The Blackmailed Bride (3 page)

Olivia counted to three, hoping to calm herself and the rising hysteria. Then, she supposed it was better to be certain she was composed and counted to ten.

She stopped at twenty. “What supposed proof do you possess?”

“Rather condemning proof. Something our peers would find quite fascinating.”

“You don’t have anything,” she countered. But inside, she was reeling with the implications of what he said—if his words were the truth. Her mother
had
left behind a letter, explaining to whoever had found her that she still loved her family and begged their forgiveness for what she planned to do.

Could that be his proof? It had to be. But how had he gotten his hands on it? The letter had been safely kept at Westin Park.

Three steps brought him right in front of her. His hand reached and caressed her cheek, and she couldn’t stop her small tremor of revulsion.

“Don’t touch me,” she bit out.

He didn’t withdraw his hand. If anything, his smile grew wider. “You’re not in the position to make demands.”

“This is my house.”

“That may be, but you’re going to be
my
wife.”

She felt sick. “I’m not going to marry you,” she protested, but the words sounded weak and unconvincing.

“You don’t have a choice.” His voice was mild, as though they were discussing the pleasant turn of the weather. He had her and knew it. “Unless, of course, you wish for the world to know your mother wasn’t murdered by a burglar, but instead committed suicide.”

She cringed at the word.

Finley saw the response and correctly interpreted it. “I thought not,” he said.

“Don’t make me do this.” Her voice was pleading. Olivia doubted that beseeching would make any difference, but she had to try. “I’ll hate you,” she threatened.

“Don’t blame me. We could have done this amicably….” He trailed off. Of course, she was the one at fault for making him stoop to blackmail. “And your hatred bothers me not in the least.”

“But I don’t love you!” She slumped against a table, defeated. She doubted he would be bothered by her lack of devotion, either.

He wasn’t. “That’s not a requirement. It might have made things easier for you, but I’ll get what I want out of this anyway.”

What did he want? Money? Finances seemed the most obvious motivation. Her dowry was uncommonly large, something
that couldn’t have been a secret among the wagging tongues of the
ton.
Of course, gossip also claimed that he was wealthy on his own merits, but perhaps his fortune was as much a sham as the kind demeanor he’d always shown her up until now.

“I can pay you for the proof,” she offered.

“Tempting,” he said, “but you wouldn’t be able to give me enough. I’m getting more from this than just the money you’d bring me.”

The hand that had been lingering on her cheek moved lower to caress her jaw, the side of her neck, settling eventually at the base of her throat. His fingers were smooth—and cold—but there seemed to be steel underneath the skin. He squeezed, the tiniest bit, and without any real pressure. The intended message, however, was clear. She was powerless against him.

“I need time,” she stammered.

He looked at her, and his eyes were skeptical.

“To prepare,” she rushed on, but a new thought was forming. A small, minuscule seed of hope that was barely visible through the haze of her despair. Perhaps he was bluffing about the letter. He might have seen it but not taken it.

“My brother will not be happy to hear of this,” she continued. “I wish for some time to try to change his mind about you. I would rather not have my brother and future husband—” she gulped at the word “—at odds for the rest of their lives.”

Finley considered the wisdom of eventually attaining Marcus’s blessing and nodded his assent. “Fine. I don’t wish to wait forever, though,” he warned.

“A few days, that’s all I require,” she affirmed. Olivia desperately wanted to clutch at this delay. Once she convinced Marcus to take her home, she could see for herself whether the letter was safe. If what she hoped were true, she could return to town and challenge Finley.

If the baron was telling the truth…well, she would think of what to do then.

“I expect to hear from you within a few days,” Finley reminded her as he took his leave.

Olivia was proud of herself. She waited until the front door clicked shut before bursting into tears.

Nick and Marcus were preparing to play a game of billiards when Marcus’s sister nearly ripped the door from its hinges.

“Marcus,” she gasped. Her chest rose and fell heavily, and Nick thought she must have raced her way up the stairs.

Nick snapped to attention when she entered, some instinct driving him to want to protect her from her obvious distress.

Marcus obviously agreed with Nick’s silent assessment. “Do you need a physician?” her brother asked.

“I need to go home,” she said. Her eyes darted frantically around the room. And when Nick shifted from his place in the shadows, she noticed his presence for the first time. He could tell from the subtle widening of her eyes.

“Please, Marcus.” Her voice dropped lower.

“What is wrong with you?” her brother asked, shaking his head.

Before she could answer, Marcus’s butler opened the door to the room. The servant’s gaze swung around and landed on his mistress. “My lady, Lord Finley left before retrieving his hat and gloves.” The butler let the statement dangle in the air. “Would you like me to send them with a messenger?”

