The Seduction of Lady X (11 page)

There would be a price for it, but Olivia folded her arms and looked away.

“Fear not, my love,” Edward said, as if they were playing a game. “I do not hold you entirely responsible for your many shortcomings. I think it is a defect of your birth . . . just as your inability to conceive a child is a gross defect.” He chuckled. “An inability to conceive children or ideas,” he said. “I married an imbecile.”

Olivia started toward the dressing room. As she moved to pass him, she said, “It is more likely that the defect is in
you,
husband.”

Edward’s response was lightning quick—he caught her, locking his fingers in a vise around her arm and yanking her toward him. “You think I am the defective one?” he breathed, and twirled her around, pushing her facedown onto the bed.

Olivia instantly pushed herself up and off the bed. “You will not force yourself on me again,” she said breathlessly.

Edward’s eyes turned black. He backhanded her across her mouth. The force of the blow sprawled Olivia onto the bed once more. It stunned her, but she managed to come up on her elbows and touch her fingers to her lips. He’d drawn blood.

Olivia’s fury soared. She didn’t care that copulation was his legal right. She didn’t care that her mother had once told her that a wife’s duty was to submit willingly to her husband. She would
not
allow him to lay a hand on her, not without defending herself as best she could. She jumped up off the bed and faced him fully, her fists curled at her sides. “You are a
beast
. Keep your hands from me.”

Edward’s laugh was loud and booming. Grinning like a madman, he lunged for her. Olivia tried to dart out of his reach, but he was too quick, too powerful. He threw her facedown onto the bed again and pinned her there with his body. “You stupid, stupid, bitch,” he breathed hotly onto her neck, filling her nostrils with the stench of his drink. “Do you think I took you to wife for your scintillating conversation? Your comely looks? I took you as a wife for one thing only, and that was to give me a bloody heir. And I will keep trying for what you
owe
me until you bear me one!” He put his arm across her neck and pressed her face into the coverlet. “If you cannot or will not provide me with my heir, I will see to it that I never have to look at you again. Do you understand me?”

With that, he removed his arm from her neck, and as Olivia dragged air into her lungs, he took her by the shoulder and roughly flipped her onto her back. “So I ask you, Lady Carey, do you intend to open your legs to me as an obedient wife? Or shall you force me to take you?”

Olivia was shaking, her fury was so great. She rose up on her elbows, lifted her face so that it was just below his. Edward misunderstood her; his gaze dropped to her lips and he lowered his head as if to kiss her. But Olivia turned her head to avoid his mouth and said, “I will
never
willingly submit to you again.”

Edward’s mouth curved into a hideous smile. “Then you leave me no choice,” he said, and shoved her onto her back.

Olivia fought him, but it was no use. In moments, he had her hands pinned above her head with one hand. He dragged her skirts up around her waist as Olivia kicked against him, then pried her thighs open with his knee as he freed his cock from his trousers and thrust into her like the beast he was, glaring down at her in dark triumph for having managed it.

When he had finished with her, Olivia rolled onto her side, clutching the gown he had wrenched off her shoulders to cover her breasts, then closed her eyes and recalled Mr. Tolly’s broad hand on hers, squeezing her fingers reassuringly, infusing her with his calm.

E
ven in the flurry of activity that surrounded the marquis’s departure from Everdon Court, Harrison noticed a difference in his lordship’s demeanor. As the coach was loaded and the horses harnessed, Carey seemed distracted and distant. One might even say distrustful.

And distrustful of him in particular.

They stood in the drive along with Brock. A coachman held open the door of the chaise with the black plumes and elaborate gold scrolls painted on the sides. “All is at the ready, my lord,” he said.

“Thank you.” The marquis moved as if to put himself inside the coach, but with one foot on the step, he paused and looked back, his gaze raking over Harrison. “You like to read, do you, Tolly?”

It was such an odd question that Harrison felt the hackles on his neck rise. “I do.”

“Works of fiction?”

Harrison wasn’t certain he’d actually heard the slight drip of derision in the marquis’s voice. “From time to time.”

“I believe fiction is a waste of an educated man’s good time,” Carey said as he smoothed the glove on his left hand. “Nevertheless, I suppose it is a personal choice.” His gaze locked on Harrison. “However, if my
wife
chooses to read, I will have her read something more enlightening than fairy tales. She has enough foolish thoughts in her head without adding to them.”

Harrison didn’t know what to say to such a baffling, narrow-minded view.

But Carey was not finished. His polished boot dropped from the coach step and he turned around to face Harrison fully. “I should like to know on what occasion you presented my wife with books.”

He said it as if Harrison had presented her with a key to his private rooms, along with an engraved invitation to adultery. “The occasion was a chance encounter, my lord,” he said evenly. “As I do enjoy a fictional tale from time to time, I’d sent for books from London. On the afternoon they arrived, her ladyship happened by as I was perusing them.”

“Just happened by, did she?” the marquis asked skeptically.

Harrison had rarely wanted to strike a man as he wanted to strike Carey in that moment. He had never been anything but unfailingly honest with the marquis. On more than one occasion, Carey had praised his frankness. “Yes. She happened by,” Harrison repeated coolly.

And still Carey peered at him, as if he were looking for any sign that he was dissembling. He moved a step closer. “Tell me, Tolly—did you have the books delivered here for her?”

