The Forsaken Love of A Lord

by Vayden, Kristin

  Damn it all.

  CHAPTER TWO

  OLIVIA BLINKED AS SHE studied herself in the vanity mirror. Her shoulders rose and fell with each breath she took, yet the rhythmic cadence didn’t settle her swirling emotions, her anxiety.

  Why, oh why had they needed to come back to London? It had been so perfectly pleasant in Sussex with the wild wood behind the manor and the freedom to ride each day. It had been a dream.

  And like a dream, had a distinct end.

  She felt as if she were awakening from a cocoon of peace and thrown into a typhoon of activity and expectations — none of which she accomplished with grace. They had arrived a full week ago, and in that time her mother had packed their lives with more activity than the four previous years combined.

  The modiste, the haberdasher, the modiste again, tea with old friends, those same old friends visiting and gossiping.

  Oh, dear Lord, the gossip.

  If she heard any more about Lady Woolworth’s out-of-fashion wig, or last season’s blue that was foolishly worn by some unfortunate spinster, she would scream.

  Loudly.

  Why were people so petty? Why did they even care? If those old clucking hens had nothing else to do other than chip away at others, then their opinions shouldn’t matter.

  It wasn’t as if they were doing anything of value with their lives.

  She’d mentioned as much to her mother.

  Her mother had paused midstride. A second later, she spun then speared her with an icy glare. “You’ll never say such things out loud, again. Understood? You have a reputation to create. You have your name, your father’s title, the rest is up to you and you will make us proud.” She’d taken a step toward Olivia, her cold gaze narrowing. “Have I made myself utterly clear?” She’d articulated with lethal grace.

  Olivia couldn’t find her voice. Never before had she seen such ice in her mother’s tone.

  Unless someone mentioned Marybelle’s name.

  Or Lord Langley’s.

  But that was beside the point.

  In that moment, her mother had been a stranger; rather, she’d looked just like those old biddies that Olivia had been speaking of.

  It had been a chilling awakening; one she hadn’t quite recovered from. And she was beginning to realize that this whole return to London had one goal: she was a lamb to the slaughter. Already her mother had given her a list, of all things, naming the appropriate gentlemen for her to marry.

  Marry, and she hadn’t been to one ball yet.

  Wasn’t that all a bit premature?

  It wasn’t as if she had to marry immediately. Why was her mother pushing her?

  She dared not ask, not after the ice that chilled her from the first question. Though she hadn’t ever been particularly close to her mother, the separation in their relationship only seemed to grow as time went on… especially now.

  A calculating glint in her mother’s eye caused a chill to prickle Olivia’s flesh whenever they were in company. And for that reason she had avoided her mother as much as possible.

  “Are you ready, Olivia?” her mother’s refined voice asked coolly as she began to twist the knob leading to the bedroom.

  “Yes,” Olivia answered, because it was pointless to be anything but honest.

  Her mother strode into the room, her eyes immediately assessing Olivia. “Oh, my! You’re breathtaking! Surely all the gentlemen will flock to your side in efforts to secure a dance!” She clapped her hands. “Hmm.” She paused and walked around Olivia, studying her closely. Her eyes narrowed slightly, causing a V to form in her forehead. Tugging at the fabric on her bodice, she shifted the neckline of the dress slightly, lowering it.

  Olivia was quite sure it had already been too low.

  “That’s better. We need you to draw everyone’s eye.”

  Apparently those eyes weren’t to be focused on her face.

  “Now, chin up, give a dazzling smile to each person who approaches you, and remember, under no circumstances—“

  “Am I to speak to Lord Langley,” Olivia finished, though her tone was more exasperated than anything else.

  “Yes. Now, I’ll wait for you downstairs. Your father has already ordered the carriage to be brought around front. Don’t dally.” Her mother nodded once and left in a flurry of emerald-green silk.

