Page 4 of Scoundrel at First Sight (Love at First Sight #2)

By the third song, an exceedingly slow rendition of Mozart’s Requiem in D Minor , she was all but squirming in her seat.

She simply wasn’t designed to sit still for such a long period of time, and she definitely wasn’t meant to sit next to him .

The American bane of her existence. But if she left, she feared he would follow her.

And if he followed her… if he followed her, she was very afraid of what might happen next.

When the recital finally reached its conclusion, Olivia was the first one out of her chair. She made a desperate lunge for the doorway, but - as was the case this morning - she wasn’t quite quick enough to escape her mother’s purview.

“Olivia!” called the duchess, and the crowd obediently parted to make way as she cut an elegant path from the front of the room to the back. “Olivia, darling, you’re still here. What a lovely show of support for your sister.”

“Yes,” she said with a false sense of airiness. “You know me. Always happy to sit through a three-hour recital if it means being able to listen to Jane’s remarkable musical talent. But now that it’s over-”

“Mr. Culpepper.” The duchess’s gaze went over her shoulder as the corners of her eyes creased in a smile. “How nice to see you again. Have you been introduced to my third daughter, Lady Olivia?”

“Your Grace.” Hoyt’s flawlessly executed bow caused his thigh to brush against hers before he straightened, took her hand, and brushed his mouth across her gloved knuckles before she had the wherewithal to snatch it away.

“I had the immense pleasure of meeting your daughter this morning. She is an absolute delight.”

The duchess’s smile grew wider. “She is , isn’t she? I am so glad you both have already had the opportunity to make each other’s acquaintance. It will make dinner so much more enjoyable.”

“Why is that?” Olivia asked warily.

“I’m so glad you asked. We’re doing our seating chart a bit differently this year. Instead of changing each night, I’ve assigned everyone a partner. I will be next to your father, of course. Jane and Bethany will be beside their respective husband and fiancé.”

“And where will I be?”

“Why, beside Mr. Culpepper. Every dinner. For the next fourteen days.”

***

Hoyt had never seen someone choke on their own tongue before, but he had a feeling he was witnessing it now.

When Olivia’s mouth began to take on a distinctly blue hue he raised his hand, ready to slap her on the back, but to his relief - and amusement - she managed to clear her throat without assistance.

“What?” she sputtered, loud enough to gain them an audience of curious onlookers. “That’s - that’s absurd. I cannot sit next to him .”

“Why not?” Duchess Abercorn queried.

“Yes, why not?” Hoyt echoed, sliding his hands into the side seam pockets of his trousers.

“Because…” Olivia’s eyes brewed green fire as they flashed between her mother and Hoyt. “Because he is intolerable!”

“Are you?” the duchess asked him, arching a brow.

He lifted a shoulder. “From time to time.”

“Excellent,” the duchess declared. “So is my daughter. I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful pair.”

“ Mother -”

“If you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to attend to.” As Olivia’s mother glided away, she turned on him with the ferocity of a lioness.

“I am not sitting next to you at dinner,” she hissed, grinding her heel into the floor.

He lifted his hands, palms facing outward in a gesture of feigned helplessness.

“I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, my lady, but you’re not exactly fine company yourself.

Unfortunately, I’d hate to repay your mother’s wonderful hospitality by defying her seating chart. Those are hard to organize, you know.”

Twin plumes of pink appeared in the middle of Olivia’s cheeks. “She’s doing this on purpose. A wonderful pair. She’s not even bothering to be subtle about it anymore.”

“Subtle about what?”

“Marrying me off to the first man that can stand the sight of me.”

“Marrying you off to the first man who… wait!” He fell in step behind his recalcitrant dinner partner as she sailed out of the music room on a huff of hot air, his gaze straying a bit further down than polite society would have deemed permissible. But how could he stop himself?

Olivia was beautiful was she was calm.

She was gorgeous when she was angry.

The color in her cheeks reminded him of a sunset and her eyes burned like emeralds set aflame.

