His Wicked Heart (21 page)

“Louisa, would it be terrible if people
learned the truth about me?”

Louisa set her cup on the table. “I care for
you a great deal, so I shan’t lie to you. Bastards, particularly
females, are not embraced by Society. Your options would be fewer.”
She regarded Olivia with a concerned, but empathetic expression.
“Please don’t fret, dear. No one is going to discover the truth.
How could they?”

“Lady Addicock is from a town very near mine.
I realize the chances of encountering someone who is familiar with
me or my foster family is slight, but it’s not completely
impossible.” Especially if someone went looking. Someone like
Jasper. Why didn’t she do as she’d threatened and tell Louisa what
Jasper had done? Maybe that would put an end to it.

Surprisingly, Louisa’s lips curved up into a
mischievous grin. This was not the reaction Olivia had been
expecting. “I should have told you earlier today, but I’m afraid I
quite forgot with the excitement of bringing you to Benfield. I
dispatched someone to Newton Abbott to talk with your aunt and
uncle, and I’m sorry to tell you that your uncle died.”

Although she’d left the vicarage in an abrupt
and upsetting manner, Olivia suffered a stab of sorrow. She’d spent
fourteen mostly happy years as their daughter. “And my aunt?”

Louisa shook her head. “She went to live with
relatives not far from here, actually. A small village called
Cheshunt. Do you want me to send someone to ascertain her
welfare?”

Olivia had spent many a sleepless night
thinking of what she might like to say to her aunt if she could go
back to that horrible day seven years ago. Though the pain was
still there, Olivia was no longer angry. Indeed, she hoped her aunt
might have put the past behind her, especially with both Uncle and
Fiona gone. “I think I should like to visit her personally.”

“I can accompany you when my ankle’s
better.”

Olivia didn’t want Louisa to meet Aunt
Mildred, who possessed a cool and rigid demeanor. In fact, Olivia
couldn’t imagine two more dissimilar women. “Thank you, but I think
I should go alone. I do appreciate your kindness.”

Olivia smiled but inwardly continued to fret.
Though her aunt was no longer in Newton Abbott and couldn’t provide
Jasper’s investigator with the truth, there were plenty of other
people in the village who would remember Olivia, even after seven
years.

Louisa patted the bed next to her. “You still
look worried. Come and sit with me, dear.”

Olivia set her teacup on the table and
perched next to Louisa.

The older woman took her hand. “I want you to
know I will support you no matter what.”

These words meant more than anything. Olivia
had been thrown out by one mother only to be begrudgingly taken in
by another. To be wanted, at last, was beyond wonderful. She
couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, so she merely
nodded.

Louisa squeezed Olivia’s fingers. “I
manufactured this ruse to protect you. I don’t want you to worry. I
want you to enjoy yourself. My goodness, your young life has been
far too full of vexation and anguish. You’ve so many things to
experience. I’m very much looking forward to your Season next
spring.”

“I don’t have to find a husband, do I?”

“Goodness no!” Louisa chuckled. She let go of
Olivia’s hand and picked up her teacup. “There’s no rush, dear.
You’re not even close to being on the shelf. Plenty of girls don’t
marry during their first Season. “

Like Louisa who hadn’t wed Merry until many
years later. “You were one of those girls then?”

“Oh, no. I became engaged to someone else my
first Season.” Her eyes sparkled as she wiggled her eyebrows. “I
was quite popular. My father’s, now my brother’s, dukedom is one of
the oldest and wealthiest in the kingdom.”

These were facts, not boasts, but they
reminded Olivia of the vast differences between them. “I didn’t
realize Merry wasn’t your first husband. Were you happy?”

“Not particularly, but it was my duty. So
many chits complain about their status not being high enough, but
it can be terribly oppressive.” Holding her cup with two hands,
Louisa sipped her tea.

