Duke of Scandal (28 page)

“Answer me!” she shouted in anguish, her eyes tearing up again as her gaze pierced his.

He pulled back in shock, swallowing his fear, afraid suddenly that he might break down in front of her. “Yes,” he replied quietly.

She just looked at him, then moments later asked caustically, “How many bastard children do you have, your grace?”

He clenched his teeth. “None.”

She scoffed. “You don't know that.”

“Yes, I do. That's one thing I know with absolute
certainty.”

She hesitated, wondering if he spoke the truth, looking him up and down as she wiped a rolling tear off her cheek. “What about Claudette's baby, the one you and she had together. Or are you now going to tell me she never carried?”

“Claudette was indeed pregnant,” he said, trying not to lash out at her in anger. “She began showing very shortly after the day I walked out on her and her group of lovers. She actually laughed at me when I did that, Olivia. She thought it was funny that I'd found her like that, and with my brother who looks exactly like me.” He lowered his tone, his throat now dry and cracking as he spoke. “From that moment on I refused to acknowledge the baby. Perhaps that was wrong, but I had been so sickened by what I'd seen, so heartbroken to be betrayed like that, I just did not care.”

She looked away from him again, closing her eyes.

“Edmund and I have never lived peacefully together; we're just too different. But what made me despise him was his indifference toward my feelings for Claudette, and his hiding the fact that the two of them had become lovers directly under my nose. When I learned the truth, when I discovered that he'd been with her all the time I had, it occurred to me that even if the child looked exactly like me, he would also look exactly like Edmund. I would never know if it were truly mine, and so I refused to accept it.”

He stood again and walked to the other side of the room, near the window, where he could view the moonlit garden alcove by moonlight, where he'd seen his hateful brother with the woman of his dreams, arous
ing every memory of him and Claudette together, every pain because his fear of losing Olivia would have been the greatest tragedy of his life.

“Claudette became furious with me when I stopped communicating with her, when I refused to acknowledge the child she carried.” He hesitated, then at last said aloud, for the first time in years, what started the scandal that would follow him always.

“Just a few days after rejecting her for a final time, she was discovered accidentally in one of her sexual parties by several upstanding members of the elite, and Edmund was with her. When the rumors started to spread…” He fisted his hands tightly at his sides, gritted his teeth. “When the rumors started to spread, not only did she claim the child was mine and I refused to compensate her as a good nobleman should, she also insisted it was I who had been with her the day she'd been discovered with three other people in her bed. She claimed
I
was the deviant, not Edmund, and because he was my brother, I felt honor-bound to keep my mouth shut. I never denied it. Who would believe me anyway? We look
exactly
alike. From that day on I was the social fool, the man mothers kept their daughters from, the man who other gentlemen joked about at cards. Stories were created about my escapades, made worse because they were exaggerated.” He laughed, tasting the bitterness of irony to this day. “I have always been accepted socially, Olivia, because of my title. But I will never, as long as I live, be accepted as a person one wants as a friend, or a love.”

He stared out the window, gazing at the darkness of the garden, seeing nothing.

“Claudette gave birth to a boy she named Samuel,” he proceeded, his tone thick and hushed, “but it had been a very difficult delivery and the child had shown his feet first. He only lived for two days. I don't think Claudette really wanted him anyway. She was never very moved by his death. She left for the Continent with Edmund shortly after that, and I never saw her again until that night with you on the balcony in Paris.”

A heavy, enveloping silence grew around them. Olivia sniffed and he glanced back at her. She just shook her head slowly, her eyes closed, her palm covering her mouth again.

Sam moved away from the window and walked toward her a little, closing his own eyes and tipping his head back.

“Olivia, you have to understand—”

“Understand?”

He jerked his head up, numbed by her outburst.

In one fluid movement she abruptly stood, facing him with her hand on her hips, glowering at him with scorn. “
Understand
? What is there for me to understand? I could accept a bastard child. I could raise him if I had to because he'd be yours. But what happened to me tonight went far beyond anything Edmund ever did to me.” She choked back a sob.

“I don't even really care that you've…indulged yourself with other women. My heart
aches
for you, for the pain you've felt all these years, for having to live with horrible people who spread rumors and destroy lives.” She braced herself, lowering her voice. “But I
loathe
knowing that the things you did to me this afternoon, all those marvelous, wonderful, beautiful things,
you…you also did with my aunt,” she said in absolute anguish, her face flushing, her hands cupping her cheeks. “You made love with my
aunt.
And the worst part is, she and Edmund knew it all along. Tonight, during this…this…huge confrontation that I'd been dreaming of for months, she and Edmund were
laughing
at me.”

