Shocked, she couldn’t move, and because they were in the corner of the room, they were turned away from everyone.
From behind, he leaned toward her and said in a low, rigid voice, “You will meet me tomorrow morning at ten, in the hotel’s garden arbor. Be there alone. We need to talk, Olivia.”
Before she could utter a response, he backed away, moving so quickly that by the time she spun around, he’d disappeared into the crowd of jovial guests, who carried on, enjoying the party atmosphere, taking no apparent notice of her or their few seconds together.
Olivia breathed deeply, more angry than scared, though she realized she needed to leave at once. Downing one large gulp of champagne, she placed her near empty flute on the buffet, then held her shaking hands together in front of her as she went looking for Grand-père Marcotte to bid him au revoir for the night.
———
Sam had been more or less pacing the floor of the hotel’s foyer since the moment she left, worried more than he thought he’d be, though knowing the plan they’d devised would serve their purpose perfectly and that she would certainly be safe in the company of others. Still, he couldn’t help but feel perturbed that he wasn’t with her to watch her in action, to see the look on Edmund’s face when he noticed her for the first time. He would simply have to wait for the details, and since it had now been more than two hours since her departure, his patience had started thinning.
He’d all but decided that since darkness had fallen he could comfortably wait inside, when he saw her coach pull up in front of the hotel and the driver alight from his perch to open her door.
Sam rushed to the coach, and the moment she caught his eye, she beamed, stopping him in his tracks.
“You’re certainly anxious,” she noted, grinning with a satisfaction she couldn’t hide.
He clasped his hands behind his back, watching her with interest as she sauntered up to him. “I have nothing better to do than wait on you, Lady Olivia.”
“As it should be,” she remarked slyly.
She looked beautiful, glowing with a rosy vibrance that hadn’t been there when she’d left. “Well?” he asked with raised brows after a long moment of silence on her part.
Then she squealed and practically jumped into his arms. “Oh, my God, Sam, it was magnificent! Simply magnificent!” she said with a burst of delight, hugging him tightly, her face tucked into his neck.
Sam was so stunned by her behavior, her act of familiarity, that he momentarily couldn’t respond. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he closed his arms around her, holding her securely against him, lifting her feet off the ground as she laughed in his arms and kissed his neck with tiny pecks.
She enchanted him, smelling faintly of wine and flowers, her hair silky soft against his cheek as he took that moment in time—just one selfish moment—to savor the feel of her subtle curves, to relish the touch of her lips on his skin, to drown in the innocence of her laughter. Her happiness intoxicated him, and when at last he felt her gingerly push her palms against his shoulders in an effort to be released, it occurred to him how lonely his world would be without her.
With keen reservation, he loosened his grip and lowered her to the ground.
She backed up a pace, grinning at him, her gaze taking in all of his face. “I have to tell you everything, but let’s go inside.”
“A very good idea,” he replied genially, his hands resting on her waist.
She grasped one of them, and without thought or additional word, practically pulled him along, hand in hand, all the way up to the third floor.
Their suite provided modest accommodations, consisting of two separate sleeping chambers and a center room between them, its flowered papered walls enclosing only one cherrywood, floral sofa and a matching but simple table with two accompanying chairs. She stood near the table, on top of which rested a lamp that she’d lit upon entrance, pulling her earrings from her lobes and then tossing them, along with her fan and reticule, on the wooden surface.
She faced him, her smile never fading. “It was magnificent.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he replied, “So you said.”
“He was shocked, utterly shocked.” She clasped her hands together in front of her. “Oh, my, but it was fun, Sam.”
He moved to the sofa and sat heavily, extending his legs out in front of him, his arms folded across his stomach, gazing at her with amusement. “Had a good time, did you?”
“A marvelous time.” She pulled out a chair and lowered her body daintily into the seat, spreading her red gown out around her ankles. “He went pale when he first laid eyes on me. Then after a few moments of speaking with him and Brigitte, he grew extremely angry, though he managed to hide it with greater ability than he hid his astonishment. His reaction was better than anything you could imagine, and the best part was, he couldn’t say a word without revealing himself to his betrothed because she never left his side. He was all mine to handle.” She held her palm to her mouth for a few seconds, giggling. “I told him I was married to a Mr. John Andrews, a banker from England, who was helping me with my personal finances because I’d misplaced some of my inheritance.” She dropped her arms to her lap. “Oh, my God, Sam, I wish you’d been there to see it. The moment was priceless.”
Her exhilaration was contagious, and he found himself chuckling, leaning his head back against the sofa’s frame. “I’d wish I’d been there just to see you in action, sweet. It took all my strength not to ride out there and watch.”
She cocked her head to the side, smiling at him. “I thought about you the entire time.”
That softly spoken revelation tied his stomach in knots, even as it warmed him from the inside out. “I hope so,” he muttered, realizing with reluctance that she probably didn’t mean it the way he wanted her to.
“I kept thinking what a night we would have had confronting him together,” she continued, “with poor Brigitte on his arm, completely taken with the man, clinging to him as if I were going to steal him right from under her nose.” She scoffed quite dramatically, rolling her eyes. “What an absurd notion.”
