Duke of Scandal (14 page)

O
livia had never felt so utterly confused in all of her life. This had been a night to remember, and for so many reasons beyond sharing an absolutely divine kiss with someone she should never have even
dreamt
of kissing. To desire him as a man, in his own right, was simply wrong, probably in a thousand ways she had yet to consider. He held an undeniable, ruthless, and perfectly delicious spell over her that she couldn't seem to overcome no matter how hard she tried, though it didn't help to admit to herself that thus far she'd hardly been trying to avoid his advances, be they physical or not. How in heaven's name could she have these…
feelings
for the brother of her husband? Why, oh
why,
did he keep pursuing her as if there were no consequences to his actions? Being together as they were tonight went far beyond friendly companionship,
though she realized with some rationale that he wasn't completely at fault for the indiscretion. She'd responded to him as no lady should, at least outside the privacy of the marital bedchamber. But above it all, more than every consideration, they both had to realize they had absolutely no future together romantically. Their attraction to each other needed to end, and end now. She just wasn't so sure how to do it.

She'd tried not to watch as he danced with her aunt, and she'd scolded herself more than once for being utterly unable to control herself to that end, following them with her eyes while she stood talking to two of Nivan's patrons in front of a buffet table. They looked agreeable in each other's arms, but she did note a certain hardness in Sam's posture and expression that he hadn't exhibited with her. True, Claudette's interruption on the balcony had startled them both, but he'd more than shocked her when he asked her aunt to dance, particularly after the intimate moment they'd only just shared. She hadn't expected him to leave her so abruptly after she'd mentioned Claudette's obvious appreciation of her husband's charms. But then maybe that was why Sam seemed interested in her. Olivia only wished she hadn't felt that same tinge of jealousy settle in the pit of her stomach when she saw them together. She shouldn't feel jealousy of any kind where Sam was concerned, and that irked her most of all, she decided. But apparently, and of course most importantly, the ruse still worked. Claudette didn't appear to suspect he wasn't Edmund, as Olivia had feared from the beginning.

Now they rode together in silence back to Nivan,
Sam sitting across from her, eyes closed, though she knew he wasn't sleeping. He hadn't said as much as two words to her since they'd left the party. She hadn't wanted to leave, and they hadn't originally planned to, but he insisted, telling her only that it was imperative that she not see her aunt again this evening. He refused to tell her why, or what he and Claudette had discussed during their few minutes together, and it irritated her that he remained silent even now that they were alone. She wanted answers and she was starting to tire of waiting for him to speak.

“Why were you so anxious for us to leave the ball, Sam?” she asked as their hired coach exited the lane on the Brillon estate and turned toward town.

He only grunted, keeping his eyes closed. “We'll talk about it back at Nivan.”

Exhaling a fast breath, she prodded, “Did you learn something you're keeping from me? What did you discuss with my aunt?”

“Olivia, be a little patient.”

His tone had an edge to it that she didn't think she'd heard from him before. His evasiveness and decision to make her wait made her mad though. They'd planned on staying the night at the estate, and yet no sooner had he finished the waltz with her aunt, he found her, a double whiskey in his hand, and practically forced her out the door, swallowing the remains of his drink in a few large gulps. That surprised her, too, for he seemed more disturbed than the event should have made him. Truth be told, she was positively dying to know what Claudette had said to him to get him so upset—or what she'd done.

“Are you feeling light-headed from the drink?” she asked softly.

He smirked. “I didn't have enough.”

She wasn't certain if he meant he didn't have enough to feel the alcohol, or he didn't have enough to calm his nerves after the excitement of the evening. She could only see vague lines on his face as the inside of the coach cast them in shadow, the only light being reflections from a fairly bright moon and a few street lamps they passed along the way.

Olivia adjusted her skirts, smoothing them out over her thighs, then opened her fan and brushed the edges with a gloved fingertip.

“Stop fidgeting,” he said brusquely.