“No!” He reached for her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her once. “It wasn't like that at all.”

Using all the force within her, she shoved his hands aside. “It
was
like that,” she asserted through a husky growl. “You're such an idiot if you think I didn't look like the fool tonight, Sam. The innocent little virginal Olivia who had no idea that the man she thought she loved with everything inside of her had bedded her aunt, had a child with her—”

“Goddammit, Olivia, that isn't the point,” he cut in, grabbing her shoulders again.

“It is the point!” Her tears flowed freely now, her body shaking with uncontrolled fury. “Do you have any idea how
humiliated
I was tonight? For nearly a year now I've been lied to and humiliated by people I truly believed loved me, and tonight I learn that you've done exactly the same thing. Humiliated me, lied to me—”

“I never lied to you,” he whispered thickly, his throat tight with a new flood of emotions. “I admit to withholding facts, but that's not the same thing.”

She scoffed with disgust and turned away from him.

He yanked her against him, holding her so close she couldn't help but look into his eyes.

“I love you, Olivia,” he said huskily. He shook his
head minutely. “What I felt for Claudette doesn't begin to compare to what I feel for you.”

She closed her eyes and he hugged her, holding her tightly, his face in her hair. “Please don't do this. Please try to understand that I was a different person then, that the wrong things mattered to me.”

She shook her head vehemently, pushing with all her strength against his chest. “All this time you were with me, after you met my aunt again on the balcony, you should have told me.”

“How? How exactly was I supposed to tell you, Olivia?”

She wiggled against him, and he finally let her go. She took a step away and then turned her back on him.

Sam had had enough. Placing his hands on his hips, he lowered his voice to a husky whisper, revealing everything inside him.

“I want you to know, Olivia, that one thing Edmund said tonight was true.”

He waited, and after a moment or two she peeked at him over her shoulder.

“I've forever been jealous of the easy way he's able to talk to the gentle sex, to attract the ladies, to flirt and woo them and get them into his bed.” He drew a shaky breath. “But never had I been more envious of him than I was the first night I met you, Olivia. To think, to learn, that he'd married so well, to someone so goddamned beautiful, someone so smart and engaging and witty, made me jealous of him like I'd never felt before.” He paused to control his raging thoughts, then whispered, “Do you know why I made love to you today?”

She said nothing, and so he reached out and clasped
her arm, yanking her around, forcing her to face him. “Do you?”

She gazed up to his face, her eyes glassy pools of confusion and anger she couldn't yet reconcile. “Because you thought he'd bedded me and you wanted what he'd had?” she returned sarcastically.

That made him furious. “I knew you'd never been with Edmund.”

“How?” she asked through batted lashes.

He tried very hard to ignore her sarcasm. “Because Claudette told me when we danced together at the Brillon ball in Paris. Thinking I was Edmund, she warned me not to bed you so I wouldn't run the risk of ruining their plan.”

That shook her a little. Her brows furrowed and she tipped her head negligibly. He took that as a sign that she was beginning to understand.

“I made love to you, Olivia, because I was so terribly afraid Edmund would earn your trust again. I saw you together in the garden and it scared me. I didn't want to run the risk of losing you.”

She backed up a step, lowering her lashes, trying, at least, to absorb his disclosure.

Standing tall, he boldly whispered, “In all the years since my affair with Claudette ended, I have been with many women, Olivia.”

“I don't want to hear this!”

He lunged for her, pulling her against him again, forcing her to know.

“I have been with many women, but until today, until
you,
I haven't been
inside
a single one of them. Not in ten long years. Not one. I will not have another bas
tard child, to run risks of more rumors. Since I became the scandalous nobleman whose unusual sex acts are legendary fodder for horrible jokes, lovemaking ceased for me. I occasionally took a woman to bed for her pleasure, for the touch, for the superficial sexual release. But I didn't know what
love
was until I needed to be inside of you, Olivia. Until that desire became so strong I
needed
to become one with you and gave you everything I am.”

He took hold of her face, feeling the wetness on her skin.

