“Olivia, let me come in.” Pearl accompanied her words with a few sharp taps at the door.

Olivia twisted up her face as she thought about having to tell Pearl. Because she knew that she would, even though she had tried to pretend she wouldn’t, dashing up to her room by herself after dinner was finished. Of course Pearl would know something was wrong, because Olivia never let an opportunity to sigh over Bennett—Lord Carson, that is—go.

Until now. Until she had kissed him. Not the him who was Lord Carson, no. The him who was Mr. Wolcott, bastard son of the most merchantiest person she had ever met.

It would be something out of one of the novels she read in secret if it wasn’t her real life. What had she been thinking?

She hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem.

“Olivia!”

Pearl’s tone was sharper now, as though her twin were worried about her. And well she should be, but not for the reason Pearl might think—she should worry because Olivia hadn’t spent a single second thinking about the gentleman she loved. Who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with doing good things and righting wrongs and having well-bred children.

No, she was spending all of her time thinking about the other one. The Other One. The one who was playing havoc with her mind and her capitalization.

She got herself up off the bed and walked to the door, turning the key in the lock and opening up just enough to allow Pearl to slip inside.

“What are you doing in here, hiding like that?” Pearl looked worried. As she should.

Thinking about kissing the Other One. The One who is not Lord Carson.

“Uh, I was tired?” Olivia winced at how weakly she replied.

Pearl rolled her eyes. Good. At least one of the twins was behaving as usual.

“You are never tired. You are indefatigable, except when it comes to shift making. Speaking of which, I finished the last one, we can take them around to the society tomorrow.” Pearl waved her hand in dismissal. “But that is not what is important at the moment.” She planted her hands on her hips and squinted balefully at Olivia. “What happened when you ran out into the hallway? Mr. Wolcott dashed after you, and then when you returned, you looked—well, you looked . . .”

“Like I’d been kissed?”

She might as well admit it.

Pearl’s eyes went wide, and she reached out and took Olivia’s arm, moving them both over to the bed. She pushed Olivia down onto it, then clambered up beside her.

“Mr. Wolcott kissed you? How dare he! I know Father has business dealings with his father, but we cannot keep this quiet. Unless—oh no, do you suppose you’ll have to marry him? Maybe you shouldn’t say anything about it. I promise to stay close to you anytime we might meet him in public. He won’t dare do something so terrible again.”

It wasn’t so terrible. And she should make certain Pearl knew the truth. “He didn’t kiss me.”

Pearl’s expression showed her confusion.

“I kissed him,” Olivia clarified. “On the mouth and everything.”

She still felt wobbly, even though it had been well over an hour ago. Her mouth was tender, and she would have sworn she could still feel the pressure of his hands at her waist. The way she’d swayed toward him, her breasts brushing his jacket.

Her fingers finally getting to dive into those riotous black curls.

“Oh,” Pearl said in a long, surprised exhale. “How was it? And what about Lord Carson?”

Olivia flopped back on the bed, spreading her arms wide. “I don’t know! I don’t know why I did it—it was just that Mother had said what she had, and he was there opposite looking at me with those dark eyes, and I ran out, and he followed, and he was concerned about me.”

And it hadn’t felt as though he’d pitied her. Or seen her as a nuisance or a bother or someone who was too loud, too opinionated, too—Olivia.

“I think this is a good thing.” Pearl spoke in her most decided tone. “I know you think you want to marry Lord Carson, but how will you know for certain unless you kiss other gentlemen as well?”

Not that she’d kissed Lord Carson in the first place.

Olivia lifted her head to look at Pearl, who was regarding her with that smug “I already told you this” look that made Olivia furious. Mostly because her twin was usually right. Not that Olivia ever admitted that, beyond the confines of her own head.

“So you’re suggesting I just go about kissing random gentlemen to ensure that Lord Carson is the one I should marry?” Put that way, it did sound rather enjoyable, but the first—and only—image that came to her mind was of her kissing the Other. Again. And again.

