The Seduction of Lady X

by Julia London

  “What in blazes are the two of you talking about?” David said, and threw down a card that Harrison instantly trumped.

  “You are wrong about him, Mr. Tolly,” Olivia said. “He is not foolish. He’s a fine gentleman. A good man.”

  “Bloody good for him then,” David said, and trumped Olivia’s card, taking the round.

  Olivia looked across the table at Harrison and smiled.

  They played until the early hours of the morning, long enough for Fennick to rouse himself. When he did, Olivia excused herself, and with one last furtive smile for Harrison, she returned to her rooms.

  Edward was exactly where she’d left him: on the floor, snoring loudly.

  Olivia carefully touched him with the toe of her slipper. He didn’t move. She left him there and went into the adjoining dressing room to wash and dress for bed, then stepped over him and climbed into her bed. She slept soundly that night, her dreams filled with Harrison.

  A sliver of light was creeping in through the drapes when Olivia was awakened by the presence of someone by her bed. She sat up with a start.

  “I’m sorry, Olivia,” Edward said thickly.

  She scrambled across the bed and landed on her feet. His hair was mussed, his clothing wrinkled. He’d undone his neckcloth and waistcoat, and had pulled the tails of his shirt from his pants. “I beg your pardon,” he said.

  What was happening? Edward never apologized for the slightest thing. The only time he’d apologized was after he’d hit her—

  It suddenly dawned on her—he didn’t recall what had happened. “Do you honestly think an apology is enough?” she asked, testing him.

  He grimaced and looked down. “As I said, I do beg your pardon. You will have to be content with that, for there is nothing more I can do.” He walked out of her room, his coat in his hand, the sleeve dragging on the floor behind him.

  Olivia blinked, then sank onto the edge of the bed in disbelief. The fool assumed he’d done something worse than he had. And she was more than happy to allow him to think it.

  Nancy arrived just after sunrise to change Lady Carey’s basin water and to stoke the fire. As she reached the top of the stairs she saw his lordship stagger by, clutching his coat in one hand and looking as if he’d been rolled about on the lawn. He didn’t speak to her as he passed.

  She hurried on to her ladyship’s room.

  “Good morning, Nancy,” Lady Carey said when Nancy poked her head inside. She was sitting in the chaise by the fire, which had been stoked. His lordship must have done that.

  “Is it still raining?” her ladyship asked.

  “It is.” Lady Carey was never one to smile in the mornings, but this one was a nice big and bright smile. “How do you fare, my lady?”

  Lady Carey laughed. “Very well,” she said, as if she was surprised by it. “Very well, indeed.” Still smiling, she turned her attention to the fire.

  Later, when Nancy made her way to the kitchens with the used linens, Mrs. Perry and Miss Foster were seated at the kitchen table, sipping tea.

  “There you are,” Mrs. Perry said. “I had the girl wait to begin the laundering until she had her ladyship’s linens. Whatever took you so long?”

  Nancy blithely dropped the linens onto a pile of soiled napkins. “Lady Carey was not alone this morning.”

  “Oh?” Miss Foster said, sitting up and turning her attention to Nancy.

  “His lordship come stumbling out of her room half dressed, he did, and looked as if he’d had a time of it.”

  “Oh my,” Mrs. Perry said, and blushed as she laughed.

  “Lady Carey had a smile as wide as the Thames and she was up sitting before a stoked fire as if she made a habit to rise like that every morning. Was quite cheerful—not like her at all, really.”

  “That very thing happened to me when I was carrying my third,” Mrs. Perry said sagely. “Couldn’t sleep a wink! I was up with the dawn every morning.”

  “Think she’s told his lordship?” Miss Foster whispered loudly.

  “I think she has,” Nancy said. “It’s not like him to stay in her bed the whole night. I gather it was a special occasion, if you take my meaning.”

  The three women giggled girlishly, and began to debate when Baby Carey would make his or her debut.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Harrison sat on the edge of his bed and absently watched a pool of water forming at the base of the window where the rain was leaking in.

