His bubbling anger at Olivia made him say, perhaps unwisely, ‘I am sorry, Miss Hepworth, if your last visit to Elmwood proved a disappointment to you.’
His sense of betrayal was acute. Olivia was not languishing, heartbroken, at the dower house, waiting for him to gallop back into her life and forgive her.
Clearly, she was trawling for an alternative future to marriage to Kirkman – even if he was the father of her child. Grimly, he wondered if she knew the clergyman was only two miles away. Or perhaps they had arranged to meet tomorrow and Olivia was making the most of her freedom tonight.
As he listened with half an ear to Miss Hepworth he struggled to comprehend Olivia’s behaviour. Was she reverting to her true nature? Was her thirst for gaiety, her need for compliments, behind her incorrigible flirting?
And what of Max? Would she assume the mantle of damsel in distress the moment she set eyes upon him?
Miss Hepworth dropped her eyes, blushing. ‘Mama explained matters,’ she said, as they returned to the sidelines.
‘You have every right to be angry with me.’
Fixing her gaze on the other couples performing their figures she said, ‘I would not wish to throw myself at you, Mr Atherton. I …’
She stammered and blushed some more. ‘I am only just out of the schoolroom. There is so much I do not understand.’ She raised her chin, proudly. It was such a guileless look; the innocent – uncorrupted – smile of a simple, inexperienced girl who makes no apology for what those more worldly may consider shortcomings, that he was captivated.
For a moment.
‘Do you think I offended your mama?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Her smiled broadened as she added with refreshing candour. ‘But more to the point, you have not offended me.’
There was no time to dwell on the hopefulness and encouragement in her expression as he led her off the dance floor, for they were again interrupted by Miss Snelling.
‘Cecily!’ Miss Snelling came to a halt in their midst, her heaving bosom and flushed cheeks betraying her distress. ‘Cecily, I beg of you,’ she gasped, ‘please accompany me to the long gallery.’ Her voice held the edge of hysteria.
‘But Lucy, I—’
‘I cannot go alone and I must … confront my cousin who has gone there with …’ – she gulped – ‘Mr Petersham!’
Mr Petersham and Olivia?
Alone in the gallery? Max’s anger blackened. He didn’t care if Miss Hepworth obliged or not. He certainly needed to see what Olivia was up to in the gallery with this Mr Petersham.
Clearing his throat, he tried to sound fatherly though he heard the angry censure in his own voice. ‘Shall we all take a turn about the long gallery, Miss Snelling? I’ve heard there are some very fine specimens.’
It was difficult to believe that Olivia was in Bath cuckolding, it would seem, the man she had promised to marry and the one she had professed to love.
‘Please show us the way, Miss Snelling,’ he said, offering Miss Hepworth his arm.
Lucy tucked an escaped chestnut tendril behind her ear and wiped her nose with the back of her hand before Max could procure her a handkerchief.
With a shaky breath she turned and led them towards the door in the panelling.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OLIVIA’S INITIAL RELIEF that another couple was promenading in the long gallery was short lived.
‘The library is through here.’
Mr Petersham’s voice in her ear, low and intimate, made her stomach curdle. She resisted the squeeze of his hand as he tried to draw her towards a rear door, straining towards a Roman senator with the words, ‘Aren’t we in good company tonight?’
Did he sense her reluctance? Hear the fear in her slightly shrill tones?
If he did it made no difference for his grasp was firm as he ushered her before him into the library.
The door shut behind them and they were alone in a large book-lined room, unlit save for a fire burning in the grate.
‘Aha!’
He must have seen the chaise-longue by the window at the same time as she. There was satisfaction in his tone. Olivia felt her knees begin to shake.
She should run. Pull out of his grasp and escape but her fear had translated into mute acquiescence which he interpreted as willingness.
‘You drew attention to my honeyed tongue earlier this evening, Lady Farquhar,’ he murmured, leading her to the chaise. ‘And I promised to deliver, I recall.’
