The Blackmailed Bride (9 page)

“A
re you almost ready?” Marcus called from outside Olivia’s bedroom door.

“Nearly,” she returned. She scrutinized the dress, deciding she rather liked the deep blue with the ivory gloves. And Sarah had spent what seemed like hours pulling and tugging her hair into place.

She should feel silly for caring about how she looked. Finley wouldn’t be at the theater—not that she would dress to impress him anyway—and attracting the attention of other men would get her in trouble.

Although, she thought—as a certain marquess came to mind—if things were different, she might not object…

She cast one last look in the mirror before leaving her chambers and descending the steps.

“You look wonderful,” Marcus said as she joined him.

“I must say, you don’t look too poorly yourself.” Olivia took his arm, allowing him to lead her outside to their carriage.

“I hope we can have a pleasant evening,” he said, no doubt frustrated that the past several days—since their disagreement and return to London—had been spent in a kind of tenuous but still strained peace.

“I don’t see why we can’t.” In truth, she was in a rather good
mood. Although, she wasn’t quite sure what contributed to her sudden change in disposition. “Marvelous.”

As they arrived outside the Drury Lane theatre, Olivia’s enthusiasm rose higher. She always loved the theater but had yet to attend one of the
ton’
s fashionable stage productions this Season.

In spite of the people trying to angle her brother into conversation, they made fairly unhindered progress to their box. Olivia took her seat, leaned over the railing and peered at the swarming crowds below. How much longer until the curtain rose? Her excitement mounted with each passing moment.

“Nick, I didn’t think you’d be joining us tonight,” Marcus suddenly said.

Olivia whipped her head so quickly to look behind her, she felt a stabbing pain in her neck.

The Marquess of Huntsford entered their box. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion, but it was rather dull sitting alone in my box. I thought I might join the two of you.”

Olivia looked back from the marquess to her brother and tried to decipher the small grin on her brother’s face.

“Of course,” Marcus replied. He swept his hand out at the few empty seats around them. “We have plenty of room here. And company,” he added slyly.

Lord Huntsford opened his mouth to respond, but he stopped at the sight of her. Olivia forced herself to remain still under his scrutinizing gaze. It wasn’t offensive, merely appraising.

He spared Marcus a distracted thank-you and moved to take the seat behind her. Olivia fought a blush as he approached, remembering her thoughts from earlier, when she’d wondered what it would be like if she were free to win the admiration of this man—this handsome, charming man who shared her interest in Shakespeare…and who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since entering the box.

But I’m not free,
she reminded herself, and looked away.

The marquess leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You look beautiful,” he said.

She turned to him, searching his face for any signs of sarcasm. He looked sincere, at least. “Thank you,” she mumbled. She diverted her attention again to the floor below, hoping to hide the embarrassing blush.

Marcus cleared his throat. Olivia swung around to look at him, but he didn’t appear to be studying them too closely.

Lord Huntsford was acting as though they were alone in the box—and in the theater. He leaned forward, not so far to be sitting in her lap, but far enough to make her uncomfortable. “You’re the most beautiful woman here.” But his voice wasn’t pitched low enough. Marcus raised his eyebrows, obviously having heard the exchange.

“I suppose I see someone in the hallway I should talk to,” her brother announced, rising from his seat abruptly. Olivia thought he muttered under his breath as he passed by them and flung open the door to the box. She couldn’t make out the specific words and wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“Lord Huntsford,” she said primly, “I wasn’t aware you were a fan of the theater.” She strove to ignore his close, close proximity.

He sat back—just a little. “I’m an admirer of many things.”

“I hear Kean is sublime,” she pressed on.

“As are you,” he returned.

She looked at his face, took in his startled expression, and surmised that he’d not intended to voice the compliment. She blushed and ducked her head so he couldn’t see the signs of her embarrassment.

“Behave,” she warned, hoping to lighten the sudden seriousness of the mood. She should put some distance between them. But Olivia’s traitorous body refused to move as little as an inch away.

“It turns out I
didn’t
see someone in the hall who required my attention,” Marcus announced as he reentered the box and looked at both of them.

“Am I interrupting something?” her brother asked after a long, awkward moment.

Olivia jumped guiltily. “Of course not.”

“Hmm,” came from Lord Huntsford, who seemed back to his normal, charming self.

“I feel like an extra player on this stage,” Marcus continued good-naturedly when the marquess didn’t sit back in his chair.

“I don’t suppose you could be a character with no lines?” Huntsford asked.

Marcus smiled.

“Would both of you be silent, please? The curtain is about to rise.” Olivia moved forward in her seat, peering through her opera glasses.

