Lisbeth sipped her warm milk.
Oliver, he’d said his name was Oliver.
Why had he told her his name? He seemed to know hers and use it. She had not given him permission to, but neither had she objected at the time.
‘I know you are all bluff’ he’d said, and he was right. She also knew she had just lost any advantage she might have had over him. Did he feel something for her? To use her name as he had, call her perfect and lovely and kiss her like he actually wanted to. More than once at that. Not an act then, not just playing the part of the lover for the spectators of the ton? What did it all mean? What did he want from her? And, more importantly, could she give him what he wanted without losing herself completely?
Chapter 10
Blurred faces. Far-off voices taunting. Dreadful names, chanted at her as she descended from the prison carriage for her trial. Hurtful words, as clear and sharp as a razor’s blade, cutting her over and over.
She had not expected this reception. She had not been prepared to be pelted from all angles by rotten fruit, have her hair pulled, and her gown ripped. Who were these people and why did they hate her so?
The crowd was a cresting wave of hatred looming all around her, ready to crash down and drown her. Shouts of, ‘hang her, hang her,’ echoed off the stone walls as she passed on her way into the courtroom in the House of Lords. ‘Murderous bitch, sinner, pox-ridden whore!’
Lisbeth looked desperately for one friendly face, one set of sympathetic eyes in the crowded courtroom. It made her dizzy. Was there not one person in all of London who cared if she was innocent?
Nathaniel’s family was there, united in a group of vile looks. These people had been her family, had loved her as a sister, or so she had thought. They knew her, how could they believe she had killed her husband? Where was her father, her grandmother, her sister? Was there no one here who loved her?
Lisbeth blinked furiously upon waking. Tears fell in relentless streams down her cheeks to stain her pillow. She had learned long ago, it was better to weep in the privacy of her room than to let others see her weakness.
It was always just before dawn that she felt the most alone. Surrounded by all the worldly goods she could ever want, and yet her life was empty—meaningless. There was nothing and no one to love her. She could hardly expect more when she had ceased to even like herself.
It wasn’t until she was undressing for bed last night she realised Bellamy, dratted man, had stolen her pistol. Not that a pistol could protect her from him. Not any longer. Oliver Whitely had shaken her to her core and she had not a clue how she should feel about it.
She had to concede everything that had happened last evening she’d deserved. Acting like a Bedlamite over a silly piece of paper was bad enough, but to faint over a watch? A watch she hated because it had belonged to Nathaniel. She only carried it to keep her focused on her task of proving her innocence.
Having decided she must stop this destructive behaviour she had tried not to write her schedule for the next day. But at four this morning, candle in hand, she had found herself heading for her desk in the library to do just that. Some habits were just too hard to break.
She had avoided Nathaniel’s study like the plague. His room was more than the place where he had died. Dark shadows had haunted it long before the ghost of her husband. It had been his private domain, his place of secrets, as well as his place of hatred. She knew it was silly to be scared of a room but she was afraid. Afraid of the memories there, the nightmares they evoked, and her weakness. More than anything she was terrified of what she might find in there about herself.
She could hardly read her own handwriting the first time she attempted to write out her schedule. Her hand had shaken so violently it was amazing the scribble even resembled words.
Perhaps a few more days grace then I might be strong enough to venture where devils danced, she’d thought.
No!
A demon faced is a demon vanquished, her father used to say. Lisbeth was sure it wasn’t going to be so easy, but she had to try. She could no longer put it off. It would only play on her mind as it already had for weeks. She must do it. She must do it today!
She wrote that dreaded schedule out again and again and again until it was neat as a pin, satisfied at last the staff would be able to read it without making judgment on the state their mistress had been in while writing it. She placed the schedules on the hall table, as usual, and went back to her room. The top one addressed to the Earl of Bellamy.