Pearl snorted and rolled her eyes. Quite a gift, to be able to do both simultaneously. “That is not what I am saying, for goodness’ sake, Olivia. Just listen to yourself. Kissing random gentlemen.” And then she snorted again, likely for some final auditory punctuation on the topic.

“Well, what is your suggestion?”

Pearl tapped Olivia on the leg. “I think you should get to know Mr. Wolcott, since it is apparent that you find him interesting.”

Interesting was one way to put it. Fascinating, handsome, and irresistible were other ways to put it.

Even though, she told herself staunchly, she loved Lord Carson, and she could do the most good by becoming his wife.

Even though, she had to also tell herself, she wasn’t feeling the same . . . interest in him since she’d met Mr. Wolcott.

“You’re making him respectable, aren’t you?” Pearl grinned, a smile that on another person’s face might have looked almost wicked. “So you can be unrespectable with him and nobody will be able to tell. He’s already unrespectable, at least until you succeed. If you succeed.”

And if she did succeed, she’d also have to succeed in finding him a bride.

A bride who was willing to accept the hand of a gentleman who wasn’t quite a gentleman. A bride who would have the right to slide her fingers through those curls and kiss that gorgeous mouth and—

And then her imagination stopped, because she couldn’t continue in that line of thinking. Not without causing some sort of conflagration to her insides.

“That is an excellent idea,” Olivia said in a firm voice, ignoring all the sparks of some emotion she did not want to admit to, but which probably rhymed with mealousy, that were flowing through her. “As long as it doesn’t harm anybody.” And as long as nobody found out that she was being unrespectable with him, the bast—even though she’d sworn to herself not to call him that anymore. But if anyone else discovered how friendly she was with him—well, people would say that quickly enough. And she would end up being another one of the Duke’s Disgraceful Daughters.

She couldn’t allow that.

“I’m so glad you agree.” Pearl patted Olivia’s leg where she had tapped it, a mysterious smile playing about her lips.

“Mmm,” Olivia replied, wondering how she was going to manage her good works, make him respectable, and find him a wife.

And not allow herself to be unrespectable with him any longer.

But now was not the time to doubt herself. She could do all of it. She had to, or she would be just another managing female who tried to do things and failed.

Failure was not an option.

“Mr. Wolcott!”

Edward turned to see her walking toward him, a cheerful expression on her face. As though the last time they’d seen one another she hadn’t been making a further mess of his already messy hair and trying to crawl into his jacket.

Hmm. He shouldn’t feel piqued, and yet—he did. He wanted her to show the effects of that kiss, to reveal that she knew about their shared secret. Not act as though he was just another guest at a party they happened to both be attending.

“Good evening, Lady Olivia.” He bowed, allowing his gaze to travel from the toes of her slippered feet up to her face. Taking his time, letting her know what he was doing.

Rewarded by the flush of pink on her cheeks and the defiant sparkle in her eyes. Damn, but he admired her fire.

“Yes, it is.” She swallowed but didn’t avert her eyes, meeting his gaze directly. Firmly.

Would she keep her eyes open as he pleasured her?

And now he should look elsewhere, because if he kept staring at her, with all these thoughts in his head, he was bound to embarrass himself with far more than just being illegitimate.

But he couldn’t.

“Are you enjoying the party?” she continued, gesturing to the dance floor where several of Society’s best people were dancing.

He grimaced, recalling his attempts to dance with Bennett. Whose toes, his friend had informed him, were bruised from the lesson.

“Yes, thank you.” Did you enjoy the kiss? He wanted to ask. He burned to know if it had affected her as thoroughly as it had him. He wanted to kiss her again, right now. He wanted to hear her theories on duck hierarchy and what was right and wrong in the world.

“Excellent.”

A silence fell between them, with her shifting in front of him as though she were feeling awkward but didn’t know what to say.

That had to be an unusual circumstance for her. Did that mean she was affected?