The actors took the stage, captivating with their flawless performance. From the moment the players began speaking their lines, she was engrossed in the drama unfolding beneath her. She didn’t hear her brother and the marquess whispering through most of the play, nor did she notice the curious stares from others around them.

Olivia didn’t sit back until the curtain fell for intermission. Then, she rose from her seat and joined the throngs of people littering the hall. Marcus and Lord Huntsford were still speaking with each other when Olivia took her brief leave, claiming a need of fresh air.

But fresh air was the rarest commodity in the crowded hallways. The paths were littered with people. Matrons meandered through the crowds, peering imperiously down their noses at people whose dress they considered gauche or whose manner they found offensive. Young men prowled the halls in pursuit of various game. Some were after heiresses to refill or supplement
the family coffers. Others had a more licentious end in mind for their prey. And the young women, most ushered by their eager mothers, were in the market themselves, searching for the often-elusive perfect husband—wealthy, titled, handsome and chivalrous.

Olivia didn’t belong to any of those groups, and for the most part, the other occupants kept their distance. She was, therefore, able to navigate through the crush with the deftness of a weathered captain charting through choppy seas. Not having to sidestep any of the young men who usually came to speak to her was refreshing as she had no desire to converse, but it was also unusual.

“You can stop trying to walk so fast,” Lord Huntsford said from somewhere behind her. “I’m accompanying you.”

The man was relentless…and probably the reason for the lack of other men in her vicinity. She noticed him scowling at a gentleman who looked ready to walk toward them.

Seeing a column ahead that would afford them some privacy, Olivia maneuvered the two of them through the people and on to the other side of the impromptu hideout.

“I know I shouldn’t bother, but I really have to ask why you are chasing after me,” she said on a sigh.

“Can it not be as simple as my desiring the pleasure of your company?” he asked instead of answering her.

She laughed at his pitiful expression.

An elderly couple passed by then, with both heads turning to look in direction of the laughter.

Lord Huntsford seemed not to care what anyone—including her—thought. He was content to stand there, one hand on the column above her head. She shook herself; she couldn’t be charmed by him without disastrous results.

“This really must stop,” she insisted.

“Why?” The gleam in his eye unnerved her.

“It’s unseemly.” Not to mention should Finley become any
more suspicious there would be more consequences than she wanted to contemplate.

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that made her stomach do an odd turn.

“I’m serious,” she persisted.

He cupped his hand to her face, an action that seemed to surprise even him. Olivia forced herself to resist the urge to turn into his touch or cover his hand with her own.

“You should stop,” she whispered, knowing her voice lacked heat and resolve.

But he didn’t remove his hand.

“Why don’t you want to be around me?” While the words were said lightly, there was vulnerability in his eyes.

He was giving her the opportunity to hurt him.

And, though the thought nearly brought her to tears, she was going to have to take it.

Otherwise, he might not leave her in peace.

And she was in enough turmoil without his constant, disarming presence.

“While I find your company not…unpleasant, I think, considering your background, it would be best if we weren’t seen so often in each other’s company.”

She regretted her necessary cruelty the moment the words were spoken.

“My background?” he echoed.

“Well…that is to say…I…” she stammered.

“Explain yourself.” He leaned forward menacingly, and Olivia had the absurd fear he would strike her—not that she wouldn’t deserve it. But she had to make sure he would cease whatever plans he had for the two of them. Even friendship would be too risky. Finley didn’t want her with anyone who could be perceived as a threat. And as she’d been reminded over and over again, she was in no position to bargain with him.

There was nothing for her to do but brazen it out. “I just
mean, with all the women in France, and your father…” She knew those few words would cut deep.

He stepped away, hurt momentarily visible on his face before his expression locked down into blankness.

“If you believe that, you know nothing about me,” he said quietly.

Regret overwhelmed her. What had she done?

“I’m…” she began, unsure what words she was going to speak but halfway thinking they were going to be an apology.

She never got a chance to hear for herself what she was planning to say because he speared her with a glare and stalked away.

He stormed through the crowd, the masses seeming to part to allow him easy passage. And he didn’t spare her a backward glance. She ignored the burning sensation behind her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. This was the way things should be. It was better for everyone if he ended his odd fascination with her anyway.

“Lady Olivia?” A young girl approached her out of the milling, but thinning, crowd.

After a few moments, Olivia recognized the girl as Finley’s cousin, Anna.

“Are you all right?” Anna asked, coming closer and peering at Olivia with so much concern, Olivia felt like crying all the more.

