ruby ring on his third finger caught the light.
Olivia found her gaze riveted to those reflected darts of colour as she drank again and she realised, with a sense of shock, that she had drained the whole glass. Lord Hugo’s hand moved, picked up the jug and refilled her glass. Startled, she met his gaze again and a curious shock rippled through her. Again, she recognised nervousness and excitement all tangled up together. And something more. Something...deeper and slightly thrilling.
Anticipation?
His smile turned arrogant. Knowing. She recognised the look from that of her brothers when they were being particularly annoying—convinced they knew her better than she knew herself. Her brows twitched into a frown and she wrenched her eyes from Lord Hugo. Across the table, Lady Shelton was draped all over Alex, so Olivia avoided looking at them, too, embarrassed by their lack of shame in behaving in such a way in public—kissing and...and...fondling like that. Even Neville was taking no notice of her; he was too busy flirting with a gaudily made-up woman—clearly no lady—who had paused outside their box. She was starting to wish she had never goaded Alex into that wager. This was not as much fun as she had thought it would be.
‘Oh!’
Lady Shelton’s gasp brought Olivia’s attention back to her.
‘Oh, heavens.’ Lady Shelton fanned herself vigorously. ‘It is so very hot. I wonder, Alexander, would you be an absolute angel and escort me outside for some air?’ Her free hand disappeared beneath the table. ‘Perhaps we could dance...or something?’
Alex leapt to his feet, his cheeks flushed. ‘It would be my pleasure, ma’am.’
He helped her from the box, then appeared to remember Olivia, for he leaned across Neville and whispered, ‘I shan’t be gone long. You’ll be safe enough here with Nev. Just don’t be tempted to wander off. With anyone.’
And he disappeared into the crowd, Lady Shelton on his arm. Soon afterwards, Lord Sudbury, Mr and Mrs Bartlett and Lady Sale followed them, leaving Olivia alone with Lord Clevedon, Mr Randall, Lord Hugo and Neville. She edged closer to Neville, even though he was still flirting with that same woman. The prickles of awareness chasing over her skin warned her that Lord Hugo’s attention was once more upon her, so she studiously avoided looking in his direction. In doing so, however, she inadvertently caught Mr Randall’s eye. He was a bulky man of around five-and-thirty and he immediately moved, coming to sit on her side of the table, sliding along the bench until he sat right next to her, his thigh pressing against hers as he twisted his upper body to face her and fingered the edge of her hood.
Then his hand swooped down to land on her thigh and she squeaked a protest, knocking his hand away.
‘Just a bit of fun, darling,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘Why not?’
‘Randall.’ There was a note of warning in Lord Hugo’s voice.
‘Alastair?’
‘The lady does not appear to welcome your attentions.’
‘What business is it of yours?’
Mr Randall then fell silent as Lord Clevedon rose to his feet. Olivia did not know whether to be relieved or alarmed. She was acquainted with Lord Clevedon, having met him at several functions—so he was clearly a respectable gentleman—but she was anxious he did not recognise her and this was drawing far too much of his attention. Up until now he had been too busy talking with Lord Sudbury to take much notice of anyone else. His gaze wandered casually over Olivia.
‘My guest is clearly a lady, Randall. You will oblige me by treating her as such at my birthday party.’
‘My apologies,’ Randall muttered. He was so close Olivia could smell the spirits on his breath and his cheeks were flagged with hectic colour. He shifted away until he no longer crowded her and she smiled at his lordship.
‘Thank you, my lord.’
His eyes narrowed slightly. Then he bowed, a smile playing on his full lips.
‘The pleasure is all mine, my dear.’ He gestured at Lord Hugo. ‘I shall leave it to you to ensure our glasses are kept topped up, Alastair. I cannot have it said that I am an ungenerous host.’
Lord Hugo—with a sardonic grin—obliged and, because she was overly warm in her velvet domino, Olivia continued to sip the punch. She dare not remove her domino, for that would uncover her hair—distinctive with its blue-black sheen—and she was now desperate not to be identified. She reached for the bow at her throat and pulled it loose, parting the front of the cloak to allow some air to reach her skin, but still leaving her head covered. As she did so, she glanced across the table at Lord Hugo.
Dark eyes lazily surveyed her chest area, then rose to linger on her lips and she trembled. She’d thought this would be an adventure. Now, it just felt dangerous and she felt very foolish and very inexperienced. She broke out in a light sweat even as her mouth dried and she snatched up her glass again and drank thirstily. She might never have been introduced to Lord Hugo, but she knew his reputation as a devil-may-care rake. A shiver tiptoed down her spine as she recalled some of the tales she had heard...stories she could well believe of the man who lounged opposite, a mocking edge to his hard gaze as he drank liberally and refilled the glasses on the table—including hers—at frequent intervals.
Uneasy at being alone in the box with the four men—even though one of them was Neville—Olivia distracted herself by drinking as the men chatted idly and made pithy comments about the people passing by. Gradually, though, she relaxed and she regained her normal, bubbly spirits, giving her the confidence to join the conversation.
Some time later, Lord Clevedon produced a pack of cards from his pocket and he smiled at Olivia. ‘May I challenge you to a few hands of piquet, my dear? I cannot offer an alternative game, for I only have the reduced pack here.’
Olivia had often played piquet with her family, and prided herself on her skill, but she hesitated, knowing that playing cards in a public place was not at all the same as playing cards at a private function. Neville dug his elbow into her ribs at that point and muttered, ‘Not at all the thing, La—Beatrice’ under his breath.
Olivia glared at him. Then stuck her nose in the air. If she wished to play a hand or two of cards with Lord Clevedon, why should she not? Nobody knew it was her, except Neville, and he did not count.
His lordship shuffled the cards before fanning them between long, elegant fingers. ‘Do not concern yourself, Wolfe. We shall play the classic game—the first to gain one hundred points wins. Your...er...friend has already proved herself admirably bold, venturing here with two escorts, neither of whom, I’ll wager, are members of her family.’
His words reassured Olivia that he had not guessed her identity and, ignoring Neville’s desperate grimaces, she said, ‘Very well, then. I accept your challenge, sir.’
At that point, Mr Randall exited the box after mumbling an excuse. Olivia was pleased to see the back of him—she just wished Lord Hugo would also leave, with his unsettling gaze that seemed to penetrate deep inside her to winkle out her secrets.
‘What stakes shall we say?’
Olivia bit her lip. ‘I have no money with me with which to wager.’
‘No matter, my dear. Let us hope Lady Luck will smile upon you and, if she should not, I will happily accept your vowel, you know. Of course, if you fear to take the risk, we can play for a penny a point. I am sure one of your two cavaliers will be happy to cover any losses.’
Olivia—discovering in herself a sudden desire not to risk her money on a skill she suddenly doubted—thought a penny a point might be just the answer. Before she could accept Clevedon’s offer, however, Lord Hugo, his deep voice an amused drawl, said, ‘A penny a point? My dear Clevedon, you insult the lady.’
Olivia