And why was he so focused on that?

Oh, right. Because kissing her was one of the most pleasurable things that he’d done, and that included the time he’d spent with a certain widow who’d shown him some innovative tricks and the time he’d beaten the worst of his school tormentors in a horse race by several yards.

He should just admit it to himself—he wanted to kiss her again, slide those wispy sleeves off her shoulders, unbutton her gown, and show her just how very right he could be, so right that there was no possibility it was wrong.

Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face since her eyes were wide and she was licking her lips.

He wanted to lick her lips.

Damn it, this was not what he should be thinking about at all. She’d probably be horrified that the kiss she’d instigated was resulting in such ideas. Probably she’d gasp as he shrugged off his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and show her what a truly legitimate bout of lovemaking felt like.

Damn it.

“Do you want to dance?” He spoke brusquely, sharply, unable to keep his tone polite, given what he really wished he could say.

Can I strip you naked? Could I caress every single exposed inch of you? Will you run your soft, smooth hands all over the rest of me as you did my hair?

“Yes.” He started, only to realize she’d responded to what he’d said, not what he’d been thinking.

He held his arm out and she took it, placing her fingertips on his sleeve. Were they trembling?

No, his sparkling warrior queen, his Boadicea, didn’t tremble. If anything, he would hope, they were twitching with the urge to touch him again.

They walked to the dance floor, Edward praying he didn’t end up placing his substantial weight on her toes. She glanced up at him, and he stumbled, making him smother an oath and clasp the hand that was holding on to him.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I haven’t had much practice dancing.”

He straightened and kept walking, only to pause as he heard a sound coming from his right.

“Are you—are you laughing at me?” he asked in disbelief. He turned to look down into her face, noting the smiling eyes, the wide grin, and the unmistakable sound emerging from her mouth. “You are!”

She nodded, putting her hand over her mouth, her eyes still sparkling.

If only they were alone, and he could draw her into his arms and lower his mouth to hers, taking her laughter as he kissed her lips.

But they weren’t; in fact, they were at a Society party, one where nearly everyone probably looked down on him—including her—for the circumstances of his birth.

“It’s just that you are, well, you and yet there you go, fretting about your dancing ability.”

“What do you mean I am me?” How did she see him? Was he the intimidator duck, or something else entirely?

She tilted her head and placed her other hand on his sleeve so her hands were folded over one another. It felt inappropriately welcome.

“You stride about as though you know you own the world. Even though, things being what they are . . .” She bit her lip as she stopped speaking, and pink flowed into her cheeks. “That is, the circumstances of your birth might make it seem that you would behave a certain way, and yet you do not. You make certain everyone has to engage with you, no matter what, or you will dismiss them as being beneath you. Rightly, I would add.” She nodded firmly to emphasize her words.

He felt his mouth drop open as a flood of emotions flowed through him. That she hadn’t hesitated to speak the truth, even though it was awkward; well, that he already knew, but he never failed to be impressed that she was so bold, so persevering. That she recognized how he approached the world, facing it head-on rather than cowering; only Bennett had ever seen that before. And that she admired him for being who he was, even though he wasn’t someone to be admired, at least according to the rules of Society.

God, he wanted to kiss her even more now.

“And then you are so adorable to admit that you cannot dance, or at least dance well, and it is so endearing for someone like you to admit to foibles.”

Well, now he did not want to kiss her at all. “Adorable?” he said in a growl. “You think I’m adorable?” Of all the things he wished to be seen as—a formidable athlete, a fine judge of horseflesh, an excellent businessman, a gentleman whose birth did not impede his life—he had never wished to be seen as adorable. “And endearing?” he added in an incredulous tone.

“Yes,” she replied, smiling as though she knew just how outraged he was. She probably did.

“Let me show you how adorable I am,” he muttered, taking her arm and leading her to the dance floor, trying to ignore her laughter as they walked.

