The Blackmailed Bride

by Mandy Goff

  “He wasn’t much changed when we last parted ways,” she said delicately.

  Nick let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. And the hope he didn’t want to have, died. “I’m not surprised.”

  “You’ve grown into a fine young man,” his aunt said after a few moments of contemplative silence. Obviously, she’d decided they weren’t going to be discussing the past and its shadows this afternoon.

  “Thank you, Aunt Henri.”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. “So, you were busy then, and you’ve been busy now. But I have a feeling now has less to do with business and more with pleasure.”

  Sitting his teacup and saucer on the polished mahogany table, Nick forced his gaze to remain steady. Of course his aunt was prying, that was how the lady occupied much of her time—keeping a watch on everyone else.

  “I guess you’ve been busy, too.” He smiled.

  Aunt Henri covered her smirk with a well-timed sip of tea. “You won’t be able to distract me, so you might as well talk.”

  “You remember Marcus Fairfax, don’t you?”

  “I remember hearing about him. His father passed away years back, then his mother was murdered. A shame,” she said.

  “Well, he’s in London as well. I’ve been spending a great deal of time with him.”

  She didn’t bother trying to hide her smile this time. “And his sister,” she said.

  The statement wasn’t a question.

  Nick nodded. “Yes, and his sister.”

  His aunt was silent, no doubt waiting for him to expound on his unusual attachment to the young lady.

  Nick said nothing.

  “And?” she prompted.

  Stifling a chuckle, Nick knew his aunt’s agitation was only going to grow with his continued silence. “And what?”

  She set her cup on the saucer with a jarring clatter. “Don’t play games with me Nicholas Robert Stuart.”

  Nick strove for an innocent expression, but he could tell from Henri’s face it wasn’t working.

  “Tell me about this Olivia girl,” his aunt demanded.

  “I would have thought you’d know everything there was to know by now,” he returned.

  She wasn’t amused by his witty banter. “I’d like to hear it from you.”

  Nick threw his hands in the air. How did he explain Olivia or how he felt about his role in her life? “I don’t know, Aunt Henri.”

  “Well, I’ve heard the young lady’s rather arrogant. Snobby, I believe, is what they call her.” His aunt regarded him with cool, impassive eyes.

  Blood thundered in his ears. His fists clenched, almost of their own volition. “Who’s saying that?” he asked, but didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Lady Olivia is a caring, lovely young woman.”

  No one knew Olivia. So how dare they judge her and deem her aloof?

  “Are you okay, Nicholas, dear?” Aunt Henri asked.

  “It’s just ludicrous. Whoever’s saying that obviously doesn’t know her and doesn’t deserve to.”

  “Well spoken, my dear.” Henri clapped her hands together.

  And Nick recognized—too late—the trap for what it was and acknowledged his fall into it was inevitable.

  “Don’t get any ideas, Aunt Henri,” he warned.

  She feigned innocence—poorly. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, Nicholas.”

  “I’m serious about this,” he insisted.

  She held out her hands, a show that she had nothing to hide. “I’m merely commending you for your speedy defense of the young lady. It’s very honorable of you.” She paused and raised a finely arched eyebrow. “And considerate.”

  “Don’t try to read anything into it, Aunt Henri.”

  She made another “I would never” gesture.

  He was unconvinced. “Besides, Lady Olivia is fascinated with Julian Finley.”

  “Bah,” his aunt said.

  If only it were so easy to dismiss Olivia’s unusual attraction to the rake. “I’m not sure what she sees in him,” Nick confided. Perhaps he should have felt awkward discussing the situation with his aunt, but the marquess had always found her wisdom and insight to be invaluable.

  “Finley’s about as slimy as a serpent,” his aunt said.

  Nick couldn’t have agreed more and said as much.

  Henri wasn’t through, however. Something sparked in her eyes, and her expression grew less disgusted by their topic and more speculative at the turn the conversation had taken.

