Norgrave slowly raised his gaze until his light blue eyes locked on hers. “Do you not agree, Miss Lydall?”
Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision so she could not look at the older gentleman. Her cheeks burned as the salt in her tears inflamed her bruised cheeks.
“There now, there is no reason to cry.” Norgrave moved as if he intended to embrace her, but she edged away from him.
Chauncey grimaced. “I have more than proven myself,” he said through clenched teeth. “So Miss Lydall is a little bruised. No one will care.”
“I highly disagree,” Norgrave said, his mild polished inflection a reminder that Chauncey had forgotten his place. “In fact, I can think of one particular gentleman who will not be happy with your careless handling. Perhaps an introduction is in order.”
Olivia found herself enveloped in Norgrave’s unyielding embrace. She sobbed against his chest. He pivoted away from Chauncey, who was furious at the marquess’s high-handedness.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chauncey shouted at him. “She belongs to—”
Someone kicked in the door and more masculine voices filled the air. Olivia was too shaken to discern what was happening. She pressed her face into Norgrave’s coat as he held her. It almost felt as if the older gentleman was shielding her from the violence and the ugliness of her prison.
Chauncey’s screams pierced the comforting warmth of the marquess’s embrace. Olivia pulled away in time to see Thorn knocking Lady Grisdale’s lover to the ground. In disbelief she watched her betrothed stomp on the man’s kidneys. Her kidnapper whimpered, but Thorn was far from finished. He kicked him in the side until Chauncey rolled onto his back. St. Lyons, Rainbault, and Chance stood nearby and protected their friend’s back from anyone who was foolish enough to stop Thorn from giving him the pummeling he deserved.
“You did well, Father,” Marcroft said, looking grim as he noted her bruises. “You were quite convincing in your role as the debaucher of innocents. Now hand Miss Lydall over before Thorn decides to beat you bloody for touching her.”
Norgrave’s arms fell away as he raised his hands in surrender. “I suspect Miss Lydall has witnessed enough violence for one day.” He glanced over at the two fighting men and winced. Thorn had straddled Chauncey and was polishing his knuckles with the man’s face. “Bloodthirsty barbarian. It must run in Blackbern’s bloodline.”
Marcroft reached for Olivia and shifted their positions so she could not see Thorn and Chauncey. “No,” he said. “Nothing you will see will comfort you.”
“I agree,” murmured his father.
The earl glanced over his shoulder to glare at Norgrave. “You are not helping.” His fierce expression softened as he stared down at Olivia. “All you need to know is that Kempthorn is expressing his displeasure before he hands Chauncey to the constables waiting outside.”
“If there is anything left of the gent,” Rainbault said, his pride in his friend evident.
“A lady is present, Your Grace,” Chance muttered.
“Thorn’s lady,” St. Lyons added.
The awful sounds of fist pounding flesh had stopped, and all Olivia could hear were moans and heavy breathing. Ignoring Marcroft’s warning, she leaned to the side so she could peek around the earl.
One glimpse at the blood staining Thorn’s hands, and her eyes rolled back into her head.
She heard someone whisper, “Croft, catch her before she—”
Olivia fainted.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Thorn was sick with worry as he carried Olivia into her father’s town house.
She had not recovered since she had fainted at the sight of the blood splattered on his face, clothes, and hands, and the mess he had made of Chauncey’s once-handsome face. Fortunately, Marcroft had caught Olivia before she collapsed on the unforgiving floor.
Thorn owed the Brants, and he was a man who paid his debts even if it meant angering the Rookes. It was Marcroft who had noticed Olivia leaving Lady Howland’s house. He had watched her enter Chauncey’s coach and had the shrewdness to follow the unremarkable black coach to the Acropolis. The earl had returned to the ballroom and reported what he had learned to Thorn and his friends. It was also Marcroft who suggested that they track down his father. Thorn was prepared to make a deal with the devil to get Olivia back, but Norgrave surprised all of them by freely offering his assistance. He used his connections at the Acropolis to quickly to locate where Chauncey had hidden Olivia, and he volunteered to distract him until the others could arrive with reinforcements.
