Duke of Scandal (18 page)

“I—I can't believe you,” she whispered after a moment, her eyes brimming with tears she desperately tried not to shed in front of him.

“Tell me,” he urged after a long, deep breath, “was Edmund eager to announce your nuptials to Society?”

The question surprised her, and she hesitated before answering. “No. Because we'd married so quickly after our first introduction, he told me it would be better to wait and I agreed with him.”

“I see. So it might well be that outside of your Parisian circles people still don't know about your supposed marriage.”

“Probably not.”

He ran a palm harshly down his face. “I would suggest he's posing as a bachelor. Why do you think he's in
Grasse, courting another unsuspecting heiress? Because he
can.
Why do you think he didn't bed you on your wedding night? Because taking you would not only complicate his plan of continued detachment from you emotionally, he could impregnate you, a risk he would never take because he
expected,
from the moment you met each other, to leave you. He had no intention of chancing the obstacle of an unwanted child, which, in a very sick way, was probably the most honorable thing he's ever done in his life.” He paused for a few seconds, then said fervently, “Every fact in this sordid scheme indicates that you're not married to Edmund, Olivia. And as much as that realization cheers me personally, I would never lie to you about this.
Never.
”

It took her several long minutes, it seemed, to come to terms with his pronouncement, his explanations and rationale, and what they meant to her and her relationship with his brother. She lowered her lashes and stared at her lap, her body very still, her breathing steady, nearly silent. At last she whispered,
“Why?”

She couldn't understand the insult, the reason for the deception, any more than he could. “Edmund is a deceitful bastard, and always has been. There's no other explanation of why he does the things he does beyond his own personal selfishness.”

She looked up again, her face pale, features slack, her watery gaze melding with his as she contemplated the lies, searched for answers. “And my aunt knew of this, planned it with him.”

“Yes,” he replied, fighting the urge to reach over and touch her, knowing if he tried, she'd rebuff him quickly. “I'm sure of it.”

Finally she straightened her shoulders and shook herself, rubbing her eyes with one thumb and forefinger then wiping a cheek with her palm. “Do you—” She cleared her throat, squeezed her fan with both hands. “Do you think they're lovers?”

Sam felt his insides twist in knots. She stared at her lap, unable to look at him, exuding a sweetness that melted his heart. “Olivia…”

She snickered bitterly. “You do, don't you?”

Sitting back on the seat cushion, with keen tenderness he admitted, “I think they've been lovers for years.”

She shook her head, then leaned her temple against the side of the coach, staring out at the passing landscape.

He had no idea what to say to her, and so he remained quiet as well, resting his head on the cushion behind him, noting how the day had passed quickly and they were very near the outskirts of the town. They had to find a place to stay the night, gather their thoughts, make a plan of action, and later face the enemy that was his brother.

“Why didn't you tell me this before, Sam?”

He turned his head to look at her again. She remained as she had before, gazing out the window. After a few long seconds of thought he replied, “I didn't know if you were lying to me, if you and Edmund had planned this scheme together to swindle me of some of
my
inheritance.” He drew in a full breath, then added hesitatingly, “I didn't know if I could trust you.”

She shook her head. “What makes you think you can trust me now?”

“I don't know,” he replied at once. “I really don't know why I trust you, but I do. And that's the most honest answer I can give you.”

She shifted her body in her seat, eyeing him askance. “I hate you for not telling me until now,” she whispered, a dark anger penetrating her voice.

He felt like a worm. Expelling a slow breath, he said, “I know. I'm sorry.”

She just watched him, caressing the smooth ivory of her fan back and forth with her fingertips, her expression guarded. Then to his complete shock, she placed her fan on the cushion next to her and raised her body off the moving coach seat to cross over to his side, sliding herself in next to him, her gown spilling over his legs. She scrutinized every feature of his face, his chest, and shoulders. And then she reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck to hug him tightly, tucking her face under his chin.

“I hate you, Sam,” she whispered up to his earlobe. She kissed his jawline once before cradling herself against him. “I hate you—but I need you so badly. God help me, but you're the only person I trust in the world.”

A curious sense of unreality enveloped him, clouding his sensible, thinking mind with a fine mist of bewildering feelings he couldn't at all comprehend, or tame. He had no idea what to say, what she expected him to do, if anything. She smelled like heaven, felt so soft, and for the first time that he could recall, he relished in the closeness of a woman without the slightest sexual intent. He twisted his body in the seat a little so he could wrap his arms around her and hold her with ease.

She relaxed her grip a little, and after a few moments of silence she murmured, “Thank you.”

Sam ached to kiss her right here in the coach, to caress her fears away, her anger and anguish, to explore every bit of emotion she brought out in him, to show her how he cared about her and her future.

