His Wicked Heart (17 page)

Olivia took his arm and inclined her head to
the duke and duchess as Jasper led her onto the dance floor.
“Actually, you’re not on my dance card,” she said.

“Would you prefer to remain with my parents?
Her Grace was just getting warmed up.”

“No, thank you. However did you grow up with
them?”

“I had nurses, governesses, tutors. A younger
sister to torture. I rarely saw them.” Which had been true until
James died. Then Jasper had seen Holborn much more than he ever
would have preferred.

She nodded as they moved into a square for
the dance.

He bent his head next to her and murmured, “I
didn’t think to ask. Do you even know how to dance?”

She arched a brow and lifted her wrist.
“Clearly, since I have a dance card.”

He’d noticed the card, of course. “It was a
fair question given what I know about you. I didn’t mean to
insult.”

The music began, and for the first few
minutes, she focused very intently on the steps. She did, in fact,
know the dance, but it seemed to have been awhile since she’d
executed it.

They moved apart and then together within the
square of dancers. He caught sight of Lady Philippa dancing in
another square. He ought to be focusing his attention on her
instead of the lovely siren who’d beguiled him, but he still needed
to monitor Olivia’s actions. The steps came easier to her now, and
she moved with grace and precision. She seemed able to comport
herself well, and he knew from Farringdon’s dinner party that she
was more than capable of holding her own in a conversation. He’d
been the one who’d panicked and thrown sherry down her dress.

Despite all of that, he couldn’t trust that
her lies wouldn’t be exposed. He had to ensure they weren’t or
somehow remove the threat. Unfortunately, one didn’t “remove” the
Duke of Holborn.

When they came together again, she frowned.
“You look as if you’ve engaged in another altercation since I saw
you last.” She lowered her voice to a discreet level. “I know you
fight at the Black Horse.”

Never, ever did he allow himself to betray
surprise or any other strong emotion in the center of a ballroom,
but he faltered and fought to remember the next step. Her hands
tightened where they touched him, as if she sought to keep him
focused. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that here,” she
whispered.

She’d rattled him with her curiosity and
concern. If they’d met under different circumstances, he was
certain he would’ve liked her. However, given the complications of
their acquaintance, he couldn’t allow himself to become too
familiar. “No, you shouldn’t have. But neither should you mention
it anywhere else. It’s none of your concern.”

The dance finally concluded, and Jasper
quickly ushered her back to Louisa. Thankfully, his parents had
departed the ballroom.

Time to find Lady Philippa. She, too, had
just left the dance floor and was now making her way toward the
refreshment table in the corner.

Halfway to his mark, an annoying chap called
Twickersham stepped in his way. “I say, who’s that lovely miss you
were just dancing with? I hear she’s some distant cousin?”

Jasper looked over the shorter man’s shoulder
at Lady Philippa. Several men were vying for her attention as one
procured her a glass of ratafia. His patience, never in danger of
being lost in public, thinned to almost nothing. What was wrong
with him this evening? Was he on edge due to Olivia? And if so, was
it because of her deception, or because he wanted to take her into
a dark sitting room and toss up her skirts?
Do not think of
that
.

Or maybe his bad mood had been brought on by
Olivia’s query about the club. He knew he’d be inviting curiosity
with the bruise on his face, but she’d gone one step further. She
knew something no one else did. The thought was discomfiting. He
preferred people know only what he wanted them to.

“Might I ask for an introduction?”
Twickersham continued as if Jasper had answered his initial
query.

He curled his fingers into his palms.
Twickersham was a sycophantic leech. Jasper would sooner introduce
him to a sinking ship. “You’ll have to ask my aunt.”

Twickersham’s tiny brown eyes narrowed. “I
suppose I shall. I say, did you get that bruise at Jackson’s?
Haven’t seen you there in some time. Did your opponent eschew hand
mufflers? Nasty looking. You oughtn’t box without the proper
equipment. Quite dangerous.”

Surely he wasn’t lecturing Jasper about the
rules of boxing? Already vexed, Twickersham’s nonsense only annoyed
him further. Jasper bit back an insult and made to continue on his
way.

