The Seduction of Lady X (4 page)

In all honesty, that was just fine with Olivia. She had enough to fret over without worrying whether Alexa would offend Edward with something as simple as breathing. That was not out of the realm of possibility.

The supper guests were expected at seven o’clock, and at six o’clock, Edward had still not returned from his ride to God only knew where. But Brock had informed Olivia that Bishop Ogden, who was notorious for appearing early, had arrived.

“I shall be down to see him in a moment,” she assured the butler, and took one last look at herself in the blue silk gown with the embroidery along the scalloped hem she’d commissioned. She owed Mr. Tolly her thanks—it was he who had brought her the fabric sample from London, then had ordered a bolt of it with other household goods.

She heard Edward before she saw him; there was no mistaking his drunken lurching down the hall. Olivia fit a pearl-drop tiara onto her head as Edward came through the door of her suite.

He paused there, his shoulder against the jamb, staring at her, clearly foxed. He pushed away from the door and sauntered in. “My darling wife.”

“Welcome home, my lord,” she said.

His gaze raked over her, but she knew no compliment as to her appearance would be forthcoming. Edward put his arm around her shoulders. He reeked of whiskey and perfume, and when he tried to kiss her, she turned her head; his lips landed on her cheek. He tried to kiss her again, but Olivia turned her head even further, leaning away from him.

“Are you refusing me?” he hissed.

“I would prefer,” she said, breaking out of his embrace, “that you at least wash the other woman’s perfume from your body.”

Edward’s face mottled. “Do you think
you
are so desirable?” he asked. “You disgust me.”

He started for her again, but Olivia put her hand up. “We have guests for supper this evening. The bishop has already arrived and the duke will not be far behind.”

Edward glared at her, his jaw clenched shut. But he did not reach for her again.

“If you will excuse me, I shall go keep the bishop’s company until you can join us.” She walked past him without looking at him, expecting him to call her back.

But he did not. A duke was coming, and Edward was undoubtedly more concerned with how he would be perceived by him than by Olivia.

The duke and duchess had arrived by the time Edward appeared, having bathed and changed into formal clothing. It was remarkable to Olivia that he could manage to gather himself at all, but he’d done it time and again. One wouldn’t suspect that just three quarters of an hour ago, he had lurched into her suite reeking of whiskey and perfume.

He was in the company of Mr. Tolly, and Olivia was happy about that. Mr. Tolly was an equable influence on Edward. He had an equable influence on everyone, really. Olivia presumed he was only slightly younger than her husband, but he was much fitter, her husband having grown soft in the last few years. Mr. Tolly was a bit taller than Edward, and where Edward was golden-haired, Mr. Tolly had brown hair the color of mahogany, his eyes the color of a mourning dove.

Edward’s eyes were so brown they almost looked black. Two black, bottomless holes.

Together, the two men greeted the duke and duchess, then moved around the room to greet the few other guests, eventually making their way to Olivia’s side. She was standing with the bishop, who had taken a liking to her long ago and rarely left her side when in her company. She was showing the bishop her painting.

The easel and the painting seemed to confuse Edward after he’d greeted the bishop. “What is that?” he asked. “Why is it in the salon?”

“It is the painting you asked me to make,” Olivia said. “I asked the footman to put it here. Do you like it?”

He looked at her strangely, then at the painting. “What is it? A goat?”

“A goat!” she laughed. “It is a horse, my love.” Standing just behind Edward, Mr. Tolly arched one brow and a faint smile appeared on his lips. Olivia had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from smiling as Edward leaned in, squinting.

“A fine horse it is, Lady Carey,” the bishop said. “A bit short, I think, but a fine horse.” The bishop was squinting, too, and gripping his second sherry as if he feared it might be ripped from his hand by a gale-force wind.

“A horse,” Edward repeated.

“Yes. A horse.”

Mr. Tolly looked down. Olivia could see the muscles in his jaw working to keep from smiling.

Edward turned away from her painting. “It is a childish rendition, then. Put it in the nursery where it belongs.”

“Ah yes, that would spruce up the nursery quite nicely,” the bishop said.

“I agree,” Olivia said cheerfully. “I might even add more to the painting.” Such as a noose around the goat’s head. Or a fiery explosion. But Edward didn’t hear her—he’d already walked on.

“That horse has seen a remarkable transformation in the last few hours,” Mr. Tolly said.

“Hasn’t it?” she asked with a kittenish smile.

“Mr. Tolly, is that you?” Lady Ames bellowed from across the room. “I’ve a question of considerable importance, sir!”

Mr. Tolly gave Olivia a slight wince before stepping away to speak to Lady Ames.

Supper was served at precisely eight o’clock. Olivia, seated at the far end of the table, was beside the bishop. That was not the seating arrangement she and Mr. Tolly had devised, and she rather suspected the bishop had asked for a change. Edward was at the other end in the company of the duke and duchess. He was relaxed and laughing.

The bishop began to chat as the wine began to flow. Olivia tried very hard to be a good listener, she truly did . . . but the bishop had a tendency to speak in great concentric paths before reaching anything that even remotely resembled a point. Twice, as she labored to keep up, Olivia happened to glance in Mr. Tolly’s direction and caught his eye. He was smiling at her with amusement, knowing very well what agony she was being made to suffer. Once, Olivia gave a subtle incline of her head toward the bishop, silently suggesting that Mr. Tolly might want to engage him.

Mr. Tolly just as subtly refused her offer.

The tedious conversation aside, she thought the evening progressed rather well. She did not feel a sense of foreboding, which she often felt when only she and Edward dined. Her husband seemed in good spirits, the guests enjoying their meal and the company. And then the bishop asked Olivia about Alexa.

