by Lara Temple
The edges of her mouth wavered upwards. ‘That was easier than it might appear.’
‘Do not tell anyone, please. I would rather not have the moniker Sinful Sinclair exchanged for Spineless Sinclair.’
‘Perhaps Sensitive Sinclair?’
‘You are enjoying my downfall far too avidly, Olivia.’
Her lips curved, her eyes crinkling at the corners, the golden lights sparkling, and some of his tension began to dissipate. Whatever happened, of all the options he could imagine for her future, marrying him was at least not the worst and he would do everything in his power to make it the best. If she ever forgave him for what he was about to do. No, what he had already done.
‘I have something important to tell you, Olivia. I need you to listen to me and not react for a moment. Can you do that? No, don’t frown. Just tell me whether or not you feel you can take another shock. It is best done out in the open, but we can go find a quiet corner if you prefer.’
‘Has something happened to my brothers or the Paytons?’
‘No, it has nothing to do with them. This is about us.’
‘Us?’
‘Us. The gossip is about to die a swift death because in good Venetian tradition I have just made it clear to a key member of the worst of our society that if he insults you, he insults me. It is not quite a declaration, but will no doubt be interpreted as such.’
‘Are you mad?’
Yes.
‘No, I am very sane. This has been on my mind for a while now, but I thought it best to wait until we resolved our other problem as best we could before I broached this topic with you. Which I hereby do.’
‘Lucas, you cannot possibly be serious. You cannot offer for a woman simply to scotch gossip.’
‘It is done all the time, but...’
‘Perhaps, but this gossip has nothing to do with you.’
‘If it affects you, it affects me. Now that your quest is put to rest, I want to make that very clear. It was my intention to offer to you before this nonsense surfaced, but I thought it best to wait so we could become better acquainted, or at least acquainted in more normal surroundings. But I won’t stand by and have that bottom-feeding catfish make hay at your expense. Before you tell me again that I am mad, I want you to consider the benefits of my proposal. Aside from the prospect of travelling to Egypt and Venice and exploring the ramifications of kissing, I believe we are compatible on quite a few levels. I have the utmost respect for your intelligence and your integrity and I think you have a fair assessment of my faults, which is always useful in a spouse. I know you need freedom and space and I am willing to accommodate those needs...’ He took a breath, aware that he was beginning to babble as she remained silent, her eyes still wide with shock. Any more of this and he would start begging. The music was beginning to wind down and he was beginning to feel desperate.
‘Olivia. Say something. Other than “you are mad”.’
‘Lucas, you mustn’t do this. This is wrong. This is what you told me not to do with Colin. You do not wish to be married. Right now I have become a...a responsibility, but even if you wish to...to, well, I cannot say it aloud here, but even then you should not... Oh, what have you done?’
He kept moving in the dance, a little stiffly now, gathering his resolution against the pain.
‘It is done, Olivia. Just...trust me this time.’
‘Of course I trust you, Lucas. But I cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice. And merely for some mean-spirited gossip. I would have weathered it.’
He glanced towards Lady Phelps who sat watching them anxiously. He wondered what was to be done now. Though it was too late for that.
‘It is done, Olivia. Is it so very terrible?’
Her hand tightened on his. ‘Of course it is not in the least terrible, Lucas. I think... If you really do not mind... Did you mean what you said? Were you truly thinking of offering for me before this?’
The tightening knot in his chest eased a little. ‘I would not lie about that. Does that mean you will marry me?’
‘You are mad, but, yes.’ The words came out in a rush and she stopped and smiled at him, her cheeks flushed in the light of the candles. ‘I must be mad, too. Yes, Lucas, I would like to marry you.’
The music died and for a moment he stood there, his hand still on her waist, his other hand clasping hers, fighting the puerile urge to hug her to him, reassure himself with her warmth that he had not taken terrible advantage of the situation. Instead he pressed her hand on to his arm and led her towards Lady Phelps.
Chapter Nineteen
Olivia jumped to her feet at the sound of the knocker, her heart leaping from trot to gallop as it had again and again throughout the very, very long night.
It was only ten o’clock and they had arranged for Lucas to arrive at one o’clock, but perhaps his night had been as fitful as hers and he had come earlier. She hoped so.
She had slept at some point, but woken at dawn with an abruptness usually reserved for cries of ‘fire’ and every time she remembered the events of the previous evening, alternating waves of hot and cold rushed through her, a mix of joy and terror. Of all the eventual scenarios she had explored for her future, she had not contemplated marriage to Lucas, but now that it was done she could hardly imagine it could be otherwise.
The thought that he might actually wish to marry her was peculiar, but somehow she did not doubt it. It was not that he loved her as she obviously loved him, but she could see why if he must marry eventually he would consider her a suitable wife, despite his frequent frustration with her wilfulness. They shared affection, humour, and then there was the attraction he had never hidden from her. Perhaps even in time all this would coalesce into the same intense need she felt for him, but even if it did not, she would count herself lucky to have secured as much.
She felt guilty to feel so happy when she had failed the Paytons so utterly, but perhaps together they would find a way to help them.
Together.
