I love to hate you

by Keysian, Elizabeth

He wouldn’t permit himself to be steered very far. “How extraordinary. Now I’m more certain than ever your guardian is setting her cap at me. I suspected as much last night.”

  “Oh, no, no. Please, we can’t talk here.” The servant who’d delivered their breakfast was hovering like a kestrel near the back stairs, ready to clear their tray.

  “Quite. Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

  “No, I didn’t mean—”

  Too late. He’d opened the door into an unused dressing room adjacent to the chamber she shared with Kat and ushered her inside. He closed off her retreat by standing with his back against the door.

  He stared down, his grey eyes boring into her. “I’d be obliged if you’d tell me what you think is going on here.”

  “Nothing whatsoever.”

  “I would say your guardian has made a most unsubtle play for me.”

  “Give it no mind. She’s a very demonstrative person.”

  His brows knotted. “I don’t like the idea of you being under the guidance of a lightskirt.”

  “How dare you call her such a thing. Nothing improper has happened in the entire time I’ve lived with her.”

  “All of six months.” His voice had hardened.

  “Indeed. Not that it’s any of your business who I live with or how they choose to go on.”

  “Six months is hardly long enough to know a person intimately. I knew you for seven years on and off and never came close to understanding you. Though I’m not prepared to abandon the endeavour yet.”

  “Why should you care what Kat’s like, or what sort of person I am? Don’t imagine you can interfere in my life again, Rushbourne. I won’t tolerate it.”

  His head snapped back. “I haven’t interfered in your life.”

  “Never interfered?” She was breathless with indignation. “How can you deny it? You not only interfered—you ruined my childhood.”

  “Athene.” His voice and his eyes had softened. “You had a difficult childhood, losing your parents when you were so small. And the company of an elderly great aunt was hardly jolly enough for a spirited young girl. You needed to be among your fellows in age, and Harry and I were the closest available. When we three were together, we were co-conspirators against the grown-ups. I look back on those times as the happiest of my entire life.”

  How could anyone be so misguided, so deluded? Tears spilled from her eyes. “You were a complete beast, Oliver. I hated you then, and I hate you now.”

  “No, no, don’t say that. I can’t have been so hateful—I was but a boy. I may have crossed a few lines—”

  “You crossed every line. You hounded me, hurt me, derided me. I’ve done my best to put it all behind me, and I don’t need you to drag it all up again.”

  His hands fastened on her shoulders, his fingers biting in. “It wasn’t that bad. Trust me, I know about real bullying…No, I won’t speak of it now. Tell me, I beg you, what did I do that was so terrible? We were children—there was bound to be a bit of rough and tumble, there were bound to be a few scrapes and bruises and tears—”

  “Always mine. Never yours. When you came home during the school holidays and invaded my aunt’s home to get at me and torment me, I wished I’d never been born.”

  “I can’t believe my behaviour upset you so much. I’m utterly shocked.” He was no longer looking at her. Was he, as she was, gazing back down the pathway of time, wiping aside the mists to relive ancient memories?

  Only his, apparently, were all good. The complete opposite to her own.

  She glanced up at him and saw his eyes were closed, as if in pain. Well, if there was a wound, she was entitled to exploit it. Wasn’t she?

  “I can remember pulling your hair.” His voice was a mere whisper. “I didn’t realise it was so serious a crime.”

  “It was, because you did it continually and it hurt.”

  “I was only trying to attract your attention. It was the easiest thing to grab.”

  “You could have called my name, or taken me by the hand if you’d wanted my attention.”

  “I’m sorry. You were always so self-contained, unwilling or unable to let anyone get close. And you were such a stunning sight when you were angry, with your blue eyes sparking with inner fire. I struggled to resist temptation.”

  I’m sorry. I liked seeing you angry. Was that the best he could come up with after all these years? He’d made her feel low, worthless. He deserved all the blame she could throw at him.

  “Forgive me.” She felt his lips touch her hair. “I would remove the pain if I could.”

