Adrian strode away from the library, his measured steps belying the chaos raging inside him. That... had not gone according to plan. He'd meant to tease Olivia about her jealousy, perhaps steal another kiss. Show her what she was missing. He hadn't intended to end up on his knees, desperate to taste her, to hear those soft sounds she tried so hard to suppress.

His hands were still trembling. He flexed his fingers, trying to steady them as he made his way down the corridor. The memory of her taste lingered on his tongue, her quiet whimpers echoing in his ears. Christ. He needed a drink.

Ravenscroft's study was blessedly empty when he let himself in. The familiar scent of leather and tobacco wrapped around him as he made straight for the brandy decanter. Filling a tumbler with a generous two fingers, he took a deep sip, savouring the burn as he swallowed.

The door opened behind him.

"You look rather disturbed, brother."

Adrian barely managed not to flinch at Richmond's voice. He took another deliberate swallow of brandy before turning.

"Your cravat's askew," Richmond noted with deceptive mildness as he closed the door. "And I just passed Miss Newton looking rather... flushed. I do hope you haven't been causing trouble in Ravenscroft's house."

Damn it. Adrian straightened the offending article with fingers that still weren't quite steady. He could have sworn he'd done it in the library. "I assure you, I'm being the very soul of discretion."

Richmond's snort suggested exactly what he thought of that claim. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"I don't recall asking for your opinion." Adrian turned back to his drink, hoping his brother would take the hint and leave. Of course he didn't.

"No? Then perhaps you'd care to explain why you look like you've forgotten how to tie a cravat?" Richmond helped himself to a glass. "Or why Miss Newton practically fled past me in the corridor, her cheeks flaming and her hair coming loose?"

The memory of his fingers tangled in that hair, of her soft gasps as he'd... Adrian took another swallow of brandy. "I'm handling it."

"Are you?" Richmond's voice held that same infuriating calm their father had perfected. "Because from where I stand, it looks rather like you're losing control of whatever game you're playing."

The words hit too close to home. Adrian's fingers tightened on his glass. He was losing control—he had lost it completely in the library. The moment he'd seen Olivia watching him with Miss Everleigh, jealousy plain on her face, his carefully crafted plan had crumbled. He'd meant to torment her a little, to prove she wasn't as indifferent as she pretended. Instead...

"It's not a game," he said finally, though they both knew that wasn't entirely true. It had started as one—a way to make her burn the way he had. Did. But somewhere between her breathless gasps and trembling surrender, the lines had blurred dangerously.

"No?" Richmond studied him over the rim of his glass. "Then what exactly are you doing with her? Because this revenge of yours seems to be affecting you as much as it does her."

Adrian turned to stare out the window into the darkness, unwilling to let his brother see whatever might show in his expression. Even after the brandy, he still remembered the taste of her, and he wanted more. Christ, he'd lost himself completely in her soft moans, her warm body, the way she'd responded to him.

"I just want her to know what she lost by choosing him over me," he said finally, the words emerging rougher than intended.

"And this is how you choose to do it? Seducing her until she regrets leaving?" Richmond set his glass down with a sharp click. "Tell me, brother, what happens when you succeed? When she burns for you as much as you clearly still burn for her?"

"I don't—"

"Don't insult us both by lying." There was an edge to Richmond's voice. "I saw you in the music room earlier, watching her. The moment she left, you couldn't get out of there fast enough to follow."

Adrian's jaw clenched. Had he been that obvious? But the moment he'd seen that flash of jealousy in Olivia's eyes, he'd known how to push her. Only somewhere between making her admit her jealousy and tasting her surrender, his own careful control had shattered.

"You think I don't know this is madness?" He turned back to face his brother. "That I'm playing with fire? But you didn't see her last night at cards, or yesterday afternoon in the garden, or—" He cut himself off, taking another drink.

"Or just now wherever you sought her out?" Richmond supplied drily. "No, I did not. But I see what it's doing to you. This isn't the calculated revenge you planned, is it?"

