Miss Goldsleigh's Secret (14 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Cassandra saw him first.

“Do we know that man?” Cassie asked her sister and anyone else within earshot.

Francesca shook her head. “I don’t, and I thought I knew everyone. He certainly appears like a man on a mission though, doesn’t he?”

“He is quite handsome,” Penelope added.

Olivia hadn’t paid much attention to the conversational exchange up to this point as the sum total of the people she knew in London were standing in a loose circle with her, and she wouldn’t be much help anyway. In fact, she didn’t know the man had joined their group until he thrust himself between her and Anna, and his hand snaked around her left elbow and gripped tightly.

Surprised, Olivia pivoted on her heel in a combined effort to withdraw her elbow and to see who accosted her. The wind burst from her lungs in a startled gasp, and she staggered back against the solid bulk of Lord Dalton.

“Olivia.” The man said her name smoothly and used his clawlike grip to pull her upright again. Olivia was still too startled to resist him. She couldn’t even speak.

What does one say to a ghost?

She knew she must look like an idiot, gaping at him with no sound escaping from her slack mouth. But a person couldn’t speak when she couldn’t breathe. When had she last taken a breath? She was going to faint. When had she turned into a woman who fainted? She seemed to be doing an awful lot of it lately.

“I’ve been waiting for the right time,” the man told her with a smug smile.

Olivia simply stared and shook her head, repeating the motion over and over.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
The litany, like the repetitive motion, did nothing to ease her panic.

“And you are?” The voice came from her other side, a strong, protective one she wanted desperately to hide behind. Lord Dalton.

“Baron Goldsleigh.”

“Cousin Reginald.” Dalton’s tone was deadly, low and intense. Olivia dragged her eyes from Reginald and looked at the other faces around her. Penny and Cassie each stared at her cousin with a murderous glare. The others shared expressions of various levels of confusion and malice.

“I am her cousin and her guardian as well as baron,” Reginald confirmed.

How was this possible? Reginald was dead. What had she been running from all this time? Had he sent the men she’d thought were the runners?

“Don’t you have anything to say to your long-lost cousin, Livvy?” Reginald taunted.

“What do you want?” Olivia asked him, her voice barely audible. He still had her by the arm, but she had moved as close to Lord Dalton as she was physically able.

“You, of course. I’ve come to bring you home.”

Olivia wasn’t going to faint. She was going to vomit. She was going to mortify her new friends and her hostess by casting up her champagne and roast duckling dinner on the polished parquet floor.

“I think you should unhand the lady.” The Duke of Morewether had walked the two paces to stand behind her. His tone suggested the flirty twinkle was gone from his eye.

Reginald shifted his condescending gaze to Morewether. “I’m afraid I missed our introduction.”

“I am the Duke of Morewether.” No hand was offered in greeting. The duke indicated Harrington, who flanked him behind her. “This is the Earl of Harrington and Marquess of Dalton.” Olivia couldn’t help enjoying the set down so succinctly delivered by the duke with a cutting combination of ennui and unmitigated malice.

Reginald gave a little nod, surely intended as an ironic genuflection, but he did release her arm. “Your Grace. My lords.” He brought his smug gaze back to Olivia. “Your powerful friends can’t help you, Livvy. I am your guardian, and I’ve come to take you home.”

“Only for a couple more weeks.” Her voice was so low and timid she almost couldn’t hear it herself.

“What’s that, my dear?” Reginald’s use of an endearment nauseated her more. “You’ll have to speak up. We can’t hear you.”

“Only for a couple more weeks,” Olivia repeated, gaining strength.

“Nevertheless.”

“Olivia has found a comfortable home here,” Penelope spoke up. Her friend reached across the expanse and grabbed Olivia’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze of support.

Reginald turned his pretty face to Penny and gave the lady a winning smile. It was hard to believe a man who looked as innocent and attractive as her cousin had such a cruel, vicious streak. “I thank you, my lady, for taking such good care of her, but I cannot allow my responsibilities to become yours and your kin.”

“I’m going to stay here.” Olivia struggled to maintain her false bravado.