  “You can’t eradicate years of fear and loathing with a few words and a kiss.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “I suppose you have forgotten the time you tied me to a tree and pelted me with horse chestnuts.”

  “I can’t remember—it was so long ago. Did I really do that?”

  How easy it was for him to deny all knowledge, or pretend he’d forgotten. Harry said she must have blanked it out, as an unpleasant memory. Had Rushbourne eradicated the memory as well, but from guilt?

  He had captured her hand. When had that happened? She should seize it back, but curiosity kept her motionless, watching to see what he’d do next.

  What he did was to kiss each finger with a tenderness which rendered her speechless. Of course, it didn’t heal any of the wounds of the past, but the fascinating sensations it awoke in her body were a good distraction from those wounds.

  His hands were warm and sure, his lips hot and caressing. Something quivered in her womb, a response to a man making obeisance to a woman, recognising she was worthy of worship, promising to be in thrall to her.

  She shook the thoughts away. She must never give in to Rushbourne. He would only take advantage. He always had. A leopard didn’t change its spots.

  “You threatened to throw me in the horse trough too.”

  “Then I should have been whipped. I apologise if my memory is not so clear as your own. I have forgotten the particular incidents—except the field drain one, of course—all I recall is the need to make you notice me. A force I couldn’t fight against.”

  “Everyone can control their own actions.”

  “Thus speaks Miss Athene Heartless.” There was humour in his tone.

  “Ah yes, thank you for reminding me. You also called me names.”

  “Then I shall atone for my sin.”

  Dangerously, shockingly, he placed his hands on her hips, fingers splayed, releasing a web of heat that billowed out and ensnared her. As he stroked her sides, he leaned in close and whispered, “Beautiful. Talented. Desirable. Fascinating. Entrancing. Overwhelming. A goddess among women. Those are the names I call you now. Let them wipe away all grim memories of my boyish sins, my crass stupidity, pride and selfish need.”

  She gazed up at him, hunting for the lie, ready for the trick, the mocking laughter, the coup de grace.

  But there was no falsehood in his face. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes dark, his colour high, and his whole being was focused on her, to the exclusion of everything else.

  His hands had stilled—thank heaven. No—she wanted them to move, she wanted him to dare, to be put to the test. She would play him, and get her revenge, exactly as Harry had suggested.

  Rushbourne wanted her and she, against all expectation, was drawn by his need. But it was physical, nothing more—carnal, not spiritual. She could entice him, lure him, but her heart would not be touched.

  It would be the perfect revenge. To leave him feeling as worthless as he’d left her when she was a motherless girl, sobbing in the darkness, thinking the whole world against her.

  “Oliver, enough.” She pressed a hand against his chest and felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingers. “You cannot atone for your sins with flattery and ‘make it better’ kisses. If I think of a way for you to make reparation, I’ll inform you of it. Now, out of my way. I must get back to Kat.”

  His face clouded, but he inclined his head,
stood aside, and opened the door for her.

  Compared to the dressing room, the corridor was chill. His nearness no longer warmed her and she folded her arms across her chest, shivering. Her heart pumped hard and she realised how close she’d come to some manner of surrender.

  That could never happen. She would never surrender to Rushbourne again, not through temptation, nor through bullying.

  “Goodbye, Rushbourne,” she said, hoping she sounded firm and decisive.

  He blinked, bowed, then strode away towards the other wing of the house. She watched the graceful movements of his tall, powerful figure and felt again the stir of fascination.

  It was attraction, unexpected and unwanted. But she’d hated the man so long, only her body was in peril, not her heart.

  He wanted her very badly—that much was clear. Like her, he had no intention of hazarding his heart. But if she could play him well—and she might need a little expert help—she would be able to enjoy a revenge so complete, she need never feel worthless again.

  Chapter 8

  The following morning, at eleven o’clock precisely, Oliver took his customary walk. He welcomed the punishing touch of the cold November air—he needed to think, and a brisk perambulation of the duke’s grounds should afford him enough privacy to marshal his feelings.