“I’m fine,” she answered automatically. “How are you?” This was followed with a brief flare of worry.
Is Finley with her? Has he witnessed anything between myself and Nick?

Anna still looked skeptical about Olivia’s well-being, but she answered, “I’m well. My mother was invited to the play by some old friends, and she let me accompany her.”

Olivia sagged with relief when she realized Finley was probably not in attendance then.

“Are you enjoying the show?” Olivia asked, wondering why she couldn’t seem to form anything more significant to ask.

“Yes.” The word had the slow pace of question. “I’m not trying to be a bother, but are you certain you are feeling well?”

“I’m certain.”

Anna chewed on her bottom lip. “I saw that man storming away. Had he said something to upset you?”

Quite the opposite
. “Oh, no. He simply had somewhere to be.” Somewhere far, far away from her, she figured.

“Oh. Well, that’s all right then,” Anna said.

Olivia wondered what Anna planned on doing if Olivia had insisted Lord Huntsford was the cause of her troubles. Hunt him down? Give him a shy, but stern, lecture?

Olivia was obviously not thinking soundly.

She cleared her throat and looked at Anna, who was still peering at her curiously. “You won’t mention what you saw, will you? To your cousin…” She hated to ask, but if Finley caught word…well, that didn’t bear considering.

“I don’t talk to Julian unless I must,” Anna confided.

“I appreciate your silence.” Olivia reached out and gripped her hand in gratitude.

Anna smiled, and Olivia thought how pretty the girl looked when she was happy. “I must return to Mama, before she comes looking for me,” she said with a hint of an apology in her words. “But I hope to see you again soon.”

Olivia bid her goodbye. And on legs that were still shaky from her confrontation with Lord Huntsford, Olivia returned to the box. Marcus noticed his friend’s absence and looked at her with raised brows.

She shrugged as though to say his disappearance was a mystery to her as well. It was easier. She didn’t want to lie to her brother, so it was best not to speak at all.

O
livia couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt worse about the way she’d treated someone.

She knew, as soon the words had come tumbling forth, that what she said was going to hurt the marquess. She knew the implied accusation was untrue. Neither of the two had prevented her from saying it.

But she had to do something to keep him away, she reasoned. Lord Huntsford seemed determined to integrate himself into her life. And while she didn’t necessarily understand his motivation, she was all too aware of what would happen if Lord Finley grew any more suspicious.

She wouldn’t put it past the baron to take out a front page announcement in the
Times
with a printing of her mother’s letter in order to publicly disgrace her family.

She watched in the mirror as Sarah fastened the set of sapphires around her neck. The matching earbobs were next.

“You look lovely, my lady,” Sarah said.

“Thank you,” Olivia said, but she knew she sounded distracted. Too much seemed to hang in the balance, and one gentle sway could bring everything crashing around her.

She would do anything to prevent the secret from being
revealed. But she still knew she had to make amends. Her nagging conscience would accept nothing less.

Marcus had informed her that he was hosting a dinner party, a rather uncharacteristic move, with several influential members of Parliament and their wives. Her brother was petitioning for reforms for those forced to slave away in workhouses, and he needed every available vote to help the reforms pass.

Olivia’s duty was to be charming and sociable. The mission didn’t seem overwhelming until she walked into the parlor and noticed the marquess standing with some men, talking.

She hesitated inside the door. Lord Huntsford looked directly at her, but she was unable to read his expression. At least he didn’t give her the cut directly—turning his back and refusing to acknowledge her attendance.

Perhaps he’d like to. Maybe Marcus’s presence was the only thing preventing him from doing exactly that.

She couldn’t approach him, not that she was considering being so bold, because an elderly woman with elegantly coiffed, silver hair and dazzling jewels atop a blindingly bright yellow evening dress approached her first.

“Lady Olivia?” the woman whose dress was an insult to subdued society queried as she came within hearing distance.

Olivia nodded, worrying over whether she was supposed to know who the impressive figure before her was.

Marcus appeared at her elbow then, and Olivia could have breathed a sigh of relief.

“Olivia, allow me to introduce you to Her Grace, the Duchess of Leith. Her husband is one of our greatest supporters.”

The duchess rapped Marcus on the knuckles with her fan. “As am I, dear boy,” she chided.

Marcus bowed his head. “Of course, your grace, my apologies. Please permit me to present my sister, Lady Olivia.”

Olivia curtsied deeply, already admiring the woman and her
husband for backing the controversial reforms her brother was proposing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, your grace.”

The duchess’s smile was sincere and put Olivia instantly at ease. “As it is to meet you, Lady Olivia. I’ve heard much about you.”

Olivia gave Marcus a questioning look.

