TuesdayNights (37 page)

He turned his attention to a liveried man wearing a white powdered periwig. The man leaned over and listened to Michael. The herald nodded and stepped back, announcing in a loud but clear voice, “The Honorable Michael Cunningham and The Honorable Mrs. Michael Cunningham.”

Olivia inhaled sharply, her gaze directed down onto a huge room full of people who suddenly seemed to turn in unison and look directly at her. She was slightly aware of a collective gasp and glanced over at a still grinning Michael. His gaze was on her, but he nodded his head and indicated they needed to descend the steps leading to the ballroom floor. Returning his nod and a self-conscious grin, Olivia allowed him to lead her down the stairs, one quivering hand firmly tucked in the crook of his elbow while her other held her skirts. When they reached the bottom, Olivia took a deep breath of relief. Within seconds, several people were surrounding them, at once eyeing her as they congratulated Michael on his having married.

“You dog, you,” a rather tall, older gentleman was saying as he elbowed Michael. Olivia was glad to be on his bruised side, thinking the man would have caused her husband a great deal of pain if he hit Michael’s ribs.

And then she recognized the man.

“Ah, Grandby, so good to see you!” Michael said as he slugged the man on the shoulder. “Olivia, this is Milton Grandby, one of my sparring partners,” Michael said in introduction.

Olivia curtsied as she gave the man a smile and then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “It’s an honor to see you again, my lord,” she said, a bit surprised that her husband would introduce the Earl of Torrington so casually, even if the man was her godfather.

The earl’s face seemed to redden a bit after Olivia’s kiss, but no more so than Michael’s. Grandby reached out and captured Olivia’s gloved hand and kissed the back of it, his eyebrow rising as he took in the sight of the sapphire ring. “You may call me Grandby, m’lady,” he said in a rich baritone, “But if you were not married, I would simply request that you call on me.”

Stunned by the overt suggestion, Olivia suppressed the urge to gasp and look horrified. Or giggle. “As one of your many
goddaughters
, I expect I shall do so as a courtesy,” she countered lightly.

The comment had the desired affect on Michael as one of his eyebrow’s cocked in understanding. Grandby was her godfather? Perhaps Grandby hadn’t recognized her. Michael was quick in his response, though. “Watch it, Grandby, or I’ll punch you really hard next time we’re in the ring,” he warned, his arm moving to capture Olivia around the waist and pull her a bit closer to him. Olivia couldn’t see the expression on Michael’s face, but the tone of his voice was light with amusement.

The Earl of Torrington rolled his eyes. “Christ! Olivia Waterford?” he confirmed as he held his hands out toward her shoulders. “The last time I saw you, you were ...” He held the palm of one hand out in front of him. “... Much shorter,” he claimed, using his other hand to make a fist. “I’ll be damned,” he said happily, turning his attention back to Michael.

As the earl moved to plant his fist squarely on the side of Michael’s shoulder, Olivia sucked in a breath and lifted a gloved hand to intersect the earl’s teasing punch. “I beg of you, my lord, save your punches for Gentleman Jackson’s,” she pleaded lightly, knowing the earl didn’t mean to do anything more than lightly punch Michael. She wasn’t about to have her husband more bruised than he already was, though.

Grandby’s eyes widened as he quickly pulled back his punch. “And she has quick reflexes, too!” he commented, his smile broadening as if he was proud of his goddaughter.

Stunned by his wife’s move to prevent him from being punched, Michael captured Olivia’s hand and redirected it to his lips, where he bestowed it with a kiss. “And very protective, too,” he murmured, an appreciative gaze directed at Olivia.

The earl watched the interplay between Michael and Olivia, saw how her face blushed as Michael regarded her and then redirected his gaze back to the ring on her hand. The viscount’s son had done well with his choice of wife. “Know any rich widows I could prey upon this evening?” he wondered, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the room. “I rather like this ball as it gives me the opportunity to find someone with whom I can attend all the rest of the events of the Season.”

This last remark was directed at Olivia, who still felt the color rising in her cheeks. But having overcome her initial embarrassment at defending her husband, she decided she could suggest one woman she knew was available. “I understand Lady Worthington has called off her wedding,” she commented with an arched eyebrow.

