by Zoë Archer
His gaze was sharp and piercing. “You think I wouldn’t show?”
“Of course not. I just...” Her shoulders rose and fell in a gesture of complete loss. “You have more honor than any other man I know, and I’m glad.”
“Honor,” he snorted. “Yeah, I got that in spades.” He looked around the room, taking everything in but her.
His detachment chilled her, but he was wiser than she. Things would hurt less if they already began distancing themselves from each other. Standing beside Will in her elegant ballroom, ready to greet the privileged citizens of London for an elaborate and risky charade, Olivia felt a gulf as wide as the Atlantic and as tall as the Rockies open between them. It was a distance that could never be breached.
Chapter Eighteen
The ballroom was full of some of the most influential and well-regarded people in London. Several members of Parliament, a handful of titled nobles, the editor of the London Times, and high ranking government officials, along with their wives. Charlotte and Frederick were in attendance. Graham stood in the corner, dark eyes glittering like obsidian as he scanned the room. She ought to feel reassured by his presence, but the one man she wanted close to her wasn’t in the room.
Even though Will was dressed for the gala, he had insisted that he keep watch outside.
“Pryce ain’t a fool,” he’d said just before the guests had started to arrive. “He won’t try anything inside. But I’ll bet my saddle that Maddox’ll be around, and I aim to clean his plow.”
“But Maddox’s work is done,” Olivia had protested.
Will shook his head. “He’s like Pryce, wantin’ to see how it all plays out. When he does show, I’ll be sure to make him welcome.”
Somewhere outside, Will patrolled her house. She trusted his judgment, but it would have made her heart hammer less painfully if she could at least see him. She feared for his safety. Maddox was no ordinary thug. He was a professional, and she didn’t know if Will’s natural skills as a fighter could outmaneuver a trained mercenary.
Moving through her guests, she fell back on the years of instruction she had received, letting careful education guide her like an invisible hand at her back. She murmured greetings and pleasantries to the men and women who filled the ballroom.
“Everything will be all right,” Charlotte said to her, placing a light hand on Olivia’s arm. Frederick nodded in agreement.
“Of course it will,” Olivia answered with an artificial smile before drifting away. It was too strenuous being in the company of friends, whose eyes saw too much.
“I say, Lady Xavier,” a member of the House of Lords asked her, “where is this American I have been hearing so much about?”
“Tending to important business,” she answered.
“He is rumored to be so very entertaining,” the man’s wife chimed in. She gave a little shiver of horrified delight. “So very uncouth and wild.”
“If you wish to amuse yourself with something uncouth and wild,” Olivia found herself saying, “you might try visiting the monkeys at the zoo instead of gawking at a fellow human being.”
The other woman blushed deeply. “I...apologize, Lady Xavier. I didn’t mean—”
Olivia held up a hand. “Please help yourself to some of the refreshments. I must see to my other guests.” She walked away before she could say anything else, something she might regret. Although she did not regret putting the Parliament member’s wife in her place. The nerve of that woman, speaking of Will as though he were some kind of Barnum attraction. Olivia took a glass of beer from a passing servant to steady herself, then set it back down again, finding no interest in drinking.
“This ale is delicious, Lady Xavier,” the Times editor said. “I must admit, there is something especially novel in drinking something as wholesome and convivial as beer in such an elegant setting.”
Many guests standing nearby murmured their agreement as Olivia gave a grateful curtsey. They all smiled at each other self-consciously, dressed as they were in their most formal attire, but holding pint glasses instead of snifters or long-stemmed wine glasses.
“May I propose a toast?” a familiar voice asked behind her.
Olivia briefly closed her eyes. She steeled herself for what would be a difficult and dangerous performance.
Slowly, she turned to face George Pryce. Like the other men at the party, he was wearing evening clothes, and had chosen to wear for the occasion a monocle that gleamed whitely in his eye. He smirked at her. She clutched the fan in her hand to keep from launching herself at him.