  He had always prided himself on the ability to confront difficult situations headlong and forge a path through. It was a skill he had learned in London, in the absence of anyone to guide him, and he had navigated his way through many difficult situations. But he was having a devil of a time seeing his way through this one.

  What a bloody mess he’d created. He was conflicted, terribly conflicted, and the burning desire he felt for Olivia did not help him think clearly. Sitting across from her at the card table had been unbearable. He was sick unto death of remaining reserved and disinterested when she was about. He had wanted only to smile, to engage her, to have her all to himself. He’d watched her tease her brother-in-law, and had imagined himself with her every evening, her lovely smile to warm him, her laughter to soothe him.

  When he tried to imagine spending every evening with Alexa, he could not.

  It was maddening that he couldn’t slake his thirst for Olivia. Every time he saw her eyes twinkling at him, he felt more crazed. His desire had been building for years, drinking from tiny snatches of hope until it was a living, breathing thing inside him. It had a life of its own, and he was powerless to stop it. He couldn’t force it down; he couldn’t beat it into submission. He was trapped by its strength and moored to the wretched situation of wanting what he could not have.

  How could he continue this charade with Alexa? Was he destined to make her life miserable with his inability to care for her as a husband ought? It was madness, utter madness, and he could not see his way clear.

  He supposed the only thing to come of this wretched weather was that it put off any hope of making it to Gretna Green quickly, which gave him a bit of time. But for what? More flailing about? He felt as if he were waiting for his execution.

  Harrison washed and dressed, then went downstairs. Mrs. Lampley was lighting the fireplaces. He tried to read, but his thoughts kept swirling wildly about his predicament, and with images of Olivia lying naked beneath him.

  Shortly after breakfast, a footman from the main house appeared. “His lordship asks that you come, as his guests mean to take their leave and Lord Westhorpe requires a word.”

  Harrison was grateful for the diversion.

  He met Westhorpe in the marquis’s study, and as the congenial young lord idly tapped a pen against a teacup, Harrison reviewed the Cornwall estate finances with him.

  After a few minutes of at least attempting to listen, Lord Westhorpe impatiently tossed the pen aside. “Enough of that, Tolly,” he said. “I trust you to do what must be done to straighten out the finances.”

  That was precisely Westhorpe’s problem—he had no patience for running a vast estate and preferred leaving it to someone else. His affairs suffered from his lack of attention.

  “I will do what I can, my lord,” Harrison said. It was impossible to manage the interests from this far away, which Harrison had explained to Lord Carey and Lord Westhorpe more than once. “However, I must remind you that it is imperative that you give the mining your attentions. Most mines are seeing vast profits, but our mine has cost more to operate than it has earned.”

  “I vow to play close attention,” Westhorpe said with a disarming smile. “Now then, what of my stipend? You will speak to my brother, will you not, Tolly? He has threatened to reduce it, and I cannot possibly live on less.”

  Harrison gave him a skeptical look.

  Westhorpe shrugged sheepishly. “I know you believe that I live beyond my means, but maintaining one’s position in London society is an expensive proposition.”


  “I am certain that it is,” Harrison said. “The invoices that have arrived from Madame Broussard’s Millinery have been impressive.”

  Westhorpe grinned. “You understand my point. That is all I ask of you, Mr. Tolly. I need my stipend. Very well, then, I shall be off. I expect I will see you again in a fortnight or so.” He winked at Tolly as he passed. “I should like to acquaint myself with Miss Hastings once more without Keddington about.”

  Harrison must have looked surprised, for Westhorpe chuckled. “I must be about the business of heirs one day, eh? And between the two of us, my sister-in-law seems incapable of giving my brother an heir. So a child born to me would be the heir presumptive.” He grinned, as if it were perfectly acceptable to view matrimony solely for the purpose of inheriting. “You will keep that between us, I trust,” he added lightly.

  “Naturally.” Harrison could only guess what Westhorpe would say upon hearing the news that Harrison had married her. His quagmire was getting deeper and deeper every moment, sucking at his ankles, pulling him down.

