His Wicked Heart (13 page)

“I understand your trepidation, dear, but you
mustn’t be nervous. Even if you look somehow familiar, no one will
suggest you’re anything other than what I present you to be. At
least, no one with proper breeding,” she added with a flash of a
smile.

Olivia wasn’t sure she agreed. Perhaps in a
few days she’d feel less like a child about to be knocked down by a
runaway horse.

“It’s very important this secret stay between
just the two of us, Olivia. No one can know the truth. Do you
understand?”

Olivia nodded, though the serious tone of
Louisa’s words did nothing to ease her worry.

“Excellent. The very next thing we shall do
is expand your wardrobe.” Louisa tapped an elegant finger against
her lip. “I hope you don’t mind if we don’t visit Mrs. Gifford. I’m
deeply grateful to her for bringing us together, but she hasn’t the
variety or quality of Bond Street. I’m partial to Madame
Oseary.”

Olivia’s excitement at visiting Bond Street—a
place she couldn’t obtain work, let alone purchase anything—was
tempered by her anxiety about encountering someone who might
recognize her. She’d very rarely worked directly with Quality, so
her apprehension was probably unnecessary, but she couldn’t
completely discount it. “If it’s all the same, I’d prefer to make
my own clothing. We need only shop for fabric and such.” The less
time she spent working with seamstresses who might know her or had
heard her name—goodness, why hadn’t she thought to adopt a
different surname?—the better.

Louisa’s sympathetic smile was well-meaning.
“My dear, you needn’t toil in that manner any longer.”

It wasn’t toiling if she did it for herself.
“Truly, I enjoy sewing. I could probably assemble the necessary
items before anyone else could. I have some designs…”

“You design gowns?”

Olivia blushed at the other woman’s sharp
interest. “Yes.”

Louisa smiled broadly. “Further proof! As if
we needed it. Your artistic skill is surely a gift from your
father.”

Olivia’s gaze drifted again to the painting.
Although Louisa was confident in Olivia’s paternity, she wasn’t as
certain. It didn’t make sense for two different women to claim
she’d been sired by two different fathers. She wanted more proof
than the roses and her ability to sketch. “Do you have a portrait
of him? My father, I mean?”

Louisa set her cup down with a loud clack.
“Certainly! I meant to show it to you straightaway.” She went to a
table under the painting of the rose-covered manor house and picked
up a small portrait.

She brought it back to the settee and handed
it to Olivia. “This is your father. There are other portraits I’ll
show you later, but this is one of my favorites. He painted it
himself, and so I keep it there, close to the painting he did of
our house in Yorkshire.” She settled back down next to Olivia.

Olivia studied the small portrait of the
viscount. His eyes looked dark, but it was hard to discern on such
a small piece. Perhaps the other portraits Louisa planned to show
her would reveal the true color. He wore a powdered wig. “What
color was his hair?”

Louisa smiled at the portrait in Olivia’s
hands. “Quite dark.” She glanced at Olivia’s head. “But I’d wager
your hair came from your mother.”

“Yes.” A flamboyant stage name—Fiona
Scarlet—to match not only her hair, but her spirit. Olivia was
grateful Louisa didn’t seem to know her mother’s identity. How
would she feel knowing her husband had sired a child with one of
London’s most notorious actress-courtesans?

Olivia set the portrait on the table next to
the tea service. “Your husband’s skill was exceptional.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever used
watercolors?”

Olivia shook her head.

“You shall have lessons,” Louisa said. “Merry
loved to go to Hampstead Heath and paint. We’ll take a picnic
there.”

Watercolor lessons? Picnicking? This new life
swirled before Olivia as tempting as the scones on the table.
Olivia put her plate on her lap. It had been ever so long since
she’d enjoyed such sumptuous fare. Ever so long since she’d enjoyed
anything as much as the past day.

“Certainly, my lord.” Bernard’s voice came
from outside the Rose Room.

“It sounds as if we have a visitor.” Louisa
grinned. “I imagine it’s my favorite person.”