“Unfortunately, my sister is ill,” Olivia said when the bishop asked why she had not joined them.

“Ah, that is a pity. I do so enjoy her company—very lively, that one. Her health is not in peril, I pray?”

Olivia smiled and shook her head. “She is fatigued after such a long journey from Spain.”

“Ah, yes. And what is next for our Miss Hastings?” the bishop asked, settling back in his chair.

“Well . . .” Olivia hadn’t thought of what she might say about Alexa just yet. “London, I suppose,” she said. That seemed safe; everyone would naturally assume she’d be off for the Season to begin the search for a marital match.

The bishop obviously assumed so, for he said rather loudly, “Yes, of
course
she’ll be to London now. A young woman as pretty and spirited as Miss Hastings will make a fine match indeed, particularly with the Carey name to sponsor her!”

“Are we speaking of my sister-in-law?” Edward suddenly asked from the other end of the table, startling Olivia. Conversation ceased, and everyone looked to Olivia; she felt the warmth begin to creep into her cheeks.

“We were indeed, my lord,” the bishop said, and shifted around in his seat so that he might have a better look at Edward. “I was remarking how fortuitous it is that Miss Hastings might have the Marquis of Carey to sponsor her in the Season.”

“Me?” Edward chuckled as if he’d never considered it. “Do you not have an uncle in London who might see after her, darling?”

Olivia tensed. Her father’s brother was in debtor’s prison, which Edward knew very well. “No,” she said, and smiled as she shook her head.

“But I think you do,” he insisted. “What is his name, again? Ah yes. Barstow.” He looked around at the faces of his curious guests. “Mr. Barstow is the brother of my wife’s late father. Her stepfather, Lord Hastings, adopted her. Perhaps because her nearest blood relative was something of a wastrel.” He chuckled again, but it was met with an uncomfortable silence.

“I was very young when my father died,” Olivia said. “I always considered Lord Hastings to be my father.”

“Rather advantageous for you to do so, I should think,” Edward said jovially. “And where is our Uncle Barstow, my love? Still in debtor’s prison?”

Lady Ames gasped. The bishop frowned into his wineglass. Mr. Wallaby looked rather surprised and turned to Olivia, clearly interested in her answer.

There was a time when Olivia would have tried to make a jest of Edward’s jabs, but she no longer had the patience for it. There was no point in denying it. “Yes,” she said. “King’s Bench Prison, as I last understood.”

“Gambling debts, was it not?” Edward asked casually. “Incapable or unwilling to pay his wagers?”

“I suspect he is trying to gamble his way out even as we speak,” Olivia said, and smiled at her husband.

“If I may offer a toast, then,” Mr. Tolly said. “To your uncle Barstow, my lady. May his luck improve.”

Olivia smiled gratefully and lifted her glass. “Hear, hear, Mr. Tolly.”

“Hear, hear,” the Duke of Rutland said, and laughed as he lifted his glass. A round of laughter went up around the table, and the guests lifted their glasses, calling out a hearty
hear, hear
to Mr. Tolly’s toast.

Olivia was aware that Edward’s gaze was on her as he lifted his glass. She could feel it burning a hole in her skin.

At half past two in the morning, when the duke and duchess took their leave, most of the other guests followed them, leaving only the bishop and Mr. Wallaby behind. Mr. Wallaby was determined to show Edward an African spear he’d discovered in a London market. The three men disappeared into the study with their ports. Olivia heard Edward instruct a footman to bring a bottle of whiskey.

That bottle and the spear would keep her husband occupied. Olivia retired for the night. She was quite tired and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of paintings of galloping horses.

She was rudely awakened by a heavy weight pressing down on her and found Edward on top of her, clothed only in a shirt. He smelled of drink, and he was pushing her legs apart, jabbing at her.

“Edward—”

He clamped a hand over her mouth and twisted her head to one side as he tried to enter her. But the whiskey had made him flaccid again. He growled and did his best to bring himself back to life, but could not manage it. “Do something!” he snarled at her.

“What might I possibly do?” Olivia asked, unwilling to touch him and hoping that he did not force her to do so.

Edward tried again, grunting with the effort, and finally rolled off her. He fell onto his side beside her and his arm lay heavy across her abdomen. The drink had finally put him out.

Olivia lay looking up in the darkness with his arm on her, imagining how she could use Mr. Wallaby’s spear to pin Edward to a wall. She would need some help, as the spear looked heavy, and there would be the matter of keeping Edward still so that she might spear him. She had in mind to pin him below the waist.

She’d best do it by the morrow, for she could no longer avoid telling him about Alexa. She wouldn’t be the least surprised if he speared her first.

T
he hallway at Everdon Court that led to the Marquis of Carey’s private study was as long and as daunting as the choir aisle at Westminster Abbey, and with every step, Alexa sniffed a little louder and tried a little harder to suppress her sobs.

It felt as if Olivia was slowly leading her toward the gallows, one leaden step at a time. “Buck up, Alexa,” she muttered as they passed a pair of footmen, and pulled her younger sister closer into her side. “There is nothing to be done for it. You must face up to the truth.”

“Yes, I know I must,” Alexa said weakly. “But I do not understand why you cannot tell him for me.”

Olivia sighed; Alexa knew very well why. Olivia had waited as long as she might before Alexa’s thickening waistline would draw attention, but she could wait no longer. Olivia could guess what sort of suffering Edward would inflict on them, and on that rain-soaked afternoon, Olivia thought it entirely possible that she dreaded telling him even more than Alexa did.