  Lord Carey was on hand to see the gentlemen off, looking a little bleary-eyed, and leaning against the door as the men mounted their horses in the downpour. Rain blew in through the open door, wetting the marble entry. When they had started out, Carey turned and said, “A word, Mr. Tolly,” as he passed.

  Harrison followed him to the study and stood waiting as the marquis poured himself some whiskey. He held up the decanter to Harrison, who shook his head. It was half past ten in the morning.

  “Tell me, what have I missed whilst I’ve been away?” his lordship asked, and sipped.

  “Very little,” Harrison said. “I spoke with Mr. Fortaine about his rents, and he assures me they will be paid in full by the end of the month.”

  “I am not inquiring about the bloody rent,” the marquis said, and tossed down the whiskey. “I am inquiring about the slut who inhabits my house. Why is she still here?”

  Harrison’s entire body coiled. He sincerely hoped he could get through this interview without launching himself at Carey. “Arrangements have been made, but the rains have made travel difficult.”

  Carey’s face darkened. “Let me tell you something, Tolly—Keddington inquired after her. Can you imagine the discomfort that caused me? What am I to say? That the whore carries a bastard child, but is free for the taking?” He made a sound of disgust. “If her condition is discovered, I will be made the laughingstock of all of England.”

  It galled Harrison that the young woman’s life meant nothing more to Carey than how he would appear in society. The marquis suddenly seemed more despicable than ever.

  “I intend to take her to Scotland as soon as the rains have eased,” he said.

  Carey glowered at him, and reached for the whiskey decanter again. “I think you’ve become entirely too bold, Tolly. Lest you forget, you are the steward here. You do not inform me what you will or will not do. Nor do you determine when.”

  Harrison stood calmly, his gaze unwavering, silently daring Carey to say more.

  But Carey did precisely what Harrison would have guessed—he looked down and poured another whiskey. “Send her away. I don’t care where you send her, but send her from Everdon Court.”

  Harrison gave him a curt nod and started for the door.

  “One other thing,” Carey snapped. Harrison forced himself to look around.

  His lordship’s gaze was piercing as he asked, “How did you find my wife while I was away?”

  Every nerve in Harrison’s body fired at the question. He’d found her sad, mistreated, and incomprehensibly brave in the face of it all. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Was she congenial?” he asked with a shrug. “Did she engage? Or did she mope about the house missing her husband?”

  What in hell was this? “I would not know, my lord. I hardly saw her.”

  “Indeed?” Carey said, smirking a little. “It is interesting you should say that, for when I asked Brock if you had occasion to speak to her, he told me that you had met with her in the garden one afternoon.”

  It was all Harrison could do to keep from launching himself at Carey and putting his fist in the middle of his face. “I did indeed meet her to discuss the situation with her sister.”

  “Then you saw her,” Carey said with a smirk.

  “On that occasion, yes,” Tolly said. “Is there anything else about which you are curious?”

  Carey frowned darkly. “Mind yourself, Tolly. You may go.” He turned away, to the sideboard.

  Harrison strode from the room, walking straight to his office and shutting the door. He stood with his hands on his hips, his anger ratcheting up with each breath, until he whirled about and punched the wall with his fist as hard as he could, breaking through the plaster.

  “Ouch,” he muttered, wincing painfully, and stretched out his fingers, shaking his hand.

  There had to be an escape, a solution. If he could think of how to remove Olivia from this house without ending up on the end of a noose, he could save them all. He just had to think how to do that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The next afternoon, a restless Alexa heard Rue exclaim, “Goodness! Milady!” She stepped out of the parlor into the foyer to see Olivia hand a wet umbrella to Rue, who promptly stuffed it in the umbrella stand without shaking it off on the stoop.

  “Good afternoon, Livi,” Alexa said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I find the company here more appealing than at the main house,” Olivia said. She smiled at Rue and handed over her cloak.

  “Thank you, mu’um,” Rue said, and curtsied.

