He grasped a handful of her hair and brought it to his face. He closed his eyes and brushed his cheek. “I adore your hair. I’ve never seen any lovelier. Moonbeams and stars and silver and fairy sparkles and all sorts of wondrous things must’ve been used to create the color.”
“Fairy sparkles, hmm? I rather like that, I think.”
Quite the romantic, wasn’t he? Another lovely thing about her swashbuckler.
His hair, on the other hand, was midnight black. So dark that it appeared almost blue in some light. Tilting her head upward, she asked, “Are you sure I’m not causing your other shoulder pain?”
Oliver’s mouth tipped into a tender smile. Dark stubble shadowed his neck and cheeks above and below his tidy beard.
She found the bristles quite enticing.
“I’m fine, and a few tears aren’t likely to harm me. I’m made neither of salt nor sugar, so it’s unlikely I’ll melt.” He chuckled, that wondrous deep rumble, and moved his hand to her back, brushing his fingertips up and down her spine. “About your concerns at the academy. Not exactly forthright of the headmistress, but I don’t know that she did anything illegal, cara.”
“That’s what I thought at first, as well. Until a pattern emerged. A girl would attend supper when we had male guests. However, the next day, we’d be told she’d departed or chosen to enter Madame Beaulieu’s service.” Blaike idly plucked at his coverlet, replaying those final days at the academy in her head.
“Then, a certain gentleman, Jonathon Severs, started paying marked attention to me. The headmistress kept pairing us at dinner, for the entertainment, and so on.” Mouth turned down, she scrunched her nose in remembered disgust. “He was much too forward, making vulgar insinuations, touching me, and trying to get me alone. Blaire and I cried off attending functions, but if we didn’t put in an appearance, we weren’t fed. If it hadn’t been for my sister’s constant presence, I know not what might have happened.”
“I thought you’d both lost weight. So this Madame Beaulieu basically used extortion to force you to cooperate with her matchmaking?” Though Oliver continued to gently caress her shoulders and back, rage tinged his mild inquiry.
“Yes. When we still resisted, she fabricated some codswollop about our tuition being tardy. I knew that to be a bald-faced lie. Heath paid the entire two years’ room, board, and tuition in advance. He made sure Blaire and I knew that when he gave us pocket money for fripperies or fallalls. It’s that money we’d hid away and used to hire the coach and pay for the inns when we fled the academy.”
“But why did you have to flee? Couldn’t you have written a letter home?”
“We—I—did. And Blythe responded that she’d made passage arrangements. That’s why I first thought that you . . .” She cast him a swift glance, only discerning concern and interest in his ebony gaze.
“Anyway, the night we fled, I was foolhardy. I followed one of the new girls and a gentleman who’d often been Madame Beaulieu’s guest out into the garden courtyard. I should’ve waited for Blaire to return from the necessary, but I was afraid for Maria. She was only fifteen. The evening was too cold for a walk in the gardens, but a pathway led to the other house, and I feared that’s where he meant to take her. I should’ve known it was a trap when Jacqueline Severs made a point of telling me Maria had been escorted outside.”
Oliver stilled his caresses for a moment. “Another Severs? Related to Jonathon, I presume?”
Blaike nodded, drawing in a shaky breath.
“His sister, and every bit as evil as her brother. There’s something distinctly off, truly queer, about those two.” Even now, recalling what transpired next turned her skin to ice, made her flesh crawl, and she felt on the verge of casting up her simple dinner.
She shivered, and Oliver nudged her closer to his strong warmth.
“What happened?”
“I’d no sooner left the veranda, than Jonathon was upon me. Groping and pawing, tearing my gown.”
Eyes pinched closed, she relived the terror.
“With one hand clamped over my mouth, he tried to drag me behind a row of shrubberies, but we Culpeppers are no small misses, except for Brette, that is. I fought him, but he managed to throw me to the ground. He—”
At the memory, she trembled head to toe.
“He climbed on top of me, and . . .”
A decorous lady holds fast and buries any secrets that can harm
innocents, but readily share secrets which bring joy and happiness.
