Rexanne Becnel (13 page)
Authors: The Matchmaker-1
But she did not need him to tell her that, nor to escort her back to the Cummingses’ estate.
Unfortunately, there was no getting rid of him. Though she turned her back to him, her hands shook as she donned her stockings and shoes, then her bonnet and gloves. She tried very hard to project an icy hauteur, but ruined it by stomping past him on the way to retrieve her mare.
“Keep your distance,” she warned him with a glare once she was mounted. Then with far more haste and far less calm, she urged Fanny up the riverbank and back the way she’d come.
That he kept his distance provided her with no comfort. She was acutely aware of him trailing her. She did not stop to collect any flowers. Nor did she say more than a curt word of thanks to the sheepish stableman when she handed Fanny over into his care. She strode for the house, straight up to her room. Then she snatched up her journal and turned to a page filled already with more notations than any other.
“He is an ogre. Contemptible. High-handed. He tries to corrupt me while all the while pretending to protect me from the untoward advances of others. Hah!”
She underlined every word, so heavy-handed with the pen that a thick ink blob marred the center of the page.
“Damn!” She threw the pen down on the desk, then rested her head in her trembling hands. Why did she let him upset her so? What had happened to her resolve to undermine him—or at the very least, ignore him? Why should she be forced to hide in her room, reduced to scribbling invective about him in her heretofore neat and analytical journal? Just because he’d kissed her?
She let out a choked laugh. Calling that last kiss merely a kiss was like calling the elegant Kitti a plowhorse. He hadn’t simply kissed her, he’d rocked her off her feet, challenged her every notion of logic, and changed her entire perception of herself. That hadn’t been a kiss, it had been a life-changing
event. She knew she would always measure things as “before the kiss” and “after the kiss.”
event. She knew she would always measure things as “before the kiss” and “after the kiss.”
She stared down at the journal, at everything she’d written about him, all her high-minded ranting, then suddenly crumpled the page in her fist. She covered her eyes with her other hand and let out a heavy sigh. If she was going to be honest in what she wrote, she ought to begin with herself. She was the problem, not him. Her reaction to him was the problem. But what made him so different from all the other men she’d met and written about in her little matchmaker?
Maybe nothing more than the two kisses they’d shared.
Olivia lifted her head and stared blankly at the crumpled page. Maybe her inexperience with kissing was the problem.
Unbidden, his words came back to her. He’d said she was very good at kissing. He’d also asked her if she’d kissed all the men listed in her journal—the rude cad.
The fact remained, however, that if she had kissed a few more of those men, she might not now be so affected by this particular man.
Very well, she decided on the moment. She would just have to kiss a few more men, starting tonight. She slammed her journal shut, then hastily cleaned up the mess she’d made. She would not cower here in her room, afraid to face him. She would cure herself of this perverse fascination with Neville Hawke so that when she arrived in Scotland, his presence so nearby would become an entirely insignificant matter to her.
AFTER the previous two gala evenings, dinner that night seemed a rather subdued affair with just the Cummingses and their six guests at the dining room table. Olivia considered it a good sign when she successfully avoided speaking to Neville Hawke in the drawing room, and doubly good when she was able to seat herself beside Mr. Cummings, with Mr. Garret between her and Neville, and Mr. Harrington opposite her.
Everyone was in a festive mood, for Hawke stables had again won. Kestrel had taken the daily purse, and everyone at the table had made profitable wagers on the fleet-footed stallion. Olivia arranged the napkin upon her lap. Everyone had made profitable wagers, that is, except her.
But she didn’t care about that. Truly, she didn’t. The meal progressed amid much good cheer, lubricated by a half-dozen bottles of wine. After dinner came port for the men as they adjourned to the billiards room with their cigars.
Penny caught Mr. Garret before he could go. “Do stay and play a hand of whist with us, Mr. Garret. Augusta and Olivia and I shall make up the rest of the table.”
Olivia started to protest, for she was not interested in cards tonight. When Mr. Garret glanced first at her, then smiled, however, she reconsidered. He was a pleasant enough fellow. A good dancer and well mannered, and though no one would ever call him a brilliant conversationalist, that was all right. He was good-looking in a slightly dandified sort of way, with one blond lock falling just so across his brow. Plus, he liked her, that was obvious. If she was serious about her kissing experiment, he was the perfect candidate.
So she smiled back at him and added her plea to Penny’s. “Yes, do say you’ll play, Mr. Garret. You and I can partner against Penny and my mother.” And if Neville Hawke heard her or cared what was going on, Olivia didn’t give a fig.
Unfortunately, Olivia did not play well—her concentration seemed off tonight—and they lost. She supposed she was too preoccupied with her little plot to concentrate properly upon her cards. It was hard work to smile and flirt and be vivacious when your heart was simply not in it. But she was determined, and by the time Penny slapped down her cards in triumph she knew she had succeeded, for the very competitive Mr. Garret did not appear to care in the least about their loss.
“May I get you ladies some refreshments?”
