He stopped beside Elizabeth and Hastings. “Enjoying yourself tonight, Liz—Lady Elizabeth?” he corrected, feeling unnecessarily angry that he must address her formally.
Elizabeth’s eyes went as wide as saucers and she leaned toward him. “Oh, yes!” Oliver blinked at the smell of champagne heavy on her breath. “The mooost fun! Lord Haplings is verrry gentlemanly.” She winked at Hastings, unaware that she had mispronounced his name.
Oh no. Was she…? Blast. The woman was completely foxed!
Oliver looked hesitantly to Hastings, wondering what he thought of Elizabeth’s lack of decorum, and was a bit—though he would deny it until the day he died—pleased to think that maybe this would scare the man off. But why did he feel that way? Oliver couldn’t—wouldn’t— act on his feelings, and he couldn’t reasonably expect Elizabeth to remain single her whole life.
No. He cared deeply for Elizabeth. He wanted her happiness. Which is why he needed to save her just then.
However, Hastings spoke first. “Turner. I believe Lady Elizabeth has suddenly”—he gave Oliver a meaningful look that said he would be the one doing the rescuing—“taken ill. You are a close friend of her family, are you not? Would you be able to escort her to Lord and Lady Kensworth and inform them of her illness without the room raising questions?” Hang Hastings. This was what Oliver had already planned to do. Now it sounded as though Hastings was the one to ensure Elizabeth’s wellbeing.
The man continued, leaning closer to Oliver so Elizabeth would not overhear. “I would escort her myself, but I do not wish for Lady Elizabeth to feel any more embarrassment than she likely already will tomorrow.”
Oliver smiled tensely. “Of course. I’m exceptionally close with their family, so it would only make sense if I were the one to inform them.” Oh. Wonderful. He was going to act like a jealous fool now.
Hastings lifted a brow in the haughty way of the aristocracy and smiled tentatively before turning his attention back to Elizabeth, who appeared to be deeply enthralled by something on the ceiling. “My lady?” Her head flew down, and the sudden movement seemed to knock her off balance. Hastings and Oliver both lunged to grab an elbow, and she giggled—the sound jolting him back to a time when a ten-year-old Elizabeth had begged Oliver to help her play a lark on her brother by gluing his boots to the floor. Oliver wished he could glue Hastings's boots to the floor right then and run away with Elizabeth.
“Lady Elizabeth,” said Hastings, “I will leave you with Mr. Turner now.”
Elizabeth pulled her dark blonde brows deeply together. “Mr. Turner…” she said slowly and with a heavy slur, “…is not here.” She leaned in to Hastings and whispered conspiringly—and loudly. “Apparently, he is not well, but Oliver didn’t think me important enough to inform me sooner.” Oh, good heavens.
Oliver pulled her to his side and flashed a tight smile to Hastings. “I’ll take the lady from here. Good evening, Lord Hastings.”
The viscount bowed and watched as Oliver wrapped Elizabeth’s arm securely through his arm and then managed to somehow get her safely out of the drawing room. He caught Rose’s eye, however, just before they exited the room, and she immediately noted the urgency of his look. He watched as she quickly excused herself from the group of tabbies surrounding her and rushed from the room with an elegance that would make the duchess proud.
Once into the hallway and safely away from the judgmental eyes of Society, Oliver wrapped his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder and guided her toward an empty parlor at the front of the house.
“What’s happened?” asked Rose in an anxious tone, after stepping into the parlor and closing the door behind her.
Oliver sat Elizabeth down on a settee and she immediately started to fall over. He sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder again to keep her upright. And then Oliver met Rose’s wide eyes.
“She’s foxed,” he said bluntly.
“Oh, blast.” Rose crossed her arms in front of her. “We need to get her out of here or this will follow her through the whole Season.”
“I agree.”
Elizabeth seemed to become alert to the world around her for the first time. She sat up straighter and looked at Oliver, “I’m not ddrunk!” she nearly shouted. She gave a crooked grin and then put her finger on the tip of his nose. “You’re drunkk, Olly!” She chuckled. “Drunky, Olly.”
“All right, Lizzie, I’ll make you a deal,” he said, removing her finger from his nose and trying not to laugh. “I’ll let you call me Drunky Olly, but only if you promise to walk with me out of this house to the carriage and be very, very quiet.”
She saluted him. “Yes, sir, durnky Olly.”
Rose’s face reflected both the amusement and the horror of what they were about to attempt. It would be a miracle if they got her out of there without anyone realizing Elizabeth was drunk as a wheelbarrow. “I’ll go fetch Carver. It’s not even necessary for me to ask you to remain here with her, is it?” She gave him a smile that said she meant more by that statement. Did she know? How? He’d been so careful the past couple of days to not show his affection. He’d even been forcing himself to flirt with other ladies all evening.
He shook his head and tightened his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. Rose left and Elizabeth laid her head on Oliver’s shoulder, the sweet smell of her hair flooding his senses. Must she make this so difficult for him? Only Elizabeth could make intoxication look lovely.
He felt Elizabeth take in a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling in a way that reflected contentment. He relished too much her closeness. And the realization that she fit perfectly beside him made him ache. Oliver peeked down just as Elizabeth shut her eyes and nestled into his side, the heat of her body radiating into his. She was smiling softly. Did she feel as comfortable tucked up next to him as he felt holding her there?
This was a frozen moment, a stolen bit of time that he knew would take yet another piece of his heart and surrender it to the woman who he would never let himself have.
His eyes traced a line from her earlobe, down her neck to the top of her shoulder where it lingered on the cap sleeve of her gorgeous gown. She had been too much for him that night. Forcing himself to stay away and allowing her to befriend Hastings felt like the worst sort of torture. But it was what was best for her—his sweet, wild-hearted, Lizzie.
Oliver lifted his hand and without thinking, wrapped one of her soft, dangling curls around his finger. The tips of his fingers brushed against her neck. He noticed that her smile broadened and the hairs stood up on her arms. “Olly,” she said with a sleepy slur.
He allowed himself the moment to rest the side of his face against the top of her head. “Yes, darling?”
“Do you find my dress repppulsive?” That last word was a mouth full for her but she eventually got it out.