by Anne Barton
“A picnic!” Olivia exclaimed.
“A primitive one,” he said, “but I suppose it qualifies. You must try everything.”
Olivia tugged off her gloves before she began sampling. She closed her eyes in ecstasy while savoring the buns. When she bit into the ripe peach, a droplet of juice rolled down her chin, and James checked the urge to lean over and lick it off. She laughed and brushed at it with the back of her hand, blushing prettily.
When they’d eaten all they could, they sat companionably, letting the warm breeze rustle their hair and clothes.
At length, Olivia turned to him. The playful crinkles around her eyes had vanished. “The things you said last night,” she began. “You were right about me.”
Hell. “I shouldn’t have spoken so plainly or harshly, Olivia. I was upset that you’d placed yourself in danger.”
She shook her head, and a few stray brown curls waved in the breeze. “One of the things I’ve always admired about you is that you speak the truth, and you hold nothing back. I think you are incapable of deception.”
James thought of the letter from Olivia’s father that he’d left in his room at the inn and swallowed. “I had no right to say—”
“It doesn’t matter. You made me realize that I’ve done precious little of value with my life. It’s time I changed that.”
Good God. What if she really did mean to enter a convent? “How can you say that? You’ve been a devoted sister to Rose. You were the only person she trusted, the only person who was capable of reaching her. And must I remind you that without your assistance, Huntford and Anabelle might never have resolved their differences?”
“They were destined to be together, with or without my interference.”
“The point is, your family and friends have often been the beneficiaries of your kind acts.”
“They require less and less from me now. I was thinking that I must expand my good deeds beyond the circle of my family and friends, to those who are less fortunate.”
“What do you intend to do?” James frowned. Olivia had been gently bred; he didn’t like the idea of her visiting prisoners in Newgate or tending to the diseased in filthy hospitals.
“I don’t know yet, but I have some ideas. It’s time I experienced more of the world and shared my good fortune with others.”
He felt like the worst kind of hypocrite. “I hope you’re not doing this because of the nonsense I spouted last night,” James said. “The blow to my head probably knocked the good sense out of me.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile. “No, you were right. And though I cannot deny I wished my adventure would end differently, perhaps this result was for the best.”
“Just don’t do anything rash. Whatever plans you undertake, discuss them with your brother. I would hate for any misfortune to befall you.”
“Thank you.” Olivia’s eyes brimmed, but she blinked away the tears. “As for my current predicament, I’ve decided what I must do.”
James arched a brow. He’d assumed her fate rested in his hands. He should have known Olivia would have other ideas. “And what is that?”
“I shall leave for Aunt Eustace’s this afternoon. The sooner I’m on my way, the better.”
“But she’s not expecting you.”
“I wrote her a letter this morning and asked Hildy to post it.”
“And what of your brother?” James asked. “Will you tell him where you’ve been?”
Olivia stared out at the valley. “I’d rather not. It’s cowardly of me, I know, but Owen has a tendency to overreact in matters such as this. Still, I cannot prevent you from telling him, and I understand if you feel you must.”
James searched Olivia’s face for any sign she was playing coy; he found none. He’d never been particularly good at interpreting tacit meanings, and he knew without a doubt that he’d rather decipher an ancient text than a woman’s emotions. But he didn’t think Olivia was trying to manipulate him. She looked much too defeated.
“As much as I’d like to spare you Huntford’s wrath, I cannot hide the truth from him. If our positions were reversed, I would expect him to tell me.”
Olivia nodded. “You’ve been friends with Owen for a long time. Your first loyalty is to him—not me.”
“Yes,” James replied, with more conviction than he felt. He thought of the note to Olivia from her father that Huntford had entrusted to him. He didn’t like keeping secrets from her any more than he liked keeping secrets from Huntford. And he seemed to be planted firmly in the middle of their brother-sister relationship.
“Thank you for the lovely breakfast,” Olivia said. She stood and brushed off her palms. “Though I could easily spend all day here, I must return to the inn and prepare for the journey to my aunt’s house. There’s no need for you to escort me down the hill; I can manage the path.”
“No,” he said quickly. Not because he doubted her ability to handle the terrain. More because he wasn’t prepared to say good-bye just yet. “I’ll walk you back.”
Olivia shrugged as though it mattered little to her either way. As she repaired her hair and replaced her bonnet, he thought it a damnable shame that she couldn’t remain as she’d been—laughing, beautiful, and slightly undone. But perhaps it was for the best.
As they made their way down the path, clouds drifted in front of the sun. The breeze picked up and a few fat raindrops splattered on their clothes and skin. When Olivia paused to cover up with her shawl, James tried to hide his dismay.
As the rain fell harder, the pebbled path grew slippery. He caught a glimpse of her thin, delicate slippers and frowned. “Hold on to my arm.”
“I shall be fine.” It seemed she would be, but when they were only a few yards from the foot of the hill, her feet skated forward over the rocks and her body fell backward. James leaped behind her and threw his arms around her waist, but he couldn’t brace himself or steady her.
