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Chapter 29
Olivia was shaking inside. A storm of emotion she struggled to hide behind her serene exterior. The confrontation with Miriam Cathcart had been worse than she’d thought it would be, but then she hadn’t bargained on Nic having been the woman’s lover. On the other hand, it was pleasing when Lady Querrol asked for the name of her dressmaker, and had shown none of Mrs. Cathcart’s bias when Olivia spoke Esmeralda’s name. Several other women, hearing of Lady Querrol’s interest, had followed her lead and also asked Olivia. For Esmeralda’s sake, Olivia hoped she had found her some new clients among the cream of London society.
Meanwhile, her inner storm raged on.
How could Nic spend his time and his kisses on a woman like Miriam Cathcart? She was truly awful. Attractive, yes, but with a sly, destructive manner that spoke of many hearts broken and many lives ruined.
“Olivia…”
Nic stopped her progress effectively by slipping his arm about her waist and turning her about. Breathless, she pressed her palms to his chest, to keep some space between them as they stood surrounded by the moving river of guests.
“Will you dance with me?”
Surprised, she looked up into his face. He was smiling his self-mocking smile, as though preparing himself for rejection. Surely no one ever rejected Nic? Olivia’s fingers crept to his cheek, stroking his skin. He turned his face and kissed the hollow of her palm, before folding her fingers over and holding them in his.
“Will you? Dance with me, Olivia? It would make the night complete.”
She nodded, a lump in her throat. “Yes. I will dance with you, Nic.”
For a time, she simply enjoyed the feel of him moving with her, his strong arms about her, the touch of his hands, the dark gleam of his eyes, his masculine scent and charismatic presence. He seemed to draw every other woman’s gaze toward him without even trying or being aware of it, and there was something very attractive about being with a man like that.
“I thought you’d be angry with me,” she said, meeting his eyes and holding them.
“Why would I be angry with you? Because you said what you thought? Olivia, I enjoyed every moment of it.”
“But she was your lover once, wasn’t she?” After the words left her mouth, Olivia wondered whether she’d gone too far, especially when Nic allowed some time to elapse before answering her.
“Yes, she was,” he said, his voice dropping, this conversation for her alone. “You could call her my first love. I thought my heart was broken, but now I know it was my pride.”
“She left you?” Olivia asked curiously.
Nic’s gaze lowered to her décolletage, warming her skin as he took in the curves of her breasts and the dark shadow of her cleavage. But Olivia wasn’t about to be distracted, and she pinched his hand, where he held hers.
He sighed with mock despair. “She left me for another man. I considered it the worst insult. I was a lord and a Lacey, and he wasn’t anything very much at all. It was a terrible blow to my self-worth.”
Olivia laughed softly. “I can see you’ve suffered, Nic. Is that the only time you had your heart broken?”
“Yes. I made sure that the next woman knew our relationship was nothing more than a business contract. No promises, no vows, no ever-afters, just money for services provided.”
Olivia already knew that Nic was a good man, and now she understood that his seeming coldness where his mistr
esses were concerned came not from a lack of heart, but from too much heart. He was protecting himself. It made sense. Such a sensual man would be prone to feeling everything more keenly.
When the dance ended, he didn’t let her go, giving a young fellow in a green jacket a baleful glare as he tried to cut in. The next dance was a waltz—until recently considered shocking because it allowed dance partners to actually clasp each other in their arms. Olivia nestled into Nic’s embrace, enjoying every moment, as they did their best to twirl around the cramped ballroom without cannoning into any of the other couples.
He spun her around and Olivia gasped, allowing her head to fall back, while the ceiling with its painted panels spun above her. Nic tightened his grip, and she felt his muscular thighs pressing to hers through the layers of her skirt and petticoats.
“I’m sorry about Miriam Cathcart,” he murmured, slowing to let her catch her breath. Olivia rested her head against his shoulder and he nuzzled her hair, his warm breath tickling her ear. “She is nothing to me. And I’m sorry about what I said to Querrol. He was ogling you with his blasted monocle and what I really wanted to do was shove it down his throat.”
Olivia glanced up at him from the corners of her eyes, before dropping her lashes to hide her thoughts. “I’ll forgive you as long as you don’t do it again,” she said, a smile in her voice.
“I promise not to do it again,” he recited like a schoolboy.
She giggled and lifted her head. She was well aware that he would see in her eyes that she desired him, even here, in the middle of the ballroom.
He did see. His dark eyes flared, his face grew taut, his fingers tightened on hers. “We should leave,” he said huskily.
“We’ve only just arrived.”