Thorn had to admit that Norgrave had surpassed all of his expectations and had protected Olivia as if she were his own daughter. His actions did not redeem Norgrave. His sins were too numerous. Nevertheless, if there was a shred of goodness in the older man, Olivia and her friendship with Lady Arabella had inspired Norgrave to do the right thing.
She had not stirred from her slumber. Even Thorn’s angry pleas failed to rouse her. Norgrave speculated that Olivia might still be under the influence of Chauncey’s poison and the shock of her ordeal. He advised to let her sleep and suggested that everyone wash the blood from their hands and burn their bloodied clothes.
The butler’s reaction when Thorn entered the front hall with Lord Dewick’s daughter dressed in a bloodstained chemise in his arms while he himself was splattered with blood was proof that Norgrave was correct.
While Lord Dewick and the housekeeper tended to Olivia, Thorn returned to his town house. Gideon was not at home. Thorn bathed and took extra care to scrub the blood from his fingernails and hands. His knuckles were bruised and still bleeding, but his valet bandaged his hands. Gloves would hide his violent nature from Olivia. Although he quietly conceded that she knew him well enough to understand his need to protect her and punish the man who had frightened and hurt her.
St. Lyons, Chance, and Rainbault had delivered Chauncey to the tender mercies of the constables. If the man survived his injuries he would face the magistrate. Lady Grisdale had disappeared. It angered Thorn that she had escaped, but if she was a clever woman, she would put an ocean between herself and Lord Dewick.
Satisfied that he was in control of his emotions, he headed for the iron gate that separated the two properties. With or without the baron’s permission, he intended to sit at Olivia’s bedside until she awakened and returned to him.
* * *
Olivia awoke to find herself in her own bed. Someone had washed her and dressed her in her favorite nightdress. She might have been convinced that she had experienced an awful nightmare, but her wrist was bandaged and her cheek was tender and slightly swollen.
Olivia was unaware of how long she had been asleep, but she felt groggy and stiff. She climbed down from her bed and walked to her dressing table. Peering into the mirror, she winced at the colorful bruising. She sighed when she noticed the tiny bruises on her arms.
“Olivia!”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw her father standing in the doorway with a vase of fresh flowers.
The baron walked to one of the tables and set it down. “Kempthorn thought some flowers from the garden would please you. How are you feeling?” he gruffly asked.
“Papa,” she said rushing to him. Without being asked, he opened his arms and embraced his daughter. She thought of Lady Grisdale and Mr. Chauncey’s deception. Had the countess broken his father’s heart? “Oh Papa,” she said again, hugging him even tighter. “I am so sorry.”
“There is nothing to apologize for, Olivia,” Lord Dewick said, returning her embrace. “I was so worried when Kempthorn carried you into the house. I feared you had been shot.”
Olivia wisely remained silent on the reasons why her father thought she had been mortally wounded. She remembered all the blood she had seen before she had fainted. “How long have I been asleep?”
Lord Dewick hesitated. “Two days.”
“Two days!” She could not recall a time when she had slept as long. Not even when she had been in bed
with a fever. “Am I—”
“You are fine,” he rushed to assure her. “Mostly bruises and sprains. The physician assured me that your wrist is not broken, but it will be tender.”
“What about Thorn?”
“A few scrapes, but mostly bruises,” the baron said. “That young man has sat at your bedside for two days, Olivia. I had to bully him to take a walk in the garden to get some fresh air. Are you hungry?”
She absently nodded. “A little.”
“I will tell the cook to fill a tray with your favorites.” The baron lightly touched her cheek and his eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Perhaps if you ask her, she will bake some almond biscuits for dessert.”
“Papa, please do not cry,” she begged, fighting back her own tears. “I cannot bear to see you hurt.”
