Miss Goldsleigh's Secret (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Henry and Olivia lay under the tree, naked and twined together, whispering to each other for a long time. It didn’t matter to him what his family suspected. After all, he and Olivia were to be married in a matter of weeks. But he considered how Olivia might feel about the discovery, so eventually he untangled his limbs from hers and kissed each part of her before it disappeared back inside her clothing.

He felt marvelous. With the ache he’d been carrying around in his pants for days finally slaked, he was in a much better mood than he’d imagined possible. Sex with Olivia…well. He knew there’d been an attraction. Every time they kissed had proven that. Either kissing or arguing, there had been too many sparks to ignore. Maybe those sparks had been the reason why he’d jumped into that insane proposal. Although it wasn’t insane to want to protect her. Everything about Olivia, from the peril imposed by her cousin to the petiteness of her body, begged for his protection. But it had been insane to announce an impending marriage in a ballroom of people without thinking it through first. Still, he was not sorry. Especially not after the last hour under the tree with her. Henry knew he was not an impulsive man, but his fiancée was a woman of action, and he liked how she was influencing him of late.

He didn’t know why he had hesitated anyway. She was right, after all. They were being married in what amounted to days. Now he’d be fine. He could concentrate on other things like his newly acquired estate and the business of running a marquessate

Olivia asked to remain in the secluded garden for a bit longer. He couldn’t blame her. If his only option was to head back upstairs to the parlor and wade back into the shark-infested waters of high society, he’d damn well wander the garden for days on end. Surely, the lady callers would be arriving any time now, and they would arrive en masse. He shuddered at the thought.

Henry and Olivia emerged, blinking at the light, from underneath the canopy of the willow tree. Their clothes were reassembled but mussed. Henry delighted in helping Olivia with her hair. While she complained with bitter frustration about its tendency to unravel from whatever style she wrapped it up in, Henry marveled at its softness and golden shine.

“I wish you’d never pin it up again.”

Olivia shoved all the pins they were able to recover from the grass into the piles of twisted hair and rolled her eyes at him. “That’s very impractical, Henry.”

He felt a telltale twitch in his pants at the sound of his name on her lips.
Oh no, boy. You’re finished until the wedding
. “Maybe we’ll have ‘Hair Down Tuesdays’ after we’re married.”

“Only if I never leave my bedroom,” she said around a mouthful of hairpins.

“I can arrange that.” Once she realized what he meant, her cheeks blossomed into a sweet blush.

He kissed her soundly next to their tree—it would forever be “their” tree now—before departing for his study, certainly not the smartest move since it proved his cock was not satisfied after all. Before he entered the French doors to the house, he looked back at Olivia. Perhaps it was to wave, but he secretly suspected it was to catch a last look at her. His fiancée couldn’t look more fairy-like if she tried. Late-morning light filtered through the leaves onto her hair, which was already coming loose from its pins, and it shone like spun gold. Her skin, pink from their exertions, glowed healthy and lovely. She stood surrounded by riotous flowerbeds, bending to smell their sweetness, while bees and dragonflies buzzed the colorful bulbs. She looked back at him over her shoulder, blue eyes twinkling as she graced him with a stunning, breathtaking smile.

His heart hitched with a hint his reaction wasn’t purely sexual.

No. He had not made a mistake.

Olivia didn’t regret anything. Not the decision to welcome the intimacy hinted at by calling him Henry, which led to the ultimate decision to marry him, and certainly not the decision to truly give herself to him under the tree. How could anyone regret sharing intimacy like they’d just done? She suspected many more experiences like that and she’d have very strong feelings for Henry indeed.

She’d need to return upstairs eventually. It was only fair, now that she was completely committed to her course of action, that she do all that was expected of her. After all, she had much to learn when she became a marchioness.

She’d allow herself a few minutes more of blissful contemplation in the magical garden before she went inside. She didn’t want to give up one single minute of the languid, pleasant feeling that enveloped her. She thought of Henry’s hands and his fingers and his mouth…

“You whore.”

Olivia whirled around and found Reginald not more than ten yards away, his handsome face marred by a vicious sneer. She retreated even while he advanced with angry strides until her back hit a marble fountain. She looked to the French doors Henry had disappeared behind, but he was gone.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, desperately trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“I’m here for you.” He was three yards away now and walking fast.

She shook her head. “I’m not yours to command, Reginald.”

His gaze narrowed with a dangerous light. “What did you call me?”

“My lord. I meant my lord.” How could she have forgotten that rule?