Olivia preened to herself as they walked onto the dance floor, Edward’s ire positively reverberating through his entire body. In complimenting him, she had inadvertently made him forget—for a moment—who Society thought he was, which was why he was at this party. She had made him remember, she thought, who he truly was. An intelligent, thoughtful, proud man who apparently did not like being called adorable.

His face when she’d said the word! She would cherish the memory of that shocked expression for a long time.

And now they were on the dance floor, and it was a waltz, because of course it was, and his hand was in hers, his other hand at the small of her back, and the music had started, and she forgot everything but the music and him.

“You’re not that bad a dancer,” she said after a few moments of silence.

“Shh, I’m counting,” he replied in a quick tone. “And now I’ve—”

At which point he trod on her foot.

It didn’t hurt that much, just stung a little, since he’d really just stepped on her smallest toe, and had quickly leapt off before she could even register the pain. They weren’t dancing any longer, but he still held her in the waltz position, which was not as close as they had been the night before.

Much to her chagrin.

“Are you all right?” He sounded genuinely concerned, and she felt herself melt a little inside. Adorable, indeed.

“I am fine, you barely touched it.” To prove her point, she gave a nod and started to move again, squeezing his hand to get him to continue the dance.

“One, two, three, one, two, three,” she counted as he followed her lead.

“No talking,” he ordered. “I can’t concentrate if you talk.”

She pressed her lips together to show her acquiescence and shot a glance at him that she knew spoke louder than whatever words she could say now: You truly are adorable, and of course I’ll stop speaking, you silly man, only I won’t stop wanting to laugh.

You make me laugh.

Has Bennett ever made you laugh?

Olivia nearly turned to see how Pearl could be so close, and then realized she’d just heard her twin’s voice in her head.

“You’re still laughing at me.”

She shot a pointed glance at him as she edged back from within the circle of his arms.

“I’m not going to step on your foot again.” His words were exasperated, and she felt a delightful joy at having irritated him so thoroughly. So adorably.

“You can appreciate my being concerned,” she replied. “You warned me yourself that you weren’t very good at this. You said nothing about possible bodily injury, however.”

She narrowed her gaze at him. “I wonder if that is the real reason young ladies might not look favorably at the prospect of having you as a husband. Perhaps they are better informed than I am, and have naturally stayed away.”

She shook her head in mock disapproval. “You did not tell me of this impediment to the project, Mr. Wolcott. I might not have taken on the challenge if I knew just what a challenge it was.” And then she grinned at him again, wondering just what kind of mischievous spark she had discovered in herself. That he seemed to have unearthed in her.

“If we weren’t in the middle of this party,” he began, then swallowed and stared determinedly over her head.

Well. That sounded fascinating. She wondered if he were thinking that if they weren’t in the middle of this party that he’d grab her even closer and kiss her. Fiercely, with all the passion she knew simmered just underneath his elegant evening clothes.

Speaking of which, she knew he was strong, but she’d felt the force of him as he’d escorted her onto the dance floor. Not to mention how he’d held her in his arms as they kissed. Although she should not be thinking about that.

Still, there was something almost intoxicating about suspecting he had a lot of strength that could be unleashed at any time. Anywhere. With anyone.

Just thinking about it made her shiver.

The music ended, and she curtseyed as he bowed, one of his curls slipping onto his forehead, making her wish she could reach up and smooth it back.

And then muss it all up again? a voice that was most definitely not Pearl’s said in her head.

“Thank you for the dance.” Even his voice made her shiver—all rich and dark and deep, as though what he was saying wasn’t truly what he was saying.

Not that that made any sense.

“Thank you, Mr. Wolcott. You are not that bad a dancer after all. I am sure I can find some eligible young ladies who might be willing to risk their toes for the pleasure.”

Although the last thing she wanted—even if she could barely admit it to herself—was for some other young lady to be the recipient of that devastating smile, being held in his powerful arms as he adorably and endearingly counted the beats of the music.

