Page 80 of This Marquess of Mine

“Thank you, Emmy,” Olivia said. “I do appreciate your words of felicitation, even if you don’t quite mean them.”

Emmy shrugged. “I only want you to be happy.”

Olivia noticed her friend had not refuted her charge. “I know you do,” she said. “And I will be. You’ll see.”

“I am certain you’re right, of course, but…” Emmy nibbled at her bottom lip, as if debating whether to speak. “I do think you would be happier with Griffin. Why will you not tell him how you feel?”

Olivia sighed, only just resisting the urge to throw her hands up in exasperation. They’d had this discussion before—more than once, in fact—in the days since she made love with Griffin. When she and Emmy met the next day, she couldn’t bring herself to tell her the truth. At least, not all of it. She said only that she’d lost her nerve and left without confessing her feelings.

“We’ve been through this before,” Olivia said, as evenly as she could manage. “I told you, it would be a waste of time. He does not share my feelings.”

“You don’t know that,” Emmy said. “And I happen to think he does. If you would only talk to him, I am sure he would—”

“No.” Olivia surged to her feet and began to pace, agitation driving every step. “It is done. It is time to move on. Your brother and I…” She shook her head. “It is not meant to be. And I’m engaged to be married, if you remember. I am promised to the duke.”

“But you haven’t married him yet,” Emmy said stubbornly. “You haven’t even signed the marriage contract yet. There is still time.”

“No, Em. Time has run out on that hope. I am ready to move on with my life.” She paused and leaned her arms against the back of the sofa. “Besides, I want a peaceful home, and your brother and I argue far too much to allow for that. We would drive each other to madness before the wedding breakfast was over.”

Emmy returned her smile, though it did not reach her eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps you and Griffin would be miserable together, whereas you and the duke will spend the rest of your days in perfect, polite coexistence.”

Olivia nodded. “Precisely. A pleasant, peaceful marriage is exactly what I want.”

She would write to her father straightaway, of course. The news that his only daughter would soon be a duchess was sure to please him. At least, she hoped it would.

At the very least, he would be happy to learn she had finally chosen a husband as he wanted her to do, but she hoped her betrothal would mean more to him than that. She hoped her choice of husband would make him proud, and maybe even help to bridge the chasm between them. That would make all of this worthwhile.

And if life with the duke was a little dull, a little prosaic, so be it. She could do a lot worse than a dull duke for a husband, could she not?

And if her husband’s kisses left her cold…

Well, there was more to life than passion, and more than one kind of happiness. It would be enough. She would make sure of it.

Griffin leaned forward inthe large leather chair and rested his elbows on his desk, raking both hands through his hair, certain he must be losing his bloody mind. A week had passed since that night with Olivia—seven blasted days—and he swore his study still smelled of jasmine. Ridiculous.

Of course, it didn’t help that the chaise was in here with him, just feet away, an ever-present reminder of the passion they’d shared.

Needless to say, very little work was done these last few days. The memory of Olivia spread out on the chaise, her gorgeous skin flushed pink with exertion, her mouth parted on a silent scream as her quim pulsed around his cock was simply not conducive to concentration.

Of course, he couldn’t blame it all on the chaise nor the room. Wherever he went, whatever he was doing, he thought of her. He ought to be used to it, Olivia under his skin, but this time was different. This time was…lunacy. Madness.

She’d driven him mad with her eager kisses, her soft, curious hands, her gorgeous eyes, darkened to the color of cobalt. The color of desire. And the way she’d moaned his name, as if the taste of it on her tongue pleased her...

Griff groaned. For God’s sake, she was a virgin, not some celebrated courtesan practiced in the art of pleasure. He shouldn’t be mooning over her like a lovelorn lad.

Then why was he? Why could he not stop thinking of her? Why had their lovemaking shaken him to his core?

Frustrated, he shot to his feet, shoving his chair back with unnecessary force. Enough of this. He needed some air, a change of scenery, and then, once this…fog had lifted and he was himself again, he would return to his study to work.

Scooping up Artemis from her favorite chair by the hearth, he made for the door, murmuring his apologies to the irritated kitten who hadn’t yet finished her nap. He turned the knob and opened the door, stepping into the corridor to find Emmy walking toward him.

“Ah, here’s my favorite sister,” he said. “Did you have a successful outing at the shops?”

His question was met with a curiously long silence before she finally answered him. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

Her voice was cool, her gaze even more so, and it was obvious she was displeased with someone. Probably him, though he had no idea what he might have done to upset her. Truth be told, he rarely knew until she told him.

“Is something wrong, Em?”