I Love to Hate You: Revenge has never tasted so sweet... (Marry in Haste Series Book 1)

by Elizabeth Keysian

  She smiled. “I sometimes wondered if I might tip him into the midden. Or the manure heap on the Home Farm.”

  Harry snorted with laughter, then went suddenly still. “You know, Athene, it’s not too late.” He collected two glasses from a passing footman, sniffed at one and handed the other to her. “Beaujolais, I believe. It ought to be good.”

  She took a sip. The red wine was sharp but refreshing. “What do you mean, it’s not too late?”

  “Not too late for us to have our revenge on Rushbourne.”

  “It wasn’t my primary objective in coming here, but continue.”

  “No, you need to find a husband before your trust fund runs out. Your guardian told me.”

  Kat? Athene would have a word or two to say to her later. “Why ever would she tell you that?” She took a deep draught of her wine.

  “Oh, I simply convinced her you and I were old friends and had been very close, and I would lay down my life on your account. That was all it took for her to unburden herself to me.”

  “Very well. Regardless of my reason for being here, what do you mean by revenge? And why do you think I’d be interested?”

  “Because if my brother dogs your steps, you won’t find a husband at Burley’s house party. No one will stand up to Rushbourne. No one dare get in his way. Any potential suitor will see he has marked you for his own and keep well clear.”

  “Marked me for his own? Whatever makes you say so?” She flushed. The only way in which the man would claim her would be as his plaything, to torment and then discard. A hideous thought.

  “I know my brother. He is much enamoured of the opposite sex but becomes bored exceedingly quickly. He’s like Henry VIII—his interest lies in the chase, but once the prey is brought to bay, he gets bored and moves on. I saw how he danced with you. I saw how he kissed you. He could never subdue you when you were young, so he intends to amend things now, when you are vulnerable. But you could play him at his own game.”

  “I could?” She took another mouthful of wine. Interesting that Harry’s assessment should be so close to her own.

  “Yes. Lead him on. Pretend to be affected by his advances, entice him so softly he doesn’t know you’re doing it. Scorch his heart. And once you have him dangling after you, cut him loose, or make a fool of him in front of everyone.”

  Public humiliation? It sounded good. But could she be that cruel? She emptied her glass and reached for another.

  What about private humiliation? Now that was something else entirely. Rushbourne might already be interested, or he’d never have kissed her like that, held her like that…would he? But how could she capitalise on it? If she was seen to be encouraging him, Harry was right—no other suitor would come near. So, she’d have to be subtle and quick if she wanted her revenge.

  But how could she pretend an interest in the man she’d sworn to hate until the End of Time? She wasn’t that good an actress. She would have to find another way, but now the idea of revenge had been suggested to her, there was no way she was going to let things lie.

  Chapter 6

  Oliver was one of the few who made it down to breakfast the following morning. His ability to form perform such feats after a night of carousing had won him the reputation of being a man who could hold his liquor better than any other member of the Ton. The truth was far more prosaic. He watered his wine—or rather, had it watered for him.

  There were benefits in being thought able to hold one’s drink. It stopped people trying to take advantage. Harry, who was always in his cups, was constantly being taken advantage of by card sharps, pimps, doxies, and unscrupulous entrepreneurs. Leaving Oliver to bail him out, which was generally managed without Harry ever knowing the identity of his saviour.

  Not that Harry would thank him if he had known. The boy was a handful, and concealing this fact from their ageing father taxed Oliver’s ingenuity.

  Most days were occupied with the difficulties of keeping the earldom profitable, helping his brother out of the mire, and ensuring the earl was kept comfortable and reassured in his mental and physical decline. Which meant Oliver had very little time to devote to his own enjoyment.

  Except for the next week or so. As soon as he’d learned Athene Hartville would be at Burley’s party, he’d decided the estates would have to manage without him. Harry must accompany him to Hedenham, of course, so that he could keep an eye on the boy.

