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Her eyes widened slightly. “The duchess?”
“Indeed.” He swallowed. “We are to have tea in the parlor.”
“I… see.” He wasn’t sure what to make of that, until she added, “Have you told her I’m here? And my sisters?”
“She knows about you,” he admitted. “But not the rest of the Bevelstroke women. She just arrived. I thought she might settle in a bit before I spring all of that on her.”
“Of course,” she returned softly. “Nevertheless, perhaps I should come down and pay my respects.”
He was touched by her kindness. “It’s late, so she would understand if you did not. And please don’t think I expect you to do so. I merely wanted to come by and let you know that you shouldn’t expect me later.”
“That is a shame,” she said with a coy twist of her lips. “I was so looking forward to a wicked night with the duke.”
He groaned and leaned his head against the doorframe. “Dear God…”
She laughed and said, “Let me change and I will join you shortly.”
Chapter Sixteen
After the duke departed, Olivia shut the door and leaned against the wood with a longing sigh that sounded throughout the room. She had been looking forward to the duke’s visit with much anticipation, but she forced herself to put her passions aside and don the dress and undergarments she’d worn earlier, which were still laid across a chair near the end of her bed.
After securing her hair in a simple knot at the nape of her neck, she pinched her cheeks for some color and headed downstairs. When she arrived in the parlor, the ormolu clock on the mantel proclaimed the hour of eleven. The duke rose at her entrance and the heated glance in those obsidian eyes made her face heat, likely filling her face with an even darker blush.
“Lady Olivia.” He bowed and indicated his mother, who was seated on the settee near the tea cart, a delicate china cup and saucer in her grasp. Olivia recognized the pattern as the set belonging to Calliope’s mother, but she swallowed down any such remark relating to the former duchess of the manor. “May I present my mother, Alexandra Stone, Duchess of Gravesend? Mother, this is Lady Olivia Bevelstroke.” He smiled at her and added, “My future bride.”
Until that point, his mother had been assessing her curiously, but with that pronouncement, she lit up instantly. She turned to her son. “Gravesend! You’ve been sitting here for a quarter hour speaking to me of the weather and other mundane topics when you were holding back news of this magnitude?”
He offered her a crooked smile. “I wanted to wait until the new duchess appeared so that you could congratulate us both.”
“And I shall, indeed!” The older woman got up and walked over to Olivia, her hands outstretched. She set them on Olivia’s upper arms and regarded her with shrewd, but kind, green eyes. But her dark hair, lined with silver, along with certain aspects of her mannerisms, reminded Olivia entirely of the duke. “My dear girl, I have long waited for the day when my son would find a woman worthy of his love. I’m so glad that he chose you. I can tell you have a strong character, and you shall need it.”
Olivia glanced at the lady curiously. “I haven’t found him to be completely intolerable.” Her lips twitched as she slid a glance to him. “Although he can be quite relentless on occasion.”
The duchess laughed, not catching the subtle innuendo that Olivia mentioned, but he did. The wink he offered her was purely sinful and it made her pulse flutter in response.
“Come sit by me and tell me how this all came about.” She led Olivia over to the settee and they sat down. The duke took up position on the settee across from them. He crossed one leg over the top of the other. “The last I knew my son was running from London as fast as he could go. I daresay finding romance wasn’t in his repertoire.”
Gravesend snorted, as Olivia gave a mock wince. “I can’t claim that the duke was the only one who was running…”
As she told the story of their unlikely meeting, and then their snowbound stay at the inn, until the point they had reached their final destination (leaving out anything that might cause her eyebrows to raise even further), the duchess listened with rapt attention.
When Olivia had finished speaking, the lady sat back and laid a hand over her heart. “Oh, my.” She turned to her son. “I should say it is averygood thing that you offered for her hand. You spent entirely too much time alone together. It would cause people to talk if you had been recognized. In truth, if scandal manages to breeze past us, it shall be a miracle.” She turned back to Olivia. “Was it your idea to go under an assumed name?”
“No.” Olivia said evenly. She was still a bit prickly about the whole deceit. “But I suppose, looking back on it now, the duke did what he had to do to ensure our reputations.” She glanced at Miles and let him know, with a single glance, that while she still wasn’t pleased, she had forgiven him.
He rewarded her with a sincere smile and a slight incline of his head as if to say,message received.
The duchess clapped her hands together. “I say, this shall be a joyous occasion! I am relieved that I arrived early, as we should have time for a wedding in the New Year, assuming that my son can make it to London to procure a special license in enough time.”
Miles lifted a dark brow. “That only gives me two days. Don’t you think you’re rushing things a bit?”
“Not at all,” She returned adamantly. “Word may already be spreading, so we don’t wish to add to the fire by hesitating on something so vital as a possible scandal attached to the unblemished Gravesend line.” She paused. “But then, I suppose you should decide if you want to keep going by your father’s title, or if you wish to be known as Marlington, hence forth.”
Olivia had sat quietly during the exchange, but with each word that was uttered, her hands clasped more tightly in her lap. The duchess expected them to marry inthree days?She had just agreed to his proposal that very night, just hours ago, and she still held several reservations about the union. And instead of giving her time to acclimate herself to the idea of marriage, she was going to be propelled down the aisle.
By this time next year, she could very well be a mother.
Or dead.
