To Catch A Suitor (Dalton Family 2)

“And what color was this kitten?” he asked, narrowing his sea blue eyes.

“White with a little black speck on its right ear. Now will you please focus on my hair so I do not have to make a home out here under this tree?”

She heard the small chuckle again—one that no one else would have been able to hear, but she was able to detect it because his chest was right beside her face. The fabric of his jacket brushed against her cheek. She swallowed.

“I think we are going to have to cut it,” he said.

Elizabeth gasped. “No!” Images of her entering Addington Hall and sitting down to dinner with half of her hair cropped an inch from her scalp flashed through her mind.

Again, that chuckle, but this time louder. “Only kidding. It’s done.” He lowered his arms and Elizabeth felt the release of the branch.

She sighed and rubbed the now sore spot on her head. “Thank you.”

“You might want to take a peek in a mirror before you thank me. I’m afraid I’ve quite thoroughly ruined your coiffure.”

“At least we didn’t have to cut it. And luckily I have a bonnet somewhere around here that I can use to hide the devastation until I’ve time to fix it once again.” She glanced around, looking for the accessory that, for once in her life, might have served a good purpose had she left it on.

The cream bonnet was resting by Oliver’s boots. He picked it up and smiled at her. Elizabeth held out her hand but Oliver swatted it away. He slid the bonnet on her head and bent slightly to see what he was doing as he tied the ribbons under her chin. Unfortunately, he was wearing his riding gloves and she couldn’t feel the warmth of his hands. It was odd how much she had come to crave his touch.

If this whole situation had happened with Wesley rather than Oliver, Elizabeth guessed the viscount would have assessed her situation and then dashed off home to obtain a chaperone before he began to untangle her hair. And she could never in a million years picture him tying the ribbons of her bonnet under her chin. Perhaps Wesley was the better gentleman. Was it so terrible that she did not wish for a perfect gentleman all of the time?

Was it so awful that she wished for romance—stolen kisses and longing glances? She wanted to feel her heart race and her cheeks flush. Both of which were happening with Oliver standing so closely in front of her. She’d seen his jaw lined with stubble many, many times over the years, but never until that moment had she had such an urge to run her fingers slowly across it.

Oliver was ruining everything again. She was supposed to be putting him behind her. Why could he not simply have left her alone and given her heart a chance to love Wesley? Instead, he was popping up out of nowhere, with a handsome jaw of sandy scruff, his hair a bit too long, curling around his ears and neck, and he smelled—

“What are you doing here, Oliver?” she asked, in a curt tone, cutting off her own unhelpful thoughts.

He finished the bow under her chin and dropped his hands—but did not step away and give her the space she needed, however.

“Rescuing you, as always.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I mean, on Lord Hastings's property. Are you stalking me?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Yes, darling. You see, I’m hopelessly in love with you and I’ve followed you all this way because I’ve come to find that London no longer holds any value without you in it.”

But see, the thing about Oliver’s sarcasm is that he was so good at it, that sometimes it sounded rather like he was telling the truth. Like just then, Elizabeth knew it was a sarcastic jest, but her poor, stupid heart did not seem to understand the concept.

She held his gaze for a few breathless moments. Not daring to say anything lest something horribly wrong and vulnerable fell out of her mouth.

“Well,” he finally said, breaking first. “Those reasons and because…my father died.”

Elizabeth sucked in an audible breath. “When?”

“Last week.”

“Last week? So long ago. Why didn’t you tell me?” It hurt that he hadn’t informed her. No one had.

He didn’t say anything at first. But his eyes looked saddened. “Lizzie, I…I’m trying to find my way through life without you.” His look grew meaningful. “Because I know that very soon, I will lose my best friend and have no choice.”

There were no words that felt adequate enough to speak at that moment. It all felt so painful.

Elizabeth stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Oliver’s middle. He didn’t push her away or delay even a moment. Instead, Oliver wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close, resting his chin on her head as if he needed that embrace to hold him up. Elizabeth knew what Frank Turner had been to Oliver. And she also knew that Oliver despised talking about it. She didn’t push him on it. She simply wished to hold him.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“It’s hot,” said Kate with a pouty face. “How much farther must we walk?”

Oliver shifted the picnic basket on his arm and looked sideways at Elizabeth. It was her idea to have a picnic, and so she was the one calling the shots.