Page 40 of The Marquess and the Maiden

Chapter Ten

“You do know that you shouldn’t have invited me to this party of yours,” Benedict said.

“And you know that I don’t actually care a whit about what I should and shouldn’t do,” Oliver said. “I did not think I would be able to survive the weekend without you here.”

“I’m touched.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“So I’ve been told.” Benedict took a swallow of his champagne and winced. “I never did care for this drink.” He nodded to the room before them, people milling about at the refreshments table, couples dancing. “Are you going to tell me which one she is or should I guess?”

Before Oliver could answer his mother was swiftly walking toward him. “We have a bit of a problem,” she said once she reached him.

“What?”

“It would seem that our neighbors, the Manchesters, whom I invited out of courtesy…” She glanced at Benedict. “Hello, Benedict, I did not realize you were coming.” She smiled. “Always lovely to see you.”

“Lady Davenport,” he said.

“In any case, the Manchesters had house guests and they brought them along.”

“Why does any of this matter?” Oliver asked. Then he looked up at the French doors where the guests were arriving. “Son of a bitch!”

“Yes, well, that is what I was trying to tell you,” his mother said. “I can’t believe she’d actually show her face in this house.”

He could. This was precisely like Catherine to come into his home and gloat. She’d no doubt heard of his bride hunting. “Let us go and welcome our guests, Mother.” He linked her arm in his elbow and caned his way over to the people who’d just arrived. He made certain to hit that cane on the floor nice and loud so she could hear it, so she could watch him painfully walk toward her.

Catherine met his gaze and sucked in a breath. Her eyes warmed, and her lips parted. “My lord,” she said with a curtsy. Her husband stood staid beside her, handsome and tall and perfect.

“Davenport,” he nodded.

“Burgess,” Oliver said. He turned his gaze back to Catherine. “I did not realize we’d invited you.”

“You’ll have to excuse our intrusion,” Catherine said. “We were guests of the Manchesters, and they insisted we come along.”

His mother smiled, though he noticed it looked as if it were made of glass and could break at any moment. “Welcome,” she bit out. “Goodness, Catherine, when was the last time I saw you?”

It was not an authentic question. Of course, they all knew when it had been. When she’d seen that Oliver was crippled and she’d turned tail and ran.

The woman didn’t even have the decency to blush. “I can’t recall. It has been years. You both look well.” Her eyes took in the length of Oliver and, if he wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn he saw desire in their depths. “Quite well.” She licked her lips and gave him a seductive grin.

When he looked at her, he felt nothing, not even anger or hatred, just nothing, as if she were a stranger he passed on the street.

Suddenly he wanted Harriet at his side. He’d seen Catherine now, up close and real, with her perfect husband at her side, who was practically glaring a hole through Oliver’s chest. He, in turn, wanted to parade his own choice around, flaunt Harriet’s seductive curves in front of Catherine and her tall, lithe frame. But he couldn’t do that. Not yet, at least.

“Invited or not, I suppose you’re here now. Do enjoy your evening,” Oliver said, then pulled his mother away.

“I cannot believe she’s here,” his mother said.

“Of course you can, Mother. This is entirely her. Catherine heard I was on the bride hunt and she came out to watch.”

“She was flirting with you while standing right beside her husband. That woman has no shame.”

“No, she doesn’t.” He needed to see Harriet, to bask in her warmth and light for a while and rub off the sensation that seeing Catherine had left behind. He had no feelings for the woman. She was a coldhearted bitch. But seeing her certainly reminded him of everything he was not—a whole man with a perfect form and the ability to dance and many other things she’d deemed so important that she’d backed out of their betrothal. His mother scurried off to meet other guests, leaving him to look for Harriet.

He had no trouble locating her. She was a beacon to his damaged ship, her golden gown accenting the pale curls atop her head. He reached her side and pulled at her elbow. “Harriet, I need to speak with you.”

Her cinnamon-colored eyes looked up into his face, and she nodded. She walked out onto the balcony with him.

---