~Scruples and Scandals-The Genteel Lady’s Guide to Practical Living
Blaike shuddered, once again experiencing the revulsion and terror.
Oliver hugged her tightly to his chest and whispered fiercely, “I’ll kill the cur if I ever come across him. I swear, I shall.”
“I thought he was going to ravish me. I wanted to die.”
“He . . . didn’t?”
Did relief weight his question?
“Almost, but just before—”
She had to stop for a moment and take a calming breath.
Every time she thought of that night, she re-experienced the awfulness.
“His sister, Blaire, and Madame Beaulieu interrupted. “I don’t know whether it was by chance or by design, but to everyone, it looked as though I’d been compromised. I fear if Blaire hadn’t been there also, those other two might have let him finish.”
Would’ve cheered him on, the depraved pair.
“I still feel so soiled.”
“Blaike,” Oliver nudged her chin upward until she met his tender gaze in the dimness. The lone lamp’s weak glow added an almost romantic aura to the great cabin. “You were the victim of what I’m quite confident is an ongoing scheme to despoil women and force them into prostitution. You were only trying to help Maria.”
“I was, and it makes me ill that I don’t know what became of her. If indeed she was even outside that evening.” She stared at the overhead beams. “We should’ve left the academy and alerted the authorities as soon as we suspected something afoul was taking place. But everyone at home was so proud of us. And such a vile accusation needed absolute proof. We didn’t trust Madame Beaulieu not to concoct some plausible excuse either.”
He folded her into his embrace once more.
Nothing before had ever felt as effortless or right.
Oliver might not be of noble birth or be able to list prestigious universities he attended, but he was an honorable, decent man. She’d take that over the other characteristics in a heartbeat.
He spoke into her hair. “You’ll have to tell your family, bella. Madame Beaulieu mustn’t be allowed to continue.”
“I know.” And she would, as soon as they reached London. Oliver was right. Madame Beaulieu must be stopped. A wonder her duplicity had gone undetected this long. How many innocent girls had met their ruin at the academy?
M’Lady Lottie ruffled her feathers, making a throaty, purring sound, and Blaike held her breath lest the bird start her shattering screaming. After a moment, when the cockatoo remained quiet, she relaxed.
Oliver shifted slightly, his firm thigh bumping hers and causing a fascinating jolt to streak up her leg.
“I’m curious.” He smothered a yawn. “How is it this Miss Severs escaped the same destiny as the others?”
Blaike pondered his question for several long moments.
Yes, just how had Jacqueline escaped that fate?
“I suspect she and her brother must’ve been co-collaborators with Madame Beaulieu.” A yawn forced its way past her lips as well, and overcome with drowsiness, she burrowed deeper into his sculpted side.
“Might I ask you a question, too, Oliver?”
He moved his head a touch, making a drowsy, affirmative noise.
Did she dare?
It wasn’t her business, and she didn’t want him to think she was poking her nose into something that concerned only him. That was exactly what she was doing, though.
“I suspect there’s deep ani
mosity between you and Captain Abraham that goes beyond what he wanted to do with Blythe and I.”
He went rigid.
“Cara mia, that’s a statement, not a question.”
Eyes remaining shut, Oliver ran his fingertips the length of her arm from shoulder to elbow, then back again. He cracked an eyelid, and gave her an undecipherable look, then sighed, his reluctance tangible.
The ship’s gentle swaying had lulled Blaike half-asleep.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.” She settled a jot deeper into her pillow. How easy it would be to slumber here. “You need to rest in any event.”
“I don’t mind telling you. The tale’s ugly, however.”
Oliver paused for such an extended moment, she believed he’d changed his mind.
Finally, he exhaled a long, troubled breath.
“When I was thirteen, I came home one evening from delivering a letter to a ship’s captain for my nonno—my grandfather. I discovered him dead beside his desk, a wicked ivory-handled dagger protruding from his chest.”
Blaike couldn’t prevent her distressed half-cry, half gasp.
Why had she asked? Snooped into Oliver’s personal affairs?