  Taking a bite of his hot roll and honey, he gazed out of the long window onto the lawn. A mistle-thrush and a robin competed in song from the nearby stand of oaks, ignoring the persistent drizzle. A great pity about the weather—he might have liked to take Harry out riding today. Did Athene still ride? What about her latest guardian? They should all go for a gallop together.

  He was smiling at the idea when a troupe of houseguests burst into the breakfast room, wrecking his happy thoughts with a babble of voices, the clatter of dish covers, and the clink of china.

  After exchanging some polite but desultory conversation with them, Oliver saw the breakfast room door open again, admitting a young female who, after a glance around, sneezed loudly and immediately retreated.

  Athene. His first instinct was to leap up and pursue her. Had she spotted him and fled? And if so, why? Or was she, God forbid, ailing for something? Many of last night’s costumes had been unfit for the early November weather, even though the punch had been hot and the dancing would have warmed the participants. He sincerely hoped she hadn’t caught a chill.

  Dusting the crumbs from his fingers, he was about to leave when Burley came into the room. There was much scraping of chairs as the duke’s guests got to their feet, but he brushed the courtesies aside, begging them to be seated and ignore him. He placed himself at the head of the table, adjacent to Oliver, and signalled for a footman.

  “You’re up bright and early today, Rushbourne. You cannot have indulged enough last evening.”

  “I assure you, Your Grace, I indulged, and am most grateful for your hospitality.”

  “Ah, yes.” Burley accepted a plateful of coddled eggs and clove-stuck ham. “Your renowned resistance to liquor. It is a shame it’s not an inherited trait, for your brother would be much improved if he could resist drunkenness.”

  “Excuse me, Your Grace. It’s one thing for me to insult my own kin, quite another—”

  “No, don’t fly up into the boughs. You know me—I speak as I find. Young Harry needs a firm hand on the reins.”

  Oliver subsided back into his seat. Was it that obvious? “I know.” He fought to keep the despondency from his voice. “Papa can no longer restrain him, so it’s up to me.”

  “I regret hearing of the earl’s infirmity. I shall send him some fruit from my hothouse.”

  “You are too kind.” They had fruit enough at home, but it wasn’t wise to refuse Burley’s generosity. He was rumoured never to forget a snub.

  “The Honourable Harold is too young to be married off yet. But still old enough to sire a few brats from the wrong side of the blanket.”

  Oliver winced. The breakfast room had become oddly silent. “He’ll be choosing a profession very soon,” he said quickly, hoping to direct his host onto a less gossip-worthy subject.

  But Burley was warming to his topic. “Last night, I saw him deep in conversation with a young lady. I’m not sure who she was, though I’m sure I’d know her out of costume. Whispering together in dark corners—you may want to investigate.”

  An invisible hand clutched Oliver’s heart and squeezed. What new crisis was this? Even though he feared the answer would be distressing, he enquired, “Did the lady have red hair, and wear a golden brooch?”

  Burley clapped him on the shoulder. “Your brother should thank you for keeping such a constant watch over him. It was the same lady I forced you to steal a kiss from, I collect. Perhaps they were both plotting their revenge on me, for embarrassing your little group.”

  Burley appeared much amused by this supposition. Oliver prayed he was correct. An
y other reason for a tête-à-tête between Harry and Athene made his stomach roil. “Your Grace—”

  “Call me Burley, my good fellow, except in front of the servants.”

  He groaned softly. The room was fringed with silent footmen. But to Burley, they must be invisible.

  “Burley. I would very much appreciate a small selection of your hothouse fruits. I believe one of your guests is unwell and unable to come to breakfast. I’d be much obliged if some might be sent up to her.”

  “A ‘she’ is it? Capital. Not the unwell part, of course.” The duke signalled to the nearest footman. “Cummings will accompany you to the orangery, provide you with a sharp knife and a basket and you may choose what you will. But take the basket to the invalid yourself and reap the glory of having thought of it. Some chits like a kind heart—or at least the appearance of one.”

