The Blackmailed Bride

by Mandy Goff

  “Hmm.” His breath made her want to recoil. “If that’s true, prove it to me with a waltz.”

  Olivia started at his suggestion. The waltz may have gained acceptance in London ballrooms, but to dance it, unmarried and with an unattached man, was significant. Or scandalous.

  Perhaps in her case, it would be both. And there would certainly be no keeping that juicy tidbit a secret from Marcus.

  She was well and truly trapped. Nothing but acquiescence would appease Lord Finley, or else, he’d create the second scene of the evening.

  “I would be honored to dance with you,” she lied.

  Finley took her hand and led Olivia onto the floor where the other couples were already dancing. This was their first dance together. In the books she read, this would have been a momentous occasion. A chance for the young couple to realize how perfectly they matched each other. Instead, all she could think of was that his hands on her caused no searing lightning along her veins—like Lord Huntsford’s did.

  At the thought of his name, her eyes searched the room for him. It took her a few moments to locate him in the crowd. She regretted her search the moment she found him. He was still glowering at her from across the crowded floor.

  Olivia stumbled and grabbed Lord Finley tighter to keep from spilling onto the floor. And she winced as she clutched at Finley, certain she had smashed his toe.

  “I never realized dancing was so difficult for you,” he mocked. His eyes burned with his desire and lust, but something else lurked there as well. Something darker. Anger? Jealousy? It was difficult to say.

  “I’m sorry. I merely lost my footing.” She attempted to reinstate the distance between them, but Finley had used her lack of grace as an excuse to pull her closer. There was no propriety in the way they were dancing now.

  “You needn’t make excuses to me. If you want me to hold you closer, all you must do is ask.” His grip tightened until she was practically wincing in pain.

  “I’ll bear that in mind for the future,” she said between clenched teeth.

  “See that you do.” The statement held an air of finality, and Olivia forced her eyes and thoughts away from Lord Huntsford and his anger. She had more than enough to deal with right in front of her.

  But Finley had already noticed where her attention lingered, or on whom it lingered. “Is there something between you and Huntsford I should know about?” Finley’s voice was tight with anger. A muscle ticked furiously in his jaw, and his eyes cut back and forth between Olivia and the marquess.

  “I’ve no idea why you would ask such a question.”

  “I’ve heard rumors. Apparently the attraction simmering between the two of you has not been lost on other members of the ton.” The hand around her waist pulled, bringing her even closer.

  “You know how people like to talk. If it weren’t about me, it would undoubtedly be someone else.” She managed a mirthless chuckle.

  “I believe I told you I don’t like being made to look like a fool.”

  “That was certainly not my intention.”

  “But it will be your result. I have made my opinion on this matter clear. There should be no gossip or cause for talk.”

  “I apologize if my actions have cast any unpleasantness on you. There is nothing between the marquess and myself.” Her tone was obedient enough, but Olivia practically choked on her own words.

  Her humble plea for forgiveness must have soothed Finley’s remaining temper because he regained a bit of his contrived joviality. “You are forgiven. And I don’t completely blame you. You simply need a firmer hand guiding your steps.”

  That made her want to cast up her accounts, but she nodded anyway.

  “I’m afraid it’s become stifling in here,” Finley murmured as the waltz ended. “Shall we take a turn in the outside? I hear Ashburn’s garden would shame the whole of England.”

  Olivia’s eyes darted quickly across the ballroom, trying to find where the marquess had gone. Dancing was one thing, but leaving with Lord Finley wouldn’t be omitted from a conversation with Marcus. Mercifully, Nick was nowhere to be seen. Henrietta also seemed to be mired so deeply in her conversation Olivia doubted she would notice if the roof fell upon her. So, Olivia placed her hand around Finley’s arm and allowed him to escort her out into the moonlight.

  They had disappeared.

  Nick had abandoned his watch for two minutes, and Finley managed to abscond with Olivia. Marcus would likely shoot him.