He laughed at her, a laugh so sinister it was almost comical. She remembered a villain in a village melodrama production she saw as a child having the same laugh.

“If that were true that you weren’t mine to command, I wouldn’t be here.” He stopped his advance mere inches in front of her. His breath reeked of alcohol.

“I’m not yours,” she repeated and took a step to the side, hoping to make enough room to run for the door, but he grabbed her arm and cruelly yanked her back. “Ow, you’re hurting me.”

“I’m not hurting you nearly as much as being bashed in the head or being shot and left for dead.”

Maybe an apology would appease him. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“You will be.” Impossibly, his grip on her arm tightened to the point where she almost couldn’t feel her fingers. “That brat shot me, but I don’t care about him. I’ve had many nights of pleasure thinking about how sorry you’ll be.” He wrenched her arm, pulling her flush to his body. She did her best to push away, but he snatched a handful of hair and yanked hard.

Olivia glanced about wildly. The garden wall was too high for anyone in the street to see her either, but still she screamed a shriek of protest, one abbreviated by a malicious shake of her head by Reginald’s fingers firmly entwined in her hair. The keen pain convinced her he might be drunk enough, and crazy enough, to break her neck.

“I’m engaged to the Marquess of Dalton, my lord, the very man whose garden we stand in.” She whispered the words, hoping the gentle reminder would bring him to his senses. She refused to die today in Henry’s garden. Not after what she’d just experienced with him. She could not believe God would be so cruel.

“Not unless I agree to it.” The timbre of his voice changed to that of a concerned parent as he mocked her with his imagined refusal. “I couldn’t allow my ward to marry that man.”

Your ward for two more weeks.
“Reg…” He yanked her hair again. “My lord, I’m sorry. I meant my lord.” She gasped at the sharp pain, her neck craned at an even more painful angle, her upturned face pressed hard against his chest. With his grip tight around her arm and the other hand grasping an agonizing handful of her hair, she was too terrified to move. She never knew how far he’d go in his cruelty, but he never ceased to surprise her.

“Yes?”

Olivia wasn’t deceived by his false sweetness. “I would think it would be better for you to have Warren and me out of your life.”

Reginald lessened his grip on her hair and neck enough for her to stand up straight. “Livvy.” He cajoled her with the seductive voice that fooled so many hapless women into believing the handsomeness of his face was the true Reginald. “I’ve missed you so while you were gone traipsing about London.” He bent his head to kiss her, wrenching the handful of hair, turning her face to his. She kept her lips sealed tight and suffered through several seconds of his questing tongue against her mouth.

She believed the only thing he’d missed about her being gone was the opportunity to torture her. “You knew we were here? In London?” she asked when he finally withdrew his disgusting tongue and lifted his head. She wiped her chin and cheek with her free hand, smearing the alcohol-tinged saliva away from her mouth.

“Of course. It took my man just a few days to find you after you left. You are much too stupid to escape me for long. But you’ll come home with me now, where you belong.”

She couldn’t allow him to take her from the house. No one would ever know what happened to her. Even if they looked for her, Reginald would be certain she’d never be found again. Not alive, certainly.

Someone please, please come outside.
She babbled on, hoping to keep him occupied until he gave her a second to run. “If you knew where I was, why didn’t you bring me home sooner?”

The contemptuous sneer was back. “Because, I so enjoyed watching you suffer.” His right hand remained fisted in her hair, trapping her, but the other released his grip from above her elbow, and painful tingling spread through her arm as the blood rushed back to her hand. Of course now his empty hand was free to yank at her dress and paw at her breasts. Short of batting away his hands, there wasn’t much she could do to defend herself when he still controlled her with a painful handful of her hair at her scalp. “Can you think of the punishments I have in store for you?”

Olivia shuddered at whatever perversities filled his diseased mind.

“Shall I tell you?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. No matter what she said, he’d do whatever gave him the most perverse pleasure. He yanked down her bodice, pulling hard until she heard a rip and one breast was exposed. He clasped her nipple between a thumb and forefinger and twisted, hard. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he hurt her, she struggled to maintain defiant eye contact and gripped his forearm with both of her hands. He pinched and twisted harder. Olivia gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut but still didn’t make a sound. Angry, shameful tears flowed down her cheeks.

“You’re mine, and I’ll fuck you in this garden first, before he ever has a chance,” he hissed, inches from her face. “He won’t want you then. No one will want you. But don’t worry. You’ll always have a place in my bed so long as my cock doesn’t grow bored of you.”