Now he just wanted to kiss her senseless. “Did anything else happen? Did he say anything specifically about Nivan or your money?”
She squirmed a little, fussing with her skirt, her brows furrowed. “No, nothing specific, but then he really couldn’t. I think I confused him more than anything, especially since I didn’t act at all like a broken-hearted victim. But at one point Brigitte and I talked about the differences between Edmund and my husband.” She eyed him impishly, her broad grin returning. “I told them both that not only was my husband taller by a quarter of an inch, he was certainly just as handsome.”
Sam didn’t think he could take much more of her disclosure without picking her up and making love to her right there on the carpet, uncertainties and unknowns be damned. The fact that she even noticed that one of the only differences between Edmund and himself was his own minutely greater height mattered to him more than she could ever know.
“How long did you speak to him?” he asked, searching for every detail lest she forget.
She shrugged a shoulder, thinking. “Well, not long, maybe five minutes, which was a good thing, probably. There were about… oh… three dozen people or so, all there to congratulate him, so I couldn’t take up too much of his time. But he never said a word about you—Oh! I did mention Aunt Claudette’s name, though only in passing.” She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “I would have adored hearing him talk about her, but the truth is, Sam, what I enjoyed most about the evening was knowing he couldn’t comment on anything I said. He could do nothing but squirm, hoping I didn’t reveal too much to his darling Brigitte.”
She amazed him—her cleverness, her charm, her extraordinary beauty, inside and out. At that moment Sam decided that the stupidest thing Edmund had ever done in his life was to let this remarkable woman slip through his fingers.
“How did you feel about h
im, Olivia?” he asked with a great degree of hesitation, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
Perplexed, she asked in reply, “How did I feel about him? In what way?”
He rubbed his hands together in front of him, choosing his words carefully. “You’ve told me how you felt confronting him tonight, that you were solely in charge of the moment, but you also once told me you loved him. I’m curious to know if those feelings returned to you. Were you jealous of his devotion to Brigitte?” He paused, then piercing her gaze with his own, he asked directly, “Are you still in love with him?”
She just sat there, staring at him without expression, for minutes—or so it seemed to him. Then she abruptly stood. “Edmund is a fool,” she maintained, voice low with certainty. “I could never love a fool.”
He placed his palms on his knees, pushing himself up to stand beside her, overflowing with a relief he had yet to fully understand. “You know, Olivia, I was just thinking exactly the same thing.”
Her eyes narrowed as she placed her hands on her hips. “You were?”
He took a step toward her, close enough to tower over her, gazing down at her face. “I was.”
Slowly, she began to shake her head, her countenance returning to one of joyous anticipation. “Tomorrow night will be a complete unveiling, Sam, for everyone, and I can’t wait to walk into that ball on your arm.”
“I can’t either,” he murmured softly, controlling his urge to touch her.
For several seconds they stared at each other silently, a thickening tension enveloping them that he knew she could positively feel. Her eyes widened with sudden realization; her mouth opened a fraction as she licked her lips with uncertainty. And then she broke the spell by taking a step back.
“I—I think I’m ready to retire,” she said.
The gnawing he felt in his gut, the outright desire he couldn’t assuage, very nearly overcame him. If she only knew what she did to him.
“Turn around,” he ordered, his tone a bit sharper than he’d intended.
She shook herself, puzzled. “I—I don’t—”
“So I can unbutton your gown,” he explained softly.
He’d helped her this afternoon with that part of her dressing, only because she had no maid and, he supposed, she’d decided with her corset and petticoats she was covered enough for decency. Emergencies required unusual circumstances and all that. But now she seemed reluctant to allow him to help her.
He reached out and ran his fingers down her cheek. “It’s all right, Olivia. Let me unbutton your gown and you can go to bed.”
After only a second or two of indecision, and without further remark, she lowered her lashes and turned around for him to do as he insisted.
Meticulously, he started at the top, near her shoulder blades, his fingers brushing her skin, feeling warm gooseflesh rise to his touch as he began to unfasten each one, moving down her back and over her corset with ease until he reached her waist. Then he grasped her upper arms and turned her to face him once more.
The look she gave him this time struck him hard. Her eyes were full of acceptance, understanding, trust, and a shade of pure devotion.
Clutching her gown at her bosom to keep it from slipping, she placed her free hand on his cheek and said huskily, “Thank you, Sam. For everything.”
He lifted her chin with his fingers. “I would do anything for you,” he whispered gravely, the intensity in his gaze full of hidden meanings and hopes.
She swallowed. “Good night, Sam.”
He sighed within. “Good night, Livi.”
Without a second glance, she turned once more and headed toward her room, closing the door softly behind her.
Chapter 17
This morning, for the first time since she set eyes on Sam all those weeks ago, she’d deliberately lied to him. She didn’t just withhold the fact that she would be meeting Edmund alone in the hotel’s garden at ten, which she had also done last night, but had made up a reasonable explanation for her absence so she could get away. Strangely enough, doing so made her feel just like the snake she was leaving him to meet. But she couldn’t think of another way to get around his constant presence. If Sam had any inkling of her plan, he’d not permit her to go, or worse, insist on accompanying her, which would leave her, ultimately, unable to confront Edmund the way she wanted to.
