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“You might be the oldest, Oliver, but I swear you are also the thickest skulled.” His brother backed away a few steps when their mother came near with the dark-haired lady.
“Oliver.” His mother smiled sweetly.
He narrowed his gaze. He knew this act well. It was the one she used to ensure no one ever believed he and his siblings when they informed them their mother was an evil old crow.
“Mother.”
“Have you met Miss Lacey?” She practically dragged the pretty girl forward by her arm. “She’s the youngest daughter of Sir Percival Lacey. You must recall Percival—he’s quite the character.”
Miss Lacey joined his mother in offering a tiny laugh that vanished quickly. Percival had been around for as long as Oliver could recall and was a grumpy bastard. Not what he would call a character and he suspected Miss Lacey did not think as much either.
“Miss Lacey, it is a pleasure. I hope you enjoyed the performance,” he said, his gaze drifting toward Eleanor.
“Oh, yes, very much so. I have always…”
He scowled when he spotted Eleanor glance in their direction and then leave the assembly hall, the briefest flash of something crossing her expression making his chest tighten.
“Oliver!” his mother snapped. “Miss Lacey was just saying—”
He held up a finger. A man he did not recognize hastened after Eleanor, darting out of the door with a glance around the room. His heart gave a painful thud against his ribcage.
“Do excuse me, Mother…” He didn’t even bother with a reason for his quick departure. Whether he vowed to remain away from Eleanor or not, he would not see her harmed. Whoever that man was, he wasn’t going to let him near her.
Chapter Sixteen
Carriages rattled past as Eleanor peered up and down the street. Several barouches crowded one side of the road, causing a snarl of traffic on the other side with carriages and wagons trying to pass one another, riders on horseback forcing themselves onto the pavement.
Shaking her head at the chaos, she opted for heading toward the quieter road at the rear of the assembly hall. Perhaps her father’s driver was awaiting her there, and she could sit in the carriage and wait for Demeter there. Much longer watching that attractive woman smile up at Oliver and she might do something foolish.
She blew away a strand of hair that had escaped her bonnet. Who was she kidding? She would smile, pretend nothing was happening and continue on as normal. The one thing she’d learned from living in England was to pretend she had no idea people were talking of her. Now she simply had to pretend she did not give a fig what Oliver did and who he ended up marrying.
She rounded the corner and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She twisted at the same time as someone grabbed her arm. Fingers splayed, she swiped out, connecting her nails with her attacker’s face.
“Christ!” Oliver immediately released her arm and stepped back, a hand to his face.
“Oh no!” A hand to her mouth, she closed the gap he’d created. “Did I hurt you?”
He removed his hand from his face and hissed out a breath. “Since when do you have claws?”
Reaching up, she touched the slight scratches she’d left. “Forgive me but you startled me.”
“Someone followed you,” Oliver said as she urged him to tilt his head so she could see the scratches better. “At least I thought they did.” A half-smile flickered upon his lips. “I might well be losing my mind.”
“Followed me?”
“I saw a man leave the assembly hall at the same time as you.” Oliver took off his hat, swept a hand through his hair and put it back. “The chances were he was simply leaving too but I—” He shrugged. “I made a wild assumption.”
“It certainly seems that way.”
“Forgive me for startling you, Ellie.” His gaze darkened when she skipped a finger along one scratch, his pupils widening. “What can I say? I am not in my right mind.”
She met his gaze, unable to look away. The rhythmic thud of carriage wheels and the chatter of people spilling out of the hall could be heard from where they were, but no one came down the small road. They were alone. The realization made her heart thud against her ribcage.
“I do not think I am in my right mind either,” Eleanor heard herself utter.
“We are both mad,” he agreed, curling a hand around the back of her neck and bringing his lips down upon hers before she fathomed what happened.
He kissed her hard, fiercely, sending an immediate flush of heat through her body. He demanded more than she thought she could give but it seemed she had it in her as she opened her mouth to him and tentatively met his tongue with hers. Her unconscious invitation had him curling his other hand about her waist and drawing her close. So close she felt the firmness of his chest and the hard press of his waistcoat buttons against her soft stays.