Reginald’s expression made an almost indiscernible shift, and for an instant his real personality flashed across his face, brutish and tormenting, before he schooled his features back into the congenial and attractive facade he showed the world. “No, you’ll come home where you belong. You’ve gallivanted around town long enough.”

“I hardly think—” Penny started, outraged, but Lord Dalton interrupted with a staying hand. Penny’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click of her teeth.

“There’s no need, Goldsleigh. Miss Goldsleigh and her brother are welcome to stay at Cavendish House for as long as she likes.” Lord Dalton pressed his palm against the small of her back. The supportive gesture gave her strength.

“Oh yes, the whelp.” Reginald dripped disdain. “You’re welcome to keep the boy. He’s no relation of mine, and I don’t hold any desire to foster him until he reaches his majority. Maybe you’ll find a use for him in your stables.”

Cassandra gasped, but Olivia wasn’t the least bit surprised. Knowing Warren had no one but her in the world was part of what drove her so hard. Her glance darted around them to find the eavesdroppers had grown in number and crowded ever closer. This was the sort of thing the gossip mongers of the
ton
lived for. It would get worse, she knew.

“Come,” Reginald commanded. “Say your farewells. We shall leave first thing in the morning.”

Olivia didn’t move, nor did she make eye contact with her cousin. She swallowed hard.

“Now, Livvy. I’ve already wasted enough time.”

“She’s not going anywhere with you.” Lord Dalton had not raised his voice.

“This is a family matter, Lord Dalton. If you choose to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong, I’ll be forced to call the constable.”

Olivia heard double masculine snorts from behind her. Apparently Lords Harrington and Morewether had registered their opinions of her cousin’s threat.

“On what charge? Kidnapping? Don’t be asinine,” Dalton said. “You’ve heard her, she doesn’t wish to leave.”

“No, but kidnapping is an interesting suggestion.” Not even a nasty sneer marred Reginald’s beautiful face. She knew from experience how disconcerting it could be, such villainy coming from a lovely form. It was incongruous, but she was immune at this point. “I meant for theft…” her cousin’s eyes shifted to hers, “…or attempted murder.”

“You do what you need to do.” Dalton subtly moved his shoulder in front of her, and now she was situated between him, Morewether and Harrington.

“Ah. I understand.” Reginald’s knowing sneer ratcheted up a notch. “You’re fucking her.”

A gasp came from the ladies, all the ladies, even the hangers-on nearby. A thick arm wrapped in black superfine wool snapped past her and grabbed Dalton’s shoulder. Morewether intoned, “Not here.”

“Not that the bastard doesn’t deserve it,” said Harrington from the other side and behind.

Reginald clearly had no sense of self-preservation. “Will you still keep her as your whore after she’s released from Newgate?”

“By God! You will not talk about her like that.” Morewether’s hand on his shoulder tightened, but Dalton shook it off.

Reginald was not as tall as Dalton, but he wasn’t too far off. “I am her guardian. I’ll talk to or about her anyway I see fit, and there’s nothing you can do about it, marquess or no.”

“As her betrothed, I damn sure have something to say about it.”

“What?” yelped a chorus of feminine voices, including Olivia’s. Why would he say that? Olivia felt like a comment from her was necessary, but she had no idea what to say.

“You’re engaged.” Reginald sounded disbelieving. “I won’t give my consent.”

Here was her chance to contribute. She peeked out around the hulking wall of man in front of her. “I won’t need it in two weeks. I’ll be of age.”

“Attempted murder it is then.” Reginald snarled his threat like it was a foregone conclusion.

“Once we’re married, she’ll be under my protection,” Dalton told him. “Your ridiculous threats have no weight.”

“I’m a peer now, too, Lord Dalton.” Reginald actually sneered when he said Dalton’s name. “I fully intend to use the resources I have coming to me.”

If Olivia could see Dalton’s expression, she was certain it would be thunderous. “I’m certain you
will
get what’s coming to you.”

“Gentlemen,” Francesca had a calm voice in the sea of animosity. “I think we’ve given the crowd enough of a show. Can we please move this into another room?” She had her arms out at her sides like a shepherd driving a flock.

“We’re done here.” Dalton’s words sounded definitive.

“For now,” Reginald snarled. “You will hear from me very soon, I assure you. I will not be disrespected in this manner.”

