The Blackmailed Bride (11 page)

“I
see why you asked me to come with you,” Lord Huntsford said not more than an hour later. “You’re trying to kill me.”

Olivia didn’t look at the marquess, who had been quietly moaning since the first note was struck at the Sutton musicale. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

The look in his eyes suggested she had lost her mind. “Are you listening to this mockery of Mozart?”

“It’s Beethoven.”

“You’d never be able to tell. Should I assume Marcus was conveniently otherwise occupied for this very reason?”

Olivia smiled. “Marcus firmly believes the only thing more heinous than being stuck in conversation with one of the Sutton daughters is listening to them play.”

“I must say that I agree.”

“You didn’t have to come,” she said with a smile. “You could have refused the invitation.”

“And turn down the opportunity to spend an evening at your side? Never.”

“Should I suppose you’ll hate me by the end of the evening for bringing you?” Her smile was full and wide. She was surprised by how much she enjoyed teasing him.

He leaned over, so close his lips almost touched her ear. “I could never hate you.”

Olivia hid her smile and turned back to the girls playing. She didn’t grimace as one of the Sutton girls dropped her violin—although she was fairly certain the marquess did. Unfortunately for everyone, the instrument didn’t break. The poor girl snapped it back off the floor and continued her frantic sawing with the bow.

“You must owe them some grave debt to listen to this without complaint,” he joked, and then flinched at a particularly shrill flute note.

“I do. They are kind girls. And I’ve found kindness to be a rather extraordinary quality here in London.”

The marquess had nothing to say. No witty rejoinder. Which was a first.

He was uncharacteristically quiet afterward. No complaints. No requests for a quick and merciful death. Olivia was proud of his restraint and touched at his reaction to her admiration of the Sutton daughters.

Blessedly, there had been no sign of Lord Finley at the Sutton soiree. That wasn’t terribly surprising; Olivia had a hard time envisioning him at something so tame and ear piercing.

It was for the best. Not only was she spared another jealous rage from the baron, but also there was no telling how the marquess would have reacted had Finley shown up. He seemed to be as protective as her brother.

She looked around to find Henrietta, which wasn’t a difficult feat. Henri was the only woman in the room with a vividly pink ostrich feather bobbing from her head every time she moved.

The duchess was cloistered with several older women. They tittered behind their fans and pointed out different people.

Olivia suppressed a groan. They were matchmaking. And it wouldn’t be long until their searching gazes landed on her and Nick.

Olivia excused herself from Lord Huntsford, claiming a need to take a brief respite in the retiring room. Moving out into the hallway, Olivia enjoyed the feeling of not having so many eyes on her.

She sat on a beautifully upholstered red-and-gold settee that had been relocated to the expansive hall. Olivia watched idly while a few ladies and gentleman milled about. She was hidden behind a monstrously large potted plant and, being such, was concealed from two gentlemen having a discussion a few feet away.

“Did you see who Huntsford had clinging on his arm this evening?” one asked the other.

“Lady Ice?” the second snickered.

“Didn’t seem quite so frosty this evening. I’m thinking the old chap might be able to do it after all.”

Do what?
Olivia wondered.

“It’ll be a miracle, George. She’s spurned the offers of every man who’s been brave enough to ask. Don’t know what makes her think her blood’s any better than the rest of ours,” the second one said.

“I, for one, will be glad to see the marquess take her down a peg or two. It’s nothing more than she deserves,” George said.

Humiliation washed over Olivia in a consuming wave. Her cheeks reddened, and tears gathered in her eyes. She was grateful they couldn’t see her.

“Well, I’m against Huntsford,” the second said, and Olivia craned her head toward them, hoping to hear why. “It weren’t wise to go against him at White’s. But can’t change the books now, and I’d hate to lose the quid.” Were they
betting
on her? White’s was notorious for its gambling book, used to record all manner of ridiculous wagers. Whether a man would win a horse race. Whether a lady would
disgrace herself in front of her peers by doing or saying something uncouth.