He needed to recover, not have old emotions and trauma stirred once more. Particularly those caused by the spawn of Satan now locked in Lyon’s jail.
“A man—Abraham—was tearing the place apart.” Oliver stared overhead, as if seeing the horrific scene again. “The contents of the shelves and desk drawers were strewn all over the floor, and he’d even yanked drawings and signs from the walls. I thought him a burglar. Determined to kill him for murdering Nonno, I jumped on his back. Using the scrimshaw knife my grandfather had gifted me at Christmastide, I slashed his face.
So that was how the cur acquired his scar.
“I’m so sorry, Oliver. It must’ve been horrible and tragic for you, and I overstepped when I asked.” She pressed her flattened hand to his chest, his strong heartbeat pulsing against her palm. “Please, you needn’t tell me anymore. I see how painful it is for you.”
He tightened his fingers on her arm for a second. “I haven’t talked to anyone about that night.”
Her heart gave a queer skip.
Was he doing so now because he felt as safe and comfortable with her as she did with him?
“I was a skinny, undersized waif, and he shook me off like a week-old kitten attacking a boarhound. When I landed, I hit my head on the corner of the desk,” Oliver pointed at his L-shaped hairline scar, “and was knocked senseless.”
“Dear God,” she breathed, stricken by Abraham’s evilness.
“You’ll think I’m dicked in the nob, Blaike, but I swear I was roused by my mother calling my name, over and over.”
“I don’t think that’s fanciful at all, Oliver. There’s much in this world that cannot be explained.”
A rough sound, part grunt, part confirmation, echoed in the back of his throat. “Flames were already climbing the front walls when I came to. I’m convinced Abraham knocked the lamp over deliberately. Fires always follow in his wake.”
Jaw slack, she jerked her head up. “He meant to kill you too, the fiend!”
“Apparently.” He sounded more resigned than weary or angry.
“But why, Oliver? What does he have against you? Or your grandfather?”
A few strands of his surprisingly silky hair tickled her nose, and she brushed them away. Then balled her hand against the temptation to press her lips to the pulse ticking in his corded neck.
A swell lifted the ship, and she rolled a smidgeon closer to him. She didn’t bother scooting away.
“That, cara, is something I’ve asked myself for half my life now. And I’m no closer to an answer than I was that night. Unless he truly was a thief and after the contents of the desk’s hidden drawer, though there wasn’t a whole lot there. I managed to collect Mamma’s jewelry—just emerald and diamond embedded hair combs and a matching pendant, ring, and earrings. I was always fascinated with them as a child.”
He gazed into the distance as if seeing another time and place. “She was so beautiful wearing them. Right before she died, she said I should gift the parure set to my wife.”
“How did she die?” It was brazen of Blaike to ask. “I lost my parents in a carriage accident.”
“Childbirth. Another son. He only lived a few hours. My sire—Viscount Willoughby—insisted on paying for the burial costs.”
“Oh.”
Bitterness deepened Oliver’s voice when he mentioned his father, and Blaike wasn’t about to poke that wound, too.
The subject was understandably difficult for him.
He cleared his throat. “Before escaping out the back door, I also grabbed a few of Nonno’s drawings as well as the rest of the secret drawer’s contents. There wasn’t much. Only a leather-bound packet containing documents and letters written in Italian and a small bag of coins.”
Tears blurred Blaike’s vision. Oliver truly might’ve died.
No wonder he despised Captain Abraham.
“That money is what I used to survive until I convinced a captain to hire me on as a cabin boy, even though I was really too old for the position. On this very ship, as a matter of fact. I keep the jewelry, packet, and the drawings in a secret compartment in my chest’s false bottom.” He flicked a calloused finger toward the end of the bed where the trunk sat and, yawning, shifted his legs again.
“Do you know what the documents are?” If his grandfather kept them hidden with money and gems, might they be valuable or important?
“No. I don’t read Italian, and moreover, a sailor doesn’t have coin enough to spare to hire a reputable fellow to translate them. So I’ve never had them interpreted.”
