next instant, he made a deft turn and lowered her to the ground in a long, slow, effortless slide, her body grazing the length of his. She was acutely aware of his body’s heat. Its granitelike hardness. The power of his arms and the shifting contours of his mountainous shoulders beneath her hands. By the time her feet touched the grass, she was more than a little breathless and her pulse was racing so fast, she felt giddy.
To combat the wave of dizziness, she closed her eyes, her hands lingering about the marquess’s neck. Given that his hands remained about her waist, he didn’t seem in any hurry to relinquish his hold either.
Thick silky hair brushed the backs of her fingers. His distinctive masculine scent—a potent mix of leather, musk, and exotic spices—teased her senses, and for one mad moment, she contemplated pressing her face against his shirtfront, just so she could get closer to him.
No wonder Peridot had looked so beatific in his arms. He smelled divine.
“Are you all right, Miss Lavinia?” Lord Sleat’s voice was no longer a gruff rumble, but low and soft, like a lion’s gentle purr.
Olivia forced herself to open her eyes and take a step back. How fanciful she was becoming. Not to mention shameless. She might already have a sullied reputation in the eyes of her family and polite society, but she really shouldn’t risk making it worse. “Y-yes. I’m quite f-fine,” she stammered. Her cheeks bloomed with heat at the thought that the marquess might think she’d actually swooned in his arms.
Lord Sleat frowned down at her. “Not quite, lass,” he said, plucking her pink slipper from a nearby rosebush. Then, before she knew what he was about, he knelt on the grass, and like the prince in a fairy tale, he slid her slipper onto her foot. His touch seemed to sear through the silk of her stocking to the flesh beneath, making her shiver with awareness. He looked up at her, his mouth curving in a decidedly rakish smile as he relinquished her ankle. “Now everything’s just right.”
Olivia swallowed, and her blush deepened. “Th-thank you.” Was the marquess deliberately trying to make her swoon again? Because if he was, he was very close to succeeding.
She really should go.
Something tugged the back of her muslin gown, and when she glanced down, it was to discover Peridot had pounced on the torn flounce trailing from her hem. Naughty puss. She picked up the cat and bobbed a quick curtsy. “My lord, I thank you again for your . . . for your assistance. But it’s time P-Peridot and I bid you adieu.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.” He gestured toward the terrace and the open French doors. The shadows had lengthened, and candles and lamps glowed warmly in the elegant drawing room beyond. “Let me escort you out.”
Olivia froze. “Oh.” She shook her head. “I d-don’t think . . . Is there by any ch-chance another way? A gate leading to the m-mews? I don’t mean to cause offense, but as you are a b-bachelor, and I am . . .” She lifted her chin. “And I am unchaperoned, it m-might invite unwanted attention if I leave via your front door.” Good Lord, if her aunt and uncle’s priggish butler, Mr. Finch, caught sight of her leaving Sleat House, she’d be done for.
Lord Sleat nodded. “Ah yes, you are absolutely right. A discreet exit would be wise. Come.” He began walking with long, sure strides toward the end of the garden, and Olivia had to rush to keep up. “Let me show you something.”
He stopped before a narrow gap in a waist-high boxwood hedge. Ivy cascaded over the top of the wall like a tumbling, verdant waterfall. “See here.” With a sweep of his arm, Lord Sleat roughly pushed aside the heavy green curtain. “There’s actually a secret gate connecting these two gardens, but it hasn’t been used in years.”
Peering into the shadowed recess, Olivia blinked in surprise. “My goodness.” Sure enough, a small door of weathered gray wood had been neatly concealed in the brickwork. Ivy, moss, and lichen had crept their way over the paneling, and the ornate, wrought iron hinges were rusted with age.
Lord Sleat tugged at some of the ivy tendrils curling around the bolt. “I believe one of my wicked forebears had it installed so that he and his mistress—who resided next door—could conduct their clandestine affair more easily.” Lord Sleat flashed a grin over his shoulder.