“Finley was here?” Marcus growled. Nick understood the anger. He wouldn’t let Finley anywhere near his sister, if he had one.

“Briefly,” she answered. The look she gave the butler was withering.

“When did Finley arrive in town?” Marcus asked the room in general.

Gibbons shrugged. “I work for you, my lord, not him.”

Nick didn’t know, and Olivia didn’t appear to be open to sharing.

His friend muttered something unintelligible. “Go pack your things,” he told her shortly. “I will take you back to Westin Park.”

Marcus’s sister looked so relieved, Nick thought she might faint, or worse, cry. Before she could turn to leave, however, Marcus grabbed her hand, stopping her flight.

“Did Finley say something to upset you?” he asked.

She shook her head and tugged herself free from his hold.

Nick stared after the beautiful woman as she departed. The gentleman in him knew that the proper thing to do would be to ignore her distress, and let her have the comfort of believing her discomposure had gone unnoted. But he couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that wanted to go after her, to hold and comfort her until she was no longer afraid.

What was wrong with him?

Marcus still had his attention focused after his sister. “I’m sorry for that,” he said. “She’s not usually so…frantic.”

Nick brushed aside the apology. “When will you leave?” he asked.

“I guess at first opportunity. Perhaps in the morning. It’s several days’ journey to Westin Park.” Marcus put away his cue. The game of billiards now forgotten in the wake of Olivia’s appearance. “Can you spare the time?” Marcus asked.

“I suppose so, why?”

“Come with us. We’ve known each other for years, yet you’ve never seen my home.”

Nick considered the offer. He had no wish to intrude upon the siblings’ time together, but he couldn’t deny there was something infinitely alluring about escaping the scrutiny of town for a few days. And while he could have easily visited his country estate, Nick wasn’t ready for that yet. Wasn’t ready for whatever memories awaited him there.

“I don’t guess anyone will miss me.” And Nick was surprised to find he was swayed by the thought of having more time to study the fascinating Olivia.

The idea appealed to him more than it should.

I
t wasn’t there.

The letter she’d believed would be in the rosewood box in the library at Westin Park was missing.

For a moment, Olivia could think of nothing. She stared at the dark velvet lining of the empty container as though the parchment would somehow mysteriously reappear. Olivia watched for several moments, waiting for one of the miracles Marcus so believed in to happen.

It didn’t.

The severity of her predicament overwhelmed her.

What was she going to do? Unfortunately, there were few choices…and none of them held much appeal.

Ignoring Lord Finley was definitely what she would prefer to do. Perhaps if she could keep her distance from him, making sure that he never had cause to be alone with her, he would give up his quest to make her his wife. But even as Olivia thought that, she knew the baron wouldn’t cave so easily. He would expose them. For herself, Olivia didn’t much care. She had no use for society or its good opinion. Marcus, however, would be laughed out of the House of Lords, unable to push through the legislation he’d been working on. And when her brother
decided it was time to marry, no eligible woman would want to link her name with such a damaged and scandalized family.

So pretending she and Finley had never even talked wouldn’t work—much as she might have wished otherwise.

That left confessing this to her brother. But what would he say when he realized the secret she’d been harboring for years? Telling him the truth was the only option, wasn’t it? With Marcus’s help, she could devise a way to nullify Lord Finley’s threat and prevent their family disgrace from becoming common knowledge. Perhaps her brother could write him a bank draft. Or maybe they could figure a way to get the letter back, which would make Finley’s accusations—should he make any—seem like nothing more than spiteful fabrications.

But what would the revelation do to Marcus? Would he be reduced to the person she’d let herself become? Would the truth strip him of his faith in a God who would allow such things to occur the way it had to her? And what would he think of
her
part in the charade, and the fact that she’d hidden the truth from him for so long?

Marcus would be disappointed. Well,
disappointed
was probably not the right word. But she refused to consider a harsher emotion, one that would forever change the way Marcus looked at her.

She’d become a liar in order to protect him, never anticipating he’d discover the truth…either about her mother or about her.

She wasn’t sure which revelation would crush him more.

I could accept Finley’s proposal.

The thought repulsed her.

But was it worse than confessing to Marcus?

Could she bear to hurt her brother when she had another option?

No, she couldn’t.

Olivia thought she’d cried all the tears she had, but a few
slipped down her cheeks anyway. Consigning herself to a loveless marriage—one built on deception and manipulation—was a heavy decision. But it was one she would make rather than becoming the instrument of disillusionment for her brother.

