Page 5 of Scoundrel at First Sight (Love at First Sight #2)

Part III

“ I love her and that’s the beginning and end of everything.”

~ American novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald

Olivia had been kissed three times in her life.

The first was a dry peck that had reminded her of a chicken.

The second had been wet and sloppy, like being engulfed by a salmon.

And the third… the third didn’t feel like a kiss at all, because if the first two had been kisses by definition, then this was… this was something else entirely.

Hoyt’s mouth was shockingly tender as he gently passed his lips back and forth, encouraging her own to part so that he could deepen the kiss.

On a small moan, she sank helplessly into his embrace as if she were sinking into the pages of an excellent book.

A book that both thrilled her and warmed her heart.

A book that she already mourned finishing before she was halfway through.

A book that made her gasp with delight. A book so good that there were parts where she had to close the pages and then close her eyes to imprint the words upon her soul.

Hoyt’s kiss was a book.

A book that she did not want to end.

“Olivia,” he murmured, angling his head to trace a light line of kisses down her neck and then up again to her ear.

“Hmmm?” she said on a sigh.

“You kissed me back.”

Had she?

Yes, she supposed that she had.

“You’re still an arrogant American.” She was holding his waistcoat, she realized dazedly.

Clutching the fabric in her fists as if the satin brocade was the only thing anchoring her to the ground.

She slowly opened her hands as Hoyt shifted his weight onto his heels, his expression almost unbearably smug.

“You kissed me back,” he repeated.

When her fingers itched to brush an ebony swath of hair off his temple, she put her arms behind her and leaned against the railing, putting as much space between them as she could given he was standing right in front of her. A tall, towering scoundrel with a devil’s grin and the mouth of an angel.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she said quickly, lest he get a wayward idea in that thick skull of his. “I still don’t like you.”

“That puts us in a predicament, doesn’t it?” he said, clasping his neck where his skin turned to bronze above the straight edge of his collar.

“Why is that?”

“Because while you profess not to like me, I confess that I’m falling in love with you.”

Olivia’s mouth, still tingling from the kiss, fell open. “Take that back this instant.”

The corner of his lips twisted in a lopsided smirk that would have been adorable if her heart wasn’t lodged in the base of her throat.

“I won’t.”

“You just met me this morning.”

“And in thirty years, when your exquisite red hair is beginning to shine with threads of silver, I’ll still be falling in love with you.” He touched her cheek. She swatted his hand away.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You are .”

“Olivia…” His blue eyes searched hers, drawing her into someplace she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. “I’m not.”

“If my mother put you up to this-”

“The only thing the Duchess of Abercorn did was extend an invitation to a summer house party that I am now infinitely glad that I accepted.”

Her gaze darted to the side. She felt… she felt… well, she couldn’t describe how she felt. Hot and cold, all at once. Happy - was this what her parents had wanted? - but also nervous. Excited and frightened.

If this was love, she didn’t want anything to do with it.

“I have to go,” she said, bolting past him down the gazebo steps.

“Olivia,” he called after her. She could hear his grin. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

***

She did see Hoyt at dinner. That night, and seven consecutive nights after. During the day, he found all kinds of ways to annoy her.

He brought her flowers.

He read her poetry.

He went riding with her.

And when no one was looking, he kissed her.

She liked the last part.

She liked the last part very much.

But the rest… the rest she wasn’t sure about.

Even though her mother was elated.

“Oh, Olivia,” the duchess gushed on the ninth morning of the house party.

Yesterday it had rained, trapping everyone inside.

But today had dawned bright and beautiful, with a clear blue sky that matched Hoyt’s eyes and a light breeze that stirred the downy curls on Olivia’s nape as she stood on her mother’s balcony overlooking the stables.

“Mr. Culpepper is just wonderful, isn’t he?

So very polite and attentive. The bouquet of flowers he brought you were lovely. Dahlias. Your favorite.”

“I like them better when they’re growing in the ground instead of slowly dying in a vase,” she grumbled under her breath, and even to her own ears her words sounded catty and ill-mannered. “Yes, you’re right. They’re beautiful.”

And she did love waking up to them beside her bed every day. The colorful pink and yellow blooms were the first thing she looked at when she woke and the last thing she saw before she went to bed. But just because she loved the flowers Hoyt had picked for her didn’t mean that she loved him .

