Olivia's POV
When I entered, all heads turned. Lord Frederick sat with three older men, his guests, no doubt his allies or puppets. Their stiff postures and stern faces reminded me of vultures waiting for scraps. I smiled sweetly—too sweetly—as I walked past my mother's stiff form and straight to Frederick. His calm eyes followed my every step, probably expecting me to curtsy, to bow, to play the obedient girl my mother wished me to be. Instead, I shocked them all. I moved closer, my fingers brushing along the arm of his chair, and before he could stop me, I lowered myself onto his lap.
The room fell into silence. I felt his body tense beneath me, his confusion obvious as his eyes darted to my mother, then back to me. I leaned in, close enough that only he could feel my breath against his ear. "Well, my Lord," I purred, grinding myself ever so slightly against him, "is this not what you wanted?"
