To Catch A Suitor (Dalton Family 2)

And she still wasn’t sure what to make of the way Oliver had reacted to the sight of her. It certainly hadn't done anything to lessen her anxieties. He had reacted so strangely when she first walked down the stairs, as though he wanted to be anywhere but there with her. Perhaps it was pathetic, however, despite her confirmed suspicions regarding Oliver’s lack of romantic feelings toward her, that part of her was still hoping he would see her in that gown and find her breathtaking.

It wasn’t fair that instead, she felt exactly that way about him. Really, must he wear such formfitting jackets? Did he perform some sort of exercise to build the muscles tugging against his jacket? What would it feel like to run her hand up his arm and over those broad shoulders?

“What are you thinking of that’s making you blush so suddenly?” asked Oliver, his deep blue eyes sparking with amusement, a devilish smile on his lips. Drat. He’d caught her ogling him.

Elizabeth shook her head lightly, “Oh nothing. I’m simply…” She was going to say that she was simply warm, but the sound of another woman’s voice interrupted her.

It seemed they had finally been discovered in their blissful little corner.

Chapter Ten

“Mr. Turner!” A petite, dark-haired young woman moved to stand far too close to Oliver. Did every woman have to look at him in that kiss-me-here-and-now way? She certainly understood the desire, but must they wear it so plainly across their faces? “I hoped you would be in attendance tonight. How dashing you look in your dark green jacket. It is quite my favorite of your wardrobe.” She reached out and ran her hand slowly down the length of his arm. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. Did every woman pet him in such a way?

“Ah—Miss Barley. You are also looking radiant in your lovely gown.” Huh. Miss Barley looked radiant while Elizabeth simply looked well? Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek. This was precisely why she must move on from Oliver. She needed comments such as those to lose their sting.

Miss Barley feigned embarrassment as she coyly sidled closer to Oliver. “I knew I could count on you to notice my new frock. It was made especially for the occasion. And, if I am remembering correctly”—the blasted woman bit her lower lip—“this particular shade of blue is your favorite, is it not?”

Elizabeth could only blink at her forwardness. And also at how startlingly long her lashes were. Good heavens, but they looked terrifying—like spiders perched above her eyes, waiting to crawl off and bite someone at any moment.

Even more startling was the charming smile Oliver returned to her. “Your memory serves you well, Miss Barley. It is indeed my favorite color.” This party was becoming less and less enjoyable by the minute. As though he could hear her thoughts, Oliver looked her way. How good of him to remember she existed. “Forgive me, Lady Elizabeth, have you and Miss Barley been yet acquainted?” With that look, Elizabeth’

s heart sank even further. His face looked different—his smile bright and welcoming, of course, but also devoid of the intimacy and warmth she usually felt from him. It was as if he had put on a new man, one too pleasant for his own good, suddenly treating Elizabeth as if she were nothing more than a mere acquaintance.

“I have not had the pleasure,” said Elizabeth, burying her feelings down deep, to be examined later.

Miss Barley’s eyes slid to Elizabeth, deliberately assessing her slowly from head to toe in a way that made Elizabeth wish to hide behind the drapes. She felt ridiculous enough as it was in this dress. She didn’t need Miss Barley’s help to feel any more a spectacle.

“A pleasure, my lady.” Somehow Miss Barley managed to make even that small statement sound condescending. Her dark—nearly black—eyes turned back up to Oliver and she fluttered her spider-lashes at him. “Now that you are back in Town, I do hope you will join Mama and me for tea one day soon.” She turned her eyes to Elizabeth, a sneer marking her pouty lips. “Of course, you are also welcome, Lady Elizabeth. It’s only that Mr. Turner has always been a frequent visitor to our home, and Mama does so dote on him.” The woman’s face molded back into a flirtatious smile as she looked up at Oliver. “She will be most disappointed if made to endure another week without your company.”