  He didn’t need to be told. All women loved gifts, didn’t they? Admittedly someone else’s oranges or grapes weren’t the same as expensive jewellery or new gowns, gloves and hats. How would Athene feel if he were to give her new gloves? She’d probably put them on, then strangle him, if her usual behaviour towards him was anything to go by.

  Although she’d tolerated his kiss surprisingly well last night, if only to mollify the duke. Not that there was any hope she might have enjoyed the situation. But he most definitely had. And sneezes or not, his whole body was aching to hold her again, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up with a delightful shiver at the thought of kissing her once more.

  It was a revelation. But one that made his task doubly difficult.

  “Thanks, Burley. I’ll go now, if you’ll excuse me.” He stood up, bowed to the slightly surprised duke, and tilted his head at Cummings.

  Not even Athene would say ‘no’ to a basket of fresh citrus fruit and juicy grapes. But what he needed most was to make her say ‘yes’ to the man who delivered them.

  Chapter 7

  Athene rang the bell, and when a maid eventually appeared, asked if it would be possible to have breakfast brought up.

  The girl’s departure was accompanied by a moan from the bed. “What’s all this shouting and slamming of doors? It can’t be time to get up yet, can it?”

  “Don’t complain. Breakfast in bed is a luxury we can no longer afford for ourselves, so we may as well enjoy the duke’s hospitality while we can.”

  “Oh, we’ll both find protectors, I’m sure of it.” Kat eased herself up slowly in the antique bed and peered at Athene.

  “How I wish I had your confidence.” Athene sighed and went to sit in the window, gazing out at the murky day beyond.

  “Nonsense. We’ve already attracted the attention of two gentlemen of the Ton, despite being in disguise. Imagine how much more impact we’ll have when our true beauty is revealed.”

  A flying maple leaf slapped itself against the window pane and stuck until the next gust of wind set it free again. The remaining leaves shivered on the branches.

  “What a horrid day.” Athene rested her chin in her hand and watched as a tall figure dressed in a caped cloak strode across the front of the house in company with a footman bearing a basket and an umbrella.

  She shoved back from the window like one burned.

  “What is it?” Kat’s voice had lost its leisurely drawl. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s someone I recognised. The odious man from last night—you know, the bully I’ve told you about. I hope he didn’t think I was watching him.” Her voice sounded breathless. Why did the very sight of Rushbourne put her in a panic? She was too old to be affected by him now.

  “Viscount Rushbourne, who will one day be the Earl of Deerfold? Too rich to despise, don’t you think? And exceedingly handsome. I wonder if he lacks a mistress?”

  Her stomach turned over. “Kat, don’t even think it. He’s abominable. I wouldn’t wish him on my worst enemy. Though he is my worst enemy. Oh blast, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  Kat narrowed her eyes. “Athene Hartville, I declare you’re all a-tremble. Is it truly fear of his brutish nature—of which as yet I’ve seen no evidence—or are you not a little excited by him, now he’s grown to manhood? A particularly splendid manhood, I should imagine.”

  The gravelly tone of Kat’s voice brought the blood to Athene’s cheeks. “Fiddle-faddle and moonshine. I don’t find him the least bit attractive.”

  “You let him kiss you.”

  “What alternative did I have?” Her voice was getting louder now. She was not at all in the mood for being teased.

  Kat flapped a hand at her. “Very well, very well. I’ll take Rushbourne then, and you can have the younger brother. He clearly likes you.”

  “I’d rather see who else is available. There’ll be cards at some point, and musical entertainments—plenty of opportunities to converse with other unattached gentlemen, on a more formal footing than last night.”

  Kat was picking at one of the worm-eaten posts of the bed head with a fingernail. “We could both work on Rushbourne, you know. I’ll be the mistress and warm him up for you, and when he’s had enough of me, you can become his wife.”

  “Enough.” Athene banged her hand against the shutter. “Don’t mention his name again. The very idea of him makes me feel sick.”

  There was a tap on the door. Returning her voice to normal, she called, “Come in.”

