The Blackmailed Bride (17 page)

“Ladies, I hope you will excuse us for a moment,” Nick broke into their chattering smoothly, and all the voices stopped at once. “My betrothed has torn her dress on a low-hanging limb and needs to repair it.”

Olivia, still reeling from the events of the last few moments, failed to grasp the full import of his words. Apparently, so did the three senseless women in front of them. Lady Ashburn was the only one among them who seemed to have immediately taken hold of his meaning, and she smiled discreetly.

Nick guided Olivia by her elbow, intending to escort her out the back garden entrance.

One of the ladies finally sputtered. “Did you say
betrothed?
”

Nick nodded.

As the three went into raptures at being present for the announcement of the Season—unaware their very presence
had precipitated such a drastic measure—Nick asked for Lady Ashburn to inform Henri they were leaving, then bustled Olivia to the carriage.

Olivia was oblivious to the flurry of activity around her. She was mute as Nick led her by the shoulders and helped her into the conveyance.

All she could do was wonder if she’d single-handedly destroyed both her and Marcus’s lives.

N
ick forced his eyes away from Olivia, who looked utterly dejected, as though he had taken her last farthing and booted her onto the streets.

Was she that opposed to marrying him?

The thought was far from flattering.

Nick wondered why he didn’t feel panicked. He understood the ramifications of what he’d done. He and Olivia
would
be married now. There would be no other way to salvage her reputation after what the ladies had witnessed in the garden. No one would care if the appearance wasn’t the actuality.

Olivia needed a marriage. Without one, she’d be a pariah.

Well-bred ladies, even women of lesser social position, would be justified in turning their backs on her…a public and humiliating shunning. If she refused to marry him, Olivia would have difficulty finding another gentleman willing to marry her after such a disgraceful spectacle.

Nick couldn’t allow that to happen to her. She didn’t deserve to feel the brunt of the
ton’
s censure. While—admittedly—her own foolish actions instigated most of the evening’s happenstances, she was young. And, it seemed to Nick, he was willing to forgive her almost anything.

Chancing a look at his soon-to-be bride, he noticed she was
white-lipped and sitting painfully erect. Her frame appeared so tight and brittle he thought, if he touched her, she might crumble entirely. While she looked in his direction, Nick was certain she didn’t see him.

Should he say something?

Tell her everything was going to work out?

Assure her he didn’t mind the marriage?

Nick didn’t feel the slightest twinge of fear or anxiety about what he’d done. He actually felt…victorious. His feelings for Olivia were undeniable. They would be happy together.

If she gave him a chance.

But she seemed to be making a habit out of rebuffing him.

She’d turned him down in favor of Finley.
Finley.
Nick needed to discover the trick to getting rid of the pesky baron permanently. Finley wouldn’t leave Olivia alone just because she was betrothed. In truth, the lack of attainability might be even more attractive to the rake.

Thinking of the snake made him wonder what actually happened in the garden. Olivia had yet to say, and her staring ahead in stony silence didn’t seem a promising step toward disclosure.

“Are you going to say anything?” he asked gently, wondering briefly if she might be in shock. Her lips trembled as though her teeth were on the verge of chattering together. It wasn’t cold, but he began to feel around under the seat for a blanket.

Finding one, Nick placed it across her lap. “
Can
you say something?” His tone was harder, but not intentionally. Worry gave his words an edge.

Slowly, her eyes seemed to focus on his face, and he realized he’d misjudged her mood. Olivia wasn’t shocked…she was furious.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” she growled.

Nick managed to keep his tone mild. “I believe so.”

“You’ve ruined my life!”

He fought the irrational surge of anger. Of course she was upset and lashing out. He was the closest target and able to weather the emotions without reacting. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said quietly.

The quieter he became, the louder she grew.

“I’m not marrying you.” Her tone was intractable, final, and Nick thought it best not to point out she was acting like a child.

“Yes, you are.”

“You cannot force me to the altar. The church requires my consent as much as yours.”

She had him there. If Nick couldn’t get her to acquiesce, she would willingly ruin herself because of her stubbornness. Taking a few moments to pray silently, Nick waited, hoping the right words would come to him.

“This will be good for both of us,” he said finally.

“You don’t know me well enough to judge that,” she said hotly. “This marriage will ruin my life.”

“You’ve said as much already.” He tried not to let her words sting. But it wasn’t working.