This was obviously news to the earl, and to Michael, too, as he turned his head to regard his wife. “Indeed?” Grandby replied quite happily. He glanced at Michael. “What happened?”

Michael shook his head. “This is the first I’ve heard that Weston is off the hook,” he replied, his eyebrow rising to match the earl’s. “Olivia?”

The color still high in her cheeks, Olivia bit her lower lip. “I do not wish to gossip ...”

“I order you to,” Grandby said as he moved closer, his manner suggesting he would do something untoward if she did not tell what she knew.

Olivia dared another quick glance at Michael before turning her attention back to her godfather. “She discovered her fiancé’s extreme gambling debts and did not wish for her fortune to be lost in a gaming hell,” Olivia stated quickly, deciding she didn’t want to find out what the earl had in mind for her if she didn’t tell. When she looked back up to find Michael frowning, she added with an apologetic tone, “I am wearing what would have been Lady Worthington’s wedding gown.”

A look of realization passed over his face, and he sighed. “No wonder you could buy it with your pin money,” he whispered, the corner of his mouth rising.

“I’m off then,” the earl announced suddenly. “I saw the lady just a moment ago near the lemonade. With luck, I’ll be her escort for the rest of this evening. Oh, and congratulations on winning the bet. I owe you some money,” he added as he pointed to Michael.

And then he hurried away, leaving the Cunninghams near the bottom of the stairs but with several people ready to take the earl’s place. “Congratulations, Cunningham,” another gentleman said as he shook Michael’s hand. “You won the marriage bet, I see,” Baron Whitehall commented as he passed by, his voice suggesting supreme disappointment. “My payment will be at White’s in the morning,” he added before he disappeared into the crowd.

Olivia gave a curious look in Michael’s direction, but he was already shaking hands with another acquaintance. “Sir William, so good to see you,” Michael said with a slight bow. “My wife, Olivia,” he said with a nod in her direction.

The younger man cocked an eyebrow and regarded Olivia with a half-smile. “Positively delicious, Cunningham. Where have you been keeping her?” he wondered as he finally returned his attention back to Michael.

Michael bristled at the rake’s behavior and his comment. “My wife lived not far from my home, so I have known her a very long time,” he answered as civilly as possible.

Sir William seemed surprised by the news, as did Olivia. “Oh,” he replied, one eyebrow cocking in a suggestive manner. “Congratulations to you both, then. I’ll leave your winnings at White’s after tomorrow’s supper,” he added before moving away and allowing another well-wisher to approach.

Olivia kept a smile on her face but wanted desperately to get Michael alone so she could ask him about his winnings. As they made their way through the crowded ballroom, Olivia was well aware of eyes turned in their direction, of heads bent together with hands and open fans hiding whispering mouths, of men who nodded at Michael as if he had performed some sort of miracle and of other men who regarded him with derision. She was also aware of a light-headed feeling and a graying around the edge of her vision that portended a fainting spell. Wishing she could hide in the ladies’ salon, Olivia tightened her grip on Michael’s arm until he was forced to turn his attention to her.

“I do believe I shall have another rather deep bruise on my arm in the morning,” Michael said as lightly as he could manage given his teeth were gritting from the increasing pain he felt.

Olivia gasped and released her hold on his arm. “Forgive me,” she whispered, her cheeks bright red but her face otherwise too pale.

Michael’s brows furrowed as he saw the evidence of her distress. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked, taking her hands in his as she swayed.

Before she could answer, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turned and led her through a set of French doors. Within moments, they were in the back garden terrace, Michael nearly carrying her as they made their escape from the ballroom.

The sudden wash of fresh air was a relief, and Olivia took a deep breath, her lungs filling and her vision clearing even as Michael set her on her feet. When she did not immediately return his gaze, Michael lifted her chin with a gloved forefinger. “What is it?” he asked, concern in his voice. “You looked as if you were about to faint!”

Refusing to meet his gaze, Olivia bit her lip. Anger threatened to make her lash out at him. What kind of wager had he made at White’s that could possibly involve me? she wondered. He’d obviously won the bet. And how much had he made as a result of winning the bet?