She squirmed again at the rush of joyful warmth and the rising thud of her heart as the drawing-room door opened.
‘Mr Mercer, Miss Silverdale,’ Pottle announced.
‘Mr Mercer. You are here early!’ Olivia said brightly to hide her disappointment. ‘It is not yet turned ten o’clock. This cannot bode well. Have you gambled away my three per cents on the “Change”?’
Mercer, never blessed with a sense of humour and certainly not about matters financial, frowned.
‘Certainly not, Miss Silverdale. This is not about our affairs, but I nevertheless felt it to be pressing enough to call upon you myself at the earliest opportunity, given your recent interests. I received a letter addressed for you from one Mrs Eldritch, I—’
‘What? Where is it?’ Olivia demanded impetuously. She snatched the sealed letter Mr Mercer extracted from his leather case. It was brief, but it brought her to her feet.
‘Oh! I must send for Lucas... No, this may be nothing and I cannot keep summoning him... Mr Mercer, I must beg your company for an hour or so. Can you escort me to Putney?’
‘Putney? But why?’
‘I cannot say. Have Pottle hail a cab and I shall fetch my bonnet and cloak and join you in a moment.’
* * *
It was one o’clock and snowing by the time Mercer helped Olivia descend from the cab at Brook Street. Heavy, slushy flakes gathered in the cracks on the pavement and she hurried inside when Pottle opened the door.
‘His Lordship’s here, miss. He arrived soon after you left, miss. He is...he is a trifle concerned, miss. We did not know where you went, you see,’ Pottle said in a hushed and hurried voice as she struggled to untangle the damp ribbons of her bonnet, his expression giving her a second’s warning before the door to the drawing room opened.
She didn’t respond to the warning in Pottle’s voice or to the expression on Lucas�
��s face, focusing on removing her bonnet and cloak and unbuttoning her pelisse. As Pottle removed the cloak from her grasp and melted away she considered requesting a pot of tea, but thought better of it. Refreshments would have to wait until she weathered this storm. Lucas stood aside, indicating the drawing room, his face blank, but the intensity of his fury obvious, so she entered without a word.
‘Three hours,’ he said as he closed the door behind him. ‘Pottle said you left over three hours ago without a word to anyone. May I be so bold as to ask where in hell you have been for three hours in the middle of a snowstorm?’
‘It is hardly a storm, more a flurry.’
‘Olivia!’
‘There was no need to worry. I was not alone. Mr Mercer was with me.’
‘That is no answer. You cannot just—’
‘Mrs Eldritch sent me a letter care of Mr Mercer.’ She rushed ahead. ‘I probably should have left a note explaining, but I didn’t think and I was certain we would be back well before noon. But then there was an overturned cart and our cab could not pass and we had to walk for miles to find another and then on the bridge...’
‘I don’t give a damn about overturned carts and bridges! You should have consulted with me before haring off on one of your misbegotten missions. Those were the blasted rules!’
‘Lucas, calm yourself. There is no need for histrionics.’
‘Olivia, if you knew how calm I am compared to what I might justifiably be at the moment, you would be very careful about issuing cautions. For all we knew Mercer ran off with you.’
The thought of Mr Mercer abducting her was so amusing she almost burst out laughing.
‘Mr Mercer has a specific vest for every day of the week and his housekeeper only varies his menu on Sundays. The thought of abducting me would likely send him into an apoplexy; he would as soon be devoured by wild boars. It was quite the other way around, I abducted him.’
‘Don’t split hairs with me, Olivia! I have permitted you to pursue these enquiries—’
‘Permitted! May I remind you that you have no authority over me, Lucas! It is not for you to permit or otherwise. Now, do please stop trying to play the outraged guardian and listen to me.’
‘Hell, I am not playing! You will not go anywhere again without a proper escort and without informing someone of your destination. Am I clear?’
‘Crystal. But you are outside your authority, my lord...’
He didn’t wait for her response, but stalked out, the door bouncing against the wall. She remained standing there, a whole maelstrom of unsettled emotions battling for prominence. She had been so excited to see him and tell him what she discovered. It never occurred to her that her absence might even be noticed, let alone have an impact on anyone. Still, he had no right...
She was still standing there when Lady Phelps entered with uncharacteristic diffidence.
‘You should at the very least have taken me along, Olivia.’
‘I didn’t want to force you out in this horrid weather, Elspeth. There was no need. Mr Mercer is perfectly proper...’
‘Lord Sinclair doesn’t know that. I told him you would be safe enough, but he is a worrier. He even went to Mercer’s offices in Threadneedle Street, but that was more than an hour ago and time kept ticking... Well, he didn’t say a word, but I tell you I could feel it in the walls. Men do not know how to worry properly, it is all shoved down and then the only way it can get out is in a burst of hot air. He is like my husband in that respect. I believe he thought you were so unnerved by the events at the ball, you convinced Mr Mercer to take you home to your brothers. He even sent his servants to the major posting houses to see if anyone by Mr Mercer’s description hired a post chaise.’
Olivia groaned. ‘I never thought...’
