Wallflower Gone Wild by Maya Rodale Page B

where no man had ever touched her. She’d fallen against a strong, firm chest behind her. This chest and these arms were more muscled and more assured in their hold than Beaumont’s. A giggle escaped Olivia’s lips as she realized how marvelously odd it was that she, Prissy Missy, should know the embrace of two different men in one night.
    When she’d embarked upon her quest to cavort with men of dubious reputation, she had no intention of winding up here, swept off her feet and into the arms of the Mad Baron. Strangely, it wasn’t horrible. Not horrible at all.
    “Feats of strength, man, what did I tell you!” Rogan said gleefully as onlookers peered curiously at them.
    “Feats of strength?” Olivia echoed. Then she put the pieces together. “Are you saying that I am extraordinarily heavy?” she asked. She struggled awkwardly to untangle herself and stand on her own two feet. If they had shared a moment, it was certainly over. “I am not a feat of strength!” she protested.
    “No! I told you to ignore everything Rogan said.” Phinn punctuated this with a hard glare at his friend, who attempted to appear chagrined.
    “Phinn tells me you’re beautiful,” Rogan said. For a fleeting second she softened. He thought her beautiful! But why couldn’t anyone else have noticed that, ever?
    “Except for that,” Phinn grumbled. “Don’t ignore that.”
    Olivia looked from one to gentleman to the other. They were mad, both of them.
    Then Phinn bent over to pick up the sheet of paper she had slipped on. Waxed parquet, satin slippers, and sheets of paper were a dangerous combination. Why was there a piece of paper on the ballroom floor? Had someone been exchanging love notes, planning a secret assignation? Then she remembered Dudley and his smirk as he handed her—
    “ The Mad Baron: The Gruesome Story of an Innocent Maiden’s Tragic Love and Untimely Death. A True Story ,” Rogan read aloud, peering over Phinn’s shoulder.
    Phinn straightened to his full height. Shoulders broad. Jaw clenched. Olivia’s heart started to pound. The fury in his gaze made her want to flee in the opposite direction. And yet, oddly, she also wanted to tear the sheet of paper from his hands and rip it to pieces. As if that might console him.
    He took a deep breath. She could hear it because a hush had fallen over the ballroom. Very well, she definitely wanted to flee. Somehow he seemed taller and harder and meaner. There was a distance in his eyes that terrified her more than anything—as if, in this strange, bewitched state, he would be deaf to voices or pleas.
    Abruptly Phinn turned on his heel and stalked out of the ballroom. No one stopped him.

Chapter 6
    Later that night
    Brooke’s Gentlemen’s Club
    “Y ou know, Rogan, I think she actually believes this rubbish,” Phinn said, holding aloft the copy of The Mad Baron. It was the worst sort of penny dreadful gothic horror mongering rubbish. Given that the whole sordid mess occurred six years ago, Phinn assumed that by now the broadside would be used for wrapping fish and lining trunks. Who the devil had seen fit to keep such drivel?
    “Everybody does, my friend,” Rogan said, happily settled into a chair with a full glass of brandy in one hand and a lit cigar in the other.
    “Well that explains why Olivia is in a constant state of anxiety around me,” Phinn said dryly.
    “Either that, or such an innocent maiden cannot help but tremble before such an example of masculinity as yourself,” Rogan scoffed.
    “Much as I’d like to believe that, this damned broadside and those stupid rumors are a more likely explanation,” Phinn replied. He pressed his whiskey glass against the scar.
    “Well, a name like the Mad Baron is hard to live down.”
    Phinn glanced warily at his friend. “When were you going to tell me all of this?”
    “I thought you knew,” Rogan said, drawing on the cigar. “You know, since everybody does.”
    Phinn elected to ignore that questionable