by Mandy Goff
He should have known the moment he took her in his arms, he was tempting himself needlessly. That he’d stoke a fire that could have consumed them both.
How could he ever ask for her forgiveness? He’d overstepped himself. But seeing her, looking so incredibly sad, he’d wanted to show her she wasn’t alone. That he cared about her. Cared about her probably more than he should. And for a moment, it had seemed to Nick that she shared his care, concern—whatever emotion it was. Things had changed quickly for her, however.
She’d been right to push him away.
His better intentions seemed to leave him the moment their lips met.
He had been nearly ready to confess feelings he wasn’t sure of…and shouldn’t have been feeling regardless.
When he approached the small lake, he slowed his pace. Reining his horse to a halt, he dismounted, leaving his steed to graze nearby. Unmindful of the damage to his breeches, Nick sat beside the lake, throwing nearby pebbles into the water. The stones broke the surface with a single plunk, and while the waters rippled, eventually they calmed.
His life had been so orderly before he’d met Olivia. He’d known exactly what he wanted. He wanted to be through with the Home Office, having discharged his duty to Crown and Country. After, he planned to turn his attentions to his estates, bettering life for his tenants. And eventually, he would marry…perhaps not someone with whom he was in love, but someone with whom he shared an easy affection. Someone who would be a good wife and mother to their children, and would help him restore respectability to a name that had been tarnished for too long. Someone who would share his code of decency and morality and—most important—faith.
That person wasn’t Olivia. At least not now.
He had no doubt a life shared with her would have been based on affection and admiration. And she certainly would make an excellent mother. Beneath her wounded exterior, she was caring and considerate.
But she had been so hurt, so disillusioned, often he felt he was wasting his time by trying to reason with her. She was so certain she didn’t need God in her life any kind of open conversation was impossible. He was in a dangerous position. He had an opportunity to help a young woman regain her faith, and he wasn’t setting the example he needed to.
Nick wondered if she would tell her brother about their kiss. Marcus trusted him to protect Olivia, to treat her like his own sister, and he’d taken grave advantage.
Well, he reasoned, if Olivia did say something, perhaps it would be the opportunity he needed to tell Marcus he wasn’t sure he was the one best suited for this particular task. Could he admit he had burgeoning feelings for her without angering his friend?
He wanted to be honest, and he also wanted to safeguard Olivia’s reputation.
A serious relationship with her wasn’t a possibility right now. He couldn’t, and most certainly shouldn’t, offer her anything other than friendship.
So there was nothing left for him to do but apologize to her…again.
Olivia sat on a low stone bench, glad the morning sun had burned the dew away and left everything dry. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the smell of the roses directly behind her.
“Good day, Olivia.”
Olivia snapped out of her reverie in a trice and found, to her utter dismay, Nick standing at the entrance to the garden. “Go away,” she said without hesitation.
“That’s not very nice.” He smiled tentatively, as though afraid she would throw something at him.
“How unfortunate for you.” She turned around, determined to ignore him.
“I’ve come to apologize for what happened last night.” He walked toward her with a smile and hands held open in a gesture of peace.
“Really? Whatever for?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t remember,” he snapped.
“Not a great tone for an apology,” she fired back.
He looked at her for a moment before shaking his head. “You drive me mad.”
“Well, that’s flattering.”
Nick stared at her. “Okay, let me start over. I am sorry I kissed you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and Olivia noticed he was edging closer and closer to her.
“Why?” Confess that the kiss was meant to win the wager, she mentally begged, hoping he would redeem himself.
He said nothing.
And he wasn’t going to say anything, she thought with disgust. For several moments, she warred with what to do. Should she remain silent and simply let him walk away?
Maybe she should remind him that she knew. She’d stopped his apology the night before, telling him that she was already aware of the circumstances, but perhaps he didn’t realize that she knew the extent of it—that it was not simply the time he spent with her that would win him the bet, but the success of his seduction. If he knew she was wise to his motivations for getting close to her, perhaps he would give up his mission.
“I heard an interesting conversation about you the other day.”
Nick quirked an eyebrow. “If you found it interesting, I’m intrigued.”
Olivia debated how best to continue.
“I understand you’re a gambling man.”
His eyebrows rose and pulled together.
She plunged ahead, “I also understand you were fairly confident in your, um, ability, to charm me.”
“Olivia, what are you talking about?”
His feigned confusion raised her ire. “You put a bet on the books at White’s that you’d be able to make me fall in love with you.” She speared him with a haughty glare. “Not that you’ve been successful, of course.”
“I put a bet on the books at White’s that…what?”
Her face flushed. Apparently he wouldn’t simply admit the truth to end her embarrassment. Her humiliation was to be thorough and complete. “That you would make me love you.”
“Who did you hear this from?”
“Two men at the musicale.”
“Did you happen to get their names?”
“George something, and the other…well, I don’t know.” she said.
