The Blackmailed Bride (7 page)

S
everal days later, Nick waited for the butler to open the door and grant him admittance to the stylish Mayfair House. And he tried to quiet the unease he felt standing outside. Five years had passed since he’d been here.

Who knew what reception he’d receive?

A staid-looking butler opened the door, and a slight lift of the eyebrows was the only indication the servant was surprised.

“Smithson,” Nick greeted with a smile.

“My lord.” The butler inclined his head and motioned for Nick to come in the house.

“If you’ll wait just a moment, my lord,” Smithson said. Turning to grab the attention of a hovering footman, the butler dispatched the other servant.

Nick was then ushered into a decidedly feminine drawing room. He smiled at the frills and profusion of lace covering nearly every available surface.

“Nicholas!” a woman cried as she walked into the room.

He turned at the voice. “Aunt Henrietta,” he greeted.

The older woman embraced him in a swirl of perfume. Nick wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. And the memories he’d feared would assault him upon seeing her stayed
on the periphery, enough out of sight that he wasn’t bothered by them.

“Your uncle will be sorry he missed you,” Nick’s aunt said as she took a seat and motioned for him to do the same. “But he had a meeting with his solicitors this morning.”

Nick nodded in understanding.

Then he stared at his aunt. The last five years had been kind to her, but then again she’d been the beauty of the family from the beginning. A fact that had always needled his mother. Oh, there was some resemblance between his deceased mother and his aunt—they were sisters, after all. But anyone who had seen the two while both were living would have to concede his aunt had inherited the loveliness of the Holbrook family.

While her face still retained much of its youth, however, her wardrobe left a great deal to be desired. Her morning gown was a garish orange, which was accompanied by a bright purple feather bobbing from an otherwise fashionable green turban.

It was an ensemble to make a man’s eyes bleed. But it was quintessentially Henrietta. Her love for bright colors in shocking combinations was her one departure from the good sense and good taste she showed in every other respect.

“I would ask how long you’ve been in town,” his aunt said as she dispatched a footman for a tea service, “but I already know.”

Nick smiled. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

“I have my spies all over London.”

Nick stiffened at the innocent remark. His aunt and uncle knew about his wartime excursions, but the issue of his occupation had never been openly discussed. Was this his aunt’s not-so-subtle way to steer the conversation? It took only a moment to realize he was being edgy and foolish.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come by to visit sooner, Aunt,” Nick said. “I’ve had quite a lot to occupy me.”

Her smile turned speculative. “I’ve heard things about that as well.”

The tea service arrived then, sparing Nick from having to comment right away. Aunt Henri didn’t ask for a reminder of how he took his tea. She dropped two sugars in the cup and handed it to him.

“I’ve missed you, Aunt Henri,” Nick admitted.

Her face softened. The eyes lost their teasing glint and instead shimmered with unshed tears. “I wrote you many letters while you were gone. But I never knew if you got them.” Her face was hopeful.

He hadn’t gotten them. Never had been in one place long enough to receive any correspondence. Even if his missions and contacts didn’t have him constantly on the run, his cover wouldn’t have withstood a barrage of missives from his family. Pretending to be a defected Englishman was difficult enough without explaining constant letters from family he supposedly no longer had contact with.

“I was busy while I was gone,” he hedged.

Silence stretched between them. He could tell, by reading his aunt’s face, there was something she wanted to say to him.

“Go ahead,” he prompted with a smile.

She didn’t bother to ask what he was talking about. “Your uncle and I saw your father before he died.”

Nick clenched his hands. Some pithy remark waited on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. Was he supposed to ask, hopefully, if his father had experienced a deathbed conversion? Or to see if his son’s name had been on his lips before he passed? He didn’t know what kind of reaction Aunt Henri wanted—if she wanted any—from him, so he said nothing.

“He wasn’t much changed when we last parted ways,” she said delicately.

Nick let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. And the hope he didn’t want to have, died. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’ve grown into a fine young man,” his aunt said after a few moments of contemplative silence. Obviously, she’d decided they weren’t going to be discussing the past and its shadows this afternoon.

