“I am sorry for your pain,” Livy said softly. “But I know I love Hadleigh.”
“And if he forces you to choose between him and the important work you are doing now?”
Livy squared her shoulders. “He will not make me choose.”
Inside, she wasn’t quite as confident. She was forced to admit that while she knew Hadleigh as a friend, she did not know him as a lover or husband. What were his expectations for marriage? Her disquiet grew as she recalled the rumors of his possessiveness over his duchess and the duels he’d fought over her.
Then Livy’s thoughts bounced to his dominant behavior in the stables with Lady Foxton. At the time, his mastery over his lover had stirred a deep and primal response in Livy, but she hadn’t considered the possibility that he might be domineering in other spheres of life. It was one thing to play wicked games of passion, which she was all for; it was another if he expected her to be obedient in everyday life.
This could be a problem.
She chewed on her lip, not liking her uncertainty. The possibility that her two great passions might be pitted against one another. She wanted everything: the man she loved and the freedom to do what she wanted.
“You are as headstrong as I was, Livy. And just as blinded.” Shaking her head, Charlie said, “Whatever you decide, I will remind you of the vow of secrecy you gave when you joined the Angels. You kept the truth about our society from Hadleigh last night, and you must continue to do so. For the protection of our clients and all involved in our group. I want your word, Livy.”
Livy hated lying to Hadleigh. Yet she could not go back on her word to her mentor, who had given her so much…the keys to a dazzling new world of adventure.
Livy released a breath. “You have my word.”
Solving problems is my specialty, she reassured herself. I’ll find a solution. First, I need to ascertain what Hadleigh’s expectations are for marriage. Then maybe I can find a way to convince Charlie that he can be trusted…
“The duke is here!” Glory exclaimed.
Livy’s heart thumped with eagerness…and a hint of trepidation for the ruse that was to follow.
“Take your positions, Angels.” Charlie’s tone was brisk. “You know what to do.”
As Ben bowed to the ladies, he had a feeling that something was not quite right.
He tried to pinpoint the cause of his assessment. Lady Fayne was politeness itself, the quintessential hostess in her drawing room graced by white marble goddesses. Against the elegant backdrop, Livy glowed with a dewy freshness that heated his loins, her chestnut hair radiant against the blue walls. She was seated on a buttercup-yellow settee, the other Willflowers on adjacent chairs. All three ladies had embroidery hoops on their laps.
Everything was proper and perfect.
And therein lies the problem.
“Your Grace, how lovely to see you again.” Lady Fayne’s gracious tones drew him out of his thoughts. “To what do we owe the honor?”
He shook off his odd intuition. Told himself he was imagining things. Who was he to question why Livy was doing needlework? He ought to be grateful that Lady Fayne managed to keep the minx occupied with genteel activities…during the daytime, at least. His eyes met Livy’s, and the playful warmth in those celadon orbs hit him straight in the chest and lower.
Hell’s teeth, I am not going to get hard in this bloody drawing room.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Before he departed, the Duke of Strathaven asked me to keep an eye on Lady Olivia, and I fear I have been remiss in my duties.”
“How kind of you to stop by.” The impish curve of Livy’s mouth begged to be kissed. “I’ve been thinking about you since our last visit. It has been far too long.”
Damnit, if the chit didn’t stop flirting with him, he was going to pounce on her and give them away to her chaperone.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Your Grace? I shall pour tea,” Lady Fayne said.
Joining Livy on the settee, Ben could smell her fruity, feminine scent, and it made his mouth water. She looked fetching in a gown the shade of peaches…which immediately reminded him of his dream. Of tasting and licking her juiciest part. Devil and damn, this was going to be a torturous visit. To distract himself, he studied the embroidery hoop in her lap.
Using pink silk thread, she’d stitched a pair of wings, surrounding a monogram of “SOA,” on a fine linen handkerchief. The stitches were neat and precise. He noticed with further surprise that there was a stack of handkerchiefs on the coffee table in front of her, all embroidered in the same impeccable manner.
He lifted his brows. “Your needlework has improved.”
“Has it?” She gave him an innocent look. “Perhaps I never applied myself before.”
“And you are motivated to do so now?”
“It is for a good cause,” she said demurely.
“The proceeds of the handkerchiefs go toward helping women in need.” Lady Fayne handed him a cup, settling on the other side of the coffee table. “Perhaps you would care to purchase a few, Your Grace, to help our cause?”
“I’ll take the lot.” He sampled the beverage. Oddly enough, the tea was exactly how he preferred it.
“How kind of you,” Lady Fayne murmured.
“It is my pleasure to support your charitable efforts. I confess, I am awestruck that you have managed to corral Livy into needlework.” He suppressed a grin when Livy wrinkled her nose. “Is that what you ladies do all day?”
“We do a little of this, a little of that. We also, for instance, write pamphlets that build on the foundation of Wollstonecraft’s superb treatise, A Vindication of the Rights of Women.” Lady Fayne gestured at a stack of papers on a nearby escritoire. “Perhaps you would care to take one?”
“Thank you,” he
