The Seduction of Lady X (26 page)

“Save your breath, Keddington,” said David. “I’ve already inquired.”

Harrison suddenly looked as if he’d choked, and Olivia had a devil of a time keeping herself from laughing. It was all so impossible! It was a tale fit for a stage! “While she has not said anything to me,” Olivia said, “I rather think she has.”

David and Keddington both looked quizzically at her. “Who?” David demanded. “I know you well, Olivia, and I know you are keeping a secret. You claim not to know who it is, but I think you do. Who the devil is it?”

Olivia smiled at Harrison. “Surely you do not ask me to break my sister’s confidence, my lord,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps I do more know than I can say. The only thing I can tell you is that the gentleman is quite handsome and very kind.”

“I don’t give a damn if he is an angel. What is his fortune?” David demanded.

“Oh, that, I cannot say,” Olivia demurred, and smiled devilishly at David’s snort of impatience. “It would be untoward of me to inquire.”

“I think I know who you mean,” Harrison said suddenly, surprising Olivia. “Bit of a foolish chap, is he not?”

“Perhaps a wee bit,” Olivia agreed. “But he means well.”

“A sycophant, is he?” Keddington said irritably as he threw down his card.

Harrison laughed outright. “While her ladyship’s sentiment is pleasing, I have long suspected the gentleman’s trouble is his mouth. Seems to flap about without benefit of thought.”

“Sometimes one can think entirely too much before speaking,” Olivia countered. “I rather enjoy his lack of judgment.”

Harrison smiled so fondly at her that she shivered. “I suspect he enjoys making you smile with his nonsense.”

“What in blazes are the two of you talking about?” David said, and threw down a card that Harrison instantly trumped.

“You are wrong about him, Mr. Tolly,” Olivia said. “He is not foolish. He’s a fine gentleman. A good man.”

“Bloody good for him then,” David said, and trumped Olivia’s card, taking the round.

Olivia looked across the table at Harrison and smiled.

They played until the early hours of the morning, long enough for Fennick to rouse himself. When he did, Olivia excused herself, and with one last furtive smile for Harrison, she returned to her rooms.

Edward was exactly where she’d left him: on the floor, snoring loudly.

Olivia carefully touched him with the toe of her slipper. He didn’t move. She left him there and went into the adjoining dressing room to wash and dress for bed, then stepped over him and climbed into her bed. She slept soundly that night, her dreams filled with Harrison.

A sliver of light was creeping in through the drapes when Olivia was awakened by the presence of someone by her bed. She sat up with a start.

“I’m sorry, Olivia,” Edward said thickly.

She scrambled across the bed and landed on her feet. His hair was mussed, his clothing wrinkled. He’d undone his neckcloth and waistcoat, and had pulled the tails of his shirt from his pants. “I beg your pardon,” he said.

What was happening? Edward never apologized for the slightest thing. The only time he’d apologized was after he’d hit her—

It suddenly dawned on her—he didn’t recall what had happened. “Do you honestly think an apology is enough?” she asked, testing him.

He grimaced and looked down. “As I said, I do beg your pardon. You will have to be content with that, for there is nothing more I can do.” He walked out of her room, his coat in his hand, the sleeve dragging on the floor behind him.

Olivia blinked, then sank onto the edge of the bed in disbelief. The fool assumed he’d done something worse than he had. And she was more than happy to allow him to think it.

Nancy arrived just after sunrise to change Lady Carey’s basin water and to stoke the fire. As she reached the top of the stairs she saw his lordship stagger by, clutching his coat in one hand and looking as if he’d been rolled about on the lawn. He didn’t speak to her as he passed.

She hurried on to her ladyship’s room.

“Good morning, Nancy,” Lady Carey said when Nancy poked her head inside. She was sitting in the chaise by the fire, which had been stoked. His lordship must have done that.

“Is it still raining?” her ladyship asked.

“It is.” Lady Carey was never one to smile in the mornings, but this one was a nice big and bright smile. “How do you fare, my lady?”

Lady Carey laughed. “Very well,” she said, as if she was surprised by it. “Very well, indeed.” Still smiling, she turned her attention to the fire.

Later, when Nancy made her way to the kitchens with the used linens, Mrs. Perry and Miss Foster were seated at the kitchen table, sipping tea.

“There you are,” Mrs. Perry said. “I had the girl wait to begin the laundering until she had her ladyship’s linens. Whatever took you so long?”

Nancy blithely dropped the linens onto a pile of soiled napkins. “Lady Carey was not alone this morning.”

“Oh?” Miss Foster said, sitting up and turning her attention to Nancy.

“His lordship come stumbling out of her room half dressed, he did, and looked as if he’d had a time of it.”

“Oh my,” Mrs. Perry said, and blushed as she laughed.

“Lady Carey had a smile as wide as the Thames and she was up sitting before a stoked fire as if she made a habit to rise like that every morning. Was quite cheerful—not like her at all, really.”

“That very thing happened to me when I was carrying my third,” Mrs. Perry said sagely. “Couldn’t sleep a wink! I was up with the dawn every morning.”

“Think she’s told his lordship?” Miss Foster whispered loudly.

“I think she has,” Nancy said. “It’s not like him to stay in her bed the whole night. I gather it was a special occasion, if you take my meaning.”

The three women giggled girlishly, and began to debate when Baby Carey would make his or her debut.

