An Unexpected Gift (11 page)

Olivia watched her walk away. She never realized how much her friend manipulated the people around her. Until now. Now, that she had started doing things Amanda didn’t approve of. Things that could ruin her reputation and taint the Riverton name by association.

“How do you plan to make Huntley jealous if you’re hiding about in the hallway?”

Olivia turned toward the voice. Lazarus leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“That is your plan, not mine. I don’t waste time on futile endeavors. At least not anymore,” she added softly.

He moved closer. “What ‘futile endeavors’ did you waste time on before?”

She gave a slight shake of her head. She didn’t want to remember. She only wanted to forget.

He lifted her chin with gentle fingers. “You can trust me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She felt herself falling under the spell of his dark eyes. When his gaze fell to her mouth, as though drawn there beyond his control, everything around her ceased to exist. He dipped his head, bringing his mouth within a hair’s breadth of her own. Heat pooled low in her stomach.

“Olivia!”

She jumped back with a guilty start.

Lord Michael Huntley stood a few feet away, a scowl marring his handsome features. Her face burned with mortification.

“Michael,” she said, in a voice little more than a high-pitched squeak.

He strode forward and took her by the hand. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” He led her a few steps away when he came to a sudden halt. He looked down at his arm where Lazarus grabbed it, then raised his gaze.

“The lady was with me.”

He shook off Lazarus’ hold. His expression that of a person who had smelled a foul odor. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Huntley said, with a curl of his lip.

Olivia jumped into the breach. “May I present Lord Michael Blakely, Marquess of Huntley. Michael, Mr. William Prescott.”

Neither man greeted the other. Instead, Huntley turned toward her. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Your reputation can ill afford another scandal.”

“I...We were looking for you.”

“Really. It looked as though you were about to be ruined.”

She gasped. A sharp pain pierced her heart. Did Michael, her Lord Michael, think so little of her?

Lazarus grabbed Huntley by the neck and slammed him into the nearby wall. “Apologize to her.”

“Go to hell.”

“Apologize.” He tightened his grip, his fingers digging into the other man’s neck.

Gasping for breath, Huntley pushed at Lazarus’ hand without success. He cut his gaze to Olivia. “S...sorry.”

Lazarus released him, and he stumbled back, his hand clutching his throat as he took great gulping breaths.

She touched him on the shoulder. “Michael, are you all right?”

He nodded and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if I offended you, but you must admit if I hadn’t come along, you’d have done something regrettable.”

“You may be right.” She glanced at Lazarus. He stood watching her with an unreadable expression. The Runner’s words came back to haunt her. Mr. Durant said he was quick to violence. She didn’t know why Lazarus had rushed to defend her when he himself was only using her to gain information. He hadn’t a care for her reputation.

He moved to her side. “Shall we return to the ballroom? I’m sure Lady Riverton is missing you.”

“I’m certain you are right,” she agreed, suddenly eager to be lost in the overcrowded room. She sent a hesitant smile in Michael’s direction and turned away.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh followed by a groan sent her spinning around. Michael sprawled in a half sitting position on the marble floor holding his jaw.

Lazarus flexed his hand and moved to her side. “Shall we?” he asked as if nothing had occurred.

“You hit him!”

“You accepted his apology. I didn’t.”

Huntley climbed to his feet and made a show of adjusting his clothing. He sent a malevolent glare in Lazarus’ direction before pushing past them. He turned back. “I sincerely hope you don’t do something you have cause to regret, Olivia. For if you do, I’ll not lend my good name to help you. Not when you refuse to listen to my advice.”

Taken aback, Olivia could only stare at the man she’d once dreamed of spending her life with.

He gave her a mocking bow and walked away.

“Don’t let him upset you,” Lazarus said. “He’s a jackass, and no advice from him would be worth taking.”

“He’s a marquess. He could have you sent to gaol before the night is over.”

Will smiled and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Would you worry over me?”

“I would have to come to see you, and I’d rather not. I’m told Newgate is a horrible place.”

