The Forsaken Love of a Lord (7 page)

“Not much, but I have an agreement with her.”

“Agreement?” Edward asked, his brow furrowed.

“Indeed. For every dance she gives me, in return, I’ll answer two questions.”

“About me?”

“That’s implied, yes.”

“I hope you enjoyed your dance. It will certainly be one of your last, if not
the
last!” Edward chuckled.

“Ah, that is where you are wrong, my friend. She seems to genuinely be concerned about you, to worry about your welfare—“

“No one worries about my welfare.”

“Do I not count?” Curtis asked dryly.

“Fine, you care, or I amuse you in some way. Regardless, she has no attachment—“

“She does, in a way. She mentioned that she remembered you.”

“Of course she remembers me, you dolt. I was her—“

“No, I believe she said, and I quote
‘and
the rumor is that Lord Langley has shut himself off from society. Which is, in my opinion, a great disservice to society based on my knowledge of the man he was.’
“ Curtis finished in a falsetto voice.

Complete with batting eyelashes.

“You should never attempt the theater.”

“Noted.”

“I’m sure such a sentiment wasn’t spoken with as much weight as you are giving it now,” Edward replied, waving his hand dismissively, though as Curtis said the words, his heart had pinched with a longing.

Because he was once proud of the man he was.

But no longer.

Marybelle had made sure of that.

“She honestly seemed to believe it. But it’s neither here nor there. I’m only a stepping-stone. What she wants…” He took a step toward Edward, his gaze direct. “…is you.”

“Me?” Edward asked, amused.

“Yes. Apparently she wishes to somehow speak with you, or at least that’s what I gathered. I’ll have to sort it all out eventually but I have faith that we have many more dances to look forward to—“

“What’s in this for you?” Edward asked, in tone low.

“Other than helping out two friends?” He shrugged. “Amusement. The satisfaction of solving a mystery and perhaps… helping you find closure as well.” He turned toward the door. “Though I must say it is a severe sacrifice on my part to dance with a beautiful, amusing woman at every chance. Yes. I must be daft to agree to such an arrangement.” He chuckled. “Until later!” He waved as he left.

Edward watched the door close and leaned back in his chair. Her questions, her inquiry weren’t what he expected.

Far from it.

He expected coy. He expected a flirt trying to tease an answer from his friend.

He didn’t expect an honest question.

Or a seemingly honest answer.

Could she remember him? Remember him fondly? It seemed so long ago, a different lifetime.

A different man.

Yet something whispered in his heart, that that man never died.

He had just been silenced.

Beaten.

Bloodied.

But never conquered.

And for the first time in years, Edward began to feel strong.

Not simply strong.

But powerful.

Hope did that to a man.

CHAPTER FIVE

“
I
T’S BEEN THREE WEEKS
. Have you run out of questions yet?” Mr. Sheppard asked as he led her across the marbled floor of the Bainbarg b
allroom. The music lilted over the din of conversation, and candlelight twinkled as liveried footmen distributed refreshments.

“Are you implying that you no longer wish to dance with me?” Olivia teased.

“Heavens! What is it with women? I ask a simple question, and you turn it on me!”

“A simple question I
simply
turned back to you… which, I must point out, you have failed to answer.” Olivia studied the gentleman with the exceedingly charming smile. It was rumored that he was taken with a widow — Alaina something or another — though she had never seen him single any lady out, besides herself. Yet she knew his attention wasn’t singular for the purpose of pursuit; after all, at every available opportunity, she had asked after Lord Langley.

“I could point out the very same thing, minx. My question lingers in the air as well.” He chuckled, his familiar grin lighting up his face.

Over the course of the past weeks, Olivia had come to regard Mr. Sheppard as a friend, a dangerously charming and refreshingly honest friend. At every event they mutually attended, he would seek her out and ask for a dance — sometimes two — and in return, she had asked two questions for each. At first, she had asked the most important ones: how Lord Langley was fairing, and if he was still plagued by her dead sister’s memory.

Yet as time progressed, she began to ask different questions, ones that were of a softer, yet more intimate nature. What were Lord Langley’s interests? What did he do with his time? What amused him?

And Mr. Sheppard never failed to relay some interesting fact or diverting story about Lord Langley that had only fueled her fascination with him. And as wonderful as his tales and information were, they couldn’t substitute for the real man.

At night, when she’d remember the little anecdote or story from Mr. Sheppard about Lord Langley, her heart would long for the real man.

Not the memory.

Not the story or information.

But the man.

But how was that ever to be? She was forbidden to even speak his name, let along converse with him.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he took any interest in her.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Mr. Sheppard’s voice cut through her musing.

“Ah, forgive me. I was woolgathering.” She shook her head in an attempt to dispel her thoughts.

“You must have quite the stockpile,” Mr. Sheppard replied with a serious expression.

“Amusing,” Olivia shot back, grinning.

“I rather thought so myself. It’s rare to have something delightfully witty to say. With as much as we talk about Langley, a gentleman has to draw attention to himself once in a while.” He winked.

“Indeed. Forgive me for neglecting you.” She rolled her eyes and glanced ahead of them as they wove through the crowd.

“So, you actually never did answer my question.” He said somewhat hesitantly.

“About?” Olivia glanced back to him, furrowing her brow. “Ah! I remember. Hmm. Yes. I have thought of my first question.”

“Delightful.”

“What makes Lord Langley smile?”

“Besides my charming friendship?” Mr. Sheppard asked with a sly wink.

“I would think that
that
would be obvious!” Olivia replied.

“Of course!” Mr. Sheppard grinned a lopsided smile. “Hmm, it’s a good question you ask, and I’m afraid I don’t have much of an answer. Truth be told, it’s been far too long since I’ve seen him smile freely. It’s a shame, it is.”