But that was the challenge. And she wanted the money he’d promised for the poor women and children, the thought of whom acted on her emotions like a bucket of cold water.

What was she doing, mooning over him? He wasn’t her destiny. Bennett was. With Bennett, she would single-handedly rescue her family’s reputation so that Pearl and Ida, at least, could marry well. Perhaps eventually Della could return to London, impossible though that seemed now.

None of that would be possible if she didn’t marry Bennett. Never mind getting married to Edward, whose birth would cause yet another scandal.

It was up to her. It was all up to her.

“Can you escort me back to my mother?” she asked, not waiting for his reply as she took his arm.

“Of course.”

She took a deep breath as they walked, scanning the room, looking at each single young lady in turn. Too dull, too aware of her own consequence, too irritating, too—curse it. She was never going to win this challenge if she shot down every single possible candidate. It was up to Mr. Wolcott and the lady in question if they suited, wasn’t it? She should endeavor to introduce him to every possible female and allow his wealth and undeniable charm do the work.

That settled, she lifted her chin, planning out just who she’d introduce him to and when.

Overcoming her ridiculous fascination with him would be just another test of her perseverance and determination.

“Come in, my boy, and tell me about your evening.”

Edward turned at the sound of his father’s voice, smiling at the now-familiar sequence—he went out, his father waited up for him, and then questioned him intently about who he saw and what he did.

Mr. Beechcroft stood at the entrance to the library, a cozy fire flickering behind him.

Edward handed his coat and hat to the butler and strode after his father, feeling a frown cross his features as he saw how his father labored to sit comfortably.

The tightness in his chest had eased while he had been at the party, but it returned so quickly and forcefully it felt as though he had been punched. What was he doing, attending parties and dancing with sparkling ladies when his father was ill?

Instead of sitting himself, he knelt down in front of his father, looking up at his worn, beloved face. “Why are you up so late? You’re supposed to be resting while I am doing all the hard work of finding a woman to marry me.” He grinned as he spoke, not wanting to let his father know Edward’s reaction when he saw his father’s obvious illness.

Mr. Beechcroft smiled in reply, his brown eyes twinkling in delight. At least one of them was happy at the prospect of Edward’s marriage. “And how is it going? Did you see your Lady Olivia?”

Edward shook his head and rose, going to sit in the chair opposite. “She is not my Lady Olivia,” he said, knowing his father wouldn’t care what Edward said if he had gotten something into his head.

It was what made him a brilliant businessman, and a very irritating father—once his brain had seized on an idea, he wouldn’t rest until he saw it come to fruition. Hence the various factories that carried the Beechcroft name that had been built despite everyone telling his father his ideas were too grand, that the expenditure wouldn’t be worth the eventual minimal profits.

Those people had been wrong. It was one thing, however, when one of his father’s ideas made the Beechcroft fortune swell; it was another thing entirely when his father wanted his illegitimate son to marry a lady who would never say yes to his suit, and even if she did, her family would never say yes as well.

But to point out that there were some ladies who were far beyond Edward’s reach—regardless of how much wealth and prospects he had—would hurt his father too much. Mr. Beechcroft already felt the sting of Edward’s birth far more than Edward himself did.

“Of course she is not.” Mr. Beechcroft’s tone made it clear he didn’t believe his own words. “It was mere coincidence that you happened to rush out of the dining room the other night just after she did. And of course it didn’t mean anything that she spent most of the evening before that looking at you. Did you have something on your face, I wonder?”

Edward didn’t respond in words, but he did glare at his father. Who chuckled at seeing his son’s expression.

“I stayed up, since you asked, because I was sorting through some papers. I need to get certain business transactions done before—before . . .” And then he paused, letting his words hang there in the silence so that Edward could fill in the blanks.

Before I die.

That sharp pain expanded from Edward’s chest through his entire body, and he leaned forward in his chair, staring intently at his father’s face. “We shouldn’t stay here any longer. Your marital aspirations for me be damned. You should be in the country resting, where we can see your usual doctor. Where you are most comfortable.”