So, during a breakfast of coffee and baguettes smothered with sweet lemon marmalade in the hotel dining room, she’d casually broached the topic of her immediate plans, stressing the need to leave a few minutes before ten for an appointment in fragrance sampling at one of the Govance boutiques. He’d eyed her suspiciously from across the small table, in silent speculation, she supposed, before he relented. In a quick thought on her part, she asked him if he’d like to escort her, knowing he’d refuse if it meant smelling perfume again, even though she carefully stressed that they would be completely different scents from those he’d sampled at Nivan. She grew nervous when he didn’t immediately refuse, and for a second or two she wondered if he were able to detect her deceit—until he said he’d rather wait in his room and read last week’s newspaper.
The sky had been overcast all morning, and by the time she said her good-byes to him and stepped outside onto the pavement at ten minutes to ten, it had turned quite dark with the promise of a thunderstorm to come.
Quickly, she made her way down the sidewalk, purposely passing the dining room windows without glancing inside in the hopes that Sam might see her taking the route toward the boutique three blocks away, though as soon as she reached the end of the street, she made a fast turn and headed around the building.
The Maison de la Fleur had been built in a U shape, with the flower garden placed directly in the center so patrons of the hotel could easily access the lawn path from the main floor foyer as well as view the beauty from their rooms above.
Because she had to traverse the long way around to the backside of the tan stone building, by the time she reached the garden gate that faced the center of the hotel, she knew it had to be just after their appointed meeting time. The white wrought-iron gate that protected the enclosure pushed aside easily with only minimal squeaking, and she hastily stepped into the alcove and onto the gravel path.
The sky continued to darken, the breeze picking up with the coming storm, and Olivia shivered, wrapping her arms around her, suddenly chilled wearing only a lavender silk day gown with its short puffed sleeves.
She took in her surroundings, not exactly afraid but growing more instinctively cautious by the second, then swiftly started down the path in the direction of the centrally located arbor, scarcely noticing all the elaborately trimmed bushes and small beds of well-tended, sweet-scented flowers in a variety of colors.
The area proved to be quite private, and it occurred to her that should anyone witness the two of them together, they would only appear to be involved in a romantic tryst, certainly nothing new to the French. Unless, of course, he intended to harm her.
Olivia immediately disregarded that thought entirely. Edmund might be a charming rogue of the most calculating kind, but he wasn’t a danger, of that she was certain. Nevertheless, the simple notion that he might, in some way, attempt to hurt her physically, put her on edge as she quietly traversed the path, her senses sharpened, her nervousness growing with each step, until at last the arbor came into view.
A sudden gust of wind blew strands of her hair across her cheeks and eyes, and she cursed her less-than-brilliant idea of wearing only one thin ribbon to tie it back at her nape. She paused for a moment to brush it aside, and that’s when she caught her first glimpse of him.
Her stomach muscles coiled into knots as she watched him, standing with ease inside the white latticework structure, his upper torso and head hidden from view by thick, blooming bougainvilleas clinging to divider trellises. He seemed relaxed as he leaned his. hip against the low fencing, one ankle crossed over the other, his arms crossed over his chest.
With a deep
breath for confidence, Olivia straightened, shoulders back as she clasped her hands behind her and strolled nonchalantly to the front of the three short steps, stopping for a moment so he could witness her determination in her lifted chin, her vague smile.
“Edmund,” she drawled.
He stared directly into her eyes, his fierce gaze signifying his desire to intimidate. She tried very hard to ignore it.
“Olivia,” he returned, his tone low and icy.
Slowly, she climbed the three steps into the arbor proper, moving to her left, opposite him, her back to the latticework fencing. “So we meet again,” she said amiably.
“Indeed.” He waited, then asked, “Why did you come to Grasse?”
She rubbed the toe of her shoe along the wooden floorboard, a certain thrill circulating through her because she’d anticipated this moment for months. Raising her lashes, she glared at him. “I want my inheritance returned at once. You remember my fortune, Edmund, the one you so callously stole from me?”
He was silent for a long while, simply watching her, it seemed, his head cocked to the side a little, his eyelids thinned, jaw rigidly set. And then he lowered his arms and stood erect as he began a leisurely stroll in her direction.
Olivia held her ground, though her smile had faded. “You’re not going to kill me, are you?” she muttered rather sarcastically.
His lips curled up into a derisive smile. “You’re as brash as ever.”
“One needs to be brash when one has been stomped on by a lying scoundrel,” she maintained, her pent-up anger seeping into her tone.
He reached up and scratched his jaw, his gaze ever watchful, still striding in her direction, though moving so slowly it was almost imperceptible.
“Where is your husband?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“Waiting for me just outside the main gate,” she replied at once. “For my protection, you know, should I scream.”
He actually chuckled, shaking his head as he did so. “Now who is the liar?”
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