Chapter Twenty

“Engaged?” Aunt Evelyn asked for at least the fifth time on the way home from the ball. She peered at Olivia and her nephew through the darkness of the carriage, her gaze alternating between the two of them. Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her seat and turned to look out the window. She couldn’t see much in the inky darkness, but staring at the shadows was better than avoiding the questioning glances from her benefactor.

Dalton hadn’t spoken another word since he’d loaded all the ladies in the carriage and instructed the driver to return home posthaste. It was obvious to Olivia at least that he regretted his hasty words. She’d give him every opportunity to back out. Actually, the easier thing to do for everyone all around was for her to disappear. Perhaps she should speak to Dalton about helping her with the funds necessary for her to book a passage to America. She doubted Reginald would bother to pursue her that far. That was too much trouble, even for the obsession-driven Reginald.

She was still flabbergasted he wasn’t dead. Was it better or worse that he was alive? She didn’t know, but instinct advocated it was better when he
was
dead. For two months she lived in terror of the Runners coming to get her for his murder, but alive, she knew deep in her gut, meant he was going to continue torturing her for as long as he was able.

“Yes,” Lady Vivienne snapped at her sister. “Engaged. Engaged. Engaged. We were all there. We all heard it. Why must you keep asking?”

Queasiness settled in Olivia’s stomach. More than anything, she didn’t want this family to hate her.

“Well I, for one, am very excited about it,” Cassandra piped up.

“You have to admit, it was romantic,” Penelope replied.

“Indeed,” Cassandra agreed. “I am ever so excited to have been there for it.”

“Engaged,” Lady Evelyn said again, this time almost a whisper to herself, and shook her head in disbelief, but there was a hint of an amazed smile as well.

As they pulled up at Cavendish House, Lady Vivienne instructed, “Cassandra, Penelope, and you too, Olivia, I want you all up to bed right away. I don’t want to hear a bunch of giggling and such. Tomorrow we must be fresh and prepared to face the onslaught of visitors. There is much to plan before the entire
ton
descends on this house.”

Olivia couldn’t let the marchioness think this was some underhanded plan. “Lady Vivienne, I am so sorry. I’ll figure out some way—”

“Hush,” Lady Vivienne said, but her tone was not harsh. “We’ll sort this out tomorrow. For now, get some sleep. This will be worse on you than the rest of us, I assure you.”

Olivia did hush.
Worse on me? What does that mean?
She pondered this as she followed the other ladies up the walk and through the front door. Unseeing, she followed along like a duckling across the marble entry and towards the great staircase. She didn’t get far before a strong hand grabbed her arm and diverted her through an open parlor door.

Olivia moved to the far side of the room. “Lord Dalton, I’m so sorry. I never intended for this to end up with an engagement between us.”

“I know.” Lord Dalton shut the parlor door and walked towards her. No, he stalked towards her.

She retreated but kept up the steady stream of apologies and explanations. “I may have come up with a plan that would allow your escape from the engagement.”

Lord Dalton shook his head. “Not interested.” He took two more steps.

“Do you already have an idea then?” she asked.

“No.” Another step. He was relentless.

“Then let me tell you my idea. I think it may work, although I am embarrassed to say I’ll need more of your help implementing it.” The back of her knees hit a settee. She teetered but remained upright.

“I don’t want to hear it.” He ceased his advance but only because he’d nearly run out of room. He stood too close. She couldn’t breathe, and his ardent stare was unnerving. A girl couldn’t concentrate on concocting a plan with a god standing this near and looking at her like that.

“I don’t understand.”

“Stop thinking about it so hard.” Impossibly, he stepped closer, although there was no more room. She leaned backwards a bit, the settee at her knees hindering any further retreat.

“I don’t understand you at all, Lord Dalton.”

He brushed a loose curl of hair behind her ear, stroking his fingers along her cheek and nape, leaving a warm trail of awareness in its wake. “I’m not so complicated.”

“You jest.” Olivia tried to sound indignant, but she felt rather like a pudding, pliant and soft, and she wished to melt against him. “Why don’t you want to hear my ideas for ending this farce of an engagement? You don’t even like me.”

