“Don’t stop, Gabriel,” she panted.
“I’ve hurt you.” But already he was moving again. Oh, sweet heaven, but she was tight, and warm and everything he’d imagined she would be. His hands had found their way around to squeeze her buttocks as he worked toward a release for both of them.
And she was close.
Gabriel’s lips moved up to hers again and claimed her mouth without reserve. Pumping his hips, he mimicked the motion with the same thrust of his tongue. Olivia. Olivia. Olivia.
Her name was his mantra, his prayer.
He deserved nothing but that hadn’t stopped him from needing her.
And then her body clenched around him. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, his back, and lower, until he felt her nails digging into the muscles of his thighs.
The pain, her excitement, her wild release, had him thrusting deep three last times and then, up, higher, all of her, owning her, becoming her.
“Olivia.” He fell on her in a gasp, knowing he should move so that she wasn’t being squashed into the mattress, but not wanting to separate from her yet.
Her hands trailed up to his back, and then to his hair, threading and stroking, comforting him in a way that only she could. “Olivia,” he whispered one last time before exhaustion finally took over and allowed him to sleep.
Gabriel’s weight pinned her to the bed, but Olivia had no wish to move. If she shifted him to the side, he’d disengage from her and very possibly wake up. She didn’t expect any declarations of love or proposals of marriage. He’d been honest enough all along. For now, she just wanted this closeness. At this moment, she could love Gabriel Fellowes.
Filtered light seeped into the room as the sun rose behind all those clouds, and Olivia could barely make out a small raspberry birthmark on his right buttocks in the shape of… She blinked. Perhaps it was a dog.
He was not perfect after all. The thought caused her to smile to herself. Of course, he was perfect. He always would be, to her. He would leave her, tragically, because he would be expected to marry someone more appropriate, never to return. In her mind, he would remain young and handsome long after she aged into a gnarled old woman.
He mumbled something and turned his head.
Ah, Gabriel.
Perhaps if he could move just a little… She shoved him the slightest amount to the side. It was getting difficult to breathe beneath him, after all. He mumbled again and rolled slightly.
When he had stared at her from inside her small stable, he’d looked as though he was caught inside a nightmare. She dared not imagine what he’d gone through the day before.
She had spent the afternoon hours with Eliza at the Smiths’ cottage, but at the urging of Mrs. Markham, and then the vicar, taken advantage of a break in the storm and returned to her own home. Heavy of heart, tormented by her worry for Gabriel, and terrified for the Smith children at the same time, Olivia had picked her way carefully through the mud and barely stepped inside as darkness fell.
Mr. Smith had not returned to his house, nor had he sent word of his safety. She now knew why.
When she’d arrived home, she’d discovered it dark and cold and lonely. She’d forgotten that she’d sent Mary to be with her family. Surely, Mary would have returned had they received good news.
Olivia had not slept a wink.
She’d cried. She’d prayed, bargained with God, and eventually, found herself just sitting and watching out the window.
When she’d seen a horse and rider disappear into the small stable behind her house, Olivia had dared not hope.
Her prayers had been answered. One of them anyhow.
He had come.
He’d been dirty, bleeding, exhausted, and guilt-ridden, but he had come.
He had come to her.
She tucked her head beneath his chin and, for the first time in almost two days, despite her best effort to stay awake so she could categorize every minute of this memory, fell into a dreamless and restful sleep.
“Olivia.” Something brushed at her chin. “I need to leave.”
Olivia blinked open her eyes. Gabriel stood beside the bed, already dressed. In the full light of day, the bruises on his face looked worse than they had last night, and for the first time since she’d known him, he wasn’t meeting her gaze.
The warmth she’d felt upon waking began ebbing away, and a cold foreboding crept in.
“I know.” She forced a tremulous smile, willing him to meet her eyes. “You’re needed at the mine.” At least he’d gotten some rest, and his clothes looked to have dried while they… slept.
But he was shaking his head. “You… I mean, I need to leave you. We–I–cannot.”
Olivia sat up, clutching the sheet to herself. She’d known he would go back to London soon. Of course, he wouldn’t stay here forever. But… Had she fooled herself into thinking he loved her? If he did, it was doubtful he could do anything about it. Even if he wanted to.
Words escaped her.
He sighed into the empty silence and then took a few hesitant steps toward the window, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular outside.
The sun was finally shining, birds could be heard singing, and Olivia could only imagine how green her garden must be this morning.
“Stanton and your sister are likely already on the road back. I’ll remain, of course, as long as he requires my assistance. As soon as…” He swallowed hard. “As soon as all the bodies have been recovered at the very least. Hell, I’ve made a mess of everything.”
He obviously included her in what he considered his mess. His words stung.
He had not felt the same emotions she had. Olivia dropped her gaze to the hem of the sheet she was clutching. “You don’t have to go because of…” She waved her hand along the bed. “Me.”
“I have… business to attend to in London—business I’ve put off too long.” And then, “I’m sorry.”
She’d scream if he uttered his apology again.