“I've never known another woman like you, and I wanted to share myself, to leave my seed in you, to make you mine. Being with you was the most wonderful thing I've ever experienced in my life, and I refuse—
refuse
—to lose you now.”

She didn't say anything, but she trembled, nearly sobbing now, shaking her head, her eyes squeezed shut.

And then she jerked away from him and swiftly walked to her bedroom, shutting the door to the torment inside of him, the anguish that he'd hoped, with her love, she'd want to soothe away.

Sam closed his eyes, overwhelmed by her pain, uncertain if he should go to her, but deciding after a moment's thought that she needed the time alone.

She loved him. He knew that beyond any doubt. She would accept his past and share his life with him. He trusted her that much—and he refused to think otherwise. Not after all they'd been through.

His chest tightening, hands shaking, he walked to the table and extinguished the lamp. Too wound up to sleep, he sauntered to the sofa and sat heavily, staring
at the darkened floor for a long time, hoping she'd come to him, wrap her arms around him and hold him close in silence.

Finally exhaustion overcame him and he curled up on the cushion, still wearing his entire evening suit, closing his eyes for only a brief moment. When he opened them again, daylight streamed in through the window.

Sam shot to his feet, looking toward her room, noting the wide-open door, the neatly made bed. And it was then that he realized she'd left him.

T
heir dinner was to be a quiet affair, just the four of them, as Sam had been invited to Colin's town house along with his only other close friend, Will Raleigh, who, along with his wife, Vivian, had come to London for the Season.

They'd met in the foyer at seven, but had since moved to the study for casual discussion and whiskey, Will's wife sipping only a taste of champagne.

Colin, of course, had been carrying on about his latest venture for the government, the talk between them regarding his trip to France all but over weeks ago at his return.

Although he'd given them details of the events, especially as they pertained to Edmund, Sam hadn't disclosed much of his personal thoughts, and none of his feelings regarding Olivia Shea, and his friends had
been wise enough not to probe for answers. Still, his memory of the weeks he'd spent with her surfaced constantly to bring back all of the guilt, frustration, and anger, but mostly the love they'd shared as it grew between them during the course of their adventure. At least he would always have that.

Sam didn't think he'd ever felt such fear as on the morning he awakened in the hotel to find her gone. He'd immediately returned to the Govance estate, only to be told they hadn't seen her. They'd supplied him with names of two of her late stepfather's relatives who lived in Grasse, and he checked with them, learning more of the same—she'd visited no one. He then returned to Paris and stayed for three weeks, but she never came back to Nivan. She'd simply vanished, and after spending as much time as he had, Sam eventually gave up the pursuit and returned to England alone.

His heart ached constantly. Never in his life had he considered that he'd one day fall in love as deeply as he had, and then lose it, and no pain, he decided, could compare to such a devastating blow.

Every day he experienced a twinge of anger at her stubbornness that kept them apart, that she made him worry about her constantly. He'd been carrying the hope that she might simply walk back into his life, but as the weeks passed with no sign of her, no word or correspondence, that hope was beginning to fade.

Now as he sat with his friends in Colin's study, sipping whiskey and listening to the three of them chatter on about something completely mundane, he couldn't help but think what a joy it would be to have Olivia by his side, as his wife, blabbering on about sachets and
perfume bottles, the scent of the season and the fragrance she used to keep her stockings smelling like flowers.

“What are you smiling about?”

Sam blinked and looked up from where he sat behind the desk, first glancing to Will and then to Colin, who'd asked the question.

“Smiling about?” he repeated.

Colin smirked and then took a sip of his whiskey. “We're discussing the civil unrest in France and you obviously think it's amusing.” His brows furrowed, and then he added, “I guess the French are always funny, however. Carry on.”

Vivian laughed softly from the wing chair in which she sat beside the cold fireplace, her husband behind her, leaning on the chair's back with his arms crossed.

“He's probably smiling because it hardly matters what
we
think about France,” Vivian mused with a crooked grin.

Sam snorted and in one long gulp finished off his whiskey. “Actually, I was thinking about spice.”

“Spice?” Will drawled.

He shrugged, setting his empty glass on the desktop. “I'm starved.”

“Me, too,” Vivian said through a sigh.

Will leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “You're always hungry.”

“One must feed the baby,” Colin offered nonchalantly. “How marvelous to have an acceptable excuse to eat all the time.”

Vivian scoffed. “That's the only acceptable thing about carrying.”