Twickersham then did something extremely
foolish. He grabbed Jasper’s arm, halting his progress. “I see
you’ve set your sights on Lady Philippa. Your title may be one of
the finest in England, but her father’s looking for a foreign
husband, perhaps even royalty. I put my wager in at White’s—she’ll
snare a prince.”

The final remnants of Jasper’s control
snapped. He shook off Twickersham’s grasp with a harsh jab of his
elbow that caught the shorter man in his oversized gut. He pinned
Twickersham with a menacing stare. “Don’t touch me again. Not if
you want to use that hand.”

The other man’s eyes widened. Already, Jasper
could see Twickersham couldn’t wait to recount this tale.

In an effort to slow the soon-to-be-gossip,
Jasper muttered, “My apologies.” He quickly strode away in search
of Lady Philippa.

She was no longer near the refreshment table.
In fact, he couldn’t locate her at all.
God damn it
. The
room seemed to tunnel to a pinpoint before his eyes. His hands
fisted again and he wanted to pummel Twickersham into the
floorboards. He moved closer to one of the open windows, seeking
any bit of cool air to soothe his temper.

Eventually his heart rate returned to normal,
and the ballroom finally came back into focus. He couldn’t quite
comprehend his reactions this evening. What had come over him?

“What the devil are you doing sulking in the
corner?”

Holborn. This moment only needed his
presence.

Jasper struggled to appear calm and
controlled. “Seeking a brief respite.”

“From what? All you’ve done is dance with
that worthless West chit. I don’t care if you were trying to please
my sister. You spend far too much time attending Louisa, anyway.
You should be courting Lady Philippa.”

Jasper’s insides ignited, and he strove to
keep his anger in check. “I’m looking for her now, actually.”

“I saw her going toward the gaming room. It’s
the second door to the left.”

Without a word, Jasper made his way to the
gaming room. The door the duke had indicated was closed. Jasper
entered. The room did not contain gaming tables or guests.

Save one.

Lady Philippa stood in the center of the room
with her hands clasped before her, as if she’d been waiting for
him. He fought a surge of panic. If they were caught alone…

“Lord Saxton. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Which seemed to imply she was expecting
someone
. Christ, he supposed he wanted to marry her, but
another compromise even if it was with the “right” woman? His
vision tunneled again.

A shock of clarity hit Jasper. He touched her
arm as she drew near, but immediately withdrew his hand. “Who were
you expecting?”

“My mother. A footman said she needed help
with her gown and that I should meet her here.”

“Did anyone see you come in here?”

Her amber eyes widened. “I don’t think so. I
don’t know,” she said, with an edge of alarm.

“It’s all right, but you do understand that
we can’t be caught here together?” Seeking to soothe the alarm in
her gaze, he gave her a benign smile. “I still plan to see you at
my mother’s picnic day after tomorrow.”

She nodded.
Good girl
.

“Go, now. I’ll get out another way.” He
gestured toward the door he entered. Another door presumably led to
an adjoining room. A hopefully empty room.

“Thank you,” she said, before hurrying from
the chamber.

Jasper exited into the actual gaming room and
nearly bumped into Holborn’s closest friend.

Lord Dalton looked up at Jasper, startled. “I
was just going to open that door, try to get a bit of air
circulating. Devilish hot tonight, what?”

Holborn’s plan was obvious. He no doubt
figured it would be easy to set up a compromise, especially for a
man as experienced in the art as Jasper.

Before Jasper could say or do anything he’d
regret, Black and Penreith hailed him from a nearby table. He
quickly made his way to their side.

“Join us, Sax,” Penreith invited.

Just then Sevrin stood from a table in the
corner. His gaze met Jasper’s and he quirked a brow in silent
question.

“Thank you, but no.”

Penreith followed his gaze and gave a slight
frown. “Sevrin?”

Jasper glared down at Penreith. “What of
him?”

“It’s one thing to chat at White’s…”

Sevrin headed toward the door. Jasper
followed. He didn’t care what Black and Penreith thought. He’d
never needed anything the way he needed the club just then. None of
the other fighters demanded anything they weren’t willing to give
in return. It was a shared experience. A brotherhood.

Just now it seemed the only place he truly
belonged.

OLIVIA longed to step onto the terrace to
escape the suffocating heat of the ballroom. Or perhaps she only
wanted to move closer to where Jasper stood conversing with his
father. Their relationship seemed complicated and, being without
her own father, she wanted to know why.