This was all because of that stupid letter. Had their mother only kept her last words—her selfish confessional—to herself, Olivia wouldn’t be in this predicament.

But no sooner had the hateful thought taken root than she chastised herself. She should have burned the letter immediately after reading it all those years ago. As long as those precious, final words remained undestroyed, Olivia had assumed the risk of someone finding it.

It was her fault. She’d been too weak, too overcome with grief and loneliness to destroy the last tangible link to her mother.

And now, it appeared she would pay for her weakness.

“How long have you been in here?” Marcus’s voice startled her so much she jerked, and the lid on the box slammed closed.

Turning, Olivia thrust her hands behind her back as though they were holding something worth hiding. How long had her brother been watching?

“Just a few moments,” she answered.

“Have you been crying?” Marcus asked in near horror as he came closer to examine her face.

“Perhaps.” She couldn’t stop the following sniffle.

“Would it be too much to ask why you are weeping in the library?” His voice was mild.

“I’ve missed my books.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She
had
missed her books. She’d miss them even more soon—along with the library itself, and the house and the life she’d be giving up when she married Finley.

“You took most of your books to London with you,” Marcus returned.

“Just my favorites,” she argued.

“I think we carried at least fifty volumes with us.” He was beginning to look less suspicious and more amused.

“I have a lot of favorites.”

He shrugged. “I believe Sarah is unpacking your things in your room. Do you wish to lie down for a few minutes?” he asked, eyeing her skeptically. “We’re not dining for many hours yet.”

“No, I’ll find something to amuse myself until then.” Or, more likely, she would obsess about what she was going to do, until she realized there
was
nothing to be done.

Then, she would cry some more.

“So you don’t have any pressing plans at the moment?” he asked, moving to one of the settees and sitting rather indecorously. He rested his head against the back of the piece of furniture.

She shook her head, wondering if he could see her with his eyes closed like that.

Apparently, he could.

“Excellent,” her brother said. “I planned to take Nick around the estate on horseback. Would you care to join us? I know how much you’ve missed being able to ride.”

She could tell Marcus she didn’t want to spend any more time with his friend than she had to, but her brother would chastise her for her rudeness. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. The marquess was just a man, one she barely knew. But she didn’t like the way she felt when he was near. Nervous. Jumpy. Fluttery.

Olivia had counted herself fortunate Marcus and Lord Huntsford had decided to take their horses on the journey to Westin Park. She’d ridden in the carriage alone, which had been preferable to having to share a confined space with the marquess.

But they had still taken a few breaks, allowing Olivia to exit the carriage and stretch her legs. The marquess had the
annoying tendency to seek her out during those moments. Much like when he’d found her in the library back in London, Lord Huntsford was nothing but cordial…so she couldn’t explain
why
he made her feel so unlike herself.

But she couldn’t avoid the gentleman indefinitely. She wasn’t going to stay locked in her room for days, and running into him or having meals together was inevitable.

Besides, London
had
offered limited opportunities to ride. Olivia didn’t care much for the sedate, stately stroll through the park. She liked to feel the wind in her hair, whipping it around and into a nest her maid would complain about later. Would she still be able to ride like that as Finley’s wife? She shuddered at the thought of the restrictions that he, as her husband, would be able to place on her freedom. But no, she wouldn’t let herself think about that today. She wasn’t Finley’s wife yet—she still had time to enjoy all the things she loved.

So she agreed.

“Excellent.” Marcus hopped up from his seat. “Shall we meet in half an hour?”

Olivia nodded. And she looked at her brother, thought about how much she was going to break his heart and couldn’t stop the impulse to hug him. Which she did.

Perhaps a touch too tightly.

“Olivia?” he asked.

Marcus was probably wondering if he would need to have a doctor come and examine her.

“I love you,” she told him. She might have sniffled, but if so, it was done very, very quietly.

He patted her on the back, used to her spontaneous shows of affection. “I love you as well.” He pulled back and looked at her face. “Perhaps the fresh air will make you feel better. You look peaked.”

She looked like a wreck. Leave it to Marcus to try and soften the ugly truth. He’d been protecting her all her life.

It was her turn to do so for him.

“You’re right. The country air will be refreshing. The carriage ride must have unsettled me.” She wondered if he could see signs of her deception in her face, but Marcus looked oblivious.

“See you shortly,” he called after her as she left the room.

Fortunately for her, once her back was to him, he couldn’t see the fresh tears that had started to fall.

How was she going to tell Marcus?