Olivia opened her eyes and stared deep into the crazed fury that warped his angelic face. She didn’t know what to think of the fact he didn’t know about her and Henry under their tree. Was it better to keep silent about that, or could she use the loss of her virginity to her benefit? Reginald wouldn’t have her. She’d run to the ends of the Earth before she’d let him defile her. Still, his madness terrified her, and she was forced to call on all her strength to quell her panic. She gave her head an almost imperceptible shake of defiance.

No.

Reginald smiled down at her and curled his bottom lip with a sneer. “Your rebelliousness excites me, but I’ll only allow you to tease me for so long. And don’t think to dismiss me.” He squeezed the hair at the base of her neck, the fiery pain flashing along her scalp. “If you run, I’ll find you—again—and I’ll kill that boy and make you watch. It will be entirely your fault. Your fault, Livvy, because you are a selfish whore.”

God must have taken pity on her. She heard the sound of voices coming from the house. Reginald spat a curse and shoved her away with enough force to send her tripping and careening backwards against the fountain. A sharp corner jabbed into her ribs, finally eliciting the painful cry she’d been smothering, before she crumpled to the ground.

Reginald towered over her. “This isn’t over. I’ll be back for you.” He turned on his heel and disappeared into the depths of the overgrown garden.

Choking on tears that begged to come, she tucked herself back into her dress, wincing from the pain, and closed it the best she could before her rescuers found her.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Olivia explained to Warren and the dowager that she’d slipped and fallen on a slippery patch, thus they found her on the ground. Warren looked at her oddly, but he didn’t contradict her. She was helped back into the house, and her maid assisted her in the removal of her dress, promising to have the torn seam repaired by later that afternoon.

Once she was alone, clad in a new, clean dress and her hair restyled and pinned atop her head, she rested in the window box and looked out onto St. James Street with unseeing eyes. The blissful, relaxed feeling of earlier was long gone. Now, she was achy and sore, but not in the secret, smile-inducing way of before. Olivia’s back ached where she’d slammed into the fountain and her right breast hurt too much even for the soft fabric of her chemise to rub against her. She hadn’t had the opportunity to inspect either wound since she had no desire for her maid to see her condition and perhaps spread that little tidbit of gossip to the rest of the household help below stairs. There wasn’t much she could do about a bruise anyway.

She needed to decide what to do about Henry. Should she tell him about Reginald’s visit? Her instincts were at war. She wanted to tell him, to let him take care of everything, but Olivia didn’t know how much trouble she could expect to bring into his life before he washed his hands of her.

And of course there was Warren. Her brother was still the biggest concern on her mind. No matter what happened to her, Warren still needed to be taken care of.

Oh sweet Lord, what to do?

It was true, Reginald threatened the safety of her brother if she wasn’t compliant. Olivia didn’t think he would go through with his threats for several reasons. First and foremost, Reginald was a lazy man, and snatching Warren would require planning, patience and a lot of work. Of course, it was always possible he’d hire the job out, but it all circled back to his innate indolence. He would come back for her, though. He said he would and she didn’t doubt him, but she couldn’t embroil Henry or the Cavendishes in any of this sordidness. They were good people, wonderful people, and they deserved better than her and her unbalanced cousin. She’d taken care of herself before; she would have to figure out a way to solve this problem, too—without their help.

There had to be limits to how much God would torture her.

Still, there was a certain amount of guilt associated with not telling anyone about the encounter in the first place, and it was compounded by two incidents later that day. Dinner was the first time she’d seen Henry since their tryst in the garden. He met the rest of the household in the parlor, and since it was just family, everyone filed into dinner together. Henry clasped her hand and held her back.

“How did the rest of your day go, chickadee?” Henry asked, and slipped his arm around her waist. She flinched but did her best not to shy away from his embrace. She certainly didn’t want to discourage the one man she wanted, craved, to touch her.

“It was very busy. When I was growing up in my tiny village, I often thought the life of the ladies of town must be frivolous with nothing much to keep them busy. Was I ever wrong.”

“Really? How so?” His free hand gathered an errant curl and tucked it behind her ear.

“Do you have any idea how much work goes into a society wedding?” When he gazed at her blankly, she continued. “A lot, let me tell you. Only a fool would think society meant nothing more than gossip.”

“Are you having any fun at all?” He kissed her temple. She leaned her head into his kiss since for once her head actually was one of the few places on her body that didn’t hurt.