  Olivia sighed in relief when her mother’s form disappeared from the room. Taking a deep breath, she glanced once again to the mirror. Would people compare her to Marybelle? She hoped not. Although, it helped that she looked quite different. Everything about Marybelle was rich, from the color of her lush crown of sable hair to her dark cinnamon eyes. Olivia took after her father’s side. Her slightly wavy hair was the color of butter — or so her mother had once said — and her eyes were a light blue. Where Marybelle had been soft and rounded, Olivia was more petite in stature and in form.

  Olivia turned and evaluated herself once more, it was going to be such a bother tonight, to smile and play the pretty and ignorant debutant, especially when all she wanted to do was leave the sure-to-be-stuffy ballroom.

  But there was one secret hope she harbored. Though she knew she was forbidden to speak with Lord Langley, there was no rule about looking at him. How she hoped he’d attend tonight. It was the one bright spot in the evening. Would he look the same? Would he remember her? Would his memories be of the innocent and playful variety before everything happened with Marybelle? Or would he look at her and simply see her sister and all the pain she had caused? It seemed as if the man he had become overshadowed the man he was, the man she remembered. Others saw his hardened heart, the reclusive exterior, but Olivia remembered the man she knew hid within.

  While the rumor — which she’d learned from the aforementioned old clucking hens — was that he was after revenge. Olivia had made the decision to pursue something far more dangerous.

  His heart.

  “Olivia!” her mother’s voice called.

  “I’m on my way,” Olivia called back and strode to the door. Pausing, she grasped the top of her dress and pulled it up, higher than it was before her mother had adjusted it. “Much better,” she mumbled and left.

  “Here we are.” Curtis rubbed his gloved hands together, the stark white of their soft leather in bright contrast with his evening kit.

  “Indeed. Please allow a moment for my heart to recover from its delighted racing,” Edward replied with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  Curtis ignored him; already his eyes were scanning the sea of men and women, searching for Alaina.

  “Why her? I’ve never understood… I’m assuming it’s a passing fancy,” Edward asked quietly.

  “Of course it’s a passing fancy! She’s a widow, she’s wealthy, and she has no need for any strings to support her…” Curtis wagged his eyebrows.

  “Rake.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “I wasn’t saying it as a compliment.”

  “Oh, I’ll still pretend you did.” He shrugged and returned to his search.

  “Delude yourself all you wish,” Edward mumbled back.

  Curtis gasped and smacked Edward’s chest. “Please tell me that angel that just walked in with Lord Pierce is not Marybelle’s sister. Lie, if you must.”

  Edward was watching Curtis’ expression.

  Bloody hell.

  Curtis had the far-off, lovesick-swain appearance of one besotted.

  He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to think. All he wanted to do was turn around and walk back out the door and drink himself stupid at White’s.

  Because he was quite sure it was her.

  But he was curious… damn it all. So with a fortifying breath, he followed Curtis’ fixed gaze.

  It sure as hell was Olivia, Marybelle’s young half-sister. As a child, she had been adorable, sweet, and kind — truthfully, everything that Marybelle hadn’t been. Though in his defense, he hadn’t known it. Olivia had grown from that adorable little girl to a diamond of the first water. Her gol
den hair glittered like a halo as she walked gracefully into the room. The soft lavender pigment of her dress somehow highlighted the creamy hue of her skin. He couldn’t see her eyes from this distance, but he was sure they’d be a sparkling blue, just as he remembered them. Her body was petite, yet perfectly proportioned; her gown accented the fact far too clearly. Edward cleared his throat and glanced away. His eyes scanned the room, searching for distraction. “I think I see Alaina,” he remarked in a tight tone.

  “Alaina who?” Curtis replied breathlessly. “I need an introduction — damn it all. You can’t do that. Hmm.” His gaze darted about the room.

  “Nice to know I have your unyielding loyalty,” Edward remarked.

  “You know you do! I’ve been here from the beginning… but just because her sister was Delilah — from the Bible. You know, Samson and Delilah—?“

  “I bloody hell well know what you’re talking about, Curtis,” Edward ground out.

  “Splendid. Just making sure. But what I was saying—“

  “Yes, I get it, just because her sister was a miserable excuse for a human being, doesn’t mean that she will be.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But I’m not going to find out,” Edward asserted.