  Nick had received Marcus’s note that afternoon, explaining he had more business to attend to at his estate and that he would be gone close to a fortnight. Marcus had asked Nick to keep an eye on Olivia.

  So Nick, after hearing from his aunt that the young lady was indeed planning on attending the ball, had come as well. And he’d found it impossible to stay away from her. To be cold to her. To be angry with her.

  Until she left him in the middle of their dance.

  And now. Well, now she was missing. With Finley.

  Nick sought respite on the terrace. After having scanned the crowd, he had little hope Olivia and Finley were inside. Perhaps Olivia had simply gone to the retiring room, and Finley had taken his leave. But no, it was still early, and Finley wasn’t one to leave while prey was still milling about. Nick peered down into the garden below, admitting—if it were not for all the uproar—he would be enjoying the view immensely. The moonlight cascaded through the trees and alighted magnificently on the flowers.

  It was a perfect evening. And while Nick supposed he should be tearing apart the Ashburn home looking for his friend’s sister, he needed a moment to breathe. He began moving slowly down the steps to the garden, delaying his rescue mission to regain his composure. He wouldn’t let Olivia know his pride was wounded by her abandonment. He would need to be a greater master of indifference and coldness.

  Yes, he thought as he strolled a little farther into the hedges. He’d be circumspect in all his dealings with women from now on.

  He’d be nothing like that couple practically inhaling each other behind a tree. He’d be…what?

  The moonlight glinted off a strand of the girl’s russet hair, and he knew.

  Olivia considered herself a rational person. Which was why, when Lord Finley asked her to accompany him out in the garden, she thought of many reasons why they should stay inside, and then once they were out on the terrace, many reasons why they should stay there.

  After descending the stairs to the garden below, however, she gave up trying to stay put. Silence reigned as they walked through the garden. As they passed a particularly gnarled tree, Finley stopped and pushed her against the trunk.

  “I’m through waiting,” he told her. His eyes burned with a frightening and intense heat. His hands gripped her waist and pinned her to the rough bark of the tree.

  Her dress would be ruined after this.

  She lifted her chin a few notches, meeting him in the eye. “Just a little more time.”

  “You’ve had time.”

  “Marcus still isn’t ready for such an announcement. It’ll crush him.”

  “All the better.” Finley grinned.

  He crushed her to him, his eager mouth smothering her own. Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to look at his face right above her. She wormed her hands between their bodies and tried to push him away. He wouldn’t budge. She jerked, trying again to get away and felt the fabric of her dress catch on the bark and rip. The seam of her sleeve tore away.

  “Sto—” She tried to yell as he ground his mouth against hers. Olivia beat her small fists against his chest, but Finley was obviously so intent that nothing would move him. “St—” She tried again.

  Her hands scrambled for purchase, something heavy and blunt she could knock him out with, but there was nothing nearby. No vases. No volumes of poetry. The best she could do would be to try again to throw him off of her. But he outweighed her by a good many stone.

  She kept her mouth clamped shut against his, which made him mo
re determined. She clutched at his lapels, hoping to gain some momentum and thrust him away.

  And both Olivia and Finley were so enwrapped in their own drama neither one heard a very pensive marquess nearby. And neither one saw the look of disbelief when the marquess realized who the two trysting lovers were.

  But both heard his next words. “Get away from her!”

  Finley’s mouth lifted, and he swung his head around to face off against the newcomer. “Huntsford,” he spat.

  Nick was stalking Finley, moving slowly, but resolutely. Like a lion circling his prey. But to his credit, Finley didn’t move an inch. He repositioned to shield Olivia’s body with his own. It would have been a chivalrous gesture if not for the gravity of the moment.

  Or the fact that this was his fault.

  “I—I can explain,” Olivia began, drawing a deep breath and preparing to launch into a very delicately worded chronology of the night’s happenings.