Adrian let out a harsh laugh. "No. Nothing about Olivia has ever gone according to plan." He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "I meant to make her want me, to show her what she gave up on when she ran. I didn't mean to..."

"To want her just as badly?" When Adrian didn't respond, Richmond sighed. "You do realise you'll have to return to the music room soon. People will talk if both you and Miss Newton are absent too long."

The thought of facing her again so soon, of maintaining his facade of control while the memory of her pleasure was still so fresh... "I need another drink first."

"What you need is to decide what you actually want." Richmond moved toward the door but paused with his hand on the handle. "Because to me, this revenge of yours looks remarkably like a man still in love trying desperately to pretend he isn't."

The door closed behind him before Adrian could respond, leaving him alone with that uncomfortable truth.

Damn Richmond and his inconvenient insights. Adrian downed the rest of his brandy, straightened his cravat again, and checked his reflection in the window glass. He looked... well, perhaps not entirely composed, but presentable enough.

The music room was exactly as he'd left it, filled with gentle conversations and Miss Hartley's questionable interpretation of Mozart. His eyes found Olivia immediately. She'd returned to her seat beside Lady Bodine, her cheeks still faintly flushed, her hair slightly mussed despite her obvious attempts to fix it. The sight sent heat coursing through him again.

"Lord Warble!" Miss Everleigh's bright voice drew his attention. "I was just telling Alice about my father's shipping company. Perhaps you could settle a question about the American routes as you've travelled some of them yourself?"

He made his way to her group, careful not to look at Olivia again. "Of course."

As Miss Everleigh launched into her question, he struggled to focus. He could still feel Olivia's fingers in his hair, still hear those soft sounds she'd tried to suppress. Still taste her on his tongue. No matter how much he tried, he could not ignore her presence in the room. Every shift of her skirts, every quiet murmur of her voice as she spoke to Lady Bodine drew his attention like a compass finding true north.

"—and Father believes the Charleston route could be quite profitable, don't you agree?"

He forced his attention back to Miss Everleigh's conversation, realising he'd missed half of what she'd said. Across the room, Olivia moved slightly in her seat, and his eyes lingered on the graceful line of her neck where he'd kissed her not long ago.

"My lord?" Miss Everleigh's tone suggested it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get his attention. "Are we boring you?"

"Forgive me." He managed a smooth smile, though it felt forced. "I fear I'm not at my best this evening."

From the knowing look Miss Everleigh cast between him and Olivia, she wasn't fooled by his excuse. But she merely smiled and turned her attention to Alice, Miss Burton, allowing him to retreat to a quieter corner of the room.

He shouldn't watch her. Shouldn't track every small movement, every subtle shift of her expression. But his body seemed to have developed its own awareness of her. When she lifted a hand to touch her neck—exactly where his mouth had been—he nearly groaned aloud.

This wouldn't do. He needed air, space, something to clear his head of the memory of her pleasure, her surrender. Making his excuses, he slipped from the music room and headed for Ravenscroft's terrace.

The cool night air helped, but not enough. Not when he could still feel the tremor in her thighs, still hear the catch in her breath as she'd tried to stay quiet. He was quickly losing the upper hand in this game. Bracing his hands against the stone balustrade, he let his head drop forward.

"I wondered how long you'd last."

He didn't bother turning around. "Twice in one evening, Richmond? People will think you care."

"Not your brother." The wry amusement in the voice made him realise that it was, indeed, not his brother. "It's Ravenscroft."

That made him turn. Their host stood in the doorway, two glasses of brandy in his hands. He offered one to Adrian with that easy smile that had made him one of the most well-liked members of the ton.

"I find," Ravenscroft said mildly as Adrian accepted the drink, "that guests usually only seek my terrace for two reasons. Either they're conducting an illicit affair, or they're trying very hard not to conduct one."

"That seems unlikely. Sometimes one simply needs a spot of fresh air."