That annoyed her even more. “I'm sorry, sir, but with everything that's happened tonight, you expect me to be calm? You won't even tell me what Claudette—”

“We'll discuss it when we get home.” He lifted his eyelids a fraction, just enough for her to tell he was looking at her. “Right now I need to think, so why don't you relax.”

Relax? How could she possibly do that? When he closed his eyes again, she gave him an exaggerated, and not too ladylike, snort, then decided quizzing him further would only make him angry with her, in which case she'd risk his continued silence when they reached her apartments. That in mind, she scooted down into the cushion and leaned back to rest her head on the seat, just as he had, closing her own eyes for the remainder of the long ride home.

She must have dozed because it seemed like only seconds later when she felt the coach slow its progress
as it pulled up in front of the boutique. Blinking quickly to clear her head, she sat upright, as Sam did across from her, then clutched her skirts with one hand and took the driver's with the other as he helped her descend the steps to the street below.

Sam followed without a word as she pulled the key to the building from a pocket in her gown, then led the way through the darkened store, up the stairs, and down the hall to her home. Once inside, she immediately walked to her pine secretary, lit a gas lamp, then turned to him, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“Are you ready for a discussion now?” She supposed that sounded a bit curt if not downright rude, but she was as tired as she was angry at the moment and didn't care how he gauged her mood.

He took his time closing the door softly and securing the lock. Then he faced her, shoving his fingers harshly through his hair, fatigue obvious in his narrowed eyes, on the hardness of his features.

“I suggest you change first,” he remarked coolly, his voice and movements controlled as he began to remove his evening jacket.

She stood where she was, her spine rigid. “Change? Change into what?”

His expression darkened with annoyance. “Into something more comfortable.”

“I'm perfectly comfortable now.”

“No, you're not, and neither am I.” He started walking toward the guest room. “Meet me in the kitchen when you're ready.”

Olivia hated it when a man ordered her to do something she didn't want to do. Trouble was, tonight he
was right. She'd been wearing a corset, tightly drawn, for several hours, which didn't help her temperament at all. And changing would also give her time to collect her thoughts, as she obviously hadn't done so on the ride home.

It took her a good twenty minutes, since she had no one to help her with her gown, jewelry, and hair pins, but when at last she entered the kitchen, her robe tied securely around her waist, her hair brushed to a shine to fall down her back, she found him sitting in the chair he'd occupied the first night they talked, though he'd turned it outward so he could lean his head against the wall.

She walked around his outstretched legs, noting that he'd not so much changed as simply removed his outer-wear and tie so that he now wore only his trousers and ruffled shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and cuffs, which he'd rolled up nearly to his elbows. She supposed, for a man, he was comfortable enough without being indecent in the company of a lady who was not his wife.

She moved to the opposite chair and sat, watching him, folding her hands together on the tabletop to indicate she wanted honesty, and now.

He remained silent for a moment, staring not at her, but straight ahead, at the clock she'd placed beside the stove.

Finally, she broke the tension. “It's after two.”

He didn't acknowledge that fact. Instead, he replied, “You must be feeling refreshed since you slept all the way home.”

She sighed. “I wouldn't say I slept. I was thinking with my eyes closed, just as you were.”

He turned his head a little, eyeing her with a smirk on his mouth. “You snore, Olivia.”

She fairly gaped at him. “I most certainly do not snore!”

“But I will say,” he carried on, ignoring her exclamation, “it's a very dainty, feminine snore. One that suits a beautiful and enticing woman like you.”

He said it quite casually, as if they'd met in the middle of the blessed night to mundanely discuss the quality of tea and the merits of its trade. He seemed to enjoy catching her off guard, which, under the circumstances of the evening, made her uncomfortable now that they sat alone together in her home. Better to ignore his teasing remark and get to the point at hand.

“Will you please tell me why you were so anxious to leave?” she asked forthrightly. “And don't say it's because I looked palled.”

He almost smiled. “That was rather rude of her.”