“I should think so. If memory serves, his smile was even more dangerous than yours, Mr. Sheppard.”

“Ah! Flattery will get you everywhere,” he replied loftily. “Do you have a second question?” he asked as he led them around a large gathering of people milling about the refreshment table stacked high with seasonal fruit and tarts.

Olivia hesitated. She did, indeed, have one more question. But it was of a far more private nature than she had ever dared ask before. Her heart pounding harder with each step, she swallowed her trepidation and asked before she lost the nerve. “Does…” She paused. “That is, do you tell him about our conversations regarding him… and if so, what is his response? What I’m asking is…” She swallowed. “Does he ever ask about me?” She turned her gaze to her friend, searching his expression for an answer before he voiced it.

“Hmm. I do believe that was three questions,” Mr. Sheppard replied, his expression kind yet suspiciously closed-off.

Olivia bit her lip. “I suppose it was.”

“However, I am the giving sort—“

“So you’ve told me,” she teased, relaxing slightly and releasing the pent-up breath she had been holding.

“And being that—“ He cut a glance to her, as if warning her not to interrupt… again. “—I shall answer your additional questions. But!” He held up a gloved finger. “It shall cost you.”

“Cost me? Hmm… what is your price, dear sir?” Olivia asked, narrowing her eyes in a playful manner.

“The masquerade. I wish to waltz with you to the Smyth Masquerade.”

“Oh. Of course. Easily promised.”

“Delightful! What will you be wearing?” Mr. Sheppard asked, utterly nonchalant.

“Pardon?” Olivia was taken aback. Gentlemen did not ask ladies about their attire.

“The masquerade. How else will I be able to find you unless I know your costume?” he asked, shrugging.

“Ah, I see. My costume shall be that of an angel. Complete with wings. Small ones, mind you, I don’t want to knock over anyone. Heavens, I don’t need help being clumsy!”

“An angel? How appropriate!”

“Why, thank you,” she replied. “What will your costume be?” she asked somewhat impatiently, wanting to find out the answers to her questions,
not
talk about costumes.

“Hmm... I think I shall leave you in suspense.”

“Foul play! You asked me mine!”

“Indeed, and now I shall be able to find you quite easily. Thus my stipulation was a wise one.” He wagged his eyebrows playfully. “Though your hair would have likely given you away.” He glanced to the golden curls piled on her head.

Olivia sighed, irritated.

“Now to answer your questions.”

Her annoyance vanished, as he seemed to take in their surroundings and navigate them to a less-populated region of the ballroom.

“Yes. I do tell him about our conversations. And his reaction is different each time. At times, he’s like an impatient ogre waiting to hear news of the outside world. Other times, indifferent. And yes, he asks about you.”

“He does?”

“Did I not just say so?” Mr. Sheppard replied softly, though his expression wasn’t as playful as usual.

“What does he—“

“Ah.” He held up his hand. “Since we’ve already danced this evening, and I do not wish to start talk with dancing again, I do believe your questions are more than used,” he teased.

“You’ve been more than generous,” Olivia replied. Though burning with curiosity, she had to give him the credit that was due.

“Indeed! I always have been—“

“The generous sort. Yes. You are, Mr. Sheppard,” she finished with a genuine smile of affection for her friend.

“Now, allow me to escort you to your family. I’m sure they are curious as to your whereabouts.”

“No, er…” Olivia paused mid-step. “…actually, could you take me over there, to Maria? I wish to speak with her first.”

“Your silent friend that is not so silent, after all?” Mr. Sheppard teased.

“Yes. The one and the same.”

“Very well.”

As they made their way toward Maria, she paused in conversation with the lady beside her and smiled warmly at them. The pale lavender of her gown highlighted the creamy hue of her skin, and Olivia glanced at Mr. Sheppard, curious as to his response.

Indeed he had certainly noticed her beauty as his eyes appreciatively gleamed as he smiled one of his more flirtatious grins.

Maria glanced down, blushing.

Olivia was especially thankful that her friend had abandoned her initial quest of being silent and had remained true to her nature. Being as such, she was on speaking terms with Mr. Sheppard.

“Maria.” Olivia smiled in greeting to her friend.

“Olivia, Mr. Sheppard,” she welcomed.

“Ah, a lovely voice to match a lovely creature,” he replied as he took her hand and kissed the air above it.

“Yes, so you’ve said before… several times,” Maria teased, flirting.

“And still true, though I’ll have to consider a different greeting. I wouldn’t want to bore you,” Mr. Sheppard replied.

“You could never be boring, Mr. Sheppard.”

“That is great relief to hear.” He bowed. “Have a lovely evening, ladies.” And with a wink, he turned and left.

“Aren’t you glad you decided to speak to the gentleman?” Olivia asked with a giggle in her tone.

“Indeed. Though for the past few weeks, I don’t think we’ve said anything terribly original!” Maria replied.

“But at least you’re talking… and he’s not running in the other direction, like you claimed all the gentlemen would do.”

“True, but he talks with me, because I’m around
you,
” she shot back, a playful expression in her eyes.

“For now.” Olivia hitched a shoulder.

Maria rolled her eyes.

Sometimes love needed a little… persuasion.

And when the opportunity presents itself… Olivia was determined to do more than her share.

Curtis rubbed his hands together. “Things are going brilliantly. She’s accepted my invitation to waltz at the Smyth Masquerade on the morrow. I had the foresight to ask what she costume she’ll be wearing and, dashing gentleman that I am, I shall sweep her off her feet.”

Edward resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation. With each dance, word spoken — hell — every bloody
glance
Curtis had shared with Olivia had been discussed, rather, had been elaborated upon till Edward was certain he was going to be ill.