  Curtis paused, watching him. His gaze shifted to Olivia then back to Edward. “Fine, but I sure as hell am.”

  “You are certainly free to do as you wish, but you will not involve me in any way. Understood?” Edward turned to face his friend. Waiting for a response, he held his gaze.

  “Very well.” Curtis bowed and sauntered way, circling the ballroom, though Edward noticed his gaze continued to stray to where Olivia was practically holding court with several anxious young bucks all vying for her attention. Anger swirled in his chest, constricting his lungs and stealing his breath.

  It was too alike, too close. Hadn’t it been the same with Marybelle? Wasn’t he one of the lovesick swains who had surrounded her like a bee to honey?

  And he’d been stung.

  Over and over, till he didn’t feel the pain any longer.

  Till the pain became his normal; till the day the stinging stopped, and he was too overjoyed to mourn his own wife’s demise.

  Curtis had manipulated some poor chap into giving him an introduction to Miss Olivia. He bowed sharply; Olivia curtseyed and extended her slender hand for him to take. From here, Edward could see her enchanting grin, far different than her sister’s.

  Which was a blessing.

  He didn’t think he could stomach any other similarities.

  Curtis tipped his head and gestured to the dance floor, and she nodded, following him on the floor as the music shifted to a waltz.

  Unable to stand it any longer, Edward turned and headed to the door, only nodding twice to a few gentlemen who were arriving late. Once out the door and in his carriage, he demanded his coachmen take him to White’s. Halfway there, he changed his mind and headed home instead.

  Drinking only made the memories sharper.

  And, more than anything, tonight he wanted everything completely dull.

  He is here! Olivia thought excitedly as she tried to keep her gaze from continuously straying to his person. He was even more handsome than she remembered. His coal-colored hair was swept back immaculately, accentuating the light blue of his eyes — that she couldn’t quite see but most assuredly remembered — and the olive tone of his skin. Her heart thumped in her chest at the sight of him. How she wished there was some way to at least approach him, but it was impossible.

  Drat.

  Her attention strayed to the gentleman beside him. They seemed to be in easy conversation. Was he perhaps a friend?

  Interesting.

  A friend wouldn’t be off limits to converse with. Now, if only she could somehow secure an introduction.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Lord Langley’s gaze shifted toward her. Quickly she glanced away and tried to focus on one of the gentleman who had come near to secure an introduction.

  After curtseying and promising him a dance later, she risked a glance back toward Lord Langley.

  But no sooner had she focused on his person did she notice that the friend was making his way toward her, as if in efforts to secure an introduction as well.

  What luck!

  Olivia met his gaze and gave him what she hoped was a welcoming smile. He was in the company of one of her mother’s friends, no doubt with the intention of presenting him.

  “Ah, Miss Olivia, may I introduce Mr. Sheppard? He’s a long acquaintance of our family.” Lady Maxwell simpered, her eyes dancing as she ran her gaze up Mr. Sheppard’s body.

  Olivia resisted the urge to shudder.

  “A delight, Miss Olivia.” The gentleman bowed.

  “A pleasure, Mr. Sheppard.”

  “A beautiful lady such as yourself should not be forced to endure so many introductions without a chance to escape to the dance floor. May I have the honor of the next set?” he asked, his tone light and his eyes twinkling.

  “Of course,” Olivia replied immediately, not willing to risk missing out on what could be her only chance to uncover some of the mystery behind Lord Langley.

  And as luck would have it, the first strains of a waltz began just as he extended his hand.

  “So, Miss Olivia, tell me, why I haven’t had the pleasure of dancing with you before?” Mr. Sheppard asked smoothly.

  Olivia was quite sure he was a charmer, a rogue of the finest variety, but also utterly harmless. His eyes were too joyful, too full of fun. If he were a serious rake, he’d be far more… direct.

  Or so she assumed.

  “Well, Mr. Sheppard, we only just arrived in London this week,” she answered.

