Olivia felt anger begin to simmer in her belly. Of everyone in this room, why did he have to dance with Hester Montgomery, the woman she could bear less than any other? Olivia saw the smug smile on the woman’s face and her fingernails began to dig into the palms of her clenched hands.

Not — she told herself — that she was interested in the man himself. Clearly he was quite enamored with Lady Hester, as he smiled so charmingly at something she said, their faces just inches apart. Olivia noted the way Hester dropped her face to look coyly up at the Duke, and frustration tingled through her limbs.

“They do look well together,” Rosalind said as she stood next to Olivia, who made a strangled noise from the back of her throat.

“I suppose they do,” she said, as she unconsciously edged closer to the dance floor, though what she planned to do she didn’t know. As she stood with her gaze on them, suddenly the Duke’s eyes locked with hers over Hester’s shoulder. He grinned, wide enough that she could see his dimple from where she stood, and he gave her a slow, steady wink. She gasped, and though her cheeks turned red, she was too stubborn to be the first to break eye contact.

“Olivia,” Rosalind probed beside her, and Olivia finally turned to her.

“Yes?”

“Is something the matter?”

“No — nothing,” she said, “Why do you ask?”

“You seem slightly upset,” Rosalind said, her brow crinkling as the music of the set came to a close.

“Not at all,” she answered, and as she turned to walk away from the dance floor, a strong hand suddenly warmed her arm through her long white glove.

“Lady Olivia?” his voice was rich and strong, and she cursed herself for the way it caused a tremor to flood through her, from her fingers and toes to the center of her belly.

She stilled her face into a small smile and looked up at him. “Your Grace, how lovely to see you.”

“And you,” he said, his green eyes hardening. “Do you have the next dance available?”

“You’re lucky, Your Grace. For once — I do,” she replied, and lifted her arm, her eyes widening as he filled his name in on the next two dance slots.

As they took to the floor for a waltz, she felt the lovely smile of Rosalind at her back, who melted back into the crowd to find her own betrothed, the cat-like smile that crossed her mother’s face, and the burning glare of Lady Hester. Olivia looked at the woman from over the Duke’s shoulder, and the leer Hester trained on her was one that promised retribution to come. Olivia raised her eyebrows and sent back a slight grin, before turning her attention to the man holding her in his arms.

“You look lovely tonight, Lady Olivia,” he said, his charming smile showcasing his straight white teeth. She looked up at him, wondering how she had missed the slightly crooked bottom teeth that offered character to the otherwise perfect face.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. “You are looking well tonight yourself. Have your mother and sister accompanied you?’

“No,” he replied. “It has not quite been a year since my father passed, so my mother is still in mourning. My sister remained home with her as she is awaiting my mother or a proper chaperone.”

“Of course,” Olivia responded, upset with herself for forgetting his recent loss as she had become caught up in the hardness of the muscle beneath her fingertips and his masculine scent of sandalwood and brandy that filled her.

“How respectable you look this evening, Lady Olivia,” he said to her with a wicked grin.

“Did you expect otherwise?”

“One never seems to know what to expect when it comes to you.”

“Is that such a terrible thing?”

“Not at all,” he said with a smile. “In fact, I rather enjoy it. As I do your quick wit and intelligence. I am actually very taken by the workings of your mind.”

“Those, Your Grace,” she said, “are words to remember.”

“You surprise me, Lady Olivia,” he said. “I was under the impression that most women preferred words of compliment of their beauty and composure.”

“You may find, Your Grace,” she replied, “that I am not most women.”

“No, Lady Olivia,” he murmured, “you certainly are not.”

* * *

When the dance ended, Alastair was grateful he’d had the foresight to sign his name on two slots of her dance card. He had forgotten how fun it was to flirt with Lady Olivia. It seemed, however, that something had shifted between them. It had been an innocent flirtation when they met at the house party. Now, following their most recent encounters, something simmered beneath the surface. It was a slow fire beginning to burn deeper, a desire for her that he was having trouble ignoring. He wasn’t a stranger to such a feeling, but certainly not with a young woman of the ton.

