by Lauren Smith
Jeremy grinned and wrapped his arms around Martin’s neck, hugging him fiercely. Martin’s breath caught in his throat. There was a magic to be found in the embrace of a child. It was pure love, pure trust. He had missed his family more than he wished to admit. When he set the child down he saw Helen’s eyes glint with tears, but she was smiling. Martin nodded at his brother-in-law.
“How are things, Gareth?”
“Quite good. I’ve heard the same for you. So much so that you’ve been too busy to visit us.” There was a hint of censure in Gareth’s tone, but he was right. Martin avoided visiting at times because seeing them so happy when he could not be himself felt like torture.
“We both want you to visit more,” Gareth quickly added. Since Martin had lived with them for a few years as he got back on his feet, he and Gareth had formed a deep friendship, one he’d neglected as of late.
“I will visit more often,” he promised. “I had plans to come for Christmas.”
“Had?” Helen came over, shifting Delilah in her arms. The child was drowsy and rested her head on Helen’s shoulder, her eyes half-closed. Martin brushed a knuckle over her soft cheek, and the toddler sighed happily.
“Well…” He’d had every intention of coming until he’d brought Livvy home, but he couldn’t leave her alone and certainly could not take her with him.
“Is it because you’re engaged?” Helen asked. Her gaze searched his, and a frown deepened her expression.
“Engaged?” He choked on the word.
“Yes, I have been getting letters all week from friends who said you’ve been spotted touring the city and taking morning rides with an enchanting woman. Who is she?” Now Helen’s face was so full of hope that he couldn’t avoid telling her the truth.
“She’s not my fiancée. Perhaps you had better sit down, sister.” He gestured to the nearest settee and glanced at Gareth. “Why don’t you show the children to the hothouse? Jeremy might enjoy the new Venus flytrap I recently acquired. Harris can show you which one it is.”
Gareth nodded and collected Delilah from Helen. Then he and Jeremy left the drawing room.
Helen eased down onto the couch, eyeing him with concern. “Martin, what is it? Just tell me.”
“I have been seeing a woman, but she is my companion, not my fiancée.”
Helen’s gaze narrowed. “Do you mean mistress? You have had mistresses before, but you’ve never been seen out in society with them to the point that the ton is talking about it.”
He cleared his throat. “This one is…different.”
“Different how?” Helen patted the settee, and he finally sat down beside her.
“She’s wonderful. Sweet, fiery, intelligent. She makes me feel…” He glanced away, unable to say that Livvy filled him with dreams of love in the future, dreams he was too afraid to embrace because he only ever lost the things he loved.
“And you cannot marry her?”
“If I did, I would never be able to get past her family. Nor would you.”
His sister frowned, puzzled. She reached out to grasp one of his hands in the way she’d done a thousand times when it had been just the two of them against the world.
“Who is she?”
He could see she had some inkling of the truth but needed to hear him say it.
“She is Hartwell’s daughter.”
Helen jerked her hand away, and even though he expected it, it still stung.
“Hartwell has a daughter?”
“Yes. She’s nothing like him. I—”
“How the devil did you become involved with Hartwell’s daughter?” Helen asked, her tone a little shaky.
“I saw him at the Argyll Rooms a few weeks ago, and I wanted to take from him what he took from me. I won a large debt off him that I knew he could not pay, then went to collect. I had every intention of throwing him out into the street, just as he did to us, but then I saw Livvy and—”
“Livvy. That’s her name?”
“Yes. I saw her and it was as though I was struck by lightning. My breath was knocked from my lungs. When she offered to trade herself for her father’s debt, I couldn’t say no.”
“Martin…” Helen looked away, unable to face him. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know. Believe me, Helen, I know just how wretched a thing it was to do, but I adore her and I can’t let her go.”
“No,” Helen said firmly. “You can let her go. Either do the honorable thing and take her as your wife or send her home. Life as a man’s mistress will never be enough for her, and if she is as smart and lovely as you say, she deserves a better life than the one you are condemning her to. If you care about her at all, you cannot do this to her.”
She was right. Life as a mistress would take its toll on Livvy. At some point it would extinguish the fire in her that he loved so much.
“Send her home after we leave. Then join us for Christmas.”
Martin swallowed hard, but it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Send Livvy home? He didn’t want to. But his sister was right.
“You must do it, Martin. For her sake. If you care about her at all, you will do what’s best for her.”
“Yes,” he agreed quietly. There was an awful stillness inside him when he thought of being alone in this house once more. No more laughter. No more sweet moments in the dark in his bed. No more shared breakfasts and reading together in the library.
Helen stood and smiled sadly. “I’ll find Gareth and the children and we’ll leave you. Please do come, once you can. We want to spend Christmas with you.”
“I will come,” he promised.
“Good.” Helen embraced him, and then she left to find her family in the hothouse.
Martin wasn’t sure how long he remained in the drawing room thinking, but at last he went to find Livvy. It was best to make a quick break. Send her home now before he could dream up a dozen excuses to keep her there with him.
He found Livvy in her room, curled up on the bed. Northanger Abbey was in her hands. But he could see that she wasn’t reading because her eyes weren’t moving from the first page.