Not about their mother—no, she’d resolved that Marcus would never learn about that. But to keep the secret meant accepting Finley’s proposal, and if the way he’d rushed her out of London was any indication, Marcus would
not
be pleased with the news. What words could she possibly speak that would make him agree to her marrying Finley? How would she handle his disappointment? How would
he
handle his disappointment?

The litany of unanswerable questions kept her mind busy and her stomach churning. She could think of nothing that would make her task easier.

But after her maid Sarah helped her into her riding habit, Olivia had to scold herself. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life moping around. For the moment, she was still free and would enjoy herself. And for right now, that meant spending the afternoon with her brother.

“You look lovely,” Marcus greeted a short time later as she joined him and Lord Huntsford outside.

After thanking Marcus, Olivia forced herself to give Lord Huntsford a cursory glance. In deference to his presence, she inclined her head and murmured a greeting.

If Marcus noticed her rudeness, he didn’t comment on it. Olivia felt a pang of guilt and shame, but her coldness was for her own defense. Something about the marquess was irresistible.
Certainly, he was handsome. But her attraction to him wasn’t purely physical. He exuded a strength and mystery that she found alluring. That appeal put her in an unenviable position.

She wasn’t free to develop any interest in him.

So she would keep her distance.

“Care for a race?” she asked her brother with a smile after they’d ridden along the length of the west perimeter of the property. The happy expression didn’t feel quite right on her face, but neither of the men noticed the subtle difference.

Marcus shuddered dramatically. “I don’t think so. I have enough pride to want no one to witness me losing to a woman.” Then he grinned at her.

Olivia could almost pretend as though she’d altered time and returned to her life as it was a few days before. She felt carefree and uninhibited.

Which, surely, was the reason she turned to the marquess next.

“What about you, my lord?” she asked.

Lord Huntsford turned the full force of his smile on her, and Olivia had to remind herself to breathe. “Now I feel I must, if only to prove I could do better than Marcus,” he said. “
Anyone
could do better than Marcus, my lord,” she exaggerated, simply because Marcus prided himself on his horsemanship—with just cause—and she knew it would aggravate him.

Marcus’s friend laughed. “Do you wish a lead? It would only be gentlemanly of me.”

Marcus laughed this time.

Olivia smiled and shook her head no. “To the stone wall to the east.” She pointed out a straight path with her hand. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, my lord. I’ll see you when you get there.”

Marcus called their start, and Olivia took off. Hooves pounded the ground, sending clumps of earth flying. She laughed and
felt the sound trailing out behind her. It almost seemed as if she were leaving all her troubles behind. For this one, brief moment, she allowed herself to be happy.

Lady Olivia won the race. And if she suspected that Nick might have pulled on his reins just a bit at the end, for the sheer pleasure of seeing her victorious smile, then she had no way to prove it. He was basking in that smile when the lady realized that Marcus had been waylaid along the path, leaving the two of them to return to the house together without his moderating presence.

The realization seemed to make her uncomfortable. The young woman shifted in her sidesaddle several times and fidgeted with the reins.

“You have a beautiful home,” Nick commented after a long stretch of silence.

“Thank you. I’ve always thought it was uncommonly lovely here.” Her sigh seemed wistful, and the forlorn noise drew his eye to her.

Mercy.
She was uncommonly lovely herself. Their breakneck ride had completely mussed her hair. Tendrils framed her face, both wild and flattering against cheeks slightly pink with exertion.

“Are you staring at me, Lord Huntsford?”

Nick looked quickly away, a reflex more suited to a child who’d been caught peering at presents hidden in a closet than a powerful noble. But her question was quiet, genuinely curious. Flirtation didn’t appear to be her aim.

What kind of woman is she?

“I apologize,” he said. “I was merely thinking of how different you are.”

“That doesn’t sound very complimentary.”

“It is a compliment of the highest order. The ladies of my acquaintance wouldn’t be content to ride through the country
when the amusements of town are within a day’s travel distance,” he assured her.

Olivia pursed her full lips. “London holds no allure for me.”

“We are kindred souls in that regard.”

“Then why do you stay in town?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. “You answer to no one. You may come and go as you wish. I should think, were I you, I wouldn’t step a toe inside the limits of London.”

He smiled at her and wished it were so simple. “Since my father’s death, I must take all the responsibilities of the marquessdom—unfortunately, that includes business in town. The mantle is heavy and not one I wear joyfully.”

Her expression instantly sobered. “I’m sorry about your father. How long has it been?”

“A year,” he answered. “I would have returned to England immediately after his death, but by the time news reached me, I was mired in business I couldn’t leave unfinished.” Why did he feel compelled to offer an explanation, vague though it might have been?