“Well, for one, I suppose we should not be in here alone at this hour of the morning without my chaperone’s knowledge.”
“Oh, definitely not,” he said with a grin, making no attempts to move.
In fact, he was trying to stay very still. Elizabeth’s curls were only a whisper away from brushing up against his hand where it was draped over the back of the couch, and it was taking all of his will power to not run his fingers through it again. It was soft. He knew not only because of last night when he had wrapped a strand around his finger, but because of a time last summer when he’d had to gather it up for her after she had come down with a stomach illness during one of their morning horseback rides. He had held her hair back while she had retched into a bush. The fact that he had never forgotten how it felt, and that he hadn’t minded holding her hair for her while she was violently sick, spoke of just how much he adored her.
“What other rules shall we put in place?” he asked.
“Addressing me formally while we are in public is a must. No more calling me Lizzie in ballrooms or at dinner parties.”
He gave an offended huff. “I’ve never addressed you as Lizzie in front of anyone else but your family.”
“I know,” she said, lifting her shoulder and peeking at him playfully over it. The flirtatious look made him want to groan. “But you must admit that you do call me Lizzie when we are talking alone at dinner parties or balls.” She paused, her brow crinkling together. “Which puts me in mind of another rule.” She rotated a little on the settee, placing herself even closer to him. His eyes drifted to his hand where his knuckles now rested lightly against her arm.
He should not be feeling sparks at the slightest touch of her. And why did he not move it? Did she mind? She didn’t seem to. In fact, she was still going on about the newest rule they should implement. Honestly, he was only half listening because his mind was wandering to her lips and imagining what it would be like to throw all of his resolve out the window and kiss her. Give himself a chance to prove that he wasn’t like his father. He was roused again to reality when he heard Elizabeth say, “…I cannot have you scaring away my other suitors by calling me Little Lizzie in front of them.” The words other suitors felt like a punch to his stomach.
He pulled his hand away. “I haven’t called you Little Lizzie in years. But what’s this about other suitors? Do you already have one in mind?” Somehow, he already knew the answer.
Her eyes flicked to his before her gaze turned away and she fidgeted with the pages of the book in her lap. “Well…not exactly another suitor. Not yet, at least. But I will admit that someone has caught my eye.” She paused and bit her bottom lip before releasing it, turning determined eyes to him. “Actually, it’s Lord Hastings. He was very kind to me last night.” Her shoulders slumped. “Though I’m afraid I completely bungled that.” One could only hope. No. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking things like that. He was supposed to be glad for her to be courted by other men.
She looked down at her lap and a lock of hair fell from behind her ear. Oliver reached out and tucked it back without really thinking. Surely that wasn’t strange for him to do? Surely he’d done that before? But the fact that her eyes turned wide, questioning him, told him that it was the first time he had ever touched her like that before. He wanted to box his own ears.
Rules. Implement the rules.
Oliver cleared his throat and stood up, forcing a smile. “I sincerely doubt you have deterred Hastings by indulging in a little too much champagne.”
She pulled a pained look and put her face in her hands. “Oh, Oliver. I was so stupid. How could I have had so much to drink? I said the most mortifying things to him. I will be surprised if he ever looks in my direction again.” Was he a terrible man to be fighting a joyful smile? Yes. Terrible.
“You’re being too hard on yourself, Lizzie. I doubt he thought a thing of it. But I must ask…Hastings? Are you sure he is the one you wish to court you?” What was he doing? Why was he asking that?
“Why shouldn’t I wish for Lord Hastings to court me?” Her tone was curt.
He tipped a shoulder and stood to mindlessly assess a few books on a nearby shelf. “Just seems a rather dull fellow to me. I doubt he could keep up with you or your sense of adventure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I am not such an untamed creature as you may think me, Oliver.”
He turned around at the sudden edge to her voice. “No, Lizzie, that’s not what I meant.”
Her eyes were fixed on his, the blaze sparking in them all too familiar. Everyone had always found Elizabeth agreeable and docile, but he knew a side of her that no one else did, all fire and ferocity. It had put them in any number of rows over the past few years of their new, closer friendship.
“I think it’s exactly what you meant.” She stood up abruptly and winced a little, touching her hand to head. He knew it must ache like the devil. “I’m a grown, refined—”
“—Now wait a moment,” he said, cutting her off and taking a step closer. “I never implied that you were not grown or refined.”
She crossed her arms. “Didn’t you?”
“I said Lord Hastings was dull.”
“And that he couldn’t keep up with me.”
He shrugged. “You run fast.”
“And my sense of adventure. What was that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you climb out windows.”
She let out a heavy breath and released her arms. “Must you keep bringing that up?”
He grinned, trying not to find her agitation attractive. “Yes—if you continue climbing out of them.”