by Julia Donner
Hours or moments later, Olivia lifted heavy eyelids and struggled to reorient. Dull light filled the window well. Their rasping breaths echoed in the dark. Harry held her gently now, cuddled close to his chest, as he carefully moved to sit on a nearby chair.
Speechless and limp, she sagged on his lap, still joined and stunned by the violence of their ardor. She rested against the thumping beat of his heart, noticing that he somehow felt broader, more resolute. Her legs dangled over his uncomfortably hard thighs as they sat in silence, both shivering in the aftermath.
Perhaps violent relations dislodged every vestige of common sense. She silently laughed. Harry was known for doing that by simply walking into a room.
His hand trembled when he combed his fingers through her curls. “I hope I didn’t hurt you, love.”
“No. It was wonderful.”
“An understatement. I’ve ruined your lovely hair and gown but couldn’t stop myself. Couldn’t bear another second of being around you and not making you laugh. Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”
When she managed a wobbly headshake, he kissed her temple and skimmed the tip of his nose down her cheek. After a soft chuckle, he whispered into her ear, “It’s good to know you saved all that for me.”
“Oh, Harry, I’d never act like this with anyone else.” She sat up a bit to study his face and trailed her fingers across his brow. “Until you, I never knew I had this much lust inside.”
In the dim light, she saw the glint of his teeth. “Also good to know that I’m not merely an anyone! Especially when I’ve got my britches around my ankles.”
When she tried to withdraw, he folded his arms around her to draw her back against his chest, but his hold felt desperate. “Livie, come away with me. Let’s go down to Rolands tonight. Get married there in the morning. Sail to Paris and decide where we want to go from there.”
A whimsical sadness colored his tone, as if he spoke about a dream impossible to attain. She peered at his partially shadowed face, trying to understand. His eyes gleamed but the poor light curtained his thoughts.
“Why the hurry? Wouldn’t you rather have your family and friends a part of it?”
“Not especially. They only want what makes me happy and I won’t be happy until I have you all to myself, far away from interfering people.”
“Harry, please forgive Father and Grandfather. They can’t help themselves. Both of them lost wives. It’s made them overprotective and strange.”
She sensed his resistance to her explanation, then heard it when he said, “Livie, there’s no excuse for some behaviors, and protecting you is my honor now.”
Pushing against his chest to sit fully upright on his lap, she dryly said, “I noticed that I have nothing to worry about there. Poor Quentin. That was a rather vicious blow to his head.”
“He’s fortunate to be still breathing.”
“ I suppose I can’t stop you from fighting and fencing. You appear to love it so much. Except, no guns, Harry. Promise me? Your eyesight isn’t good enough for that distance. Promise me.” When he didn’t respond, she warned him with a stern scowl. “Now, Harald Collyns.”
Unmoved, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Sorry, love. Can’t promise that, but to ease your worry, I will do my utmost to make it blades and not lead.”
She sighed, accepting that was all the concession she was going to get. For now. She was learning that she might have leverage when it came to getting what she wanted. For all his breezy manner, Harry was stubborn but easily swayed by seduction.
“Harry, how do we get extricated from out present…arrangement? Someone might walk in at any moment.”
“Doubtful. I told Perry to keep watch, so there will be no interruptions. Don’t move for a moment.” He reached into a side pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. “Stand, if you are able.”
The moment she stood, he pressed the cloth between her legs. He chuckled when she inhaled and closed her thighs around his hand. “You are the most wonderful baggage, soon-to-be Lady Collyns.”
“Stop teasing. I told you. This only happens with you.”
Making themselves presentable took longer than expected. Playful kisses lured them down the wrong path. A sharp knock on the door brought them to heel.
They held hands as they hurried across the ballroom floor. Harry grabbed her halfway there and waltzed her the rest of the way. Laughing, they tumbled out into the hallway and were halted by the discovery of milling onlookers clumped at the far end of the passage.