As if reading his thoughts, she suddenly, and without warning, leaned up and placed her lips on his, gingerly, not moving but just lightly touching him. He felt her longing, her loneliness, in that one brush of warmth, and a nearly inaudible growl rolled in his throat. But he didn't move, didn't push for more, knowing the time for passion would come later. Every doubt about his need of her, his desire to be a part of her, became instantly clear, had in fact vanished the moment she confessed her trust in him. He would wait for her, but there was no longer a question that she would be his.

Gradually, she pulled away and sat up, withdrawing her arms from around him and relaxing them in her lap. Her gaze roved over his face, pausing at his lips, his hair and eyes, her forehead crinkled with a trace of curiosity—or puzzlement.

“I know what you're thinking,” she said at last.

He smiled to himself, knowing fully well she had no idea at all. “You do?”

She nodded slowly, eyes narrowed in careful thought. “You want to pretend, to make Edmund think you and I are married.”

Truthfully, he hadn't thought of that at all, and for a moment he wondered what good it would do. But pretending to be married to her would certainly add to the confusion, and it might make for a very satisfying time.
Actually, it might be the best way to confront his brother and catch him off guard.

“Can you act that well, Lady Olivia?” he drawled teasingly.

She swiftly left his side to sit across from him once again, eyeing him mischievously, a sly grin playing across her mouth as she smoothed her skirt back into place. Then she tipped her shoulders toward him, allowing him a scant view of her cleavage. “I won't even have to, my darling man,” she murmured huskily. “I think you're enraptured already.”

He smirked. “You're very good.”

“Only of necessity,” she replied, sitting back for a final time, lifting her fan again and opening it.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cushion.

“Sam?” she whispered seconds later.

“Hmm?”

She paused, then softly admitted, “I really don't hate you at all.”

He grinned, peeking at her through half-open lashes. “I know. I don't hate you, either, Livi.”

A
lthough their families had always been rather close, Olivia hadn't seen Brigitte Marcotte in years, and yet she had no trouble spotting the woman the moment she walked into the dining room of Grasse's Maison de la Fleur, the hotel in which she and Sam had taken up residence two days ago. Against Sam's better judgment, she had wanted to meet Brigitte alone somewhere in the town where Edmund wouldn't likely appear to interrupt them, and as she and Sam had inquired upon their arrival, he wasn't staying at the hotel. Olivia felt more than ready to confront him, but she decided it might be better to let the Govance heiress know exactly what kind of deceitful man Edmund was, realizing that Brigitte might have already lost her heart to the cad, making their encounter this afternoon uncomfortable. Even so, Olivia decided she had no choice but to enlighten the woman.

Originally, Sam had wanted the two of them to confront Edmund first, to surprise him with their unexpected presence, relaying the information they had regarding his nefarious behavior and the shocking news about his underhanded relationship with Claudette. But after a day and a half of quietly inquiring in the town, they learned nothing about him or his whereabouts. They knew he was here, but decided he had to be staying at the Govance estate, which, Olivia mused, could make their situation far more complicated if he'd become close with the family. The only way to be certain was to talk to Brigitte.

So yesterday Olivia had sent a note, inviting Brigitte to tea at the hotel today at four. The dining room matched the ambience of the town, with its small displays of local artwork, petite handcrafted vases of freshly cut flowers on every white, Provincial-style table. She had chosen one next to the window, near the back of the room, where they could share their words in private, unsure how Brigitte would take the news that the charming, handsome man who courted her cared only for her fortune.

Now, as Brigitte entered the establishment, Olivia stood, catching the woman's eye immediately. She waved a hand and Brigitte smiled and began to walk toward her.

Although now nearly twenty, the young Govance heiress hadn't changed much in the few years since Olivia had last seen her. She had always been a rather tall, lanky child, blond with fair skin and a trace of freckles across her nose. Now she simply looked older—still thin, but she'd plaited her long hair atop
her head, and her face, though never what one would call engaging or beautiful, had taken on a soft femininity that Olivia found attractive, even pretty. She no longer bounded like a child, but walked gracefully toward her in a day gown of deep lavender and wide hoops that added to her slight figure and fair coloring rather than detracting from them.

Olivia returned the smile as the woman approached the table. “Brigitte, how good it is to see you after all these years,” she said with genuine delight.

“I can't believe it!” Brigitte grasped her shoulders with both hands, her lavender reticule dangling from a gloved wrist as she leaned in to drop a peck on both cheeks. “Getting your note was such a surprise.”

