ROMANCE: CLEAN ROMANCE: Summer Splash! (Sweet Inspirational Contemporary Romance) (New Adult Clean Fantasy Short Stories) (47 page)

              “You are not waiting for the duke to return?”

              Lord David gave a small, exasperated laugh. “Olivia, do you understand what I am asking you?”

              “Oh, I understand.” Olivia's voice was disappointed. “But I am not that type of girl, David.”

              “Olivia, I am asking you to be my wife.”

              “I am that type of girl,” she answered, and accepted the ticket being slipped into her palm. When she looked up at him, a small note of panic entered her bloodstream. “Oh, David, I cannot! It is too rash, too ill-advised, too sudden!”

              David rose from the blanket, still holding her hand. “I am a fair man. The ship leaves at midnight two nights from now. Take your time to consider my offer. There is much to be offered in a new country...with a new husband. If you are not on the ship before it leaves, I will understand. But know that you will have broken my heart.”

              Olivia's heart lurched straight into her throat. She held the ticket in her hand long after they had packed up the saddlebags and rode back to Worchester Abbey proper, long after he kissed her again, scrambling her thoughts. There was much to consider, and much that was being offered. A new life, a new person, and somehow, she would still end up the children's aunt. But what of the duke?

              Olivia considered what was on the table. The duke, who was far away with no plans to make an honest woman out of her, was unwilling to take a chance with her. His brother was ready to take every chance with her. Could she do this to the duke and still look at herself in the mirror every morning? And was she dipping her pen in the same ink twice? Was she simply trying to substitute one person for another? It was like champagne and juice—they looked similar, but did not quite make you feel the same. Still, perhaps the heart could be fooled.

              And she deserved something, deserved to have something made of her life. Was she truly designed to travel from family to family, breaking her heart each and every time? For Heaven's sake, even that which Cynthia Freeworth was starting a family of her own.

              Olivia considered writing the duke an explanation, thought it was only right. She placed it on the desk in his study as she would plant a kiss, gently, lovingly, and with enormous trepidation. And although she had made her decision, with every gown she packed into her bags, secretly and by herself so nobody would know, she felt something tugging at her heels, planting her more firmly into the ground at Worchester Abbey. She dillied, she dallied, she put off all the preparations for her departure until it became increasingly clear that if she did not leave now, she never would.

              She tore herself away. The coach she had hired was late, and thus, it was almost ten past ten o'clock before she managed to leave Worchester Abbey. Panic mixed with a relief she was desperately trying to ignore filled her every time the coach had to make a stop, extending the length of the journey. Her thoughts cycled one after the other, and at every stop, she changed her decision on whether or not to join Lord David.

              “We have to replace one of the horses,” the coachman told her at one of their stops.

              “Replace?” She felt the memory of the duke asking how he could replace the children's mother with her hit her and nearly doubled over as if she had received a physical blow. She knew how mad she must seem to her companions and the coachman. For the past two years, all she had been was a substitute for another woman. First with Ben, then with the duke. She realized that David's greatest upside was that in his life, she would be replacing no one. “Replace it faster,” she told the coachman firmly, and stepped into the coach to ride towards her destiny.

              Destiny, it seemed, had other plans for the orphaned girl who had been so abused by her life. And all that Lady Olivia Knightbridge knew as she watched her destiny sail away into unknown waters that it had not been her destiny all along, that her destiny awaited her back on her home soil in the arms of three children she adored and a man she would simply have to chance again.

              There was no remorse upon her return to Worchester Abbey.

*              *              *

              What she found upon her return from the failed escapade was a broken remnant of a home that had just a day or so ago had been whole.

              The situation was explained succinctly by Mrs. Huxting, who appeared to be having some difficulty keeping her emotions in check. Her hair frizzled around her head and one of the buttons on her gown was missing; for anyone else, this would have been a mere oversight or a sign of overexertion. When Olivia saw the housekeeper in that state, her heart sank, for it was a sign that troubled times indeed were upon them. As she stood with her dripping bags by her side in the grand foyer of Worchester Abbey, Mrs. Huxting explained that not long after Olivia had left, the duke had returned from London, monstrously ill.

