Page 56 of Deceiving an Earl
She took a tentative step, testing the resilience of her legs, and headed toward the stairs before she realized she still had his handkerchief balled up in her hands. She tossed it in the nearest bush and marched up the steps, head held high, and all emotion locked away.
Just like she’d done seventeen years ago.
Chapter Fifteen
Oliver entered the ballroom and Josie was immediately at his side.
“Where have you been?” she whispered. “Mother’s been looking all over for you.”
“I needed fresh air.”
Josie took his arm and steered him around the perimeter of the crowd. “Mother is not pleased that you disappeared. She wanted you to speak to Sylvia and her mother. Apparently, they are planning on you calling on Sylvia tomorrow and beginning your courtship.”
Oliver closed his eyes. He’d forgotten all about that. Of course he couldn’t court her now.
“Josie.” Oliver dragged his sister to a stop behind a pillar. “You have to make an excuse to Mother.”
“Oh, no—”
“Please. I can’t face Sylvia. You were right. She’s not for me, and I don’t want to encourage her.”
“You owe me—”
“No.Youoweme. For the other night at the salon.”
Josie’s eyes narrowed, but he knew he had her on this one.
“Very well,” she said. “But Mother will not be pleased.”
“I will handle Mother. Just tell her… I don’t know. You’ll think of something.”
Josie looked around. “She’s at the other side of the room. If you’re going to go, go now.”
“Thank you, Jose.”
Oliver slipped through the edges of the crowd. Lurking like this was beneath him, but tonight he paused behind a tall potted plant where he could see the doors that he’d just walked through from the terrace. After a few minutes Ellen entered, gliding in, looking serene and beautiful. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, and let the whole world know that she was his and he was hers. But he was determined to do this the right way, not in the middle of a ball where dozens of people expected him to announce a courtship with Lady Sylvia.
Now that he knew Ellen was safe inside, he skulked around the edges of the crowd, found a side door near the kitchen, and slipped out.
He went to his club and began drinking, because he didn’t want to go to his empty house.
Seventeen years ago his chance at happiness had been ruined. Or had it? Maybe it had merely been delayed. Maybe they were meant to wait this long, to come to each other as mature adults.
Making love to Ellen had been like coming home after a long journey away. A cold drink of lemonade after a hot day working outside.
After Ellen’s marriage to Arthur, Oliver had thrown himself into his studies. And after his father died, he’d been determined to modernize the estate and the farms and to make as much money as possible. It’d been his passion, and he’d been damn good at it. Until the estate could run on its own and he’d made so much money he couldn’t spend it in three lifetimes.
Life had become somewhat dull until O’Leary had asked him to look into Ellen’s salons. And then suddenly his life had meaning.
He tried to play cards but quickly realized that he was too far into his cups to concentrate, and he was losing money faster than was comfortable.
He left the club, his tread unsteady as he listed a little to the left. He still didn’t want to go home. His house was truly a bachelor’s residence—cold and lonely.
After leaving Eton, his sister had been young and he’d felt stifled at home, so he’d taken his first profits from a textile investment and had purchased his own townhouse. He’d enjoyed not answering to anyone and keeping his own hours, but had to admit that the alone-ness got tiring at times.
Ashland!
He would visit Ashland. Ashland would talk to him and have a few drinks with him. And Ashland lived close. Within walking distance.
