The light faded slightly from Oliver’s eyes. He looked immediately contrite. “I beg your pardon. Did I frighten you, push for too much where we could be seen from a window?”
She certainly hadn’t thought of that, but she refused to glance at the row of town homes overlooking the shoreline. “No.” Eloisa shook her head. Self-loathing and regret burned through her chest. “It’s not that. This,” she weakly gestured between them, “this is lovely and wonderful, but—”
“But you’re still in love with your former beau,” he finished for her. A definite bitter tone had entered his voice and he shoved a hand through his hair. “I understand.” He turned away.
He’d taken the news better than she’d hoped. “You do?” Just as she’d begun to relax, he faced her once more.
“No, actually, I don’t. Your actions, your kisses, your teasing words confuse the hell out of me and don’t align to this bacon-brained promise you keep taking refuge behind.” Oliver closed the short distance. She thought he’d touch her again and he raised his hands as if he’d grab her shoulders, hand, something but dropped them to his sides without even glancing a finger down her arm. “If you want me, that’s fine, but I refuse to compete with a ghost, the man I can, apparently, never live up to.”
Unshed tears crowded her throat. Her chest ached and went cold, for he was right. He had every reason to give her a dressing down. “Oliver, I…” What? How exactly could she explain that wouldn’t make her look exactly as he’d said? She forced a swallow but focused her gaze on the top button of his waistcoat. “I should never have kissed you, I know.” Slowly, she raised her gaze to his. Disappointment and hurt lurked in those blue depths. She hated that she’d led him a merry chase, and that emboldened her to draw upon the kernel of bravery nestled deep inside. “Truth be told, I do want you.”
He shook his head, but his eyes were now hooded, his expression wiped clean. “Perhaps it’s too little, too late, Eloisa.” He scratched the whiskers clinging to his chin. “I want you to want me for me, not as a poor imitation, a replacement for him. If you can answer me that truly, we can move forward.”
Tears prickled the backs of her eyelids. “It’s not as simple as that.” He deserved someone better than her, someone who hadn’t carelessly tossed away her virtue on a night of passion that no one else knew about. Peter was gone and she was left with the shame and the consequences.
“Usually, I’d agree with you. However, in this case, it is.” He shifted his gaze to Daniela, who’d stood when the tone of their conversation changed from laughter and joking. “Would you want me in a real marriage?” He lowered his tone. “If this engagement weren’t a farce and I asked you again, would you wish to marry me knowing how you feel for me and I for you? Could you forget about Peter and take me instead?”
Shock slammed into her. He wished to marry her? He’d not said any words of love or affection, hadn’t said he admired anything about her, so how did that equate to wanting to wed? Her mouth opened and closed, much like a fish, but she couldn’t summon words. They danced upon the tip of her tongue, always out of reach. Did she want to marry him? He represented everything she’d always longed for in life, but if it were a choice between her and the sea, would she be enough to keep him happy? How long could he ignore that siren song before sailing away? She blinked, staring at him in astonishment.
“Duly noted. I’ll take your telling silence as your refusal.” Biting annoyance filled his voice.
“Oliver, no. That’s not what it means at all!” She fluttered her hands as he turned away. “Please wait!”
“Come, Daniela. We’re going home.” With uncharacteristic harshness, he grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled her along the sand behind him, his strides too long for her to keep up and forcing her to run.
“Papa!” Daniela’s cry carried over the noise of the waves. “I want Mama Isa.”
“So do I, poppet, but she doesn’t want us. We’ll leave her to her cold life and even colder bed.” When Daniela struggled, tried to break away, Oliver picked her up, never seeming to mind her flailing arms and legs.
Eloisa stood rooted to the sand as the water ebbed and flowed around her knees. The child’s cries tugged at her heart, yet it was Oliver’s exit from her life that broke said organ into so many pieces she feared she wouldn’t be able to repair the damage.
In the length of a week and a scattering of days, she’d met, fallen for, and crushed the feelings of Oliver Darrington. Perhaps she was as bad for him as his mother had said. Except… dash it all, she wanted him.