“Of course I like you.” The same hand smoothed down her shoulder and caressed the top of her arm. “Why wouldn’t I like you?”

Olivia snorted.
That ought to cool his ardor. Nothing quite as scintillating as a lady who snorts.
“We can scarcely be in the same room without ending every conversation in an argument. That is not the usual outcome of two people who like each other.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps not.”

“Are you teasing me or trying to exasperate me even more?”

Lord Dalton chuckled, the sound low and rhythmic. The thrum of his voice settled in her stomach, distracting her. She swayed slightly when his hand followed the curve of her arm and slipped in next to her body to glide across her ribs and around her back. He pulled her to him, a swift tug that brought her flush against him from knee to breast.

“No, I’m not teasing you. Are you teasing me?” His mouth hovered above hers, his breath warm and sweet as it feathered across her skin.

“I don’t know.” Olivia had no idea what she was doing or what he was doing, but if he stopped, she would surely scream.

“Will you call me Henry?”

He was killing her. “When are you going to kiss me?”

“I asked you first.”

“I forgot the question,” she whispered in truth. She’d forgotten just about everything it seemed.

“Will you call me Henry?”

“No.” She tilted her head towards him a little farther, an enticement to bring his lips to hers.

“You will.” He sounded confident. Finally, his lips came down to meet hers.

He’d specifically chosen floozies who didn’t have yellow hair. No, he’d wait until he had her before he’d indulge that particular peccadillo.

Nude, he paced across the bedroom of the rented house in a not-quite-fashionable bachelor neighborhood of London. Reginald filled his glass with whiskey and drank deeply before turning around to glance back at the bed. Three wives of highborn men sleeping there, their naked limbs entwined, did not satisfy him past the immediate moment. Joining them back in the bed did not appeal to him anymore either. He had hoped to distract himself with their bodies, but they had tired too quickly, and now he was left with his thoughts.

He dropped into a chair before the fire and drank from his glass. The whiskey would not help him control his temper, in fact, quite the opposite was true. At this point though, Reginald didn’t care. He was past the point of trying to be nice.

He’d let her live in his house and eat his food. Christ, he’d even let the little leech stay with her. He’d thought he’d done the little parasite in when he’d pushed him over the paddock fence, but his man watching the house had seen the bloodsucker walking around since. Her previous comfort had been due to his largesse, and he’d be damned if he would continue that for free any longer. The selfish hussy had refused him – repeatedly.

No one refused him.

No one.

He’d admonished himself plenty for losing control of the situation the night she left. But the bitch had coshed him over the head with a pan and then shot him. That sort of thing deserved punishment.

Reginald had been mulling over how to discipline her for months now. His little team of toothless minions had finally found her and then kept satisfactory tabs on her during her romp in London, but now he was tired of the game. It was time to go home, and she was coming with him.

Olivia was his due for patiently waiting for his title. If she continued to contest him, things would not go well for her. If he put his mind to it, she would be very sorry.
Very sorry indeed
.

And he did have a mind to it. He was enjoying wrapping his mind about that idea.

Elegant fingers slid along his collarbone, and a slim, ivory arm came into view attached to a naked shoulder. “Come back to bed, my lord,” the redhead begged. He couldn’t remember her name, but it didn’t matter.

Reginald didn’t move from his chair, but he did allow the whore to trail her fingers down his chest as she came around to the front of the chair.

“The bed is cold without you.” She made as if to sit in his lap, but Reginald spread his knees and positioned her between his legs.

“You disappointed me earlier.”

She grinned, lusty. “Let me make amends, my lord?”

He grabbed a handful of hair and pushed her face in his crotch. He kept his fingers wrapped in her red strands as her head bobbed in his lap, picking up a steady rhythm. It was Olivia he imagined as his cock grew harder and thicker, sliding in and out of the whore’s mouth. It was Olivia he punished when his hips rose to meet the woman’s downward thrusts. When he came with a low grunt, the muscles of his stomach and buttocks flexing, he smiled.

He stood from the chair and headed back toward the bed to wake up the other men’s wives, the redhead trailing behind. He would use them until
he
was exhausted this time.

He always had his best ideas when he was fucking.