  “Hang it on the coatrack, Rue,” Alexa said. As Rue moved to hang the cloak, Alexa asked, “Does your husband approve of your calling at the dowager house to walk among the fallen and the banished?”

  Olivia smiled ruefully. “If I feared everything my husband would not approve of, I would never leave my bed.” She linked her arm with Alexa’s. “And I should be overjoyed to be banished to the dowager house, were I you.”

  “Come and have a look before you declare it,” Alexa said, and pulled Olivia into the parlor. “You will find the furnishings rather dreary. I trust Harry will be amenable to a few small changes.”

  “Dreary!” Olivia exclaimed, looking around. “I find it charming. I hope you will not burden him with such things as furnishing.”

  “I do not intend to burden him,” Alexa said impatiently. And besides, she intended to preside over Ashwood—not this old place. “But I think you are right—I shall be quite happy with Harry.”

  Olivia looked around the room. “I can scarcely imagine how anyone could be unhappy with him. Nevertheless, darling, why on earth did you announce to Bernie and Lady Martha that you intended to marry him?”

  “I thought we’d agreed to it.”

  “We agreed to lay the seeds of it. Not to announce it.”

  “What difference does it make?” Alexa asked with a shrug.

  “It makes all the difference,” Olivia said patiently. “Surely you understand that if either of them speaks of it now—particularly since Bernie is convinced that with Edward returned, you should wait for warmer weather to wed—that everyone will wonder why you hurried up to Scotland.”

  Alexa sighed heavily. “I didn’t think it would cause any harm. And now that I’ve said it, I scarcely think it matters, really. Will it not be evident to all in a matter of weeks? If you ask me, Harry and I ought to leave here altogether straightaway.”

  “Please do not say that,” Olivia said. “It pains me to hear you say it.”

  “Very well, I won’t say it. But I think it,” Alexa said petulantly, and sat down. She wanted out of this house—it was beginning to feel like a prison. “To think it’s been scarcely a fortnight since we came to this plan,” Alexa said, shaking her head. “I wanted nothing to do with it, but now . . . now I see the wisdom in it.” She smiled sheepishly at Olivia. “I am, for the first time in many weeks, quite looking forward to
my life.” Harry was not Carlos, but she had accepted the inevitable. She would never be with Carlos, and therefore there was no point in dreaming of it. “Who knows?” she added with a smile. “Perhaps we shall add another child to our little brood.”

  Olivia turned away from Alexa to examine the china bowl on the mantel. “Perhaps you will,” she said, sounding distant.

  Her sister feared losing her, Alexa realized. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Livi,” she said. “I mean that very sincerely. You have always been there to help me.”

  “Ah, well,” Olivia said, and picked up the bowl. “You would do the same for me.”

  “Do you really think I would?” Alexa asked curiously. “I would hope that I would. But the shoe is never on the other foot, is it? I am the one who always needs you. I scarcely know what I’d do without you.”

  Olivia looked curiously at her.

  “I know very well how I am,” Alexa said to Olivia’s obvious surprise. “I rely on you for everything. I always have and I suppose I always shall. But this time, you saved me, Livi.” She put her hand on her belly and imagined having to bribe a headmaster to allow her child into a school. “I am sorry I didn’t understand it sooner, but I see it now. You knew what I needed when I couldn’t or wouldn’t see it, and you saved me in spite of myself.”

  Olivia blushed. “You make too much of it, darling. I only meant to help—”

  “But you always help,” Alexa insisted. She stood up. “Thank you. For everything. For always indulging me, and for guiding me when Mamma died, and for saving me when I couldn’t even see that I needed saving. I owe you my life, and the life of my child.” She put her arms around Olivia and hugged her.

  “Oh, Alexa,” Olivia said, and squeezed her tightly, then let go. She smiled thinly. “Please, don’t make so much of it.”

  The sound of the front door opening reached them, followed by a man’s stride across the foyer. Harry appeared in the doorway, still wearing his cloak. He seemed surprised to see them there, and looked from Alexa to Olivia.