              “A fever he had, Lady Olivia, the likes of which I have not seen in a long time. He fell into something so deep that all we could hear was these awful screams; I think he was delirious,” related Mrs. Huxting. Olivia knew that the housekeeper was not a woman to speak in hyperbole, and felt a certain kind of fear paralysis overtake her in that moment. A few minutes later, Katherine came bounding down the stairs; she truly looked a sight, her hair unbound and her dress filthy. She barrelled into Olivia like a child half her age, joy mixing with desperation at seeing a familiar face amidst the darkness.

              "He's dead, oh he's dead," sobbed Katherine into the folds of Olivia's cloak, staining the fabric, but Olivia cared not a whit. She thrust the girl from her body, grasped her by the shoulders, and shook her. She must have resembled a wild woman, but her thoughts were furthest from how she looked in that moment, or how much she could be scaring Katherine.

              "Tell me exactly what the doctor said," she told her, but the girl just cried and cried, her ordinarily shiny brown ringlets limp and loose. That was when the fear of the worst seized her body like a tornado, and her breath was knocked from her body. Was it true? Had she lost the duke forever?

              "He is not dead, you silly ninny," came the cold, brittle voice of Mrs. Huxting. Olivia was shocked. She had never heard the housekeeper's voice like that, as if she had forcibly removed all emotion from it. Glancing quickly at the swollen red eyes of the older woman, Olivia understood that she was just barely keeping her emotions in check, and that her absence from the house had come close to doing irreparable damage to the unity of the family in this trying time. She also understood, at the wonderful bound of joy that sprang free in her chest, that all was not lost, and that she must gather more evidence to divulge the true nature of the duke's state.

              “The duke has not been in his study yet?” she questioned the woman.

              “Went straight to bed; the stable boy had to carry him in.”

              The sharp pain of almost losing him, in more than one way, cut her to the quick. She had been blessed, also in multiple ways. Olivia felt her heart flutter and girded her nerves, for she had to be strong. For Katherine, for all of them. But most of all, for herself. That was the price she learned to pay when love hit her, suddenly and all at once. Love meant giving of yourself to another person, a sacrifice because it meant that in so many ways, that person was your mother and father now. They were the recipient of all your hopes, all your dreams, all the tenderness you had to offer. The painful aspect was that so many pretended they did not need all that love to live, to trust, but it was a lie. That was the falseness of Cynthia and Ben—they pretended. As she stroked the cold sweat on the duke's fevered brow, Olivia felt a wave of tenderness come over her. He was as helpless as a babe, though he was nearly forty years of age. In losing his wife, he had lost his mother, as well, much as his children had. Remembering their wildness when she had first entered into that household, Olivia realized just how precarious the situation had truly been—the children could not understand that their father felt as lost as they did, and perhaps even more so, thrust into a position always meant to be held by two.

              There was strength in doing, not thinking. Over the next month, the longest of her entire life, Olivia nursed the duke back to a semblance of health. It was she who organized the physician's regular visits to the home, she who oversaw the special menu. No stone was left unturned. She sent word to her aunt, who in turn wrote to all of her acquaintances around the globe and sent back letters filled with remedies from shamans and medicine men from the far reaches of the Earth. Olivia was willing to try them all, hoping, praying for a miracle.

              It was remarkable how someone of so little faith in a higher power could suddenly turn to it in a time of great need. One of the many corners that Olivia turned to include the local parish, where the priest let her have the entire church all to herself as she bent on prematurely creaking knees to lift her hands in prayer. She, too, felt entirely devoid of parentage for the first time so acutely in her life. And although she walked from the church with no sign that anyone had heard her, a part of her that believed she had a shoulder to rest her weary head on felt comforted.