She landed on top of him, her soft bottom pressing against his cock, which was already responding in the predictable manner, damn it. She sat up, apparently oblivious to the effect she had on him. His pride would have him think it hard to miss, but maybe she was too embarrassed by the fall to notice the rock-hard length of him beneath her delectable bottom.
He sat up, too, but kept his arms wrapped around her. He found himself reluctant to let her go—and not just for the obvious reason. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Well, no. I’m rather mortified. I hope I haven’t crushed you.”
“Hardly.”
She rolled off of him with impressive agility, but when she tried to stand, one leg crumpled beneath her. She quickly righted herself and painted a bright smile on her face.
“You are hurt.” James rose and grasped her shoulders lightly.
“Hmm?” she asked innocently.
“Your leg buckled as though it was injured.”
“No, nothing so dire. I fear I’m just clumsy—although that’s no surprise to you, is it? I do believe the rain is picking up. Thank goodness we’re almost to the inn.”
“Would you like to lean on my arm? Or I could carry you.”
She froze and shot him a look of mild curiosity, as though she found him a strange and puzzling creature. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
James squashed the disappointment that rose in his chest, and they continued down the main street and past the bakery, with Olivia favoring one leg and stubbornly refusing to allow him to help her.
Rain dripped off of the sign hanging outside the inn, and mud puddles had formed on the ground. They stood in the same spot where James had fought Crutcher the night before. It felt like it had been a fortnight ago.
“Here we are,” Olivia said with more enthusiasm than seemed necessary. “In case I don’t see you before you leave for Egypt, I wish you safe travels. I hope that while you’re digging and exploring, you find everything you’re looking for.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
So. She did still care.
/> But he didn’t dare dwell on that. “I’m going to speak to your coachman and make sure he’s adequately prepared for your journey to Oxfordshire.”
“That’s very kind.”
“Good-bye, Olivia.” Somehow he forced the words from his mouth.
“Good-bye.” She turned and limped into the inn, leaving him standing in the rain, like the fool that he was.
Chapter Seven
Preserve: (1) To mummify, keep free from decay, or protect from destruction. (2) To keep intact, as in
She intended to preserve the scrap of her self-respect that still remained.
Terrence is worried the roads won’t be fit for travel this evening,” Hildy said. She deftly unlaced Olivia’s rain-dampened dress.
“I have faith he’ll deliver us safely to an inn on the way to Aunt Eustace’s. Besides, I don’t want to stay here another night.” She couldn’t. Not after the conversation she’d just had with James. She needed to leave before her resolve cracked.
“Very well, I’ll tell him to ready the coach.” Hildy sighed. “He’s accustomed to receiving bad news from me, in any event.”
Olivia winced at the slight barb, knowing she deserved it. “Thank you, Hildy. I promise there will be no more deception from me.” She tossed aside the damp dress and ducked as her maid slipped a stylish striped traveling gown over her head.
The maid clucked her tongue. “I shall always take your side, no matter what. But Terrence, he’s a different story—as much as he adores you, his first allegiance is to the duke.”
“I know.”
“I’ll order a few sandwiches to bring with us and inform Terrence that we’ll be ready to leave in half an hour.” With one final tug, she secured the laces at the side of Olivia’s gown and then hurried into the corridor, shutting the door behind her.
Olivia unpinned her hair and brushed it out before twisting it into a sensible knot at her nape. Then, with some disdain, she eyed the practical pair of walking boots that Hildy had left beside the chair. They were the logical choice, and yet, Olivia could not fathom how she would insert her right foot—which had swelled to roughly twice its normal size—into the confines of a narrow boot. She lifted her hem to peek at her foot, which bulged grotesquely out of her once-pretty blue slipper. She didn’t dare remove her shoe, for she’d never get another one on. Instead, she lowered her hem, stuffed the boots into her portmanteau, and limped about the room looking for the stray ribbon or hair comb that may have been forgotten during the packing.
By the time Hildy returned, Olivia was ready and eager to be on her way. She waved Hildy in front of her so that the maid would not notice her injured ankle—she’d only make a fuss and needlessly delay their departure.
As Terrence loaded the coach with their bags, Olivia managed to climb into the cab.
A moment later, the maid poked her head through the coach door and spoke loudly, so as to be heard over the rain pelting the roof. “I’ll just retrieve the food the innkeeper’s wife prepared,” she said. “Then we shall be ready to go.” She slammed the cab door shut and darted into the inn, a valiant, yet futile, attempt to dodge the raindrops.
Olivia stared down the narrow, muddy street where she and James had walked together, wishing she were numb—numb to the throbbing pain in her foot and to the torture of knowing that the future she’d let herself imagine would never, ever be. She’d done more than imagine her life with James—she’d believed it to her core. The certainty that she’d one day marry him had been the compass that guided her through decisions large and small. What gown to wear? What would James like? What soiree to attend? Where was James most likely to be? What book to read? What topic would be of most interest to James?
How utterly pathetic.
In hindsight, her eagerness to please him seemed worse than desperate. It was as though she’d forgotten who she, Olivia Sherbourne, was. That she existed quite separately and independently from James Averill.