And apparently whether the Marquess of Huntsford would melt Ice Queen Olivia.

The man named George laughed at the foolishness of the second man. “It
was
stupid to bet against Huntsford. He seemed rather sure of himself when we talked at White’s.”

“Well, I’m not bidding my blunt goodbye yet. He’s got to prove she’s fallen for him. And I haven’t seen evidence of that.”

“Oh, you will,” George gloated. “A gambling man knows not to bet against the marquess where the ladies are concerned.”

Olivia stopped listening. She made the conscious decision to direct her attention and ears everywhere but at the two men on the other side of the plant. Her pride wouldn’t withstand much more of their commentary.

She was a fool to allow herself to think Nick was her friend.

If he were, he certainly wouldn’t have proposed a wager against her ability to resist him. Oh, she knew men made such petty foolish bets as a way to pass the time, but in her eyes, that didn’t excuse the crime or mitigate it.

And she supposed it was no wonder he’d been following her about London, always whispering compliments and making her light-headed with his nearness.

Beneath the anger was hurt as well. Nick was supposed to be her friend, but…it appeared he’d been doing nothing but playing games with her. Not that she thought she’d ever have anything with Nick—Finley had won her through dishonorable means, but she
was
still committed to be his wife—but she’d trusted the marquess.

And he’d been using her.

Well, unnamed gentleman number two was about to get lucky.

Olivia decided there was no way Nick would get through the frosty barrier she was going to erect.

He’d most likely freeze to death first.

Olivia discarded her plans to go back and join Lord Huntsford inside. She had a servant send a message to him, explaining she was no longer in need of his escort. Then, she paid a footman to hail a hack for her. A hired carriage was certainly not the fashionable way to slink home, but it was better than commandeering the duchess’s conveyance. She just hoped the vehicle would arrive before Lord Huntsford discovered what she’d done.

She tapped her foot impatiently and wished she had told the footman to wait several moments before delivering the message. With her unenviable luck, the marquess would find her on her way out of the house and demand an explanation.

Her audible sigh of relief once she saw the hack rumble in front of the door could probably have been heard back to where the musicale goers were. Olivia didn’t waste any time descending the stairs, hoping to jump in the carriage and take off. Quickly, hardly breaking stride as she did so, Olivia passed a banknote up to the driver’s hand.

“Please hurry,” she begged.

“Lady Olivia!” Lord Huntsford called as she was preparing to close the door.

She could tell the coachman was hesitating, uncertain whether to leave or wait for the strange man running full charge at them.

She leaned up and rapped on the ceiling of the conveyance. “Go on!” she shouted.

Still another moment of indecision, and Lord Huntsford was almost close enough to reach the door.

She banged—in a very unladylike manner—on the roof, and finally, the coachman flicked the reins. They swayed and rumbled down the cobblestone drive, and Olivia told herself
not to look back at the marquess. She didn’t want to know if he was standing there, watching them drive away. She was better off without that image in her mind. She didn’t want to think he was watching for her, waiting until nothing could be seen of the carriage against the darkness of the night.

But her resolve lasted mere seconds. She pulled back the small curtain in front of the window and peered around to where they’d just been.

Lord Huntsford stood, his arms crossed over his chest. She didn’t need to see his expression to know it ranged somewhere between confusion and anger.

Warring with the two emotions herself, Olivia let the curtain fall. And even though he could no longer see her, she turned her back to him.

The ride was quiet and too long. She didn’t want to be left alone with her thoughts for longer than necessary. She needed something to occupy her mind from thinking about her hurt. Finally, her home came into view, and she could have collapsed with relief, knowing she’d be safely inside and among myriad distractions.

But as angry as she was with the marquess, Olivia couldn’t stop thinking about his expression as she drove away.

Well, my sin against him wasn’t near as grave as his against me.

Funny, but that didn’t make her feel much better.