Guests had gathered to watch Quentin Goodfall, bloodied and groaning, sit up. Lady Asterly was encouraging the onlookers to return to the music room but was interrupted by someone making his way through the guests.
Pushing his way through the curious, came her father, who surveyed the scene with a glance. When his attention settled on her, taking in her disheveled hair and gown, Olivia’s stomach sank.
Chapter 25
Lady Asterly pointedly said to her guests, “If you would kindly return to the music room, Lord Asterly will see to this family matter.”
Chastened and silent, the onlookers left the passageway. Footmen followed them inside, closing the doors. Olivia had no idea what to do in the face of such a disastrous scene, brought on by a former suitor, her lack of control and appalling behavior under the Asterly’s roof, and the cutting remarks her father was about to level on everyone present.
Harry showed no evidence of discomfort, and annoyingly, looked as neat as a pin. He groped for his quizzing glass and found it missing. Adopting the somewhat whiny tone he used for his public persona, he asked, “I say, Perry, have you seen my quizzer? I’ve a mind to admire the bruise I laid on that clod yonder.”
Lady Asterly came to stand by her husband as he answered, “Harry, how could you possibly misplace such a thing? It had real yellow diamonds and must have cost a fortune.”
“Dash it, Perry, I completely forgot about it until now. I had a prettier gem to admire.”
Harry grinned down at Olivia, but she felt too pulled in too many directions to believe or appreciate compliments. Her father grimaced at Harry’s flippant attitude in the face of an awkward scene about to unfold.
Lady Asterly murmured, “You set it on the piano to keep it out of the way of the flute. We have more pressing issues to discuss.”
What if her father made some horribly mortifying comment on what she and Harry had been doing in the ballroom? The fiasco she feared would happen, was—just not in the way she imagined.
Quentin wiped his bloodied nose on his sleeve. “That’s right. Why not talk about a room full of hypocrites. The bishop, here, considered me fine as long as I made an honest woman of his daughter.”
Crimm arrived with two, burly men. Lady Asterly quickly said, “Lord Alasdair, I am not pleased that you brought a protégé with you, uninvited.”
“I would not ascribe persons who toady-up to my father as my protégé. How he received admittance here is of no interest to me. I did not invite him. Tell them, Goodfall.”
Quentin finally located his handkerchief and said from behind the red-spotted cloth, “Why should I do a thing for you, Mainstay? Your father promised me backing if I married his granddaughter. Promised me funds, too, but nothing like what the fop brought to the table. Not with the gold coming in from the Caribbean.”
Lord Asterly drew his wife to one side. “We’ve heard enough from you, Goodfall. Crimm?”
As Crimm approached, Quentin turned on Olivia, shouting, “And you!”
His lascivious leer made Olivia’s flesh crawl. She bumped into Harry when she retreated from his evil glare.
“Since we’re talking about hypocrites, you and all your talk of slavery. Blah-blah-blah. You changed your tune fast enough when there was benefit for you.”
Crimm seized Quentin by the collar and flung him at two men in groom’s livery. They each grabbed an arm. Quentin continued to shout as he was being roughly escorted out.
“The blood of slaves, Olivia! Think
on that when you remember me as not fine enough for the likes of you!”
Trembling in the aftermath, Olivia struggled to comprehend the unthinkable. She stepped away from the strong support of Harry’s chest. Careful and deliberate, she extricated herself from contact with him, noticing that she and her clothes held the hint of sandalwood’s exotic scent.
Harry owned a plantation, slaves? And yet, she’d heard something about that and utterly disregarded the obvious, carried away by foolish dreams and weaker passions. How was she to wash away the stain of her culpability? Her father had been right all along. She was a creature ruled by her body.
She had to ask, had to know, and looked up at Harry. In a low, controlled voice, she asked, “What did Quentin mean?”
“Livie, you’re shaking. Let me take you somewhere quiet. I’m sure Lizzie has a room.”
Tugging her hand free, she demanded through stiff lips, “Do you own plantations in the Caribbean?”