“Livvy.” He spoke her name, dread forming a dark pit in the stomach. Was this the last time he would see her? The last time he might speak her name?
“Martin, what’s the matter?” She closed the book and slipped off the bed, coming toward him.
He had to be strong. He couldn’t let her know how much he didn’t want to do this. If she saw a crack in his shell and she felt about him the way he did her, then she might refuse to leave. And living as his mistress would only crush her spirit over time.
“Livvy, you must be ready to leave in an hour. A maid will pack your things.” The words cut him like knives.
“What?” She reached out a hand to touch him, but he stepped back.
If she dares to touch me now…
“I have decided to forgive your father his debt and free you from your obligations. You’re going home. I wouldn’t want you to miss the holidays with your family.” He spun and left the room, closing the door to put some space between them. When she didn’t come after him, that hurt more than he expected. Maybe she didn’t feel the same about him after all. He found Harris downstairs and motioned for the butler to join him in his study.
“Miss Hartwell is to go home in an hour. Please have a maid pack her up and summon the carriage.”
Harris’s eyes widened. “Leaving? Sir, may I have leave to speak frankly?”
Martin nodded, though he had a suspicion that he knew what his butler would say.
“Everyone on the staff adores Miss Hartwell, and I suspect you might as well. Must you send her away?”
Martin was quiet a long moment before he answered. Harris had been with him many years, and his loyalty and confidence were beyond reproach. The man deserved the truth, at least part of it.
“I care too much for her, Harris. That’s exactly why she must go. The longer she stays here, the more I destroy her future. I’ve already ruin
ed the poor girl, but I can’t change that. However, if I send her home, she still might be able to find a husband.” He knew the chances were unlikely, if word about her arrangement with him had spread as far as he feared, but there were men out there willing to take a pretty bride even if she wasn’t a virgin.
“I…” Harris cleared his throat and continued. “I don’t suppose marriage is possible?”
“No,” he answered. “Her father and I have a dark history, and it is not something I could ever overcome. Not even for her.”
“Ahhh…” Harris’s disappointment was obvious, but he spoke no further on the matter, for which Martin was relieved. Her departure was going to hurt all of them.
“I will see to it that Miss Hartwell is packed.” The man turned to leave.
“Harris. Make sure she takes all of her clothes, and see to it her horse is transferred to her family’s stables.” He paused a moment, wondering what else he could possibly do, aside from the impossible. “And she is to take all the books she wants.”
“Yes. Of course, sir.”
Martin sank into a study chair as Harris left, trying to ignore the battle of emotions raging inside him. It felt as though his world was coming down around him. There was a stillness inside him, one that felt like frozen despair, heavy as lead. He feared it would drown him.
I fell in love with her. The daughter of my most hated enemy.
Misery the likes of which he’d never experienced before took hold of him. He’d believed he’d become dead to pain since his parents died, but he’d been so damnably wrong. It was as though a gray light of gloom cast its deathless shadow over him. Martin covered his face with his hands, pressing hard against his eyes lest any tears betray the rending of his heart.
15
Livvy didn’t speak as Mellie silently packed her valise with her new clothes, nor did she speak when her books were packed in a trunk. Words simply wouldn’t come. It felt more like a funeral than a farewell she was experiencing.
When it came time to leave, Mellie made no effort to hide her tears. As Livvy walked down the stairs and accepted her cloak from a waiting footman, she whispered a thank-you to him. His face was downcast as he said goodbye, clearly upset. She understood how he felt. In the last few weeks she’d come to view this townhouse as her home and her life with Martin as her future. When she got to the coach waiting for her outside, she pulled her hood up to hide her face.
I will not cry, I will not.
To her credit, she kept her vow, not even as the coach pulled up in front of her father’s townhouse. She went inside, no longer caring about her valises or trunks. Her father rushed out of the study and froze when he saw her. It had been almost a month since she’d left, but he looked somehow ancient.
“Livvy? You’re back.”
She nodded stiffly.
Her father rushed to embrace her. “You never should’ve gone.”
“We would’ve lost our home, Papa.”
He gazed down at her, his eyes full of conflicting emotions. “I know, but you aren’t the one who should have taken that burden upon your shoulders.” He rubbed her arms, his face lined with worry. “Did he hurt you?”
Now she could feel them, the burn of treacherous tears. “No, Papa. He was kind. More than kind.” She waved at their only servant, who was carrying in the valises and the trunk. “But he sent me home, and so here I am.”
“Why don’t you go upstairs and rest? We’ll have dinner in a few hours.” Her father gave her another gentle hug, as though she was incredibly fragile.
“Thank you, Papa.” She headed up to her room and closed the door, then threw herself on the bed and buried her face in the bedding. Hot tears came, but she made no sound. She was numb.
Why had he sent her away? They’d been so happy, so wonderfully happy. What had gone wrong? It must’ve been something to do with his sister and her visit. Perhaps Helen had learned that Livvy was living with Martin as his mistress and demanded he send her away once she learned who her father was? Martin and his sister were twins, and those bonds ran deep. He would do anything for his twin.
Including send me away.
