Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) (31 page)

Eamon emptied his glass and leaned his elbow onto the table. “Of course, what set Oliver into a rage were the slights Turner made against Beth. Turner almost lost an eye. I’ve never seen anyone as angry as Oliver was then.”

When Elizabeth looked embarrassed, Oliver intervened. “Eamon, that’s enough.”

“It’s what you whispered to Turner that really saved the day.”

The duchess, who’d been goading Eamon to divulge his wild tales, sat forward. “What did he say next?”

Oliver met Eamon’s gaze and shook his head. That remark had to remain private and unsaid. Eamon merely grinned but Oliver picked up his butter knife and twisted it so Eamon couldn’t misunderstand him.

“I forget the whole of it now,” he mumbled and then he raised his glass high. “To George Turner, a fellow with a bright future ahead of him, right here in England.”

“To George,” they all intoned and then started chatting animatedly once more.

Oliver looked across the table to where Elizabeth and George sat, his chest tightening with familiar longing. Rather than remain where Elizabeth would be made nervous by his presence, he excused himself as soon as he could politely do so and returned to his apartment. A cheery fire greeted him, his trunks emptied and gone.

He collapsed onto the couch, set his hands behind his head, and stared up at the molded ceiling. The duchess’s wedding was set for next week. The house would be besieged days before then. He’d have to wait at least that long before he could approach Elizabeth or even have her in his bed again.

He closed his eyes, contentment filling him. He was a patient man and Elizabeth was surely worth the boredom of any wait.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A few days later…

BETH FOLDED HER day gown across a chair and let out a sigh. The whispers and twitters as she passed were slowly abating and life was settling down to normal. Mercy had refused to return her to the position of housekeeper as the upstairs maid Annie had been advanced and was thriving in the position. The abbey was running as smoothly as it could before a wedding and she wasn’t needed for much beyond offering a little help for that.

She’d spent the last few days with Blythe and had let down her guard and told her about Oliver. Much to her surprise, Blythe wasn’t concerned by her lack of virtue, claiming that she understood completely the allure of the Randall men. They’d also talked of their children, the ones lost to illness, and the countess had confessed she was terrified of losing another child. Beth had done her best to comfort her and had urged her to confide her fears to Tobias. She understood her feelings on the matter very well. Beth still ached for her daughter and lost son.

But she still had George to coddle and protect, which was why she had requested all the keys to her son’s room be left with her. She didn’t feel confident yet that Henry wouldn’t return, although Oliver promised he was long gone. George was still Henry’s heir. At night, she had very little to do beside read before the fire and try not to jump at every little sound.

“Are you going to bed soon?” George asked from the doorway to his room, book clutched in his hand as one often was.

Beth drew her robe tighter about her shoulders, took her customary place before the fire, and patted the cushion next to her. “I thought I would read first like you. Come sit with me.”

Instead of coming closer, George inched toward the door. “It’s too difficult. I need help with it.”

Beth frowned and glanced at the small mantel clock. It was too late for him to be roaming the halls in his nightshirt. “Then read something else.”

George shuffled to her bedroom door, hand fiddling with the latch. “I’ll ask Oliver.”

The next instant he was out the door before she could say not to go. Beth called out and rushed to the doorway, but only caught a fleeting glimpse of him as he disappeared around a corner. Cursing under her breath, she hesitated to follow. He hadn’t liked the restrictions she’d placed on his movements. He was not to be alone and he was to go to bed well before she turned in. She had also asked him not to spend all his time with Oliver.

Since Oliver’s return, she’d been avoiding him except at mealtimes when she couldn’t and she retired early most nights, taking George with her. They had not spoken since the day he returned her son. She had not gone to him at night and he had stayed away from her bed too.

The truth was, she was waiting for him to announce he was leaving again and desperately hoping her heart wouldn’t break when he did. Essential to her happiness was not to think kindly toward him at all. He didn’t want her beyond the thrill of sex. They had no future together besides scandalizing the district. It was better not to take up where they had left off.

When she judged enough time had passed to get his answers and George hadn’t returned of his own accord, she started to worry. Had he run into trouble and needed her? Should she make sure he had reached Oliver’s rooms, after all?

She drew a deep breath, swiftly redressed into a day gown, and then hurried along the now-darkened passageways until she came to the open door of Oliver’s apartment. Heart racing, she eased closer, listening to the low rumble of conversation as Oliver patiently explained the essentials of flower propagation to her son.

“Come in, Elizabeth,” Oliver called. “We’ll be done in a moment.”

When she stepped into the room, she gasped at the mess Oliver had made of the fine chamber. It wasn’t necessary to have this many books open at once. It looked as if he’d done nothing but read since his return a week ago. When she lifted her gaze, her heart tumbled erratically. Oliver was watching her, his lips turned up, his eyes alight with pleasure. She rubbed her damp palms over her dress. “Have the maids been here at all since you’ve come back?”

Oliver shrugged, lowering his gaze as his lips turned down. “They come to the doorway and take away the dirty dishes, but they cannot clean without moving things. It’s intolerable and I sent them away.”

Elizabeth scowled at him. “Terrifying the servants again?”

He ruffled George’s hair before he turned to the fire and took a seat close to it. He sprawled in a chair and studied her. “Eamon’s wild recounting of events in Portsmouth has made them even more skittish. It cannot be helped, so I choose to stay here, out of the way.”

Beth glanced at her son. He appeared to be engrossed in his book, but then he snuck a peek at her as if he was listening to every word they spoke. She moved toward Oliver. “Is none of it true then?”

Oliver’s lips pursed as if he was deciding how much to reveal. She would rather have the whole of it now and from him than Eamon’s gross exaggerations. She sat across from him and leaned forward. “The truth, if you please.”

