Just to Have You (Blackwood & Friends #3)

Chapter Twelve

As it was his world was strained, edges blurred, his temples building with tension as he endeavoured to focus on a page.

Which was what finally compelled him to wear the damn spectacles that evening in attendance for Lady Blackwood's season closing ball.

When Amy did finally arrive to the damn event, he wanted to be able to see her since she was so keenly avoiding him due to the previous evening's disastrous encounter. At the recollection he stifled the urge to cringe with embarrassment, simultaneously flaring with the desire that stirred through him as he recalled her enraptured gaze, the peaks of colour on her cheeks and her eyes... Lord, her eyes. She had seemed so confused as she brazenly examined the way his hand had been gripping his cock, and therein he had seen her own desire mirrored against his, her own flickering arousal a curious dichotomy against a myriad of other emotions that flashed across her face- panic, horror, frustration.

And why wouldn't there be?

Twenty years of friendship, companionship, suddenly reaching a volatile precipice of awareness of the other as something more, something vastly significant that began to charge the very air between them. She would not willingly leap from that edge in fear of jeopardising the relationship that they had nurtured for years when in the space of two days and one licentious encounter it was already threatening to be torn asunder... and if he was honest with himself, neither was he. But Oliver was vastly more experienced and attune to the desire that was burgeoning between them, and he could navigate it with the caution it deserved.

"I do not believe I have made your acquaintance," Jason Blackwood quipped as he joined Oliver in the sparsely crowded ballroom of his family's townhouse residence. The Marquis of Northwick gave him a crooked smile before extending his hand. "Blackwood, Jason-"

"Ha ha."

This was the reason why he never wanted to wear the damn spectacles in public- his peers were veritable asses and would never let him hear the end of it. As if he hadn't had enough ribbing in his formative years.

"I jest, Hollingsworth. When did this come about in any event?" Jason asked, genuinely curious.

There were few guests in attendance and only those in close acquaintanceship with the Blackwood's considering their family name had come under a fair share of scandal the season past to do with Blanche, Jason's youngest sister, and her husband, Nathaniel Southill. Even so, Lady Kathleen Blackwood had ensured, in her usual capacity as a renowned hostess, that the ballroom simply flourished in scopes of tasteful decoration and opulence. Ribbons draped in artful coils from the ceiling and crystal chandeliers, entwined with daisies and other colourful blooms, to create an air of wistfulness. Outside the four small, privately enclosed terraces that led from the French doors, which were draped with curtains of gauze that caught and glittered the light like thousands of gemstones, were similarly adorned, along with a dimly lit oil lamps that clung to the balustrades. Oliver was currently standing close to one of these open terraces to allow the cool breeze to hopefully ease his tensed ardour.

"Years," Oliver said in response to Jason's question. "I can't remember a time I wasn't required to wear them, I merely chose not to when I am in polite company. However, it has come to a point where I find myself struggling not to walk into walls without them and I have concluded that would appear more embarrassing that a slight deterrent to my overall appearance." Though a crooked smile tilted his lips, he hardly felt the confidence and flippancy with which he spoke to Jason.

Blackwood made a slight snorting noise before signalling a footman carrying a tray of crystal flutes. He plucked two from the service and pressed one into Oliver's hand shortly before Nate loped casually into their midst.