by Anna Bradley
Oliver raised a skeptical eyebrow at this, as well he might. “Is that your only objection? Because Lady Serena isn’t my mistress, despite every wagging tongue in London insisting she is.”
Dinah stared at him. “Not your mistress? But she’s—”
“I’m surprised at you, Dinah. You should know better than to listen to the actresses at the Pandemonium. They’re the worst gossips in London. If you recall, they also claimed you were my mistress, and we both know that to be false.”
Dinah couldn’t deny the London gossips were about as reliable as a pack of chattering monkeys, but if Lady Serena wasn’t Oliver’s mistress, what was she to him? “You’ve been seen all over London with her these past weeks. If she’s not your mistress, then what—”
“Lady Serena is Lord Erskine’s mistress. I’ve been seen all over London with the two of them because I’ve been trying to pry him from her clutches before she ruins him.”
Dinah stared at him, speechless.
Oliver gestured to his eye. The swelling had gone down enough he could open it now, but it was still a dozen different shades of black, blue and yellow. “How else do you suppose I ended up with this? I tried to drag Erskine from the hazard tables before Lady Serena wagered away his fortune and got his fists in my face for my trouble.”
“It wasn’t a brawl, then?” Dinah was rather ashamed at having given Oliver so little credit, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Oh, it was a brawl, and rather an ugly one, but not nearly as ugly as Erskine’s mother and four sisters being tossed into the streets because their brother wagered away every penny of his fortune.”
Dinah opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Do you have any other objections to a marriage between us?” he asked politely, as if he were enquiring about the weather. “If so, let’s have them out now, shall we?”
Dinah did have further objections. Dozens of them, the principal one being he’d be far happier with a sweet, proper young lady as his wife, someone respectable he’d be proud to introduce to his friends. Someone like—
“Miss Spence!” Dinah blurted. “You can’t marry me because you’re going to marry Miss Spence. Indeed, the sooner we arrive at Cliff’s Edge the sooner you can get on with the business of falling in love with her and marrying her.”
Oliver’s jaw dropped open. “Miss Spence? Who the devil is Miss Spence?”
Dinah bit her lip. She and Penelope had agreed it would be best if Dinah didn’t mention Miss Spence to Oliver, it being preferable for the thing to come about naturally. She hadn’t had much choice, given the circumstances, but perhaps she shouldn’t have announced it quite so clumsily.
When she didn’t reply Oliver leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowed. “Well, Dinah? Who is she, and why am I meant to be marrying a lady I’ve never met?”
“You have met her. Caroline Spence. From what I understand, she was at the house party last year at Cliff’s Edge. Penelope said she’s fair-haired with brown eyes, and that you admired her. Miss Spence is a respectable, proper young lady, and so Penelope thought—”
“She thought I’d marry her?” Oliver laughed. “I don’t like to disappoint my sister-in-law, but I’m afraid that’s out of the question. Whatever admiration I may once have felt for Caroline Spence must have been fleeting, because I don’t even remember her.”
“But if you only met her again, you’d—”
“No. I’m sure she’s a lovely young lady, but my affections lay elsewhere, and I won’t marry a lady I don’t love.”
Love.
That last word fell between them with a thud. Dinah stared at him, her heart crowding into her throat. No, it couldn’t be. Surely, he wasn’t saying he loved…her?
But the look on his face as he gazed at her, the softness in his blue eyes said more than his words ever could. Denials rushed to Dinah’s lips—argument and pleas—but she didn’t speak them. She could only sit there, dread raising a chill on her skin.
Oliver knew just what he wanted to say, however. It was as if he’d imagined this moment many times in his head. “This is a courtship, Dinah.” He waved a hand around to indicate the coach.
Dinah stared blankly at him. “W-what is?”
“Our journey together from London to Cliff’s Edge. I realize it’s a bit unconventional as courtships go, but you’ve refused to see me these four weeks and more. I had no other choice than to take drastic measures.”