Chapter Ten
Oliver stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He’d been awake since dawn and plagued with thoughts of Eloisa, his family, and his upcoming sailing schedule. It had been two days since his pretty neighbor had ripped his heart from its moorings and trampled upon it. Two days since she’d all but confirmed he couldn’t compete with the memory of what her ideal man was. No wonder he’d never wanted to seek out a bride. If this was how a man was treated, who needed that sort of abuse?
Finally, he sat up, stuffed a few pillows behind him and settled among them. What would this day bring? Daily existence had fallen flat since he refused to visit next door even though his contract with Eloisa was still intact. Of course it was. No matter that she’d refused his suit—had he honestly proposed in a roundabout way?—he still planned to honor his part of the bargain. If she couldn’t be happy with him, then he wished her happy wherever she could find peace.
Bah! I’ve grown maudlin in my old age. This is what being a landlubber has done to me.
The ache in his heart flared again. He rubbed the spot. How had he come to such a surprising pass? To think he fancied himself in love—in lust—in something frightfully similar to them both—in such a short time period seemed impossible, but he’d seen stranger things in his travels, heard more impossible stories from the people he’d met therein. Why, one of his own crewmembers had married his wife after only knowing her for forty-eight hours. They’d pulled into port in the Bahamas and the two had met in a tavern. To date, they’d been wed for three years and were still happy as newlyweds.
Cold bitterness flooded his chest. That wasn’t to be his lot in life though. How did one compete with a ghost or at least the specter of a memory? The same trait he’d sought in Eloisa at the beginning of their farcical engagement was now the same habit he despised. Where he’d once thought he’d be safe if her affections were otherwise engaged, now it had become the dagger that fate twisted in his heart. She could never love him while Peter rose between them.
Love. Merely a yoke to make a man a slave. He should give up the novel notion and leave Eloisa to her cold bed. He’d been a nodcock to think she might be a good fit for his wandering life.
A faint knock at the door preceded Carruthers’ entry into Oliver’s bedroom. How the devil the man always knew his master was awake was beyond Oliver’s ken. “Good morning, my lord. Would you care for tea?” the butler come valet asked.
“Not at this time. Thank you.” His stomach was too unsettled from his angst-ridden thoughts. “I’ll come down soon for breakfast.”
“Very well. I did bring the post, sir. It’s been on your desk for two days. I feared there was something vital and you have been rather listless of late.” Carruthers approached the bed with a small stack of envelopes in one hand. “There’s a letter from your sister in Kent. I’ve placed it on top for your convenience.”
For the first time since that walk on the shore, Oliver’s spirits lifted. “Excellent. That will be all, Carruthers.” He accepted the mail and couldn’t wait to peruse it.
Once the butler left, Oliver popped his reading spectacles on then tore into the letter. It wasn’t often Lauren wrote to him as most of his correspondence occurred between him and Charlotte or him and Felix. Lauren was her own person and only did things when the wind—or the mood—struck.
It was a breezy, rambling missive, mostly having to do with her boredom in Kent and her adamant refusal to
come to London to appease their mother. A couple of sentences stood out to him: Mother thinks marriage will be the best thing for all of her children, and perhaps it is for Felix and Charlotte, but I want no part of it. I won’t be forced into it, Oliver. I refuse to spend my life with a tyrant or a man who merely wants me to breed.
He could very well see the splash of high color on her cheeks or the firm set to her jaw that was very much like their father’s. In fact, if I’m of a mood, perhaps I will get myself leg-shackled to someone. Doesn’t matter who. Any groom will do, right?
Oliver rolled his eyes. Surely she wouldn’t throw away her life on a stranger or, God forbid, a servant. The outcry alone would be heard the length and breadth of England. He shook his head and continued to read. Mother can clean up my mess afterward, but I’ll have the upper hand. As long as the gentleman in question allows me my freedom, I suppose it won’t matter. A marriage in name only is still a union in Mother’s eyes. Even wed, I plan to live my life however I please regardless. My husband can go about his life and I’ll go about mine. Mother only specified we be wed…
Lauren was a wild card to be sure. He had a bad feeling about her.