"Perhaps," Ravenscroft allowed, but there was a shrewdness to his eyes. "But in your case, I suspect my assessment is correct. Or would you care to explain why Miss Newton looks like she's been thoroughly kissed, and you look like a man regretting his choices?"

"You're a perceptive bastard, Ravenscroft." Adrian's fingers tightened on his glass. If Ravenscroft could see it so plainly, could others? "You should be careful with your assumptions."

"Oh, I'm always careful. The question is, are you?" Ravenscroft took a measured sip of his drink. "Whatever is between you and Miss Newton, it's clearly more than a simple courtship, and neither of you looks particularly pleased about it."

"You don't know our history," Adrian said roughly.

"No, I don't," Ravenscroft agreed. "But I know what I see in my house. And what I see is two people fighting something that looks remarkably like love."

Love. What a joke. He had loved her. Been ready to beg her to choose him. Instead, she'd fled his ship. Abandoned him like yesterday's laundry. He took another swallow of brandy before speaking. "She'll still choose him in the end," he said finally, the words bitter on his tongue. "She already has."

"Him?" The question was quiet, careful.

He stared into his glass. "Dash. She followed him to America, you know. That's where our paths first crossed, when she travelled aboard my ship. She was..." He caught himself before revealing too much. "Let's just say she was willing to risk everything to chase after him. And now..." He gestured vaguely with his glass. "Now I'm what? Making her want me out of revenge? Trying to prove she made the wrong choice?"

"You sound very certain of her final choice," Ravenscroft observed.

"She left without a word." The memory still stung. "The moment we docked in New York, she was gone. Didn't even have the courtesy to say goodbye." He stared into his empty glass. "So yes, I'm certain. No matter how much she wants me now, no matter how sweetly she surrenders, in the end she'll still choose him."

Ravenscroft coughed. "I will pretend I did not hear about you potentially ruining my neighbour, but did you ever consider...that for a man so intent on revenge, you seem remarkably tormented by it?"

"Tormented?" He let out a harsh laugh. "Dash doesn't even see her. Not really. Never has. He's so caught up in—" He broke off, remembering Ravenscroft's friendship with the other man.

Ravenscroft was quiet for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "You know I count Dash among my closest friends. But I also know him well enough to know..." He paused. "Well, let's just say that his interests rarely align with marriage."

"And yet she persists in this foolish infatuation." The bitterness in Adrian's voice surprised even him.

"While you persist in whatever this is." Ravenscroft's voice grew more serious. "I don't pretend to know what passed between you in America, but I know what I see now. These heated glances, these disappearances—they need to end. Either marry the girl or let her be. Anything else will only lead to scandal."

Adrian stared into the darkness. Marriage. The word echoed in his mind, bringing with it memories of waking with her in his arms, of how right it had felt to have her in his bed. But she'd run from that. Run from him.

"She doesn't want marriage," he said finally. "Not to me, at any rate."

"Perhaps not," Ravenscroft agreed. "But she's certainly not immune to you. And whatever game of seduction and retreat you're playing...it can only end badly." He took Adrian's empty glass. "Think about that before someone gets hurt. Or worse, ruined."

Someone was already hurt. And perversely he was chasing a revenge that was doomed to cause him further pain. He watched Ravenscroft disappear back into the house, hating how the other man had a point. Tonight in the library, he'd gone too far. Lost control. Put both their reputations at risk.

But how was he supposed to maintain his distance when every time he saw her, he wanted nothing more than to drag her into his arms? When the mere thought of her choosing Dash made him want to tear something apart?

The sound of laughter drifted out from the music room, reminding him he couldn't hide out there all night. He'd have to go back in, have to maintain his composure while wanting nothing more than to find Olivia and pull her into a secluded room and kiss her until she could think of no man other than him.

Bloody hell. He could not continue thinking like that. Not if he wanted to keep what little remained of his control.

With a muttered curse, he straightened his cravat and turned toward the house. Time to rejoin the party and pretend he hadn't just shattered both their worlds.

Again.

~~~~~~