The Forsaken Love of a Lord (18 page)

But he’d think on it later.

Turning his attention to Olivia, he tried to ascertain her emotional state. “And how are you this morning?” he asked, offering her his most winning smile.

She blushed prettily in response, causing his blood to heat. “I’m quite well, my lord.”

“Quite well? Ah, then we shall try to amend that.” He shrugged as he offered his arm.

“Is there something wrong with being quite well?” she asked, tilting her head in a saucy fashion.

Edward sighed in relief as her personality began to make an appearance. “Yes, indeed. I wish for you to, by the end of our jaunt, have amended your answer to
I’m having the most brilliant of days.
” He paused and took a flourishing blow.

“Ah.” She giggled, though the sound was strained. “I’ll do my best to not disappoint.”

“No, I believe it is my job to make sure that
I
do not disappoint you.” He resumed walking.

“I—“

“Langley!” a familiar voice called.

Edward resisted the urge to hang his head in denial. No. Anytime but now!

“Oh look! It’s Mr. Sheppard!” Olivia spoke with her usual enthusiasm.

The very enthusiasm he was trying to draw out from her.

Blast it all. It had to be Curtis to provoke such a reaction!

When all he wanted was for her to save such fervor for him.

Jealousy slammed into him, hot and unforgiving.

“Ah, Curtis.” Edward spoke with polite distance, all the while unable to tear his gaze away from his betrothed, whose face had lit into a beatific grin.

That was
not
aimed at him.

Damn it all!

“Langley, Miss Olivia.” Curtis raised a flirtatious eyebrow and reached for her outstretched hand. Kissing it, he lingered far too long for Edward’s taste.

So he gently smacked the back of his friend’s back.

“Ah, jealous, are we?” Curtis slowly rose and shot him an unrepentant glance. “Don’t fret. If you had heard half the questions she had asked me regarding you, you’d feel quite secure in her affection,” he teased.

“Foul!” Olivia cried out, placing her hands on her hips but continuing to grin wildly. “That is utterly unfair.”

“Ah, my dear, I believe we’ve already discussed this situation. And I do believe we came to the conclusion that we both got what we wanted,” Edward replied with a devilish grin, hoping to incite the memory of their shared kiss.

Heaven only knew how much he was remembering it right now.

And how much he wished to repeat it.

“Ah, yes,” she answered and glanced down.

Bloody
hell.

Was she having second thoughts? Did she not feel affection for him as she had implied? Immediately his blood began to run cool with fear, with the intense need to protect himself.

But he paused.

No. He’d not close himself off.

Too long he’d done that very thing, and look where it had landed him. Alone, bitter, and angry.

This was his one shot at redemption, at hope. He’d not give up.

“Curtis, if you’ll excuse us.” He nodded and took Olivia by the arm and gently led her away.

“I’ll be seeing you at the wedding,” Curtis called out, a bit of laughter to his tone.

“That was quite rude—“ Olivia began.

“I refuse to share you,” he bit out then took a deep breath. No doubt the poor maid following them was growing concerned. He paused and took a deep breath. “Miss Olivia, may I speak plainly?” He lifted his gaze and waited.

She searched his gaze then nodded.

“When I arrived this morning, immediately I noticed your expression of doubt, of fear. I can’t help but feel that perhaps I am the source, and I would like to know why. Have I offended you? Hurt you in any way? Because as abrupt as I can be, I would never wish to cause you distress.” He turned and grasped both of her hands, searching her gaze, hoping she’d read the transparence of his.

“I… in truth I am afraid. You see…”

She glanced down and began to rub her thumb absently along his palm. It was an exhilarating feeling, especially coupled with her opening up.

“My mother requested a private audience with me last night. During that time, the conversation was quite... distressing,” she finished.

Edward sighed and tilted her chin up so that she met his gaze. “I’m assuming that conversation held me as the primary topic?”

She nodded, not once gazing away.

“And what was said that made you feel so… distrusting?” he asked as he moved his hand from gently holding her chin to turning to cup her cheek.

Her gaze softened. “She said many things, but the most distressing, was the implication that you had driven Marybelle to extreme behavior because she felt… unloved. That you had been obsessed with her then conquered her only to find that the chase was over, and you moved on.” She shrugged. “And, being that while I’ve known you for years,
our
attachment is of the shorter variety. And I find that I’m… concerned that maybe I’m simply a passing fancy as well.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. Closing her eyes, a single tear traced down her cheek.

Edward struggled against fierce anger toward her mother for such profane information and cold dread that Olivia would feel so… trapped.

But before he could speak, she opened her eyes and stepped from his caress and began to pace as if frustrated. “And while I have both sides of the story, so to say, I do not see how my mother’s version could add up. That coupled with my own knowledge of my sister, I’m not inclined to believe a word of what she said. Please believe me.“ She turned employing eyes at him, then resumed her pacing. “But it’s still frustrating, and while I wish to not give her story any credence, I find that even the smallest seed of doubt can grow without permission. I hate that this weakness—“

His lips met hers, effectively cutting of her words. Immediately, she melted in his arms even as the maid, a few paces away, gasped. He gently kissed her a moment longer and released her. “I want you. Only you. I understand your frustration — your fears — and they do not make you weak, rather that you can articulate them to me, and we can lay it all bare is the greatest blessing. Thank you for your honesty, your willingness to be… weak, as you put it. Because to me, that is a true testament of your strength, dear Olivia.” He held her face in his hands then kissed her lightly again, even as the maid cleared her throat loudly.

Olivia opened her eyes slowly, wonder and delight dancing within her gaze as he saw the return of the glow of affection she'd held in her gaze yesterday.

