Captive (21 page)

“I refuse to parade myself before the
ton
wearing anything so outrageous,” the earl said. “If you
insist I come in costume, I will wear a checkered domino.”

“But—”

“But what, Charlotte? A cape and mask will completely disguise me. What more do you require?”

She wanted him to wear a costume she would not confuse with the nice gentleman she was supposed to meet at Lover’s Walk. She saw the potential for trouble, but she could not very well explain her problem to Denbigh.

“A domino is fine, I suppose. But Livy and I are going in costume.”

“What did you have in mind?” The earl pulled her close to escape the general again, pressing her breasts against his chest.

Charlotte had to wait until she could catch her breath before she could speak. It was simply too much effort to push him away again. And besides, she didn’t want to. If Olivia didn’t approve, she could harangue her later.

“I thought Livy could be a shepherdess, because then she could carry a staff that would help her walk more easily.”

“I approve,” Denbigh said. “What do you have in mind for yourself?”

“I haven’t thought of anything yet.”

“No breeches,” Denbigh said firmly.

“The idea never crossed my mind.” And it
hadn’t. The pair of breeches Charlotte had saved remained hidden beneath her mattress at Denbigh Castle. She could not see the point of bringing them to London when she had left her horse in Sussex.

Denbigh had told her she could not gallop Mephistopheles in Hyde Park, and she had known the stallion would be unhappy being continually restrained. She had left instructions with the hostler at Denbigh Castle to put Mephistopheles out to pasture so he could run free while she was gone.

Now she was reminded of how long it had been since she had enjoyed a good gallop. “I miss riding,” she said.

“I can take you driving in the park,” Denbigh offered.

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be the same.” She noticed then that Denbigh seemed disappointed that she had turned him down. “But I suppose it would be better than nothing,” she said.

“Tomorrow?”

The second waltz ended before she could answer him. She felt his arm tighten around her waist again. “I’ll go driving with you tomorrow, if you’ll do something for me tonight,” Charlotte said.

He eyed her suspiciously. “What did you have in mind?”

“Dance with Livy.”

“But—”

“You know she can dance the waltz,” Charlotte
said. “And I know the next dance will be another waltz, because I saw you nod to the conductor. How much did you pay him?”

“Enough to keep him playing waltzes for the rest of the evening,” Denbigh said with an unrepentant grin. “Very well, baggage, I will dance with my sister.”

“Thank you, Lion.”

Charlotte walked with Denbigh to where Olivia sat, and was glad she had, when she heard Olivia try to refuse him.

“I won’t allow you to refuse, Livy,” Charlotte said. “If you won’t waltz with him, I will.”

“Three dances in a row?” Olivia said. “It is not done.”

“I know that. So what’s it to be?”

Olivia stood and stepped into her brother’s arms.

Olivia was worried that she would embarrass herself, or Lion. She had never danced with him before, because when she had been learning her first dance steps he had been of an age just enough older than her that he would rather have been caught cheating at cards than dancing with his sister.

But her brother put his arm firmly around her waist and supported her as they went whirling around the dance floor. It was almost as much fun as dancing with Braddock.

“I should have done this sooner,” Lion said. “I’m sorry I didn’t, Olivia.”

“I wouldn’t have accepted, even if you had offered,” she admitted. “If it weren’t for Charlotte … we both owe her a great deal, Lion. I hope you won’t hurt her.”

His eyes widened. “It is not my intention to do any such thing.”

Olivia wondered if he knew that Charlotte was in love with him. She knew he was fighting his feelings for her. Was equally sure he had no idea how deep-felt they were. She had watched him twirling Charlotte around the dance floor, unable to take his eyes off her. She had seen him arranging the second waltz with his ward, and the unbelievable third.

Thank goodness Charlotte had not allowed him to dance it with her. The jibes of his friends and enemies alike would have brought him awake to his actions, and forced him to admit to feelings he obviously was not yet willing to accept.

“I understand you and Charlotte are going to the masquerade at Vauxhall tomorrow,” Lion said.

“We are?” Olivia barely managed not to grimace. “But why?”

“Charlotte believes you need something to cheer you up. I cannot disagree with her. I know you’ve been unhappy, Olivia. The only comfort I can offer is that you are better off without him.”

Olivia did not agree with him, but she did not wish to argue the point. “I would like to go home to Denbigh Castle, Lion.”

“What? Why?”

“For precisely the reason you mentioned. I have been unhappy here. I’m ready to go home and settle into the life I’ve made for myself in the country. I have my friends and the rose garden and my knitting and books. It is enough.”

She saw the struggle on his face. He wanted her to go. But he knew as well as she did that she was never going to find a husband if she imprisoned herself within the walls of Denbigh Castle. Charlotte had made them both believe—for a little while—that she was not entirely on the shelf.

“It will be less painful for me to accept the life of a spinster if I do not go on hoping for more,” she said quietly. “Let me go, Lion.” Her throat thickened. “Let me go.”

“Very well, Olivia. At least stay for the masquerade tomorrow night. I will need you to help me keep an eye on Charlotte,” he said with a hard-won smile.

“All right, Lion. I will start packing tomorrow morning. I should be ready to leave in two days. I’m sure Grandmama and Grandpapa will stay to chaperon until … until Charlotte is safely married.”

She saw the lines of worry on his face. Knew he
was as distraught by the choices he had to make as she had been by hers. She hoped he chose Charlotte. She hoped he chose love. At least then, one of them would be happy.

Olivia was home alone when the Duke of Braddock came calling, because Denbigh had taken Charlotte driving in the park, and Charlotte had cajoled the Duke and Duchess of Trent into going along with them.

