Once She Was Tempted (37 page)

Olivia raised her chin. “James isn’t afraid of Owen. He’s one of the best boxers in all of London—and he’s blackened our brother’s eye more than once.”

“True. But Mr. Averill is an honorable gentleman and, as such, would respect Owen’s wishes with regard to you. A boxing match is one thing. Sisters are quite another.”

“Yes, well, I don’t give a fig about Owen’s wishes.
My
happiness is at stake.” Olivia was vaguely aware that she sounded like a spoiled child and was grateful Rose was the non-judgmental sort.

Rose glided to Olivia’s side. “I want you to be happy, and so does Owen.” She squeezed the tops of Olivia’s arms affectionately. “Now tell me… what do you plan to do about Mr. Averill?”

That was an excellent question. Just thinking of the possibilities made her heart pound in her chest. “I’m not
certain yet. But I shall decide before this evening. He’s sure to be at the Easton ball.”

“You must let me know if there is anything I can do to help you. I’m sure Anabelle would offer her support as well.”

Anabelle was their brother’s duchess, and she’d been their friend even before she’d become their sister-in-law. “I am lucky to have both of you on my side, but I think I must face this challenge on my own. Wish me luck?”

Rose hugged her. “Of course. Just be careful. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Olivia grinned. “Neither do I.” But she also knew it was a distinct possibility. “You know, I am feeling rather adventurous at the moment.”

“You don’t say.” Rose’s face paled.

“I do indeed. We must celebrate my decision to follow my heart with a drink.”

“Tea?” Rose said hopefully.

“Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Olivia swept her gaze around the drawing room once more before scurrying toward a bookshelf. There, behind the dusty tomes about flora and fauna that no one in the household read, was a half-full decanter of brandy that she’d nicked from her brother’s study along with one tumbler.

Rose gasped. “Owen would be furious.”

“That’s why this is so much fun.” Olivia removed the stopper and splashed a healthy dose of liquor into the glass. “To true love,” she toasted—only it wasn’t a proper toast since they had only the one glass. She swallowed a large gulp of brandy and felt her nostrils flare as the liquid
burned a path down her throat and into her chest. Handing the glass to Rose, she said, “Your turn.”

Rose’s hand trembled as she reached for the drink, but she must have figured that the quicker she drank the less chance they would be discovered. “To true love,” she said, before taking the smallest of sips and thrusting the glass back at Olivia.

Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Did you even taste it?”

Rose nodded and the auburn curls at her temples bounced emphatically. “Against my better judgment, yes I did.”

“Excellent.” Olivia was warmed by her sister’s show of loyalty. Or perhaps she was warmed by the brandy.

She drained the glass before returning it and the decanter to their hiding spot.

Rose inhaled deeply, her relief palpable. “I am going to my room to read for a while. But first, Olivia, you must promise me something.”

Olivia brushed the dust off her palms, turned to face her sister, and arched a questioning brow.

“Your impulsive nature is one of the things I love best about you,” Rose began.

“But…?”

“But you must think carefully about what you will say to Mr. Averill tonight. Your actions could have serious and lasting consequences—for both of you.”

“I know.” Olivia swallowed, sobered by the truth of her sister’s words. “Thank you. I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

Olivia smiled and waited until Rose left the drawing room before whirling around and resuming her pacing.

Her unrequited love must seem ridiculous to her sister and her dear friend Anabelle. But Olivia’s was not a fleeting infatuation. She had a connection with James, understood him. And she adored everything about him, even the quirks that some might call flaws. She was charmed by the way his lips sometimes moved when he was deep in thought—as though he were talking himself through a difficult problem. She loved the way his eyes lit up when he recounted the latest additions to the British Museum and his passion for math and science—even if she didn’t share it. She even loved his infuriating tendency to become distracted by a rare plant when she was endeavoring to show off a smart new pair of slippers.

Rose needn’t have worried on one count—Olivia would never stoop to snaring James in a marriage trap. She didn’t want to have to trick him into taking her as his wife.