“I haven’t asked for anything from you,” she reminded him. She had a small amount of pride left. She’d not given herself to him under false pretense.
He turned his back to the window and finally met her eyes. “That’s the crux of it, Damnit, Olivia! You have every right to make demands of me. Your father ought to hold a shotgun against my brain until I’ve met you at the altar. You are a gently bred young woman, not a servant, not a woman without means. You deserve all due respect and…” He stopped and swallowed hard. Looking out the window, he added, “I’m so–”
“Stop!” At her command, he finally looked at her. She couldn’t hide the hurt she felt. Had she been so disappointing then? “Stop apologizing.”
He held her gaze steadily. “Olivia. I am betrothed.”
She inhaled but no air entered her lungs. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. He couldn’t be betrothed. It wasn’t possible. He would have told her.
This must be something new. Something he had no control over. “To one of the duke’s daughters?” But he was shaking his head.
“You don’t know her. Our fathers were the closest of friends, practically brothers. She and I have been betrothed since before her christening.”
What was he saying? “And her father will hold you to such a contract? Something enacted when you were both children?” None of this made any sense, and yet…
“Viscount Whitley passed away four years ago.” He ran one hand through his already ruffled hair. She needed to leave it be.
But then something struck her. “Her father is a viscount?” Just as hers was. But Olivia was different and always would be.
He dropped into a wooden chair and stared down at his hands. “I promised my father, Olivia. I sat beside my mother and sister and brothers at his death bed and promised to uphold the betrothal. Whitley and my father served in the military together, as younger men, and Whitley saved my father’s life. Whitley assured him they’d be even so long as my father’s eldest son, his heir, married Whitley’s only daughter
.”
Olivia had listened to Gabriel speak most favorably of his family. Of course, he would uphold such a promise.
She should have known.
“Lord Stanton knows?” she asked. Likely Louella did, too.
He nodded.
Thank God Louella wasn’t here to witness her older sister’s shame.
Was the girl pretty? Olivia supposed it didn’t matter. “Do you love her?” But as soon as the words left her mouth, she held up one hand. “Please, don’t answer that.” She’d already told him she hadn’t expected an offer.
She’d loved him. And she’d not demanded anything in return.
But neither had she expected this.
“I love her, in a way, Olivia.” He’d lifted his head to meet her gaze in the steady way he had since that first night in the garden before he’d even realized that she had an affliction. “We’ve known one another for years, and she’s been forced to postpone our wedding four times due to untimely deaths in her family.”
I love her… Our wedding.
Olivia nodded. She should have forced herself to remain awake longer, when she’d been able to hold him close and memorize the creases and texture of his face. She’d not even had him for one full night.
In truth, he’d never been hers.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” A foolish question, she suspected. But knowing now, that he’d been promised to another, made her feel used. It cheapened what they had done.
His eyes shone a little more than usual. “I never imagined I’d–” He blinked and swallowed hard. “And then, I wanted to pretend, I supposed, that I was free.”
“If you’d told me, then I would never have… We could not have...” She swiped angrily at tears that threatened to escape past her lashes. “I wouldn’t have.” She shook her head. Of course, she wouldn’t have allowed him to make love to her, would she? “I wouldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry, Olivia.”
“Please go.” At the same time the words left her mouth, she wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him not to leave her.
She’d fallen in love with a bounder. A liar. A cheat.
He was to marry a viscount’s daughter.
A viscount’s daughter!
“I–”
“I asked you to leave, My Lord. I wish you a safe journey back to London, and your intended.”
But then his hands were on her shoulders, squeezing her almost painfully. “I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t plan on meeting you, Olivia. I don’t understand why I came here last night. I knew it was wrong. I knew–”
“Go!” She turned away from him, unable to bear his excuses. Because although he wanted to provide her with reasons, in the long run, none of it mattered. He was fully clothed, while she sat in bed feeling more naked than she ever had in her life. This could not be happening!
He hadn’t moved yet, and when she looked back up, she thought he’d take her in his arms again, kiss her senseless, and tell her…
What?
That he loved her?
That he wanted to make her his wife?
She was a fool for allowing such a fantasy to enter her mind for even a second.
Because he did not take her into his arms.
He did not kiss her senseless.
His hands dropped, and he stepped back. “Of course. You’re right. I won’t bother you further.” A few more steps back.
He awkwardly collected his hat and jacket from where Olivia had sat them to dry when he first arrived and then turned for the door.
“Gabriel.” It was as though she’d lost all control of her physical self. For a moment, she wanted to throw herself at his mercy, tell him she loved him…
Stupid, stupid Olivia.
He stopped without looking back. “Yes?”
“I–I… Take care of yourself.”
At which he nodded, opened the door, and then closed it softly behind him.
Chapter 18
The Aftermath
Rather than resume working with Eliza at the Smith home, Olivia and Mary both threw themselves into baking and preparing meals and then delivering them to the families of the deceased. Olivia recognized the frantic activity on Mary’s part as necessary to her grieving. Mary had, in fact, lost her brother in the cave-in.
