by Stacy Reid
“No, if you marry a rich and titled gentleman, when he dies you will be left with a good widow’s portion that will see us comfortable.”
“Mother…”
“It is your duty to this family to marry, and marry well. I will hear no more talk of being independent. It is just not done. Now, let’s say a prayer for your father together and then prepare for dinner.”
When her mother spoke in that tone, there was no point in arguing with her. But Livvie had to find a way to make her mother and stepfather understand. She could not relinquish her freedom to any man and then be made to suffer how her mother had suffered when Papa had left them. The lines of grief and worry now lining her mother’s features indicated how much she had fretted about the death of her second husband and facing the harsh reality of genteel poverty once more. Livvie would much prefer to concentrate on building a comfortable life without depending on the wealth and security of being any gentleman’s wife.
She gritted her teeth and said nothing more. She would not come of age until her twenty-fifth birthday. By then she will have been married off, if her parents had their wish.
How was she to escape this mess?
Several hours later, Livvie was snuggled beneath the warm coverlets, reading the latest volume of Theodore Aikens’s novel of espionage. His stories were powerful, evocative, and usually scintillating. For the past four years, society had clamored to discover the identity of Aikens. Some had speculated that Theodore Aikens was a pseudonym for Lord Byron because of the dark passionate flair he wrote with. The poet, however, had said much to his regret that he could not claim the credit.
Aikens’s hero, Wrotham, bordered on the brink of disreputable indecency with his lewd cutting tongue, and his dangerous patriotic services for the crown made him dashing and admirable. Livvie’s mother had scolded her several times for reading the scandalous books, but she was too enthralled by the stories to pay her any heed.
There was a sharp rap on her door, and before she answered, the handle turned and in walked her brother. Alarm had her closing the small leather volume, dropping it on the sheets, and stumbling from the bed. “Is it Father?” she demanded, tugging her robe from the peg and slipping it on. “Has he taken a worse turn?”
William frowned, then gently closed the door. “No, he is recovering well.”
She rested a palm against her heart, taking even breaths to still its furious pounding. “Then why are you in my chamber?”
“I’ve come to discuss your future.”
Of course, his wife had made her ultimatums, but Livvie did not desire to hear it tonight. She wanted the ability to have a proper night’s rest before facing the uncertainties of tomorrow.
“Can this wait until in the morning, William? It is a bit…unsettling having you in my chamber.” Her brother had never visited her in her sanctuary before. His rooms were, in fact, on the opposite side of the manor.
He lifted the candle high, and for a moment the shadows painted his face in a sinister mold. Her heart lurched, and she silently scolded her imagination for running wild.
“No, it cannot wait. I find I am eager to start…our relationship.”
She blinked. “Is this about Father’s request?”
“It most assuredly is,” he said, walking even farther into her chamber. “Despite our low coffers a few years ago, Father provided money for a Season for you. It was wasted. There should be no expectations now, with you being buried in the country for three years after your spectacular failure, that society will receive you favorably and an offer will come your way.”
She flinched at his blunt assessment. There was greed in his eyes as he gazed at her with shocking boldness. Her heart lurched in acute discomfort. She found it prudent to move away from the bed and toward the door. “William, I—”
“I’ve thought long and hard on this, and I have decided to have you as my mistress.”
She faltered. Mistress? “I beg your pardon?”
He nodded firmly. “Let’s be honest, my dear. Settling a dowry on you will be a waste. No man will have you after your father’s cowardly action and you have no polish. But you are delectable, and after deep consideration, I find the best place for you will be in my bed, where I’ve long wanted you to be,” he ended thickly. “I will settle the same two thousand pounds, and I will let a house for you. You will have servants and carriages and a few pieces of jewelry now and then.”
Her palms grew suddenly damp as alarm shivered through her. They had not been as close as brothers and sisters ought to be, and his regard of late had been somewhat unsettling, but she had simply thought it an aberration.
“How charitable of you,” she said faintly, her heart beating an erratic cadenza in her chest.
He narrowed his eyes. “I could see you turned out without a farthing when Father passes. It is tempting to take you now, but I do not want Louisa to know about us, or your mother.” He walked closer to grasp a loose tendril of her hair. “I will be generous with you, Livvie, and I will take care not to foist any bastards on you.”
Bastards? She recoiled, disgust roiling though her. “I am your sister!”
“Wrong,” he snapped. “We have no blood ties.”
“What you are suggesting is reprehensible.” Her father had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger without hesitation, leaving her and her mother to face debt and society’s derision alone, because of a mistress, and William would dare to suggest she assume such a position? “I have lost all good opinion and respect I once had for you,” she whispered furiously, hating the burn of tears filling her eyes.
He had the temerity to appear puzzled at her rejection. “You will never get a better offer, surely you must see this?”
“You seek to dishonor me after years of friendship.”
“I offer you a life of wealth and leisure.”
Dread swirled like acid through her veins. “How can you so calmly abandon all the wishes of our father?”
“My father, Olivia, my house, my wealth…and the only way I shall part with it to you, is if you are in my bed.”
