She huffed quietly to herself. He should know she had more sense than that and as for her father’s tendency for overprotectiveness...well! It was totally uncalled-for, as far as Olivia was concerned. She was more than capable of looking after herself. She brushed aside the whisper of conscience that reminded her why Papa was so protective. She did not want to remember what had happened to Mama. Not tonight. She was determined to enjoy this evening, not dwell on past pain.
Papa is so old-fashioned. As if anything could happen to me in among all these people.
They stopped to admire the picturesque caves, grottos and waterfalls, Olivia staring in wonder at the sights, then continued until they reached the central square, where jugglers and tightrope walkers entertained the crowds and an orchestra played, the music struggling to be heard above the chatter and laughter of the crowds dancing, strolling and finishing their supper in the many supper boxes.
As they continued to stroll, arm in arm—Neville still ambling along in their wake—a female voice called Alex’s name. They turned as one and Olivia sensed her brother’s sudden tension. She had no difficulty in recognising the lady who had hailed him—Lady Shelton, the beautiful widow of Baron Shelton of Rutland. She indicated a supper box—in which several ladies and gentlemen were already seated—and beckoned Alex with a smile of enticement that set Olivia’s teeth on edge. She’d never been introduced to Lady Shelton nor, she realised as she scanned the occupants of that box, to any of the others, apart from Lords Clevedon and Sudbury. They were of an older set than the young gentleman and ladies she normally socialised with. A shiver chased down her spine. She chose to interpret it as a shiver of excitement rather than apprehension. At last she would experience a little of real life...the life outside the confined world of debutantes and chaperons and balls and Almack’s.
‘You don’t mind if we join them, do you, Livvy?’ Alex said, his eyes glued to Lady Shelton.
‘Beatrice! I’m Beatrice, remember?’
‘What? Oh, yes, of course. But you don’t mind, do you?’
Neville stepped forward and cleared his throat. ‘Alex. Have you forgotten what you said?’
‘What?’ Alex tore his gaze from the buxom blonde and stared at Neville.
Neville’s jaw firmed. ‘It’s no good givin’ me the evil eye. You said on no account was I to be tempted to join up with any of our pals while your sister is under our protection. We was to walk around a while, have a bite of supper if it’s not too late—’
‘Well, it is too late, ’cause she kept us waiting for ever.’
‘And then take her straight home.’ Neville spoke over Alex’s grumble. ‘That’s what you said. And they—’ he indicated the occupants of the box with a flick of his head ‘—ain’t even our pals. And they ain’t fitting company for your sister, neither.’
‘Oh, never mind that now,’ said Alex. ‘We shan’t stay above five minutes—ten, at the most. Do try not to be so faint-hearted. You’ll be all right, won’t you, Liv—Beatrice? We’ll both be with you. There’s no need to be afraid.’
‘Afraid? Why should I be afraid? Don’t be so stuffy, Neville. Really, you are as bad as Papa, fussing over every little thing. How can there be any risk? They’ll never recognise me.’
They approached Lady Shelton.
‘Lord Alexander, Mr Wolfe,’ she purred. ‘How lovely to see you both. I hoped I might persuade you to join our little party tonight?’ She indicated the box behind her and the neighbouring box. ‘Just a few select friends gathered here to celebrate Lord Clevedon’s birthday.’ Her gaze skimmed Olivia, who detected curiosity, but also a touch of scorn, in her ladyship’s blue eyes. ‘Will you introduce your companion?’ She leaned closer and her strong perfume wafted up Olivia’s nose, making it twitch. She held her breath, desperate not to sneeze. Lady Shelton fingered the edge of the hood covering Olivia’s head. ‘There really is no need to be bashful with us, my dear,’ she added, with an amused smile. ‘You will be among friends. We do not judge.’
‘Oh, this is Beatrice...er...well, just Beatrice,’ Alex said, dismissively, as he handed her into the less crowded of the two supper boxes. ‘She’s...er...well, she’s here incognito as a wager. Yes, that’s it. A wager.’
Olivia sat down, fuming. Really, Alex couldn’t dissemble convincingly if he tried. No one, listening to him, would believe she was his lady-love now. And that might cause them to wonder who else she might be. She might be willing to rebel now and then, and to take a few risks, but she had no wish for her behaviour to become common knowledge. She knew very well what was expected of her and, in public, she was every inch the perfectly behaved young aristocratic lady. She inched along the bench and smiled invitingly at Neville as she patted the space next to hers. He would do as a decoy. He eyed her warily and then, with a shrug, he sat next to her while Alex squeezed in next to Lady Shelton with a triumphant grin.
‘You gentlemen will already be acquainted with my companions,’ Lady Shelton said, ‘but, for Beatrice’s sake, allow me to introduce Lady Sale, Lords Clevedon and Sudbury, Lord Hugo Alastair, Mr and Mrs Bartlett and Mr Douglas Randall.’
A whisper of caution warned Olivia that these people were very different from those she was used to. She scanned their faces again, suddenly anxious, but there was nothing she could do...having accepted her ladyship’s invitation she could not now ask Alex to leave without drawing attention and speculation. She drew in a steadying breath. Ten minutes, he had said. She could manage ten minutes.
A glass was placed before her and a male hand, a ruby ring on one finger, tipped liquid from a jug, filling the glass. She raised her gaze, which had been fixed to the white tablecloth—soiled with crumbs, bearing witness to the supper recently consumed—and met the dark gaze of Lord Hugo Alastair. She felt the blood rush to her face as she forced herself to hold eye contact...there was something about his challenging scrutiny that attracted her and yet made her nervous at the same time...tingles of awareness chasing along every nerve in her body, urging her to flee. Or to find out more. His perfectly shaped mouth curved in a smile.
‘What is this drink, sir?’ Olivia raised the glass, eyeing the amber liquid.
‘Arrack punch. Not too potent for you, is it?’ There was a barely perceptible pause and she caught the twitch of his lips before he added, ‘Beatrice.’
She swallowed a sudden swell of nerves. He couldn’t possibly know her identity. Could he? She raised the glass to her lips, conscious the whole time of Lord Hugo’s scrutiny. She’d never tried arrack punch before. She sipped, and barely prevented her nose from wrinkling. It was strong. But she would not allow this...this...mocking coxcomb the satisfaction of believing her weak. Or lacking in experience.
‘It is delicious, thank you.’
She tilted her chin. He was as bad as her brothers...all her life she’d had to prove herself to them—prove herself capable of matching whatever they could do. She drank again. It tasted better this time and she felt the warmth hit her stomach, reminding her that she’d been so excited about tonight she’d barely eaten a thing at dinner and now—she glanced around the table—they were clearly too late for any supper here. She was conscious of the weight of Lord Hugo’s gaze upon her. She knew him by sight, but they’d never been introduced—he was not the sort of man who attended come-out balls or who frequented Almack’s. In fact, he was exactly the sort of man her Aunt Cecily would warn her to avoid: a disreputable rake and definitely an unsuitable acquaintance for a young lady in her first Season. She glanced at his lordship and saw his attention had been diverted by Mrs Bartlett, his head cocked towards her as she spoke into his ear. He smiled at her words and from looking rather dangerous—with his dark, sardonic good looks—his features were transformed. He looked much younger as his eyes crinkled—lines fanning out from the corners—and