“And who is that?” Olivia pulled a bit of
scone away and popped it into her mouth.

“My nephew.”

A tall, fair-haired devil dominated the
doorway. Olivia promptly choked.

JASPER STOOD stunned, but Olivia’s distress
galvanized him to rush to her side. Her mouth and neck worked while
her face flushed crimson with the effort to dislodge whatever
clogged her throat.

What the bloody hell was she doing
here
?

Louisa looked up at him with panic in her
eyes. “Help her!”

He pulled Olivia to her feet. She continued
to hack. Instinctively, he patted her back. No improvement. “Bend
over.”

Olivia looked at him, her eyes full of
storms, and did as he bade.

He gave her back a swift thwack and finally
heard a deep gasp of air enter her lungs. His hand lingered on her
spine.
Was she really here
? After a moment, she straightened
then fixed him with a wide-eyed stare. He inched backward, hoping
distance might improve his ability to think clearly.

“Goodness, Olivia, are you all right?” Louisa
stroked Olivia’s back as they both sank to the settee.

Olivia nodded. Was she still trying to get
her throat in working order or unable to find her tongue?

Jasper tried to make sense of her presence in
his aunt’s drawing room. He’d gone to see her last night only to
learn she’d left the boarding house with no direction. No one else
in the dingy board house seemed to know anything, other than she
was gone. He’d considered going to Portia’s Garden to interrogate
Tilly but had ultimately returned to Saxton House. There, he’d
questioned Mrs. Reddy, whom his footman, March, had removed to
Saxton House earlier in the day. Unfortunately, she’d claimed to
know nothing about Olivia leaving, and Jasper reluctantly believed
her.

Frustrated and bitterly disappointed, he’d
spent the remainder of the evening in the comforting confines of
the back room at the Black Horse.

Today, however, was a new day. He’d planned
to search for Olivia after visiting Louisa, yet here she was. If he
weren’t so stupefied by her presence, he would’ve been quite
satisfied.

He pinned her with a probing stare, which she
ignored. In fact, her refusal to look at him would surely draw his
aunt’s attention. For now, however, Louisa seemed oblivious.

“Olivia, this is Saxton. Jasper, allow me to
introduce Miss Olivia West. She’s a cousin to Merry, and I’ve taken
her in. Isn’t that splendid?”

Cousin to Uncle Merry
? A Banbury tale
if Jasper had ever heard one. Her scheme to defraud him had failed,
and here she was in his aunt’s house.
Living here
. He had to
assume this ruse had something to do with him. Of the hundred
questions that sprang to mind, he started with, “And how did you
come to ‘take her in’, Aunt?”

Louisa’s eyes narrowed. “Now, Jasper, don’t
behave like the duke. Olivia’s parents died earlier this year, and
she came from Devon looking for her extended family. I’m only sorry
it took so long for us to find each other.”

He couldn’t help looking at Olivia. “Devon?”
Then he turned his attention to his aunt. “Odd you never mentioned
her.”

Louisa arched a brow. Her eyes said,
careful
. “Didn’t I? Well, you’ve been awfully busy of
late.”

This was embarrassingly true. He hadn’t seen
her as much as he ought given the fighting club and the charlatan
currently gracing Louisa’s settee.

Olivia finally looked at him. “I’m pleased to
meet you, my lord.”

He couldn’t let it be that easy, not when he
didn’t trust her a whit. “You look terribly familiar Miss West. I
feel certain we’ve met.”

Olivia’s gaze sharpened.

Louisa looked between the two of them. “You
can’t have met her before, Jasper. Not unless you shop in the
Strand.” She pierced him with an inquisitive stare. “Do you shop in
the Strand?”

The actress had fooled her but good.

“No, of course not.” He smiled artificially
at Olivia. “I think I know. She looks like an actress I saw the
other night at the Haymarket. Yes, that’s it.”

Olivia’s eyes widened an infinitesimal
amount, and he allowed himself a smug smile.

Louisa pursed her lips. “Oh, balderdash.
Jasper, you’re acting like Holborn. Sit down and behave
yourself.”