“These men told you I was paying you attention for money?”
“Well, they didn’t tell me exactly.”
He stared at her, his gaze hard.
“So you gleaned, from a conversation you overheard pieces of between a George something and a gentleman you don’t know, that I’d set up some kind of wager on whether I’d be able to seduce you?” The hurt in his voice was unmistakable.
Olivia pondered. Put that way, it did sound rather ridiculous.
“I don’t need to gamble over a lady’s affections to get money,” he continued.
When she said nothing, he studied her. “Do you really think I would kiss you for any reason other than I wanted to?”
No, she thought immediately. Huntsford didn’t seem the kind to do anything other than because he wished it.
But what about his plea for forgiveness the night he…well, kissed her?
“What about your apology?” she countered.
“My apo—” Nick’s mouth dropped open. “You thought I was apologizing for wagering about you?”
“Weren’t you?”
“No!” he yelled.
“Well, then what was it?”
This made him hesitate. “I came to apologize for something entirely different.”
“Which was?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t for being crass enough to try and make you fall in love with me, or whatever drivel it is you’re accusing me of.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then?”
He said nothing for a long moment. “I was apologizing for the false pretenses surrounding my constant presence by your side.”
“Exactly,” she said as she waved a hand in the air.
Nick looked as though he wanted to hurl something at the stone wall behind her. “Would you listen to me? It’s true I’ve not been completely honest with you, but I’m not the rake you’ve painted me to be.”
; Olivia waited.
“I’m helping keep an eye on you.” The confession was subdued, and Olivia had to think carefully about what he’d said.
And once she did, her dissipated anger returned in full force. “What?”
“Marcus was afraid you were getting too close to…well, someone, and he needed help making sure you were protected.” The marquess looked like a boy being scolded for taking too many biscuits from the kitchen.
She didn’t know whom to be angrier with. Marcus, for trying to meddle in her life. Or Huntsford, for being his henchman.
“So you’ve been a spy for my brother?” She laughed mirthlessly at her choice of words…of course he had. A person couldn’t change who they were.
Lord Huntsford, for the first time during their conversation, looked embarrassed. “I don’t think spying would be how I would classify it.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“I prefer to think of my role as more of a protector.”
Olivia scoffed. “I don’t need your protection. Or Marcus’s. What I need is for the two of you to quit meddling in my life.”
“We wouldn’t have to you if you’d simply listen to reason.”
She didn’t like his tone. Or the way he was looking at her. Like he wanted to throttle her.
“Was the kiss part of the plan?” she asked quietly, to disarm him and halt the potential throttling.
Her plan worked. He seemed to lose the thread of the former conversation.
“That kiss was me and me alone,” Nick said.
The marquess knelt on the ground by her feet. He took her hand in his own larger one. She wanted to tell him to stand up, but he spoke first. “I was wrong to kiss you. I assure you I won’t let it happen again.”
Olivia was surprised at the sharp pang of disappointment she felt.
Perhaps she was bound for Bedlam after all.
“So are we friends again?” he asked her with a ghost of a smile.
And really, when he looked at her like that, she couldn’t help but return his grin. “No more spying or thinking you know better than I do,” she warned.
He nodded, a sharp bob of his head. “No more believing the worst of me?”
She mimicked his nod.
He’d still not risen, and his thumb stroked a pattern on the back of her hand. To anyone passing by the garden, they would look like a pair about to be betrothed.
Why did she suddenly wish that were the case?
“Lord Huntsford,” she began. The tentative words catching in her throat.
“Yes?” He raised his head to look at her. Was she imagining the tenderness in his gaze? Surely she must be.
“I wish—”
“What?” he asked.
His hand never moved from hers, nor did he make an attempt to sit beside her on the bench. They remained frozen, ready subjects for a passing painter.
She didn’t know what words she was about to speak. Olivia had the suspicion she’d been about to confide in the marquess more than she should. He might be her friend. And she might get away with having a friendship with him. But he couldn’t be her confidant or advisor. She doubted she would like the advice and guidance he’d give her.
“What, Olivia?” he asked, more urgently this time.
She didn’t correct his use of her name. Fumbling for something to say, she spoke the first words that came to mind. “I wish you would tell me more about yourself.”
Although the words were not her intended ones, Olivia was surprised at her curiosity over his response. She knew little of him, other than what Marcus had let slip.
The marquess furrowed his brow. But after a deep breath, he launched into a story filled with abusive, immoral parents and redemptive, saving grace.
Olivia greedily absorbed his words.
And felt a vise around her chest ease.
Chapter Seventeen
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Olivia told Reverend Thomas as she joined him in the small garden beside his home. His housekeeper had directed her outside when she’d knocked on the elderly man’s door. Marcus had been scheduled to make another trip to Westin Park, something he seemed to be doing with increasing frequency, and had allowed her to come with him.