Did she?

Honestly, she wasn’t sure anymore.

“How did you know?” she asked suddenly.

“Know what, dear?”

“That you and father were meant to be together.”

“What an excellent question.” The duchess smiled. “I’m glad that you thought to ask it.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. I’m merely… curious.”

“Of course. You always were a curious child.”

“Mother–”

“I didn’t know. Not at first. Not for a while, actually.

I’m sure that when I am old, counting what remains of my life in months instead of years, I will regret those weeks that I wasted being afraid to fall in love with a good man that was already in love with me.

But,” she said, making a clucking sound with her tongue, “you cannot change the past. You can only learn from it, and hope that it’s given you enough wisdom to guide your children in a better direction. Oh look, there they are!”

“Who?” Olivia asked, following the direction of her mother’s finger as the duchess pointed toward the courtyard in front of the stables.

She saw a dozen men, all on horseback with Hoyt among them, his muscular frame easily distinguishable from the rest atop a large black gelding.

The edges of her mouth turned downward in a small frown when she noted he was carrying a long brown cylinder over his shoulder.

From this distance, it almost looked like a–

“The hunting party,” said the duchess, raising her voice to be heard above the loud baying of brown and white speckled hounds as they came cresting over a nearby hill, following a rider in a scarlet jacket with a gold horn pressed to his mouth. “Now Olivia, before you become upset–”

“My foxes!” she cried, her heart turning to ice inside her chest. “They’re going to kill my foxes!”

“Foxhunting is a time honored tradition that the gentlemen look forward to every summer, including your father. I’m sorry you don’t agree with it, but–”

Olivia didn’t hear the rest of the sentence.

She was already running out the door.

***

As a general rule, Hoyt was in favor of hunting.

When it had a purpose.

Using grown men on horseback with rifles and twenty four hounds to run down and kill one single fox didn’t seem very sporting to him, but as it seemed to be of particular importance to two lords whose parcels he needed to purchase in order to advantage his railroad, he was amendable to the proposition.

Until he learned how long it would take.

“Seven hours? ” he scowled, gathering his reins and spurring his horse into a medium canter that kept him steady with Lord Atlee, a middle-aged viscount who had taken it upon himself to teach the uneducated American all about one of England’s favorite past times.

“Are we taking the damned fox to London for a pint?”

Lord Atlee gave a hearty laugh. “It depends on the wiliness of the vixen, Mr. Culpepper! The more intelligent they are, the longer the chase.”

Hoyt knew that to be true.

Over the past week, he’d done everything he could think of save get down on bended knee to curry Olivia’s favor.

He’d made her smile. He’d made her roll her eyes.

Once, he’d even made her giggle. But no matter how hard he tried or what he did, he couldn’t make her fall in love with him.

For a man accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, when he wanted it, not being able to get the thing that mattered most was… frustrating.

No, it was infuriating.

And now here he was, chasing after a poor defenseless animal when the true object of his desires was back at the manor likely forgetting all about him.

“The hell with this,” he muttered under his breath. “Railroad or no railroad, I’m turning around.”

“Listen!” Lord Atlee yelped as, in unison, the pack of hounds out in front of the horses began to howl. “They’re giving tongue!”

“They’re giving what?” Hoyt said politely.

“It means they’ve caught the scent! The hunt is on!” Hunching low over his horse’s neck, the viscount kicked him onward as the entire field took to a gallop, led by the bellowing hounds and the field master in red.

Squinting, Hoyt was just able to make out the two men he’d come along to cajole into selling him their land. He could catch them, if he put in his heels. But regardless of what he’d originally come to the summer house party to attain, he now had a far greater treasure in mind.

Olivia.

***

“Sorry, Muffins,” said Olivia, casting her old pony a baleful glance as she anxiously waited for the footman to finish tacking her mare, a shiny chestnut Arabian named Delphine. “You’re not going to buck me off today.”

Shoving her shirt into the waistband of the breeches she’d yanked out from under her bed – she was always fastest when she rode astride – Olivia grabbed the reins the instant Delphine was ready and was in the saddle before the mare had cleared the courtyard.

“Hurry,” she urged the attentive chestnut. “Ember and Ginger are depending on us!”