Surrender to a Wicked Spy (31 page)

"Once," Dane said, his voice a thread. "Just once."

Lady Reardon stood. "I think it's safe to let her sleep," she said. "I'll send one of the 'Etty sisters in to watch her."

"I'll stay," Dane said quietly.

"If you swear you won't tie her up or arrest her, or something else ridiculous."

Dane slid his gaze her way. "Not tonight, at any rate."

Lady Reardon folded her arms. "I don't like you, Lord Greenleigh. Nathaniel thinks I'm being an idiot, of course. It is our first real argument, in fact. I think you're hard. He thinks you're well aware of your duty." She turned to go but stopped at the door. "I want to ask you one question."

Dane didn't turn. Olivia looked so very pale. "What is that?"

"Why did you marry in the first place if you were never going to put your faith in a woman?"

Dane shook his head. "Good night, Lady Reardon."

She left, and the room fell silent. Dane moved his chair closer to reach for a strand of Olivia's hair that clung to her damp cheek.

"Your hair is always a mess," he whispered to her. He let the silky strand trail through his fingers and drop to the pillow. "I dream about your hair."

The doctor had rewrapped her hands. Dane carefully picked one up and brought it to his lips. "What am I going to do with you, my lady?" he said softly. "You make me understand how my father could have done what he did."

He let out a breath and closed his eyes. "I never told you about my father, did I? Of course not. I never told you about anything."

He leaned back in the chair wearily, keeping her bandaged hand gently in his. "You must understand, he was a demanding man, but I was proud of that. I felt such high expectations were the sign of superior standards and ethics. When I was able to please him, I knew I'd done better than 'well enough,' better than 'quite good.' I knew I'd done just a bit beyond what he'd expected me to, that I'd reached a level somewhere just short of perfection."

Dane sighed, remembering. "Yet he was only human, after all." All too human. That scene in the study came back to him in full clarity. "I was so proud to be… who I was, so damned sure that I knew everything. I disdained him, accused him, renounced him to his face. There wasn't a drop of sympathy or compassion in me. I appointed myself judge, jury, and executioner."

She didn't comment of course, but Dane could well imagine what Olivia would tell him, the same as Marcus had.

Suicide was your father's choice.

Dane shook his head against that fact. "Suicide was the only option I left him. I was so angry, so betrayed… I told him I had sent a letter to the Prime Minister, informing him of everything. But I hadn't."

He rubbed his other hand over his face, trying to wipe away weariness and that suspicious moisture leaking from his closed lids. "I'd written it. It was still on my dressing table because I couldn't bring myself to post it. But I wanted to hurt him, strike out at him, shake him like he'd shaken me."

Old anger surfaced. "He should have seen it through. He could have faced the consequences and served his sentence." Dane made a dark noise, contradicting himself. "Of course, his sentence might have been hanging. He'd given vital plans to her, battles that we lost,
men
that we lost. Then again, perhaps it wasn't because of me. Perhaps he simply couldn't live with himself."

He opened his eyes and gazed at his sleeping wife. "Or live without her. She disappeared just then, doubtless running back to France. He loved her, you see. He loved her above everything. Above his country, above his duty, above even…"

Above even me.

Dane stood abruptly. "Well, this is just ridiculous," he muttered to himself. "Sitting in the dark talking to no one." He turned to leave the room. He ought to have one of the 'Ettys take over the watch.

A piece of paper crackled under his shoe. He automatically bent to pick it up and kept going. He had important matters to see to, after all.

Then he left, closing the door on the woman who watched him from the bed with wide-open eyes.

He was in the library before he recalled the scrap of paper in his hand. He opened it and examined it idly. It was a fragment of a page, a corner torn away, filled with tiny cramped writing.

Frowning, he moved closer to the candles.

Only three lines remained.

…
mistaken adoration honestly /so that it might not leave me when he finds out the truth
?

Might he then be tricked into loving me?

Ah
, his suspicious inner voice rejoiced darkly,
I knew it
.

Dane gazed at the torn bit of paper, forcing himself to face the truth.

She was not a victim of her parents' plotting. She'd known the entire time.