“Why should you want to court me?” Dinah asked, then winced at the stupidity of the question. She knew why. But understanding a thing in her head was not the same thing as believing it in her heart.
Oliver gave her a crooked smile. “For the same reason most gentlemen wish to court a lady. Because I want to marry you, Dinah.”
Dinah shook her head. Perhaps he thought he did now, but it wouldn’t last. “You don’t want to marry me, Oliver.”
“I do. I’ve wanted to marry you since you fired a pistol at me.” Oliver took her hand. “I’m in love with you, Dinah. I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you, and I believe you’re in love with me.”
Dinah gaped at him. How could he imagine she, with her icy cold heart—she, who didn’t love anything or anyone—could be in love with him? “You’re wrong. I don’t love you. That is, I do care for you, but as my friend, not my...”
What? Her husband, or her lover?
No, no, no. She was not saying the word lover to Oliver Angel. Even speaking the word aloud acknowledged it to be a possibility, and that was dangerous. She snatched her hand free of Oliver’s grip. “I’m sorry, Oliver, but I can’t marry you.”
“I know you’re afraid, but you don’t need to be.” Oliver reached for her hand again and pressed it to his chest, over his heart. “You don’t have to say you love me back. Not until you’re ready, and if you never are, well, that’s all right, too. I have enough love for both of us.”
Dinah snatched her hand away, but not before she felt his heartbeat against her palm, swift and strong, pounding with love wasted on a lady who could never return it—a lady who could never love anyone.
Not him, and not herself.
Pain sliced through her, so terrible she lost her breath, and the anger buried underneath the hurt swelled against her ribs. Why was he putting them through this? Why was he making her refuse him so cruelly? “I’m not afraid of anything. I don’t love you, and I never can.”
“If you’d just give me a chance, I—”
“No. I know my own mind, Oliver. I don’t…I can’t ever think of you that way. You’ll only ever be my friend, nothing more.” Dinah sank her teeth into her lower lip until she tasted blood on her tongue. If it felt like a lie—as if she were lying to him and to herself—it would pass soon enough. All that mattered was the thing was done, and there was no reason for them to ever speak of love or marriage again.
“I don’t believe you.”
Dinah’s gaze shot to Oliver’s face. “You what? What do you mean, you don’t believe me?”
“Just what I said. I don’t believe you see me as only your friend.” Oliver regarded her with cool blue eyes. “There’s no shame in being afraid, Dinah, but don’t be a coward.”
“I’m not a coward!” Dinah stamped her foot on the floor of the carriage and the puppy jumped aside with a startled yelp. “I’m not…I don’t desire you, Oliver. Is that so difficult for you to believe?”
Oliver leaned forward and pinned her with stormy blue eyes. “Yes, because I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve seen the way your eyes darken when I take your hand to assist you from the carriage. I’ve felt the pulse in your wrist flutter madly against my thumb when I touch you, and I’ve heard your breath catch when I smile at you.”
Dinah stared into his eyes, and for a long, terrifying moment she wondered if she’d ever find the strength to tear her gaze away. “You’re seeing what you want to see, that’s all.”
He sighed, as if he were disappointed in h
er. “You’re such a dreadful liar.”
She raised a hand to her throat, but then snatched it back again when she felt the frenzied flutter of her pulse, the swift rise and fall of her chest. “I’m not lying.”
“Oh?” Oliver threw a casual arm across the back of his seat, but his blue eyes were glittering with frustration. “Persuade me, then.”
Dinah sucked in a breath. “That’s absurd! How am I meant to persuade you?”
But she knew, even before he opened his mouth, she knew…
A dimple flashed at the corner of Oliver’s lips, but his smile was grim. “Kiss me.”
*****
Oliver’s gaze roamed slowly over her, noting the flush of color on her cheeks and throat, her parted lips and hectic breaths, the way her pupils swallowed the blue of her eyes.
He might be a fool in love, but he wasn’t blind.