“Leave my chambers at once,” she growled. “Or I shall scream and bring the household down on us.”
William tugged her to him and slammed his lips against hers with a speed that shocked and terrified her. His breath smelled of liquor, and the fumes almost made her gag. His larger frame dwarfed her, and she struggled to be released from his crushing embrace. Disgust and shock tried to steal her thoughts and when he tried to insert his tongue into her mouth, she bit down hard.
He pushed her away, and she stumbled. Rage contorted his features. “You damnable bitch!”
“Get out,” she shouted, trembling, fear twisting through her.
“Think on my offer, sister. I assure you it is the only one you will be receiving. I shall anticipate your answer by the end of the week.” With rapid strides, he left her room.
As if she would ever countenance such a despicable and unfavorable proposition. She staggered to the chair by the window on shaky legs. She sank into its depth and curled her feet underneath her. What was he thinking?
A mistress.
Humiliation burned through her. William was much changed from the boy she had grown up with over the years. He was still as handsome as ever, with his dark brown hair and light blue eyes, but beneath the veneer of affection lurked something more lustful that she had been ignoring, believing it to be her overactive imagination. How wrong she had been.
He had conducted himself most dishonorably and she was at loss about what to do. To burden her father now, on his sick bed, would be cruel, and her mother did not have the constitution to handle such dreadful news. Livvie sighed. She would have to take care of the matter herself, and if he were to ever accost her person again, she would execute one of the lessons Papa had taught her before he died.
She would use her knee against William’s most private parts.
Still trembling, Livvie climbed into the bed and pulled the coverlets to
her chin. Dear Lord, now that she had to deal with William’s disgusting advances, staying at Riverhill was no longer an option. The blackguard would remain underfoot until their father recovered and that could take several weeks. She would have to stay with the Countess of Blade to acquire the polish to enable her to land herself a well-heeled gentleman.
Botheration!
Chapter Two
Grangeville Park, South Hampshire
The earth shook with the power of the stallion’s hooves. Tobias Theodore Walcott, the Earl of Blade, urged his steed even faster, cutting the corner at a breakneck speed. The wind whipped along his face, stinging him, but he relished the freedom of racing along the lanes of his home. Thunder rumbled and small drops of icy rain wetted his skin.
He inhaled the cold fresh air into his lungs, most content to be away from the pollution, noise, and grime of Town. He was also relieved to be far from the rest of the hardheaded lords he had been painstakingly trying to woo to his side. England had been suffering since the war, and much needed to be done to help the widows and orphans left bereaved and the thousands of veterans starving and struggling to find work with livable wages.
The Prince Regent had been too busy holding lavish parties and balls to be concerned with their plight, and the rest of society seemed content to follow in his footsteps. Tobias encouraged his horse to more speed as he put the thoughts of the political fight he would tackle on their behalf aside. He cleared the corner, and his heart suddenly jerked in his chest. The oncoming horse reared, and the rider struggled to stay seated. Tobias drew on his reins, twisting his horse to the left and by a mere hair’s breadth avoided a collision that would have been disastrous.
Even so, the rider slipped from the horse and landed in an undignified heap on the muddy earth. Curses spilled from the rider, the soft, sensual tones at odds with the vernacular words pouring from her throat.
“Reckless idiotic buffoon,” she muttered, trying to stand and sliding along the muddy path once more.
Good God.
She surged to her feet and managed to find purchase. “You could have gotten us both killed!” she yelled, fisting her hands at her side. “What kind of madman clears the corner at such speed? What if I had been closer or going faster? What were you thinking?”
Tobias was rendered speechless. “Christ.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “What are you?”
The most enchanting pair of light green eyes he had ever beheld flashed in outrage. “I beg your pardon?”
“I did not misspeak,” he said drily. “What are you?” He knew he was being insulting, but in this moment, he did not care. While the fresh air had helped, he still felt impatient, out of sorts, and his fingers were itching to grab a pen and write away his frustration.
At times like these, when society was just bloody infuriating, he lost himself for a few hours in the fictitious world of danger, lust, and secrets he had created. Whenever he wrote he felt peace, a tranquility he’d never experienced elsewhere. It had been that way ever since he was a boy and he’d used his imagination and the written words to escape the dark days of his childhood.
She stiffened. “You insufferable lout!”
He arched a brow. Her speech indicated she was educated, but she certainly could not be a lady. Though she was dressed in a simple dark-blue riding habit, its hems were soaked in mud, and dark red hair spilled across her shoulders in riotous waves, the ribbon that had held it together dangling over her forehead. There was mud splattered everywhere on her, even on her chin and cheek. And if he was not mistaken, she was wearing breeches underneath her riding gown.
With a soft growl, she marched toward a horse he recognized from his stables, grabbed the reins, and with an efficiency and skill he found surprising, mounted the horse…astride. Her posture was one of confidence and refined elegance.
Tobias’s mouth went dry. The skirt of her riding habit crept up, revealing the naked skin of a pair of luscious calves above her mud-splattered half boots. She made to ride off, so he turned his horse across the path.
“Who are you?”
