Betrayed by Your Kiss (8 page)

Chivers finished sewing the long gash at Damien’s waist and when he was done, she pulled the fresh covers over him and drew the drapes to keep out the early morning sun.

His eyes were closed. Whether it was because he slept, or because he refused to look at her again, she didn’t know. She sent Johns to warn Captain Durham that there was something wrong aboard the
Conquest
, then she gathered the soiled linens and quietly left the room.

Her resolve to keep from breaking down before she reached the solitude of her own room weakened with each step she took. The pain pressing against her chest was almost more than she could bear, and by the time she closed the door behind her, she wasn’t sure she could survive under the weight of such guilt and hopelessness.

Chapter 9

Damien squeezed his eyes shut tight and sucked in a harsh breath. He turned in the strange bed and felt a renewed stabbing of pain, then lay still and quiet. Bloody hell, but he hurt. He felt worse than he did after a night of drinking and brawling.

His mind worked feverishly to recall what he’d done last night to make him hurt so. Then reality dawned, and he realized he wasn’t in the Indies any longer, but in London. And he remembered the fight.

He prayed he’d feel the gentle rocking of a ship on the ocean and find himself aboard the
Angel’s Wings
, but knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure why he’d come here except . . . Now he wished he hadn’t.

He lay still and silent, refusing to awaken fully. He heard her soft breathing and smelled the sweet lilacs and roses that she’d always used to wash her hair. Her presence was so overpowering he could imagine her in his mind’s eye. He knew if he looked, he’d find her there.

He slowly turned his head and opened his eyes.

She sat curled in the chair, her feet tucked beneath her and a quilt thrown over her. Her mahogany hair hung down around her shoulders and curled softly at the ends. Her thick, dark lashes rested daintily against her cheeks. She was so beautiful the sight of her made him ache.

Her lips were full and dark, her nose small and upturned, and her skin soft and clear. Everything about her was perfection, a perfection he remembered loving all those years ago when the world was easy and carefree and he thought he must be the luckiest man alive. A time before his world had crashed down around him and he’d lost everything he held dear.

He didn’t want her to wake up. Didn’t want to see the worry he’d seen on her face last night, the concern he’d glimpsed in her eyes. He only wanted to remember her betrayal. The world she’d stolen from him. The life he vowed to get back.

She moved. First, only her arm stretched out lazily from beneath the cover. Then her hand pushed the cover down, exposing her white eyelet gown, and the pale peach satin wrap she wore over it.

Her head moved and she winced, as if she’d lain too long in one spot and felt some discomfort. She sighed. Then she opened her eyes and her gaze locked with his. And he saw not pity exactly . . . but regret in her eyes.

She’d seen him. Not all of him, not the worst of him, but enough to know he was no longer whole.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. There really was nothing more to say. Nothing that wouldn’t embarrass either of them. So they said nothing. Until the silence was too unbearable.

“Did you send word to the
Conquest
?”

“Yes. The men you fought had cut the ties that fastened the cargo in the hold. The first rough seas would have tossed the crates around like matchsticks. The cargo would have been a complete loss.”

Damien stared up at the ceiling, thankful his left side was turned away from her. “Why haven’t you gone to anyone for help? These problems didn’t just start.”

She pushed her feet out from beneath her and sat up in her chair, her back rigid and straight. “I have gone for help. I alerted the port authorities and hired investigators to look into what’s happening. But they haven’t been able to discover anything that might lead to who is responsible. I don’t know what more you expect me to do.”

“Don’t you? How long do you think it will be before someone is seriously injured?”

With her chin high, she turned her face away from him.

Damien blew out a harsh breath. “Do you have any idea who might be behind your problems?”

She shook her head.

“Have you received any threats? Anything in writing?”

“No. Until recently, everything that’s happened has been more an inconvenience than anything. Costly, but nothing more than destructive pranks. And nothing serious. Until the fire last week and the—” She stopped.

“The attack the other night,” he finished for her.

“We can’t be sure that was even related. It could have just been coincidence.”

Damien didn’t answer her, and as if his silence said more than words, she rose from her chair and walked away from him. He watched her cross the room.

He wanted her to go away and leave him. Instead, she opened the drapes to let in the early morning sunshine, then pulled the rope to ring for a servant. A few minutes later, Tilly opened the door.

Olivia turned to issue orders. “Tell Chivers Lord Iversley is awake. Then have Cook prepare a tray.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Tilly left and Olivia came back to the bed and straightened the covers.