Looking down at her, he sobered. “That it is,” he murmured. He didn’t want her anywhere near Newgate. She’d already seen more than a lady should, thanks to her brother. He stopped in mid-stride, bringing her to a halt. “If I am ever in Newgate, promise you won’t come.”

“Have you done something that would warrant your being sent there?”

He knew she was asking about more than his confrontation with Huntley. How could he tell her he’d done more than assault a lord? Much more and worse. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. It felt as silky as it looked.

“Promise me you won’t come,” he repeated, tracing the rim of her ear and down the side of her neck. Damn she smelled good. He leaned closer, inhaling the scent of lavender and something else he couldn’t quite identify.

Olivia’s eyes drifted closed, and she tilted her head, allowing him better access. “I can’t,” she said, her voice a low whisper.

His fingers followed the line of her collarbone. The modest neckline of her pale green gown taunted him. “Why?” He allowed his hand to glide over the exposed slopes of her breasts. He shouldn’t be touching her like this. She was too high in the instep for the likes of him. But he couldn’t stop.

She opened her eyes, stared at him for a long moment, then took a step back out of his reach. He saw the desire in her eyes and wanted nothing more than to make Huntley’s remark a reality. The image of her lying on the crisp linen sheets of his bed, her hair unbound tempted him. He turned away, angry with himself. She was a means to an end, nothing more.

He stiffened at the touch of her hand on his arm. “Do you still want to know why I would have to come and see you?” she asked, her voice husky with the remnants of desire.

“Why?”

“To get Rachel’s direction.” She looked up at him from under her lashes, a smile playing about her lips. “After all, you know the lengths I will go to check up on my patients.”

Will laughed. The sound echoed off the walls, and he found the tension that had tied him in knots fading away.

A few minutes later, they walked through the entrance to the ballroom. A quick scan of the room gave no sign of Sandhurst. Had his information been false? He’d been told Sandhurst never missed an event given by any of the premier hostesses of the
Ton
. And even he knew Lady Bingham fell into that category.

Will looked at Olivia. The chandeliers overhead caught the highlights in her hair and set them aglow. She stood quietly by his side, her hand still resting on his arm. She was like no other woman he’d ever met. It felt good just to stand beside her. She glanced up at him and smiled, before turning at the sound of her name.

“Have you heard?” Lady Riverton rushed to Olivia’s side, her cheeks flushed with excitement over the latest bit of gossip.

“What should I have heard?” Olivia asked, amusement in her voice.

“Lord Willoughby was found beaten behind his home.” Lady Riverton lowered her voice. “They say his face is nearly unrecognizable.”

At the mention of Willoughby, Will edged closer.

“Amanda, are you certain?” Olivia asked. “You know how gossip tends to rely a great deal on embellishment.”

“It’s true. Riverton has seen him. He says the viscount is disfigured.”

“Has a physician been called to attend him?”

Will held his breath as he waited for the answer.

“Yes,” Lady Riverton replied as she watched Lady Jersey pass by. “I must go.” She rushed off, eager to spread the latest scandal.

“Why would anyone do such a thing?” Olivia asked as she watched her friend cross the room.

Will turned her to face him. He gazed into the blue depths of her eyes and willed her to understand. And said the one word that would condemn him. “Justice.”

Her eyes widened as realization dawned. “Rachel.”

He nodded, waiting for her to turn away in disgust.

“I cannot agree that what happened to Lord Willoughby was right, but I do understand the reason behind it.”

Will hadn’t realized he held his breath until her words released it from him. She didn’t see him as some sort of monster. She understood. He smiled, feeling suddenly light hearted. It was a feeling he was unaccustomed to.

He glanced over her head. Huntley stood near the refreshment table nursing a glass of the god-awful punch being served, his gaze boring into Olivia’s back. Could Huntley’s earlier behavior have stemmed from jealousy? Perhaps trying to make Huntley jealous on Olivia’s behalf wouldn’t be so difficult after all. It was the least he could do to repay her for her kindness to Rachel as he had no intention of telling her where her brother was once he was located. His first loyalty was to Finch, the man Phillip St. Germaine had stolen a large sum of money from. If St. Germaine survived that encounter, then he would consider letting Olivia know he’d been found.