Instead, she plied her fan and imagined what
their intense discussion might be about. Suddenly Jasper walked
away, leaving the duke with a satisfied set to his mouth. He cut
back through the ballroom toward his duchess. People nodded as he
passed or tried to engage him in conversation. He paused for no
one. His gaze, not as pale as Jasper’s, though every bit as
glacial, traversed the room, but settled nowhere. She imagined it
lingered in her direction, but perhaps he was merely noting his
sister’s location.

“Olivia?” Audrey Cheswick, the girl she’d met
at Lord Farringdon’s, stood in front of her with another young
woman. Olivia was surprised she hadn’t noticed their approach. Had
she been that intent upon her study of the Duke of Holborn?

“Good evening, Miss Cheswick.”

“Really, you ought to call me Audrey. Didn’t
I tell you to call me Audrey?” She waved a hand as if her address
was a triviality. “I’ve brought my dearest friend to meet you.
Lydia, this is Miss Olivia West. Olivia, this is Lady Lydia
Prewitt.”

Lady Lydia inclined her head. She was
exceptionally pretty—everything Olivia imagined a young London miss
ought to be: porcelain-perfect skin, warm brown eyes, bright golden
hair. “Audrey has told me all about you. London must be quite a
change from, where was it? Oh yes,
Devon
.” Was that a
shudder flickering through Lady Lydia’s frame or had Olivia
imagined it?

“I’m finding London most diverting, thank
you.”

Louisa turned from her friend, with whom she
had been conversing. She smiled at the two young women. “Hello,
dears. Olivia, I’m going to take a short stroll with Lady
Montrose.” Her gaze held a bit of question. She wanted to be sure
Olivia was comfortable.
So thoughtful
.

Olivia smiled to reassure her. “If I’m not
here when you get back, I’m scheduled to dance with Mr. Lyle.”

With a nod, Louisa linked arms with her
friend and departed.

“Mr. Lyle?” Lady Lydia asked, her nasally
voice climbing an octave. “Audrey, you didn’t tell me Olivia needed
our help so drastically.”

Olivia closed her fan. “What’s wrong with Mr.
Lyle?”

Lady Lydia leaned forward, but didn’t lower
her voice so that it looked like she was imparting a confidence,
but in truth was spreading gossip to anyone who chanced by.
“Terrible scapegrace. Not a farthing to his name. Charming as he is
poor, however. One dance won’t hurt, but don’t dance with him
again.”

Olivia began to see the benefit of making
friends, although she supposed Louisa would have informed her of
Mr. Lyle’s reputation later. Likely in the privacy of the Rose Room
back at Queen Street. “I won’t. I believe more than one dance with
a partner signifies a courtship of some kind?”

“Not just tonight. I meant, don’t dance with
him again
ever
.” Lady Lydia shook her head as if Olivia were
a simpleton.

Audrey’s friend was rapidly annoying Olivia.
Audrey’s lack of comment was also troubling. Was her silence due to
her inability to squeeze a word into the conversation, or did she
agree with Lady Lydia?

An awkward moment passed before Lady Lydia’s
face lit. “From laundering your own clothes to the premier London
event of the Season, my goodness, but you’re a lucky girl! Lady
Merriweather is most generous, but then she has ample resources.
Even luckier, you get to spend time with Saxton in a familial
setting. Tell us, what is he like?”

Olivia thought of many answers to that
question, most of them inappropriate. A bit of devilish impulse
beckoned her to say,
if one can get past his fighting and
arrogance, he’s wonderfully charitable and kind, and his
kisses
… She didn’t even dare finish
thinking
that
sentence. “I haven’t spent all that much time with him. He’s most
solicitous.”

Lady Lydia rolled her eyes. “How boring. He’s
always so impeccably mannered in public too. Always the stiffest
cravat in the room. Such a shame since he’s so attractive. Ah well,
I’d be willing to put up with his excessive propriety given his
title and wealth.” She tossed a grin toward Audrey. “Audrey is
hoping for a chance with him, but I daresay he’s going to choose
someone with a flawless bloodline. Lady Philippa Latham perhaps. In
fact…” She slid her gaze around the room in a quick survey.
“Neither of them are in the ballroom. How…interesting.”