He seemed as flummoxed as she, but someone called to him from across the room. With a bow and a plea for the duchess’s pardon, Marcus went to attend to his guest.

The Duchess of Leith quickly returned to their previous conversation. “My nephew speaks highly of you,” she clarified. “Of both you and your brother.”

Olivia couldn’t have been more lost in the conversation than if the woman were speaking Portuguese.

“Your nephew?” she questioned.

“Nicholas.” The duchess pointed into the crowd of people conversing on the other side of the room. “The Marquess of Huntsford.” Her tone became increasingly unsure. “The handsome one in the corner…”

Olivia was speechless.

The duchess furrowed her brow. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression he is a friend of the family.”

Olivia recovered neatly. “Of course, forgive me. I wasn’t aware Lord Huntsford was a relation.”

Huntsford’s aunt took Olivia’s hand in her own. “Don’t worry over that dear. Nick can be very secretive. It’s that trait that makes him good at what he does.”

What he does?

Olivia and the duchess were taking a turn around the room, walking slowly by the other handful of couples who were passing the time until dinner with conversation. Olivia had to force herself not to continue looking in the marquess’s direction.

Olivia wanted to ask the obviously open duchess more about Lord Huntsford’s mysterious line of work, but knew she
shouldn’t express interest in the man. Fortunately, the duchess had already moved on to another topic. “My nephew told me you have spent most of your years in the country.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Please don’t ‘your grace’ me. I’d be honored if you’d call me Henrietta.”

Olivia assured her she would love nothing more than for the duchess to address her informally as well.

“So how are you finding your time here?” Henrietta asked, returning to the earlier vein of conversation.

“It’s been enlightening,” Olivia hedged. The last thing she wanted to do was offend her new acquaintance by insulting England’s capital city.

“That sounds like a polite way of saying you’re miserable.”

Olivia laughed. “You are very perceptive.”

“I’m old,” Henrietta countered. “When you get to be my age, dear, you’re lucky to have something to show for the years other than wrinkles and gray hair. I have been duly cursed with both, but I do have a bit of wisdom to show for them as well.”

“You are an inspiration,” Olivia said with another chuckle and smile.

“Perhaps you can tell Nicholas that. He needs to hear how valuable I am every once in a while.”

Olivia caught herself before she fell into the trap of discussing the marquess. “I know your support of my brother means a lot to Marcus.”

The duchess looked at her, clearly aware of the desperate change of subject. For whatever reason, Henrietta decided not to pursue the matter. “My husband and I are always stirring up some kind of trouble for the ‘radical’—as they’re called—rights we want to help the working classes achieve. But for all their grumbling, people still try to garner our favor.” She shook her head. “It really can be most tiring.”

“I know Marcus keeps his head buried in his work. I’ve not seen much of him in the past several weeks. I think what all of you are doing is commendable.”
And purposeful,
she added silently. Perhaps after her marriage to Finley, she’d be able to take on some charitable pursuits. It would keep her out of her husband’s company.

The two conversed a few more minutes before the service for dinner was announced.

As soon as she entered the dining room, Olivia knew that her brother had tampered with the seating arrangements. She’d taken pains to ensconce herself with several elderly guests. And she’d placed the marquess as far from herself as possible.

Beside her brother…at the other end of the table.

Unfortunately, due to the
new
seating arrangements, Olivia was inconveniently situated across from Lord Huntsford.

Olivia glared down the table at Marcus, when what she wanted to do was fling a spoonful of food at his head. Her brother was too entrenched in his conversation with Henri and a gentleman she supposed to be the duke to even notice.

Lord Huntsford didn’t show any surprise or disdain at the adjusted seating. He didn’t display any kind of emotion at all. He had apparently resolved to ignore her. Something he did with remarkable dedication. Olivia decided not to push him.

She occupied herself by conversing with the man and woman on either side of her. And if her eyes shifted occasionally to the brooding man across from her, she couldn’t be held responsible for that.

By the time the dessert course made its way to the guests, she was nearly ready to throw herself across the table and ask for his forgiveness. She resolved to meet with him once everyone had disbanded.

There were a few things she needed to say to him, but asking him to accompany her out of the dining room—while
not entirely scandalous—would certainly set Marcus’s friends to talking.

The deed of getting Lord Huntsford’s attention must be discreet. Which meant Gibbons couldn’t be involved. So she stopped a footman in the hall, asking him sweetly if he would deliver a message to the Marquess of Huntsford. The servant, a relatively new addition to the household staff, seemed eager to please his mistress.

“Try not to let the women hear you,” she cautioned.

