The Blackmailed Bride (5 page)

L
ater that evening, past the time when everyone should have been abed, Olivia opened the door to the hallway, looked down both sides to make sure neither her brother nor the marquess were loitering about and stepped out. She pulled her wrapper tighter around herself and padded on bare feet down to a scarred wooden door that remained closed at the end of the hall.

Her father’s study.

She approached it with a sort of reverence, as though the room she was about to enter was holy in its own right.

With her hands braced on the frame, she leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door.

Breathe,
she instructed herself.

How many years had it been?

Five, already…

And she still felt the fear and uncertainty of the past, while only standing outside.

She pushed the door open and didn’t immediately notice there were a few candles burning in the room.

Her mind was too consumed with other images. Brief, fleeting pictures from that night, ones she couldn’t banish from her memory—no matter how hard she tried to erase them or dull their influence.

Olivia sank into a chair, one closest to the door. She noticed the faint light in the room now but didn’t give much thought to why it was there.

What thoughts had her mother had that evening five years ago? Olivia couldn’t begin to imagine.

They’d all been mired in grief. Her father had passed away from a sickness a few months before her mother decided she couldn’t live anymore. Her devotion to her husband so complete, she couldn’t bear to part with him—even in death.

And Marcus, the earl for three short months, had to assume another role…her guardian.

Most of the room was still cast in shadows, making the memories more eerie than she’d thought they’d be. No one ever asked why she avoided the room. The assumption was that fear kept her away. Of course, to hear everyone talk about it, this was the room the countess was murdered in—by an intruder who had only upended some drawers and strewn around some papers before he left the dead countess sitting at the desk.

Olivia was surprised anyone had believed that.

The story had been as flimsy as a gossamer thread.

But it had held.

And Olivia had to live with not only the lies and deceptions, but also the weight of her mother’s crime.

“Oh, Mama,” she choked. She put her fist to her mouth, stifling the sound. She wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a condemnation…perhaps both.

“Olivia?” a voice echoed from the shadows.

She jumped. Her brother sat forward. He’d obviously been reclining, and neither had noticed the presence of the other.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

“I don’t know,” Marcus confessed.

She squinted into the darkness at him, rose from her seat
and crossed to sit with him. He obligingly moved his legs off the settee, so she would have room. “I don’t know, either.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

“What is?”

“That the one room that holds such grief for us is the one we can’t stay away from.” He stared off and around the room, as though looking at something only he could see.

Olivia doubted it was anything like what she could see when she closed her eyes.

Olivia lost track of how long they sat together. Eventually, she rested her head against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. For a minute, they were not the Earl of Westin and Lady Olivia Fairfax. They were a brother and sister who hurt.

More than either of them knew.

Olivia felt her eyes growing heavy-lidded. She was relaxed with drowsiness and knew she should return to bed. But she wanted to talk to Marcus. Wanted to in some way prepare him for what was going to happen.

She roused herself enough to lift her head and look at her brother. She was surprised to find he didn’t look the least bit tired.

“Do you mind if I ask a question?” Olivia began, driven by some courage she didn’t realize she had.

In spite of the dim lighting, she could tell his look was wary. “I suppose.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Finley had approached you to ask for my hand?”

Marcus tensed as an immediate reaction to her words. “Finley told you that?” Although it wasn’t asked with a very questioning tone.

She nodded, knowing he could feel the movement against his arm.

“I gave him my answer and I didn’t think you needed to be bothered with the matter,” he said.

“You’ve always consulted me in such things. Why didn’t you see fit to so much as mention it?” she pressed. Maybe he would tell her something that would allow her to nullify Finley’s threat, such as proof that the man was truly a pirate with a bounty on his head. Or a traitor to the Crown.

Either would work for her.

“I didn’t see the purpose.” He was using a tone she’d only heard a few times. It was the tone that suggested—strongly—she let the conversation drop.