‘Do you have an arrangement to elope with Lucy?’
She could not believe herself, how baldly she uttered the words. Shocked, he dropped her hand.
‘Am I to be censured or applauded for my boldness?’ he asked, halting in the centre of the room. The moment of uncertainty was over in an instant as his smile resumed its confidence. Staring into her eyes he raised her left hand, slowly circling the palm with his forefinger. His eyes bored into hers as he murmured, ‘If you are jealous, Lady Farquhar, I assure you that I would infinitely prefer to elope with you.’
Stonily, she met his gaze. ‘I prefer my widowed status, thank you.’
‘As I thought.’ He sighed, feigning disappointment. ‘You have the freedom to’ – he paused, recalling her sentiments of earlier that evening – ‘enjoy your fortune as you please, and not be censured for the dalliances in which you choose to indulge.’
With a tug Olivia found herself stumbling the last few feet and then she was across his lap upon the gold and blue-striped chaise-longue.
She heard herself shriek, a faint, cut-off sound, for Mr Petersham’s mouth was covering hers while his arms had assumed the nature of tentacles. She could feel one of them insinuating itself the length of her thigh.
Was this what he thought of her? A strumpet all too eager for a quick fumble in the shadows?
She struggled but perhaps he mistook her objections for the writhings of passion? Just as she had mistaken speculation for admiration all these years in the hooded gazes of other women’s husbands? Now she knew it was speculation. How far might scandalous Lady Farquhar be prepared to go with them given the right inducement?
Self-disgust united with her terror. What a fool she was. As much a fool as when she had been seventeen.
She tried to pull her mouth away but blind lust gripped him and even if he registered her resistance he did not heed it.
Horrible blackness clouded up behind her eyes, filling her head as she fought for control.
There was no finesse in his exploration. His groping hands sent shivers of revulsion through her but her protests were stifled by the single-mindedness of his quest for physical fulfilment.
Ineffectually, she tried again to push him away. Nothing was worth this foul indignity, this trampling of her sensibilities. His mouth was like a great sponge clamped over her lips, his arms like a vice caging her to his will. Did he not register her unwillingness? Was his mastery over her his enjoyment?
Like Lucien? Dear God, how could she have been so blind as to walk right into the trap set for her? Mr Petersham saw her as a conquest, nothing more. Just as Lucien had. No spark of feeling for her had ever burned in Lucien’s breast other than the need to possess and vanquish.
How well she had read Mr Petersham. And she had gone with him willingly!
She twisted and writhed in her attempts to struggle free, but escape was not an option until Mr Petersham had had his fill.
Panic was overlaid with a desperate yet weary resignation that she had no one but herself to blame. There would be no rescue until Mariah had orchestrated the ghastly finale she’d planned for poor Lucy’s edification.
And then a sharp, clear familiar voice cut through her horror. For a brief instant joy and relief pulsed through her as she registered the beloved voice of her rescuer.
Almost instantly her horror metamorphosed into a new form. Of all the people to witness her latest transgression: Max.
The shock of discovery caused Mr Petersham to release her. She wasn’t sure if chivalr
y or devilry made him drape his arm possessively about her shoulders as he sat up on the chaise, pulling Olivia up with him. She felt the smug satisfaction conveyed by his caress as Max, eyes like flint, looked past her, his voice low and terrible as he demanded, ‘Unhand that woman!’
‘Who are you, sir, to interrupt a tryst between willing—’
He stopped as Lucy stepped out of the shadows and the stricken look she directed first at her erstwhile admirer and then at her cousin made Olivia wonder if any of this had been worthwhile – even had it gone more or less to plan.
Though the girl said nothing, Olivia thought she’d never seen the cruel effects of betrayal etched more poignantly on another’s features. With a heartrending wail Lucy buried her face in her friend’s shoulder.
Olivia darted a brief, guilty look at Max before she slid her eyes to the floor. The disgust in his tone was echoed by the recrimination in his slate-grey eyes.
