Read Online Wallflower Gone Wild by Maya Rodale - Free Book Online Page B

people looking on with slightly bemused, slightly horrified expressions. Her cheeks were still hot. She was hot, all over. She straightened, awkwardly clutching the handkerchief, and looked around. For once, everyone was staring at her.
    Olivia’s gaze locked with the Mad Baron’s even though he stood at a distance. How she managed to find him in the crowd escaped her. There was just some pull between them, she supposed, even though she knew better now.
    Still . . . still . . . she could see his green eyes fixed intently upon hers. The intensity of his gaze unnerved her. Had she made him angry? Had she embarrassed him? Was that not the point of this ridiculous exercise?
    Above all, why did she have the urge to smooth back his hair and apologize? Prudence was right: she was too good for her own good.
    P hinn set off after Olivia, only to be stopped by Rogan, who had deigned to appear in the ballroom after disappearing into the card rooms upon their arrival hours ago. Phinn scanned the room to see where Olivia had gone to now.
    She’d had her hands all over some fellow, which led to the inconvenient revelation that he already felt possessive of her. There was no logical reason he should feel that way. Such a sentiment also revealed that his attraction to her was not entirely based upon her lovely appearance and perfect reputation. It was deeper, more primal. He wanted her hands on him.
    “Ah there you are,” Rogan said brightly.
    “How fares your wagering? Losing more than you can afford?” Phinn inquired, still scanning the room for Olivia.
    “I was. Sadly,” Rogan said dejectedly. “We don’t all have your freakish ability to predict winning hands and to be so inscrutable about it.”
    “It’s mathematics. Probabilities, etcetera, etcetera,” Phinn explained again. “I’ve spent hours trying to teach you.” Rogan would just prattle on about luck and the rush of the game.
    “You lost me at mathematics,” Rogan said jovially. And loudly. “How fares your quest to steal away with your intended?”
    “Shhh,” Phinn urged when a few people nearby turned with alarmed expressions. Bloody hell, now he’d read about his nefarious plans to abscond with an unwilling bride in the morning papers. “I don’t want to steal her away. Just have a bloody moment alone,” Phinn said, pushing his fingers through his hair. And then lowering his voice he added, “I have managed to divest myself of Lady Archer’s company.”
    “Well that’s a start,” Rogan concurred.
    “Then I ran into Ashbrooke and his wife,” Phinn said, still unsure if he was annoyed or amused by Lady Emma. It spoke well of Olivia that her friends cared so deeply as to make the inquiries she did. But what was this talk of dungeons?
    “Look at the lofty company you keep,” Rogan retorted.
    “Meanwhile,” Phinn went on, “Olivia manhandled some gentleman by the lemonade table.”
    Rogan began to choke on his whiskey and Phinn thought about smacking him on his back. Hard.
    “And now . . .” Phinn’s voice trailed off as he caught a glimpse of Olivia’s lovely blond hair. She was heading toward the terrace. If he could meet here there, it would be perfect. They’d be able to talk without the horrid crush in the ballroom interfering.
    “Lady Archer! Good evening,” Rogan said.
    “Good evening,” she replied, looking from one gentleman to the other.
    “This is Lord Rogan, one of my oldest friends,” Phinn said. “He was just telling me he fancied a waltz, and I do believe I heard one starting now.”
    “Actually, it’s a quadrille,” Lady Archer corrected.
    “I’ve been spending far too much time in the country,” Phinn said, adopting a dejected expression. If he had a wife like Olivia, he’d know these things. Or she would know them for him. “Perhaps you two will dance and talk about the wedding.”
    Lord Rogan, who usually consorted with the light-skirts of the demimonde and women of negotiable affections, had no choice