She wasn’t going to. “Why do you dislike him so much?”

“I have many reasons” was the curt reply.

His discomfort was no match for her current burst of tenacity. “I would like to spend some time with him. To see if we suit,” she said on a gulp.

Had the situation been less serious, she might have laughed aloud at her brother’s appalled expression. “Are you jesting?” he managed after several moments of his mouth hanging wide. His voice was strangled, as though invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.

“No.”

“I forbid it,” he sputtered.

Olivia leapt to her feet, her tiredness seemed a thing of the past. If they were going to quarrel, she’d rather not do it sitting down. He followed to his feet soon after.

“I’m afraid that would make me very unhappy.” She strove to keep her voice level.

He was flummoxed. “You’ve never shown the slightest bit of romantic interest in him. Why now?”

“I’ve known him for a long time,” she began, searching for something complimentary to say that wouldn’t make her choke. “He was very, ah, attentive after mother’s death.”
Too attentive, obviously,
she added to herself.

“Gibbons was attentive as well, do you wish to marry him?” Marcus asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped.

“I could say the same to you.”

She slammed her hand down on a nearby table in frustration. “I’d hoped you would be reasonable about this. I can see my faith in you was misplaced.”

She could tell the words stung, but her brother didn’t let the hurt dissuade him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not changing my mind about this.”

Of course he wouldn’t. It would be far too much to hope that this aspect of the deed would be done swiftly and without quarrel. Why did Marcus have to make this more difficult? Was it not enough that what she had to do made her skin crawl? Could she not at least have had no interference from the one person whose good opinion she desired above all others?

“I am an adult,” she informed him quietly.

A muscle in his jaw ticked furiously.

“And I’d rather this not become an argument,” she continued before Marcus could lose his temper. His clenched hands, narrowed eyes and set jaw were all omens of an impending explosion.

“And I’d rather not issue any ultimatums. So I will simply advise you to stay away from him, or…” He didn’t finish the threat. His voice had risen to a near yell.

Hers wasn’t very quiet, either. “Or what, Marcus? Will you disown me? Cast me out on the streets to fend for myself?” She knew she should lower her voice, help calm the situation. At this volume, it wouldn’t be long before their guest, and probably Gibbons, would be coming in to see what was amiss. But she couldn’t bring herself to back down.

Marcus scoffed. “Now who’s being ridiculous?”

“Well, you’re being obstinate,” she snapped.

His answering sigh was heavy and heartfelt. “I’ve no wish to
fight with you. Do you not trust me enough to at least obey me on this? You know I would only say no if I had a good reason to do so.”

Olivia said nothing. She couldn’t give him the words he wanted to hear, but she refused to make the moment worse by saying something to needlessly hurt him.

When she didn’t answer, Marcus eyed her. “You
will
stay away from him,” he said, resolved.

“What if I love him?” she asked in a whisper.

The horror on his face stung. “Do you?”

She vacillated between honesty and the lie that would perhaps, in some small way, make her brother more reasonable.

She opted for honesty. “No, I don’t.”

His relief was palpable.

“That doesn’t change anything, though.” As soon as she spoke the words, Marcus’s face fell back into its stern mask.

“You know my feelings on the matter,” he said, striding to the door of the study. “I trust you’ll make the right decision. Good night.”

As the door swung shut behind him, she said, “Don’t trust me too much,” knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear her.

“You would be my second if I required it, would you not?” Marcus asked Nick the next morning after Olivia had left the dining room. The trio had plans to return to London later in the day, and while Olivia had been subdued at breakfast, he didn’t credit her absence with anything other than a desire to relax before they left.

But his friend’s odd question had him wondering.

“Whom are we planning on dueling?” Nick asked.

“Julian Finley. Perhaps you remember him.” Marcus raised an eyebrow. He knew well that Nick had not forgotten the rogue.

Nick grumbled in response. “When would you like me to have your pistols ready?” He was only partially joking.