Olivia gestured to the opposite chair, then sat again in her own. Immediately, their
garçon
brought them tea for two, as she'd ordered, and two individual plates of delicious smelling
tarte aux myrtilles,
placing them on the table between them, then excusing himself with a nod.

“I'm sure it must have been a surprise, as I haven't been to Grasse since Monsieur Nivan died,” Olivia started, wanting to get to the point before she lost the nerve. “But I do have a reason for being here today.”

Brigitte took no time in helping herself to tea, quickly pouring hers into her delicate, gold inlaid china cup and adding two teaspoons of sugar, which she stirred with dainty fingers.

“Oh, I expected as much,” the younger woman replied as she turned her concentration to her blueberry tart. “I gather you've invited me here today to discuss Edmund?”

Olivia nearly fell off her chair. As she'd told Sam, Edmund had wanted to keep their marriage arrangements discreet. And yet Brigitte clearly knew of her acquaintance with the man, and that he was the reason for her unexpected visit to the south of France.

Brigitte seemed to anticipate her astonishment. Her mouth turned up into a crooked grin of self-satisfaction as she met Olivia's gaze and leaned back casually in her chair.

“Edmund told me all about your romantic debacle,” she disclosed pleasantly. “I certainly hope you haven't come all this way in the hopes of stealing him back from me, because frankly I don't think he'd be interested.”

Olivia must have been gaping at the woman, for she suddenly laughed, tossing her head back and then shaking it.

“I see I've startled you with that news,” Brigitte said, cutting into her tart again, “but yes, Edmund told me all about what happened between you.”

Olivia's mouth had gone dry and she reached for the cream to pour a dash into her full cup of tea. Finding her voice at last, she replied, “What exactly did he tell you, Brigitte?”

The woman shrugged as she swallowed a mouthful of blueberries. Then she placed her spoon on her plate, patted her lips with her lace napkin, and folded her hands in her lap, staring across the table with her head tipped to the side, her expression thoughtful. “He told me that he thought he was in love with you, but after you broke his heart, he realized otherwise.” Cheerfully, she added, “But all the better for me. I hope you haven't come to Grasse thinking to win back his devotion.”

Olivia noted that it was the second time she'd mentioned the notion of her wanting to regain Edmund's affections, leading her to believe it might be a concern for Brigitte. But then Brigitte, as she remembered her, had always been a bit skittish.

Recovering herself, Olivia took a sip from her china cup, finding the flavor weak by her standards but deciding that hardly mattered when her entire plan of saving the poor Govance heiress had just been tossed out the window.

“I don't have any intention of wooing him back,” she admitted, a bit too sternly. Then deciding it best to just get to the point, the truth, she finally asked, “What exactly did Edmund say about our relationship, about his marrying me?”

That struck a nerve, as Brigitte's gray-blue eyes narrowed and her lips thinned to a flat, unbecoming line. “He told me how you so callously left him days before the wedding, breaking his heart, which I'm grateful to say I've been able to heal with my constant devotion.”

This totally unforeseen development positively stunned Olivia into speechlessness. She never imagined that Edmund would be so devious in not only courting an innocent lady on false pretenses, but adding to the story with outright lies to further his disgusting plan. It appeared he'd thought of everything, even the fact that his first faux wife might catch up to him by coming to Grasse to “save” the unsuspecting heiress. The only advantage she seemed to have left was the fact that Edmund couldn't possibly ever consider that she'd bring Sam. That would be his greatest shock of all, and suddenly Olivia couldn't wait to witness their meeting face-to-face.

Her tea forgotten, Olivia leaned back in her chair as well, eyeing the woman speculatively. “Brigitte, you're not going to like hearing this, but Edmund lied to you. He lied to both of us—”

“Nonsense,” she cut in sharply with a toss of her hand. “He has no reason to lie.” Suddenly she sat forward, resting her palms on the edge of the table, the smooth lines of her face hardening, her cheeks glowing bright pink. “You may not like hearing
this,
Olivia, but Edmund loves me, and I don't intend to throw him aside because you make false claims about him. He has proposed, and I have accepted, and we're to be married in a month.” Slowly she relaxed again into her seat. “Now, if you've come here to win back his love, you have my blessing to try. But any devious scheme you might arrange won't work. I can promise you that. He's the most devoted man I've ever known, and he's still quite angry at you for what you did to him.”

Olivia felt a swell of intense anger and frustration flow through her, appeased only by her knowledge that the woman sitting across from her would soon feel the anguish she had, and didn't deserve it, either.

With graceful self-restraint, she asked, “Did he tell you about his brother? That he also has a sister?”

Brigitte blinked, then frowned, seemingly taken aback by the question. “Of course.”