“Mr. Pryce,” she said tightly, “what a pleasant surprise.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he gloated.
Hers was a challenging performance; she had to pretend that his appearance was unexpected, which it was not. Further, she had to convey her displeasure at seeing him but in a manner which would be fitting for a social event. He was banking on her ingrained skills as a hostess to keep from throwing him out, and she fully intended to play on this. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Graham tense, ready for a fight.
“You wanted to propose a toast?” she continued.
“Yes, to your continued success as a brewer.” He glanced around the room at the people who knew him very well. It repelled Olivia that he was willing to sicken friends and acquaintances merely for the opportunity to humiliate her. Pryce said, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “Let us all raise our glasses in honor of Lady Olivia Xavier.”
Everyone in the room did just that, hold their glasses high. Olivia, knowing what she had to do but trembling all the same, raised her own beer.
Pryce watched her eagerly as she stared at him with apparent suspicion over the rim of her glass. Before she drank, however, she stopped.
“We can’t continue this toast,” she said suddenly. The guests around her lowered their own drinks, blinking in confusion.
Pryce scowled. “Why not?”
“You have no glass of your own.”
More than anything, Will wanted to be inside with Olivia. He saw Pryce step down from his carriage and stand on the sidewalk, looking up at Olivia’s house with a smug laugh. Will had wanted to jump out from the side of the townhouse and plow his fist right into Pryce’s overbred face, but that wouldn’t work with Olivia’s plan. So he kept his hand lightly balanced on the handle of his Colt as Pryce ascended the stairs and went in.
Moving to the back of the house, Will knew that her scheme was being played out right now. And as much as he desired being in that ballroom with her, he had his own job to do. Olivia was a strong woman. She might not realize it, but she could take care of herself better than most people he knew. He didn’t doubt her strength tonight.
He slipped into the shadows by the servants’ entrance, waiting, searching the dark. Maddox would make his move soon, but Will needed to be patient. For a long while, he could only see the empty courtyard, and hear the sounds of traffic, the servants bustling inside, and the music from the ballroom above. Then, something moved.
“Couldn’t keep away, huh?” he asked as Maddox slunk towards the door.
Maddox turned, straightened. He didn’t seem much surprised to see Will. “When I take on a job, I see it through.”
Will stepped out of the shadows. “Same goes for me.”
“That makes us two of a kind,” Maddox said.
“I don’t kidnap women,” Will countered. “And I don’t poison wells.”
Now Maddox did look surprised. “You know about that?” He glanced up, two stories above, where the party was being held. Will saw the quick calculation in Maddox’s eyes. He meant to warn Pryce.
“You ain’t going anywhere,” he drawled.
“That so?”
They faced each other across the narrow yard of the servants’ entrance, a small square of light thrown onto the pavement from the kitchen window.
“Never shot an American before,” Maddox mused. Will heard the click of a gun’s hammer being cocked.
Will didn’t waste time with talk. He drew fast, and fired. Maddox yelped as the bullet from Will’s Colt slammed into the barrel of his own gun, knocking it from his hand and sending it skittering into the darkness. But as Will’s hand went back to cock the Colt’s hammer again, Maddox lunged.
They both struggled to gain control of the Colt. Maddox tried to pry Will’s fingers off the handle, but Will held fast. As they scuffled, Maddox backed Will to the wall, and with brutal strength, slammed his hand against the bricks. Will managed to wedge a boot into Maddox’s gut and push him off, but not before his own gun slipped from his fingers and landed deep in the tangle of the hedges growing along the wall.
“I thought I heard a shot...”
“What in the world—?” The cook opened the door to peer out in confusion, one of her assistants behind her.
Maddox managed to gain his feet and dove for the open door, knocking the cook and assistant to the ground. Will sprinted after him, oblivious to the women’s shrieks. He wasn’t thinking any more, letting a lifetime of brawls and fights guide him through instinct. It felt good, at last, to hurt someone who deserved it.
“A glass?” Pryce repeated blankly.