In spite of the obvious stress, Marcus couldn’t suppress a grin. “Don’t you wish to know why I would challenge him?”

“Since it’s Finley, I can only imagine what new dastardly business he is up to. But also, since it’s him, I don’t have any doubt your claim is valid.”

“He wants to marry Olivia,” Marcus answered, as though Nick had indeed asked the question. Nick laughed.

“I’m serious,” Marcus said.

Nick had to force himself to stop chuckling. “What did he say when you told him no?”

Marcus shrugged. “What you would expect from him. He ranted and finally stormed out of the house.”

“At least Gibbons didn’t have to throw him out.” Nick allowed himself a moment of silent amusement, envisioning the scene.

Marcus flashed an immediate smile in response, but he quickly sobered.

Why was Marcus so despondent? “You know you made the right decision,” Nick assured him. “There’d be no inducement that would convince me to let Finley pay suit to any woman under my protection.”

“I know that.” Marcus scrubbed his hand over his face.

“What’s the problem then?” Nick asked. “Finley has asked, and you have refused. There should be no more to say on the subject.”

Marcus laughed, but it held no amusement. “You make the mistake of thinking Finley would abide by my decision. He has not. Instead, he has approached Olivia directly with his suit.”

Something seized in Nick’s gut. Anger, certainly, was there. Including the ne’er-do-wells he’d met while in France, Nick couldn’t think of many in his acquaintance he had a lower
opinion of than Finley. But another emotion tumbled with his rage, fighting for precedence. One that was harder to name. Or perhaps he merely didn’t want to identify it.

“Well, has he desisted at
her
refusal?” Nick asked.

Marcus said nothing for several moments. Nick stared at the mantel clock and tried to convince himself he wasn’t personally interested in what Olivia had to say. Other than for the sake of his friend, of course.

“She has not refused him,” Nick said for Marcus. The nod of acknowledgment from his friend was unnecessary.

It was inconceivable. Nick couldn’t reconcile the headstrong, viscount-disabling woman he’d met with someone naive enough to fall for Finley’s guiles.

“Did you explain your position on the matter to her?” Nick asked.

Marcus nodded again. “For my life, I can’t understand why she won’t listen to me. But, as I’m sure you’ll agree, I can’t allow the two of them to wed. It would be disastrous.”

A large understatement.

“He’s a snake in the grass,” Nick agreed.

And Nick knew both he and Marcus were thinking about an earlier incident involving Finley. When the three of them had been away at school, Finley had seduced a professor’s daughter. When everyone discovered she was with child, Finley refused to marry the young woman, even though the protection of his name was the one thing that would save her from public ruin.

Finley’s father had been prepared, those years ago, to force his son’s hand. Unfortunately for the young girl and her child, the elder baron died in his sleep before he could do so.

An attack of the heart, they said.

And no amount of persuasion from the professor or tearful pleas from his daughter could change Finley’s mind. He’d left the woman, alone and ruined, and didn’t appear to feel the slightest pang of remorse.

No, Olivia couldn’t be allowed to wed someone who would treat a woman so callously, who would most likely not be faithful to his marriage vows, who enjoyed spirits and questionable amusements far too much.

“I attempted to remove her to London after Finley broached the subject of their marrying. I’d hoped the distance would hinder him,” Marcus said into the silence.

“But he followed you instead,” Nick finished. “That was why you agreed so quickly to leave London when you learned that he had called upon Olivia there.”

A curt nod was Marcus’s reply.

“Why is he so willing to garner your displeasure? I can’t believe he loves her—simply because I don’t believe him capable of the emotion.”

“I have to agree,” Marcus said. “My guess is Olivia’s dowry is the reason for the dogged pursuit. My sister has much to recommend her, of course, but I’ve heard Finley’s been liberal with the funds his father left for him.”

Money. Of course that would be the baron’s motivation. But what about Olivia? What reason would she have to want to marry him?