Sighing in frustration, she sank deeper into the seat, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “Don’t worry. Marcus will be home in a few days. He’ll help us sort this problem out.”

Nick was one more protest away from losing his temper. “There’ll be nothing left for him to ‘sort out,’ as you say. We
will
be married.”

She snorted. “I don’t know how many different ways you wish me to say no, but if you’ll provide me with a number, I’ll be happy to accommodate you.”

“You’ll be ruined if you don’t marry me. I won’t let that happen just because you’re being stubborn.”

“I’m ruined already.”

Nick shook his head. “There will be talk, but the gossip
will die quickly enough once we are wed. You’ll be properly married with the protection of my name.”

She said nothing.

He leaned across the carriage, catching her hands between his. “I will take care of you, Olivia. You’ll want for nothing.”

Her eyes filled with skepticism. “You wouldn’t care that I don’t love you? That I can never love you?”

He dropped her hands, surprised over how much those words hurt. Nick should have known while Finley was in the picture he’d have problems getting Olivia to cooperate.

Her heart was, apparently, out of his reach.

How had he allowed himself to believe he and Olivia could be happy together when she would always be pining for Finley?

This time, as he addressed her, his own voice was cold and devoid of emotion. “You
will
marry me. And if you leave me no choice but to tell Marcus the truth about what happened tonight, I will.”

Her protestations stopped immediately.

“I’ll hate you for this,” she said after several blissful moments of silence.

Nick was surprised at the venom in her voice. “I suppose I’ll have to take the chance. I will not abandon you to the wolves,” he said.

“I’d be in better hands,” she spat.

While he knew she didn’t mean it—at least he hoped she didn’t—the last insult was better aimed than the others.

The carriage stopped in front of Olivia’s home, and Nick, seized by a very ungentlemanly impulse, simply threw the door open and watched her struggle to dismount by herself.

“I’ll call upon you tomorrow, and I expect to be granted entrance.” He didn’t have to add the
or else
. The unspoken threat hung, festering in the air between them.

Olivia barely acknowledged he had spoken, instead turning
her back on him to walk to the door. But for a moment she paused and looked back toward the still-open entryway into the carriage.

“I trust since you have my capitulation, you’ll have no need to tell my brother about this evening?” While she tried to hide it, the vulnerability gleamed in her eyes.

Nick nodded curtly, thinking his voice might betray him. He wanted to call her back, to hold her until the pain in her eyes vanished.

But he didn’t.

After watching her safely inside, he signaled the coachman to continue home. As the carriage rumbled past the row of houses, Nick wondered if Olivia would ever come to care for him.

Even just a little.

“You naughty, naughty girl,” Henrietta chided as Olivia made her way to the breakfast table the next morning. She’d wanted nothing more than to hide in her room, pretending as though last evening had been a horrible nightmare. But the duchess had called upon her before the sun had really had a chance to rise, and Olivia had invited her friend to eat with her.

“What, Henri?” she asked, pretending as though she had not heard her the first time.

“I had to hear about you and my nephew from someone else. Imagine my embarrassment at having to be told two people close to me are planning to wed and I had not the faintest idea.” The duchess paused briefly to take a breath.

Olivia seized the opportunity to interject. “The announcement was unintentional. After a rather unfortunate circumstance, Lord Huntsford decided to make his declaration public.”

Henri’s eyes sharpened at the mention of the unfortunate
circumstance, and Olivia knew as surely as she was sitting there, Henri had already been privy to the juicy details.

“Well, it is rather romantic,” Henrietta said.

“Yes, well the marquess quite literally refused to take no for an answer.”

Henrietta sighed dreamily. “Why, my child, I couldn’t have done better for you if I had snagged the prince regent himself.”

Olivia wondered how the duchess was planning to take credit for the events that transpired in the mockery of an engagement. Unless, of course, Henri was more cunning than anyone suspected.

In a flash, Henrietta whipped out a small writing pad and commenced scribbling notes. “Now, it’s a shame your brother has not yet returned. I need him to contact whoever’s in charge of these matters to see if we can’t book Westminster Abbey for the wedding.” She paused her movements. “I suppose I shall have to plow ahead under the assumption your brother will be able to handle the task to my satisfaction.”

Olivia cautiously began, “Isn’t it a bit soon to be planning the wedding?”