“You seem to be handling it with ease,” Colin replied.

“With
ease
?” Vivian repeated, wide-eyed.

“Well, it looks easy enough,” he bantered back.

“Good God,” Will muttered, “I can't wait for the day when you take a wife and you have to suffer—”

“It'll never happen,” Colin argued as he took a long sip of his drink. “I don't have time for a wife and all her little…” He waved a hand toward Vivian. “…things.”

A slight rap at the door interrupted them.

Sam smiled. “Thank God for dinner. I'm suffering just listening to the three of you.”

Colin said, “Come.”

The door opened softly to admit the butler, a new one, Sam thought. Always new servants for Colin. He would never understand that.

“Your grace, you have a visitor,” the man said, his expression staid.

Before Colin could offer a reply, the butler moved to his side a little and in walked Olivia Shea, formerly of Elmsboro.

Colin reacted first. “Good God, it's the vision in gold.”

Sam just stared at her, suddenly mesmerized. And then he felt the blood drain from his face as his hands began to shake.

“Olivia?” he murmured, attempting to stand, supporting himself with his palms on the desk in case his legs gave way beneath him.

She looked radiant, dressed entirely in sky blue, from her day gown to her shoes to the ribbons tying her shiny black hair in twisted plaits atop her head. And
the moment she offered him a hesitant smile, his heart filled with tenderness and his mouth went dry as his throat tightened from a swell of suppressed emotion.

She'd come to him because she loved him.

 

She had never been more frightened in her life. Frightened—and excited. How she ever managed to stay on her feet the moment she set eyes on Sam again, she'd never know.

He looked marvelous, dressed casually for dinner in navy trousers and an ecru shirt with the neck unbuttoned. His hair seemed slightly longer than when she'd last seen him, though he'd brushed it back from his face the way she liked it. His eyes, so dark and aloof, gazed into hers intently, and it made her knees go weak. She had to swallow with difficulty to fight back tears of exhilaration and happiness, only hoping to the depths of her heart that he would forgive her for being so callous as to walk out on him, a truly wonderful man.

She couldn't take her eyes off him as she took a step into the room.

“Set another place for dinner, Harold,” someone said.

“Right away, your grace,” the butler behind her replied before closing the door and leaving her alone with him.

Only they weren't alone, she realized as if living in a dream, moving her gaze at last to note the man she remembered as Sam's friend Colin, who'd just spoken to the butler, standing near the fireplace, and two others she didn't know near the window on her right.

“I—I'm sorry if I'm intruding,” she managed to say.

“Not at all,” Colin returned with a wry smile. “We adore surprises. Don't we, Sam?”

She shifted her gaze back to the man of her desire, lingering on his handsome features, remembering the way he teased her, the way he laughed with her. The night he told her he loved her.

“Are you going to introduce us, or shall I?” the woman in the chair said rather sharply, her brows lifted in question.

Sam seemed to suddenly collect himself, the shock of seeing her standing before him vanishing as an aloof formality quickly returned. He stood upright, arms to his side, then gestured with a lift of his hand.

“Lady Olivia Shea, formerly of Elmsboro,” he said in a cool, deep voice, “I'd like to introduce you to William Raleigh, Duke of Trent, and his wife Vivian.”

Olivia curtsied. “Your grace. Ma'am.”

The corner of Sam's mouth twitched up. “And of course you've met Colin Ramsey, Duke of Newark.”

“Your grace,” she replied with another curtsy. The three of them remained silent for a few seconds after that, and so she smiled broadly and added, “My goodness, so many high-ranking noblemen in one room. And all so handsome, too, which I find quite unusual—”

“Why are you here, Olivia?” Sam cut in, his tone thick and low as he eyed her intently.

She inhaled deeply for strength. He was obviously going to make this difficult for her.

“Perhaps we should leave the two of you alone,” Vivian interjected, looking at Sam.

“No, please—” She twisted her fan in front of her. “I'll just be a moment. I—I wanted to tell Sam that the…um…political climate has changed in France.”

“Actually, we were just having an in-depth discussion about it,” Sam maintained, finally moving as he walked out from behind the desk.

Olivia noticed at once that everyone was staring at him with furrowed brows.

Sam cleared his throat and leaned his hip on the dark wooden edge, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for her to say something more, she supposed.