“His Grace would not take no for an answer, Lady Olivia,” Stiles said. “He insisted I bring you his card.”

She had never expected to see him again. She knew she ought to refuse him. She had promised Lion she would.

Her hand trembled as she accepted the stiff white card with one corner folded down to show the caller had come in person. Something had been written in ink beside the name inscribed in gold.

The duke was a man of few words, it seemed.

“Tell the duke …” Olivia was torn nearly in two by the divergent needs inside her. To do the safe thing. Or to take a chance.

The mouse peeked out … The cat was there. But so was the cheese.

“Tell the duke I will see him.”

The instant Stiles closed the drawing room door, Olivia put a hand to her head to still the thrumming pulse at her temple. What had come over her? What was the use of allowing this interview? She knew what he had done. Or almost done.

Ever since Lion had said he expected Braddock to take her to a house he kept for his doxies and keep her there overnight, she knew why they had stopped at that dark, narrow house and for whom the butler had been waiting at the open door. He had been waiting for her. And Braddock.

The duke must have changed his mind at some point, but that did not excuse him. He had contemplated her ruin. In her eyes, that alone was enough to damn him.

Olivia was not certain whether she was more angry with him for the fact he had planned to seduce her, or the fact he had not gone through with his seduction.

Had he balked at bedding a cripple? Had it been
pity that made him take mercy on her? She would rather a thousand times he had taken her virtue.

It is only a crooked leg!
she wanted to cry.
It does not stop me from loving or wanting to be loved
… 
in every way
.

Most shameful of all was the thought that she would not have denied him. If he had wanted her, she would have given herself to him. It would not have taken much coaxing. She had wanted to touch his body. She had wanted him to touch hers.

Those thoughts brought heat to her face, turning her cheeks rosy just as Stiles knocked on the door, ushered the duke inside, and announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Braddock.”

Custom and courtesy demanded that she rise from her seat on the sofa and curtsy to the duke. She performed the first part of that duty by rising, then said, “Close the door when you leave, Stiles.”

The butler gave her one questioning look, but when she said nothing more, did as she bid him. When Stiles was gone, she sank onto the sofa without the curtsy because, quite simply, her knees had buckled under her.

Braddock’s face looked gaunt, as though he had not eaten. There were dark shadows under his eyes, as though he had not slept. And yet his eyes glittered with some strong emotion.

“You look tired, Your Grace,” she said.

“I have not slept much in the past two weeks.”

“I’m sorry if you have had some misfortune.”

“No misfortune. Except that I might have lost you.”

Her eyes flashed up at him. It was clearly a declaration of some sort. But she did not trust him now. She dared not trust him. She lowered her eyes and said, “Where have you been?”

“May I sit down?”

He had already taken a step toward her when she held out her hand and said, “Stay where you are. Please.” She did not want to take a chance that he would touch her. If he touched her, she would give herself to him. She was that weak. She was that needy. She hated herself for feeling that way. But she could not help it.

He put his hands behind his back, like a barrister waiting to present his case. “Will you let me explain?”

“I’m listening,”

“I went home, to the home where I grew up with my brother, James,” he said. “You would like it. My mother planted a rose garden beside the house. It is beautiful this time of year.” He paused, searched for what he wanted to say, and continued, “I needed some time to think.”

She watched him pace. It was all that gave away his nervousness. His Weston jacket and buckskins were impeccable. Not a blond hair was out of place. His polished boots were quiet on the Aubusson carpet.
It was difficult to imagine him ever being agitated. He had always seemed so cool and aloof.

She took a calming breath and let it out. She refused to see the duke as vulnerable. She was the one whose feelings had been trampled. Let him make amends. If he could.

“Ever since I heard about James’s death, about the way he was killed, I have had one goal.” He stopped and turned to face her. “To see your brother dead.”

She hissed in a breath at the stabbing pain of knowing for certain that Lion had been right. Braddock had never been interested in her. Only in using her to get to her brother. Her nose stung, and her eyes filled with tears. She blinked to force them back, but one squeezed out and slid down her cheek.

Braddock took a step toward her, and an anguished sound spilled forth as she rose to try and escape him.

She never had a chance. He caught her by the shoulders before she had taken two awkward, tilting steps.

“Don’t leave,” he said. “Please let me finish.”

“I have heard all I need to hear.” She could feel the heat of him, remembered the taste of him, yearned to be loved by him. But he did not want her close to him. He was the one holding them apart.
He seemed to be struggling with some great emotion, but she could not tell what it was.

“I meant to hurt you, I cannot deny that. But in the end, I could not.”

“What do you want from me? Forgiveness? What you did was unforgivable. Absolution? I cannot offer it!”

She was not even aware she was looking at him until she saw the smile come into his eyes.

“You’re a veritable spitfire when you’re angry,” he said softly. And then, “All I want from you is you.”

With strength she did not know she had, she tore herself free. “How can I trust what you say? How do I know this is not some very clever ploy to arrange what you failed at the first time?”

She was almost hysterical, because he was offering her everything she had ever wanted, and she was too afraid to reach out and take it. He was saying things she had always dreamed her handsome beau would say. And she found that from a real live man, they were impossible to believe.

“Believe me,” he said, reaching out his hands to her.

She took a tilting step backward and said, “Believe the handsomest, richest man in England has honorable intentions toward a shy mouse with an awkward limp? I’d sooner believe pigs can fly!”

“It’s the truth,” he said.

“What about your brother? And my brother?”