The footman looked ready to salute her, and she had to smile at his eagerness. But she was overcome with a case of nerves. She wondered what Nick would have to say to her. He would still be angry, perhaps, but she needed to make amends. While she would never be able to be more than his friend—if she even had that luxury—his good opinion of her mattered. For some reason, losing it was more than she was able to bear…she wished she realized that before insulting him.

Olivia waited in the library, pacing across the floor, something she must have learned from Marcus over the years, and wondering what was taking the man so long.

What if Lord Huntsford had decided not to come at all?

Could he be so angry with her he wouldn’t give her a chance to explain?

“You summoned?” Nick asked shortly, striding into the library.

Olivia set down her copy of
Twelfth Night,
the one he had given her, he noticed. “Yes, I did.”

Nick seated himself in the chair farthest from her. “I’m surprised you’d want to meet with me alone…considering my background, that is.”

She winced. “I deserve that, of course.” She folded her hands in her lap. Nick assumed it was to hide the fact they were shaking.

He noticed anyway.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. And while his anger was due to her callous comment, he couldn’t help but pity her awkwardness. He wanted, immediately, to cross the floor between them and take her in his arms.

He resisted the impulse.

“So why am I here?” he asked, more kindly when it seemed as though she was going to say nothing more.

“So that I might apologize.” She heaved a sigh, and her shoulders rose and fell with the breath. “I truly am sorry. What I said at the theater—” she stopped, struggling.

He took a breath, ready to end this torture for her. He didn’t need to hear the words; the remorse was evident on her face.

“—was uncalled for,” she finished.

He smiled, ready to absolve her of her guilt, but she wouldn’t let him.

“I hope you know I don’t think that,” she continued quickly. Her sorrowful eyes stared at him, and he couldn’t help but imagine they were beseeching him—for what, he wasn’t sure. “No one who has spent any time with you could delude himself into believing anything negative about you.” A long, shaky breath. “I was trying to hurt you,” she confessed.

This new information puzzled him. “Why?”

As she shook her head slowly, ruefully, some of the hair carefully piled into the top knot slipped free and caressed the sides of her face. “I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything.” Maybe she would tell him why one moment she seemed amenable to his attention, and the next she’d coldly rebuff him.

“We can’t be friends,” she said earnestly.

Was she worried Marcus would find something amiss about them spending time together? In truth, he wasn’t sure how her brother would handle knowing Nick was developing feelings
for the enigma in front of him. But he highly doubted Marcus would have a problem if they were friendly with one another.

“We can’t be seen together much more than we already have.” Her voice was plaintive and seemed to catch with unshedtears.

Soon, the two of them needed to have a serious talk. She was hiding something from him—maybe from everyone—and he wanted to relieve the burden it had caused. But he could hear speculation from the other room about their whereabouts, so he was going to have to leave her momentarily.

She seemed to sense that as well. “I truly am sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

Olivia was stunned. “Just like that?”

He nodded. “Just like that. Does that surprise you? Surely you expected forgiveness when you called me here.”

“Well, I—ah—didn’t expect it so quickly.”

It was Nick’s turn to look confused. “Why should I make both of us suffer by drawing it out?”

She seemed to think hard about the question. “Is this one of your Bible lessons?” But the usual disdain in her voice when speaking of spiritual matters was gone.

“It’s one of many.”

She pondered that for a moment. “I don’t understand.”

He knew they were no longer talking about just forgiveness. “What would you like explained?” he asked slowly, afraid if he said the wrong thing she would close up again.

She turned her head to peer out the window, and he suddenly wished that he could erase the faraway, pained look in her eyes. “It doesn’t really matter. I couldn’t ever believe in that again anyway. I’ve…I’ve seen things…” she trailed off. “What things?”

She turned to face him then, and her eyes were suspiciously moist. “Awful things,” she whispered.

Nick couldn’t take his eyes off of her expression—the
shadows and fear visible in her countenance. His heart hammered in his chest; he was afraid of what she would tell him—afraid that he wouldn’t know how to comfort her.

But mostly, he feared that Olivia would decide she didn’t trust him enough to tell him anything at all.

She wished she could call the words back once they had been spoken, but they hovered in the room of their own accord. Lord Huntsford studied her face as though it were a map that held the key to a valuable treasure.

Infinite minutes passed, and he said nothing. Olivia wanted to squirm under his scrutiny but forced herself to stay still. His gaze revealed nothing of what he was thinking. The weight was pressing on her again; she wanted him to laugh at her…call her a fool…insist that a sheltered miss couldn’t possibly have seen anything so awful as she claimed.