Amelia might not have entertained guests often at the Dowager House, nor at Westyork Manor when her husband was still living, but when she did, she liked to be the epitome of an attentive host. The fact that she had arranged so many outings and excursions for the fortnight of Olivia’s stay was a testament to that, so it seemed all the stranger that Amelia had decided not to break her fast downstairs.
Just then, the breakfast room door opened, and a figure rushed inside in a fluster. Olivia halted abruptly, her wild eyes searching the mostly empty room as if she had wandered into the wrong place entirely. But as her eyes settled upon Evan, the pretty pink flush in her cheeks darkened to an embarrassed red, and her gaze quickly flitted away toward the slender French windows.
What did Caro say to you?Evan longed to know, for her determination to avoid his gaze spoke volumes. She had certainly not avoided his eye the previous day. If anything, she had been defiant in her challenging stares… until he had kissed her bare hand. Was that it? Was that why she looked so uncomfortable? Could it be something so simple?
Enduring a long, lonely night with visions of her plaguing his dreams appeared to have had an unexpected effect upon Evan, his mind bending reasonable explanations into anxious suspicions.
“My Lord.” Olivia dipped her head and sat down as far from him as possible, stealing a triangle of toast from the rack in front of her.
Evan watched her as she lightly buttered the toast and spread a thick layer of marmalade on top. “I also like my toast that way,” he said limply, for he had not awoken with much left in his reservoir of wit and roguish charm.
“Pardon?” She did not look at him, concentrating so hard upon her toast that he feared she might break it in half.
“Nothing, Olivia,” he replied, his tone pointed as if to say,“What have I told you about using honorifics with me?”
She brushed her crumbed fingertips against a napkin. “I apologize for not joining everyone for dinner yesterday evening,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze. “I had quite an unfortunate headache after our revels by the lake. My mother has already scolded me for being rude, so do not feel the need to.”
“I think only my aunt and your mother dined together, in the end,” he admitted, for he, too, had decided not to descend for dinner. He had pretended to be asleep, going so far as to ignore the soft knock of his valet. He had heard his valet open the door a crack, where the fellow must have seen Evan curled up in bed, as he had quickly closed the door again and left him to his rest.
Is that why my aunt is not coming down to breakfast? Is it punishment?Evan considered it, but his aunt was not a petty creature.
“Caro was not there?” Olivia seemed genuinely surprised.
Evan turned to the footman. “Who dined last night?”
“Her Ladyship, the Dowager Countess, and Her Ladyship, the Viscountess,” the footman replied, bowing his head. “Lady Caroline took a tray in her chambers, owing to a headache.”
Olivia mustered a nervous smile. “It must have been catching.”
“Indeed.” Evan chewed his toast, swallowing too soon until he had to gulp coffee to stop himself from choking. Red in the face, eyes bulging slightly, he struggled to clear his throat.
“Are you quite well?” Olivia was halfway out of her chair. “Do you need help?”
He tried to answer, but there was a particularly scratchy crumb still lodged in his gullet.
A moment later, she was standing behind him, slamming her palm between his shoulder blades. The force of it took his breath away, which was precisely the opposite of what she was trying to achieve.
Twisting around, his hand shot out to grasp her by the wrist, preventing her from launching another attack. He held his free hand up in a gesture of surrender, and as she stood there, observing him with an expression of pale concern, he grabbed his cup of coffee and downed what was left. To his relief, it cleared whatever remained in his throat, and soon after, he took a clean breath.
“I would not wish to face you in a boxing match,” he joked, his voice hoarse. “That tremendous arm of yours is not only good for throwing, it seems. I thought you were about to dislodge my entire lung, not just that errant crumb of toast.”
Olivia took a nervous step back, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I was worried you were choking.”
“I was, but I think I would have preferred to suffocate with my pride intact,” he replied wryly. “Tell me, do you lift rocks at your family estate? Do you chop wood when no one is looking? I must know the secret of those powerful arms.”
A shy smile crept onto her face. “I read a lot,” she said, laughter filtering into her voice. “I find that turning so many pages, laden with such weighty literature, has strengthened me in both body and mind. Once I had toiled my way through bothParadise LostandThe History of Sir Charles Grandison,I did notice that heavier things were easier to lift.”
“You have readThe History of Sir Charles Grandison?” He gaped at her.
She nodded, and though he waited for a prideful comment, it did not come. She just shrugged as if it were nothing at all to read seven volumes of such immense length.
“My commiserations,” he remarked. “I lack the patience.”
“Perhaps, without other distractions, you might find the patience,” she replied. “As soon as I notice you becoming weary of our marriage, I shall leave the book, in its entirety, where you will be sure to find it.”
He smiled stiffly. “I think that might have the opposing effect and will bore me sooner.” He paused, seeing a flicker of something like hurt upon her face. “Your company, as it is, shall keep me well-entertained, I am sure.”
“So, you still intend to proceed with this?” She turned her back on him like she did not want him to see her expression, and returned to her chair. Her toast must have been cold by now.