“I would have killed him if harm had come to you.” A brief grimace flickered across his face. “I had my hands about his throat, a short blade below his eye, and if I had not believed you safe I would have gutted him on that table.”

Beth rocked back in her chair, astonished by the heat in his words. He was usually the most temperate of men. He never raged in anger. He never leaped about when excited by new events. Anger was not part of his usual dispassionate nature.

“You forgot to mention leaving his body for the fishes in the harbor,” George called out. Oliver’s eyes never faltered as he watched her. Given his lack of response to George, he had in fact threatened that very thing.

Beth was struck by his calmness, as if he’d been expecting her to come to him. She licked her lips and his gaze wavered slightly, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth as his eyes dipped a fraction. When he smiled, he became another person entirely. Someone Beth wanted very much to be near, but they were not alone. She looked away to George as heat filled her cheeks. But George had disappeared. She stood and looked about for him.

“He’s taken his book into the other room so we might talk privately,” Oliver said softly. “What else do you want to know?”

Beth’s heart began to thud. The hints that Eamon had made that there was a definite reason Henry wouldn’t return pricked her mind. She licked her lips, suddenly nervous of what argument Oliver could have made. But she had wanted the truth and Oliver would give it to her if she asked. “You say Henry won’t be back and your threats of causing him physical harm did sound convincing, but at dinner Eamon hinted something else. A conversation you don’t want anyone else to know about. What was it that convinced Henry to give George to you?”

“You are correct. It wasn’t what I threatened,” he said softly. “I told Turner that George was my son. That’s why he won’t be back. He would never let his money fall to a child who was not of his blood.”

When Elizabeth raised a hand to her mouth, utterly shocked by his confession, Oliver worried even more for his plans for the future. He wasn’t the least bit ashamed of himself for doing what he judged as necessary. There had been no other way to convince the man.

Her hand lowered, revealing trembling lips he longed to kiss. “But that’s a lie. How could you say such a thing? How could he believe you?”

“Because my anger, coupled with George’s bookish nature, gave him all the proof he required to believe me.” Oliver shook his head. “It’s done. There’s only a slim chance George will not be cut off from inheriting Turner’s property when he dies, but it seemed the best and only acceptable outcome.”

When Elizabeth pressed her hands to her face, Oliver shifted to her side. She had suffered because of their affair and wouldn’t thank him at first for his decision. At the time, there hadn’t been any other options available to him that would guarantee Henry Turner’s immediate compliance. He’d had to let Turner believe the worst or he wouldn’t have gone away. Any bribe would be followed by another demand when the money ran out.

Instead of giving Elizabeth space to rally her thoughts and become angry with him, Oliver picked up her hand. “It’s for the best, really,” he said quickly. “George has little interest in America and you didn’t want to go there, either.”

Her gaze dipped to their joined hands as she slipped free of his grip. “That’s not for you to say.”

As conversations went, this was not turning out the way he hoped. He edged closer. “I missed you.”

Elizabeth stilled. “You were gone but a day and a night.”

“An eternity.” He swallowed as nervousness, a rare feeling for him, rushed through him unabated. “But I have also missed speaking to you these past few days, too. You’re angry and avoiding me. I’ve heard the whispers about us.”

“Hardly whispers when your brother practically shouted it loud enough to be heard in London. But I’m angry with myself, not you.” She drew in a deep, weary breath. “I knew the risks to my reputation and behaved foolishly.”

Oliver quickly recaptured her hand. “Not so foolishly when you consider the circumstances.”

She faced him at last, her eyes narrowing. “What circumstances do you think excuses such a lapse in judgment?”

“I have noticed that when one is in love, there is nothing one won’t do to be near that person.”

She drew back as if he’d insulted her. “You make me out to have no willpower?”

“I wasn’t speaking of you.” He turned her hand over and traced the faint lines on her palm. Then he drew the ribbon he carried from his pocket and returned it to her keeping. “You dropped this.”

She frowned at it. “This isn’t mine.”

“Yes, it is.” Oliver closed her slack fingers over the ribbon. “But it took me twelve years to deliver it back and I apologize for my tardiness.”

Her eyes widened.

“Elizabeth, before another moment passes there is something I should confess.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “I love you. I have admired you for a very long time and never understood how deeply. I was young and foolish and thought I had all the time in the world. When Turner began to court you and you accepted his offer of marriage, I thought I had misunderstood what love was. I turned to my studies and then the duke sent me away.”

Her hand turned in his, their fingers linking together tightly, the ribbon pressed against his skin again. “I was so afraid for you,” she whispered. “No one dared ask where you all were.”

He covered her hand with his. “When I was locked away, I consoled myself that fate had chosen a safer path for you. If you had become my wife and not married Turner, you could have been harmed in the duke’s quest to wipe my family from the face of the earth. I prayed the duke would overlook that you’d been a friend of my sister and mother and that as Turner’s wife you would remain free.”

Her other hand covered his as tears spilled down her cheeks. Oliver quickly wiped them away, his heart full of love for her and her precious emotions. “I’ve been alone all my life, Elizabeth, either by design or the absence of choice. I don’t wish to remain in one place forever, but I don’t wish to be without you. The world is a very large place and I cannot bear to be so far away from you ever again.”

Her eyes closed, blocking his view of her expression.

“I think you ought to marry me and when George is a little older we should travel the world together.”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “And if I do not wish to travel beyond England?”

He had always believed that he was alone in his desire for adventure. If she didn’t want to share in his dreams then there could be strife between them in the future. He didn’t want that. He couldn’t bear to lose now what he’d searched his whole life to find. “Then loving you will be the greatest adventure of my life. Do you think you could put up with me that long? I will likely say and do all the wrong things and make you angry. I’m blunt and the niceties of social discourse quite often bore me.