“Don’t worry yourself,” Penny said with a casual wave. “I can ring for a tray.”
Olivia cleared her throat. This was it. “I think I shall step outside for a breath of fresh air. It’s such a pleasant evening.” She sent Mr. Garret a sidelong look.
He rose to his feet. “I’d be happy to escort you.”
“Why, thank you.”
Penny’s brows arched; Augusta’s lowered. “Don’t wander too far, Olivia.”
“Of course not, Mother. Just a turn in the knot garden to catch the evening breeze.” She smiled at Mr. Garret when he pulled her chair out, then placed her hand on his proffered arm. His chest swelled with a deep breath.
This was good. This was very good, she told herself as they made their way outside through the morning room doors. The moon was out and the grounds looked especially pretty in the warm, silvery light. Olivia squelched her faint twinge of misgivings beneath her need for Mr. Garret’s kiss to be just as thrilling as Lord Hawke’s.
“Shall we stroll toward the gazebo?” His voice was not as low and rumbling as she would like, but she ignored that.
“Very well. Tell me about the west country and your home there,” she said.
For several minutes he waxed very eloquent. The moors,
the bogs, and the amazing rock piles of Dartmoor. The granite-faced headlands and the limestone cliffs.
the bogs, and the amazing rock piles of Dartmoor. The granite-faced headlands and the limestone cliffs.
“How poetic you are, Mr. Garret. You convince me that I must someday visit that part of the country,” she said when he paused for breath. “It sounds very wild and beautiful.”
“But not so beautiful as you, Miss Byrde.” He stopped next to the gazebo and swung around to face her.
He was going to kiss her. Olivia could see it in his eyes. She tried to relax and prepare herself, for she was stiff with tension.
“You are so very beautiful,” he repeated. “Might I call you Olivia?”
“Well. I suppose so. But only in private,” she amended.
Hurry up.
Hurry up.
“And you may call me Clive.”
“Very well. Clive.”
Will you please get on with it?
Will you please get on with it?
Finally he bent forward and kissed her, a flat, closed-mouth kiss that startled her but did nothing more.
He was breathing hard when he raised his head from hers. “I believe I am falling in love with you, my darling Olivia.”
Drat. How could she compare this brief peck on the lips to the deep and ardent kiss Lord Hawke had pressed upon her? Then she realized what he had just said. “Love me? But you hardly know me well enough to think that.” She forced herself to lean closer and lifted her face to his. “And I shall be leaving in just a day or two.”
“Oh, but you torture my soul with such talk.” He caught her by the shoulders. “Say you will stay.”
“I cannot.”
If you wish to kiss me, do it now.
If you wish to kiss me, do it now.
“But you must stay.” Then abruptly, he kissed her again. And this time he stuck his tongue in her mouth.
She nearly gagged.
“Mr. Garret!”
“Clive,” he said, trying again to kiss her. “Call me Clive, my darling girl.” Somehow his hands were everywhere, and when he could not recapture her lips, he instead pressed his open mouth to her ear and neck and throat.
It was horrible.
“Stop that,” she muttered. Then one of his hands fastened upon her left breast and she let out a yelp of outrage. “Stop that!”
A menacing voice added its threat to hers. “Do as she says.”
Olivia wanted to cry with relief. Neville was here! Then immediately she wanted to groan. The last thing she needed was for him to witness this disaster!
In an instant Mr. Garret was jerked away from her, and she stumbled backward. She gasped anew, however, when she spied the stranglehold Lord Hawke had put on Mr. Garret. With his arm thrust straight out, Lord Hawke clenched the hapless Clive Garret around the throat. The poor fellow flailed like a fish on a gaffhook, making awful choking noises. Even in the dark Olivia could see that his face was turning purple.
“What are you doing?” She grabbed Lord Hawke’s arm but it was like grabbing an iron rod. Though it was warm and quivered with strength, it remained completely inflexible.
Mr. Garret’s spluttering changed to a distinctly less healthy sound. Good God, he was going to kill the man!
“Stop this. Stop it!” she cried, throwing her entire weight onto Lord Hawke’s arm. “Please, Lord Hawke. Neville!”
“Did he hurt you?” His voice was harsh and frightening for its coldness.
“No. No, I am fine.”
He abruptly released the man and Mr. Garret collapsed in a boneless heap, gasping for breath. Olivia would have collapsed as well, though with a different sort of relief, only Neville had exchanged his death grip on the pitiful Mr. Garret’s neck for an equally relentless grip on her two arms. He glared into her shocked eyes. “You have a dangerous habit of going off with men you hardly know.”
Any thought of thanking him fled in the rush of her quick fury. “You are not my keeper!” she snapped right back at him.
“So you keep saying. But it’s plain you need one. Your mother is certainly unable to guard you from your unwise impulses.”
“My impulses are not unwise!”
“Did you want him slobbering over you? Did you want his hands pawing at your chest?”