  “Personality and morals aside, however, I suppose he’s attractive enough…if one enjoys a blond Adonis-like, incredibly good-looking man.”

  “You’re really not helping right now, Aunt Henri.” Couldn’t they go back to talking about how repulsive Finley was as a person?

  Henri patted his hand. “I wouldn’t worry about it, dear. You’re handsome and titled, as well.”

  Nick opened his mouth to retort, to inform his aunt he had no wish to ever be compared to Finley. His aunt didn’t give him the opportunity.

  “No, if you were interested in this Lady Olivia—despite her unfortunate attraction to Baron Finley—”

  “I never said she was attracted,” Nick felt compelled to interject. “I said fascinated.”

  “Whichever. If you were interested in Lady Olivia, I would advise you to make an attempt to win her affections.” She raised a brow. “Unless you believe Finley—despite his snakelike qualities—is more adept in the art of romance than you.”

  Nick refused to fall into another of Aunt Henri’s traps. “She’s only a friend,” he said, trying to sound decisive.

  His aunt smiled. “Whatever you say.”

  The sky foretold the impending rain.

  Olivia ducked into the milliner’s shop, in need of a new bonnet and eager to finish her Bond Street expedition.

  “Good morning, Lady Olivia,” the shop owner greeted her warmly.

  “It’s nearly afternoon, I’m afraid,” Olivia returned with a smile as she took off her gloves.

  “True enough, my lady. Now, what might you be interested in seeing today?”

  Mrs. Dunwittle was the owner of the milliner’s shop and was patronized by many of the women of the ton. Not only was her manner pleasant and inviting, but her hats were the height of fashion. Olivia enjoyed slipping into the shop and buying herself a new present whenever she felt low.

  And the reality of her impending marriage to Lord Finley made her feel incredibly low.

  The owner left her largely to her own devices, having dealt with the young lady often enough since her coming to town to know she would browse and ask questions if needed. Olivia fingered a bonnet, admiring the pretty shade of blue. She was in the process of deciding what walking dress she had that would match, when she felt someone approach her from behind.

  Before she could turn around, the newcomer said, “Perhaps I should accompany my cousin on her errands more often.” Lord Finley.

  “Lord Finley, this is quite an unusual place to meet you.” Was he following her? She was acutely aware of the fact she’d yet to give him an answer to his “proposal.”

  The baron gestured at a young girl, a child really, certainly no more than sixteen years old, who was talking quietly with one of Mrs. Dunwittle’s assistants. “My cousin, Anna. My aunt imposed upon me to take the girl to Bond Street.” He glared at the back of the girl’s head.

  “I didn’t know your cousin was in town as well. Might I have an introduction?”

  He glanced between the two females. “While I’m certain Anna would be flattered by your request, I assure you, you would be disappointed.”

  Olivia was too shocked by his hatefulness to respond.

  But her silence made Finley reconsider. “If you must,” he said on a sigh, grabbing her elbow and propelling her for ward.

  Olivia wondered if he knew how tightly he was gripping her. She tried not to wince as he maneuvered them past displays and toward the young girl.

&n
bsp; “Anna,” he barked.

  As the girl spun around, Olivia was struck by the fear in her gaze.

  “Have I done something wrong?” Anna asked worriedly.

  “Not yet.” There was no smile to belie his words. “Lady Olivia would like to meet you.”

  Anna’s eyes widened, perfect, dark circles in her pale face. “I’m honored,” she stammered.

  Finley flicked a dismissive glance over his relative. “Lady Olivia, this is my cousin, Miss Anna Finley.” He sighed. “Anna, Lady Olivia Fairfax.”

  The young girl curtsied, and as she did, Olivia noticed her shoes were worn.

  “It is very nice to meet you, Miss Finley.”

  The young girl cast a tentative look at her cousin but he was distracted by something outside the window, so she offered a small smile.

  “I pray you will excuse me for a moment, Lady Olivia,” Finley said, with his attention still focused outside. “I see an acquaintance I must speak to.”

