Lady Olivia And The Infamous Rake

As Olivia opened her mouth to protest her good health, she was distracted by the sight of a tall, dark-haired gentleman walking up the aisle with a tiny, older woman upon his arm. He turned his head, scanning the congregation already seated in the high-sided box pews and, even though she was seated furthest away from him, his gaze lingered on Olivia, a smile tugging at his mouth. She felt her eyes widen.

What is he doing here? What does that look mean? What is he doing with Lady Tod—?

Her thoughts stumbled and tripped over one another as Lord Hugo Alastair handed Lady Todmorden—his mother, who had been Lady Rothley before, Olivia now recalled—into a pew. Never had she seen Lord Hugo attend the church, although Lady Todmorden attended every week and, as she and Aunt Cecily were on friendly terms, they often exchanged a few pleasantries if they met at a function, or in passing on the street, or—and Olivia’s heart gave a racketing thump before it began to race—after church.

‘Livvy? What is it? You look as though you have seen a ghost.’ Aunt Cecily now chafed Olivia’s hand between hers.

‘I am perfectly all right.’ Olivia forced her gaze back to her aunt, praying she hadn’t noticed her interest in Hugo. She elevated her nose. ‘I was merely indulging in pious reflection. This is a church, is it not?’

The bells ceased ringing just as Aunt Cecily tutted and it sounded extraordinarily loud in the sudden, solemn hush inside the church. Olivia cast a sidelong look of reproach at her pink-cheeked aunt because that is precisely how Aunt Cecily would expect her to react, but inside she was a mass of seething conjecture. Alex rarely attended church—he claimed to prefer the services at St James’s Church, on Piccadilly, but Olivia was certain he had never set foot in the place. So Hugo was not here today to see Alex, which meant he had come to speak to her. Hope blossomed. Had he recovered her necklace already? She had prayed for a miracle; perhaps this was it.

And, in among that hope was...another emotion she did not recognise. She could put no name to it, but it prompted the frequent urge to slide her gaze sideways until she could just see, from the corner of her eye, his lordship. And, every time, a little jolt of...something...sped through her, making her feel, somehow, more alive. Excitement. But not just any ordinary, everyday excitement. This was...fizzing, bubbly, high—the feeling she always got at her first sip of freshly poured champagne. It made her heart feel somehow hollow and yet full at the same time. She could hardly bear to sit still as the vicar droned on or as she bent her head in prayer. She snatched another glance at Lord Hugo among the kerfuffle as they all stood to sing, drinking in his tall, broad-shouldered frame and the firm line of his jaw.

Olivia waited in a fever of impatience for the service to end, even though she could not see how she could snatch a private word with Lord Hugo. She might enjoy occasional acts of rebellion, but she was not reckless enough to talk openly to a man of his dubious reputation. She was well aware of the behaviour expected of a young lady and she took care to behave with perfect propriety in public.