How Olivia wanted to say yes. She shook with the need to shout yes at his angry face and silence him once and for all. But her battered pride was not proof against the revulsion that filled her at the thought of Mr. Garret’s crude grip upon her breast. She shuddered and looked away from Lord Hawke’s thunderous expression. Only then did his tight grasp ease.
Behind them Mr. Garret scuttled away, leaving them alone in the garden. The air was redolent of roses and mint and lemon balm. Crickets chirruped down one dark path; the cool trickle of water beckoned from another. A romantic spot, to be sure. But Olivia’s romantic experiment had failed miserably. And though she might flatter herself that Lord Hawke had followed her because he was jealous of her attention to Clive Garret, it was not romantic emotions that gripped him now.
She raised her face and met his angry glare. “I could have handled him myself.”
“Like you handled me?” His voice was flat and hard.
Her chin jutted out. “No harm has come to me from you—”
He silenced her with a kiss, hard—almost brutal. He took violent possession of her mouth, allowing her no time to protest, and no breath with which to do it. Beneath the demanding onslaught she had no defense. He forced her mouth open and plundered it, an invasion that both scared and thrilled her.
Then just as suddenly as the kiss began, it ended. He shoved her away, though he did not release his hold on her. “If no harm has come to you, it’s only because I am more trustworthy than Garret.”
“I … I …” Olivia was far too flustered to get her mind in working order. Far too overwhelmed by the tumultuous emotions he’d roused in her. She burned. That was all she knew. His kiss made her burn deep down inside, while Mr. Garret’s …
She shook her head, suddenly afraid of her own wicked emotions. “I could have handled him,” she finally managed to say, though in a faltering voice.
It’s you I cannot handle.
It’s you I cannot handle.
But she could never admit that now. “I could have handled
him,” she repeated, for that, at least, was true. “And if you had not interfered, I would have done so. Now you have embarrassed us all.”
him,” she repeated, for that, at least, was true. “And if you had not interfered, I would have done so. Now you have embarrassed us all.”
“I’m not embarrassed. But if Garret is here come the dawn, he’ll be a damned sight more than embarrassed.”
She stared at him frustrated, furious, and utterly confused. She had to get away from him, to think and reason out what was wrong with her. With no other idea how to get away, she struck out at him with words. “This is not your affair! I am not your concern!”
“Would you have preferred I not save you from his slobbering attentions?”
She shook her head. “This is not the war. You need not be a hero and save me at all.”
His fingers tightened, a nearly imperceptible twitch. Then he released her and took a step back.
She’d hurt him. She wasn’t sure how or why, but she knew at once that her words had struck him a painful blow.
“I see. Very well.” He gave a curt nod. “I stand corrected. Be assured, Miss Byrde, that I will step aside and let the next fool you throw yourself at do whatever he will with you. Or should I say, whatever
you
will.”
you
will.”
Then he turned and stalked away, leaving Olivia standing there in the dark staring after him. She let out a faint groan, disgusted with herself.
It was not what you think
, she wanted to shout after him. But of course she could not do that, for then she would have to explain why she had wanted to kiss Mr. Garret, and that must naturally lead to an explanation that her experiment had failed and that no other man’s kisses had ever affected her like his own had done.
It was not what you think
, she wanted to shout after him. But of course she could not do that, for then she would have to explain why she had wanted to kiss Mr. Garret, and that must naturally lead to an explanation that her experiment had failed and that no other man’s kisses had ever affected her like his own had done.
She dropped her head into her hands and let out another groan. She’d bungled this horribly. Now not only must she avoid Neville Hawke, there would be Mr. Garret to deal with.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. There was no help for it. She must go back inside and rejoin the company, and pretend that nothing was wrong. She must shut out the memory of what she’d just done—and the stirring memory of how Neville’s kiss had shaken her. Then, after a
few minutes, she could escape undetected to her bedchamber.
few minutes, she could escape undetected to her bedchamber.
She wrapped her arms around herself, aware that she was shivering. But it was not from the cold.
She took a shaky breath. Perhaps tomorrow she could complain to her mother of her monthly malady and stay abed all day—or at least until everyone else had departed for the races in town.
Anything to avoid again facing Neville Hawke and that awful, accusing tone in his voice.
Sarah and Mrs. McCaffery arrived the next afternoon. Olivia could not recall ever having been so happy to see her little sister, for she’d spent the morning miserably alone. Even though she could not confide in either Sarah or their housekeeper, they were far better company than the guilt and confusion which beset her. Even eviscerating Mr. Garret in her matchmaker journal had been no comfort, for she’d been forced to acknowledge her own guilty part in last night’s disaster.
She’d been so stupid to encourage the man, and Lord Hawke had been absolutely right to come to her defense. She should have thanked him instead of venting her temper on him. But then, he should
never
have kissed her so brutally. And she should never have succumbed so wantonly to him. She’d been such a fool and had come awfully close to ruining her reputation entirely. She’d certainly ruined her own opinion of herself.
never
have kissed her so brutally. And she should never have succumbed so wantonly to him. She’d been such a fool and had come awfully close to ruining her reputation entirely. She’d certainly ruined her own opinion of herself.
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