‘I know you didn’t, Olivia, and that is part of the problem. I told him you would not run and I think part of him believed me, but the other part must have worried even more, because we were out of ideas and he thought perhaps something terrible happened. I may not have approved of him, but, whatever his reputation and his past, I can see he takes his responsibility towards you very seriously. You are no longer on your own.’
‘Enough, Elspeth. I know you are right. I must apologise.’
‘Not right now. Give him time...’
‘No, it is best he fume at me rather than at the walls. There is something important I must say to him and it cannot wait. I am sorry to force you out into this weather, Elspeth, but we must go to Sinclair House.’
Chapter Twenty
‘Go away.’ Lucas snarled at the knock on his study door. Tubbs knew better than to knock twice. And Oswald or Chase never bothered knocking anyway.
A second knock sounded and he glared at the blank wood. ‘I said go—’
Olivia slipped in and closed the door behind her, a hesitant smile curving her lips. For a moment his rumbling fury just stepped aside, making way for the same slap of gratitude, relief and heat that had struck him when she returned to Brook Street earlier. It left him shaky and even angrier.
She stayed for a moment with her back to the door before moving forward, the firelight warming the soft ivory and bronze tones of her skirts and accentuating the curves that plagued his dreams at night.
He had felt ten times a fool for haring over to Brook Street at an ungodly hour in the morning simply to reassure himself she had not changed her mind about the betrothal. Discovering she was gone was bad enough, but with each passing minute his mind embroidered and embellished and his heart ripped itself to shreds and shoved the remains into a dark, dank hole in the ground. It had only been three hours, but it felt infinitely longer and more desperate than any siege he had ever lived through.
He wanted to hate her for reducing him to this state, but as she moved towards the desk his simmering anger migrated south, settling into the familiar thudding tattoo of desire and the deeper pull of need. What remained of his anger turned against his own fallibility.
He could tell by the excitement in her eyes that she was intent on enlightening him about whatever she uncovered that morning. She didn’t even realise the effect she had on him. She could send him into a panic, into a fury and into thorough lustful frustration without even distracting herself from her latest foray into conjecture and conspiracy.
‘I realise you are burning with the need to share your latest findings with me, Olivia, and I’m impressed you managed to subvert Tubbs sufficiently that he did not even see fit to inform me of your arrival, but I think it is best we postpone all discussions until later. I am not in the mood.’
‘I didn’t come about Mrs Eldritch, Lucas. I came to apologise. It is no excuse, but I honestly never thought anyone would notice my absence, let alone worry. It was dreadful of me.’
‘Let me guess. Lady Phelps lectured you.’
She clasped her hands in front of her and smiled ruefully. ‘She did, but she merely hurried the process along. I would have realised you were right eventually. Next time I promise I shall consult with you first.’
He felt peculiarly raw, like the skin after a scab had fallen off—tender and wary. He should put the whole episode behind him, but the memory of those hours when his mind leapt from one scenario to another, alternating between anger and sheer terror, wouldn’t be put aside.
When she had walked in to the Brook Street hallway, her cheeks red from the cold and her eyes bright with excitement, he had been slammed simultaneously by such joy and such fury he had strangled them both into cold submission. He still didn’t know what to do with either of them. Desire he could, and would, deal with. The moment the legal seal was placed on their union he would indulge every lustful dream she roused in him and then he would finally have some peace from that aggravating frustration. Everything else...he just didn’t want it. It was all too much at the extremes. He might deal in risky situations, but not when it came to his internal deal
ings with himself. There he very much liked remaining in the stable centre. But today her disappearance had made it clear just how far outside that centre he had ventured.
Damn her.
‘Just don’t do it again,’ he said sternly, shifting some papers on his desk. ‘I gather from your meek demeanour Lady Elspeth came here with you?’
‘Of course. She is waiting downstairs in an enormous drawing room. This place is gargantuan.’
‘You should not keep her waiting, then. I will come by later this evening and we can speak then.’
‘Won’t you at least kiss me goodbye?’
The heat that swept through him was so swift and so extreme he leaned his hands on the desk, resisting the urge to leap over it and put a categorical end to this torture.
‘Even in light of our betrothal you shouldn’t be in this room alone with me.’
‘Just on my cheek and I shall leave. To show me you forgive me.’
She stopped at the corner of the desk and tilted her face, just touching her cheekbone with her finger. His muscles contracted in outrage that he was even contemplating abstention. He could already feel the softness of her skin, warm and fragrant against his mouth. That close her curls would tickle his own cheek, feathery and begging to be let loose, her scent would wrap around him, taking him back to their carriage ride when she had leaned in to him, promising everything.
Just hours ago he had been convinced she had disappeared, that, as mad as it felt, he might never see her again and it had been terrifying. Now she expected him to kiss her on the cheek like a little girl and let her go...
Hell.
‘If I kiss you, it won’t be on the cheek.’
She dropped her finger and faced him, her eyes narrowing in a look that was both new to him and very old. ‘Oh, good.’
‘Blast you, Olivia.’
She took his hand from where it rested on the desk, raising it to cup her cheek. ‘Just a kiss, Lucas.’