And he didn't care. He wanted her anyway.

Black fear threatened to choke him.
He wanted her anyway
.

His emotions chased one another madly though him, leaving cuts that bled out anguish. She was going to be fine. She was part of the plot. She'd given him the gift of passion. She had said she loved him. She had been tricking him into loving her. She'd tried to stop Sumner. He'd left her out there, alone and injured.

She was a liar.

She was Olivia.

Guilt. Passion. Shame. Suspicion.

Duty.
Olivia
.

He turned and strode from the library. There was only one person who could help him with this, only one who could understand.

The study door was locked, the key gone. Dane kicked it open without a pause. The room was icy and cobwebbed, the furniture shrouded in dust cloths. Dane ripped them all away, tossing them into a corner.

He dropped to his knees on the floor where a jewel-toned carpet had once lain, one that had been burned because of the blood and brains that covered it.

"Father, help me." His hoarse whisper filled the dead room. "What am I to do?"

He knelt there until his limbs were cold, until the dust had settled, until the moon set and the room went entirely dark.

His father wasn't here. The study wasn't full of Henry Calwell, who had loved and lost himself. It was only a room, cold and unused.

Dane bowed his head. And he was only a man, no better or worse than his father. He was weak and inconsistent and subject to all the vagaries of other men.

Yet he was the Lion.

Therefore, he knew what he must do.

Early in the morning, two days after Olivia had been shot, she found herself on the road again.

Dane had explained that she need not go immediately.

"But I must go," she'd pointed out to him. "So I should like to go as soon as possible."

He'd only nodded. "I shall ride with you to Greenleigh—"

"Cheltenham," she'd said, her head high. "I will go to Cheltenham."

I am not powerless. I will decide where I will live. And I will live at Cheltenham.

Since she doubted Dane would like the world to see her in rags, she was fairly sure she would be receiving an allowance. An allowance she would pour into Cheltenham. Her parents were still young enough to enjoy many years there, but then it would be hers and hers alone.

She would never be Dane's lady, but she would be mistress of Cheltenham.

He'd agreed easily enough. And why not, when his sole purpose was to dispose of her as soon as possible?

She allowed a footman to carry her to the bottom of the stairs, but then she insisted on walking. She would not heal properly if she never used her leg.

"You are a most durable woman," Lady Reardon said with a sad smile. "You make me feel rather puny."

Olivia shook her head. "Not nearly durable enough."

They walked past a room that was having a much-needed clearing out, by the look of it. "That is where the former Lord Greenleigh died while cleaning his pistol," Lady Reardon said softly.

"Ah." Olivia willed herself not to feel a thing for Dane's loss. He didn't want her empathy. "Think you the weather will hold?"

Lady Reardon glanced at her. "It seems as if you will have good travel," she answered easily. "I pray our journey will go as well in a week."

Lord and Lady Reardon were staying out the entire week, as were the Prince Regent and the Duke and Duchess of Halswick. The other guests had cleared out sometime after Olivia had been brought back bloody and gun-shot, apparently, including Miss Absentia Hackerman.
Imagine that
.

Fled back to the rest of Society with a mouthful about the new Lady Greenleigh, no doubt. Olivia found it rather difficult to care. She couldn't even remember being the girl who'd been so desperate to please the world with her Hunt Ball entertainment.

Outside in the drive, organized chaos reigned once again. Dane was going to ride Galahad, leaving Olivia the carriage. Petty popped up at her elbow. "Are you sure you won't need me with you, my lady?"

Olivia shook her head, forcing a small smile. "I'm only going to rest, Petty. Cheltenham is not far over the border. We'll be there by nightfall. I shall be perfectly well on my own." She was panting to be alone, to tell the truth. Constant nursing did bring one's health back, but it also drove one mad when all one wanted was a good howling cry.

She looked down to see her lockbox in the maid's hands. It reminded her…

"Petty, did you pack my diary?"

Petty swallowed. "Oh, my lady, I—you threw it in the fire, my lady. I thought you didn't want it."

Olivia sighed. "No, that's fine. As long as it's gone." God forbid someone should read her childish dreams and scribbling about Dane.

