The Forsaken Love of a Lord (16 page)

“Miss Olivia.” He spoke softly as if whispering her name in reverence as he took her hand and kissed the kid leather. His lips created a warming sensation, feeding the hunger that had stirred upon seeing him.

“Lord Langley,” Olivia replied, finding her voice.

“I was hoping that you and I might take a ride through the park. If that’s amiable to you?” he asked tenderly, his dark gaze studying hers.

Surely he felt
something
for her, to regard her so carefully?

“Of course,” she replied.

Only a few moments later, they were seated in his fine curricle pulled by matched greys. The air was thick with tension. More than anything, Olivia wanted to ask a million questions, yet she sensed that she needed to wait.

So she did.

Though it took every ounce of her self-control.

“I was told by a dear friend…” Lord Langley began as his gaze was fixed on the horses. “…that I was to guard what I said, so I must admit to you that I find myself struggling to find the correct words. And I wish to be as direct as possible without offending, yet I realize I may offend regardless, so I ask for grace. Please.”

“Of course,” Olivia replied directly, her gaze studying the curve of jaw and the distinct, rich tone of his voice.

“Thank you.” Lord Langley turned to her, his expression appreciative.

Olivia nodded, unable to pull her gaze away from the deep and rich color of his eyes.

“I did not ask for your hand in some misbegotten horrific way of exacting revenge. I wish for you to know that beyond all else.” He spoke clearly, turning his gaze back to the horses.

“That is a relief,” Olivia replied before she could consider her words.

“Ah, I’m pleased to put away that fear then.” He turned to her, his gaze serious.

“Forgive me, I—“

“No. You must be honest with me. I will be no less with you,” he said sharply, then seemed to remember himself. “I would
ask
no less of you, please,” he amended.

“Always,” Olivia said, happy that honesty would be so prized by her future husband.

It could be far worse!

Yet a moment later, she felt her mind begin to tickle with questions about another person’s dishonesty.

“Ah, I can see in your expression that you’re already questioning just how honest I will be.” He nodded. “Let me simply say this. If I have learned anything, it’s that hiding something doesn’t take away its power over you, quite the opposite. To hide something, you must keep it close. You must work with it to keep it hidden, and it grows in power over your thoughts, your life, till it destroys everything that you once saw as good within you. That, Miss Olivia, is what happened with me. That is the curse your sister left.

“I-I am very sorry—“

“It was not you, so you should shoulder no blame. I do not blame you, nor should you blame yourself. Agreed?” he asked.

“Agreed.”

“Do you wish to know what transpired?” His tone was soft, yet dark.

“I thought I did, yet…”

“How about I simply tell you the outline, the short answer, if you will.”

“I think that might be best, yes.” Olivia couldn’t believe she was agreeing to the shortened answer, yet as she saw the haunted look in his eyes, the steel and sorrowful tone in his voice, she realized that it didn’t matter.

Only
he
mattered.

Marybelle? She was dead.

Deservingly so.

She’d not let her miserable sister’s memory pollute what she was seeing as a growing potential for her marriage.

No.

She wouldn’t allow it.

“I was a fool,” Lord Langley began. Absently he glanced away, his expression distant.

Tormented.

Olivia opened her mouth to say something. What, she wasn’t completely sure.

But he began again. “I thought she loved me — or at least cared for me in some fashion. I was a fool because I was unable to see the lie until it was too late.” He spoke distinctly, as if willing the truth from his lips, as if it were a battle.

“She betrayed you?” Olivia asked, seeking confirmation for her oldest suspicions.

“She betrayed us all,” he corrected, fixing his dark gaze in her direction. His expression was cold, lifeless.

“Oh,” Olivia replied, confused.

“That evening, the evening she met her end,” he clarified. “I was at White’s drowning my sorrows, as it were. You see, I had known for some time that something wasn’t right. I had heard whispers of her unfaithful nature, yet I didn’t know for certain. So, in a slightly emboldened manner, helped along by a fair share of brandy, I decided to follow her.” He glanced down and then furrowed his brow. “One moment.” He spoke distractedly. Quickly, he maneuvered the horses into the open path of Hyde Park.