He put a hand on the other young woman’s shoulder. ‘Miss Hepworth, I think you should escort your friend back to the ballroom,’ he said, his hard gaze still encompassing the guilty lovers. ‘I shall follow in a moment.’
As the weeping Lucy was borne away, Mr Petersham rose. His mouth quirked and he clicked his tongue.
‘A disappointed suitor, perhaps? I do not believe we have had the pleasure.’
Max ignored the extended hand.
‘Lady Farquhar is to marry Reverend Kirkman at the end of the week.’ She had never heard his voice so cold. His gaze swept Olivia briefly. ‘I am here to ensure she follows through on her commitment.’
‘Max, no, I—’
He cut her off, seizing her hand and pulling her up from the sofa.
‘Olivia, if you would kindly come with me.’
Mr Petersham did not even protest. Olivia’s last sight of him showed clearly his amusement and his words followed her through the door.
‘My pardons for having detained you from your obligation to the good reverend, madam. Do call on me when you are again in the market for dalliance.’
Dazed, Olivia could not even respond. It was only after she was hustled outside and pushed into a hackney that she came to her senses.
‘Where are you taking me, Max? No, you do not understand—’
‘Did my eyes deceive me?’ Fury resonated through him as he thrust her ankle free of the door and leapt in after her, slamming the carriage door behind him.
Cowering into the corner her defences drained from her as he leaned across the small, dark, musty space, the once-kind grey eyes boring into her with revulsion.
‘It was a mistake—’ She grabbed at the window sill to steady herself as the carriage lurched forward.
‘Only because you were discovered, Olivia!’
‘I did not want to kiss him!’
As she put out her arms to appeal to him he grabbed her wrists, thrusting his face into hers. His eyes glowed with hurt pride and anger and her heart quailed.
‘Do you love him?’
‘Of course I don’t!’
‘Yet you compromised yourself out of – what, exactly? The dictates of your wayward body?’ Like a wounded beast he was striking out. She winced as if his anger had taken a physical form. If she could just navigate her way through their current impasse all could be made right between them.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off once more.
‘Perhaps it would not be so sickening if you admitted you cared for the gentleman. What was I, Olivia? Another dalliance to pander to your cravings and lusts?’
‘I’ve only ever loved you!’ Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears as she struggled to free her wrists, impulses warring between flight and the desire to soothe his injured sensibilities in her embrace.
But she lacked the courage, fear and desperation banishing her ability to use calm reason to explain away his misplaced anger. He crackled with it, his body stiff as he ended their contact with exaggerated revulsion, his eyes bleak and cold.
She made another attempt. ‘You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, Max! What you saw tonight was a mistake—’
‘A mistake! How easily lies and excuses trip off your tongue,’ he sneered, flicking away her renewed attempt to appeal to him as he retreated back against the squabs. ‘You lied to me from the moment you saw me and it’s been lies ever since. I was nothing but a means to an end: the return of your son.’ His voice cracked. ‘The son you would parade before the world as Lucien’s heir! Well, now I know better!’
‘Max!’ She implored him. ‘My … my indiscretion with Mr Petersham was part of a plan to save my cousin from the fate I suffered at Lucien’s hands.’
There was nothing to signify he was at all mollified, much less believed, this confession. Scepticism dripped from his response.
‘Really?’ He regarded her from his dim corner. For a moment he looked frighteningly like Lucien but the pain in his eyes highlighted by the breaking dawn almost immediately erased this impression and gave her hope. Lucien had never looked so wounded in his anger.
‘A shame your earlier indiscretions carried not the same thought for the future of others.’
The direct reference to Julian’s parentage made her mouth dry.
‘Please, Max!’ she cried, ‘I’m not ashamed of what I did, though I deeply regret hurting you. Nor am I marrying Reverend Kirkman. I am resolved upon it.’
Though he avoided her outstretched hands her misery was overlaid by hope. Right was on her side. She clutched convulsively at the reticule that dangled from around her wrist. She could give him so much more than he had ever dreamed. A fortune to go with her love.
