just as charming, just as rich.”

Olivia sighed. “But there is only one duke.”

And it had to be a duke. Only a duke would do. Marrying well—marrying the best—was the only way she could make her father proud of her. She’d already tried everything else; excelling at her studies, mastering the pianoforte, mastering everything, and none of it had worked. Her father barely knew she existed.