Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(67)

He regretted those last words as soon as he’d said them, but it was too late to take them back. Her eyes widened, and she got up as well, still entirely unclothed, her whole body seeming to seethe with indignation.

But she was no more indignant than he was.

He leaned over and picked up her shift, which he held out to her. She snatched it out of his hands and tossed it over her head, angrily adjusting the fabric around her body.

“I did not propose because I got my feelings hurt.” She planted her fists on her hips. “I proposed because I know it would help you enormously if you were to marry one of the duke’s daughters. Because I know how much you care for your father, and I know he would be pleased to welcome me as his daughter-in-law. Because this”—and she extended her hand to encompass both of them and whatever had just occurred—“keeps happening, and I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose you.”

She stopped speaking abruptly, clamping her mouth closed.

“You don’t want to lose me.” He swallowed against the tide of emotion in his chest. “But you don’t want to keep me. Or you only wanted me when it seemed your assessment of yourself fell. Would you have asked me to marry you before this afternoon? Before you discovered you weren’t the invincible do-gooder you believe yourself to be?”

“I’m not the one who constantly thinks the worst of themselves because of the accident of their birth.” Her words cut to his heart because in some way he knew they were true.

“But you’re the daughter of a duke, as you say. So you’ve never had to think anything but the best of yourself. Until now.”

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth again, then shook her head and stepped past him to where her corset and gown lay on the chair.

He didn’t know what was happening. Why they had gone so quickly from her pleasure to their mutual displeasure. How she had possibly thought that now was the right time to discuss all of this?

He watched as she picked up her corset and put it back on, tying the laces with unsteady fingers. He stopped himself from going to help, knowing his help wouldn’t be wanted.

Not now.

Eventually she just shook her head in disgust, leaving a few dangling strings, and picked up her gown, holding it up so she could put it back on.

Shaking her body to adjust the fabric, then biting her lip as she tried to reach around to her back.

“Let me,” he said in a quiet voice. He walked to where she stood and did up the buttons, trying not to touch her skin.

“Thank you.”

She turned her head, keeping her gaze on the floor. “I am glad your father is feeling better. I will try to persuade my mother”—and then she chuckled drily—“to go earlier than we’d planned.”

She didn’t say anything else, just picked up the skirts of her gown and opened the door, closing it softly behind herself as she left him alone.

He walked to the door also, but didn’t open it, instead slamming his fist against the wall in frustration.

He loved her. That wouldn’t change.

But he’d never be with her again.





Chapter 23




Say what you mean.

Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Being Reckless



Olivia walked slowly back to the house, reliving every moment of what had just happened. How had it all gone wrong?

There was that amazing feeling as he did whatever he did with his fingers, and then she’d thought that she should just say what she was thinking. Only she probably shouldn’t have.

She winced as she realized how she must have sounded—presuming he would know more about some people than she because of his birth. And yes, that was true, but that was because she had been so sheltered until recently. Not because his birth was so much lower than hers.

Although it was, and to ignore that would be disingenuous.

Had she told him she loved him?

She reviewed what she’d said, and the sick horror started to grow as she considered her words. No wonder he was angry. She had been, even if inadvertently, proud and condescending. She hadn’t told him she loved him.

Instead, she’d focused on what they could accomplish together—the things she wanted to accomplish—and that his father would be pleased.

Mentioning, as though it was secondary, the incendiary attraction between them.

Damn it.

She felt tears start to prickle her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Lady Olivia Howlett did not cry.

Except she was crying.

Damn it again.

She spied a small terrace and a door that led back into the house. Hopefully it would be unlocked, and she could slip inside and gather herself together so that nobody would know anything was amiss.

Keeping her head down, she walked briskly up the three stairs to the stone terrace, reaching her hand forward for the doorknob.

Please—“Ah,” she said with satisfaction as the door swung open, and she stepped inside.

Her eyes blinked against the sudden brightness of candles, and she wavered, trying to focus on the room.

“Olivia?”

It was Ida, sitting on the floor with an enormous book spread out on her lap.

“Hello,” Olivia replied, her voice wavering. “I didn’t mean—” And she trailed off, not sure what she didn’t mean. Or did mean anymore.