Standing at her bedroom window she watched the grey haze of dawn blush to pink with the promise of a new day. The dawn always called to her, offering her a chance to try again. The glass was cold from the frost of the early morning and she used her forefinger to draw an O in the fogged up pane.
Oliver.
To know his name evoked a certain intimacy that she was not yet ready for. Intimacy demanded a certain expectation of truth, of friendship. She needed a friend. She couldn’t deny it. Although, it was not likely the kind of friendship he was hoping for. Was it so selfish of her to want his friendship, knowing she would not be able to offer him the same? While she accepted that she needed him, she also acknowledged that she needed to protect him, just as much, from herself.
Her blackness.
Her curse.
Her worthlessness.
So many things could go wrong and yet he refused to try and accept her schedule. He could not understand how it had helped her survive the foulest of days. How she needed it, still.
The problem was she’d been prepared to use him when things had been all on her terms. Now, Lord I-know-you-are-all-bluff was trying to play Saint George to all her private dragons. She had not asked him to champion her. It must be a family trait, as his brother had the same sense of chivalry. She wondered how different things may have been for her if she had taken up Henry’s offer to buy her passage to the Continent and away from Nathaniel.
Lisbeth knew what would happen if she let herself give in to Oliver. Inch by inch he would steal her resolve, her will, and her very thoughts. Until one day, she would not know what she was doing or why. He would convince her this quest was foolish and she should abandon her plan, live a quiet life, become his mistress, and dismiss all hope for a future of her own making.
It was not enough. She would not live like that, she couldn’t.
Dawn had broken, the clouds had rolled in and rain now splashed against the glass pane in fat drops. Lisbeth knew deep in her heart that today would make or break her.
***
Lisbeth had her hand poised over the door handle of Nathaniel’s study. It was late afternoon and rain fell steadily outside, a constant hum layering the silence of the hall in which she stood. She felt a fine sheen of perspiration on her upper lip and brow. Her heart was beating a tattoo that was making her lightheaded. She’d stayed in the same position for nearly ten minutes with her hand hovering ridiculously over the handle.
Her housekeeper wasn’t helping by standing to her left twisting her apron in her hands and saying, ‘I’ve done nothing but dust in there. I never moved a thing ‘cept to dust.’
Lisbeth wished she were alone but was at the same time comforted by Mr and Mrs Rollands presence. Had they not been there, she may well be thumping her head against the door by now. Still, the nervous twitching of Mrs Rollands was pushing her already frazzled nerves to the breaking point.
Lisbeth gave her housekeeper an imploring look which only made Mrs Rollands twist her apron more. Lisbeth’s eyes burned with unshed tears, not only because she didn’t want to do this but because Mr and Mrs Rollands had always been so kind to her. Because she cared about them, because they were as upset as she was about this whole ordeal. And it had yet to even start.
Her stomach lurched up to her throat again at the thought of entering the room, of making the first step. She had put it on the schedule and that was that. Rollands look of surprise and then concern this morning had been enough to gauge his thoughts on
the subject. She almost wished he’d at least tried to talk her out of it. It might have made her more determined to face the demons she felt lurked behind this solid oak door. Time was ticking away and with every tick-tock of the grandfather clock, Lisbeth felt her courage drain away.
Be strong! It’s just a room. Put your hand on the knob and turn it. Come on, do it! She stamped her foot in a fit of temper with herself, which made her housekeeper jump, murmuring, ‘Oh, my lord.’
Lisbeth closed her eyes. Put her hand on the door handle. It was cold, icy and condemning. It was so cold it seemed to burn her palm, like touching snow with no gloves on.
She pulled her hand off the handle again.
She paced around in a circle with her palm to her forehead and the other hand on her hip, trying to both compose and lecture herself. She was just about to seize the handle again when the front door knocker banged loudly, echoing like thunder down the hall towards her. This time all three of them jumped. Lisbeth’s hand came up to cover her heart, she was sure it had stopped for a brief moment.
The Rollands looked at Lisbeth.