She went on in the same vein for a few paragraphs. Then she deviated by discussing a horse race she’d partaken of with a few of the village boys and the prank she and a couple of her female friends had played on an elderly shopkeeper.
The girl was trouble. He wished the man well who eventually landed her, and he wished his mother strength in order to live through it.
After setting the letter aside, he opened the next, which was from the man in charge of repairs on his ship. This missive was blessedly short and to the point: Dear Captain Darrington, the Scandalous Lady should be ready to return to the sea by the end of June. Work is going steadily and faster than we’d hoped. Will update again in a month.
Oliver frowned. It might be quick, but it was too long for his tastes—two months too long in fact. Much too long to loll around Brighton knowing Eloisa was just next door and he couldn’t have her. How much torture could a man pass by seeing her as she went about her daily errands or departed for the lending library? It was already the devil’s own luck there was a little over two weeks left on their contract. Good God, what if her brother required his presence at dinner one night? The tension at the table would be quite too much to bear.
Gah! Would that he could return to adventuring this minute.
He shuffled through the remaining correspondence, and deeming the invites to various local events not worth his time, he tossed everything on the nightstand then left the warm confines of his bed. No sense dwelling on the winding rabbit hole his life had become. The sooner he prepared for his departure, the sooner he could put things behind him and begin the arduous process of forgetting a certain petite wonder with brown-gold curls and a smile that turned his insides to mush.
Unbidden, snatches of a piece of correspondence he’d sent to his sister Charlotte months ago surfaced in his head. You have to be fearless in this world to get what you want or go where life takes you. No one’s going to just hand you your heart’s desire.
Oliver propped his hands on his hips and frowned as he surveyed his room. Perhaps that was just the thing. All his life he’d gone after exactly what he’d wanted, with the exception of his father’s pocket watch. Well, now he wanted Eloisa even if she didn’t return the regard—or didn’t realize that she did. Would another attempt be remiss? It would either be the most insane thing he’d done or could be the gambit he’d been looking for.
Still morose once he’d dressed, Oliver popped into the kitchen, which surprised Susan.
“Good heavens, my lord. You near gave me a fright.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “If you need something, I can sure enough bring it to you. No need for you to visit the kitchen. It’s not the place of the likes of you.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “I’m not like most men, and I’m certainly not more important than any of them.”
She blew a wisp of hair off her forehead. “Be that as it may, what can I do for you, Viscount Tralsburg?” The subtle emphasis on his title wasn’t lost on him. She’d mind his place in Society even if he wouldn’t.
A grin escaped him. Good old Susan. Some things would never change. “I’d like to put together a breakfast tray for Daniela and take it up to the nursery.” He wished to spend the day with the girl and be the kind of father she needed. The urge to deepen their bond weighed heavily on his conscience.
“That’s a nice gesture. I’ll put together something straightaway,” she answered then set about to do just that.
“Thank you.” He rested a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Might as well start practicing my parental skills. I’ll need to hone them by the time we sail again.”
Susan faced him with a raised brow. “Do you plan to take the child with you?”
After days of thinking about it, the answer was startling clear now. “Yes.” He nodded as if the statement needed emphasis. “Yes I do, and my family be damned. She might not be mine by blood, but I intend to do right by her regardless. Daniela will always be my daughter. I’ll teach her according to how I see fit.” Passion propelled the words.
His housekeeper smiled. “Your dear mother should be proud of you, laddie. That’s a real honorable thing you’re doing.”
Oliver remained silent. He well knew Roberta’s views and she wouldn’t care for what he’d do by half. The one saving grace was being on his ship and far away from England it wouldn’t matter. This was his life and he’d live it to the fullest regardless of what his mother thought he should do.