Damien bit back a curse. He didn’t want her here. He didn’t want her fussing over him, staring at him. Seeing him for what he really was. What he’d become. There’d be time enough for that after they were married, but he wasn’t ready yet to see the shock on her face, the revulsion. Or God help him, the pity.

It had been a mistake to come here, but he’d had no choice. If the attack the other night was any indication of the danger she was in, she’d need someone close by to protect her.

She moved to the other side of the bed and poured a glass of water. He fisted his hands at his sides and turned away from her. He heard her sigh of frustration at his refusal of her help, then a heavy thud as the glass hit the top of the bedside table.

“Chivers will be here soon,” she said. Her voice held a tinge of anger and her movements conveyed her annoyance as she straightened the covers on the other side of the bed. “You’ll be more comfortable after we’ve changed the bandage.”

“I want to be alone, Olivia.”

“I’m sure you do.” She stopped rearranging the covers and glared at him. “Why did you come here?”

“To tell you about the two men I saw leaving the
Conquest
.”

“You could have sent a message.”

Damien’s temper warmed. “I couldn’t risk someone recognizing me.”

“Why?”

“Because whoever is doing this thinks you are completely vulnerable. That you have no one to protect you. The minute the assailant finds out you’re not alone, he might change his tactics.”

“And become more dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“But why did you fight them on your own? You could have been killed.”

“I wasn’t.”

“But you could have been. You should have—”

“Enough, woman!”

A wave of pain hit him. Damien clutched his side and waited until the spikes of pain lessened. He closed his eyes and tried to look as if he was falling asleep in hopes she’d go away. Didn’t she know how her nearness affected him? He wasn’t fit enough to battle her right now.

When he’d put his cold demeanor safely back in place, he opened his eyes and looked at her. “Have you set a date for our wedding?”

He almost laughed at the speed with which her hostile gaze darted to his. At the strained tone to her voice.

“There will be no date to set. There will be no wedding between us.”

“But there will, Olivia. The sooner you accustom yourself to it, the easier our existence together will be.”

“There will never be an . . .
existence
between us. You have changed too much.”

“Because of you! You are the one who caused the change in me. And you will live with the results.”

He watched her face pale from his brutal accusations and heard her suck in a shaky breath. His intended barbs had hurt her, and he wasn’t sorry. The anger and thoughts of revenge he’d lived with for nearly four years came back with a raging force. “Now leave me alone.”

She recovered enough to respond with more hostility than he thought she could muster. “You forget, sir. This is my home. I’ll not be ordered out of any part of it.”

Damien was still glaring at her when Chivers came with fresh bandages. Every muscle in his body tensed. It was one thing for her to see him in the darkness when his mind was foggy with pain. Another matter for her to see his disfigured body in the bright morning sunshine. He couldn’t bear it.

“Leave,” he said, making sure his voice was harsh and his word a command.

“I saw the damage last night. There’s no need to—”

“Fine! Then stay. Take a good look at what I’ve become.”

Damien saw her blanch, saw her recoil from his attack. He hoped he’d been cruel enough that she’d run from the room in tears. The old Olivia would have. The young, naïve woman-child he’d left nearly four years ago. The woman he’d come home to didn’t back down so easily. He saw her lift her chin in defiance and with an angry snap to her movements, she reached for the salve on the tray Chivers had brought.

“Hold Lord Iversley still,” she ordered Chivers. “This is bound to hurt. And we wouldn’t want him to tear his stitches open.”

Damien prepared to receive the brunt of her anger. He’d goaded her, insulted and antagonized her enough to be on the receiving end of her resentment. He was ready for her abuse. Welcomed it. He’d add this to the other transgressions he’d compiled against her. The long list of sins he didn’t want to forgive . . . or forget.

Chivers lifted Damien’s shoulders and steadied him. He removed his shirt first, then helped him move to his stomach with his arms bent at the elbows. Damien’s palms were flat against the mattress at either side of his head and he fisted his hands into tight balls. Sunlight poured through the open windows, exposing every ugly inch of him. He expected to hear her gasp with revulsion when she saw him. Instead, she removed the bandage at his side, her touch soft and gentle, then cleaned the wound with such tenderness he hardly realized she was caring for him.

“You did an excellent job stitching Lord Iversley,” she said to Chivers, her fingers moving over him with rapid attentiveness. “I’m sure in time the mark will be barely more than a scratch.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Chivers answered.