Could the woman be any more obvious? Her meaning came through loud and clear—she was staking her claim on Oliver Turner. Well, Elizabeth had news for Miss Barley. She would not be entering the competition. A friend was all she would ever be to Oliver. Unless, of course, he were to…no. It was past time for her to stop wishing for the impossible.

Oliver’s eyes darted to Elizabeth—holding her gaze for the briefest of moments—and then back to Miss Barley. “I should not wish to disappoint you or your lovely mother for the world, Miss Barley. I will call within the week,” he said. His words felt like daggers to Elizabeth. But why?

Elizabeth had known Oliver was a flirt. That was nothing new. But some small part of her had hoped that maybe, just maybe, when she came to London, he wouldn’t flirt with anyone but her. Now, she felt stupid and small for ever entertaining such a hope.

The last few bubbles slid across Elizabeth’s tongue as she finished off her drink. She cast her eyes out over the now crowded drawing room and thought of the plan she had been concocting in her mind all day. It was time to act on it.

Her eyes raced over each of the different well-dressed ladies and gentlemen in their finery. She was vaguely aware of Oliver and Miss Barley continuing their flirtations, but the sounds around her all faded to a muffled hum as she searched for the right person—the right man.

Her eyes bounced, sorted, and measured each person in attendance until her gaze landed on a tall gentleman in the back corner of the room. And there she lingered. He was much taller than the other men gathered around him, and he was dressed in the height of fashion. He had brown hair—closer to the color of honey than true brown—and a nice lazy sort of smile. He was handsome, exuding a quiet confidence. Elizabeth was determined to detach her heart from Oliver, and this man just might be the one to help her do it.

Miss Barley’s voice suddenly cut through Elizabeth’s thoughts. “I see you’ve noticed Lord Hastings.” Elizabeth chose to ignore her smug tone and use the opportunity to her advantage instead.

“Yes—I admit I have.” Elizabeth resisted the urge to look at Oliver. She turned her eyes to Miss Barley instead. “What can you tell me about him?”

Miss Barley let out a short laugh and managed to move even closer to Oliver, casting her eyes toward Lord Hastings. Elizabeth’s feet itched to step on the woman’s toes, but she refrained. She had no claim on Oliver.

“Only that he is a viscount and referred to as the Unobtainable. Many a woman has set her cap for him, but none have ever caught his eye.” Interesting. For some reason, Elizabeth liked that thought. It was exciting, and goodness knows she liked excitement. “Not only has he never courted a woman, but he never dances at balls and very rarely pays attention to any females.” Her eyes slid like serpents back to Elizabeth. “But by all means, try your hand at the man, my lady.”

Elizabeth could feel Oliver’s gaze burning into the side of her face. Did he disapprove of her forward questions? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t allow his opinion to hold weight anymore. As much as it pained her, it was time for their relationship to undergo a change.

“Are you acquainted with the viscount?” Elizabeth asked Oliver this time.

He held her eyes—face nearly expressionless. “A bit.” His voice was quiet.

“If you will both excuse me, I see a friend who has just arrived. But do find me later Mr. Turner. We have much catching up to do.” Miss Barley fluttered her lashes at Oliver and dropped a curtsy before walking off. But Elizabeth did not miss the way Miss Barley’s fingers lightly trailed over Oliver’s elbow as she passed him. A possessive fire swept through Elizabeth’s body, and she had to force her gaze to her feet in an attempt to smother it.

Jealousy. Anger. Hurt. Longing. It all washed over Elizabeth like a wave. She didn’t want to feel these things, but her mind insisted on replaying every single moment that had transpired between Oliver and Miss Loxley, Oliver and Miss Barley, and Oliver and every other woman with whom she had seen him interact. It wasn’t fair. She had shared so much of her life with him, and he had this whole other life in London that he lived without her. Now that she was here and seeing it first hand, it made her ache. She was present with Oliver, but she still was not truly able to share it with him. They were friends. Nothing more. She could not trail her fingers across his elbow. She could not dance fluttering eyelashes in his direction.