Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(8)

“I wasn’t aiming for him!” she replied, the color along her cheekbones a deep red to match her passion.

“Ah, good to know,” Edward replied, shrugging. “The thing is, Lady Olivia”—because he knew who she was, not just because Bennett had addressed her by name, but also because word of the Duke’s Daughters had reached even him—“that there would have been no convenient time to disclose my presence. Until it sounded as though you were about to cry.” It was dangerous, of course, to be speaking so bluntly to someone like her—a duke’s daughter, one of the highest members of the Society that didn’t want him to join—but he couldn’t stay silent, not with her having done what she just did. Not with him being friends with Bennett.

He owed it to both of them, even though he’d just met her.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think it’s right to be privy to anyone else’s sadness, not if the person doesn’t agree to it.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew his handkerchief. “You might need this in addition to yours.” She took it, her face now drained of color, perhaps as the impact of what had just happened seeped into her being. “Do just one thing, Lady Olivia,” he said, drawing closer to her, so close he could see how she was blinking more rapidly, perhaps to stem the coming storm. “Never let anyone see your pain,” he continued in a low voice. “Keep it to yourself, because if they see it, they will attack you.”

And then he walked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind himself, but not before hearing a smothered sob.



“Edward!”

Edward turned as a visibly strained Bennett walked toward him, a wineglass in each hand. He must have left the room after Lady Olivia’s outburst and headed straight for where he could find wine.

“Here, I thought you might need this,” Bennett said, handing him the glass. “Given how unpleasant you find all of this.” He drained his own glass in one swift gulp, depositing it on a passing footman’s tray, all before Edward could even take a sip.

“I think you might need it more,” Edward said, returning the glass to Bennett’s hand.

Bennett stared at it as though not aware of what he was doing, then shook his head. “Maybe I do,” he said, taking a big swallow, sputtering as he did.

“I was there,” Edward said in a quiet tone. “In that room while Lady Olivia was speaking with you. To you.”

Bennett’s brows drew together in confusion. “You were? But how?”

“I ducked in there to give myself time away from the party, as you suggested, and I was lying down on the sofa when you came in. I would have made my presence known, but the lady had launched into her proposal by the time I could have spoken, and then it was just . . . awkward,” he said with a smirk. He knew Bennett well enough to know that his friend was likely mortified by the situation; if he could get him to acknowledge the humor of it, he wouldn’t carry the guilt around with him like a pack mule.

“Awkward is one word for it,” Bennett replied, taking another long draught of the wine.

“Did you know how she felt about you?” Edward asked. Weren’t you tempted? He wished he could ask. It would have been hard for Edward in that same situation to resist the lady, no matter how imperative her demands were. And he thought he might like to hear what it was she wanted as well.

But those were not thoughts he should be having about any young proper lady, especially one who might find a handy object to fling at him. He couldn’t always count on her having bad aim.

And then he’d be a bastard with a busted head.

Bennett nodded his head, the expression on his face rueful. “I knew, but I never imagined she would be so bold as to share her feelings with me. I was hoping she would grow out of it. Or find someone else to admire.”

Edward had to admire the lady’s boldness; seeing what she wanted, then going after it without hesitation. That kind of fierce single-mindedness that he valued in himself when on the hunt.

It was a shame she considered herself in love with his friend, because otherwise he would have found the hunt of her intriguing. If she could look past his birth to know the man inside, which he knew full well she could not.

“Lord Carson.” Both men turned at the voice, which belonged to an older gentleman with a full head of white hair and a genial smile, the latter of which froze when he saw Edward.

The hair remained on his head, however.

“My lord,” Bennett replied, bowing. “Please allow me to introduce—” he began, only to be interrupted.

“I know who he is,” the man replied, his eyes narrowing. He glanced past Edward’s shoulder, clearly trying to quell the words that seemed to bubble on his lips. Edward glanced backward and saw—her.

“Lady Olivia, how delightful,” the lord said, his tone oozing charm and politeness, the epitome of aristocratic hypocrisy.

Edward felt his fists clench.

“Lord Smithton,” Lady Olivia replied, glancing from the lord to Bennett, looking as though she wished she were anywhere but here.

Her color was still high, but not flame red any longer. Merely a delightful pink. Her eyes were bright, but unless you knew, it would be impossible to guess she had been about to burst into tears only a few minutes earlier.

His estimation of her rose higher, even though she felt as this Lord Smithton did—that he was a bastard, unfit to be in their company.