It was for the best, she knew. She could not have stayed with Martin for long. She would’ve felt caged in like a bird, no friends, no social acceptance. She would be limited to a world of shadows and midnight Cyprian balls with other kept women. At least this way she might in time have a quiet life as a spinster with a few understanding ladies who would still call her friend after word of her ruination had been replaced by other scandals.
Livvy drifted to sleep for a while, dreaming fitfully of the elephant on the icy Thames and shared kisses in his library. She awoke to the sound of arguing outside her room. She jerked up, trying to clear her head of the fog of sleep as she listened to the voices.
“Where is she?” a man’s cold voice demanded.
“You will not take her, do you hear?” Her father’s shout was desperate.
“I will. You owe me, Hartwell, and she’s the payment I want. I know you’ve whored her out before. Now you can give her to me.”
The door handle rattled as someone tried to open it, but Livvy had locked it when she retired, not wishing to be disturbed.
“Open this door at once, Miss Hartwell!” the man shouted.
“No, Livvy, don’t!” Her father’s warning was cut short. She heard him grunt and a heavy thud as he fell to the floor.
“Papa!” she shouted, pressing herself against the door.
“Miss Hartwell, you will come out at once or else I will permanently damage your father.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Wouldn’t I? Your father owes me, and I assure you, given my position, the courts will side with me, even if I were to kill him by accident.”
Livvy’s heart sank. She drew in a deep breath before she opened the door.
A tall, dark-haired man stood inches away from her. The second he saw an opening, he shoved the door hard. She stumbled back, wincing as her chest burned with pain from the impact. The man was on her in an instant, grabbing one of her arms and jerking her to her feet.
“You’re coming with me. Now,” he growled, and she was dragged from the room. Her father was an unconscious heap on the floor.
“Who are you?” She tugged on the man’s arm.
“Lord Stamford.”
Livvy shuddered as recognition struck her. She’d heard about him, a vile brute of a viscount, well known for escaping the consequences of his actions.
“You will pay for your father’s debt on your back.”
Livvy swallowed hard, barely able to breathe. “Please, let me go.” She knew begging would be of no use, but what other options did she have?
“Know your place, woman, and you will find the time passes easier.” He pulled her through the entryway and outside. She was thankful she hadn’t yet taken off her cloak or else she would have been freezing. Stamford shoved her into a waiting coach, and she cowered in the corner as far away from him as she could. She had to think of a way to escape.
He sat back, a cruel smile stretching his lips. She couldn’t help but see how different he was from Martin, despite the odd similarities of the situation. A pang of longing stung her heart. She would have given anything to be back in his arms.
“Why did you take me?” she asked Stamford. “Are you so desperate for a mistress that you must leverage debts to obtain one?”
Stamford smirked. “You have a tongue on you. Take care that you do not accidentally bite it off.”
Livvy gritted her teeth.
“I have taken you because some bastard named Banks challenged me to a duel over you, and I wish to punish him.”
“Martin fought over me?”
“I shot him, but only grazed him.” Stamford clenched his hands into fists on his thighs. “By all rights I won that duel, and I will not be made a fool by him or any other man.”
Livvy suddenly remembered Martin returning the morning after she’d hurt him w
ith her careless words. He had been wounded, but he’d refused to tell her how.
“You’d better be a damned good lay. Your life may depend on it if I am in a foul mood.” Stamford’s deadly calm as he delivered the threat nearly paralyzed her.
Don’t let him frighten you. You must find a way to escape.
She wanted to crawl into a tight ball to escape the fear growing inside her, but she couldn’t. She had to be brave.
The coach stopped. He got out first and snapped his fingers impatiently. She rushed out after him, and he grabbed her arm, shoving her up the steps. She nearly tripped, and he snarled a curse at her but made no attempt to help.
She followed him inside his townhouse and glanced around. The decor was far too bold, as though he wanted to beat visitors over the head with his strength and fortune, but with no sense of place or purpose. The Persian rugs clashed with the Grecian lamps and Turkish Ottoman sofas. It was so very different from the refined elegance of Martin’s home.
“Baird!” Stamford bellowed at the haggard-looking butler.
“Yes, my lord?” Baird glanced at her and hastily looked away.
“Take this woman upstairs to my bedchamber. I want her stripped and bathed. She is to wait for me there.” Without another word, Stamford walked away.
Livvy and the butler exchanged glances. “This way…Miss…”
“Hartwell. Livvy Hartwell.” She raised her chin, desperate to hide her fear.
“Miss Hartwell.” Baird’s eyes were apologetic as he waved for her to follow him. She lifted her skirts and followed him upstairs. When the butler showed her to his master’s room, he kept his eyes downcast.
“A maid will be up shortly to assist you. A footman will fill the tub.”
Livvy swallowed her response. It would do neither of them any good to tell him she wasn’t going to strip and bathe. She waited for him to close the door, and then she turned the key in the lock after she heard his footsteps recede.
Stamford may prey on other women, but he would not prey on her. She faced the room and noticed a heavy writing desk. She dragged it across the room and wedged it against the door as best she could. Then she rested a brief moment, her stays pressing tight against her ribs, making it hard to breathe.