Soon his eyes would kindle with a very different emotion from the hurt and fury that roiled there now. Yes, he was sickened at discovering her in another man’s arms but there was ample evidence to vindicate her.
‘What choice do you have?’ The words crackled with contempt.
‘You made your bed—’
‘But I don’t have to lie in it!’ Olivia railed. Just because the reverend was prepared to accept her, sin and all, didn’t mean another wouldn’t.
She heard him let out his breath in a slow whistle while she rested her head against the window. ‘I told you the truth, Max.’ She strove for measured calm. ‘I wrote to you and asked what you would have me do. I have been in torment at your silence.’
‘So now the fault is mine.’ His voice, disembodied in the shadows, was harsh. ‘I never received the letter, but that doesn’t change the fact that what you did can never be undone. Julian is a bastard yet you were prepared to parade him to the world as the rightful Viscount Farquhar.’
Wounded, she replied, ‘Max, I never meant to hurt you. When I looked into Julian’s eyes I didn’t consider him a bastard. He was a tiny, defenceless baby … and Lucien was desperate for an heir.’ It was an effort to speak through her tears. ‘Do you know how many babies I had lost? And yes, I should have admitted the truth. I realized that the moment I met you’ – she dropped her gaze. It was painful just to breathe – ‘before I fell in love with you.’
His mocking laugh brought her head up. She stared at him. He truly did not understand. She wondered how she could have misjudged him. There was no forgiveness for replacing the babe she and Lucien had lost with Lucien’s motherless bastard.
Gasping she cried out, ‘Have you no compassion?’
‘Not for scheming deceivers,’ he ground out, snatching her hands and moving his face close to hers. ‘Look at you, Olivia!’ With his palms he contoured her face. ‘You are without equal. Exquisite. What I wouldn’t sacrifice to have you – if I did not know I would pay twice in pain for the pleasure you gave me.’ He fell back against the squabs, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Before you destroyed me, as you destroyed my cousin.’
The empty silence stung her ears.
Shocked, she whispered, ‘I had no idea you hated me so much.’
‘Not as much as I love you’ – he gave a shuddering sigh and his
voice cracked as he added, ‘But self-preservation prevents me from succumbing to the lust that consumes me as we speak. For it is lust, only, Olivia. Tonight you proved there is nothing in you to love.’ Raising himself he glared at her. Never had he looked so like Lucien.
‘Besides, you are going to marry Kirkman. You know there is no other path open to you.’
Stung to indignation she wiped her eyes. ‘Should I be compelled to atone the rest of my life for compromising myself before him?’ Hunching herself into the corner the anger built within her. ‘I can’t do it. I won’t,’ she flung at him after a moment’s silence.
‘And Julian?’
Goaded, she muttered, ‘He is Lucien’s heir and as long as the world believes that he will be fine.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Max spoke quietly. After a moment he let out a humourless chuckle. ‘So you would tell the world the truth only if I had been prepared to wed you and conveniently dismiss what stood between us?’
He was looking at her as if he could not believe it.
‘I can manage very well without Mr Kirkman and if you choose to deny me my son on account of it, you are within your rights,’ she said coldly.
‘And I can manage very well without you!’
The anger drained from her. Sorrow took its place. They had once loved each other. It could have been so wonderful.
‘Olivia.’ There was so much pain invested in the word she nearly wept. She kept her head averted.
After a silence he shrugged and there was a distance to his tone as he said, ‘A boy needs a father.’
‘Mr Petersham would have done just as well.’
Max gave a sardonic chuckle. ‘You really are trying to live up to your reputation.’
She made her tone deliberately careless. ‘Since it was only you I wanted – yet clearly it is impossible for us to live with the uncomfortable truth between us – I no longer care what becomes of me. I shall make a point of enjoying my road to eternal damnation.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘When your worthy Miss Hepworth becomes too tiresome you can look to The Tatler for some diverting scandal about the latest exploits of the brazen Lady Farquhar.’
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