Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(7)

Olivia froze for a moment as she absorbed the words. And then felt her face blaze as fiercely as any fire she’d ever encountered. “You do not regard me in that way?” she repeated, hearing the words fall out of her mouth even though she didn’t think she could speak. “You’re saying you are not in love with me?”

She snatched her hand off his sleeve and dropped it behind her back, her fingers wiggling in the air as though trying to find purchase. Because it felt as though she were falling off a very high cliff. “Not in love with me?” she said again, wishing he would step forward and take her in his arms and say it was all a mistake, he was testing her, but knowing it wouldn’t.

“Oh,” she said in a soft voice, looking anywhere but at him. “I’ve just thrown myself at you, and now it seems you don’t feel the same way.” Something caught her eye and she walked forward, past him, to snatch it up from the small table. It was a dome encasing a small yellow flower, one of those ornamental things everybody had as part of their everyday clutter.

This isn’t you, a voice said in her head. This isn’t who you are, or who you want to be.

But she couldn’t keep herself from curling her fingers around it, feeling the cool glass on her palm. Knowing she could throw it if she wanted to. Which she very much did. This, at least, she could do. She could control her actions now, even if she couldn’t control his. She’d just thrown herself at him? She could throw other things too.

She raised the dome over her head, all of her pent-up emotion channeling itself through her upraised arm, flinging it toward the opposite wall, not close enough to possibly hit him, but startling nonetheless.

The object shattered into pieces, the noise of the impact the only sound in the room. It wasn’t loud enough to cause anyone to notice, not with the band continuing to play in the ballroom as though hearts weren’t currently being broken.

“Olivia, you should consider,” he began, but she shook her head before he could get more words out.

“Get out.” She spoke in a low tone, because if she raised her voice she would scream, and she couldn’t cause that kind of scene, not as one of the duke’s daughters, who already had a penchant for causing trouble. Not to mention it would be horribly embarrassing. Yes, Lady Olivia was proposing to me, and I was rejecting her, and then she threw a decorative object at my head. If he said anything about it at all, which she knew as a gentleman he would not.

“Get out,” she repeated in a stronger voice this time.

Something in her expression must have told him not to press the issue, because he shook his head and walked past her and back out into the ballroom, closing the door behind him.

Leaving her alone with her thoughts and her humiliation.

She took a deep breath and withdrew her handkerchief from her pocket, preparing herself for an epic cry.

“Pardon me,” a deep voice said from the depths of the sofa opposite, “but I think it is probably best that I make my departure as well.”

Olivia’s mouth opened in shock as a man—a tall, perfectly dressed, and remarkably handsome man—emerged from behind the sofa, his hair disheveled. He offered her a sly grin and she felt all of her ire direct itself onto this stranger who’d had the effrontery to listen to her make a fool of herself.

“And who are you?” she replied haughtily, taking refuge in her bred-to-the-bone aristocratic manner.

He spread his arms and made a low bow. “I am Mr. Edward Wolcott, at your service,” he replied in an amused tone.

“Oh!” she said in recognition. “The bast—” she began, then put her hand to her open mouth.

His smile halted and the look in his eyes got fierce. “Yes, my lady. The bastard.”





Chapter 3




Whatever anyone says, do not lose control.

Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Decorum



Edward’s feelings of Poor Bennett were quickly supplanted by Idiotic Bennett when he finally saw the lady who’d thrown herself at his friend.

And a piece of bric-a-brac at the wall.

But given how she’d just exposed herself, he couldn’t necessarily blame her, although he was wary, of course.

It was she. The lady he’d seen on the street just a day prior. His first impression had been correct; she was lovely.

Blonde with hazel eyes that sparkled as brightly as the diamonds in her ears. Her mouth, currently set in a sharp line, was lush, her lips a kissable rose color.

Although she was of average height, her whole presence seemed outsized, like a fierce flame contained within the usual package of Debutante Dressed in Silk. It was as if her body couldn’t contain her personality, as though the edges of her real self were outlined with passion and wit—and anger. He wanted to touch her, to see if that spark was as warm and exuberant as it appeared.

“What were you thinking by not announcing your presence, sir?” she said, her voice crackling with that very same anger. So definitely forget about touching her. Not that he was thinking of that in the first place.

Edward raised his brow. “At what point should I have announced myself? When you told Lord Carson how you knew he was in love with you?” He stepped forward, drawn by the light of her, even though he suspected she might very well slap him if he drew close enough, “or where you plotted out the course of your lives together, with you being his wife for his just causes?” Yes, he knew he was being out of line, but damn it, so was she. “Or perhaps when you threw whatever it was you threw at Bennett. I guess it is a good thing you don’t have accurate aim.”