She stared back at them.
Rollands coughed. ‘Shall I answer it, my lady?’
She couldn’t imagine who it would be but found herself nodding. Her mind was still on the study door and what lay behind it. She could see her reflection in its highly polished surface and it was a coward’s face. Her lack of courage was a slap to her flagging spirits. She tore her eyes away and turned towards the door Rollands was opening. Relieved, even if only for a moment, for the reprieve.
The gust that flew down the hall towards her was in the shape of a man. For a split second she thought it might have been Nathaniel’s ghost come to mock her. The man seemed enormous in a greatcoat and hat. He threw off his hat as he advanced and she gasped.
Oliver!
Her hand flew to her heart in relief but his face was thunderous. She stepped back from the door as he continued towards her.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ He waved his copy of the schedule erratically over his head. Confused, Lisbeth looked from Oliver to her gathering staff then back to Oliver.
He growled at her blank look and shoved his soggy schedule in her face, his finger at a line. ‘There will be no need of Lord Bellamy’s services today. Services?’
Stunned into silence, she remained staring at the schedule in front of her. This is what had upset him? It was written clearly enough, so where did the confusion lie?
‘Are you trying to punish me for last night? Is that it?’ he said, his voice dangerously low. ‘Well, I don’t care. I will not apologise.’
She did not like his tone at all. Did he have any idea what she was going through here? No, of course not, how could he? It was why she had decided to do it alone, but perhaps she had been wrong to exclude him.
Watching him as he impatiently shrugged out of his coat and tossed it negligently towards her butler, Lisbeth couldn’t help but be reassured by Bellamy’s presence. His body had never scared her, even though he was a good head and shoulders taller than she. He usually held himself in such a way that it presented no threat to her. Now, worked up as he was she couldn’t help but notice the power he held at bay. The width of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist and hips all seemed so much more dangerous today. His muscular legs were encased in buff-coloured breeches and finished in a pair of top boots. Large boots.
Why was it she was so fascinated with the size of his feet? He seemed awesome in a way she had never bothered to notice before. It shocked and thrilled her.
‘Well?’ Oliver asked.
Lisbeth’s head snapped up.
‘Because if you think for one moment I am going to —’ Bellamy looked around and saw everyone in the hall was looking at him. He scowled. If his expression was meant to make her staff scatter, it didn’t work. Mrs Rollands moved closer to Lisbeth and Rollands also took a step towards him.
‘What the devil is going on here?’ Bellamy ordered.
‘My Lord,’ Rollands said, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
Oliver replied in a flat tone, ‘I’m not leaving.’
‘My lord, you are not on the schedule. You were not needed today. Surely —’
‘Really? Are you sure, Rollands?’
Rollands’ confusion showed briefly on his face. ‘Yes, my lord, I am.’
‘Show me.’ Oliver put his hand out to Rollands for the schedule.
Lisbeth watched as Rollands slowly took out his copy of the schedule, still crisp edged and folded neatly.
Oliver took a pencil out of his jacket pocket. ‘Thank you. Mine was a little soggy. Now…one hour spent in Nathaniel’s study,’ he read, then leaning on the wall, added, ‘with Bellamy,’ and handed it to Rollands.
Bellamy then turned, glaring at Lisbeth.
Having recovered somewhat from her shock, Lisbeth was now throwing him her most disgusted look. ‘You can’t do that!’ she said, hands on hips. The nerve of the man!
‘I believe I just did, now —’
‘No!’
‘No? But, Countess, it’s on your schedule,’ he mocked with a raised brow.
‘Just because you write it in doesn’t mean anything! Now, get out!’
‘Is this about the armoire?’
She gasped.
‘You’re not going to faint on me, are you? Threaten to shoot me? Oh, that’s right,’ he smiled for effect, ‘I have your rather pretty little pistol, don’t I? In case you were fretting, it is safely out of harm’s way.’ He then leaned a little closer to her, whispering, ‘You are harm, by the way.’