“Thank you, Aunt Henri.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “So, you were busy then, and you’ve been busy now. But I have a feeling now has less to do with business and more with pleasure.”

Sitting his teacup and saucer on the polished mahogany table, Nick forced his gaze to remain steady. Of course his aunt was prying, that was how the lady occupied much of her time—keeping a watch on everyone else.

“I guess you’ve been busy, too.” He smiled.

Aunt Henri covered her smirk with a well-timed sip of tea. “You won’t be able to distract me, so you might as well talk.”

“You remember Marcus Fairfax, don’t you?”

“I remember hearing about him. His father passed away years back, then his mother was murdered. A shame,” she said.

“Well, he’s in London as well. I’ve been spending a great deal of time with him.”

She didn’t bother trying to hide her smile this time. “And his sister,” she said.

The statement wasn’t a question.

Nick nodded. “Yes, and his sister.”

His aunt was silent, no doubt waiting for him to expound on his unusual attachment to the young lady.

Nick said nothing.

“And?” she prompted.

Stifling a chuckle, Nick knew his aunt’s agitation was only going to grow with his continued silence. “And what?”

She set her cup on the saucer with a jarring clatter. “Don’t play games with me Nicholas Robert Stuart.”

Nick strove for an innocent expression, but he could tell from Henri’s face it wasn’t working.

“Tell me about this Olivia girl,” his aunt demanded.

“I would have thought you’d know everything there was to know by now,” he returned.

She wasn’t amused by his witty banter. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

Nick threw his hands in the air. How did he explain Olivia or how he felt about his role in her life? “I don’t know, Aunt Henri.”

“Well,
I’ve
heard the young lady’s rather arrogant. Snobby, I believe, is what they call her.” His aunt regarded him with cool, impassive eyes.

Blood thundered in his ears. His fists clenched, almost of their own volition. “Who’s saying that?” he asked, but didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Lady Olivia is a caring, lovely young woman.”

No one knew Olivia. So how dare they judge her and deem her aloof?

“Are you okay, Nicholas, dear?” Aunt Henri asked.

“It’s just ludicrous. Whoever’s saying that obviously doesn’t know her and doesn’t deserve to.”

“Well spoken, my dear.” Henri clapped her hands together.

And Nick recognized—too late—the trap for what it was and acknowledged his fall into it was inevitable.

“Don’t get any ideas, Aunt Henri,” he warned.

She feigned innocence—poorly. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, Nicholas.”

“I’m serious about this,” he insisted.

She held out her hands, a show that she had nothing to hide. “I’m merely commending you for your speedy defense of the young lady. It’s very honorable of you.” She paused and raised a finely arched eyebrow. “And considerate.”

“Don’t try to read anything into it, Aunt Henri.”

She made another “I would never” gesture.

He was unconvinced. “Besides, Lady Olivia is fascinated with Julian Finley.”

“Bah,” his aunt said.

If only it were so easy to dismiss Olivia’s unusual attraction to the rake. “I’m not sure what she sees in him,” Nick confided. Perhaps he should have felt awkward discussing the situation with his aunt, but the marquess had always found her wisdom and insight to be invaluable.

“Finley’s about as slimy as a serpent,” his aunt said.

Nick couldn’t have agreed more and said as much.

Henri wasn’t through, however. Something sparked in her eyes, and her expression grew less disgusted by their topic and more speculative at the turn the conversation had taken.

“Personality and morals aside, however, I suppose he’s attractive enough…if one enjoys a blond Adonis-like, incredibly good-looking man.”

“You’re really not helping right now, Aunt Henri.” Couldn’t they go back to talking about how repulsive Finley was as a person?

Henri patted his hand. “I wouldn’t worry about it, dear. You’re handsome and titled, as well.”

Nick opened his mouth to retort, to inform his aunt he had no wish to ever be compared to Finley. His aunt didn’t give him the opportunity.

“No, if you
were
interested in this Lady Olivia—despite her unfortunate attraction to Baron Finley—”

“I never said she was attracted,” Nick felt compelled to interject. “I said fascinated.”