  He’d just seen Athene playing at cards with Mr Foulsham, and Sir Richard Eden. They were both unattached gentlemen, both eager to dance attendance on her, curse them. His brother made up the set, looking like a cherub but playing like a demon—thank Jove they were playing for counters, not coin.

  Athene wore an expression of such delight, he’d been tempted to linger and admire it. It was a novelty to him—never having been on the receiving end of her pleasure. She thought him the very Devil, apparently, for some childish teasing he barely even remembered. It drove splinters into his heart.

  He understood her situation much better now than he had. When he knew her as a girl, she had no close family, just an elderly guardian who couldn’t cope with children and thus welcomed the noisy incursions of himself and his brother to distract her from her loneliness. Her guardian after the death of the great aunt had sent her away and condemned her to the kind of harsh schooling that stole both brilliance and creativity from girls, and taught them not to expect freedom.

  “Eschewing the entertainments, Rushbourne?”

  He nearly jumped out of his skin as Burlington fell into pace with him. How could he have been so unaware of the duke’s presence?

  “Not exactly. I merely fancied taking the air. I could ask you the same question.”

  Burley chuckled. “Sometimes I like to enjoy my guests, at other times I’m happy to let them enjoy themselves. But your demeanour has soured since you arrived, so I can’t help but think you’re sickening for something. Or someone.”

  Was he genuinely interested in Athene, or did he just want to make restitution and salve his soul, now he knew he’d hurt her? Was there an element of pity involved? Or did it all go a great deal deeper?

  “You can rely on my discretion, Rushbourne, if you need to unburden yourself.”

  A complete lie. Burley was a chaotic who couldn’t be trusted with anything.

  “I know you mean well, but—”

  “Aha! I have it. It’s the pretty brunette I made you kiss the other night.”

  “She’s not brunette. I would call her auburn. With fiery red highlights.” Admittedly, he had called her ‘carrot-top’ when he was younger. But that didn’t mean he disliked her hair.

  “So, it is she who has stolen your heart.”

  “What? Oh, no, Burley, no such thing. We knew each other a long time ago. There’s something amiss, I know it, but I’m the last person she’d ever confide in.” He aimed a desultory kick at a pile of maple leaves, and the light breeze lifted them and shuffled them away.

  “A long time ago? You must have been little more than children then. But I thought you were away at that dreadful school most of the time—Warriner’s wasn’t it?”

  The grey sky darkened. “You know it was dreadful?”

  “Oh, yes. I’d never send any of my sons there—should I ever sire any. I imagine you must have rope burns, whipping scars and fractured fingers, if all I’ve heard about the place is true. Torture not administered by the masters, but by the older boys. Did you ever—”

  He halted and turned to face the duke. “Of course not. I never harmed a soul, despite the bullying I suffered myself. Miss Hartville—the lady we were speaking of—recently accused me of bullying her, but she has no idea of the brutal reality.”

  The duke was grave. “You have my sympathy, sir. To be damaged when so young is a cruelty from which the more sensitive among us will never recover. You, at least, have developed a backbone and grown into your role as the future Earl of Deerfold. A man with so much responsibility must never let emotion cloud his judgement. Believe me, I learned this lesson myself. But back to your Miss Hartville and her condemnation of you.”

  The duke’s playful tone had returned, and he indicated they should continue their walk.

  “Must we talk about her?” Oliver had already confessed to Burley about his school days. Did he want to give away anything more?

  “Yes, we must, for I think she’s worked her way under your skin. So, when you were young, you didn’t bully her. You called her names and aimed for dominion over her because you wanted her attention and she refused to give it. Am I correct?”

  Damn the man. But he was correct. All Oliver had wanted was for Athene to notice him, to spend time with him, to like him. But then Harry had got in the way.