Even if it
would
be ever so much easier.

She paused in front of the settee, took a large silk pillow, and clutched it tightly to her chest.

What she wanted—what she’d dreamed of every single night for the last ten years—was his complete and utter adoration. She wanted him to dance
only
with her, although she supposed he might occasionally take her mother for a turn about the room. Olivia wanted him to go riding with her all afternoon and then find a shady spot where they could eat sliced chicken, crusty bread, and strawberries. She wanted him to pick wildflowers and tuck one behind her ear and look at her as though he couldn’t believe how fortunate he was that he’d found her.

Of course, in actuality,
she
had found
him
. But she loved him too much to quibble over such trifling matters.

And that’s why the thought of confessing her feelings to James terrified her.

After tonight, she wouldn’t be able to delude herself with platitudes like
he simply isn’t aware you hold him in such high regard
or
he must believe his attentions would be unwelcome
.

She’d never had to face the very real possibility that he did not return her affections.

A shiver stole through her limbs, but she shook it off. Ten years of dreaming and two and one half seasons of waiting could
not
be for naught.

Their fairytale romance would begin tonight.

She simply refused to believe anything different.

He was celebrating, damn it.

While waiting to greet Lord Easton and his wife, he attempted to straighten his cravat, but feared he’d only made matters worse. He shrugged. Who the bloody hell cared?

When he got to Egypt, he’d never wear cravats.

In three short months he’d be on a ship headed to the land of archaeological wonders.

It had taken years of meticulous planning, but he’d finally realized his dream. He’d saved enough money to ensure his mother and brother would be comfortable. He’d taken on a partner so that his clients wouldn’t be left in a lurch.

Before long, he’d be a free man.

And
that’s
why he deserved another drink. Damn it.

He swept his gaze around the already bustling ballroom.
Huntford and Foxburn were a head taller than most of the other guests and easy to spot in the crowd. Odds were five to one his friends had already located and partaken of a stash of liquor.

James hoped to hell they’d saved some for him.

He smiled and nodded politely to a viscount and several older ladies as he meandered toward his friends. Thanks to his finely tailored coat and practiced manners, he blended into this privileged world rather well. Like certain species of lizards in the desert, he was capable of mimicking the landscape. However, at times such as this he was acutely aware that ballrooms were
not
his natural environment.

He was a solicitor, someone who worked. For his living. Huntford and Foxburn didn’t hold that against him, but then, they both knew he could kick their asses from London to Edinborough and back again.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” James had to admit that marriage agreed with both the duke and the earl. Huntford still brooded, but James suspected it was mostly for show. Foxburn now smiled with startling frequency.

“Averill,” Huntford replied, welcoming him with a slap on the shoulder. Foxburn signaled to a passing waiter and James deduced that his drink was on its way.

The duke leaned his large frame toward James and lowered his voice. “There’s a matter I need to discuss with you.”

“Business?” James hoped it was nothing terribly complex. His mind was not at its sharpest at the moment.

Huntford frowned. “Of a sort. Can we meet at your office tomorrow?”

James raised a brow. “Of course.”

“Very good. We will deal with it then.” The duke
pinched the bridge of his nose, then shook his head—as if to clear his mind of troubling thoughts.

Foxburn idly tapped the foot of his cane on the parquet floor. “I understand congratulations are in order, Averill.”

James must have looked mildly confused because the earl narrowed his icy blue eyes and said, “Egypt?”

Right—the expedition. “Yes. I have almost three months to get my affairs in order, and then I’ll be off.”

Foxburn seemed to consider this as he took a large swig of his drink. “You’re giving up all this”—he waved his cane in an arc to indicate the sparkling ballroom—“to ride camels?”

“And unwrap mummies,” Huntford added.

“And sleep in a tent.” Foxburn was really enjoying himself now. “Be careful you don’t get sand in your drawers.”