Of all the years he’d served this man, he’d never once, not once, done anything that wasn’t entirely honorable. “Of course not,” he said curtly. “They were for me, just as I said.”

If Carey noted the hardness in Harrison’s voice, he did not show it. In fact, his features seemed to relax. His gaze raked over Harrison once more, and then he turned away and climbed into the coach.

“Godspeed, my lord,” Brock said.

The marquis did not respond. The coachman shut the door behind him, then jumped on the back runner and called out to the driver. Seething, Harrison stood with his hands clasped tightly at his back as the coach pulled away.

When the coach had disappeared from view, Harrison demanded of Brock, “Has something happened?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary of which I am aware, sir,” Brock said as the coach disappeared from sight behind him. “But one cannot say what goes on behind closed doors, if you take my meaning.”

Harrison’s anger soared. “Is Lady Carey about?”

“I believe she was tending to her correspondence in the green sitting room.”

Harrison strode to the main house ahead of Brock, his pulse racing with indignant anger. He headed for Lady Carey’s sitting room and rapped insistently. “Come!” she called, and Harrison strode inside.

Lady Carey was seated at a table with a cup of tea at her elbow and a thick stack of vellum. The quill of her pen was bobbing quickly across the page. When she looked up and saw him there, her face lit with a sunny smile. He could see the sparkle in her blue eyes across the room. Her lovely face was free of the frown that often creased her brow. She was shining with happiness.

Harrison’s own smile suddenly faltered.

“Good morning, Mr. Tolly!” she said brightly. “Isn’t it a beautiful day? I never thought I’d be quite so happy to see the sun, but after all the rain we’ve had, I feel a bit like dancing. You look astonished. You mustn’t fear—I promise I won’t.” She laughed. “Would you like some tea?”

“Madam, I . . . Are you all right?”

Her smile disappeared. “Of course!” She suddenly stood and walked to the windows, pushing back the open drapes even further. “I am determined to have a turn in the garden today and soak up the sun.”

He moved toward her, but she deliberately kept her profile to him, leaning up over the deep window well and peering out. “The rain has made everything so green, has it not?”

Harrison was too intent on the mark on her face to respond.

“I should ask Brock to open the windows,” she said, and turned away from him again, moving back to the desk. Her hand skimmed along the edge of it as she walked around it, keeping her head turned to one side. She glanced at him sidelong, then fidgeted nervously with her hair, gathered up in knot at her nape. “Mr. Tolly, you stare so intently that I feel a bit uneasy.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said instantly. “I do not mean to stare, but I was startled by—”

“A mishap,” she interjected, and looked away. “It is nothing. I assure you it appears much worse than it is.”

“A mishap,” he repeated skeptically. His heart was racing as the truth sank in. He could not believe Carey would lift a hand to her because of a bloody
book
. “Madam . . . please look at me.”

She sighed softly and reluctantly did as he asked. He could see plainly the bruise on her skin. “It is truly nothing, Mr. Tolly,” she said quietly, and glanced at the footman who was standing at the door, ready to serve. “A mishap. Please believe me.”

Harrison looked at the footman, too. “Richard, please leave us so that I might discuss some private matters concerning Everdon Court with her ladyship.”

Richard nodded and walked out through the open doors.

When Harrison was certain he’d gone, he turned back to Lady Carey, his eyes on her mouth. His heart reacted with a little leap at the sight of it, then constricted. Lady Carey stood behind the desk with her head bowed like a chastised child. Harrison wanted to say something to comfort her, but he hardly knew what to say. “If I may be so bold—”

“How do you find Alexa today?” she asked, turning away from him again.

He swallowed down his frustration and tapped his fist against the edge of the desk. “She has calmed considerably.” That wasn’t precisely the truth. Over tea the previous evening, she had railed at him about the unfairness of life, and then had fallen into quiet contemplation. “However, I think she is not quite resigned to any plans regarding her future.”

“Then she must be
much
improved,” Lady Carey said with a wry chuckle. “My sister has never been resigned to any plans regarding her future.” She folded her arms across her middle and stared up at a pastoral painting above the hearth. It was a green valley where cows grazed, and in one corner, a family with three young scampering children picnicked beneath a massive oak tree.

“In this instance, I suppose I can hardly blame her,” Lady Carey continued thoughtfully. “I had my fate planned for me, and it never has resembled what I’d imagined or hoped.”

Harrison knew how her future had been planned for her; he’d been part of it. “Life has a disconcerting way of behaving in precisely that way.” He gazed at the happy family at their picnic and thought of the first night he’d seen Lady Carey. Harrison had been reared on the fringes of London’s high society, and there was nothing he’d not seen: beautiful women, dangerous men, and the games they played with one another. But the night Olivia Hastings had come with her parents to dine at Everdon Court, he had been bowled over. To him, she was the embodiment of feminine beauty with her creamy blonde hair, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and eyes as blue as violets. She’d been a shy eighteen-year-old girl, her life spent on country estates in the protective circle of her mother and stepfather, her governess, and her tutors. Her smile was easy and warm, free of the artifice in the games of seduction played in London.

That young girl had been an innocent, laughing prettily at Lord Carey’s awkward attempts to tease her. She’d sung like a bird when pressed to perform after supper, and had innocently trumped Lord Carey at whist with a happy laugh of triumph. Harrison had stood by, his gaze riveted on her, his envy of Edward Carey growing by leaps and bounds.