She’d no idea someone like Louisa would feel
trapped. Did Jasper feel that way? His role as heir to a dukedom
had to be rife with obligation. “So you married a man of your
father’s choosing?”

Louisa nodded as she returned her cup to the
table. “That’s how it’s done.” She pulled a face, which was quite
humorous on a woman of her distinguished experience. “Wokenham was
much older. Nearly fifty.” She giggled. “Younger than me now, of
course.”

Olivia smiled, finding Louisa’s mirth
infectious.

“But he wasn’t nearly as lively. Didn’t care
to ride. Didn’t care to socialize. Didn’t care to do much beyond
read crop treatises.” She inclined her head, with a solemnly
respectful expression. “Which served him well, since he owned the
finest estate in Staffordshire.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died just four years into the marriage.
Four long, childless years.” Her face fell and she shook her head.
“Oh, that’s horribly uncharitable of me. He was a kind man, just
too far gone for someone of my youth and vivacity.”

Olivia knew Louisa yearned for children and
could hear it in her voice now. “What did you do after that?”

“Why, I lived the charmed life of a young
widow!” She smiled and adopted a far-off look. “The things you can
do when you are not beholden to your father or your
husband…absolutely glorious.”

Olivia didn’t precisely know what those
things might be, but was fairly certain that as a young, unmarried
woman she wasn’t allowed to do any of them.

“I missed having a family of my own, but was
quite content to make decisions without consulting anyone else.
Until I met Merry.” Her face softened, revealing the love Olivia
had seen so often since coming to live with her. “Suddenly, the
ability to play cards all night or jaunt to Bath at a moment’s
notice didn’t matter. Not when I’d found the person with whom I
wanted to share not only those amusements, but the simple things,
such as sitting together drinking tea.” She lifted her cup and
offered a mock toast.

Olivia understood. To have a companion to
share not only your joys and struggles but also your everyday
occurrences seemed a special thing. She didn’t think her foster
parents had enjoyed such a relationship. And her mother had
certainly never sought anything so civilized. Over the last several
years, Olivia assumed she wouldn’t, either. She’d accepted her lot
and made the most of it. But now she had Louisa and could perhaps
dare to dream of more.

Provided Jasper didn’t expose everything. She
wished she could tell him the truth. He loved Louisa enough to
accept Olivia, didn’t he? Besides, she wanted him to trust her. She
owed him that much after trying to trick him. “Jasper was very
attentive today with his instruction. I think we could tell him the
truth about my relationship to Merry.”

Louisa frowned sadly. “I’m afraid not, dear.
I know Jasper far better than you, and while he would tolerate your
place in my household for my sake, I refuse to burden him with
keeping our secret.”

Olivia wanted to argue, but couldn’t dispute
that Louisa knew him better. That still didn’t change the fact that
disaster was imminent, and she’d have to find a way to circumvent
it. She considered telling Jasper anyway, but then she’d be lying
to Louisa.
Again
. Furthermore, Olivia could only imagine
what Jasper would do if she claimed to be Merry’s daughter. His
illegitimate
daughter.

Oh, what a deceitful tangle! All so she could
inhabit a society she wasn’t even sure she liked. And for what?

She looked at Louisa sipping her tea, the
hint of a smile ticking up the corners of her mouth. Olivia
couldn’t stop the surge of warmth that spread through her chest.
For the first time in her life, Olivia truly belonged with someone,
and for that, she’d lie to the king himself.

JASPER STROLLED out of the Black Horse in the
company of Sevrin and Gifford. The club’s attendance had been on
the low side tonight. Even so, they’d managed four bouts. Rather
than participate, Jasper had spent the majority of the evening
drinking a bottle of whiskey while thinking of Olivia back at
Benfield. This obsession—and it was an obsession—was becoming
irksome.

“You’ve been quiet, Sax,” observed Sevrin.
He’d been challenged in the last fight of the evening and now
nursed a fat lip. Sevrin rarely sustained visible injury, but
tonight he’d been a bit slow.