“You know, I am. I’m just as surprised as you, but your mother and aunt and sisters have made it a delight. Lady Francesca and her friend Miss Anna Sinclair came by and helped write out the invitations. They are such lovely ladies. I can see why she’s such a society darling.”

He stopped nuzzling her ear long enough to ask, “Who?”

“Lady Francesca.”

“Ah, yes. She’s very sweet.” He gave her a lingering kiss. “So are you, you know.”

Olivia blinked at him. “I know what?” She loved how a kiss from him made her so pleasantly fuzzy.

“You are a beautiful woman.”

She bit her bottom lip and smiled at him. If a kiss made her fuzzy, then a compliment made her tingle.

“Come. Let’s go to dinner. You’re going to need to keep your strength up. The wedding is weeks away, you know, and I won’t have my fiancée too tired.”

Olivia’s heart thumped at what she guessed, hoped, was a double meaning. Every time she thought about Henry under the tree, all sense flew from her head. Any thoughts of scandal or plans of running from Reginald and his threats, or rather the infant stages of plans, vaporized when Henry kissed her. She didn’t suspect it would become less so either with repeated exposure to Henry’s charms.

The family dining room filled with chatter about the wedding and more planning as his excited sisters told Henry everything they’d accomplished that day and still had to do in the days to come. The genial nature of the meal and the obvious affection the family exhibited towards her and her brother, including them in every discussion and asking their opinion, went even further in confusing her. It diminished ideas of running away, but it also cemented her decision not to involve the family in the mess with her cousin.

The evening included a rousing game of charades in the parlor in which every member of the family made a complete fool of themselves. Olivia hadn’t had a more agreeable time in ages. The announcement of her engagement to Henry solidified Warren’s place. He argued with Henry’s youngest sister and doted on the family’s grandmother. This was where Warren belonged. The boy needed a family. A voice in her head said she needed a family, too, and for the first time in a while, she didn’t ruthlessly shush that it.

It had been a long and emotionally exhausting day, and when the younger children were sent up to bed, Henry’s grandmother and Olivia excused themselves and followed the children upstairs. Henry escorted her to the landing and bid her a good night with a heated gaze and a kiss in her palm that left Olivia tingling and very aware of her body.

Once clad in her nightgown and her unruly hair tamed into a braid, at least for the minute, Olivia found herself not the least bit sleepy, though she was sorely tired of thinking. A person could spend entirely too much time in one’s head, and nothing good could come of it. She brought a pile of
La Belle Assemblée
magazines and settled in to a comfortable chair by the fire hoping to tire her eyes and occupy her mind.

***

Henry knew he was an idiot, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to seduce his fiancée. He just wanted a proper kiss good night. His cock had other ideas, but that particular body part was not in charge as Henry had reminded it all through dinner and after in the parlor. Who in God’s name had put the charades clue for horse racing in the hat? He’d damn near needed to excuse himself when Olivia galloped around the parlor, smacking her pretty little bottom with her palm. Of course, Olivia had no idea what that visual did to him. Good Lord, he wasn’t made of stone. Well, maybe he was. Honestly, this couldn’t be healthy.

The house was quiet, but the faintest flicker of light shown from underneath her door. He stood at the juncture of the hall and debated a left turn to his room or a right turn to hers. Left took him to a valet, a pair of uncomfortably tight pants, and another lonely, frustrating glass of brandy. Right took him to a fairy beauty, his rapidly unraveling morals, and a recipe for disaster. He liked to think it was a desire to check on her, to make sure she was comfortable for the evening or some other equally absurd lie, that sent him towards her door, but in his heart he knew it was plain desire.

He rapped gently on the solid wood door, waited a second, then tried the knob. It turned easily, and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Henry.” Olivia seemed surprised to see him. A vision in white lace and cotton, she stood from her chair in front of the fire.

“I came to wish you good night.”

“I seem to remember you did that earlier, didn’t you?”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “I found it unsatisfying.”

“What more do you require?” A teasing smile played about her lips, and all Henry could think of was pressing his own lips against them.

“A proper kiss might go a long way to satisfying me.” His arm slid around her waist, and he pulled her against him. She flinched. He thought she’d flinched earlier too, but he’d waved it off at the time.

“Is that all?” she teased. “I have a kiss for you.”

Olivia was a fast learner, and the kiss she initiated had him forgetting about her reaction, focusing on her mouth and tongue and lips. Her hands twined behind his neck. He let her control the kiss, but he couldn’t hold his hands still, and they roamed over her back, down to caress her rear, and then smoothed up her ribs until he found the swell of her breasts. Oh, she felt so good. His hand itched to cup her, to test the weight of her breast in his palm.