              She felt her exhaustion take over one night as the duke slept. His fever had finally broken earlier that morning, and she felt slightly better about sitting back on the overstuffed armchair the servants had placed in his room. She stoked a roaring fire herself and relished the quiet of that moment. The weeks had been filled with a nonstop flurry of activity, and she took advantage of this rare moment of silence to join the duke in some slumber. The room was so warm, and the chair so wonderfully cozy that just for a moment, Olivia let herself drift off.

              When she woke, it was to the delightful sensation of the sun warming her face.

              “Olivia...”

              The voice was low and breathy, more a moan than an actual sound, but Olivia responded as if she had been shocked by lightning. It was the duke, her duke, finally broken of his fever. She ascertained this by lifting a hand to his brow, finding it slick with sweat, but the just right temperature. Heart pounding, caring not for propriety any longer, she said, “Oh, I thought I lost you!”

              The expression on his face was very grave as he clasped her fingers to his face; his grasp was weak, and she could tell how much effort it cost him to hold her at all. “You could never lose me.”

              “I almost did. I almost made a terrible, awful mistake,” she told him, and just like that, the story with his brother spilled out of her like a damn that had broken through its barriers. She could see the story pained him, but the sense of relief she felt once she had gotten it off her chest was immense. For so long, she had been terrified that she was caring for the duke out of a misplaced sense of guilt; now that she had bared all, she knew that he was the only one she wanted. “You must hate me,” she cried, looking shamefaced. “Oh, you must abhor me entirely, and I would not be able to blame you not one bit!”

              His smile was gentle, the corners of his eyes creased with wisdom and years. She knew now that she wanted all of that wisdom, all of those years; all of that pain and heartbreak and loss made his find that much sweeter. He gathered her fingers, crushed them in his hand, and she felt nothing but his warmth and welcome.

              “How can I hate you, Olivia,” he said, pulling her in close, “When I have loved you all along?”

              She shuddered and sighed deeply, feeling more blessed than she ever imagined she could deserve. So many mistakes, so many secrets, and still he wanted her. “I almost lost you,” she told him, knowing he would never know the double meaning behind the words.

              He kissed her lightly on the lips, still weak. “And to ensure that we never lose each other again,” he said, his eyes brimming with something wonderful, “would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

              They celebrated their wedding a month later. Olivia would have done it sooner, but the duke insisted that she and the girls be outfitted with the latest fashions from the London modiste. She glimmered, she glittered, she was all elegant lace, but Olivia did not care. She had one thought on her mind, and that was of a very unladylike hunger for a certain dark-haired groom that possessed her every dream for a long time.

              It was she who turned her back to him in his bedchamber that was now theirs. She who backed her bottom into him as he attempted to untie his cravat. When his eyes met hers in the vanity mirror, she gathered his large hands in her small ones with a singular purpose and placed them on the front of her torso. She wanted to feel his body against hers, and she was not willing to wait a moment longer. She felt not a single moment of remorse when the duke swiftly disposed of the back of her wedding gown with a single ripping motion and all the pearl buttons on the dress went flying across the room. She thought with a delicious wickedness that every time they came across one of those tiny buttons in the months to come, they would remember vividly this night.

              Olivia pushed down her gown, wresting it away from her torso and hips until she stood in front of the duke her husband in nothing but a white satin corset, stockings, and garter belt. She knew at once that he was taking in the vee of her thighs where they met her sex and flared out into her hips. Knowing not where her boldness stemmed from, but strongly suspecting it came from that night all those nights ago when the duke unbound her with his mouth, Olivia lifted her hands to the clever twist Mrs. Huxting had created for the wedding ceremony. She pulled out pin after pin until the waves of her hair, more wild than usual, tumbled free over her shoulders and gave her the appearance of a woman caught somewhere in between ravaging and having been ravaged, a spot between innocence and maturity, a precipice Olivia had straddled for as long as she had known the duke.