Other emotions, such as guilt and regret, clouded Olivia’s grief. When she visited Luke Smith’s now orphaned children, she found herself grieving more that she could not become their mother than she grieved the fact that she would not become Mr. Smith’s wife.
And deep down, when being completely honest with herself, she experienced a tiny grain of relief at not having to marry Luke Smith. What kind of person was she? She’d happily have married him if she could only bring back the children’s father.
She’d have cursed herself if only she knew how.
Olivia took small solace in Louella’s return, but their relationship had changed as well, just as Olivia suspected it would. Stanton was now the duke, he was Crawford, and Olivia’s baby sister was the duchess now.
Not that Louella had embraced her new status as of yet. Olivia’s younger sister had glared daggers at her when Olivia dared refer to her as ‘Her Grace.’ The title was a daunting one, and Louella hadn’t been prepared to take on so much responsibility so soon.
With each day that passed, the people of Misty Brooke endured yet another funeral. Although Louella attended them alongside her husband, Olivia adhered to tradition and left the ceremonies to the men of the village.
It was after attending the sixth of these funerals that Louella finally managed to make time to come and visit Olivia alone.
It seemed like they’d not chatted privately for ages.
But instead of inviting her sister into the parlor as she’d always done in the past, Olivia led her back to the kitchen, sat her down at the long worktable, and returned to the dough she’d been kneading before Louella arrived.
“Where is Mary?” Louella glanced around, looking quite beautiful if not a little paler than usual in one of the new gowns Stanton had purchased for her during the short time they’d been allowed together in London.
“Mary has gone to the Cromwells’ to deliver a basket.”
Of course, Louella knew of the Cromwells’ loss. Mr. Kenneth Cromwell’s funeral had been the one held that very day.
“I knew they shouldn’t reopen it.” Louella hated the mine nearly as much as Olivia did. “If I hadn’t married Cameron, it wouldn’t have been included in my dowry, Crawford would not have had the opportunity to send men down into the hole, and all those men would be alive today.”
Olivia punched at the dough but then looked up at Louella. “They would have opened it anyway, Lou.”
“But, Livvy—”
“In the end, from what I have gathered, Crawford ordered operations despite the engineers calling a halt to it. Greed had no limits with that man. You were given no choice in the matter, Lou. You and I both know that.”
Louella moaned and dropped her face into her hands. The pretty ribbons tied around her sister’s wrists did not go unnoticed by Olivia. She had hoped that after the wedding, Louella would stop wearing them but…
“It would be easier to accept that if only I hadn’t been given such a wonderful opportunity for happiness. Oh, Olivia, everything was so wonderful in London. I wish we’d never had to come back!”
Olivia raised her brows.
“I wish you could have simply come to London to stay with me and we never had to set foot on Ashton Acres or Thistle Park again.”
Olivia smiled sadly. “Is your husband grieving the loss of his father deeply, then?”
Louella plucked at one of the ribbons on her wrist. “On one hand, he hated Crawford, but on another level, one I doubt he has any control of, I believe he feels the loss greatly. He hasn’t been the same since receiving word. Oh, Olivia! Marriage is not a simple matter at all!”
They’d seemed so very happy on their wedding day. “Is there an
ything I can do to help?” She knew there would not be. Marriage was a private matter between a husband and wife.
Louella forced a smile and nodded. “Tell me everything else of interest that has occurred while I was away.”
She could never tell Olivia about Gabriel Fellowes, about that night, about how broken-hearted she felt each morning when she awoke knowing he would never be a part of her life again.
“Luke Smith asked me to marry him before he was killed.”
Louella’s eyebrows shot all the way up into her hairline. “Thank heavens you refused!”
“But I didn’t, Lou. I accepted the night before the mine collapsed. And a few days before that, I’d visited the mine.” She hated to voice her fears but… “Do you think it’s possible the curse has any merit? What if I hadn’t accepted him? I went inside of the mine, for just a few minutes, and then I had a dream that it was collapsing.”
Olivia bit her lip in order to stop all the words she’d been torturing herself with for the past week from spilling over.
If she’d hadn’t been at odds with Gabriel the night before the cave-in, would he have become one of the casualties as well?
But Louella was shaking her head adamantly. “Of course, it does not! A series of unfortunate coincidences, that is all. If what you say has any merit, we’d have to consider all the other places you’ve visited as cursed. All the other people you’ve come into contact with. Did you also betroth yourself to Mr. Cromwell? Or to Mary’s brother? Or the old duke, for that matter? All of those people were killed, and it had absolutely nothing at all to do with you.”
“I know,” Olivia conceded. “I know that what you say makes sense, but I cannot keep myself from wondering.”
“I refuse to listen to such nonsense. From you of all people!”
“But what if it isn’t?”
“And wait a moment. Did you just tell me you actually said yes to Mr. Smith? Olivia! Why?” She blinked her eyes in confusion. “You must marry a gentleman. Mr. Smith was a man of character, a hard worker, Livvy, but the two of you never would have suited. You were not… You did not…?”
The Perfect Spinster: A Regency Romance (The Not So Saintly Sisters Book 2) Page 14