His father looked as though he was going to argue, and Edward held his hand up. “Wait. Before you say no, let’s talk about it.” He held his hand out and ticked each item off on his fingers. “One. You have trusted your own doctor for years. I know you have seen Dr. Bell—that’s his name, correct?” he said, waiting for his father’s nod, “and that Dr. Bell told you that—” he couldn’t say it, even though his father had said it already.

“That I have not long to live.”

Edward’s breath hitched. “Yes. That. The thing is, you are always saying that any business venture could benefit from having more than one opinion weighing in on it. It seems to me that your health is the most important business venture you’ve ever dealt with, and I want you to get your own doctor’s opinion before you resign yourself to—to . . .”

“Death?” his father supplied in a quiet tone.

Edward nodded, his throat tight.

Mr. Beechcroft leaned back in his chair, wincing as he did so. Because the chair was uncomfortable? Or because he was in so much pain? Edward didn’t dare to ask. But Mr. Beechcroft’s regular doctor would, and that was entirely the point.

“But if we leave London, you won’t have the opportunity to court someone named Lady Olivia,” his father said with a grin.

Sometimes Edward wished his father were less jocular.

“If we return to the country and I can see for myself that your health is being taken care of as well as I would wish, I can concentrate on finding a suitable bride,” he retorted. “You’ve often told me it’s important to focus on the business at hand. How can I focus on the business of marriage if I am thinking about you and your health? When I know for certain, I will fulfill your wish.” He didn’t say “your final wish,” but it was clear from his tone what he meant.

His father twisted his lips in thought. “Hmm. And there are some other families still in residence in the country—there are sure to be some eligible young ladies there, so you won’t waste time.” As though each young lady was interchangeable with another, as long as she came from respectable stock.

His father was certainly single-minded when it came to what he wanted. “Although I do have a preference for that Lady Olivia,” he added, confirming just how single-minded he was.

He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head in thought. “I have been thinking about your mother.” He looked over at Edward. “I know I haven’t told you much about her. It’s so hard, even now.” His eyes grew distant. “She was so kind and listened to all of my dreams. I knew we would get married, only her father—” And his lips tightened, and he shook his head.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“And I’m sorry for yours. I wish you could have met her, I wish she could see you now. You resemble her more than me. You’ve got her father’s height and she had dark curls like you do.” Mr. Beechcroft shook his head. “If only we could have married, you wouldn’t have to—”

Be a bastard, Edward thought to himself.

“Your Lady Olivia reminds me of your mother,” his father continued, as though Edward wasn’t conflicted enough about everything. “She is generous and intelligent, and she’d be a good wife.”

This was one time Edward wished he didn’t agree with his father. Because at the moment he couldn’t imagine spending a life with any young lady who wasn’t opinionated, fierce, passionate, and sparkling.

Unfortunately, he knew how that would end—with her trying to foist some unsuspecting young lady on him in some misguided quest for equality in Society, when they both knew there was nothing of the sort.

Or worse, she’d succeed in marrying him off, and then would resume her chase of Bennett.

How could he allow that to happen to his best friend?

He could not.

“I only want what is best for you,” his father said, interrupting his thoughts. “I want you to have what I never did.” His eyes got a distant expression. “I did think about marrying, but any other woman just didn’t compare. And there was you to take care of.” He smiled at Edward, a smile that revealed all of the love he had for his son. “All right,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “I know you won’t stop pestering me until I agree—you’re like me in that way, you know,” he said with a smile, “so we will return to our country home at the end of the week.”

“Long enough for you to see your regular doctor and take his advice?” Edward knew how slippery his father could be when it came to his words. The man was renowned in business circles, at least, for saying things that seemed to indicate one course, only to mean something entirely different when it came to a closer examination.

“Yes. I will stay in the country until things are resolved.”

Edward narrowed his gaze at his father, wondering what he was missing in the somewhat vague words. But he didn’t want to spend time when his father should be resting arguing about it, so he merely nodded.

