Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(35)

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?