She was dismounting from the carriage when a figure shrouded in shadows stepped forward. The illumination from the oil lamps on the streets fell on Baron Finley’s face, making his expression starker.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

Not now.
Was she not dealing with enough already?

“The Sutton musicale,” she answered, “although I wasn’t aware I needed to have you approve my schedule of outings.”

He ignored the last part. “Who were you with?”

“The Duchess of Leith,” she hedged.

Finley wasn’t fooled. “Who else?”

Obviously he already knew, or else he wouldn’t be pressing her. “Lord Huntsford.”

Olivia watched as Finley clenched and unclenched his jaw. “I believe we have already had a conversation about how I feel about you being in his company.”

“And I believe I told you his company was unavoidable. As Marcus’s friend, he has become an integral part of my life since his return.” She moved another couple of steps closer to the front stairs. Soon Gibbons would hear the noise—if he were still awake—and open the door for her. Then she could sprint inside and leave all memories of the furious marquess and the angry baron on the steps.

In three strides, Finley was beside her, gripping her arm painfully. “My coach is down the road. Come.”

“Are you daft? My brother will be expecting me home.” And if Marcus noticed anything was amiss when she returned, he might very well schedule an early morning meeting with Finley.

“If you had not left the musicale early, you wouldn’t be home for many hours yet,” Finley returned, using his bruising hold to steer her down the street.

Olivia looked back to the coachman for help, but he must have missed the shadowy figure approaching and driven off.

Sometimes, she had the worst luck.

“I’ll be ruined if someone sees the two of us together,” she tried. “You’d not like your future wife to be the subject of vicious gossip, would you?”

“You’ll be safe enough where we’re going.” His confidence was highly aggravating.

He shoved her into his coach and barely gave her enough time to fix her skirts before he climbed in after her. As though
at some unspoken command, the driver flicked his lines, and the carriage rocked into motion.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Why, to see the fireworks.” He spoke as though they had longstanding plans to do so and she’d simply forgotten.

“The fireworks at Vauxhall?” Olivia knew her face showed her surprise. She also knew that appearing at the gardens of Vauxhall—a place the demimonde adored—alone, with Finley would certainly culminate in her ruination if it were discovered. She glanced out the carriage window before pulling the curtain closed. She’d soon be in enough trouble without being seen beforehand.

Finley turned his face away from her, and for the second time that evening, Olivia felt her temper flaring to unmanageable heights. He meant for her to walk alongside married men and their mistresses, with actresses and their latest admirers. Surely some there would recognize her. He meant to punish her for going out with Huntsford by making her the subject of speculation and rumor.

And, of course, it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t want her reputation truly ruined—if it was, she’d have no reason left to give in to his blackmail. But it seemed unlikely that he’d mind if she was the target of whispers and speculation from those who might catch a glimpse of her in such a scandalous location.

Finley escorted her from the carriage after a tense and silent ride, and Olivia kept her face down. She stared at the ground in the hopes no one would be able to get a clear look at her face.

“This way, dear.” Finley took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers.

Olivia fought the immediate urge to pull away. The most important thing she could do was avoid a scene—of any size—in order to protect her anonymity.

“I’m afraid we will have to meander along with the common
crowds,” he told her with an apologetic shrug. “I’ve loaned my box here out to some friends.”

Olivia recognized the statement for the lie it was. She’d eat her gloves if he could afford a box here.

“Would you care for some refreshment?” he asked her.

“Don’t bother playing the dashing gentleman with me. We both know what you are. There’s no need to pretend otherwise.” She kept her voice low, but she knew he heard every word because he stiffened at her side.

“As you wish.” He dropped her hand and swept a ridiculous little bow.

“Stop,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him upright. Avoiding attention would be impossible if he kept this up.

They stood there, with couples and people flowing around them on all sides. He eyed her speculatively, knowing precisely what she wished to avoid. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves around?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered. With a frantic jerk of the head, she looked around to make certain there was no one nearby who might recognize them.