  “Then I’m most fortunate to have found you so near to your arrival.” He winked in a playful manner, his caramel-colored eyes dancing with amusement. His light brown hair hung in carefree waves that brushed his forehead. He was broad-shouldered, the fact accentuated by the nip and tuck of his evening kit.

  “Ah, what a flatterer, but I suppose it’s all part of the game.” She shrugged lightly.

  “Game?” he asked as his eyebrows rose.

  “Yes. I must admit that I’m quite frank, Mr. Sheppard. Which brings me to my point.”

  “Point?” He blinked, as if uncertain to be dubious or impressed.

  “Yes. Now, I noticed that you were speaking with a particular gentleman earlier,” Olivia hedged, her heartbeat increasing in cadence as she said the words. Immediately, a vision of Edward, Lord Langley, flashed in her mind’s eye. His jet-black hair and olive-colored skin were unmistakable; however, what she had found most changed was his expression. Even from a distance, she could easily decipher a frown as he glanced in her direction. Her study of him had been quick, hopefully unnoticed. But necessary.

  “I talked with quite a few gentlemen tonight, Lady Olivia,” Mr. Shepphard replied carefully.

  “Unless I’m underestimating your intelligence, which I highly doubt, I’m quite certain you’re aware of which gentleman I’m referring to.”

  “My, you are frank.”

  “It’s a curse, or so my mother says. I’d rather think of it as a blessing myself,” she added, a slight teasing grin tipping her lips.

  “You know…” Mr. Sheppard leaned forward slightly. “…I rather agree with you.”

  “Thank you.” She felt a blush accent her cheeks.

  “To answer your question, I was speaking with Lord Langley. I arrived with him actually.” Mr. Sheppard was watching her closely; his smiling eyes now clear with a keen intelligence.

  “Oh?” Olivia replied, struggling to keep her raging curiosity in check.

  “Yes, and I must say, Miss Olivia, as much as your curiosity is surprising, it is also unwise. Lord Langley is not one you should be concerned about. Any suspicions, any… curiosities…” He paused, his gaze piercing and undeviating, as if trying to communicate something unspoken. “…are best left unexplored.”

  The music stopped
and he bowed. When he rose, his face held a polite grin, though his gaze was still startlingly direct.

  “I bid you goodnight, Miss Olivia.” And he turned and left.

  Olivia watched as he wove around the people and made his way to the exit. He didn’t pause or search for another partner for the upcoming quadrille; rather, he disappeared into the night.

  Odd.

  But before Olivia could think further on the subject, her next dance partner approached.

  Later.

  After all, she was in London… and while her mother might have different plans for her, Olivia knew her course… and all she had was time.

  CHAPTER THREE

  EDWARD SWIRLED THE FRENCH brandy in his glass, the heady aroma comforting him. He wasn’t drunk, or even close, but he was… relaxed.

  Thank the Lord.

  Heaven only knew how much he needed to be sedated in some form.

  Taking a calming breath, he closed his eyes and took a long, soothing drink.

  “Crafty like Aphrodite, that’s what she is!” Curtis swore as he entered the library.

  The brandy he had been in the process of swallowing, reared back, causing him to choke. He coughed, sputtering as the brandy forced its way down his throat once more, only this time as if it were a fiery poker.

  “Damn and blast, Curtis! What is wrong with you! You almost killed me!” Edward sputtered between coughs.

  “I didn’t know swallowing brandy took so much skill,” Curtis shot back even as he poured himself a glass as well. Without hesitation, he knocked it back and refilled the glass.

  “You do realize that’s French Brandy… illegal, rare, and very expensive.” Edward furrowed his brow as he watched his friend raise his glass to salute him.

  Mockingly of course.

  “Well aware, thank you.”

  “I take it Alaina refused your… pursuit?” Edward asked, clearing his throat from the dull burn that still remained.

  “Damn it all, I forgot all about the chit.” Curtis twisted his lips. “Blast the girl for making me forget. Speaking of her, you’ll never guess what happened after you left.” He shook his head, a disbelieving grin overtaking his expression.