And it seemed… that all was right in the world.

Save one thing.

He didn’t want to ruin the moment, yet as honest as she had been with him, she deserved the same honesty in return. And as she had spoken about what her mother had said, a few similarities began to tickle his consciousness, adding up to a disturbing conclusion.

One he’d rather never speak aloud, let alone know about.

Yet the proof couldn’t be denied.

Not after today.

Hang it all.

“Olivia?” he whispered her name, though he felt his brow furrow.

“Yes?” she answered, and her brow pinched as well, no doubt taking in his shift in expression.

“I’m going to tell you something I suspected a long while ago, but didn’t give much weight to, simply because I wished to remain ignorant in case it was, indeed, correct. Yet today some occurrences took place that reminded me of the past, and, coupled with what you said your mother had said, I can no longer deny my suspicions.” He reached down and grasped her hands.

“Marybelle and your mother were quite close. In fact, often your mother would come over and visit for hours on end. Slowly, she began visiting at times she surely knew your sister was out. I’d speak with her for a few moments, but never anything more. No offence, but I’ve never taken a shine to your mother,” he admitted.

“None taken,” Olivia replied, her gaze sharp as she listened intently.

“A few of those times, she asked for assistance with something odd, like lace on her gown or a button on her shoe.” He shook his head. “At first I was helpful, but it grew awkward, and I refused to see her. Shortly after, Marybelle began to take private audience with your mother.” He shook his head. “Your sister was already casting her eyes elsewhere,“ he admitted. “And even once told me her mother had encouraged her. Shortly after, things took a turn for the worse, and you know the rest of the story. I suspected your mother to have more involvement that I could prove, but what could I do? That was one of the main reasons I made sure your family could not contact me.” He spoke firmly.

“Because of my mother?” Olivia asked, her expression dawning understanding.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yet today, when I was visiting you, she acted in a manner that was quite… forward… and when you arrived you could testify that she was quite close in proximity to my person.”

“I noticed that… it was quite disconcerting.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she seemed to consider his words.

“Once you left, she said something that rather confirmed everything. And in a way, makes me concerned for you as well.”

After relaying to her what her mother had said, Olivia’s eyes widened. “Indeed?”

“Indeed.”

Her shoulders slumped slightly as if weighed down by the knowledge.

“Olivia, dearest, this is not your burden to bear,” Edward replied, touching her shoulders slightly. “If there is one thing I’ve learned, it is that someone else’s sins do not define
you.
”

“But it is my
mother
.”

“
Yes, your mother… not
you.
”

Slowly she leaned forward and rested her head on his shoulder. “Then I think we need to change our plans,” she spoke after a moment.

“Oh?”

“Indeed. Since I see the validity of your words — rather, I don’t want to be concerned that my wedding will be foiled by a jealous woman casting her eyes at my husband. Mother or not, I refuse to allow any potential drama to poison my wedding day.” She stood straight, a resolute light of determination in her gaze.

“Are you…? No… you did say you didn’t favor London…” He felt a mischievous grin take over his features.

“Dreadful place.” She smiled back, her expression playful.

“And Scotland is beautiful this time of year…” he suggested, his tone far more hopeful than he'd intended.

“And no rules…” She raised a daring eyebrow.

“And it’s not far from my Lothbridge Estate…”

“I do love the country,” she flirted.

“Then I believe we have a plan.” He chuckled and picked her up by her waist and swung her around once, exhilarated by the woman that had all but suggested they elope. To Gretna Green.

The scandal would be epic.

The reclusive lord, bent on revenge, married the sister of his wicked former wife… and not just married — eloped.

It would be brilliant.

“When do we leave?” she asked, breathless as he placed her down back on solid ground.

“Well, it
is
rather early, I believe we could make it there by sundown.”

“I’ll need some clothes…” she considered.

“But not too many.” He winked and could not help himself as he leaned in and kissed her hungrily.

“Not too many at all,” she whispered back between passionate exchanges.

“Hmm…” He released her. “…I say an hour. How trustworthy is your maid over there?” He tipped his head in a backward direction, gesturing to Polly.

“I’d said quite, since she’s allowed you to kiss me several times.” She winked.

“Are you quite fond of her?”

“Indeed.”

“Do you think she’d be willing to gather a few clothes and exit through the servant’s door and come along with us as your maid?” he asked hopefully. After all, he wanted his future wife to have some sense of propriety, even if they were hanging the rest of it as they eloped.

“I do believe she will.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Twelve hours later

Olivia couldn’t stop smiling. It was utterly impossible. What had started as the most confusing day of her life had quickly transpired into the most romantic and adventurous! Polly had made short work of gathering her necessities and, after a quick stop at the Langley town home, they were off in a well-sprung carriage for Gretna Green.

Upon arrival, they were married over an anvil, yet it could have been Westminster Abby for as reverent as it felt as Lord Langley spoke his solemn vows to love and cherish her, his gaze one of tender affection and possessive passion carefully restrained… but full of promises.

Heated promises.

As she repeated the words after the officiator, the blacksmith performing the ceremony, they echoed in her heart, ringing with the honesty of her vows, hope multiplying with each word.

It was a simple affair. The blacksmith had smudges of soot across his forehead, contrasting with his bright smile that welcomed them with, encouraged them with every word spoken in his gravely brogue. The air was crisp and faintly scented with smoke, a far cry from the polished St. George’s in Hanover Square. Yet, even without the pomp and glory of a church wedding, the ceremony was every bit as meaningful, as real. And before long, it was finished, leaving them staring at one another, full of the joy and awareness that they were now one. Husband and wife.