  “Step away from her, Finley,” Nick demanded. Not surprisingly, it was as though Olivia had never spoken.

  Fine. She’d try again. “There really is a very simple…”

  “Silence!” Nick roared.

  And with a decidedly unladylike squeak, she shut up.

  “You have got thirty seconds to explain why I shouldn’t kill you right here,” Nick told his adversary, who was quickly losing whatever flare of bravado had initially seized him.

  Finley found his voice, but the words sounded strained. “You’d kill a man over a simple kiss?”

  “Yes.”

  Olivia wouldn’t have been surprised if Finley fainted. Nick, seeing his advantage, pressed it. “Now, use your remaining fifteen seconds to get out of my sight. I don’t expect to ever have this conversation with you again.”

  Huntsford then closed the distance between them with two strides. He grabbed Finley by the cravat and jerked, a little harder than necessity demanded. “And if I suspect you have even thought about mentioning this evening, you won’t have to worry about conversation with anyone, ever again.”

  The baron gulped audibly, and with a quick look at Olivia, perhaps to silently apologize for fleeing, Finley took his leave.

  Olivia swallowed hard, feeling very much like an unruly child who was about to be taken in hand. After several futile attempts to muster some courage, she gave up and stared at the ground.

  “Come on. We’re leaving, too,” he said.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She grasped tighter at the torn pieces of her dress, shame heating her face.

  “So, while you feel comfortable enough to promenade in a garden at midnight with a known rake, you won’t allow me to see you home safely?” Anger threaded through his voice.

  Olivia wisely refused to answer.

  Nick gripped her elbow, causing Olivia to wince at the suddenness of his gesture, though his touch remained gentle. Impersonal and cold, but gentle. “This isn’t something I’m willing to discuss with you,” he said.

  He steered her toward the back of the garden, prepared to ferret out a simple escape route. She wanted to say something—anything—that might make him less angry. But the situation was rather tawdry-looking.

  Unexpectedly, Olivia pitched forward, having caught her shoe on some hidden obstruction in the ground.

  “Oh!” she cried out as Nick’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against him.

  And for the second time during the evening, Olivia found herself pressed against a man out in the Ashburn gardens. He held her for a second, looking at her with blank eyes.

  His entire expression was a mask.

  He lowered his head slowly down to her, apparently preparing to whisper some vital information. His face was a breath from her own, and completely beyond her volition, she closed her eyes, half hoping for and half fearing a kiss.

  And also for the second time that evening, Olivia didn’t hear approaching footsteps on the walk.

  She also missed the arrival of four ladies directly in front of them on the path.

  “What?” And then. “Come along, ladies. I have accidentally led us down the wrong path. Tricky moonlight. My prize roses are this way.”

  Nick hastily withdrew from her and turned to face the four women, belatedly realizing the front of Olivia’s dress was in shambles. When he remembered, the marquess angled his body to cover Olivia’s side.

  The hostess, Lady Ashburn, tried to maneuver the others away from the suspicious pair.

  “This way, this way,” she said loudly. “I have something I must show you over here.”

  The other three ladies, who were hidden in the shadows and unrecognizable, were valiantly fighting off their hostess’s efforts.

  “Could it be?” tittered one.

  “No. Surely…”

  “But it is!” Came the excited reply.

  “The Marquess of Huntsford and the Westin girl,” another of the women supplied helpfully.

  The three ladies edged closer, perhaps hoping to gain a better look at the wayward pair. As the moonlight illuminated them, Olivia recognized all three as acquaintances of Henrietta and knew then she and Nick were both well and truly caught.

  Olivia, who had always prided herself on never fainting—not even as a tactical strategy—suddenly felt the edges of her vision blur. She vaguely heard the tittering and gleeful whisperings of their discoverers, but she paid them no mind. Perhaps if she focused on one particular point, it would make her feel less dizzy. Olivia also didn’t give a thought to what Huntsford was thinking. He stood staunchly beside her, that much she knew, but he was silent. Perhaps he was also trying to muddle out a likely excuse for their whereabouts and her appearance.