Anger—at herself, James, and every bloody artifact ever discovered—coursed through her. With clenched fists, she pounded the velvet squabs of the coach. However, they were too soft to provide much satisfaction. So, in a brilliant move, she kicked the bench opposite her with her right foot.
Dear Lord. Her ankle ignited in a fierce and blinding pain that shot up her leg, all the way to her hip. The corners of her vision went black, and she grasped the wall of the coach to keep herself from swooning onto the floor.
Tears stung her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stu—
Bang, bang. The coach’s windows rattled from the forceful knock, and the door of the cab sprang open.
Olivia swiped at her eyes. It would never do for Hildy to find her upset—but it wasn’t her maid.
There, in the opening, stood James, seemingly impervious to the rain splattering on his shoulders and head. “I was afraid you’d be gone,” he said breathlessly.
“I thought we’d already said our good-byes,” she said, a bit more sharply than she’d intended.
“I know. But I can’t just let you leave for Oxfordshire.”
She snorted a little, amazed at his gall. “You’re not ‘letting me leave.’ I’ve made up my mind and I intend to follow through.”
Droplets darkened the curls hanging over his forehead and dripped onto his nose. “I’ve not yet decided whether to inform Huntford of your activities.”
“Is that meant to be a threat? Because I’ve already told you that if you feel it necessary to reveal all to my brother, you may do so without impediment from me.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you acting this way?”
She couldn’t very well tell him that her wretched ankle was throbbing or that her foolish heart was breaking. “Wherever I go, whatever I do, is no concern of yours. Any sway you once held over me is gone. As soon as Hildy returns, we are leaving. With or without your blessing.”
“Very well.” And with that, he climbed into the coach, closed the door behind him, and deposited himself on the seat opposite her.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?”
James did not so much as raise a brow at her vulgar language. Damn him.
Like a dog trying to dry itself, he shook his head briskly, sending an arc of droplets flying around him. Olivia recoiled from the chilly spray.
Once, she would have found his disregard for propriety refreshing, even charming. Now it made her want to kick him with her good foot. “What fine manners,” she said dryly.
He shrugged. “You started it with ‘bloody hell.’ ”
She huffed but was secretly gratified that he had not missed the remark. “My, how rapidly things seem to have deteriorated.”
James crossed his arms over his chest and grinned, making her traitorous heart beat faster. “It’s cozy in here,” he said. “Nice and dry, too.”
“It was dry,” Olivia corrected. “In any case, now that you have made your point”—though she couldn’t say for certain what his point was—“you should disembark before anyone notices that we are alone in my coach.”
His eyes crinkled and he chuckled as though genuinely amused.
“I’m delighted my distress serves as such a rich source of entertainment.”
“Olivia.” The way he said her name—so honestly, so intimately—broke through all the buttresses she’d erected around her. “I’m not here to torment you,” he said softly.
“No?”
He smiled, and in one fluid motion, hopped off his bench and seated himself on hers. Just that quickly, the temperature in the coach went up ten degrees. The barest inch separated their shoulders; part of her skirt was trapped beneath his thigh. He reached for her hand on the seat between them and squeezed.
Olivia could barely breathe.
“I don’t want to distress you,” he was saying, as though Olivia could fully comprehend his words while his palm was pressed to hers. “But I’m still grappling with how to best handle this situation. I know I should send word to Huntford. In fact, if I had a lick of
good sense, I’d have done so the moment you arrived here last night.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, and I honestly don’t want to,” James said. “The problem is, your brother doesn’t know where you are.”
“Er, not precisely. But he knows I traveled to the northwest.”
“At the moment, you’re not even in the same county where he thinks you are.”
“True.” She sighed, disappointed that James felt obliged to point out the obvious. “However, I am trying to rectify that. I should arrive at my aunt’s by tomorrow night. Assuming I’m ever permitted to actually leave,” she added pointedly.
“I’ve no intention of preventing you from leaving,” James said.
“I see.” Olivia pondered this a moment. “Then would you mind telling me why you are here?”
“I’m going with you.” He released her hand, put his hands behind his head, and stretched out his long, buckskin-clad legs.
Good heavens. “To Aunt Eustace’s?”
“Yes, I intend to deliver you safely to her doorstep.”
Olivia bristled. “I hardly think I need you to deliver me.”
“Yes, well,” he drawled, “therein lies the problem—you hardly think.”
Of all the—
The door to the coach popped open again. Hildy held a large basket before her and had climbed halfway into the cab before she realized there had been an invasion of muscle and masculinity. The maid reared back, her eyes wide.
“Allow me,” James offered, extending a hand. He helped her board with one hand and took the basket with the other.
Hildy sat on the opposite bench and wrung her hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” Her gaze flicked from Olivia and James to the door, as though she contemplated making a run for it.
“It’s all right, Hildy. Mr. Averill was just leaving.”
James shot Olivia a cocky smile. “I think you misunderstand, Lady Olivia.” To the maid, he said, “I intend to escort you to Oxfordshire.”
