To Catch A Suitor (Dalton Family 2)

Oliver sighed and broke his eyes away from Elizabeth. “Of course. I’ll be right there.” Elizabeth could feel Oliver looking at her again but she refused to meet his gaze. Why could he not just tell the woman no? Clearly, whatever it was he had been about to say was important. But apparently his dedication to the flirty miss—and every other blasted debutante in London—was more important. Oliver only wanted Elizabeth when he was bored. When he needed a friend. When they were safely tucked away at Dalton Park and no one of the ton was around to entertain him. When would she stop forgetting that?

Elizabeth’s anger boiled. She was sick to death of being there whenever he was ready to talk.

“Elizabeth.

Could we speak later?” asked Oliver, as Lord Hastings rejoined her on his staid and sensible mount.

She snapped her eyes to Oliver. “No, I don’t think there will be time.”

His brows furrowed. “But—”

“Carver,” she cut Oliver off and looked over her shoulder at her brother. “How much farther…?” She frowned at her chaperones who had fallen back and floated so far away from the group, looking so deeply lost in their own blissful newlywed world it was laughable. They both only had one hand on their horse’s reins—their other hands were entwined together. Mary would have been aghast. No. She couldn’t think of Mary just then. She still wasn’t sure what to do about her sister and that frightened her.

Oliver cantered back up to Miss Barley’s side.

Lord Hastings fell in line with Elizabeth.

She still had an entire afternoon stretched out in front of her—of faking a smile and pursuing a man she didn’t love.

And suddenly, she wanted to cry.

Everything felt wrong. Flirting felt wrong. London felt wrong. She and Oliver felt wrong. And the bright lavender riding habit she was wearing definitely felt wrong. None of this was her, and she wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up. Would it even be worth it in the end?

Chapter Twenty

Oliver focused on taking three deep breaths in and out of his nose.

Inhale. Exhale.

If he concentrated all of his attention on breathing slowly and purposefully—

Inhale. Exhale.

He would not notice how utterly and completely infuriated Elizabeth was making him.

Inhale. Exha—

Elizabeth’s fake tickling laugh interrupted his meditation. Lord Hastings had said not one humorous thing the entire afternoon. Not a single one. And yet, Elizabeth had laughed that obnoxious fake laugh what he imagined was over a hundred times. What did she see in that man? Most would call Lord Hastings an upstanding gentleman. Oliver just found him to be a dead bore. Not one surprising or original statement had left the viscount’s mouth since they set out that morning.

Oliver had sworn to himself he wouldn’t interfere. But of course, just like every other time he found himself in Elizabeth’s company, he couldn’t stay away from her. She was a magnet and everything in him was absurdly attracted to her. He was also so inexcusably jealous of Hastings that Oliver was afraid his skin was starting to physically turn green.

Almost as green as all of those cucumbers Lord Hastings was placing on Elizabeth’s plate at that moment. Oliver watched closely to see how Elizabeth would react.

They had arrived at Lady Charlotte Stanton’s house a half hour ago and were enjoying—enjoying being the opposite adjective of how he was truly feeling—a picnic in her gardens. They were all seated around a table bright with pristine white linens and gleaming utensils reflecting the sun’s light overhead. It never ceased to amuse Oliver what fashionable Society thought was a picnic. Miss Barley leaned into Oliver’s side, once again a little too close for his comfort, and started remarking on the well manicured paths of the garden and how she should like above anything to explore them before it was time to leave. She was about as subtle as an elephant in a church. She likely wanted to get him alone on one of those paths and find out if his reputation of being a fantastic kisser was well-earned. One thing was for sure: Miss Barley would never find out.

She droned on and on, but he mentally clapped his hands over his ears so he could focus on Elizabeth’s reaction across the table when Lord Hastings handed her the plate he had so chivalrously prepared for her. Oliver narrowed his eyes as the plate was set in front of Elizabeth. She looked down at it and Oliver didn’t miss the split second frown that pulled at her mouth. Her eyes flicked up to Oliver’s and locked for one knowing moment before she turned to Hastings and recovered her smile. “Thank you, my lord.”

Hastings looked smug at the sight of her smile. He nodded toward her plate. “I believe you forgot to ask for cucumbers so I took the liberty of adding a few to your plate.” He picked one off of his own plate and took a large indulgent bite and swallowed. “They are a delicious fruit. You agree, do you not?”

Elizabeth blinked a few times quickly. “Oh, yes. I adore them.”

A loud scoff fell out of Oliver’s mouth. He covered it with a cough, but it still earned him a sharp glare from Elizabeth.

They communicated in their wordless language. “Shut it. Not a single word.”

He smiled and leaned back, folding his arms. “Fine. But I will always know the truth.”

The sun was full and warm and Elizabeth hadn’t come inside for luncheon, which could mean only one thing.