  The door opened, but not to admit a servant bearing a welcome tray of hot rolls and coffee. It revealed instead the impressive form of Viscount Rushbourne, his hair diamond-speckled with rain, bearing a basket of fruit.

  “Good,” he said, stepping inside. “I thought you might be ill when you let out such an unladylike sneeze and vanished from breakfast. And I heard you proclaim as much as I approached your door. Pray sit, and I’ll peel and cut up an orange for you.”

  The expression on Kat’s face would have thrown Athene into a fit of giggles had she not been stunned into immobility by Rushbourne’s entrance. His face, when he realised the other occupant of the room was not yet out of bed, was a picture. He flushed, and his eyes burned bright.

  “My apologies, madam. I have disturbed your rest. I’ll leave immediately.”

  “Not at all, Viscount, please don’t go. He mustn’t go, must he Athene, when he has been so kind.”

  ‘Kind’ was not a word she’d ever associated with the man. He’d brought a basket from the duke’s orangery. All that took was a little effort. Nothing to gush over, but Kat was gushing nonetheless. Very well—if she wanted to encourage Rushbourne, that was her business. She’d been warned.

  “And what provokes this philanthropic act?” She couldn’t believe there was no ulterior motive. There was probably a frog in the basket, ready to leap out and make her scream, or a concealed branch of holly to make her prick her fingers.

  He set the basket down, helped himself to a chair, produced a fruit knife, and proceeded to cut and peel an orange.

  “If your appetite is depleted, then you must try some fruit at the very least.”

  She wanted to explain it was only his hateful presence which had sent her fleeing from the breakfast room, but Kat was sitting up in bed, licking her lips and watching with a hungry expression.

  Another knock on the door presaged the arrival of their breakfast tray, of which Rushbourne took immediate charge. As soon as Kat was settled back against the pillows with a soft-boiled egg and buttered roll, he signalled Athene to return to her seat by the window and continued with his peeling.

  “Done.” He seized a plate and offered the carefully separated segments of orange to Athene. “Is there anything I can offer you, Miss Dunstable?”

  “Are there any peaches? I’d love a peach once I’ve finished my coffee.”

  “It’s most improper you joining us like this.” Athene poked at the fruit on her plate in distrust.

  “Nothing is considered improper at Hedenham House. Why, the duke could walk in now and find us all cavorting naked on the bed together, and he’d mere
ly laugh. Then probably join us. Miss Hartville? Do you need a pat on the back?”

  She swigged a large mouthful of coffee to ease her spluttering. What an appalling thing to say in the presence of ladies. Should one slap a man who’d personally selected and peeled one an orange, or settle for squeezing the juice into his eye? She was still pondering the appropriate punishment when she noticed the drawstring on Kat’s nightdress had come loose, revealing a hint of plump white bosom. That couldn’t have happened by accident, could it?

  “I’m fine, thank you. Would you like to try some yourself?” She offered the plate—anything to divert his attention from the pouting Kat. Honestly, had the woman no morals? Was this how females had to behave when desperate for male protection? She’d rather go into a nunnery than copy her guardian.

  Rushbourne accepted a piece of the orange, and Athene realised he’d pulled his chair closer to where she had settled herself on the window seat. Their knees were almost touching. She shuffled backwards as far as she could go.

  He ate the orange, licked his lips and started rubbing a napkin gently over a peach, which he then handed to Kat.

  A lump formed in her throat. Why, when he rubbed the velvety skin of the peach, had her treacherous mind immediately pictured him caressing a woman’s breast?

  The plate trembled ominously in her hand, so she set it down with a clunk and clutched the edge of the window seat until her fingers ached. Then realised he was staring at her.

  “You look very warm. Coffee may not have been such a good idea. I’ll pour you a glass of water and squeeze one of these lemons into it for you. Maybe you should consider returning to bed if you are unwell? It’s a miserable day anyway, so not much to get up for at present.”

  “No, indeed,” echoed Kat. “But there are many pleasures one can have without ever leaving one’s bed.”