“Nor I, my sweet Olivia.” He embraced her, and father and daughter held on to each other, drawing strength from the connection.
Lord Dewick was the first to pull away. “I will head to the kitchen. Do you have any requests?”
Olivia shook her head. “If you do not mind, I believe I will dress and take a walk in the garden before I eat. You did say that Thorn is there?”
Lord Dewick nodded. “If you do not see him on the terrace, check that old hedge maze. Kempthorn seems to be fond of it.”
“I will.”
Olivia did not move until her father shut the door. She dressed quickly, donning a simple white muslin dress. There was little she could do about the bruises on her face, but she selected a colorful shawl to conceal the marks on her arms. She left her hair down. Thorn liked her chestnut curls more than old hedge mazes.
While she had slept, Thorn had secured the gold bracelet he had given her on her birthday to her uninjured wrist. Perhaps he wanted her to awaken and immediately think of him.
Olivia put on her shoes and headed downstairs. She waved to the butler and slipped out one of the side doors that led to the back gardens.
Thorn was precisely where she expected him to be, standing in the middle of the grass circle where they had made love under a midnight sky as the stars winked overhead. He turned as if he recognized her footfalls.
“Olivia,” he said striding to her. He tenderly cradled her face within his large hands and kissed her on the lips. “I have missed you.”
“Papa said that you sat at my bedside for two days,” she said, reluctant to release his hands. His gloves felt oddly padded, and it dawned on her that she was not the only one who required bandages.
He gave her a rueful grin. “Do not tell your father. However, when I was certain I would not be disturbed by him or the servants, I slipped into your bed and held you in my arms. It was the only way I could sleep.”
She had been worried that he had stayed awake while she had slept. Her guilt lightened with the knowledge that Thorn had done what he had always done when he wanted something.
He had simply taken it.
“Have you spoken to your father?”
She nodded. “He left me to speak to the cook. I hope I can count on you to help me do justice to the tray of food that is being prepared.”
“You can always count on me, Olivia.”
Olivia frowned at the hint of pain he tried to hide.
“Have you spoken to Gideon?”
Thorn shrugged. “I have not seen him in days. Knowing my brother, he decided clearer heads would prevail if we had some time apart.”
“And you disagree?” she pressed.
“It is for the best. All I could think about the last two days is you.” He poked at the grass with his boot. “Longer, if I’m honest.”
“With me or you?”
His jaw tensed at the teasing reminder that he had not always been honest with her. “You mostly, but I became rather adept at lying to myself, too.”
Olivia had so many questions. She felt as if she had been asleep for a year and she needed Thorn’s guidance to navigate a world that had moved on without her. Most of her questions could wait. Before she had made the dreadful decision to chase after Mr. Chauncey, she and Thorn had left so many things unsettled between them.
She stood close to him as she contemplated her next move. “With Gideon gone, you no longer have to protect him from my feminine wiles. It must feel quite liberating to be free of both of us.”
“You pick this moment to joke about it?”
Olivia shrugged as she walked to the circular hedge wall. With her wrist bandaged, she had decided not to wear gloves. Considering the decadent and inappropriate things Thorn had done to her in this very spot, her informality could be forgiven. Her bare fingers brushed the hedge wall as she savored the different textures.
“My father and I have not had the opportunity to discuss everything, but after what happened with Lady Grisdale”—she was content to omit Mr. Chauncey from their current discussion—“he will wish to return to Treversham House as soon as possible. I will likely leave Town as well. It is a prudent decision. Any gossip about our connection to the perfidious countess will fade with our departure and in a year everyone will have moved on to a new scandal.”
And with luck, I will not be acquainted with any of the people involved.
Thorn stared at her. His face bore the enigmatic demeanor she had often attributed to him. “You are leaving me.”
“I prefer to view it was freeing you from your obligation, my lord,” she said, hoping he would notice the slight quake in her voice.
