Free Wallflower Gone Wild by Maya Rodale Page A

terribly sorry,” Olivia said, finding her feet and bearings to stand on her own.
    “Are you all right?” he asked, still lightly gripping her arms as if she might topple over again. He peered closely at her with his dark eyes. What wickedness he must have seen! Her gaze dropped to his mouth—how many women had he kissed?
    “Yes. Thank you. Terribly sorry,” Olivia mumbled again. Lord, if her mother saw her talking to him, she would be locked away for weeks. In fact, if anyone saw this, it would certainly make the gossip columns.
    When the Mad Baron learned of the reckless, dangerous company she kept, he’d never want to marry her.
    It had to be noted that Lord Beaumont hadn’t immediately turned his back to her.
    “It’s very crowded in here this evening,” he said. “Lady Jenning certainly has outdone herself.”
    “Or overdone. It’s dangerously crowded in here,” Olivia remarked.
    “Indeed, and perilous to young maidens throughout the ballroom,” Beaumont murmured. Olivia eyed him warily: was he flirting or bamming her?
    “The dangers have added a certain thrill to the evening,” Olivia replied.
    “Indeed.” His gaze lowered to her breasts. She felt a blush creep across her cheeks. She’d always wanted a man to look at her lustily, had she not?
    “Do you need a spot of air? Miss?”
    Young ladies do not go onto the terrace unaccompanied by rakes.
    Especially Beaumont!
    Except that she was trying to break the rules. And lud, he was handsome. And if he had kissed so many woman, what was one more? Why not her?
    Besides, Prudence would certainly follow at a discreet distance, wouldn’t she? Never mind that Prue seemed to have vanished.
    “That would be lovely, thank you,” she replied.
    And then, unbelievably, Lord Beaumont escorted her out to the terrace. Olivia felt her heart start to beat quickly, giddily. Was it always this easy to gain the attentions of a rake? If only she’d known! If only Prudence had pushed her—literally pushed her—into some man’s arms years ago. She could be celebrating her wedding anniversary, not her looming death on her wedding night.
    Perhaps this is when her romance would finally begin! Perhaps a footman might stroll past with champagne and Beaumont would pluck two glasses, handing one to her. They would talk of the stars and the ball and whatever else one talked about while falling in love. Surely, they would discover that they liked all the same things and were truly kindred spirits in spite of his blackened reputation. He’d whisper how beautiful she was. Then, in the moonlight, he’d kiss her.
    That was how it was supposed to go.
    What actually happened: Lord Beaumont saw a friend of his. His arm loosened as he drifted away from Olivia and toward his old comrade. They quite forgot she was there, as he disentangled himself entirely and strolled away. Olivia looked around for Prudence, who was still nowhere to be seen. Olivia was left all alone on the terrace. And that’s when the Mad Baron found her.
    T he Radcliffe temper had been the bane of generations of Radcliffe men. They were an easygoing lot, able to allow almost any slight or frustration to roll like water off a duck’s back. But then—and one never knew when—something was just too much and they’d erupt in a violent explosion of fury. Phinn often attempted to calculate just how much pressure, how much force, how much frustration he could take before it was best for everyone that he make himself scarce. It was one formula he’d yet to perfect.
    The constant setbacks of the evening—Olivia with that man, her mother, Rogan—were not enough to incite his temper on their own. But as the evening progressed, his resistance was fraying.
    Then he saw her in the arms of yet another man.
    Then he saw that man look lasciviously at Olivia’s breasts.
    She wasn’t his, but he felt possessive of her—as if she were already his wife.
    It was a good thing he’d seen Olivia’s friend push her. While