She rinsed her cloth, cleaned the wound, dried it, then put on more salve before she covered it again with a clean bandage. He swore her fingers lingered on his flesh several moments after the bandage was in place, but he must have been mistaken. It probably took every ounce of her courage just to look at him, let alone touch him.

She gathered up what she’d used and put it on the bedside table.

Damien watched from the corner of his eye and noticed that her hands trembled when she set down the jar of salve. Her cheeks had a flush much more pronounced than could be explained by the exertion it took to change his bandage. She stepped back from the bed, nervously wiping her palms against the front of her wrap. When she spoke, her voice contained a certain breathless quality.

“Chivers will help you with anything you need. After I’ve dressed, I’ll return with your breakfast, and we’ll discuss at length how quickly you can be gone from here.”

“You’d kick an injured man out onto the streets?”

“If
you
are that injured man, yes. I have no intention of letting you get too comfortable here.”

“You forget I used to live here, Olivia. And, according to the stipulations in your father’s will, will probably live here again when we’re married.”

He heard her breath catch before she answered.

“The chances of you living here ever again are so negligible they aren’t even worth considering. I would encourage you to recover quickly, my lord. My hospitality will last only so long.”

“I’ll anticipate your return, then,” Damien said, dropping back against the mattress. “I always look forward to anything you have to say.”

He heard the sharp swish of her clothing as she turned away from him. The door closed with a firm thud. Thick tension remained long after she left.

Damien lay without moving, waiting for the hostility of her presence to calm. Chivers finally broke the spell she’d left in her wake.

“Would you care to rest for a moment before we begin? I think a shave might be in order if you feel up to it.”

“Yes, Chivers. Thank you.”

Chivers silently moved toward the door, and Damien stopped him before he’d turned the handle. “Chivers, would you consider it a traitorous request if I asked you to send someone to the
Angel’s Wings
to gather my belongings?”

Chivers hesitated a moment. “Everything, my lord?”

“Yes, Chivers. Everything.”

Chivers pondered longer. “No, sir. I would consider it a controversial means to a necessary end. Having you in such close proximity may make her choice easier.”

Chivers kept his gaze focused on Damien’s. Damien thought he’d noticed a hint of warning in Chivers’s tone, then realized . . .

Chivers hadn’t indicated whether having Damien so close would tilt the scales in his favor . . . or against it.

Chapter 10

Olivia threw down her pen and shoved her chair back from the desk where she’d been working since leaving Damien’s bedside hours earlier. Damn him. Damn him.

Damn him!

She walked to the large bay window that overlooked the well-tended garden and tried to soak in the beauty of the flower beds in full bloom. She needed something to soothe her, to ease the hurt. Something that would soften the knowledge that he didn’t love her. That he only wanted to marry her because of the ships. While she . . .

A small stabbing pain clenched inside her breast. God help her, she still loved him with every beat of her heart.

She pounded her fist against the window frame. How could she stop loving someone she’d loved her whole life? If only he’d leave. If only she hadn’t taken care of him. Hadn’t touched him. The minute she’d placed her fingers against his warm flesh, sparks of emotion nearly took her to her knees. Why hadn’t the feel of him beneath her fingertips been as heartless as the words he spoke, or as cold as the glare in his eyes?

Instead, he set her on fire. From the tips of her fingers to deep in her belly. She’d been jarred by emotions she swore she’d never feel for him again. And hurt by the resentment she saw in his eyes.

Olivia wiped away a renegade tear that dared to spill from her eye, then stiffened at the soft knock on the door.

“Excuse me, ma’am. The Earl of Pellingsworth is here to see you. Are you receiving?”

Olivia felt the air leave her chest.
The Earl of Pellingsworth.
It was a title reserved for her father. A title he’d held proudly, but was now given to her uncle, her father’s younger brother.

“Yes, Chivers. Show the earl to the blue salon. I’ll be there momentarily.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Olivia waited until the door closed behind Chivers, then took a linen handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. It would do no good to let her uncle think she was a simpering female. And she couldn’t let him know the real reason for her tears. She couldn’t reveal Damien’s miraculous return from the dead to anyone. Not until they knew who was sabotaging the ships. Damien was right about that. She did need his help. Even though he was the last person on earth to whom she wanted to turn.

Olivia smoothed her skirts, then walked down the hallway. She’d always been fond of her uncle and was happy that someone who was so much like her father had inherited the title after her father had died. Unfortunately, when her uncle died, that title as well as the entailed properties would pass on to her uncle’s eldest son, Richard, who was, without a doubt, one of the most repulsive people she’d ever met. She didn’t want to imagine what the Pellingsworth name would stand for when Richard assumed the title.