“Whichever. If you were interested in Lady Olivia, I would advise you to make an attempt to win her affections.” She raised a brow. “Unless you believe Finley—despite his snakelike qualities—is more adept in the art of romance than you.”

Nick refused to fall into another of Aunt Henri’s traps. “She’s only a friend,” he said, trying to sound decisive.

His aunt smiled. “Whatever you say.”

The sky foretold the impending rain.

Olivia ducked into the milliner’s shop, in need of a new bonnet and eager to finish her Bond Street expedition.

“Good morning, Lady Olivia,” the shop owner greeted her warmly.

“It’s nearly afternoon, I’m afraid,” Olivia returned with a smile as she took off her gloves.

“True enough, my lady. Now, what might you be interested in seeing today?”

Mrs. Dunwittle was the owner of the milliner’s shop and was patronized by many of the women of the
ton.
Not only was her manner pleasant and inviting, but her hats were the height of fashion. Olivia enjoyed slipping into the shop and buying herself a new present whenever she felt low.

And the reality of her impending marriage to Lord Finley made her feel incredibly low.

The owner left her largely to her own devices, having dealt with the young lady often enough since her coming to town to know she would browse and ask questions if needed. Olivia fingered a bonnet, admiring the pretty shade of blue. She was in the process of deciding what walking dress she had that would match, when she felt someone approach her from behind.

Before she could turn around, the newcomer said, “Perhaps I should accompany my cousin on her errands more often.” Lord Finley.

“Lord Finley, this is quite an unusual place to meet you.” Was he following her? She was acutely aware of the fact she’d yet to give him an answer to his “proposal.”

The baron gestured at a young girl, a child really, certainly no more than sixteen years old, who was talking quietly with
one of Mrs. Dunwittle’s assistants. “My cousin, Anna. My aunt imposed upon me to take the girl to Bond Street.” He glared at the back of the girl’s head.

“I didn’t know your cousin was in town as well. Might I have an introduction?”

He glanced between the two females. “While I’m certain Anna would be flattered by your request, I assure you, you would be disappointed.”

Olivia was too shocked by his hatefulness to respond.

But her silence made Finley reconsider. “If you must,” he said on a sigh, grabbing her elbow and propelling her for ward.

Olivia wondered if he knew how tightly he was gripping her. She tried not to wince as he maneuvered them past displays and toward the young girl.

“Anna,” he barked.

As the girl spun around, Olivia was struck by the fear in her gaze.

“Have I done something wrong?” Anna asked worriedly.

“Not yet.” There was no smile to belie his words. “Lady Olivia would like to meet you.”

Anna’s eyes widened, perfect, dark circles in her pale face. “I’m honored,” she stammered.

Finley flicked a dismissive glance over his relative. “Lady Olivia, this is my cousin, Miss Anna Finley.” He sighed. “Anna, Lady Olivia Fairfax.”

The young girl curtsied, and as she did, Olivia noticed her shoes were worn.

“It is very nice to meet you, Miss Finley.”

The young girl cast a tentative look at her cousin but he was distracted by something outside the window, so she offered a small smile.

“I pray you will excuse me for a moment, Lady Olivia,” Finley said, with his attention still focused outside. “I see an acquaintance I must speak to.”

Olivia watched Anna as Finley walked toward the door of the shop. With each step the baron took, the girl relaxed her rigid stance.

The two ladies stood together uncertainly, and Olivia fin ally took the younger girl’s hand, leading her to a display of straw bonnets.

Anna visibly suppressed an “ah” of delight at one of Mrs. Dunwittle’s creations. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, rubbing the ribbon between two fingers.

“It would look lovely with your complexion,” Olivia agreed.

“Julian did say I could purchase a new bonnet,” Anna looked at her cousin’s friend apologetically. “I’m afraid most of my clothes were too countrified, as he said.”

Olivia didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t wish to come to London in the first place,” Anna said in frustration. “But I had to come after the trouble at home—” It seemed as though she were going to say more, but she promptly snapped her lips shut.

“Well,” Olivia said briskly, taking Anna by the arm, “I think you are going to enjoy your time here immensely.” Just because Olivia wasn’t having a splendid Season herself didn’t mean young Anna was doomed, as well.