All three men made a face and squirmed at the thought.

“The discomfort will be worth it,” James said confidently, “if I unearth one ancient artifact—one clue to the civilizations that came before us.”

“What might that be?” Huntford asked. “A bit of broken pottery? Something that
might
have been the tip of a spear, but is more likely a plain old rock?”

“Well, yes.” Of course, he hoped to discover something with pictures or writing—a unique piece that had never been seen before—but explaining himself to these two seemed a waste of breath. “If I find some old pottery or rocks, I’ll consider the trip a success.”

Huntford and Foxburn stared at him as though he were touched in the upper works.

James was about to say the Devil could take them both when the waiter returned with his drink. James tipped it back and found his mood improved almost immediately.

As the strains of a waltz carried through the ballroom, the duke and earl craned their necks in search of their wives. The duchess and countess were sisters—although they didn’t resemble one another, each was beautiful in her own right.

“You’d better hurry to your wives’ sides,” James advised. “There are half a dozen rogues here hoping to claim them for a dance.”

Huntford growled. “Anabelle and Daphne are more than capable of fending off advances, aren’t they Foxburn?”

The earl snorted. “I feel sorry for the poor bastards.”

James had no reason to doubt his friends, but he noticed they practically plowed through the crowd in order to join their lovely wives.

He smiled to himself and looked about for an inconspicuous spot in which to finish his drink and select a couple of beautiful young ladies to later seek out as dance partners.

It was a fine plan. The evening promised to be pleasant—until Olivia Sherbourne waylaid him. “Waylaid” was actually too benign a word; what Olivia did could best be described as “hunting him to ground.”

Appearing out of nowhere was an alarming habit of hers. One minute he was relaxed and pondering dance partners; the next he was toe to toe with a brown-haired, doe-eyed force of nature. A hurricane in a pretty blue frock.

“There you are!” she sputtered. “You must follow me.”

No greeting, no niceties, just ‘You must follow me.’ Must he?
Really
? Because he’d been rather content standing there with his drink.

But Olivia was already striding toward the French doors at the back of the room, assuming he was following along at her heels like a well trained pup. She was Huntford’s sister, for God’s sake. He couldn’t
not
follow her.

Bloody hell.

She disappeared briefly behind a trio of matrons before slipping out the doors. James ducked out after her, determined to steer her back into the ballroom as quickly as possible.

He stepped onto the terrace, which spanned the considerable width of the house and was softly illuminated by a few lanterns and the quarter moon in a cloudless sky.

“Over here,” she called in a loud whisper. She stood at the corner of the patio, her white gloves waving him over like a beacon on the rocky shore.

Instinct told him he shouldn’t do her bidding. Instinct was practically
shouting
at him, in fact, and his feet remained rooted to the flagstone.

Olivia seemed to sense his hesitation, however, and doubled back toward him. “We haven’t much time,” she explained, dragging him unceremoniously along by his free arm. At least she hadn’t spilled his drink.

“Where are we going?” He thought it a fair question and desperately hoped the answer wasn’t, oh, Gretna Green.

“Right here.” She stopped before a stone bench.

“Why?”

She sat and pulled him down beside her. Her expression was impossible to decipher, but her chest rose and fell as though she were frightened or breathless. Her white teeth nibbled at her lower lip. Now that she had him here, she seemed at a loss for words.

That
never
happened with Olivia.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Er, that I know of.”

He grinned. “How refreshing. Even as a wee lass you always seemed to find trouble. Remember the time you managed to climbed into the stable with the foals and couldn’t get—”

“Don’t,” she snapped.

“Don’t
what
?” He’d been trying to put her at ease so she could spit out whatever it was she needed to say. She seemed less than grateful.

“Don’t treat me like Owen’s little sister.”

Holy hell. James drained his glass in one gulp and set it on the bench.

“If you don’t want to be treated like a child,” he said slowly, “stop acting like one. Start by telling me why you brought me out here.”