Few people were about, yet Olivia sensed that for the rest of the story, Lord Langley would require absolute privacy.

Her suspicions were proven accurate as he turned off the main path and led the horses toward the far corner near Kensington Gardens. A smaller trail wound toward a copse of trees, and he took it, leaving behind any other fellow park attendees. As they neared the grove, he sighed, but the sound wasn’t of relief, but of tension.

Olivia felt a dark foreboding swirl around her like a dense fog.

“I followed her, half-suspecting she had taken a lover, but I discovered something far darker. After she thought I had left for White’s, she hired a hack, and, carrying a parcel that looked to hold documents, she left our home. I had already hired my own coach and ordered for her to be followed. We left Mayfair and entered the west end. After passing through, the driver took a turn toward the least savory part. I’ll spare you the details, but it was not a place for a lady.” He speared her with a dark look.

Olivia swallowed.

“At first I thought I had somehow gotten mixed up and the driver had followed the wrong hack, till she disembarked. Bold as could be, she paid her hack and entered the… establishment.” He took a deep breath. “I was about to go in, to follow her…” He paused. “…but another coach pulled up, and a gentleman headed toward the building. He was familiar, but all I could see was his back, till he turned around to speak to the driver. Then I froze in place,“ he whispered.

“Who was it?” Olivia asked, breathless. Yet all she wanted to do was reach up and smooth the lines of tension creasing his brow. The retelling of the story was clearly costing him.

He was paying the price.

For her.

“Curtis,” he murmured, seemingly caught up in the past. “Mr. Sheppard,” he added, turning toward her, his eyes brooding.

“Mr. Sheppard?” Olivia gasped.

“Yes.” He nodded. “He followed her into the building. You can imagine my assumption.”

“Indeed.” Olivia’s heart pinched with horror and sorrow. His best friend? Betraying him?

How had he ever forgiven him?

“So I followed them. Wanting to be prepared, I had packed my pistol with me. I tucked it into the pocket of my greatcoat and walked toward the establishment. I didn’t enter, rather, I walked through the narrow side alley. The filth of that place still haunts me. I was driven by jealousy, anger, and I didn’t pause but continued on my quest.” He spoke darkly. “As I passed a slightly broken window, I heard Marybelle’s voice. Ducking down, I waited. I’ll spare you the entire conversation, but the truth of the matter was that the parcel she carried was actually documents she had stolen from my study. I was working with a friend at the war office who needed more intimate knowledge of the Russian countryside. You see, my father had loved to travel and upon one of his journeys, had come across a rather unique map. It was established in our family library, and when my friend learned of its existence, he asked for my assistance. I freely elected to help, for king and country.” He shrugged slightly. “So I had several
sensitive
documents in my study relating to that particular nature.” He glanced to the floor of the carriage.

“So she stole documents pertaining to the war?”

Glancing up, he answered. “Yes. There was a particular route that Napoleon had been using to gather information about Russia. As of yet, the Crown was unable to identify the exact route. Needless to say, they wanted that communication eliminated.”

“Indeed,” Olivia agreed, though her curiosity was growing. Mr. Sheppard’s involvement had caused her great distress, almost as if he had betrayed not only Lord Langley, but her as well.

People certainly weren’t always what they seemed.

“It was evident early in their conversation that she thought Curtis a French sympathizer, one that was willing to pay handsomely for the documents she had procured.”

“It was a ruse?” Olivia gasped.

He nodded. “You see, I wasn’t aware at the time, but Curtis had connections with the war office, only he was working for them as well. Long story short, Marybelle had tried to sell the documents to several other buyers, and once the war office was aware of the situation, they asked Curtis to assist them because he’d be someone in the same circle, someone able to elicit trust…”

“Marybelle wasn’t worried that he’d tell you?” Olivia asked.

“No, I found out later that Curtis had made it… assumed that he was interested in her in a more familiar way.”

“Oh.”

“And Marybelle appreciated admiration of any sort.”

“She always did.”

