To Catch A Suitor (Dalton Family 2)

Oliver had almost made it to the drawing room when a familiar sound caught his ear. He paused. A light chuckle drifted down the long hallway and settled over Oliver like a fresh breeze in summer. He smiled and looked over his shoulder, making sure Jeffers wasn’t skulking around the corner, tracking his every move. He then hurried down the hallway toward the parlor at the back of the house.

The door was slightly ajar and Oliver peeked in, the sight stealing his breath. Elizabeth was curled in the corner of a settee, bathed in a warm glow of sunlight. Her loose curls glinted like gold in the sun. Her fingers were pressed to her mouth, a book in her other hand, and she was smiling—trying to stifle another laugh.

Oliver knew he should walk away. But his heart was practically grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket, demanding he go in. His heart and mind warred.

This is London. Rules are different here than at Dalton Park, and she is alone. Do not go in.

But he could leave the door open…

It would still be inappropriate.

He could leave the door wide open and sit far across the room.

Turn around and leave.

But goodness, she was beautiful. And captivating. And humorous. And he didn’t entirely trust himself to not walk right in that room and blurt out, “I adore you, Lizzie. I cannot be simply your friend any longer.”

He expelled an annoyed breath. What was he, a foolish young buck with no self-control? No. He was a grown man. He could go into that room and be Elizabeth's friend just like he’d been doing for the past ten years. Besides, it wasn’t as if he could avoid her forever. Now was the time for him to school his feelings—until those feelings fled altogether. Because they would. He would make sure of it.

But he seriously doubted they would dissipate at all today with her looking like the goddess of beauty. For this reason, he officially decided that he would turn away and wait in the drawing room, as far away as possible from Elizabeth Ashburn.

“Good morning, Lizzie,” he said, pushing the door open. Blast. No control. And now her bright blue eyes were flying to him and her smile was blooming and he was walking to her. Walking right to her. Not to the chair where he had promised himself he would sit, but to the very settee where she was already perched.

“Oliver!” How did she always manage to make his name sound so remarkable? She made to stand but he waved her back down. “You weren?

??t planning to jump out and scare me, were you? Because I don’t think it would be in your best interest to begin a battle of that sort again,” said Elizabeth.

She wasn’t wrong. Elizabeth took scaring a man to a whole new level. He had always hoped to one-up her but somehow she always managed to outdo him instead, hiding away in the most unexpected places and then scaring the living daylights out of him when she would pop out with a loud noise.

He chuckled. “No, no. I forfeited those wars a long time ago and I’m still waving the white flag.” His eyes fell to her book. “Am I intruding? Shall I leave you to your reading?”

“No,” she said, snapping it shut and moving her bare feet to the floor. She started messing with her hair, tucking strands behind her ears and looking self-conscious—much like she had last night before the soirée.

His brows furrowed and he grinned. “What are you doing?”

She paused her fidgeting and her eyes met his. “I just realized how I must look. I haven’t even run a brush through my hair yet this morning.” Something about those words—knowing that he was seeing her just as she had awoken—sent a thrill through him.

No. No thrills.

He attempted a light chuckle and gestured toward the seat beside her on the little settee. She nodded and he sat down, refusing to acknowledge the empty chair mocking his weak will from across the room. “You do realize that I’ve seen you with your hair down more than pinned up throughout the course of our friendship?”

“Yes…but it’s different here.”

“Still looks blonde to me.”

She gave him a flat look. “You know what I mean. It’s different in London.” He did know. He had just been thinking that before he walked in. “Here, in Town, I must be Lady Elizabeth, and you are Mr…” She paused a moment, her thoughts seemingly moving to his father just as his did, every time he heard his own surname. “Turner.”

His chest tightened. Why did he have to share that man’s name? Why could hearing it always jolt him back to his father, shoving him up against a wall, face purple with anger. Telling him he was a burden, a weight, an albatross, how much better life would have been had he not been born.

“Anyway” she continued, “I don’t think we are allowed to be quite as familiar with each other as we are at Dalton Park.” He was thankful she had changed conversational tacks, ignoring the tension surrounding his parentage.

He finally relaxed against the settee and draped his arm over the back. “Are you suggesting we implement some new rules for our friendship?”

Her blue eyes sparkled. “Exactly.”

Rules were exactly what they needed. A few mutually understood guidelines would help him put Elizabeth back inside the friendship box where she needed to stay. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, lessening his presence around her would ensure that she was given more of a chance to make a match with someone else. It would be best for both of them.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.