“I see,” she remarked as casually as she could. “Well, then, you must be aware that the Empress Eugenie has been banished from the country and the British government has been kind enough to allow her to take up residence here.”

“Yes, we'd heard,” Sam said coolly, his expression guarded.

“Oh, the antics of the French,” Colin declared as he took a sip of the drink in his hand. “Always giving the English something to discuss at parties.”

Olivia decided at that moment that she really, really liked Colin.

“Where have you been?” Sam asked quietly, his gaze never straying from hers.

The question gave her pause, and she shifted from one foot to the other. “Did you look for me?” she asked in return, her voice sounding timid to her ears.

He didn't respond for a moment, then whispered, “Yes.”

She grinned broadly. She couldn't help herself. “I've been staying with Lady Abethnot for the last three
days, but before that I was in Cornwall.”

“Cornwall?” the three of them repeated in unison.

Her eyes widened and she took a step back. “Yes, well, I have family there, cousins on my father's side, and since Eugenie won't be a patron in Paris any longer, I came here to…consider my options.”

“Consider your options,” Sam repeated.

She sighed. “I suppose the boutique in France will carry on without me, but I thought I'd consider opening a new Nivan branch here.” She shrugged. “For the Empress Eugenie, of course.”

“Of course,” Sam agreed, his expression lighting a little with a shade of amusement.

That gave her confidence. “Naturally, I don't want to lose her patronage. She simply adores what I create for her and I've just recently blended a new eau de cologne for her, in spice, actually.”

Olivia noticed how, aside from Sam, the others in the room looked confused.

“I'm sorry, Nivan? Spice?” Vivian asked from her chair.

Olivia looked at her closely for the first time. A beautiful woman, older than she, with dark hair and striking eyes. And quite obviously pregnant.

She offered her a smile. “Nivan is a house of perfume that I manage—or did manage—in Paris. And spice is the scent of the Season. It's my favorite as well.”

Vivian's husband actually chuckled as the other two looked at Sam. He, in turn, seemed to flush, flooding her with the memory of how he looked when he made love to her—flushed and vibrant and intense in his pursuit to satisfy her. The thought made her suddenly hot
all over and she squirmed in her shoes.

“Would you like to sit, Lady Olivia?” the Duke of Trent asked her kindly.

She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I'm not here to—”

“Why are you here?” Sam asked, his cool demeanor returning.

He still hadn't moved away from the side of the desk, leaning against it with his arms over his chest. He was making her nervous, and a little annoyed that he kept asking as if he wanted her to confess everything before he even said he'd missed her.

She straightened and opened her fan, swishing it slowly in front of her. “I see you're expecting?” she said brightly to Vivian.

The woman grinned beautifully. “In four months.”

Olivia gaped at her. “Four months?” she repeated.

Vivian placed a palm on her overlarge belly. “I'm huge, I know.”

Olivia frowned and began to walk toward her. “Are you experiencing any swelling? I know that can be a problem when it's so hot as it's been lately—”

“Olivia, stop rambling,” Sam ordered, stopping her in her tracks.

She fairly glared at him.

At that moment the butler rapped on the door again, then opened it. “Your grace, dinner is served.”

“In a minute, Harold,” Colin acknowledged as he looked at her. “This is fascinating.”

“As you wish, sir,” the man behind her said before taking his leave once more.

“Are you going to get to the point?” Sam asked her,
his voice cool again.

She pushed her shoulders back and cocked her head to the side. “Why do you think I'm here, Sam?”

He shrugged negligibly. “I've no idea.”

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her breasts. “You can be such a cad.”

“Him?” Colin said, placing his glass on the mantelpiece. “My lady, do you have any idea how long it takes this man to find the nerve to just talk to a—”

“Enough, Colin,” Will admonished him.

Olivia glanced back to Sam, who now peered into her eyes intently, watching her for reaction, waiting.

Swallowing her pride, she closed her fan again and said, “Then I can assume you've not been courting someone else in my absence.”

Sam's forehead creased as he looked her up and down. “In eight
weeks
?”

“Ah, l'amour,” Colin said lightly, running his fingers through his hair.

She blushed. “Are you married, sir?”

He gave her a sly smile. “No, but I'd suddenly like to be. Are you looking for a husband?”

She stared at Sam. “Yes, I am.”

Sam only raised his brows, and it infuriated her almost as much as it begged her to rush to his arms and kiss his face.