  “I suppose that was part of it, yes. I liked Athene a great deal, but she always favoured Harry because he was younger and prettier than I. While she lived, he was the apple of Mama’s eye, so he grew up selfish and spoilt, and I was tasked to take care of him and accede to his every whim. I got the blame for a great many of Harry’s crimes…but I’m past it now. I no longer resent him.”

  “Just so.” The duke bent and plucked out a stem of rosebay willow herb. “Blasted weeds.” He tore up the plant and scattered the pieces on the path. “But you still cover for him, paying his gambling debts, and keeping your father from hearing anything which might distress him.”

  How come the duke was so well informed? Oliver had hoped the vicissitudes of his family were hidden from the outside world. Far better the Ton think him the rakehell than Harry, for gossip could ruin Harry’s prospects, whereas the title of ‘Viscount’ offered a certain amount of protection.

  “I wonder if we might change the subject, Your Grace?”

  The duke bellowed a laugh at this. “Apologies, Rushbourne. I shouldn’t pry. But it’s so enjoyable to do so. However, none of this helps you resolve the problem of Miss Hartville.”

  “She’s a problem?”

  “Undoubtedly. Why not have an honest conversation with her, and explain the reasons behind you picking on her? Once you have her forgiveness, you can start winning her over.”

  How could he explain himself to Athene without her thinking him weak? He’d always wanted her to believe him strong. In control of all around him, in command of his younger brother, and in command of himself.

  But his self-control had slipped badly yesterday. Stroking her hip, kissing her fingers with the passion of a new lover, when the girl had barely even had breakfast—she would think him a rake of the very worst kind. He mustn’t let it happen again.

  The duke came to a halt. “I can see I’ve given you food for thought. Now let’s return to the house in silence so you can rationalise those thoughts. Or even forget about rationale, and logic, and embrace emotion instead. Be more like Harry, following your whims and desires, and see how it feels.”

  His desires? It was all too easy to follow those. And would result in him losing more than he gained. He acknowledged Burley’s suggestion with a nod and accompanied him back along the leaf-strewn pathway to the house in silence.

  Upon arr
ival at the front door, the duke headed directly inside. Oliver, however, could not be still, and stalked along the gravel pathway to the back of the house. An unfortunate choice, as it afforded him another view of Athene accepting a glass of ratafia from Mr Foulsham, while at the same time tapping Sir Richard Eden on the wrist for some misdemeanour. Her face was bright with laughter.

  It was as well he didn’t carry a stiletto about with him, for the chests of both those gentlemen offered themselves as tempting resting places for such a weapon. Clenching his fists, he continued his circuit, crushing the gravel beneath the heels of his boots as he strode around to the stables and called for his horse.

  Being Athene’s Nemesis was a considerable disadvantage, but he’d no intention of giving up yet. He would endeavour to at least earn the title of ‘friend’ before the house party was over.

  And he would start his campaign immediately.

  Chapter 9

  “Mr Foulsham and Sir Richard Eden are extremely pleasant gentlemen,” Kat announced as she and Athene helped themselves to a cold collation they’d had brought up to their room. “Though I must say it is most bizarre of the duke to have his guests playing at cards so soon after breakfast.”

  “They are nice enough.” But neither of them made Athene’s blood buzz in her ears, or her bosom rise and fall rapidly in anticipation of their touch. “But I don’t imagine myself marrying a man simply because he’s pleasant.”

  Kat poured them each a glassful of spiced milk. “Far rather pleasant than a monster. Or a heartless reptile. Or a bellowing oaf. Although if I had to recommend anyone who would suit you as a husband, it would be Viscount Rushbourne. I think you’d do far better with a lion than a lamb.”

  A rap at the door stalled Athene’s violent rebuttal. After a moment’s hesitation, Kat nodded at her to open it.

  Speak of the Devil…

  She stammered something and edged back into the room, where a significant glance from Kat ignited a flush so powerful, she thought her face was on fire.

  “Miss Dunstable. Miss Hartville, I trust you are feeling better?”