How to Catch a Sinful Marquess - Amy Rose Bennett Page 0,2

Her mouth twisted with frustration. “Sh-sh-she’s s-s-stuck . . . She’s stuck up there.”

As Lord Sleat crossed his arms over his wide chest, the fabric of his navy blue jacket pulled tight across the impressive swell of bunched biceps muscles beneath. “You’re trying to rescue your friend’s cat.” Judging by his flat tone and skeptical frown, the marquess clearly doubted the veracity of her statement.

Nevertheless, Olivia nodded. “Y-yes.”

He took several steps closer to the wall, and his gaze shifted to the beech tree. “Are you sure she’s stuck?” He squinted up into the gently waving branches. “It’s been my experience that cats can generally look after them—”

At that precise moment, Peridot elegantly sprang from her leafy hidey-hole and landed on the wall. With another contemptuous flick of her tail, she then leapt to the ground, alighting right beside Lord Sleat’s shiny black Hessians.

Olivia’s jaw dropped. She’d never seen a cat perform such a daring feat with such alacrity. She suddenly felt like the biggest fool in Christendom.

To make matters worse, Peridot began to purr and blatantly rub her body all over the marquess’s boots. Her tail twined between his legs, as though she were claiming possession of this man.

Charlie’s cat wasn’t a little minx at all. She was a brazen minx.

Lord Sleat bent low and scooped Peridot into his arms. The cat’s purring grew louder, and when the marquess stroked her beneath the chin with one long finger, she closed her bright green eyes and rubbed her fluffy cheek against his paisley satin waistcoat as if she were in the throes of ecstasy.

Good Lord, what a hussy of a cat.

As Olivia scowled down at Peridot, Lord Sleat spoke. “Well, all’s well that ends well, it would seem . . . except for the fact you are still stuck on my wall, Miss . . .” He cocked an eyebrow again.

Olivia drew a steadying breath in order to control her stammer. It wasn’t usually this pronounced. However, the stress of trying to retrieve Peridot, combined with her newly discovered fear of heights and coming face-to-face with an overwhelmingly masculine marquess whom she’d been secretly daydreaming about for several months—all of these things were wreaking havoc on her equilibrium. Not to mention the fact that Lord Sleat’s attention had drifted to her bared lower leg and slipperless foot. It seemed Peridot wasn’t the only one being brazen. But Lord Sleat was a rake after all.

Her face aflame, Olivia at last summoned her voice. “Oh . . . Oliv . . . liv . . .”

“Lavinia?” supplied Lord Sleat as his gaze met hers again.

Olivia only just suppressed a sigh. She supposed the marquess was only trying to be helpful by supplying the rest of her name . . . even if he’d got it wrong.

But what was the point in trying to correct him or additionally provide her surname so he could address her as Miss de Vere, as decorum dictated? Despite the fact that they were neighbors, it was highly unlikely that she’d ever have such a close and personal encounter with this man again. Not unless her martinet of an uncle and equally exacting aunt could be persuaded to let her attend any ton social events.

Charlie, Sophie, and Arabella might try to matchmake when they all returned to town next month, but Olivia suspected it would all come to naught. So she simply smiled and nodded her agreement. Lavinia would do.

“Well, Miss Lavinia,” continued the marquess. A crooked smile tugged at the corner of his wide mouth. “Would you like me to help you down?”

This time, Olivia did manage to find her voice. “Oh, yes, p-please, Lord Sleat. I’d be m-most grateful.”

He promptly deposited Peridot on the lawn. “You know who I am?” he said as he straightened and pushed his way into the evil-looking rosebushes bordering the wall. His snug-fitting buckskin breeches and Hessians clearly provided his legs with adequate protection, as he seemed oblivious to the thorns.

Olivia nodded. “Of course, my lord. D-doesn’t everyone in London know you?”

He flashed a wolfish grin as he reached toward her. His large hands settled about her waist, holding her steady. “It seems my reputation precedes me, Miss Lavinia. Now, if you’d be so kind as to swing your other leg over to this side. That’s it. And hold on to my shoulders. Ready? Because here we go.”

Before Olivia could even draw another breath, the marquess’s grip tightened on her middle, and she suddenly found herself suspended in the air. In the