‘Oh! How dare you! How dare you come in here and…and…come in here and…my schedule…in my own house!’ she heard herself screech. She knew none of that had even made sense. She was so angry and so confused by the fact he had just ruined her schedule with such ease, she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. Part of her was waiting for lightning to strike her down. The other part just wanted him to leave but he kept looking at her.
She looked at the clock in the hall. In the silence it ticked over another minute so loudly it reverberated in her head like a gong.
‘Damn you, Bellamy —’ she began.
‘You are not shutting me out, not now, not after all you’ve put me through.’
She gasped again because she really couldn’t move or think. What was he talking about?
She had to make him leave, but how? She could feel perspiration gather and trickle down her back. She looked at the clock again.
When she made no further argument or movement, he made that strange growling sound in his throat again, looked around him once more and raked his fingers through his hair. It seemed he had made up his mind for her when he grabbed her arm, cautioned Rollands with a finger, and grabbed the knob on Nathaniel’s study door.
She felt somewhat unreal as he propelled her through that door, like stepping back in time, like reliving a nightmare only with the wrong man. She looked around the room and her head began to swim.
Oh Lord, protect her!
Her legs wobbled when he let go of her arm to close the door behind them. She stumbled to the desk and looked frantically around the room to get her bearings. Or was it to look for an escape? All she knew for certain was she did not want to be here.
Lisbeth felt her eyes fill, the gentle spill of her tears as they made their way down her cheeks tickling her flesh, but she was too distraught to wipe them away.
Turning towards Bellamy and seeing his frown still in place on his too handsome face was the last vestige of reality she felt before she was swept away to a time and place she had never wished to visit again.
Memories whirling, she crumbled to the ground.
…Newly married, she had entered her husband’s study expecting her stunning smile to be gifted with a kiss or a smile but instead Nathaniel’s fierce scowl advanced upon her. He slapped her. The slap so hard it sent her head spinning. The shock of his unexpected att
ack made her stare at him with wide eyes full of confusion. She could feel the sting of his handprint on her cheek. What on Earth had she done?
‘I asked you to see me a half hour ago,’ he yelled in her face.
‘I…I was just finishing off our thank-you cards…’ Her eyes burned as she battled to contain her tears. His summons had not said he required her urgently.
‘I am your husband and you will do as you are told when I tell you to do it. Is that clear?’ The chill in his voice made her shudder but he was not quite finished with her yet.
‘Yes, of course, but I have done all you asked. I simply didn’t know you needed me immediately,’ she replied, shocked and confused by this sudden change in him.
Her answer did not please him and he gave her another savage slap that sent her to her knees.
‘You will do as you are told!’ Nathaniel yelled. He moved closer until they were face to face. ‘And you will do it to the letter. My word is law in this house, little wife. I decide everything. You are my property now and no more worthy of my attention than my dog. Do you understand or do I need to beat it into you?’
‘I am your wife. You took vows to protect me,’ she whispered, still unable to comprehend what was happening.
‘And you took vows to obey me. Now take off your clothes. I wish to see the marks I make.’
She scrambled back against the door. ‘No! Have you gone mad? What have I done to you to deserve such treatment?’
He laughed then and it was to be the last warning he would give her. He ripped the clothes from her body while she fought him with all she had but he was so much bigger and stronger than she. He beat her with his fists, his booted feet, and when they were tired he used a crop he had in his draw.
While she was cowering on the floor in agony and terror he calmly sat down on a chair and looked at her, laughing. ‘Why is your kind always so stupid, eh, wife? Thinking you are worthy of being treated like some kind of queen, expecting it, as if it is something you deserve simply because you are a lady? I won’t tolerate disobedience in my wife so learn to do as you are told, when you are told. Understand?’ He stood, stepped over her like rubbish, leaving her huddled in her humiliation.
A Scandalous Wager Page 14