It was the expression in her crystal blue eyes, the way her pink lips responded to his teasing. Perhaps, he thought, one kiss of those lips and he would have her out of his system. Or would it possibly be too difficult to stop there? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he could no longer stand here holding her so closely within the crush of people on the dance floor.  

“Have you ever had the pleasure of touring the other areas of the Argyll Rooms?” he asked her as the orchestra readied for the next dance.

“I have not,” she responded.

“Come, then, I must show you.”

He saw her eyes narrow as if considering what he was about, but she seemed agreeable to the idea as her curiosity got the better of her and she placed her gloved fingers on his arm.

The building was fascinating, as Alastair saw it now through Lady Olivia’s fresh eyes. She seemed to particularly enjoy the Blue Room, with the eagle soaring high above, atop the chandelier. He led her up the stairs, and they peeked in at the private boxes that surrounded the ballroom.

“There are 24 in total, I believe,” he said. “They are primarily used when concerts and the like are hosted here.”

Roman ox statues stood guard in front of each box. Those on the ground floor were ornamented with elegant antique bas-reliefs in bronze, and all were cloaked in scarlet draperies.

“Would you like to see the upper boxes?” he asked.

“Are they any different?” she responded, showing slight hesitation.

“They are,” he said. “The upper tier is all the color of blue crystal.”

Like her eyes, he thought, then shook his head at the foolish notion that had crossed his mind.

He led her up the stairs, and she gasped as she pushed back the scarlet draperies to see the box, the blue somewhat ethereal with the light of the beautiful circular bronze chandelier, its cut-glass pendants hanging down over them.

She walked further into the small space and he followed her, taking her hand and trailing behind her as he watched the expressions flit across her face.

* * *

Perhaps she should not be alone with him any longer. This was all rather untoward, and she knew she should have a chaperone. They should have remained in the ballroom. And yet … this was much more exciting.

“Lady Olivia…” he said, and pulled her around to face him. She turned with a smile, until she caught the serious look that crossed his normally upturned features. His hands moved from hers to her face, as he tipped her head back to look up at him. His thumbs grazed her cheeks, burning where they touched her. “Why do you captivate me so?”

“You do not find me off-putting?”

He laughed. “You’re interesting.”

“I suppose that is meant as a compliment,” she responded.

“Are you always so candid?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Why do you think me still unmarried?”

Instead of answering, he leaned closer to her, so that she could feel the puff of his breath upon her cheek. He hesitated for a moment, as if allowing her time to pull away, but Olivia was never one to back down. Instead, she leaned in, meeting him part way as their lips met hungrily.

His mouth came down hard over hers, and her breath left her at the sudden intensity. His lips began moving, drinking her in, and Olivia felt the shock of it flood through her. He pressed her back against the wall, and when his tongue teased the seam of her lips, she willingly opened her mouth up to him. She matched his velvety smooth strokes, and soon a soft moan involuntarily left her lips. He broke the kiss for a moment, and she saw his head turning back and forth as if to ensure the draperies were closed around them, leaving them within their own private room.

He resumed the love play on her mouth and her hands reached up to twine in his hair. He lifted a hand to cup the bottom of her breast through her satin dress, his thumb flicking over her nipple that had her pressing into him with reckless abandon.

“Your Grace,” she breathed out.

“Alastair,” he responded, working a breast free, up out of the fabric that covered it. He cupped it, gently rubbing a finger over it as he kissed her once more. As she pressed into him instinctively, however, he pulled back rather suddenly.

“Olivia, we must stop,” he said, his breathing ragged.

“Why?” she asked, feeling the heat rising through her body to her cheeks, which must be quite reddened by now.

“Because — because you are a lady, an innocent, and I am — well I am not looking for a wife, and that is certainly where something like this would lead with a woman like you.”

“A woman like me?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. One does not toy with the daughter of an earl.”

“You are not toying with me, Your Grace. I am an equal part of this equation.”

“So you are,” he said. “Even so —”

She kept him from speaking as she reached up and laced her fingers behind his head, pulling his lips back down to hers. As he groaned and lost himself in her kisses, the curtain to the entrance was suddenly thrown open.