Not long afterward, he carried the breakfast try, laden with all sorts of things a little girl would love, to Daniela’s room. “Good morning, poppet,” he greeted as he came into her bedroom. “Want to have a picnic with Papa?”
Early morning sunlight flooded the nursery and illuminated the toys and books the Carruthers had rescued from the attic, but Daniela wasn’t in attendance.
Oliver chuckled. The minx thought to play a game of hide and seek with him, did she? He set the breakfast tray on a low, round table then patted the head of a teddy bear before turning a slow circle with his hands on his hips. “Since someone is hiding, I suppose the only recourse is to find her.” His daughter was nothing if not gay and cheerful.
My daughter. He rubbed a hand over his heart as that organ trembled. How was it possible to be wrapped around her little finger in just over two weeks?
With an air of expectation and excitement, he gave the large, airy nursery a good search. Lord, how many times had he and his siblings played here when the family had come to get away from the pressures of Town? He knew every hiding place possible, and the remembered ghosts of childhood past accompanied him on his quest.
At the end of a quarter hour, he hadn’t found Daniela. Perhaps she’d slipped out and was even now hiding somewhere on this floor. Had she gone into one of the empty bedrooms? Oliver diligently conducted his search, but after a few rooms didn’t give up the child, his gut tightened with alarm. Where was she?
He bounded down the stairs then flew from room to room: parlor, study, dining room, morning room. No trace of Daniela. He’d found a few dolls and a wooden train she liked to pull around the house by a rope, but there was no sign that the girl was inside.
“Carruthers!” He cringed as his shout echoed in the empty hall. The very town house seemed to mock him. “Damn it, man, where are you?”
Seconds later the butler appeared with a harried expression. “Is there a problem, my lord?”
“Yes, of course there is. Why else would I be bellowing like a wounded bull?” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Daniela is missing. She’s not in the nursery nor hiding in any of the bedrooms. She’s also not on this level. Have you seen her?” Perhaps she’d gone into the kitchen with Susan, but his housekeeper would have directed her back to the nursery since she’d already known of his wish to take breakfast with the gi
rl.
“I haven’t spied her yet this morning, but I’ll search the servants’ quarters and the carriage house.”
“Very good.” As Carruthers departed, Oliver meticulously combed over every trunk in the house, opened each cabinet and closet, peeked around every set of curtains the building contained. By the time he’d finished, the butler had returned. “Well?” The question was rather abrupt, but the situation demanded urgency.
The older man shook his head. “No one has seen her, sir.”
“Devil take it. Where could she be?” He glanced out the parlor window. The sea beckoned, glimmered gray-blue in the morning sunshine. A sick feeling crept through his chest. “You don’t think she’s gone outside, do you?” She certainly had enjoyed the shore the other day when he and Eloisa had taken her out. “Good God, what if she went to the water and the waves claimed her?”
He pelted from the house. Once he gained the shoreline, he glanced along the length of sand but no small girl appeared. Dear Lord, what if she’d drowned and even now her little body was tossed about by the sea? Would it show her in time? Sour bile hit the back of his throat while he jogged through the surf, his attention focused intently on the foam.
“Daniela!” The ever-present breeze grabbed his cry and hurled it away.
He scanned the row of town houses not far from the shore. There was every possibility the child could have gone next door to visit “Mama Isa.” Damnation. Oliver swallowed his pride. For the sake of his daughter, he’d pay Eloisa a visit. Frantic now, with his pulse hammering, he loped back along the path. Seconds later, he pounded on his neighbor’s door and kept pounding until someone finally opened it.
He skirted around the elderly woman who’d answered his imperious knock. “I do apologize for my bad manners, but it’s imperative I see Miss Hawthorne immediately.”
“Calm yourself, sir. I shall see if she’s awake and willing to receive at this hour.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Beside himself and near-crazed with concern, Oliver grabbed the woman’s shoulders then shook her. “Wake her up if you must, but if she doesn’t come down in a timely manner, I will go up there, conventions be hanged. This is an emergency!”
The Bridal Contract (Darrington family Book 3) Page 12
