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and regarded him with a steady, contemplative gaze. “Well, thank you, Mr. Crawford,” she said, nodding politely. “That was very … interesting.” She got briskly to her feet and started toward the door.
    A bit shaken, he jumped up and followed her hastily. “ Interesting ?” he croaked. “Never heard anyone describe a kiss as interesting before.”
    She looked back at him. “Oh, dear, I suppose I shouldn’t have said that. I should have said ‘exciting,’ shouldn’t I?”
    â€œWell, wasn’t it?”
    She shook her head. “I’m afraid I … didn’t find it so,” she said gently.
    His mouth drooped sulkily. “It was because of all that talking about it, I daresay. Told you that wasn’t at all the thing.”
    â€œNo, I suppose it wasn’t.”
    â€œOf course not. Spoils the … mood, y’know.”
    â€œYes, perhaps, but I think …”
    â€œYes?”
    She walked slowly to the door. “I have the feeling that it was something else that was amiss. Something more … fundamental.”
    â€œBut … what ?” he asked urgently, following her.
    She paused, her brows knit thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I only wish I did.” With a deep sigh, she bid him goodnight and went to find her brother.

chapter six
    Morley Crawford’s self-esteem had suffered a blow, and, as a result, his attentions to Olivia ceased abruptly. Jamie, not knowing the details of the episode, blamed his sister for “cutting the poor fellow to the quick” and refused to provide her with another of his friends on whom to experiment. But fortunately for Olivia’s researches into the nature of love and passion, a few of the gentlemen who’d danced with her the night of the ball were brave enough to call. They made an unpromising group, however, and Olivia, without feeling very sanguine about her choice, gave encouragement to only one—a rather plump and serious young baronet, Sir Walter Haldene. She chose him because he claimed to be a scholar, and she persuaded herself that the relationship had brighter prospects than the one with Morley Crawford because she and Haldene had more interests in common.
    It didn’t take long, however, for her to discover that Haldene’s scholarship was more imaginary than real. His knowledge of Latin was shallow and of Greek nil; his views of politics were so naive as to be almost silly; his reading was narrowly parochial and his understanding superficial. Worse still, whenever they discussed a subject on which they disagreed, he would pontificate on his position with irritating doggedness. This combination of pedantry and stubbornness was not only inhibiting to true intellectual growth but stained the rest of his personality like a drop of ink in a saucer of milk.
    As these qualities began to manifest themselves, Olivia tried to discourage Haldene’s attentions. But Sir Walter persisted with the tenacity of a leech. So great was his self-esteem that he was incapable of taking the hints that she dropped with increasing frequency. Finally, on a rainy afternoon when he was paying his third call in as many days, Olivia took him into the sitting room, firmly urged him to take a seat on the sofa, sat down beside him and told him flatly—although with all the politeness she could summon—that she did not wish him to call again.
    His reaction was totally unexpected and shocking: he threw his arms around her, crushed her to him and, muttering a number of incoherent endearments, pressed his lips to hers. His grip was like iron, and Olivia had to endure a seemingly interminable embrace before she was able to push him away long enough to catch her breath and scream.
    After Charles had angrily ushered him from the premises, Olivia took refuge in her bedoom to regain her composure. She had been kissed for the second time, and