The noise Olivia made was not one of pleasure. She jerked away from him and squeaked a strangled scream, suppressed by one hand clamped tightly over her mouth.

What the hell?
“What’s wrong?” Now he was positive she’d flinched earlier, twice.

Olivia shook her head, her eyes clinched.

“Olivia, what’s wrong?” Henry tried to keep his voice calm, but it took a great deal of control. Tears squeezed down her cheeks, and the mastery of his emotions was lost. “Olivia, dammit, tell me what’s wrong.” He clasped her shoulders—gently because he didn’t want to inadvertently hurt her again. There was pain in her eyes, and Henry was terrified he was somehow responsible for it. He pulled her to him again, this time with exquisite tenderness, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Dear heart, please tell me what’s wrong.”

Olivia tucked her head into his chest and relaxed against his embrace. He sensed she was making an effort to calm herself. “I slipped and fell in the garden after you left.”

“Where?”

“At the fountain. Against the marble corner,” she explained, but her voice was muffled as she spoke the words into his shirt.

“How are you injured?”

“Just bruised.”

He lifted her chin with an index finger until he could look her in the eye. “Has anyone seen to your wound?” He thought it strange no inkling of her accident had reached his ears and suspected that meant no one knew of it.

“No.” The blue of her eyes were magnified by the unshed tears, making her appear even more fragile than she was.

“Will you let me see, please?”

“No.” She hesitated. “It’s under my dress.”

“I’ve already seen under your dress,” he reminded her.

“It’s not such a problem that you need to worry about me.” Olivia’s efforts to reassure him were belied by her flinching and gasps of pain.

“Perhaps not, but let me take a look to satisfy myself you’ve not been seriously hurt.” He wasn’t going to relent. Henry had a very strong feeling the wound was much more severe than she was letting on.

Olivia stared up at him for a few heartbeats before sighing. She didn’t give another protest, but she did not assist him in undressing her either. Finally, he’d undone the succession of buttons needed so when her gown was folded back, it exposed her right breast. This time he did inhale sharply, “God dammit!” Olivia flinched. He couldn’t help himself. Her entire areola was showing significant signs of bruising. He imagined even her dress caused pain when she rubbed against the fabric. For a split second, he irrationally considered that perhaps he had unwittingly done this. No, he’d been very gentle with her this afternoon, a fact he’d been quite proud of, actually, considering how great his need for her had been by the time they’d coupled under the tree. Besides, he’d never treated a woman thusly and couldn’t imagine the frame of mind a man would have to be in to cause such an injury.

“Honey.” With doubt building as to the veracity of her story, Henry began as gently as he was able. “How did this happen?”

She swallowed hard before answering, her gaze shifting to the fire in the grate. “When I fell.”

“It must have been a very violent fall.” Henry didn’t believe it for a minute. He brought her gaze back to him by turning her chin. “Tell me what happened?”

She shrugged. “I slipped on the damp grass and tripped and fell.” She alternated her downcast gaze from her feet to the fire. He buttoned her up. He couldn’t look at it anymore. Henry sat in the chair before the fire and pulled her into his lap.

“Love, you can trust me. Tell me what happened.”

“You might as well know now before we’re married. You’re engaged to a clumsy woman.” Her words were teasing, but still she didn’t look at him.

He was done with the teasing and flirting. “This is serious, Olivia. I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.”

“Do you trust
me
, Henry?”

Did he? What did he really know about her before she dropped into his arms mere days ago? Nothing. All he knew was what she’d told his family, what murky information he’d dragged out of a scared little boy, and very few facts his sister remembered about Olivia from a year before. She might bring any number of disasters to his household and put his family in danger. It was entirely possible she was pulling off some elaborate charade and had entered into his life with a plan nothing short of evil. And now she was keeping a very serious secret from him.

Yet, when he remembered her fainting in the street, the honest terror of seeing her cousin, and the truth and forthrightness in her eyes when she told her tale—he had to believe in her. If he believed her, then he had to protect her. He’d pledged as much when he announced his intent to marry her, and now he’d taken her innocence. His sense of duty was without doubt in the matter.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be fine.” She smiled and cupped his cheek.

Henry took his proper good-night kiss, his libido severely deflated, and left her to her magazines and books. First order of business tomorrow would be to get some answers from his inquiries if he wasn’t going to get them from her.