He’d made a fool of her, she was sure. He had informed the Duchess of Somerset of their marriage even as she was making the final arrangements to be the woman’s governess. He must have planned their quick wedding well before it happened. He had obviously known exactly when their nuptials would be long before he climbed into her bed – had probably even arranged it with her father. And he had been her sister’s protector for... for nearly a year!

When Olivia finally looked up to meet his gaze, tears threatened, but she swallowed hard and fought to keep herself steady. “It’s about the ...,” she started to say before she caught the edge of her lower lip with a tooth and looked away. She could feel her face bloom with color, as much from embarrassment as from the extreme heat in the ballroom.

Michael contemplated what to say before he saw her hesitation. The way the edge of her lower lip was caught, as if she was trying to bite back what she was about to say – he’d seen that many times in the past. The familiar gesture made a smile almost come to his face. “Please say it, Olivia,” he urged gently, despite not being sure he really wanted to hear what she had to say.

From the comments in the ballroom, he realized she now knew there was a bet involving their wedding. She must really despise me, he reckoned as he once again wished he had never agreed to such a wager.

Olivia slowly brought her eyes back to his. “Is this to be a marriage of convenience?” she whispered, a tinge of sadness creeping into her voice.

His breath catching at the question, Michael clamped his lips into a straight line and pondered how to answer. “Some will claim that, I suppose,” he began uncertainly, his eyes darting around them to be sure they weren’t being overheard before returning their attention to her. “But not me. I admit that, yes, many years ago, I did accept a bet involving when I would marry,” he continued, squaring his shoulders. “But that ...”

“I despise you,” Olivia said in a quiet, clipped tone. “My answer to your marriage proposal is ‘no’,” she added, remembering she had never given him a response in the carriage.

Michael dropped his finger from her chin and gave a curt nod, her words causing his face to wince as if she’d hit him with an right uppercut to the jaw. “I know,” he said quietly. The wrinkle between Olivia’s brow deepened, and he nearly reached out with a thumb to smooth it.

“I will speak with a solicitor tomorrow ...” Olivia started to say as she attempted to remove the ring from her gloved finger, becoming frustrated when it wouldn’t budge.

“Whatever for?” Michael interrupted quickly, alarm in his voice.

Her lower lip trembling, Olivia fought back tears. “About an annulment, of course,” she said quietly, trying hard to avoid having to look at him. She would lose her resolve if she locked her gaze with his. Lose herself in his brown eyes and allow herself to be gathered into his arms and be kissed as if he owned her, body and soul.

“But, you cannot,” Michael countered, his voice taking on a note of desperation.

“I must,” Olivia replied. “You will be quite relieved to be rid of me, I am sure ...”

“I will not!”

“It should be quite a simple matter. Especially since we’ve not consummated our marriage,” Olivia went on, ignoring his protests.

“Not yet, but I plan to later this evening ...”

“And if I send a dispatch to the Duchess of Somerset at first light, I yet may be able to secure the position of governess.” She tried again to remove the ring, nearly stamping her foot when the ring conspired to stay right where it was.

“But, that’s not possible,” Michael interrupted, shaking his head firmly.

“And why ever not?” Olivia countered, indignation clearly defined in the set of her jaw.

“Because I made it quite clear to my sister that she wasn’t to hire you,” he fired back, finding it difficult to keep the volume of his voice as low as possible.

Olivia’s head snapped up to regard Michael, her mouth open in astonishment.

Sister?

“She won’t go against my wishes, especially now that she finally has a sister. She has been dying to meet you ... as my wife .., and I shall not deny her the privilege,” Michael vowed with a shake of his head, his stance softening just a bit.

Her breaths shallow and her vision graying, Olivia turned around and began walking, rather unsteadily, away from him.

“Olivia,” Michael pleaded, following her retreating figure to the edge of the garden terrace flagstones. He stood directly behind her, so close he could hear her ragged breaths. “Please believe me when I tell you that I always intended to marry you,” he whispered hoarsely.

Tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, Olivia stood erect and took a deep breath, desperate to get air into her lungs before the sobs could start. “And the wager?” she wondered quietly.