Cheryl Holt by Deeper than Desire Page A

in the stable—I suspect he’s the stablemaster—is the most handsome chap. He has blue eyes to die for, and I want an excuse to talk with him.” She wiggledher brows, then ambled over and flopped down on the bed. “Hopefully, he’ll agree to chaperone me for a tour around the property.”
    Olivia gawked, then she strode to her dresser and pretended to search for an item in the drawers. “Should you be loitering and chatting with such a person?”
    Penny laughed. The women in her life were such stuffed shirts! “Honestly, Olivia, it’s not as though I’m asking him to make mad, passionate love to me.”
    “Penny!” Olivia scolded, whipping around.
    Olivia was so straitlaced; it was entertaining to shock her. “What about Lord Salisbury? Has he kissed you yet?”
    “Penny!” she repeated. “I scarcely know the man.
And
he’s a gentleman. Why would you imagine he had?”
    “Aren’t you the least bit curious?” She rose up on an elbow. “If I were being forced to wed, I’d want to learn if he was a good kisser. What if you delay until after the ceremony, and you discover he’s terrible at it?”
    “Where do you get these ideas of yours?” She rolled her eyes. “Besides, I’m not being
forced
to marry anyone.”
    “It seems like it to me.” She paused, and cunningly inquired, “
Have
you ever been kissed?”
    Olivia’s quick rejoinder was prim. “I won’t answer such a—”
    “I have,” she interrupted.
    “I don’t believe you.” Cutting off the conversation that Penny was eager to have, Olivia proceeded to the wardrobe and retrieved her walking hat and wrap, and she shut the cabinet with a sharp click. “In the future, if you confide such an outlandish tale, I will inform Margaret of what you claim to be doing in your spare time.”
    An idle threat. “You don’t have to be such a prude. Not around me,” she asserted. “Do you want to knowwhat will transpire on your wedding night? A scullery maid told me all about it.”
    “You’re lying again, and I wish you’d stop it.” She tromped to the door and opened it. “Let’s go down, shall we? I’d like to see if there’s any breakfast remaining.”
    “No, thank you. I ate with the earl ages ago.” Penny accompanied her into the hall. “He waited for you for over an hour.”
    “Oh, no!” Olivia groaned, panicked by the news.
    “When he left, he was quite perturbed.” Which couldn’t have been further from the truth. The earl had been pleasant and cordial, had eaten a speedy meal, then had dashed out, explaining that he was off for his habitual morning ride. He hadn’t mentioned Olivia, but it was fun to set her worrying. She was the type who’d fret all day.
    “Your mother will have my head!” Off she went, mumbling to herself.
    Penny tarried until she’d disappeared around the corner, dawdled another minute to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, then she reentered Olivia’s room and spun the key in the lock.
    She enjoyed rummaging through Olivia’s belongings. Her stepsister had such pretty jewelry and clothes. Sporadically, Penny pilfered from her, and Olivia never missed what Penny stole, or if she did, she blamed it on crazy Helen and, therefore, didn’t fuss over the loss.
    Penny liked to keep track of Olivia, to be apprised of what was occupying her, and what she was thinking. She read her diary and correspondence, and of course, it was always humorous to snoop at her sketches. Olivia assumed she was so clever, hiding the art she was forbidden to create, skulking up into the attic to paint whenever Margaret was out of the house.
    As of yet, Penny hadn’t considered blathering to Margaret that Olivia was drawing—despite Margaret’sorders to the contrary—but she hadn’t put off the notion altogether. There might come a moment when it would be lucrative to divulge the news, but it hadn’t arrived.
    She riffled through Olivia’s dresser, examining her undergarments, then her jewelry box, though any