She could reject his proposals. She could deny she loved him and try and persuade them both she never could. She could refuse to marry him and banish him from her presence forever.
But nothing—nothing she said would ever convince him she didn’t desire him.
He’d never been in love before, and God knew he’d made a mess of it thus far. But Oliver knew desire when he saw it, and he’d had quite enough of this nonsense. “Well, Dinah? What are you waiting for? Prove to me you don’t want me, and I’ll never speak of it again.”
Dinah crossed her arms over her chest. “Your…this is ridiculous.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Is that a refusal?”
“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” Dinah muttered, her lips turned down.
“Of course not,” Oliver agreed. “But it would be an ideal way to silence me on this subject.”
She glanced at him then looked quickly away, her cheeks coloring. Oliver waited, his heart pounding in his chest as indecision wrestled with stubborn pride on her face.
He’d just about given up hope when she held out her hand.
Oliver took it. He could feel her slender body trembling like a reed in the wind as he urged her gently down onto the seat beside him. They turned toward each other, the promise of the moment swelling between them, but Dinah’s head was down, her gaze on her lap.
“Look at me, Dinah,” Oliver murmured huskily, tilting her head up with a touch of his thumb to her chin.
She swallowed, her long, graceful throat moving as her dark blue eyes met his.
Oliver ached to gather her into his arms and take her lips with his, but he didn’t do either of those things. He’d bared his heart to her. He’d offered her his love, his devotion, his life, and she’d rejected him.
This time, Dinah would have to come to him.
She rested a hand on his chest. Her eyes lowered again, the dark, lush fan of her lashes brushing her cheeks. Oliver tensed, his entire body straining toward her as she leaned closer. He felt the drift of her warm breath against his skin, the press of her fingers against his chest, and then…
She let out a soft sigh and touched her lips to his cheek.
Her lips were soft, her hands warm, and her kiss…
Oliver felt it everywhere, echoing in recurring vibrations through every part of him, like a tuning fork finding the perfect pitch. He’d shared kisses with other ladies—open-mouthed, passionate kisses, but he’d never experienced anything more erotic in his life than the quick, shy press of her lips against his cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispered. He stroked his knuckles over the delicate arch of her cheekbone and traced his thumb over her jaw before easing slightly away from her.
He expected her to leave him then, to pull away, retreat to her side of the carriage and never spare him another glance the rest of the way to Cliff’s Edge.
But that wasn’t what she did.
A shuddering sigh left her lips, and her fingers curled into the edge of his waistcoat. She opened her devastating blue eyes and gazed up at him for a heartbeat before her eyelids fluttered closed again.
And then…
Then she leaned forward and touched her lips to his.
As desperate as Oliver was for her mouth, he never would have taken such a liberty, never would had stolen a kiss from lips she hadn’t offered him, but as soon as her mouth touched his it was as if a flame had been set to dry kindling. “Dinah.” He gathered her against him with a groan and opened his lips under hers.
Dear God, her mouth…it was so soft, so sweet. He’d imagined kissing her a hundred times, but he could never imagine the desire, the tenderness and love that crashed over him like a tidal wave.
This is what it feels like to kiss the woman you love.
He was lost to her, lost in her, hers in every way a man could belong to a woman. He could never kiss another, not after her. “Dinah, I…please, sweetheart.” Oliver didn’t know what he was begging her for, unless it was more. More of her mouth, more of her lips, more of her touch.
Dinah’s only answer was a soft whimper, but she twined her arms around his neck and sank her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.
“Open your mouth for me, love.” Oliver’s restless hands moved up and down her spine, molding and coaxing her body into his until they fit together like two puzzle pieces. His mouth grew more demanding, even as some distant part of him warned him if she was going to deny him—if she was going to tear herself from his arms—it would be now.
But she didn’t. She let out a soft, breathy sigh, and opened her mouth against his.