“I’ll make all the preparations,” he said.

Taking his father back home was the right thing to do. Even though it meant he wouldn’t be able to watch Lady Olivia fail in her attempt to make him into a respectable member of Society. Even though he wouldn’t watch as she introduced him to various young ladies who would probably rather swallow their dance cards then waltz with him.

Even though he wouldn’t be able to kiss her again, watch as she argued vociferously in defense of one of her causes.

But it wasn’t about him. He owed everything to his father, and he was going to sacrifice everything. A week or so ago, that sacrifice had been to try to gain acceptance into Society. Now it was to spend the rest of his life with a lady who could tolerate him.

“But you must meet him, Miss Hunter. I insist.” Olivia smiled at the young lady opposite her, trying to look reassuring. Judging by the expression on the other lady’s face, it was more likely she had on what Pearl liked to call her “You Must Do What I Say” Face. “Mr. Wolcott has just come to town and doesn’t know that many people. I told our mutual acquaintance Lord Carson that I would endeavor to expand his circle of friends.” She glanced over to where Mr. Wolcott stood, slightly outside the various groups of people sipping beverages while eviscerating one another’s reputations. He stuck out from among all of them, a tall, dark, arrogantly curled gentleman whose expression bore its usual distant expression.

Was it her imagination, or did he look slightly wistful?

“But Mr. Wolcott is Mr. Beechcroft’s—” And then Miss Hunter paused, holding her hand up to her mouth as though she couldn’t possibly utter the word that was in both of their minds.

Bastard.

“Well, he is,” Olivia said in a terse voice. “That is true. Mr. Beechcroft has taken Mr. Wolcott in and recognized him as his own. Would you have preferred he left him in an orphanage? Because I promise you, those places are not ones where any child should be left.”

The instinctual sorrow she felt when she considered those places, and those children, threatened to overwhelm her for a moment. Miss Hunter had likely never visited an orphanage, and likely had no idea what children who weren’t in their own privileged position faced.

But Olivia did. And she was glad that Mr. Wolcott had managed to avoid that future, even though it meant he would have to meet ladies such as Miss Hunter, who looked terrified at the thought of meeting someone of Mr. Wolcott’s birth. Miss Hunter’s own family included a spendthrift brother, which was why the family was in straitened circumstances and why Olivia had chosen her. But he was legitimately born, so that meant he was more important and accepted than Mr. Wolcott.

But it was not the time to get angry at someone’s naiveté. “Please, Miss Hunter.” Olivia glanced over again, sighing in relief. “And look, Lord Carson has joined him. I can introduce you to both of them.”

“Well, in that case,” Miss Hunter said, nodding her head in agreement.

The two ladies walked to where Mr. Wolcott and Lord Carson stood, Mr. Wolcott’s eyes traveling over her body in a lazy assessment that made her skin prickle.

Which made her angry, because why was he daring to look at her that way, when he knew perfectly well that they should not have kissed and it was only an unfortunate emotional moment that they should both regret?

That Olivia did not regret it was her own problem, and something with which she berated herself at various hours of the day. It was like a clock chiming, it was so regular.

Oh! Time to regret one of the best experiences of my life!

“Lady Olivia,” Lord Carson said as they approached. “It is lovely to see you this evening.”

“And you, my lord,” Olivia said, dipping into a curtsey. Trying not to assess Mr. Wolcott the same way he’d done to her. Though it was admittedly difficult, what with his being all tall and spectacularly and elegantly dressed, the messy disarray of his curls the only item not presented to perfection, which made him seem even more handsome.

“And may I present Miss Hunter? She is making her debut this year. Lord Carson, this is Miss Hunter. Mr. Wolcott, Miss Hunter.”

They made their various “pleased to meet you’s” and other pleasantries until an awkward silence fell over them.

Did she have to do all the work?

She did. Suppressing a roll of her eyes, she began to speak.