Running hoofbeats down the drive caught her attention. She stepped back warily. The last thing she needed at the moment was another fall. Horses had the oddest tendency to run into her.

Lord Wyndham leaped down, covered in road dust.

Dane strode out of the house to greet him. "Hellfire man, did you gallop from London?"

Wyndham shrugged. "I changed horses on the way." He flicked his sharp-eyed gaze at where Marcus and Lord Reardon stood. Dane watched as both Nate and Marcus turned instantly. The Royal Four had that instinct about them, didn't they?

The four of them strode inside. Dane led them to the newly opened study. It was only a room after all. A room with a newly repaired door and most of the books and items cleared to make way for fresh decor. Only the big desk remained. Dane leaned one hip on the edge and nodded to Wyndham. "You have the floor."

"Barrowby died last night," Stanton said shortly. "Without heir."

"Damn." Marcus and Nate made similar noises. It wasn't the legal heir they cared about. The Four didn't give a damn what happened to the old lord's estate—but to die without naming a new Fox?

"Liverpool wants us all at Barrowby. Now."

The Prime Minister had no real ability to call an emergency session, but the fact remained that without a Fox, the very fabric of the Royal Four was weakened.

Marcus shrugged. "I can stay to guard the Prince Regent. We have more than enough men, and we're on our guard now."

Dane nodded. "I don't think he's in as much danger now. They had the element of surprise before and they failed."

Nathaniel nodded slowly and looked at Marcus. "If I may leave my lady in your care?"

"Of course."

They looked at Dane. He hesitated. It would take the entire day to reach Cheltenham at the convoy's speed, and it would take him away from the road to Barrowby.

You are the Lion. Are you going to let her rule your every decision?

"I am ready to go now."

Reardon nodded and left to pack a bag. Wyndham threw himself down on a nearby sofa for a catnap, for he'd left just after midnight. Dane and Marcus discussed any additional precautions to be taken now that Marcus would be on his own.

"Dane, go. I'm more than able for this."

Dane grinned at his friend. "I know. You do realize that if there truly is no Fox heir, you are the logical choice to become the Fox."

Marcus shrugged. "I live to serve."

Dane wasn't fooled. He knew what it meant to Marcus. Dane clapped his friend on the back, then turned to leave. There was one more thing to do.

«
^
»

"I see," Olivia said quietly when Dane told her she would be traveling without him. He'd sent Lady Reardon to her husband, and they stood alone on the front apron of Kirkall Hall.

"You'll be perfectly safe," Dane assured her. "I'm sending some extra footmen along as well." Armed footmen, but he needn't tell her that.

She raised her chin, meeting his gaze. "Then I have one thing to ask of you. I shall send you word in a few weeks if my courses do not come. If they do… well, I'm aware that it is still my duty to bear you an heir. I only beg of you to leave me be for a while. It—it will be easier to see you after some time has passed."

His heir. He'd completely lost sight of that possibility somewhere in all this madness. Even now she could be carrying his heir.

Torn again. He could have sworn that he showed no expression, but she evidently read him too well. Her eyes went blank and cold, like the frozen surface of a lake.

She turned and limped away from him, taking a footman's help to climb into her carriage. She didn't look at him again, nor wave as the vehicle smoothly rolled into motion. But then, Errol wouldn't jar his lady if his life depended on it.

Dane watched the convoy roll down the long drive, finally losing sight of them around a curve.

Nate and Stanton came up behind him, toting a change of clothes. "Shall we be off?"

Dane nodded. His own things had already been moved from the carriage to behind his saddle. He silently took Galahad's reins and mounted, then joined the others as they trotted down the drive.

Being without her would clear his head and give peace to his mind. He was sure it would.

In due course.

Physical pain was an astounding tool for clarifying the mind.

Every jolt of the carriage on the road sent a fresh bolt of angry pain up Olivia's thigh. The suspension was the finest money could buy and Errol had sworn to carry her carefully, but she now realized she'd been a fool to think she was ready to travel. The past several hours had been hellish. She would never survive another three or four to Cheltenham.