“Yes. A few, but—”
Olivia jerked up a hand to stop his excuses. Revulsion closed off her throat and slithered over her flesh. The memory of what she’d done with this man, a slaver, only minutes before flooded through her mind. She blotted it out and stumbled back from his outstretched hand, his confusion, the stark pain in his eyes. It didn’t matter whether he felt shame or remorse, she must leave now. She couldn’t look on every dream she’d cherished and see it end this way, sullied and ruined beyond redemption.
“Father, will you take me home?”
“Livie, please.”
The bishop spoke over Harry’s plea. “I feared this would be the result when you learned of the source of his income. His sort of flamboyant life style is not without cost.”
He wore a small, tight smile of victory, as he bowed to Lady Asterly. “We shall take our leave of you. Sir Harry, you will of course relinquish all connection with my daughter. Come along, Olivia.”
When Harry touched her arm, she cringed away from the contact. “Don’t. Not ever again.”
As they turned away, the bishop said, “I should have known that you were unaware of his enterprises. A slaver. Be grateful you are shed of this sordid episode.”
Harry stood frozen in place by pain so exquisite he couldn’t breathe. He watched her leave and felt as if he’d been transported to some bizarre alternate plane of existence. How could it be that in a moment he was catapulted from the most joyous moments of his life to the pit of horror and misery?
And yet, it had happened before—with the same players—in a tree-shaded cottage at the end of a tranquil country lane. He’d been flung from hope and joy to abject desolation.
A hard knot of rage hardened his bewildered hurt to black resolve. He flinched when a light touch landed on his arm—Lizzie, as always, trying to make things better.
“Harry, what is she talking about? Slavers? You wouldn’t have anything to do with slavery.”
His brother answered when Harry could not. “That’s not the issue, Elizabeth.”
Harry pushed down the pain and allowed his fury to solidify. He swallowed to find his voice. “Perry’s right. It’s her opinion of me…that she could, even for a moment…believe that I would.”
Chapter 26
Olivia gazed out at the gloom beyond the tall windows. She’d hoped the day would brighten and lift her spirits. The weak light scarcely provided enough illumination for the tambour that rested, neglected, on her lap.
Her heart stilled warred over how she could love a man who had slaves working to make him rich, the torture of humanity for money to provide Harry with a life of ease and excess. What did that make her? Guilt by association? Grief washed through her again. She couldn’t imagine her life without him and couldn’t bear the thought of being in the same room with a slaver.
One of her uncle’s wigged and liveried footmen came through, bowed, and extended a card. Olivia glanced at the name and felt her spine straighten and eyebrows pull together in a frown.
“Show her through, please.”
Olivia set aside the card and needlework and stood, extending her hand when her caller approached. “Lady Asterly. How good of you to come visit me.”
Lady Asterly removed her tan gloves and performed a firm handshake instead of a mere touching of the fingertips. Knowing this woman’s love for Harry, Olivia was surprised she would condescend to make physical contact.
“Will you be seated, ma’am?”
“Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. May we have privacy?”
Olivia nodded at the footmen to leave. Her spirits sank lower, hearing the return to formal address and coldness of her tone. She hadn’t expected to stay in the lady’s favor, due to the attachment between Sir Harry and his sister-in-law. Even though she’d realized there must be an estrangement, she mourned what could have been a lasting friendship. This breach also meant she would again be without Evie, newly restored, once again lost. She would do nothing to jeopardize her friend’s position in the Asterly household. Hidden in plain sight, as Evie had said.
Lady Asterly arranged the skirts of her apple green walking dress. A poke hat with gold ribbons matched the dress material, and although unremarkable in style, the superior cloth lent the ensemble a striking effect.
Setting aside her disappointment, Olivia relied on the comforting structure of manners. “May I offer you refreshment, ma’am?”
“Nothing, thank you. I am undeserving, since I have come to presume on your good nature.”
