“I was not going to fall,” she told him, catching her breath.
“I could not be certain of that.” It seemed that he, too, was breathing rather fast.
“Is this another one of your usual tricks? Do you wait until a lady is unbalanced, and catch her in your arms?” She had to know.
He kept gazing into her eyes. “I… thought you were going to hurt yourself.” It was neither the answer she had expected nor wanted, avoiding her question.
She swallowed thickly, her palm feeling the swift thud of his heart beating. “What would no one say a word about?” she wondered aloud, her legs too shaky to move. “Me running away or me spending the morning alone with you?”
“Either,” he replied, pulling her closer.
It was not the same as his previous attempts to intimidate or unsettle her, though she could not quite explain why. His demeanor was different. His quick breaths, his racing heart, his concerned expression, his gentle eyes, his almost shy embrace of her… they belonged to a man she did not know. And as his gaze flitted to her lips, there was none of the sultriness or blatant seductiveness she had witnessed before. It was like he did not even realize what he was doing, for as his eyes came back up to look into hers, the apple in his throat bobbed with something like awkwardness.
“We should return,” she said, abruptly stepping back.
His arm—the one that had held her close a moment ago—fell to his side. “So, not running away?”
“Not until you do,” she replied.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I am pleased to hear it.”
“Are you?” she challenged, realizing with some shock that she truly did want to know.
“Of course. It is our duty, remember?” He began to walk away, leaving her to catch up to him this time.
But she did not. Instead, she walked a few paces behind him, lightly touching the curve of her waist where he had pulled her closer while her palm pulsed with the rhythm of his fast-beating heart.
Why was his heart racing like that?she wondered, for surely a man with a reputation such as his did not suffer a rapid heartbeat by merely holding a woman in his arms. Much less a woman who had been called upon to put an end to his rakish ways.
CHAPTERELEVEN
“Where did you rogues disappear to?” Daniel’s voice echoed through the entrance hall of Westyork Manor, which appeared to be in a state of disarray. Crates of garlands were scattered across the grand foyer, decorations abandoned wherever there was room, while servants rushed hither and thither with their arms stuffed with candles and flowers and anything else they had been called upon to arrange.
Evan entered the house with Olivia on his arm, and though he would not admit it to a soul, he rather liked the feeling of having her beside him. Almost as much as he had liked the feeling of having her in his arms. “My charming betrothed smelled a pie.”
“I must always follow my nose,” Olivia agreed, her eyes fixed ahead at the figure walking through the shadows of the far hallway to greet them.
Evan waited with bated breath, keeping Olivia’s beautiful face in his periphery so he could gauge her immediate reaction to Daniel, the Earl of Westyork.
Caroline appeared first, dragging her brother along as she cried, “You will simply adore Olivia, brother. She is already my dearest friend.” She paused. “Did you say you pursued a pie?”
“In essence.” Olivia laughed. “Although, I did not get a slice.”
Evan saw her eyes widen as Daniel came into view, and with good reason. Every young lady that had ever visited the house and every young lady the men encountered when they attended balls and gatherings together lost the ability to speak when they set eyes upon Daniel.
Where Evan was fair and green-eyed, everything about Daniel was mysterious and dark, from his raven black hair to his dark brown eyes, so dark that they also appeared black. His skin was pale and almost translucent, revealing a faint web of blue veins. The ladies they met often whispered that he must be a vampire and promptly swooned at the delicious horror of such a notion, stroking their slender necks as if inviting a bite.
The truth, of course, was that Daniel spent so much of his time attending to business that he rarely saw sunlight. He holed himself away in his study or the gloomy rooms of commerce in London or Bath or Manchester, though in his youth, he had loathed spending his days indoors, browning in the summer sun until he resembled a Spaniard.
“That must be remedied,” Daniel said, approaching Olivia with an equally surprised smile.
Evan noticed his cousin making a detailed observation of Olivia, Daniel’s expression appreciative, and all at once, he truly understood his aunt’s warning. Evan did not like the way his cousin was looking at Olivia one bit.
“And how would you remedy it, My Lord?” Olivia replied silkily. “I am not a lady who is afraid of her own appetites, but I rather think a second breakfast is excessive. Nor would I wish to ruin the perfection of that pie with greed.”
Daniel’s eyebrows rose a quarter of an inch. “You did not say she was a wit, Caro.”
“I most certainly did!” Caroline protested.