She suddenly wished her uncle a very long, healthy life.

Olivia shook her head in chagrin at the thought as she stepped through the open door and placed a smile on her face in greeting.

“Lord Pellingsworth. How nice of you to drop by.”

Her uncle popped up from the sofa, his thick graying hair sticking out on either side of his head as if he’d been caught in a windstorm, even though the day outside was sunny and calm.

He rushed forward to take her hands, and Olivia gave his a gentle squeeze.

“Olivia, my dear. I apologize for being so remiss in coming to see you. It’s been far too long. Your father would scold me for neglecting my duty.”

“Nonsense, uncle. I’ve been perfectly fine.” She pointed to the chair next to the sofa. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you.”

Her uncle took his seat as a downstairs maid brought in tea and a tray of cakes. Olivia poured, then handed him a cup of tea with cream and no sugar as she remembered he liked. He took one swallow, then set the cup and saucer on the table and scooted forward in his chair.

“I’ll get right to the point, Olivia. There’s no sense delaying the purpose of my visit over small talk.”

Olivia lifted her startled gaze to his and noticed for the first time that her uncle seemed a bit agitated. As if he were on a mission, and the mission was not a pleasant one. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

“I’m afraid there is, my dear. I don’t want you to think I’m interfering, nor do I want you to think I’m trying to tell you what to do. But I can’t just sit back without coming to your aid.”

Olivia knew what was coming and didn’t want to hear it. “My lord, please don’t—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “I’ve just learned of the problems you’ve had with your ships and cargoes. Oh, Olivia. I am so sorry, but I was afraid of this.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid that once certain men your father considered competition realized a mere woman was running Pellingsworth Shipping, some of them would take advantage of your helplessness.”

Olivia wanted to smile. Her father had been the only one who considered her more than qualified to run Pellingsworth Shipping. “I’m hardly helpless, uncle.”

“You may not think yourself so, but I’m afraid that isn’t how you appear. Just consider your situation: you’re young, you’re inexperienced in the shipping world, you’re—”

“I’m not inexperienced,” Olivia said in defense. “I worked with Father in the shipping office nearly every day of my life.”

“That may be so, but you could have worked with your father for several lifetimes and certain members of my set would still consider you incapable of running a shipping company. You’re a woman, Olivia.”

Her uncle said the last sentence as if being female were a regrettable condition.

“Be that as it may, my lord, Pellingsworth Shipping has seen a steady increase in shipping contracts over the last four years, as well as a commendable income.”

“But not over the last twelve months, if rumors of the accidents and unfortunate problems are accurate. It’s impossible to accrue the same profits while paying for the repairs and damaged cargo you’ve been forced to cover. And next year will be worse.”

“You are assuming that the men I have hired won’t discover who is behind the mishaps.”

Her uncle shook his head. “Whoever is behind your mishaps won’t give up, Olivia.”

“And neither will I.”

Something inside her forced her to show her strength. It was as if she needed to prove to her uncle that she could manage this latest onslaught of tragedies.

“But I don’t want to see you in danger, Olivia. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. I would always think that if I had stepped in, I could have alleviated any risk to your person, as well as to Pellingsworth Shipping.”

“And what do you suggest doing, that I’m not already doing, to eliminate the dangers?” she asked, trying to keep her temper in check.

“You could get rid of the shipping company.”

Olivia couldn’t hide her shock. “You expect me to sell my father’s shipping company?”

“It’s the only way, Olivia. The accidents are only going to get worse, the disasters more catastrophic, until someone gets seriously injured or killed.”

She clenched her hands in her lap. She couldn’t sell Pellingsworth Shipping. She wouldn’t even consider it.

“No.”

“It would be better to sell it than lose it. How long do you think you can run at a loss? How long before an entire ship and cargo is destroyed? How long before lives are lost?”

Olivia abruptly rose from the sofa. “Surely you aren’t implying it will go that far?”

“It will, Olivia. You know it will.”

Olivia looked at her uncle. “And to whom do you suggest I sell my ships?”

“To me. I will give you a more than generous price for them. By selling the shipping business to me, it will always remain Pellingsworth Shipping.”

A surge of anger raced through her, and she sucked in a shaky breath. “No, my lord. I won’t sell the ships. Ever.”