Olivia paused to take in her visitor’s direct stare from large hazel eyes that held no sign of artifice. “Then I shall assume that you are here in Harry’s behalf.”
“I appreciate your willingness to come directly to the point, Mrs. St. Clair.”
Resentment stirred, nudging aside the hurt. Olivia said, “Am I to understand that you have come for your own reasons and not to aid Harry?”
“Harry does not know that I am here. I believe he would be distressed should he hear of this visit.”
“I see.” Olivia swallowed and looked down, taking a moment to absorb the pain that had lanced through her soul. Harry wanted nothing to do with her. Perhaps that was for the better. If he longed for her, temptation to override her scruples and go to him might overwhelm her in a moment of weakness. She’d had plenty of those moments recently—too much time to question herself and her reasoning.
Olivia forced a smile on her stiff lips. “Please feel free to say what you have come to say. I am not a wafer to melt with a little heat.”
“I’ve come to explain that Harry is not what you’ve been led to believe. Some of what I have to tell you may be shocking.”
“The truth often is.” Olivia folded her hands on her lap, preparing herself for the uncomfortable interlude to come. “Lady Asterly, before you speak, perhaps I should explain that I’ve always known Harry hid certain aspects of his life and past from me. I am more than willing to allow the past to be just that, but I will never condone slavery in any form. I doubt you do either, and would consider it a favor if you have insight on how to justify Harry’s involvement in such a vile enterprise.”
Lady Asterly unexpectedly asked, “Did you know his heart was broken by a minister who told him he could never become a clergyman because he was too pretty? That no one would take him seriously?”
“Your husband mentioned that. Something about it didn’t ring true for me. Not Lord Asterly’s words, but the content of the incident sounded off-kilter, incomplete. It made me wonder if Harry reacted to those cruel remarks on a whim and later became enchanted or habituated to the opposite tack of life. Striking out with a vengeance.”
“You never considered that his actions might have evolved from something other than what they appeared on the surface?”
Olivia paused to consider the question. Harry, pretending to act superficial? A memory tried to form in the back of her mind, something Harry had said, but the memory refused to materialize.
She glanced back at Lady Asterly. “What precisely have you
come to say?”
“The first time I met my husband’s twin, I knew him for a charlatan, but oddly, in the best sort of way. I watched him joyfully wrap society up in a neat bow. They adored him. Still do, and he thinks nothing of it, because I believe this game started as revenge for his looks taking from him what he longed to do most. A game of pretense to mock those who adhere to superficiality.”
“Ma’am, let us speak plainly. He’s a womanizing gambler and makes a public display of it. Boasts of his lack of morals and scruples. To be frank, how can I accept this man as a parent for my child when he could never understand what being a proper parental example entails?”
“That sounds like an excuse for avoidance. You would use that justification to accept a Goodfall sort of alternative? A life of misery and martyrdom is no blessing for a child.”
“Nor is an unsavory example for a parent.”
Lady Asterly dryly said, “Forgive me for pointing out that an overly strict adherence to the rules can result in a different sort, but equally painful, childhood.”
Olivia accepted the comment about her father’s dictatorial rule. “Might I know the reason for your visit?”
“Before that, I must point out that Harry was quite hurt when your father returned your wedding gifts. He meant for you to have the properties whether or not you married.”
“I asked father to do that. The acceptance of such extravagant gifts is no longer appropriate.”
Since she couldn’t argue that point, Lady Asterly said, “The primary reason for my visit is to ask you to understand that Harry adores children. He can be relied upon to shield his child from any kind of harm or hurt, provide a childhood entirely different from those of his station.”
“You mean the aristocracy?”
“I doubt any of them has any idea of what their children’s lives are like, or even if they exist, unless presented once a week by their retainers. My husband and his brother enjoyed a much different childhood. Their mother reared them, played with them, taught them. You’ve seen the painting. Until forced to leave for school, they were inseparable. Even thought they suffered from poverty, she created a magical existence. Asterly doesn’t have that gift, but Harry does.”