She lifted her shoulders lightly in shrug. “I'm embarrassed to say that kind of remark is fairly standard for my aunt Claudette, especially where I am concerned.”

He placed a forearm flat on the table as his eyes roved over her face. “She's just jealous.”

She knit her brows in puzzlement. “Jealous? I sincerely doubt that. She's quite the beauty, my aunt, and everyone knows it. Including her.”

“Indeed.”

She shifted her body in her chair, a bit irritated that he didn't argue with her—or tell her outright that she was lovelier, as her husband would have done without thought. But then maybe he didn't think so, and that,
she had to admit, troubled her in the most inappropriate way.

“Did Edmund think she was beautiful?” he asked seconds later.

She tilted her head a little to the side. “I would guess so. He never said what he thought of her, actually. Now that I think about it, that does seem strange.”

“How so?”

He seemed genuinely curious, and so, through a soft exhaled breath, she admitted, “Claudette was physically attracted to Edmund, which I think you must know by now, though I daresay she never did anything completely improper in the company of others. She is my aunt, after all, and is well-bred and generally respectful.” That might be giving her too much credit, but when he said nothing in reply, she continued. “It was obvious to everyone that Edmund seemed to enjoy a certain…rapport with her, but he never, that I recall, mentioned his thoughts or feelings about her one way or the other. At least not to me.”

After a long moment of silence he murmured, “I see.”

She didn't think he did, but Claudette was irrelevant to their conversation. If Sam had suspicions about Edmund romancing her aunt, Edmund would be in Paris to do just that, and Olivia believed almost certainly that he wasn't. Again, she wanted to get back to what happened tonight.

“Are you going to tell me why you practically dragged me from the ball?”

He studied her by lamplight, his expression one of grim contemplation. Then at last, his tone deep and
laced with gentleness, he replied, “Because your aunt expected me to meet her in her bedchamber later. I wasn't interested, and didn't want to be there when she discovered that.”

She stilled, her mind and body going numb as a strange feeling of dread mixed with absolute incredulity washed over her.

“My aunt—” She couldn't even repeat it. Such a thought, such an
idea,
went beyond the incredible to the despicable. “That's impossible,” she managed to choke out in a whisper, gradually lowering her gaze.

He inhaled deeply, turning in the chair so he fully faced her, clasping his hands together in front of him, arms outstretched on the tabletop. “I'm sorry.”

“Maybe you misunderstood her,” she broached, mouth dry, suddenly freezing in the stuffy kitchen. She pulled her robe tighter around her, hugging herself.

“I didn't misunderstand, Olivia.”

No, she supposed he wouldn't, being a man. And it wasn't as if she doubted Claudette could have posed such a suggestion. Still…Her eyes shot back to his face. “Did she really believe you were Edmund?”

Without hesitation he asserted, “Yes. She did.”

Olivia shivered, drawing her shoulders up as she squeezed her arms into her body, blinking hard in an attempt to keep herself from breaking down into a crying fit in front of him. The idea that Edmund might have been…involved with her aunt made her nauseated, physically ill.

“But that doesn't make sense,” she murmured, her voice shaky. “Edmund never showed any interest in
her at all, at least not when I was around the two of them.”

Sam said nothing, just continued to watch her, and it took her nearly a minute to realize he didn't need to respond. She grasped the implication of her own words at last—her husband showed no interest in her aunt when they were all
together.

“It's quite possible,” she mumbled after licking her lips, “that he rebuffed her. She's been known to be a bit…aggressive when it comes to what she wants.”

He waited, then said, “When you think about everything my brother has done to you, do you believe that?”

His voice had a certain edge of irritation to it, as if he desperately wanted her to understand but couldn't simply explain it all. She needed to grasp the details, focus on what Edmund did, what he said, what her aunt's personality was like. When she considered it like that—the quick marriage at his insistence, the wedding night that was not a wedding night, his nefarious scheme of stealing her inheritance—she could come up with no other conclusion than the one Sam implied.