“Of course,” Olivia answered with a tight smile. “How can you toast my success without a glass of fine Greywell’s beer in your hand?”
Pryce blanched, but then managed to collect himself enough to force a laugh. “In truth, Lady Xavier, I am not overfond of beer. Perhaps if there is a glass of wine...?”
Olivia shook her finger at Pryce as if annoyed. “Come, come, Mr. Pryce. You cannot attend a gala celebrating my brewery if you do not sample even a little beer. In fact, I had my brewers create a special pale ale for the occasion, which is what everyone is drinking tonight.” She gestured at the light, sparkling beer that filled numerous glasses.
Pryce saw the opening Olivia offered and took it. “Ah, there you go. I admit that pale ales are too colonial for my liking. Now,” he elaborated, “if you had something more English, like a porter or stout, I might be persuaded to have a drink.”
Sighing, Olivia looked disappointed. “Oh, dear. I’m afraid I didn’t provide any Greywell’s porter or stout for tonight. What a dreadful hostess I am.” She almost jumped when she could have sworn she heard a shot fire outside, but a guest also accidentally knocked into one of the servants passing canapés at the same time. She continued her drama with Pryce.
“The toast?” Pryce urged. “I don’t mind being empty handed.”
“Wait a moment,” Olivia said suddenly. “It nearly slipped my mind. One of my competitors sent over a keg of bitter today to congratulate me on my unexpected success. Will that be to your liking?”
Pryce looked annoyed at the delay, but then he began to smirk. “Yes, Lady Xavier, I do believe it shall.”
She made a great show of having two footmen produce the keg with the competitor’s icon boldly printed on its side, then tap it. A glass was filled with the dark beer and handed to George Pryce, which he promptly held high.
“To Lady Xavier,” he said, turning to the assembled guests. “May she get what she deserves.”
There was a chorus of “Here, here”s and then silence as everyone took a drink from their glasses, including Olivia and Pryce. He watched her from behind his glass, barely containing his grin, and she continued to feign ignorance.
Outside, she made herself calm, but inside, she seethed like a mashing tun. Pryce had done everything as intended, and now it was time for her to put the second and most risky part of her plan into action. She hoped that Will was finding success, even if she did not.
The servants cried out when Will and Maddox tumbled into the kitchen. Will managed to haul Maddox against the table in the middle of the room, laden with dishes and food, and throw a punch square in his jaw. Maddox reeled back, but he’d taken hard blows before, and shook the hit off. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a pan and swung at Will, scattering cooked vegetables across the room.
Will ducked in time, but not quite fast enough to escape a hard knock to the shoulder. As he straightened, Maddox leapt onto the table, crouching low to keep from hitting his head against the ceiling. Seizing a broom from a stunned footman, Will swung the heavy handle at Maddox’s legs. Maddox jumped several times, and Will swung without connecting, until a maid entered the kitchen and screamed at the sight of a stranger on the kitchen table, distracting Maddox just enough for the broom to hit. Maddox staggered and fell, toppling to the ground.
Dazed as he was, Maddox was a fighter and got to his feet swiftly. He stood in front of the range, where several pots simmered. Maddox seized a pot and threw the boiling contents at Will, who had edged around the table. Blistering water splashed, sending the servants running from the kitchen, as Will crouched with his arm up to shield himself. He punched hard into Maddox’s stomach. The man still held the pot, but it went rolling to the floor as he doubled over. Will followed this with another hit to Maddox’s chin.
“Yank bastard,” Maddox snarled, as he spat blood and a tooth onto the floor.
“Limey sack of shit,” Will answered.
Maddox dove to a block of knives sitting on the counter. Before Will could stop him, he drew a long and nasty carving blade and brandished it in front of him with a smirk.
“Not so brave without your little gun, are you, Yank?” he sneered.
“I’m from a resourceful country,” Will said dryly, unsheathing his bowie knife from his boot. He’d never been more glad of his meager inheritance than he was at that moment.