It was an invitation. A hoarse groan tore from Oliver’s throat as he seized it, his tongue invading every corner of her mouth, caressing and teasing and urging her to match his eager thrusts with her own.
He nipped at her bottom lip, then slicked his tongue over the tender pink flesh. “Every corner of your mouth is sweeter than the next.”
She bit his bottom lip in return, her lips curving against his mouth when he gasped, and his body jerked against hers. She pressed closer, close enough so her plump breasts were crushed against his chest.
Oliver was losing himself in the taste of her, her touch, the supple curves of her body pressed against his. “I’ll never get enough of you, Dinah. Never.” He tangled his hands in her hair, groaning as a few loose locks brushed against hands. “You’re mine, sweetheart. You’ll always be mine.”
He didn’t realize he’d said the wrong thing until she stiffened against him, and by then it was too late. She was drawing away, leaving a cold, empty space in his arms where her body had been. “No. Dinah, wait—”
She tore her mouth from his, breaking the kiss, and before he could draw a breath she was across the carriage, staring at him with dazed eyes as she raised a shaking hand to her swollen lips.
Oliver wanted to weep at the loss of her. “Dinah, it’s all right.” He held out his hand to her. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”
“No. I shouldn’t have…we shouldn’t have…” Her chin shot up. “This doesn’t change anything.”
Oliver’s heart shuddered at her words, at the confusion in her eyes, and fear made his voice harsher than he meant it to be. “Yes, it does. It changes everything.”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “No. It changes nothing, Oliver.”
“You want me,” he insisted hoarsely.
Her throat worked, but she shook her head. “Desire isn’t love.”
Dinah was as good a shot with words as she was with a pistol, and she’d aimed well. Oliver felt as if his heart was exploding inside his chest. Pain and anger pressed against his throat, tried to spill from his lips, but he wouldn’t chastise her. Couldn’t, not when she was gazing at him with wide, frightened eyes.
“When we get to Rochester, I’ll hire a hack to take me back to London.” Dinah’s voice was quiet, but it seemed loud in the silence of the coach.
Oliver stiffened at her words. “Running away, Dinah?”
She didn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. They both knew she was.
He shook his head. “I won
’t permit you to ride all the way back to London alone. It’s not safe.”
“Grim can accompany—”
“No. If you insist on returning to London, I’ll go with you.”
Her face paled. “You can’t do that, Oliver. You’re meant to be spending the holidays at Cliff’s Edge. Your family is expecting you.”
Oliver laughed, but the taste of it was bitter on his tongue. “And spend the next few weeks fending off Miss Spence? No. I’ll send my apologies to my family. They’ll understand.”
“I don’t think—”
“I said no. Either we both return to London, or we both go from Rochester to Sittingbourne, and from there north to Cliff’s Edge. Those are your choices, Miss Bishop. We’ll arrive in Rochester in the next half hour. You have until then to make up your mind.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rochester, England
After Dinah put an end to Oliver’s courtship, neither of them knew what to say to the other. With every silent mile that passed, the dark, tangled thing inside her chest pulled tighter and tighter.
She was no stranger to awkward situations. They were common enough when one was an actress on London’s most notorious stage. But she’d never encountered a situation quite so awkward as traveling with a gentleman whose proposals she’d just rejected.
Right before she’d kissed him, that is, and before he’d kissed her back—a kiss so sweetly devastating it had been all she could do not to climb into his lap.
But there was nothing for it. She couldn’t return to London—not if Oliver insisted on accompanying her. No, all she could do now was get through the rest of the journey and then flee Cliff’s Edge as soon as they arrived, just like the coward Oliver had accused her of being.
Without Dinah there to distract him, Oliver might take a fancy to Miss Spence, after all. He could be smitten with her by Twelfth Night, madly in love with her soon thereafter, and married to her by the spring thaw. It was just what Dinah hoped would happen—of course, it was. And if there was a hollow, frozen space inside her chest where her heart should be, well, it would save her a lot of bother, wouldn’t it?
