Page 17 of The Rules of Courtship (Hearts of Harewood #3)

Chapter Seventeen

Rule #17: Never wager more than you are willing to lose

Once Oliver was certain Ruth wouldn’t squeal at the surprise of their encounter, he lowered his hand from her mouth. She blinked up at him, her chest heaving and blue eyes dark in the shadows of the garden.

“What the devil are you doing out here?” she asked.

He didn’t know another woman who used language like that in front of gentlemen, but he also didn’t know anyone else who had grown up alongside his friend Ryland. Ruth was uniquely capable of both strength and ladylike behavior—as evidenced yesterday when she’d held her wits about her during Edmonds’s accident, then arrived at dinner looking like the most beautiful woman in England.

“Oliver,” she repeated. “What are you doing?” She spoke quietly, careful not to be overheard in case anyone had stepped onto the balcony .

“I snuck out here for some air,” he told her. “I had not realized anyone saw me.”

“You think I followed you?” She scoffed. “ I am the one who snuck out here for air and hoped no one saw me.”

He believed her. But prodding her had always been a bit of a sport between them. “If you say so.”

Ruth’s hands immediately went to her waist. “I did. It was… suffocating in there.”

Oliver’s heart began to race. That implied…dare he hope she did not take pleasure in her time with Bailey? “It appeared to me that you and Mr. Bailey were enjoying yourselves.”

Her hands dropped, a grimace falling over her features. “I moved his bishop instead of my own. My mind was not anywhere near capable of playing a good game.”

“It wasn’t the game I imagined Mr. Bailey had been appreciating.”

Her eyes flashed toward his. Had she sensed the shift in his emotions? He was doing his best to cover them well. “I am not certain he is free to enjoy anything of that nature. I asked Sarah to learn what she could below stairs, but she has been unsuccessful so far. Even if Mr. Bailey does not love Miss Edmonds, she believes?—”

“I spoke with him about this,” Oliver said. He should have told Ruth sooner, but they had yet to be alone together since the accident yesterday. “Bailey did not know Miss Edmonds prior to coming here. He met her for the first time when he arrived for this house party.”

“But…how? Who, then, could she have meant…unless Samuel?”

Oliver shrugged. “If Samuel is in love with her, he has not mentioned it to me.”

“The only other available man is Lord Rocklin.”

They shared a look.

“She would not be the first woman to choose stability and a title over love,” Oliver said kindly, doing his best not to think of the decades spanning their ages.

“I suppose not.” Ruth’s nose wrinkled. “Many women would marry any man so long as he came with a title. But he is so old .”

“It certainly would explain her motivation.” Oliver frowned. “Though I thought you mentioned Miss Edmonds was in love.”

“That was what she told me, but it doesn’t make sense.”

Oliver considered the men in the house. “You’ve forgotten one gentleman.”

“Who?”

“Kellinger.”

She shook her head. “He’s married, Oliver.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “It hardly matters now,” she muttered.

Why did it hardly matter? Oliver yearned to close the distance and take her in his arms, soothing her until she felt calm and settled again. Agitation sloughed from her in waves, evidenced by her jerky motions and the frown bending her lips.

“Ruth, speak to me.”

She glanced at him briefly before stalking a few steps away, her hands, enveloped in silk dinner gloves, resting on her waist again. How was the woman not cold? The sun was gone, and with it most of the heat from the day. “What would you like me to say?”

Oliver’s chin tucked. “ Want you to say? Ruth, you do not seem well.”

“Of course I’m not well. This entire party is a disaster. I have done nothing to encourage Mr. Bailey because of the mistaken impression he was already in love with someone else, when it was really my own stupidity standing in the way of a possible match.”

Jealousy coiled like a snake in Oliver’s gut. “A match with Bailey?”

“Why not?” she challenged, her eyes sparkling. “He is everything I need in a husband. Yet I have ruined any chance with him. If I had not made assumptions, we could have spent the last few days better knowing one another instead of me keeping my distance. He was interested in doing so. He made that perfectly clear. I ruined my chance.”

“Perhaps not,” Oliver said, the words prying themselves from him with great effort. If Ruth returned to the drawing room now and doted on Bailey, it was definitive the man would forget anything that had happened the previous few days and bless his luck for her change in demeanor. He would be fortunate to have her, and he well knew it.

Ruth was the one who did not realize her own worth, nor the effect she had on other men.

“You did not see the way I ran from him tonight.” She closed her eyes, shaking her head again. The sense of loss permeating her features was more than he could bear.

Seeing her with another man—just the very thought of it—made Oliver’s body revolt. But he would not stand in the way of her happiness.

She heaved a sigh. “Oh, Oliver. I’ve made a mess of things.”

Heart racing, he faced her, finding concern lacing her features. “I didn’t realize you were so focused on finding a husband.”

“I’m not. My father would like for me to be married, for reasons I can only guess at. He sent me here with the express hope I would return to Willowbrook an engaged woman. Or, at the very least, in a courtship. I have done my part, reducing my rules, giving Samuel a chance, trying to fall in love, but it has all been pointless.”

“Surely Wycliffe will not be upset to have you return without a husband. You’ve only been here a week, Ruth.”

“Upset? No.” She paced away, yanking her gloves free before running her fingers along the scratchy hedge. Oliver followed her. “Disappointed, which is far worse.” Ruth stopped abruptly and pivoted to face him .

He was far too close now, but Oliver did not take a step back. He liked Ruth tipping her head back to look in his eyes.