Will leaned forward until his mouth was a hair’s breath away from Olivia’s ear. “Your Lord Michael is staring at you as though you are the last bottle of brandy, and he is dying of thirst.”

She glared at him. “It is not very gentlemanly to jest about such things.”

“And I keep telling you, I’m no gentleman.” Barely resisting the urge to touch his tongue to her earlobe, he took her hand in his. “Shall we dance? It will give you a chance to observe Huntley and see for yourself that I’m not making sport of you.” He didn’t give her time to respond, gently pulling her toward the area where dancers were already moving in time to the music.

She put her hand over his. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Neither do I, but I think we can manage a passable enough waltz to drive Huntley mad.”

“But the orchestra is playing the wrong type of music for a waltz.”

“That I can take care of.” He winked, leaving her staring at him open-mouthed in surprise as he backed away.

He turned and headed for the group of musicians. A few words and a gold sovereign later, he hurried back to Olivia’s side. He reached her just as the music he requested began to play.

Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips. “Shall we?”

At her hesitant nod, he led her out onto the dance floor. A few careful steps later, she was still as stiff as the corset she wore. “Would you at least look like you are enjoying my company?”

She looked down at their feet. “I’m afraid I’ll step on your toes, or make you trip, or worse, cause us both to fall.”

“I don’t care if you step on my toes.” He moved his hand from her waist and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “I won’t trip and...” He lowered his voice. “I won’t ever let you fall.”

He felt her tremble, the heat of her body so close to his, the weight of her stare, and wished they were anywhere but here amid too many prying eyes and waging tongues. He wanted to pull the pins from her hair, see it fall over his hands, feel the silkiness of it between his fingers.

Resisting the urge, he tightened his grip on her waist, bringing her body closer to his. The movement, unplanned as it was, only served to torment him more. Olivia’s eyes widened at the closer contact. She took the opportunity to put space between them as they moved into a less than graceful turn and bit her lip, looking anywhere but at him.

Certain she had read his desire for her in his eyes, he tried to put her at ease. “There you see; you haven’t trod on my toes once.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked his left shoulder, still unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Why would I not?”

“Because you don’t have to be.” She looked at him directly then. “I have no choice but to help you gain entrance to Society, or you’ll spill my secret. One word dropped into the right ear is all you’ll need to do to ruin me. Being pleasant to me doesn’t change the fact that we are here together due only to your blackmail tactics.”

Will frowned and came to a halt as the music ended. “Can you not forget about our agreement for just a moment?”

“It is hardly an agreement since I was left with no choice but to bend to your wishes.”

Clasping her elbow, he led her to an empty area at the side of the room near a large grouping of leafy potted plants. “Keep your voice down. Do you want to be overheard? You won’t have to worry about me giving the gossips your secret to slaver over; you’ll do it yourself in your efforts to castigate me.”

“Me? Castigate you? The great Lazarus that everyone fears?”

A frisson of unease slithered up Will’s spine and around his throat. The blasted cravat he wore suddenly felt much too tight. “What do you know of my doings as Lazarus?”

Had the questions she’d been asking about him revealed what he’d done, what he was still willing to do if necessary? No, she couldn’t know or she wouldn’t have come near him much less let him escort her tonight, blackmail threats or not. Feeling calmer, he bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “Not enough apparently, since you do not fear me. As you should.”

Lord Huntley appeared at the side of the first potted palm. “Olivia, may I speak with you?”

“I think you’ve said enough to Miss St. Germaine this evening.” Will cut off whatever she might have said.

“I would like to speak with you, too.” Olivia shot him a cutting look before moving away, her hand clasped around Huntley’s arm. “Shall we move out to the terrace? I find I’m in need of some air.”

Will watched them weave their way through the crowd, feeling Olivia’s anger like a cudgel to the back of the head. He smiled. He couldn’t wait to match words with her again. Something about her made him feel more alive than he had in a very long time.