Jasper sat, but kept his gaze riveted on
Olivia. Oh, she was an excellent actress. She’d watched their
exchange with even breaths and nary a spot of color to her
complexion. Absolute serenity. As if they discussed luncheon, or
whether to ride or walk to the park. But then she’d also completed
her seductive trickery with the practiced ease of one born to
deception.

Louisa patted Olivia’s knee. “Ignore Jasper,
dear. He can be a bit of an oaf from time to time, but I love him
anyway so do try to overlook his boorishness.”

Jasper stared at his aunt’s hand feeling a
surge of protectiveness. Louisa was
his
aunt. His family.
His to keep safe from harm.

Olivia coughed. “I believe I require some
water after that incident with the scone.”

Jasper got up to go to the sideboard where
there was a pitcher of water, but Olivia’s gaze found his,
arresting his movement.

“Would you mind tapping my back again?” she
asked. “I think perhaps a crumb might still be lodged in my
throat.”

“I’ll fetch the water.” Louisa hastened to
the sideboard.

Jasper sat next to Olivia on the settee and
patted her back. Softly, he said. “You’re lying to her as you did
to me—”

“Don’t,” she hissed. “Please. Don’t tell her
about the Haymarket, about…us. You said you wanted to help me.”

He steeled himself against the anguish in her
tone. “Not at the cost of my aunt’s well-being. She deserves your
deception even less than I did. I don’t believe for a moment you’re
Merry’s cousin.”

She clutched at his sleeve, her eyes wide,
pleading. “She wants me here. And I have no employment aside from
selling handkerchiefs.” Her gaze darted to Louisa who had finished
pouring.

Of course, this was a far better opportunity
than either being his mistress or operating a dress shop. But this
wasn’t just about her. He had to protect his aunt. He didn’t want
to see her hurt, not after the depression she’d suffered following
Merry’s death.

“Please, I can explain everything to you.”
The anguish in her voice won her a reprieve—for now.

“I’ll be watching you. Very, very closely,”
he said. “And I expect your full and
honest
explanation.”

Though he’d fallen prey to Olivia’s lies
before, he’d have to be as cold as his father not to sympathize
with her desperation. Add Louisa’s longing for a child of her own,
and he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to ruin their sudden
connection. Finally, and perhaps most of all, meddling in Louisa’s
choices felt dangerously like his father’s interference in Jasper’s
life ten years ago. He’d yet to be grateful.

Louisa returned with the water. Olivia peered
at Jasper over the rim of the glass as she drank. When she was
finished, she handed the empty glass to a concerned Louisa, who
placed it on the table.

“Are you feeling better now, dear?” she
asked.

Olivia nodded and offered a weak smile. Her
gaze kept shifting to Jasper. He read the anxiety—and fear—there
and resigned himself to allow this charade for the time being. He
turned to his aunt. “What plans do you have for Miss West? May I
accompany you somewhere?”

Louisa arched a brow at Jasper. He realized
he was still rubbing Olivia’s back. Abruptly, he dropped his hand
and moved it to his lap. Louisa nodded, thoroughly approving his
change in attitude or perhaps the removal of his hand from her
charge’s person. “That would be lovely. Olivia requires a new
wardrobe, so we’re going to Bond Street tomorrow. Do you believe
she can sew her own gowns? Design them, too!”

He didn’t know how to comment on any of that
without encouraging a familial connection that he didn’t believe
existed. So he said nothing but, “I’d be happy to escort you
tomorrow. And the day after that. In fact,” he gave Olivia a
purposeful stare, “consider me at your utter service.”

“Lovely.” Louisa grinned at him, her eyes
crinkling at the corners. “I know you only have my best interests
at heart. I assure you, dear, Miss West is exactly who she claims
to be. You have my word.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t have Olivia’s. Her
fingers flexed and Jasper remembered them caressing his bare chest,
disrobing him, brushing against his erection. She’d coerced him
into a blindfold, tied him to her bed, and left him to the
ministrations of someone else. Miss Olivia West was a master of
deception, and he meant to uncover every lie.