“At least think about it, my dear. You don’t have to make a decision now, but at least promise me you’ll think about it. As I said, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

Olivia shook her head, then gave in because she knew he wouldn’t give up until she did. “I’ll think about it, but I can guarantee you the answer will remain the same.”

Lord Pellingsworth rose from his chair and wiped his palms against his jacket. “I know how hard it would be to sell the ships. But selling would be better than having the deaths of innocent men on your conscience. Think over my offer, Olivia. It will be best for all concerned.”

Olivia watched her uncle leave the room. When she was alone, she walked to the sofa and sat with her hands clenched in her lap.
Sell Pellingsworth Shipping?
She couldn’t imagine it. She couldn’t imagine giving up something her father had spent his life building.

But that’s exactly what might happen if she didn’t marry Damien. Perhaps that’s why her father had put the stipulation in his will. He knew how difficult it would be for a woman to venture into a world where men dominated. He understood better than she the problems that would arise. So he’d boxed her into a corner where she had no choice but to enter into a loveless marriage—for Damien would never love her. Or remain single four more weeks and let Damien inherit everything by default.

Olivia ground her teeth in frustration. She may not like the choices before her, but she had choices. And she would make the choice she could live with.

And marriage to Damien wasn’t one of her options.

Olivia sat curled up in a huge floral wingback chair by her bedroom window and listened to the mantel clock downstairs chime four. The moon peeked through her window, casting bright rays of light that gave a glow to the room almost as if it were day. In the corner of the room sat her bed, which was hidden in the shadows. Olivia had lain in the darkness as long as she could stand the isolation, then moved into the light where she wouldn’t feel so lonely.

Olivia leaned her head against the side of the wingbackchair and closed her eyes. Damien’s wound was healing quickly, and he’d left earlier tonight. Tilly had let that bit of information slip when she was helping Olivia get ready for bed. But he’d returned. She’d seen him from her bedroom window. He’d sneaked in the back through the garden gate a little after three.

She didn’t know where he’d gone or why, but when he’d returned, he had had a bundle in one hand—clothes perhaps, and a bottle in the other. His gait had been unsteady, and Olivia thought he might have been drunk, but she couldn’t be sure. His gait was always uneven now, as if he’d sustained an injury to his legs. But his staggering this evening could also have been blamed on the bottle in his hand. She thought drunkenness more likely the cause because he’d bumped into the walls as he’d climbed the stairs. He’d entered his bedroom and tripped over something that crashed to the floor.

Now, all she heard were the soft snoring sounds of a man deep in exhausted slumber.

Olivia sat forward in her chair. A noise. Low and eerily haunting.

She rose from her chair and put on her slippers and robe. The moon was bright enough that she didn’t need a lamp, and she stood in the center of the room and listened. She heard it again. From outside her room. Down the hall.

Damien.

She rushed from the room and ran down the carpeted hallway. She heard it again. A low, keening sound, the cry a wounded animal made when caught in a trap. And the moan grew louder.

Olivia opened Damien’s door and stepped across the room. Silvery beams of moonlight shone down on the bed. His covers were wadded in a crumpled heap from the thrashing of his arms and legs. A heavy film of perspiration covered his forehead and cheeks, and the tortured expression on his face distorted his features. It was the intensity with which he fought his unknown demons that frightened her. The fierceness with which he battled horrors only he could see that was the most terrifying to watch.

“Get it . . . off me! Off! Oh, God!”

Olivia leaned over him, not knowing whether to touch him or not. It wasn’t that he was naked as some men were when they slept. He was completely covered, a white nightshirt covering his torso and dark satin pants on the bottom. What gave her pause was the viciousness he represented, the danger. Even though he was submerged in a deep, dark sleep, she knew his dreams were deadly as he fought his demons.

“Damien?”

“Oh, no . . . No more . . . No more . . .”

Olivia extended her hand and touched his shoulder. “Damien, stop. You’re going to tear open your—”

With lightning speed he reached out and grabbed her. He clamped his hand around her arm and pulled her toward him. Olivia flew through the air, over Damien’s body, and down on the mattress beside him as if she weighed little or nothing. She landed on her back, and before she could yell for help, he had his fingers around her neck and was squeezing.

“Damien.” She choked out the word but knew he hadn’t heard her.

She struggled, pulling at his hands. She scratched and dug her fingernails into his flesh, praying he’d wake up enough to realize what he was doing. His eyes were open but she knew he wasn’t seeing her.

“Damien!”

His gaze cleared, and with the same speed as he’d attacked her, he pulled off her.

“Olivia?”

She rolled away from him, gasping for air.