Olivia wasn't altogether certain she believed her. Her answer seemed a touch too defensive, though at this point she didn't think Brigitte would admit it even if she had no knowledge of Edmund's siblings.

She leaned forward once more, her voice lowered in admonishment. “Brigitte, I…believe that Edmund is
after your inheritance, everything that will be rightfully yours when your
grand-père
dies—”

Brigitte abruptly stood, glaring at her, her lips contorted into a crooked smirk. “Say what you will, Olivia, but I know Edmund—have known him for months. He cannot be such a great actor that he can completely fool me,
and
my family, with a professed love he doesn't feel.”

Oh, yes he can.
She fisted her hands in her lap. “He did it to me.”

Brigitte closed her eyes and shook her head. After a full inhale, she opened them again, staring down through tear-glazed eyes, her spine rigid, voice controlled.

“You know, Olivia, I may not be as beautiful as you, as graceful or alluring, but I am ready to marry a man you chose not to marry yourself. Perhaps he doesn't love me as he loved you, but for me that's irrelevant. He's devoted to me, to Govance and my family, and he will make a good husband, just as I know I'll make him a good wife.”

Olivia simply had no idea what to say, how to react to such determination, such blind infatuation. Brigitte was headstrong and clearly entranced by Edmund's handsomeness, his charm, which she understood all too well. It had worked on her, and she had been utterly fooled by a devious blackguard. Would
she
have listened to Brigitte if he'd courted and cheated her first in Grasse, leaving her on their wedding night, then come to Paris to set his nefarious pursuits on her as the heiress of Nivan? Very likely not—because Edmund was just that good at seducing a woman with false love. For the first time, Olivia felt she'd been
wrong to meet Brigitte ahead of time, though truthfully there was no way for her to know just how far Edmund had dug his talons into this innocent woman's neck.

“I'm sorry,” she conveyed through a sigh, reaching up to place a palm on the other woman's arm. “I—I didn't want to upset you. That was never my intention.” Deciding this was the moment for her ploy to be revealed, she maintained, “Of course, if Edmund is your choice, I wish you only years of happiness. Besides, my feelings for him are moot. I am married to someone else.”

Brigitte physically slumped into her stays, her features going slack in sheer relief that she couldn't begin to hide. “I'm sorry, too, Olivia. I'm sorry that you chose to leave him heartbroken, but because you did, he eventually found me, and I am happy.” She inhaled deeply and tried to smile. “And, because I am so sure of Edmund's devotion, I cordially invite you to attend our engagement gathering, this Friday evening at seven, followed by our engagement ball Saturday night.”

Olivia's brows rose as her heart began to race. This would be the perfect opportunity for enlightenment, for all of them. “I'd be delighted,” she replied, hoping she didn't sound too enthusiastic.

“Friday's affair will be small, allowing for few local acquaintances,” Brigitte carried on, the pace of her words quickening with her excitement. “Saturday's ball will, naturally, be the event of the Season. Nearly every Govance patron and the local elite will be in attendance.” She clutched her reticule to her waist with both hands. “Grand-père has always adored you and your mother, Olivia, and I'm sure he'd want to see you again
after all these years. He would never forgive me if he learned you were in Grasse and weren't invited.”

Olivia slowly stood to meet the younger woman's gaze. Cautiously, she asked, “Does he know about Edmund and me?”

“Grand-père?
Non,
” Brigitte answered defiantly, seemingly surprised at the question. “I have no reason to tell him, and if you do, it will only make you look selfish and spiteful.”

That was very likely true. Olivia clasped her hands behind her back. “Then I sincerely look forward to attending both of your engagement parties.” Her voice caught in her throat. “May I, um, bring my husband?”

Brigitte brightened considerably at the notion. “Please, of course. I'm sure Edmund would enjoy meeting him.”

You have no idea
…“Good,” she said, smiling in return. Then, with purpose, she rubbed her jaw with her fingers, her brows furrowed in thought. “May I suggest you don't mention my visit to him?”

“To Edmund? He's in Nice, making arrangements for our honeymoon, and won't be returning until Friday. And besides,” she fairly retorted, “I wouldn't dream of it. I wouldn't want to upset him days before our big celebration.”

Which, Olivia realized, meant Brigitte absolutely had doubts about her betrothed and his past. Perhaps that was for the best, as the entire sordid truth was to reveal itself at the party this weekend. And, she decided, the revelation would be better before the wedding than after.

“I will see you Friday, then,” she said.

Brigitte leaned in and dutifully kissed her cheeks. “On Friday, dear Olivia. And
merci
for the tea.”

She turned on her heel, made ready for her departure, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “Why did you come to Grasse? Certainly you wouldn't have come all the way here just to confront Edmund and me when you've married another man.”