“Is that why you moved like tar?” Jasper
teased. “Too focused on me?”

Sevrin gave him a gimlet eye. “No. Though I’m
surprised you even noticed, busy as you were studying the
intricacies of your whiskey.”

Gifford laughed. “You sound like brothers.
How long have you been friends?”

Jasper looked at Sevrin, who surveyed him in
return. “Not long.” But Jasper did feel a certain inexplicable
affinity for him. Likely because they were both scoundrels.

Sevrin led them from the court onto the
Haymarket. “Where next, lads?”

Jasper usually returned to Saxton House after
visiting the club. However, tonight he felt unsettled, hungry. The
time he’d spent with Olivia today had left him wanting.

Gifford gestured east. “The Locust?”

The Locust was a gaming hell; that much
Jasper knew, though he’d never been there. He was surprised at the
suggestion. A young tailor’s apprentice didn’t seem the type to
frequent such places.

Sevrin nodded. “Why not?”

Because he didn’t want to return to his cold
bed alone, Jasper joined them. Did that mean he’d settle for
someone who wasn’t Olivia? He recoiled at the notion, but reason
told him he ought to consider using another female to eradicate
Olivia from his mind. If he could. Doubt nipped his heels as he
took long strides to catch up with his friends.

The small, squalid establishment occupied the
ground floor of a brick building. Tables littered the main room,
which they’d had to enter by squeezing past a drunkard negotiating
with an aging whore.

Sevrin towered over a table with four
occupants—one snoring loudly—and cleared his throat. “Would you
mind?”

“Lookee here.” One elbowed another who
promptly fell to the floor and didn’t get up.

Sevrin took the now vacant chair and sat.
“You chaps look about done, am I right?” He smiled, but drummed his
fingers expectantly on the pocked tabletop. The two conscious men
grabbed the man slumped on the floor and dragged him toward the
exit.

Jasper eyed the sleeping fellow. “What about
this one?”

“Ah, leave him,” Sevrin said.

A wench in an excessively low-cut gown
staggered toward them. She looked every bit as soused as the
others. “What can I get ye?” She thrust her chest forward
suggestively, but the tray in her hand indicated she purveyed
beverages in addition to her flesh.

“Gin,” ordered Sevrin. Gifford nodded in
agreement.

She plucked two cups from her tray and
slammed them onto the scarred table. “You?” she asked, directing
her bloodshot eyes toward Jasper.

“Whiskey.”

“Out, I’m afraid. I’ll go get summore. Don’
go nowhere. I’ve got to tell Ada the Vicious Viscount’s here!” She
smiled widely, revealing a few holes where teeth ought to have
been.

Jasper’s insides curdled. Any notion he’d
possessed to find a bed partner other than Olivia was well and
truly dead.

“Lively place you chose, Giff,” Sevrin
said.

“The Vicious Viscount. Really?” he countered,
with an arched brow.

Sevrin grinned. “It’s the alliteration I’m
sure. Do I seem vicious to you?”

On the surface he was irreverent,
irresponsible, and irrepressible. Underneath, however, Jasper
suspected there lurked something more. Something dangerous
perhaps.

The wench returned with his whiskey.
“Somethin’ else I can get for ye three?” She moved close to Jasper,
but he inched his chair away from her, bumping the knee of the
snoring man. He stopped, but just for a second before resuming his
loud rumbling.

She pouted at Jasper. “No need to be rude.
‘Ere’s some girls over there what are interested.” She stabbed a
finger toward the other corner on their side of the hell.

Jasper turned his head. Three younger, more
appealing women stared at them from where they stood gathered in a
tiny coven. They looked toward the men’s table and then spoke
amongst themselves, frequently casting glances back in their
direction.

Jasper turned to face the table, determined
to keep the unwanted women at bay, and purposefully oblivious as to
whether his friends were in agreement. “Ignore them.”

The serving wench slunk off.