H
arrison sat on the edge of his bed and absently watched a pool of water forming at the base of the window where the rain was leaking in.

He had always prided himself on the ability to confront difficult situations headlong and forge a path through. It was a skill he had learned in London, in the absence of anyone to guide him, and he had navigated his way through many difficult situations. But he was having a devil of a time seeing his way through this one.

What a bloody mess he’d created. He was conflicted, terribly conflicted, and the burning desire he felt for Olivia did not help him think clearly. Sitting across from her at the card table had been unbearable. He was sick unto death of remaining reserved and disinterested when she was about. He had wanted only to smile, to engage her, to have her all to himself. He’d watched her tease her brother-in-law, and had imagined himself with her every evening, her lovely smile to warm him, her laughter to soothe him.

When he tried to imagine spending every evening with Alexa, he could not.

It was maddening that he couldn’t slake his thirst for Olivia. Every time he saw her eyes twinkling at him, he felt more crazed. His desire had been building for years, drinking from tiny snatches of hope until it was a living, breathing thing inside him. It had a life of its own, and he was powerless to stop it. He couldn’t force it down; he couldn’t beat it into submission. He was trapped by its strength and moored to the wretched situation of wanting what he could not have.

How could he continue this charade with Alexa? Was he destined to make her life miserable with his inability to care for her as a husband ought? It was madness, utter madness, and he could not see his way clear.

He supposed the only thing to come of this wretched weather was that it put off any hope of making it to Gretna Green quickly, which gave him a bit of time. But for what? More flailing about? He felt as if he were waiting for his execution.

Harrison washed and dressed, then went downstairs. Mrs. Lampley was lighting the fireplaces. He tried to read, but his thoughts kept swirling wildly about his predicament, and with images of Olivia lying naked beneath him.

Shortly after breakfast, a footman from the main house appeared. “His lordship asks that you come, as his guests mean to take their leave and Lord Westhorpe requires a word.”

Harrison was grateful for the diversion.

He met Westhorpe in the marquis’s study, and as the congenial young lord idly tapped a pen against a teacup, Harrison reviewed the Cornwall estate finances with him.

After a few minutes of at least attempting to listen, Lord Westhorpe impatiently tossed the pen aside. “Enough of that, Tolly,” he said. “I trust you to do what must be done to straighten out the finances.”

That was precisely Westhorpe’s problem—he had no patience for running a vast estate and preferred leaving it to someone else. His affairs suffered from his lack of attention.

“I will do what I can, my lord,” Harrison said. It was impossible to manage the interests from this far away, which Harrison had explained to Lord Carey and Lord Westhorpe more than once. “However, I must remind you that it is imperative that you give the mining your attentions. Most mines are seeing vast profits, but our mine has cost more to operate than it has earned.”

“I vow to play close attention,” Westhorpe said with a disarming smile. “Now then, what of my stipend? You will speak to my brother, will you not, Tolly? He has threatened to reduce it, and I cannot possibly live on less.”

Harrison gave him a skeptical look.

Westhorpe shrugged sheepishly. “I know you believe that I live beyond my means, but maintaining one’s position in London society is an expensive proposition.”

“I am certain that it is,” Harrison said. “The invoices that have arrived from Madame Broussard’s Millinery have been impressive.”

Westhorpe grinned. “You understand my point. That is all I ask of you, Mr. Tolly. I need my stipend. Very well, then, I shall be off. I expect I will see you again in a fortnight or so.” He winked at Tolly as he passed. “I should like to acquaint myself with Miss Hastings once more without Keddington about.”

Harrison must have looked surprised, for Westhorpe chuckled. “I must be about the business of heirs one day, eh? And between the two of us, my sister-in-law seems incapable of giving my brother an heir. So a child born to me would be the heir presumptive.” He grinned, as if it were perfectly acceptable to view matrimony solely for the purpose of inheriting. “You will keep that between us, I trust,” he added lightly.

“Naturally.” Harrison could only guess what Westhorpe would say upon hearing the news that Harrison had married her. His quagmire was getting deeper and deeper every moment, sucking at his ankles, pulling him down.

Lord Carey was on hand to see the gentlemen off, looking a little bleary-eyed, and leaning against the door as the men mounted their horses in the downpour. Rain blew in through the open door, wetting the marble entry. When they had started out, Carey turned and said, “A word, Mr. Tolly,” as he passed.

Harrison followed him to the study and stood waiting as the marquis poured himself some whiskey. He held up the decanter to Harrison, who shook his head. It was half past ten in the morning.

“Tell me, what have I missed whilst I’ve been away?” his lordship asked, and sipped.

“Very little,” Harrison said. “I spoke with Mr. Fortaine about his rents, and he assures me they will be paid in full by the end of the month.”

“I am not inquiring about the bloody rent,” the marquis said, and tossed down the whiskey. “I am inquiring about the slut who inhabits my house. Why is she still here?”

Harrison’s entire body coiled. He sincerely hoped he could get through this interview without launching himself at Carey. “Arrangements have been made, but the rains have made travel difficult.”

Carey’s face darkened. “Let me tell you something, Tolly—Keddington inquired after her. Can you imagine the discomfort that caused me? What am I to say? That the whore carries a bastard child, but is free for the taking?” He made a sound of disgust. “If her condition is discovered, I will be made the laughingstock of all of England.”

It galled Harrison that the young woman’s life meant nothing more to Carey than how he would appear in society. The marquis suddenly seemed more despicable than ever.