She narrowed her eyes. “That, sir, is no concern of yours. If you will let me pass, I will be on my way.”
It suddenly occurred to him she was beautiful. The notion so startled him he blinked, wondering what about her outrageous appearance could be considered even passably pretty. But in truth, he need not wonder, for it was so devastatingly evident. Such a delicate, heart-shaped face she had, with a pert nose, elegant cheekbones, and very soft and sensual lips. Thick lashes framed her extraordinary eyes, which had an exotic slant.
She was breathtaking.
But he despised those who ignored propriety and courted scandal, and if he was not mistaken, she belonged to the class that must not think about such things or face the consequences of their folly. “I think not.”
“You cannot detain me, sir.”
“The sky has darkened and rain is on the air. It is best you return to the main house.”
Her eyes flashed. Magnificent.
“What I do with my time is not your concern.”
“I am the lord of this estate and owner of the horse upon which you sit; I daresay everything you do must be of concern to me.”
She stiffened, drawing his eyes to the manner in which the jacket stretched across her chest. What the hell was wrong with him? The very idea he could be attracted to such a hoyden filled him with distaste.
Her eyes widened and a flush climbed her cheeks. “I…I… Lord Blade?”
“In the flesh.”
“Oh! I…was told you were in Town or I would never have dreamed of borrowing your horse without your permission,” she said, blushing furiously. “Please, forgive me.”
“Liar,” he drawled, instinctively recognizing her nature. She was the type of woman he had shied away from for years. The reckless, improper, and scandalous sort.
“It is very unkind and not the mark of a gentleman to so baldly call a lady a liar,” she said frostily.
“Perhaps, but you are no lady.”
Her eyes flashed with anger, then cooled to chilling civility. “How arrogant and obnoxious of you to equate being different with unladylike qualities.”
“How ridiculous of you to believe your reckless and wanton behavior is simply being different. Your very wild appearance invites scandal,” he said cuttingly.
Hurt and some indecipherable emotion flared in her eyes before she lowered her lashes. Then she jutted her chin. “Of course. I recall the rumors that speak to the Earl of Blade as being uncommonly cold and proper. I can see how a small thing as a lady riding astride in the country with an expectation of privacy would be shocking. How trite your life must be,” she said. Then her eyes widened in distress.
It became apparent then to Tobias that she had not meant to let loose her tongue. Instead of being insulted and angry, he was intrigued.
He frowned. Why did she seem so enticing? He had the sudden urge to take her into his arms and kiss the outrage that he could see simmering in her catlike eyes. The thought was so unlike him he was rendered speechless for precious moments. “I assume you are Lady Olivia?” he asked, hiding his unwelcomed reaction to her.
She frowned, wariness settling on her face. “Yes. I was not aware you were interested in my presence at Grangeville Park, my lord.”
“My mother wrote to me weeks ago informing me of your stay in my home. From our encounter here, it is quite easy to surmise you are the young lady in dire need of social polish.”
Her glare almost skewered him. Then with a tight smile, she said, “I wish I could say it has been a pleasure, my lord. If you will excuse me, I must freshen before your mother returns from calling on the Duchess of Wolverton.”
She spun the horse around and nudged the side of his massive stallion, then rode away with such beauty and grace, the little hoyden actually held him spellbound.
Good God.
…
Hooves thundered behind her, but Livvie refused to gla
nce back. Embarrassment burned through her limbs. The wretched, wretched man. Why did he have to arrive a day early? As the Earl of Blade, the beautiful and well-situated estate of Grangeville Park was his, but the dratted man could have alerted the household of when he would travel down from London.
Had she known, she never would have acted with such wanton disregard and dared to take out one of his most powerful and graceful stallions for a run. But she had needed those few hours of freedom after weeks of being indoors, taking deportment lessons that had made her eyes cross. There were so many rules to remember, so many mistakes she could commit. A lady must learn how to cultivate the art of conversation, walk with refined elegance, take tea with decorum. Even smiling was an art she must relearn. On more than one occasion, the countess had remarked with disdain that Livvie should not show all her teeth when she smiled. It was just not done.
The dowager countess was a once-beautiful woman who had not aged well. Her naturally slim figure had become angular rather than rounding as she got older. Her iron-gray hair drained what color remained in her face and she refused to use rouge to replace what years had taken away, and the deep lines that had engraved themselves upon her face revealed an unhappy and querulous disposition.
Livvie had been fretting constantly whether she would ever live up to the expectations her mother and stepfather had for her. Livvie was not even sure she wanted to meet their lofty goals. Surely most men, if not all in the ton, would hold similar opinions to Lord Blade. He had been outrageously insolent and she had done nothing to warrant such a reproach.
Would he inform his mother of their encounter? The countess would provide her with a tongue lashing should she learn Livvie had ridden astride. The first day, she had gone fishing by the lake and his mother had fainted when she had discovered her audacity. Livvie had been at loss what to do, and she had quickly realized that she needed to conform to the expected social behavior to avoid repeated swooning fits and hysterics from the countess. It was exhausting, and she was finally looking forward to her time in Town, if only to escape the lessons and endless restrictions she was enduring.