Cursing, Maddox lashed and Will danced back, light on his feet. Will feinted, managing to catch Maddox across the chest. Fabric tore and a thin ribbon of blood showed through the ripped clothing. Maddox touched his free hand to the new, shallow wound, and the sight of his own blood seemed to enrage him further. He swung wildly with the blade, causing Will to take cautious steps back.
“Stop this at once!” Mordon shouted at Maddox, coming into the kitchen. “Or I shall summon the police!”
Will’s warning to the butler never had a chance. Maddox grabbed Mordon and held the frightened servant’s body in front of his, with the carving knife held to his throat.
“Keep back,” Maddox warned, edging towards the door. Mordon’s eyes shone white and terrified as he stiffly moved with Maddox.
“Let him go,” Will said, taking slow steps forward.
A bark of laughter leapt from Maddox’s throat. His eyes hastily scanned the distance between himself and the door which led to the hallway and the stairs. Then, when Will took another step closer, Maddox pitched Mordon forward and darted out the door. The butler fell heavily onto Will, who managed to keep his knife well away.
“You alright?” Will asked, shoving Mordon upright.
“Fine,” the butler gasped. He added, looking steadily at Will, “Go thrash that bastard.”
“With pleasure,” Will muttered, and charged after Maddox.
Olivia watched Pryce’s eyes move eagerly around the room. He was waiting to see his friends and colleagues double over in agony, hoping for it. Bile rose in her throat.
After taking a sip of her beer, she said to Pryce, “You may wonder what has helped make Greywell’s such a success.” She hoped she sounded like a woman attempting to flaunt her accomplishment before her worst rival.
But Pryce wasn’t interested in playing games anymore. He’d gotten what he wanted—everyone drinking—and now he simply waited for the desired results to take effect. He made a noncommittal noise, still scanning the room.
“Shall I tell you?” she persisted. “It is the water.”
That got his attention. “Indeed?” he asked. He could barely keep the malicious glee out of his voice. “I had no idea water could be so important to brewing.”
“Having a clean and wholesome water supply with a good mineral content is one of the most important components to a successful brewery.” She made an elegant, practiced gesture. “Greywell’s is justifiably famous for having its own we
ll—it’s even in the brewery’s name.”
“Fascinating.” Pryce took a long drink of his bitter.
She tilted her head artlessly. “I have had several offers from other breweries to purchase Greywell’s water, and ordinarily I refuse such offers. But,” she continued, “when one of my competitors came to me the other day and asked to use Greywell’s water for a special batch of bitters, in honor of me, I simply could not refuse.”
Pryce’s glass stopped halfway to his lips. “What’s that?”
She nodded. “I was hoping you could tell the difference in that bitter you are drinking, Mr. Pryce. It was freshly made yesterday.” She gave him a wide smile. “With Greywell’s water.”
All the guests turned when George Pryce’s glass fell and shattered onto the floor. He began to cough and spit loudly, doubling over. The musicians stopped playing.
“You bitch,” he hacked. “You’re trying to poison me.”
“What do you mean?” Olivia asked.
“You know exactly what I mean.” He hiccupped. “Greywell’s water is contaminated.”
“Of course it isn’t!” Olivia said. The men and women in the ballroom began to whisper to each other, glancing uneasily at their glasses. Only Charlotte, Frederick and Graham did not look surprised.
“Oh, God,” Pryce groaned. He staggered to a potted fern and stuck his finger down his throat. The guests backed up in horror as he gagged.
“Please, Mr. Pryce,” Olivia cried. “What are you doing? The water is fine!”
“No it isn’t,” he snarled. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth, leaving a shining trail of spittle on the immaculate black wool.
“You have no proof,” Olivia insisted, sounding outraged. “Unless you know something that I do not.”
Pryce laughed bitterly. “I know many things you do not, Lady Xavier.” He spat again onto the floor. “Including the fact that the well water on which you dubiously pride yourself is contaminated.”
