Free My Only Love by Katherine Sutcliffe Page B

right out and accusing her of
attempting to coerce him into marriage. And then to so blatantly address the
matter of Bryan! To top that off she'd allowed him liberties. She felt shamed.
    Alas,
she could not take it back. Neither could she forget the thrill of his kiss,
the breathtaking pleasure of his mouth on hers that shattered the self-imposed
gyves that had adequately shielded her sensibilities the last years.
    As
her strict routine dictated, she bathed and dressed by seven and adjourned to
her father's office where she opened and read the correspondence that had
arrived the afternoon before ... or tried to. It wasn't easy without her
glasses.
    She'd
been halfway back from Braithwaite last night before realizing that she'd
forgotten her eyeglasses. Her only hope was that Warwick would send the
spectacles home with Bertrice. Until then, any attempt to read was virtually
impossible. Still, she did her best. No matter how bad the strain on her eyes
it was better than visualizing her making a fool of herself with Warwick.
    Warwick!
Dear God, why could she not put him from her mind? Sitting there, staring at
row upon row of numbers until her head throbbed, the all-encompassing thought
in her mind throughout the morning was how firm and hot and wet his mouth had
been on hers and the smell of his skin as he stood near her before the fire had
made her entire body feel as if it were slowly turning inside out.
    At
a quarter of eleven the door was flung open and Emily entered. Her arms full of
dresses, she swept through the room like a spring breeze, her ivory face
flushed with enthusiasm. She had pulled her blond hair straight back and
confined it in a net of pale pink silk that perfectly matched her morning
frock. Her tiny feet were encased in supple leather slippers.
    Placing
her pen and paper aside, Olivia laced her fingers together and tried her best
to ignore her throbbing temples long enough to smile. "And good morning to
you, too, sister. What have you there?"
    "Dresses
of course," Emily replied with a lilting laugh. "I simply must have
your opinion, Oli. The Marquess is due to call today. Which dress suits me
more, do you think?" She flung several in the vicinity of a wing chair.
They landed instead in a heap on the floor. Taking no notice, Emily held
another up to her chin and pirouetted before Olivia. "Isn't this divine,
Oli? Do you think Lord Willowby will like it?"
    "He's
certain to love you in anything, Em, unless he's blind or a fool."
    The
dress sailed away and Emily swept up another. "What about this one? I
understand that the blond niching and the tiny primroses along the decolletage
are de rigueur in Paris this season."
    Leaving
her chair, Olivia moved to the scattering of dresses on the floor and proceeded
to gather them up. There was a yellow gown with a satin bodice and an overskirt
of striped gauze trimmed with gold lace, an exquisite creation that Emily had
pleaded for—indeed, threatened to expire for—a few months before. As far as
Olivia knew, her sister had never so much as tried it on since it arrived from
Paris wrapped in mounds of tissue and ribbons.
    "I'm
positively certain that Lord Willowby will speak to Father today," Emily
said. "Why else would he venture out in this despicable weather? Oli,
dear, what do you think you're doing?"
    Olivia
was holding an Italian-made gown up against herself. She met her sister's
incredulous eyes, and felt her face grow warm.
    "Don't
be a ninny," Emily said, and grabbed the dress away. "You're much too
old to wear a dress like this; the color doesn't suit you at all, not with that
awful olive tone to your skin. Besides, where on earth would you wear a gown
like this? To fidget with Father's ledgers? Or perhaps"—she lowered her
voice to a whisper, and her eyes became cold as glass—"to visit Miles
Warwick."
    Olivia
returned to her chair and took up her pen.
    "What
could you be thinking to go like that to Braithwaite? I mean, it was enough of
a shock to learn that