  “Ladies, I hope you will excuse us for a moment,” Nick broke into their chattering smoothly, and all the voices stopped at once. “My betrothed has torn her dress on a low-hanging limb and needs to repair it.”

  Olivia, still reeling from the events of the last few moments, failed to grasp the full import of his words. Apparently, so did the three senseless women in front of them. Lady Ashburn was the only one among them who seemed to have immediately taken hold of his meaning, and she smiled discreetly.

  Nick guided Olivia by her elbow, intending to escort her out the back garden entrance.

  One of the ladies finally sputtered. “Did you say betrothed?”

  Nick nodded.

  As the three went into raptures at being present for the announcement of the Season—unaware their very presence had precipitated such a drastic measure—Nick asked for Lady Ashburn to inform Henri they were leaving, then bustled Olivia to the carriage.

  Olivia was oblivious to the flurry of activity around her. She was mute as Nick led her by the shoulders and helped her into the conveyance.

  All she could do was wonder if she’d single-handedly destroyed both her and Marcus’s lives.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nick forced his eyes away from Olivia, who looked utterly dejected, as though he had taken her last farthing and booted her onto the streets.

  Was she that opposed to marrying him?

  The thought was far from flattering.

  Nick wondered why he didn’t feel panicked. He understood the ramifications of what he’d done. He and Olivia would be married now. There would be no other way to salvage her reputation after what the ladies had witnessed in the garden. No one would care if the appearance wasn’t the actuality.

  Olivia needed a marriage. Without one, she’d be a pariah.

  Well-bred ladies, even women of lesser social position, would be justified in turning their backs on her…a public and humiliating shunning. If she refused to marry him, Olivia would have difficulty finding another gentleman willing to marry her after such a disgraceful spectacle.

  Nick couldn’t allow that to happen to her. She didn’t deserve to feel the brunt of the ton’s censure. While—admittedly—her own foolish actions instigated most of the evening’s happenstances, she was young. And, it seemed to Nick, he was willing
to forgive her almost anything.

  Chancing a look at his soon-to-be bride, he noticed she was white-lipped and sitting painfully erect. Her frame appeared so tight and brittle he thought, if he touched her, she might crumble entirely. While she looked in his direction, Nick was certain she didn’t see him.

  Should he say something?

  Tell her everything was going to work out?

  Assure her he didn’t mind the marriage?

  Nick didn’t feel the slightest twinge of fear or anxiety about what he’d done. He actually felt…victorious. His feelings for Olivia were undeniable. They would be happy together.

  If she gave him a chance.

  But she seemed to be making a habit out of rebuffing him.

  She’d turned him down in favor of Finley. Finley. Nick needed to discover the trick to getting rid of the pesky baron permanently. Finley wouldn’t leave Olivia alone just because she was betrothed. In truth, the lack of attainability might be even more attractive to the rake.

  Thinking of the snake made him wonder what actually happened in the garden. Olivia had yet to say, and her staring ahead in stony silence didn’t seem a promising step toward disclosure.

  “Are you going to say anything?” he asked gently, wondering briefly if she might be in shock. Her lips trembled as though her teeth were on the verge of chattering together. It wasn’t cold, but he began to feel around under the seat for a blanket.

  Finding one, Nick placed it across her lap. “Can you say something?” His tone was harder, but not intentionally. Worry gave his words an edge.

  Slowly, her eyes seemed to focus on his face, and he realized he’d misjudged her mood. Olivia wasn’t shocked…she was furious.

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?” she growled.

  Nick managed to keep his tone mild. “I believe so.”

  “You’ve ruined my life!”

  He fought the irrational surge of anger. Of course she was upset and lashing out. He was the closest target and able to weather the emotions without reacting. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said quietly.