  Olivia watched Anna as Finley walked toward the door of the shop. With each step the baron took, the girl relaxed her rigid stance.

  The two ladies stood together uncertainly, and Olivia fin ally took the younger girl’s hand, leading her to a display of straw bonnets.

  Anna visibly suppressed an “ah” of delight at one of Mrs. Dunwittle’s creations. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, rubbing the ribbon between two fingers.

  “It would look lovely with your complexion,” Olivia agreed.

  “Julian did say I could purchase a new bonnet,” Anna looked at her cousin’s friend apologetically. “I’m afraid most of my clothes were too countrified, as he said.”

  Olivia didn’t know what to say.

  “I didn’t wish to come to London in the first place,” Anna said in frustration. “But I had to come after the trouble at home—” It seemed as though she were going to say more, but she promptly snapped her lips shut.

  “Well,” Olivia said briskly, taking Anna by the arm, “I think you are going to enjoy your time here immensely.” Just because Olivia wasn’t having a splendid Season herself didn’t mean young Anna was doomed, as well.

  Anna, still fascinated with the bonnet, called out to one of the shop assistants, inquiring about the price.

  “Ten shillings, miss.”

  Anna blanched. “That’s far too much,” she whispered to herself.

  Olivia took the bonnet in her hands and practically drug Anna to the front of the store.

  “Mrs. Dunwittle,” she called.

  “Yes, my lady?” the woman asked, bustling to the front.

  “We’ll be taking this. You can put it on my account,” Olivia said, raising her voice to drown out Anna’s protests.

  “Very good, my lady.”

  Olivia handed the bonnet to an embarrassed Anna. “You really shouldn’t have, my lady,” she protested.

  “Nonsense. Consider it my welcome gift to you. And, please, call me Olivia.”

  Anna flushed, and Olivia hoped it was with pleasure and not mortification.

  “You are a very nice lady,” Anna said quietly.

  Olivia smiled in response.

  “I had thought you would be like my cousin,” the girl continued.

  A chill skittered along Olivia’s spine. “Why would you say that?”

  Anna looked at the ground, studiously avoiding Olivia’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It would be best if we forgot I mentioned this.”

  “If you say so,” Olivia said slowly.

  Anna waited a few moments, visibly struggling with whether she should continue. “My cousin’s not very nice,” she began, but stopped abruptly.

  Olivia didn’t have to look up to know Finley had reentered.

  “I hope you have not been making a nuisance of yourself, Anna,” he said as he rejoined them.

  “Of course she hasn’t,” Olivia said with a smile she wasn’t certain she felt. Anna’s sparing words were still bothering her.

  “I see I shall have to add patience to your list of virtues,” he said.

  Anna looked hurt by the words. And Olivia’s fist coiled automatically at her side. “I think I must be going now,” she said tersely.

  Anna thanked her again and bid her a good day, but Finley insisted on seeing her out of the shop. “Don’t fret,” he told her, once the door was closed behind them and the two were standing under an awning. “I will be sending her back along with my aunt next week. I’ve had about all of the silly chit and her mother that I’m willing to take.”

  “I rather enjoyed meeting her.” Olivia gave him a disparaging glance. “I find her company much preferable to other’s in her family.”

  Finley’s lips pursed and turned white. “You’ll hold your tongue, you impudent…” He paused and took several deep breaths. When he continued, his voice was subdued but still possessed the edge of his anger. “Have you forgotten what I can do to you?”

  “You’ll have a difficult time convincing me to marry you then,” she said. Olivia had been avoiding this conversation, dreading it actually. But it was inevitable.

  “I will do no convincing. I’ve laid my offer on the table. It is your turn to decide what you are willing to sacrifice to keep your little secrets and lies.”

  She couldn’t look at him as she said the words, so she stared at the hanging sign of a shop in the distance. He was right. She had no choice. Marcus would be angry, may even refuse to speak to her once he found out, but her family’s reputation wouldn’t suffer. Marcus’s career wouldn’t suffer—nor his faith.

