Page 15 of Deceiving an Earl
Not that Oliver was unkind. He wasn’t. But he was also the last person from whom she wanted help.
She put her head in her hands and fought the tears pressing against her eyes as so many emotions overtook her.
Ellen watched Lord Fairview—Oliver—walk away. Her heart was beating wildly, and she cursed half of the men on her dance card for taking up time that would be wasted with them. She’d so wanted to find some space for him, but that would have been rude to the men who had written their names down.
She fingered the card hanging from her wrist, wishing she could erase just one name and put Oliver’s in.
His eyes had not flickered, no regret had crossed his face, when she’d denied him a dance. And that, most of all, was what sealed it for her. He was so self-assured. Not pompous, just…assured.
His friend, a boy whose name she could not remember, turned to follow Oliver. Ellen quickly grabbed his sleeve to stop him. He jumped, as if pinched.
“Tell Lord Fairview that I will be in Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon. Around two,” she whispered.
At first his brows came together as if he didn’t know what to make of her pronouncement. And then his expression cleared. He nodded and hurried after Oliver.
Immediately she was nervous. What had she done? She should go after the friend, tell him to forget what she said. But she wanted to talk to Oliver, to meet with him, to get to know him. He was intriguing, so different from the boys she knew.
Maybe she should have asked him to call on her. That would have been more proper, but she didn’t know how her parents would feel about that. They were very strict with the people she called friends. All her life she’d been told that their social success rested on her shoulders.
Oliver was a viscount; surely that would be socially acceptable to her parents.
But she didn’t want him to come to her house. She wanted to meet him somewhere where they could talk without the watchful eyes of her mother.
No, she would not rescind her invitation. She would be in Hyde Park the next day even if she had to lie to her mother to get there, and she would see where this would lead her.
She was also to blame for the indiscretion. She was the one who had wanted an adventure, who had wanted Oliver all to herself without her parents hovering.
She had not wanted to marry Arthur. She had been so young, and he had been so…old. Ancient in her seventeen-year-old eyes. But her objections had been no match for her parents, and she had not realized until then how determined they were to control her entire life and how powerless she had actually been.
She felt just as powerless now.
She did not want to accept Oliver’s offer to help. But, like so many years ago, she felt that maybe she did not have a choice.
…
“My sources tell me that Lady Fieldhurst is hosting another salon. Tonight. Will you be able to attend?”
It had been a whole week since Oliver had sent the note with the flowers, and he had not heard from Ellen.
Maybe he had assumed too much. Maybe he had seen things that weren’t really there. Maybe her problems with her son were nothing more than the usual problems with boys coming out of childhood and feeling their way to adulthood. Maybe he’d been a fool to reach out in the first place. There had been no need to open old wounds, but he’d done it anyway, and now he was suffering for it.
O’Leary wanted him to go back, and he wasn’t sure he could.
“Isn’t there someone else you can send?” he asked. “Someone who can get closer to Bertrand other than at these events?”
“We’ve tried. He has a very tight circle of friends that don’t take kindly to strangers.”
Oliver sighed and put his empty mug of ale down on the desk. “Very well.” He’d go tonight, do what he needed to do, report back to O’Leary, and wash his hands of the whole mess.
He was glad that Ashland wasn’t here. He would see that Oliver was out of sorts and would want to know why, and Oliver had never told Ashland about Ellen. Out of respect for her he’d never told anyone, and he wasn’t going to start now.
Chapter Five
He saw her as soon as he walked in. She was wearing blue this evening. Ironically, so was he. Hers was a deep blue, the color of royalty. She looked regal with her head held high and her slight smile.
He tore his gaze from her and searched for Bertrand. He found Amelie instead.
“My lord,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