“What of our engagement?”
“My father anticipated that you would one day break it. He was angry that he caught you dallying with me as he once described it. Nevertheless, he is not a cruel man. He would not wish a loveless marriage on either of us. All he desired was that you used your family name to protect me from the gossips.”
He lowered his head and sighed. “I have done a lousy job protecting you, Olivia.”
“Nonsense,” she protested. “As Lord Kempthorn and Mr. Netherwood, a lady would be hard-pressed to find two more handsome knights.”
“Stop, Olivia.”
She had struck a nerve, but she was hurting too.
“There was no reason for you to be jealous. After all, you came to me as the earl and as Gideon. What must have truly kept you up at night was wondering what your brother thought about your games. Perhaps Gideon was the man I loved and in your arrogance you gave me a very poor substitute.”
“Do I have to stuff a gag in your mouth to silence you?”
“Ah, anger … I am familiar with that emotion. I felt it when your brother—I speak of the real Gideon Netherwood—kissed me. It was then that I knew the truth.”
Thorn crossed his arms and glared at her.
“While it was a lovely kiss, I realized that your brother was not the Gideon who had caught me talking to a marble bust in my father’s library or who had kissed me near the fountain.” She gave him a level look. “Nor was he the rude gentleman who declared my dress ugly a minute before he tore the bodice.”
She expected Thorn to apologize, but her confession seemed to baffle the earl. A few minutes later, he looked contemplative.
“Gideon’s kiss revealed my deception.” Thorn began to laugh. “That arrogant arse. Gideon deliberately kissed you to sabotage me and put an end to my mischief. He knew you would be able to tell the difference.”
Had Gideon grown weary of Thorn’s machinations?
“I am not vexed at Gideon. I applaud his cleverness. Of course you had to ruin everything by kissing me, which led to other wicked activities that resulted in my father catching us together.” She grinned at him. “Perhaps it was a just punishment when my father insisted that we announce our engagement.”
“Gideon was standing beside your father, looking hurt and outraged by my behavior. I wonder which one of them came up with the engagement?”
She had not considered that her father and his brother would have been pleased if she and Thorn were betrothed. “You see nothing but conspiracies. Does it truly matter? You were
the one who saw it as an opportunity to keep poor smitten Olivia away from Gideon.”
He grimaced and rubbed his jaw. “Is that what you believe?”
“It is what I know, Lord Kempthorn,” she said, swinging her hips as she sauntered up to him. “You wanted—”
“You, Olivia,” he shouted at her. “I wanted you. Not for my brother. I wanted you for myself. At first, I thought I could entice you with kisses. In my arrogance, I tried to bind you to me by introducing you to pleasure. I used my lips, my tongue, my hands, and my cock to enthrall you. When you stared up at me, I wanted you to see me first, and not my twin.”
“I saw you, Thorn,” she whispered.
“When Olivia?” He did not trust her, so he took a step back to distance himself. “When did you first see me?”
She frowned, guessing there was some trickery involved. Something she had missed.
“At the lake? You stood on the dock and glared at me.”
Thorn shook his head. “When did you first convince yourself that you were in love with Gideon?”
* * *
She brought her hand to her mouth and shook her head. “Gideon was my friend. My own brothers could not be bothered to play with me. However, your brother was kind to me. He never found me lacking. I did not have to convince myself that I loved him. I have always loved him.”
“Like a brother,” he prompted.
“Yes.”
He pounced. “Until he kissed you. How old were you? It was the moment your feelings for Gideon were altered and things between you were never the same.”
She sent him a scathing look. “Well, it was my first kiss. I was twelve years old, and you and your brother were already charming eighteen-year-old scoundrels. Gideon had seduced my last and final governess, and the wretched creature was heartbroken. She sobbed for hours when she learned that you and your brother were leaving Malster Park for London and the chances of you returning for any lengthy visit were unlikely.”
Waiting for an Earl Like You Page 30