For too long, he’d found himself surrounded by pale, prim princesses afraid to step outside less they get a smudge of dirt on their perfect hemline and here Olivia was charging full bore for the front door, her glorious curls bouncing in her wake as every step loosened the pins trying to hold them in place.

A footman hastily opened the door and she sailed through it without breaking speed.

Hoyt tipped his head at the fellow, commending him for his quick reflexes, before he hastened his own stride so as not to lose sight of Olivia when she went around the side of the house and through a rose garden to a white gazebo.

“Better?” he asked, pausing with one foot on the top step and his arms braced on the supporting pillars.

“A bit,” she said, her bosom heaving from the exertion of her hasty exit from the manor as she leaned against the railing.

Once again, Hoyt’s gaze slipped further down that it should have.

“I can’t… I can’t breathe in a room like that.

Full of people staring, all of them silently questioning why I didn’t turn out like Jane or Bethany.

All of them feeling sorry for my mother and father.

Sorry for me , that I am the way that I am. ”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said quietly, his eyes seeking her face. For the first time, he made himself look past the beauty. Past the anger. Past the stubbornness. All the way down to the dismay and the self-doubt.

How many others, he wondered, bothered to search that far?

From what little he’d observed thus far, it was clear that the Duke and Duchess of Abercorn adored all three of their daughters.

It was also equally clear that the eldest two were held in far higher regard by the ton than the youngest, and Olivia wasn’t oblivious - or immune - to High Society’s opinion of her.

No matter how much she pretended otherwise.

“That’s because you’re an arrogant American,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You don’t feel sorry for anyone.”

“True,” he acknowledged. “Why do you think men cannot stand the sight of you? I find you breathtaking, myself. You’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen, Olivia. That is not a compliment. It’s a fact.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “My hair is red .”

“Red so happens to be my favorite color.”

“I have freckles .”

“Gifts from a life lived in the sun.”

“My mouth is too small, like a bird.”

“Your mouth is perfect.”

She glanced downward. “I’m flat-chested.”

“Now that just isn’t true.” He entered the gazebo, approaching her as a he might a feral animal. With respect, wonder, and a healthy dose of caution. “Who told you all of these things?”

“Different people.”

“Different men?” A muscle ticked in his jaw when she gave a small nod. “Tell me their names and I’ll shoot them for you. I brought my Kentucky Long Rifle.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.” She crossed her arms. “My point was that every potential suitor my mother has tried to match me up with has gone running. Now there’s no one left, and she’s gotten desperate enough to go searching for my mythical future husband across the pond.”

He scratched his chin. “Why do I have a feeling some of them ran off because you insulted them?”

“It’s not my fault no one appreciates a woman who speaks her mind.”

“There can be a fine line between speaking one’s mind and disparaging them.”

“I did try. I did ,” she exclaimed at his skeptical glance.

“For the first half dozen, I was on my best behavior. But even my best wasn’t good enough.

Even being the daughter of a duke wasn’t good enough.

I always said something too political. Or I accidentally stomped on their foot during a minuet.

Or I spilled lemonade on their beloved grandmother’s cat. ”

“That last one is oddly specific.”

Olivia sighed. “Both of my sisters have made excellent matches. I would have hoped my parents would be content with that, but it seems they won’t be happy until all three of us are married off.”

“Or they won’t be happy until you’re happy.”

“I am happy,” she said defensively.

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Then prove it.” He reached out and traced his thumb along the delicate line of her jaw, then cupped her cheek. “If love, romance, and marriage genuinely hold no appeal for you, then don’t kiss me back.”

Her eyes darkened. “Who said I want you to kiss me at all?”

He lowered his head until his lips were a hair’s breadth above her own. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered huskily. “Tell me I’m terrible, and you want nothing to do with me, and I’ll stop right now and never bother you again. Tell me, Olivia.”

“I…” Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “I can’t.”

On a soft groan, Hoyt pressed his lips to hers.