Henri looked as though Olivia had suggested that one day women would be running around in breeches and driving horseless carriages.

“Well, let’s plan for something small, then. Maybe here at my home,” Olivia said quickly before Henrietta could begin weeping over the missed opportunity to throw a gala. Olivia hoped to avoid a public spectacle or uproar…at least until she could find a way to extricate herself from this mess.

As expected, Henri looked horrified. “I refuse—absolutely refuse—to allow my only nephew to be joined in matrimony to the woman I would love to claim as a daughter in the privacy of a
home!
We wouldn’t want everyone thinking you are ashamed of the match.” She waited a moment. “Or that circumstances
are such that God wouldn’t be pleased at the event taking place in a church.”

The duchess looked at her shrewdly.

“I don’t think God has a preference where we wed, Henri,” Olivia said. Was God upset with the mess she’d gotten herself into, however? She sent up a silent prayer asking for a way out of the latest fiasco. “Well,
I
certainly do! And it’ll not be here in this squalor.” Henri gestured around the dining room, and Olivia strained to see how anyone could mistake the finely appointed furnishings as anything remotely resembling squalor.

Henrietta continued with her furious list making. “Now, I was thinking the first things the guests would see would be a sea of roses as soon as the doors to the church are thrown wide.”

Olivia groaned. It was painfully obvious she was going to be forced to sit and listen as her well-meaning friend handled the meticulous details. She just prayed the older woman wasn’t foolish enough to think Olivia would let her choose the dress. Although…Nick might well run from the altar if his intended waltzed down the aisle in something the shade of a pumpkin.

Olivia picked at her plate, half listening to the duchess’s single-handed debate on the virtue of pink versus white roses. So much swarmed in her mind Olivia felt dizzy from the activity.

Salvation came in the form of Gibbons at the door. “You have a caller, Lady Olivia.”

She nearly knocked over her chair in her haste to escape the duchess. Olivia didn’t bother to ask who it was. She would have gladly endured tea with the Viscount Danfield just to have a few moments of not having to speak about the “tremendous news.” But Olivia remembered her manners at the door and turned to look at Henri.

“Go on,” the duchess said with a dismissive wave. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re done.”

Olivia stifled a groan.

Moments later, she entered the sitting room to find Nick standing by the fireplace. His presence—while not necessarily welcome—was expected.

“Rather early for you to be about, isn’t it, Lord Huntsford?” she asked, taking a seat on the chair farthest from him.

“Is it?” he asked, not yet moving from his position.

“Yes, I thought you would need to sleep in this morning. I can’t say with surety, but I would imagine ruining lives is quite tiring.” She didn’t bother to hide the irritation in her voice. She might well be corralled into this marriage, but she wasn’t going to be docile and compliant about it.

Nor was she going to stop and think about why she was so angry with the marquess. Truthfully, her own actions had instigated this entire affair, and she supposed most young women would be grateful for the marquess’s interference and assistance.

But not her.

If she were looking for a fight, however, Lord Huntsford didn’t appear as though he was going to oblige her. He crossed the room to stand in front of her. “I think perhaps I bungled things last evening,” he said simply.

“That’s an astute observation.”

He ignored her. “I realize nothing about this has been the least bit conventional. But I hope you’ll allow me a bit of tradition now.”

She didn’t have time to ask what he meant before he knelt down before her. “I realize most women want poetry, and flowers, and romance,” he said, “but I think you would see through the fripperies. I know this marriage isn’t something you planned for yourself, but I sincerely hope you will join me in making the best of our lives together.”

Nick reached up and lifted her hand from her lap. “Lady Olivia Fairfax, I would be honored if you would consent to become my wife.” He took something from his pocket and slipped it on her finger. Something cold and heavy—a complement to the feeling of dread gripping her.

Olivia looked down, preparing herself to be unimpressed by whatever she saw on her finger. But it didn’t work.

The ring was stunning, a large sapphire set in the midst of a circle of diamonds. The gems caught the sun and cast little shining points of light on the closest wall.

She drew an involuntary breath. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

Tears sprung to her eyes, and she didn’t bother to try to hold them back. The situation was so inconceivably—and unjustly—ridiculous. Were Olivia any other woman, this would have been the happiest moment of her life. Instead, she was embroiled in a farcical charade of a betrothal…a
second
charade of a betrothal.