After her conversation with Nick in the garden, and some thinking, she’d felt the nearly overwhelming urge to speak to Reverend Thomas. Olivia hoped he’d be able to shed some light on the shadows plaguing her.
The vicar was kneeling, pulling at the weeds that had found their way into the otherwise perfect bed of flowers.
“You know you are welcome here anytime.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his gloved hand.
“Need some help?” she asked, kneeling beside him in the grass.
“Oh, no,” he said. “You’ll ruin your dress.”
She ignored his protests and began to grab weeds. After she gave a good yank, they ripped free from the soil, and with a flick of the wrist, she flung them into the growing pile. “I don’t care about the dress, and I’m happy to help.”
They worked side by side in silence. Reverend Thomas hummed an old hymn to himself.
He didn’t inquire as to why she’d come, which surprised her. How long he would go without asking?
“I can remember you spending hours out here when I was little,” she said once the pile beside her had grown exponentially.
“I like working with my hands, and I like tending God’s creation. It’s satisfying.” He wiped more sweat off his face. “Even when it’s sweltering.”
Olivia didn’t feel the heat of the day and paid no mind to the fact that her hair, and most likely her dress, were sure to be wilting. Her mind was occupied with other thoughts. With questions to which she could no longer go without answers.
But she didn’t know how to initiate the conversation.
“Something on your mind?” Reverend Thomas asked finally, and Olivia exhaled with relief.
“I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately.”
“That’s a good thing.”
Olivia chuckled. “You would think so.”
Reverend Thomas never once stopped in his mission of ridding the garden of invaders, but Olivia knew he was paying her his full attention. “Want to share any of your thoughts with an old man?”
“Well, they’re questions mostly.”
“Old men know a lot of answers,” he said with a smile.
She sat back on her heels. “I’m counting on it. I came all the way from London to see you, hoping you’d be able to help me.”
“Would you like to move inside where we can discuss things?”
Olivia didn’t want to; she was enjoying having something to do with her hands. She thought it wouldn’t be as awkward if they didn’t have to stare at one another across the table.
“Or we can finish tidying up the garden while we talk,” Reverend Thomas suggested at her hesitation.
“I think I’d enjoy that.”
The minister smiled knowingly.
“I don’t quite know where to start,” she began.
“Maybe you should tell me what exactly has brought you here.”
“It’s a man I know.”
“Hmm.” His voice was rife with speculation.
Olivia blushed. “It’s not anything like what you’re thinking. He’s a friend.”
Reverend Thomas nodded, but Olivia thought he still looked skeptical. “Well, what about this friend has you wondering?”
“I want what he has.”
“And what do you think that is?”
She couldn’t exactly describe what it was about Lord Huntsford she wanted for her own life. And she felt bad insinuating she wanted his brand of peace. Marcus had tried, ever since their mother’s death, to bring her back into the fold. He cared for her soul, and she knew he prayed for her daily, prayed she would find her way back.
But she’d always felt if Marcus had known the things she did, he would feel just as lost. He’d wonder where God had been hiding and wh
y He’d chosen to remain silent those five years ago.
But Nick seemed to her a man who had seen worse than she could even fathom. He was ridiculed, the subject of unfair speculation and the son of known wastrels. And she didn’t want to imagine the things he’d experienced while on the continent. Yet somehow, he’d managed to keep his faith alive.
Olivia forgot Reverend Thomas was still waiting on her until he discreetly cleared his throat.
“Sorry, Reverend, I was trying to find the words to answer your question.” She struggled but decided to plow ahead anyway and do the best she could. “I’ve always thought, because of what I’ve seen, there was no way I’d ever be able to be as close to God as I used to be.”
But that wasn’t entirely accurate, so she amended, “Actually, I wasn’t afraid I wouldn’t be close to God—I didn’t want to be.”
Reverend Thomas nodded in what was either encouragement or understanding. Maybe both.
“I figured any God who would leave me without both a mother and father wasn’t the kind of deity I wanted to serve.” Olivia chewed on her bottom lip. “It sounds rather selfish, now that I say it aloud.”
“Your emotions are understandable. I know how badly upset you were.”
“I was angry. So incredibly furious with everyone. With my mother, with myself and especially with God.”
She inhaled quickly once she realized she’d said she was angry at her mother. Olivia hoped Reverend Thomas missed the unintentional slip.
“Anger is a natural emotion,” he said in a comforting tone.
“I have to let go of the fury. I can’t explain it, but I can’t move on, can’t be the kind of person I need to be until I let this go.”
Reverend Thomas stopped his methodical tending and looked at her.
“I don’t know how to,” she finished.
“You have to forgive.” Reverend Thomas then chuckled. “Forgive me, I’m laughing at myself. Of course, forgiving isn’t an easy thing to do.”
“What works for you?” she asked curiously.
“I turn it over to God. And don’t misunderstand, there are times when I’m angry at the Almighty Himself.”
This unexpected confession captured her attention. “When?”