“But I digress.” He shook his head slightly. “In the alley, once I heard their voices, I was so angry, so betrayed…” He sighed. “But then another man entered the room. I could just see enough through the broken portion of the window that he was placing a bid for the documents as well. When he didn’t win the bid, he turned a pistol on Curtis. Before I could react, another gunshot sounded, and the man was killed. It turns out, there were several gentlemen in the room, all placing bids. I learned later that the man who fired the shot was also from the war office, in attendance at the bidding to provide reinforcement for Curtis. A statement being made by the dead man on the floor, the other bidders left.

“Curtis withdrew an envelope, presumably payment, and handed it to Marybelle. She accepted it and proceeded to advance upon Curtis. To my friend’s credit, he tried to dissuade her advances.”

“I’m glad to hear of it.”

“I imagine you are,” Lord Langley replied with a hint of indecision to his words, as if he was curious about her attachment to the same Mr. Sheppard. “When it was clear he was not… interested, she withdrew her own gun and aimed at his heart.”

Olivia gasped.

“You see, she had planned to take the money and seduce him, giving her another lover and the financial freedom to leave me.”

“But why?”

“I simply wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough.”

“That I remember,” Olivia replied with a soft tone.

“Curtis tried to disarm her. She shot.”

“Was Mr. Sheppard injured?”

“No, but I was.” He shrugged. “The bullet went through the window and then punctured my left arm. After the window shattered, my location was exposed.”

Olivia gasped, her eyes widening.

“Curtis was momentarily stunned, but Marybelle, seeing an opportunity, turned the weapon back to him. I shot her before she could harm my friend.”

“You? You’re the one who, who…” Olivia stuttered.

“Indeed. And after hearing the story, you see why it was imperative that it not be shared unless absolutely necessary. You also understand why I no longer wished any contact with your family. Though there were other concerns, that was the primary reason.” His expression was open, no longer guarded but somehow free. As if the retelling of the horrible tale had somehow loosened the chains of his past.

“I-I hardly know what to say,” Olivia whispered, gazing into his eyes. However was she to atone for her sister’s sins? How would he ever be able to see past Marybelle’s deception and through to her own heart? Was it possible?

If that weren’t enough, he carried the weight of killing his own wife.

Though she was a miserable wretch, that he lamented his actions at all spoke highly of his integrity and character.

Few would have such moral fiber.

“Why?” Olivia asked, her brow furrowing as her heart pounded with the full weight of the question. “Why would you wish to have any sort of connection with me? Let alone ask for my hand? How could you see past Marybelle—“

Her question was silenced as he leaned forward and pulled her into a searing kiss. His arms held her tightly as his lips engaged hers with the most alluring touch, making her body sing. Gently, he encouraged her to deepen the kiss, which she willingly did, opening to his flavor and resting in the promise within.

Slowly, unwillingly, he pulled away, leaving her lips wet and sensitive from his gentle assault.

“You ask why?” he whispered, his warm breath fanning her face, a mix of spice and masculine desire swirling in the air.

Olivia nodded, unable to speak.

“Because when I was lost in my forsaken life, you were brave enough to come find me. When I had forgotten who I was, you remembered. When I was willing to lick my wounds in the dark, you weren’t willing to let me fade into a memory. Because when I saw you, you reminded me that hope still exists,” he whispered, and not waiting for her response, he leaned in and kissed her again, not as gentle this time, but more demanding, as a man sealing his name on his lover.

Between kisses, Olivia drew back and rested her head against his as her heart raced with joy and desire. “I couldn’t, not when I knew who you once were and who you had become. I shall have to thank Mr. Sheppard for his longsuffering as I peppered him with questions at each ball.” She giggled breathlessly as she kissed him once more, lingering on the softness of his lips.

“I do believe we both owe Curtis a debt of gratitude,” he replied, chuckling himself before applying a lingering kiss to her lips. “So I assume you are not adverse to marrying me, then?” he asked, then withdrew far enough to gaze into her eyes.

“You know, when I first learned we were to come to London, all I could consider was that I’d finally know the truth about my sister… yet the truth? It was a lie. A lie I told myself again and again, because in truth, all I wanted was to see you. Yet when I saw you, it wasn’t enough. So I inquired, and asked, and laid awake at night dreaming till the evening of the masquerade.” She shook her head.