Olivia Twist(70)
Begrudgingly, Olivia admitted Francesca’s modiste had exceeded her expectations. As she handed over her cloak, she glanced down at her royal blue gown in wonder. The skirt fell from the tiny cinched waist in graceful folds, the hem and neckline embellished with embroidered leaves and a tasteful smattering of crystals that caught the light and glittered every time she moved. Capped sleeves fell over her arms, baring her shoulders. The exposure felt uncomfortable and liberating all at once.
“’Tis attractive, but I think the neckline is a tad bit revealing,” Aunt Becky observed while deliberately staring at the woman’s feathered hat in front of them.
“Mother, the gown was a last-minute cancelation. We were fortunate to find one so perfectly suited to Olivia.”
Aunt Becky’s face turned beet red as she glanced at Olivia’s overflowing cleavage and then jerked her eyes past the receiving line to the ballroom entrance. “Quite right,” came her strangled reply. As they drew closer to Mr. and Mrs. Grimwig, greeting each of their guests in turn, Olivia overheard her aunt whisper, “Stay close to her, Vi.”
After being welcomed by their host and hostess with much hugging and winking, she and Vi followed the crowd to a part of the house that had been forbidden to them as children. Standing in the open doorway, the girls exchanged looks of amazement. The ballroom was a swirl of lights and sound. Enormous chandeliers dripped with mirrored glass, reflecting sparkles on the walls and twirling guests. One entire wall was composed of open French doors draped with strings of snow lilies and dinner plate dahlias, their white petals fluttering in the night air. A full orchestra, screened by a variety of tall, potted plants, took up the whole back of the room.
With Violet by her side, Olivia put one foot in front of the other and wiped the astonishment from her face. She searched for Maxwell’s tall form, hoping to persuade him to get the announcement out of the way sooner rather than later. And in so doing, extinguish the tiny spark of hope her uncle’s words had ignited within her. What better way to put impossible dreams to rest than to make her betrothal irreversibly official?
“Miss Brownlow, Miss Cramstead.” Topher March bent in a deep bow over Violet’s gloved hand and kissed it soundly. “Would you care to waltz with me, dear lady?”
Her friend curtsied and lit up like a Christmas tree covered in candles. “Yes, of course.” She searched the area around them. “Olivia, I’m not sure where Mother’s gotten off to . . .”
Pleased to her toes that her cousin might find her love match after all, she dismissed them with a sweep of her gloved hands. “Please go, Vi. I shall find the refreshment table and meet you there after your dance. I heard they have ice cream in seven different flavors, and I plan to sample them all.” Topher gave her a nod, his gray eyes sparkling in thanks as he offered Violet his elbow. He was still a pompous toff, but he’d proven the night before that he wasn’t nearly so useless as she had assumed. And besides, Vi brought out the best in him.
Olivia watched as they made their way to the dance floor, Topher’s blond head tipped toward Violet’s flaming curls. Something akin to a dark cloud passed across her soul—jealousy. Surely not. She could not be happier to see the obvious feelings growing between Mr. March and her cousin, yet a voice, quiet and small, tainted her joy. What about me?
Olivia pushed the question aside, knowing it was selfish in the extreme. She had a perfectly suitable arrangement with one of the wealthiest men in the city. Perhaps it wasn’t a love match, but it was high time she accepted the future she’d chosen. Lifting her chin, she scanned the area again for her future husband.
Then she saw him—not Max, but him, the one who haunted her day and night—broad, athletic, his restless energy unmistakable as he turned and flicked his raven hair out of his face. Jack.
All the blood drained from Olivia’s head as he turned, his gaze drilling into her from across the crowded room. He wasn’t supposed to be here! Panic skittered over the exposed skin of her shoulders, leaving her fingers numb. It was too much to resist. He was too much.
She didn’t realize she was moving until after she’d already taken several steps in his direction. He pushed through the throng to get to her. When they finally met, he took both her hands in his, the heat of his skin permeating the thin silk of her gloves. Jack leaned back, and the very air around him radiated intensity as he regarded her from her piled curls to her bejeweled slippers. His eyes returned to hers and she read something new there, a possessive confidence that melted her insides to pudding.
The laughter and music, the flowery scents of perfume and spicy cologne all faded as Olivia soaked in his face, noting that the dark bruise on his left cheekbone only added to his dangerous appeal. Something had changed in him. She couldn’t define it; all she knew was that Jack stood before her, completely unguarded for the first time.
A tiny smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Why is it that when you walk into a room, my world stops spinning?”
Olivia sucked in a breath, her pulse pounding in her ears until the dancers, the laughter, and the music all fell away. He’d asked her once what she wanted, and in that singular moment she knew. She wanted all of him; the gentleman, the street lord, the criminal—she didn’t care anymore. Jack was her anchor. The brazen boy with the scruffy top hat had stolen her heart from the instant he’d plucked her off the streets and taken her under his wing. And Olivia couldn’t imagine a single reason not to tell him. “Jack, I—”