“Listen to me going on about my failures when you are worried about your father. Oh, Oliver. How utterly thoughtless of me.”

His heart squeezed. No one said his name as she did, with meaning and comfort. “You have been providing a wonderful distraction,” he said truthfully. He had not thought about his father once since Ruth had appeared in the garden.

She pressed her fists to her eyes, her gloves gathered in one hand. “I am the worst sort of friend.”

Oliver took both of her wrists gently in his hands and pulled them away from her face. “You are not, and I would never lie to you, Ruth. You have been a wonderful distraction. I would prefer to speak to you at length, until the sun rises, than sit alone in this garden and worry about my father.”

She remained still, her wide blue eyes glued to him.

Dare he share how he felt? That he had run here to escape the image of Bailey’s hand on Ruth’s? His pulse thrummed, blood whooshing past his ears in a steady, quick rhythm—but no…that was her pulse as well. He could feel it through his fingertips, the quickening under her wrists. Holding firmly to her hands, he searched her face. She was either feeling the same connection he was, or she was frightened.

But Ruth was afraid of nothing.

Perhaps it was time Oliver put aside his fears and told her how he felt. What if she did not feel the same? Rejected him? Could he live with himself, with the possibility of losing her?

“You think I ought to return to the drawing room and tell Mr. Bailey I want to finish our chess game?” she asked, her voice strained.

Return to the—what the devil made her think that ? He still held her wrists like a deranged, lovesick fool. “No, I do not think you should do that. ”

“But you said?—”

“I do not think you should leave my side at all,” he said softly, running his thumbs over the velvet-soft skin on her forearm.

Ruth took a step closer, until their hands were pressed between their bodies, her eyes locked on his. The dark night made her features difficult to discern, but her gaze was resolute, unwavering. This woman held his heart in her dainty hands, and he found himself not caring any longer if she knew. He could be classified alongside Samuel, lovesick and bothersome and utterly enamored with her.

“I am not sure what you mean,” she said quietly.

“I think you do,” he argued, feeling the way her hands shifted in his grip to lean against the lapels of his jacket. His heart pounded so hard, he was certain she would be able to feel it beneath her fingers. Fear and hope wrestled as the silence grew between them, lengthening. He ran his thumb down her wrist and she shivered. “You are cold.”

“Not at present, no,” she argued, holding his gaze. “I am merely wondering what you are thinking about.”

Oliver slid his hand down her arm, moving to grip her back and hold her tightly against him, leaving her other hand flush against his heart. “I have nothing in my mind but you, Ruth.”

At her soft intake of breath, he tossed the remaining dregs of caution to the wind to be carried far from here, cupping the back of her neck and bringing his mouth close to hers. His body yearned to close the distance, to lean forward enough for her lips to be on his, but he waited, cold air nipping his open lips while they hovered just above hers.

She looked up into his eyes before lowering her gaze to his mouth. A shiver wracked his shoulders, his body taut with frayed nerves. All the reasons he should turn from her and walk away pelted him, but still he did not move.

Ruth pressed her fingers against his chest, making him groan low in his throat. The sound was loud in the silence, but he did not care. She gripped his lapel and pulled him down until his lips met hers.

And then it was madness.

Heat flooded him, pressing out all thoughts until nothing remained but the blissful softness of her lips. Oliver dropped her wrist, pulling her tightly against him while he kissed her thoroughly, losing all sense of his surroundings as he fell into her warmth. Ruth’s fingers slid over his face, driving need deep into him. His pulse thrummed to the beat of four simple words on repeat: I love this woman.

“What?” Ruth asked, breaking away and searching his face.

Had he spoken aloud? This was not how he wanted to share his feelings—he had been utterly backwards about the whole of it. “Ruth?—”

“Yes?”

Their breaths were coming quickly, the air hot between them.

“Never mind,” she said, taking his face between her hands and pulling his head down, her lips finding his. She did not hold back, and when he tilted her chin to deepen the kiss, he felt her heal every bit of him that had felt worry or stress, comfort suffusing him down to his toes.

“What is the meaning of this?” a loud voice rang out, deep and authoritative.

Ruth sprang back, ripped from him, the moment shattered. Oliver was reluctant to release her fully. He held her arm while turning to face the group gathered at the mouth of the garden’s entrance. Lord Rocklin held a lantern, Miss Temple on his arm. Mr. Bailey stood behind them with Mr. Kellinger.

Miss Temple looked wounded, her eyes flicking between Ruth and Oliver as if they’d personally offended her. “Papa,” she breathed quietly, the plea evident in her tone.

Oliver felt Ruth grow tense beneath his hand .

“Mr. Rose,” Lord Rocklin said, his tone harsh and words clipped. “I expect an explanation forthwith.”

Oliver cleared his throat. The options ran through his mind, each one easier to dismiss than the last, chased away by the still swollen feeling in his lips, the warmth on his skin where Ruth’s hand had just been. There was no way to escape this situation unscathed—their lives would be forever changed regardless of the avenue they chose to pursue. But there was one option that would protect Ruth—one thing Oliver could do to safeguard her name and reputation.

Taking Ruth by the hand, Oliver tugged her close to his side. “I hope you will congratulate us, my lord.” Oliver tore his gaze from his host and looked down at Ruth, noting the worry in her eyes, the soft glow from the lantern highlighting the red blush in her cheeks. A strand of hair had come loose from her coiffure and trailed down her temple. He reached over and brushed it back, holding her gaze as he spoke. “Miss Wycliffe has just made me the happiest man in England. She has agreed to become my wife.”