“Had I been you, my curiosity would’ve nearly killed me, not knowing what they said.” She’d never been altogether patient with puzzles or riddles.
He twisted his mouth up on one side. “I figured if they were truly important, Nonno would’ve told me about them. I’ve only even glanced at them once or twice. They still smell of smoke and the memories of that night—”
She rushed to change the subject. “So it was just you and your grandfather then?”
Here they lay, chatting in hushed tones like intimate friends—or lovers—as if it hadn’t been months since they’d last seen or spoken to each other. It seemed like yesterday they’d last spoke, so comfortable and contented was Blaike.
“Yes. My mother died when I was seven.”
“I cannot conceive how hard that was for you.” He must’ve been such a lonely child. “My sisters and I, our cousins too, lost our parents, but we had one another. I imagine you were very close to your grandfather then.”
“Practically inseparable, except for the almost three years that I attended Eton. That was Willoughby’s inflexible demand.”
Ah, so that’s why he disdained the man.
Oliver rubbed his nose, his mouth twisted into a cynical line. “I’m sure a few pockets were heavily lined for granting him the favor. I wasn’t well received, being younger than the average chap in attendance and a by-blow to boot. Even children look down their well-bred noses at those born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
Cruising over the waves, the ship echoed with creaks and the whoosh of the ship’s bow meeting the ocean. Blaike found the subtle sounds relaxing, though an occasional bang from above or a resounding grate interrupted her reverie.
“It wasn’t any fault of yours, Oliver. And look what you’ve accomplished.” She waggled her fingers in the air to indicate the Sea Gypsy. “Quite remarkable, I’d say, for someone so young.”
“I’ll be eight and twenty in a few days, cara. I did meet Drake at Eton. We became fast friends at once.”
A wicked chuckle shook his broad chest and quirked his mouth into that rapscallion grin she found so irresistible.
“I cannot count the number of instances he came to my defense,” Oliver said. “Even planting a few good facers on my
behalf. The last time, he broke Chatterley’s squat nose, and Drake was sent down for good.” Rubbing between his eyebrows, he exhaled a deep breath. “So, I ran away. Home to Nonno.”
“And your father, the viscount? How did he take the news?”
Blaike’s cousin, Brooke, had explained Oliver’s circumstances when they’d first met him, and he’d proven himself an exemplary gentleman. She’d done so to remind the girls not to judge someone because of their birth or station in life.
Sternness sharpened his face. “He arrived at Nonno’s office in his fancy coach, the Willoughby gold and blue coat of arms gleaming proud and bold against the glossy black paint. Every bit the nobleman accustomed to having his way, he ordered me back to school.”
Oliver affected a lofty air and voice raised disdainfully, announced in a pretentious accent, “‘The men in our family have always attended Eton until they go to university. I expect the same of you, young Oliver. Most especially since your instructors tell me you have an extraordinary talent for recall.’”
He shut his eyes once more, his derisive snort loud in the still cabin. “As if he had any right to tell me what to do.”
Actually, the viscount could be admired for acknowledging his illegitimate son and sponsoring his education. But now wasn’t the time to tell Oliver that, nor had she the right. Blaike had no idea how she’d feel if she’d been the illegitimate offspring of a noble. “But you didn’t go?”
“I told him to bugger himself, for which Nonno made me apologize, and then he agreed to allow me to visit Willoughby thrice a year for a fortnight each time.” Chin jutted, he squinted his eyes, appearing very much the intractable child. “That punishment far exceeded my offense.”
“It seems to me your father wanted a relationship with you. Perhaps wanted to make amends for . . .”
Oliver speared her a sharp look.
Now she’d waded into it, bringing up that indelicacy. She cleared her throat. “What were they like? Your visits, I mean?”
“Willoughby was always thoughtful and kind, as were my half-brother and sisters. I cannot fault any of them in that regard.” He scratched his nose as the call of a lone gull sounded. “Even now, I often receive invitations to one affair or another they are hosting. I never attend.”
Blaike: Secrets Gone Askew (Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper Book 4) Page 8