  “I will do it,” she said.

  “Smart,” he said.

  “But I have a few conditions of my own.”

  He raised his brows in question.

  “You will wait to make any announcements of our betrothal,” she said.

  “Why would I do that?”

  Olivia thought about knocking him on the head with her reticule but figured that might cause talk were anyone to see. “Because Marcus will not be happy. He needs time to adjust to the idea.” Like that would ever happen.

  “Marcus’s happiness is of no concern to me.”

  “You are a fool, then. My brother is a powerful man.”

  Finley seemed to consider this. “I won’t wait long,” he acceded.

  “Just a few weeks,” she assured him.

  “You’ll stay away from the Marquess of Huntsford,” Finley said before she could walk away.

  His command stopped her. “How do you expect me to accomplish that? He’s Marcus’s friend,” she said, her back still to the baron.

  “I will not be made to look like a fool,” he warned. “So you will not parade about with that man like a common strum—”

  Olivia spun around and interrupted him before he could finish. “You need me, Lord Finley. I suggest you don’t forget that. And I also suggest you not cause a scene. That would ruin my reputation just as effectively as sharing the family secrets. And then, I’d have no need to bow to your blackmail.” And not because it mattered to her, but because she was unwilling to surrender everything, she said, “I will not sever ties with anyone. You may have my hand in marriage, but you won’t have my life.”

  “Make a fool of me, or yourself, and I will ruin you,” he threatened.

  He stepped away from her and, without a word of goodbye, walked back into the shop.

  Chapter Nine

  “Do you feel more like a member of the peerage now?” Marcus asked with a grin once he and Nick took their seats at a table by the window. They were sitting in White’s, the gentleman’s club that was always littered with male members of the ton.

  “Yes. You know, I’ve been asking myself why this didn’t feel right yet. Now I can see it’s because I’ve not been to White’s in order to waste time and money. A true rite of passage.”

  Marcus chuckled. “It’s a necessary evil, my friend. Like it or not, this is the place to be seen and talk with influential people.”

  “You do realize we’re t
he influential people, don’t you?” Nick asked. The statement was without conceit and was actually rather surprising to Nick himself. Because the truth was, though Marcus had been a recluse and had not traveled far from his country estate for years, and Nick was a rumored debaucher and despoiler of innocents, the two of them held a pair of the oldest and most distinguished titles in England.

  Yes, before much longer, they would be inundated with requests for introductions. It was only a matter of time, and an issue of who was able to work up the courage to approach them first. Nick knew he looked rather intimidating—such was his intent. He had few friends in London, and Marcus was the only one currently in the room. He saw no need to make himself approachable to men who wished to make use of him for his wealth, his position or—even worse—the notoriety of his name.

  A young man who looked better suited to a schoolroom than a club approached Nick and Marcus then. “Huntsford, I thought that was you over here.”

  For his life, Nick couldn’t remember the boy’s name. Marcus was no help—he didn’t seem to know him at all.

  “How have you been—” Nick fumbled for his name, tried out George in his mind, and thought that fit “—George?”

  George—Nick thought the last name might be Chase—looked pleased. If Nick remembered correctly, the man was the fifth or sixth son—something unfortunate like that—of an earl with an estate close to Nick’s home. He didn’t appear to be in the army or a member of the clergy, popular choices for lesser sons, and Nick wondered what he did for his living.

  “It has been a long time,” George replied. “It’s good to see you back in England.”

  Nick thanked him, wondering what George wanted. He wanted George to leave so he and Marcus could continue their discussion. But from the way George had helped himself to a chair, that didn’t seem likely.

  “Sorry about your old man,” the newcomer said. “Went to one of his parties a couple of months before he passed away. Had a great time, but then I’m sure you can imagine.”

  Nick could, although he wished it were otherwise. The infamous parties had been his father’s favorite form of amusement. And as with anything relating to his sire, no one with an ounce of decency or a shred of morality would have wanted to be within a stone’s throw of the festivities.