His Wicked Heart

by Darcy Burke

  Devastating as it was not to know her father’s identity, she was only glad he wasn’t someone like the duke. She felt a pang of pity for Jasper.

  No, she felt more than a pang of pity. She felt a surge of longing that warmed her chest and spread out to her extremities. Also, a wave of protectiveness. He’d given her solace yesterday when she’d needed it most. As evidenced by her encounter with Aunt Mildred, there were so few people who truly cared.

  Could Jasper be one of them?

  “What’s that on the chair?” the duchess asked.

  Oh, dear. The pieces of Jasper’s waistcoat. Olivia quickly stashed it back into her sewing basket. “Just some embroidery I’m working on.”

  The duchess looked as if she would say something else, but Louisa limped into the library with her cane.

  “Oh, here you are, Olivia dear.” Louisa inclined her head toward her brother and his wife. “Holborn, Your Grace.”

  Olivia looked at the duke, surprised and perturbed he wasn’t helping his sister. Yes, she was exceedingly glad he wasn’t her father. She rushed to offer her arm to Louisa.

  “We’ve come to ascertain your health,” Holborn said. “And to take luncheon with you.”

  Louisa pursed her lips. “Mmm. Well, I’m feeling quite splendid enough to return to Town, thank you. Pity you came for luncheon, and we’re just leaving.” Her brittle smile and oversweet tone said it was anything but. Olivia tried very hard not to grin and only just managed to succeed.

  “Oh, come, come. You simply must stay.” It sounded like an order instead of a polite request.

  “Why, because you deigned to visit?” Louisa tsked. “Cook will serve an excellent luncheon. One I daresay you’ll enjoy as much without my presence as with. Besides, Olivia has a watercolor lesson later this afternoon.”

  Olivia perked. With everything else crowding her head, she’d quite forgotten the appointment. She retrieved her sewing basket, anxious to leave.

  “She’s every bit the gifted artist Merry was.”

  Olivia wasn’t sure she evidenced as much skill as Lord Merriweather, which only added to her doubt. If he wasn’t her father, she had no right to be here with Louisa.

  Yet hadn’t the duke said Louisa needed a companion? Furthermore, she clearly held strong affection for Olivia. Was pleasing an old woman enough reason to continue a lie? If it was a lie. Could Olivia find the truth?

  Suddenly, she was eager to return to London—and not just to escape the nauseating company of the duke and duchess. Perhaps there she could seek answers regarding her paternity. Surely someone who knew her mother could help her determine which man had fathered Olivia.

  “Olivia, dear? Are you all right?” Louisa asked.

  Too late, Olivia realized the conversation had continued without her. She managed a sheepish smile. “I was just wondering what Mr. Landsdowne might want me to sketch today. We painted fruit the last time.”

  The duke and duchess narrowed their eyes.

  Olivia began to understand. It mattered little if she were intelligent or well-spoken. With a dubious past and inferior ambition, her traits and skills were without consequence in this world. Of much more value were her background and her potential for future success—as defined by Society. Lord, how could she ever hope to fit into Louisa’s life?

  Louisa steered Olivia toward the door. “Come dear, our coach is ready. Enjoy your luncheon, Holborn.”

  The duke watched their departure with heavy-lidded disdain.

  JASPER guided his phaeton along Piccadilly, the mid-afternoon traffic thicker than usual. Beside him, Sevrin perused the people strolling the sidewalk below.

  “I appreciate your invitation this afternoon. Spectacular vehicle, Saxton,” he remarked. “I feel as if I’ve perhaps arrived. Surely to be seen in the coveted seat beside you will elevate me from wretched degenerate to rakish libertine.”

  Jasper’s mouth ticked up in a half smile, despite the regrets and concerns oppressing his brain. “You’re both of those and more.”

  Two ladies peered up at them from beneath the wide brims of their bonnets. Sevrin tipped the edge of his hat. “True enough. But why me? This illustrious space is usually reserved for your…acceptable friends. Penreith. Or Black.”

  “Does it matter why?” Jasper didn’t want the company of his “acceptable” friends. Being with Sevrin made his reclaimed, albeit secret, status of “ruiner” slightly more palatable. At least with Sevrin he was amongst his own kind—wretched degenerates and rakish libertines they were.

  “No,” Sevrin said, peering at him sideways. “It’s just unlike you. And last night at the club, you barely strung a sentence together, which is also unlike you. If the club has devolved you to some form of grunting wild man who prefers the company of scoundrels, perhaps I’ll disassociate you.”

  Jasper threw him a sour look. As he did so, his eye caught a figure moving amongst the pedestrians on the sidewalk. Olivia. It had to be. If she tilted her head up just a bit…there!

  He drew the horses to a halt. What was she doing here on Piccadilly?

  “Why’re we stopped?” Sevrin asked.

  Jasper turned in his seat, uncaring that he held up traffic.

  “What the devil are you doing, Saxton? You can’t stop in the middle of the street.” Sevrin craned his neck. “What are you looking at? Wait, is that Miss West?”

  Jasper handed him the reins. “Here.”

  “What?” Sevrin stared at him as if he’d grown another nose. “No.”

  “I need to talk to her.” Find out why she was out walking alone. Her background was troublesome enough, but need she draw even more attention to herself?

  “You don’t.”

  “I do.”

  “Move along!” someone called behind them.

  With an oath, Jasper ripped the reins from Sevrin’s slack grip. “Worthless. I should’ve brought Penreith or Black. They don’t talk back.”

  “If you prefer the company of sycophants, I’m definitely disassociating you from the club.”

  “Fine.” Jasper watched Olivia disappear into the crowd. “Maybe I’ll start my own society.”

  “I’m having a bit of fun, Sax.” Sevrin studied him intently, his ever-present veneer of joviality gone. “You’re clearly not. What the hell is going on with Miss West?”

  Jasper clutched the reins and turned his head. “We’ll follow her.”

  “No.” Sevrin put a firm hand on Jasper’s arm. “You can’t go trailing her. She’s not some nobody actress anymore. You run after her, it’ll be the meatiest gossip on everyone’s plate tonight—and not in a good way. Trust me, I know what it’s like to be the butt of scandal. You don’t.”

  “Only because I’m Holborn’s son.”

  “Are you saying without that name to hide behind, you’re no better than me? I don’t believe it.”

  Suddenly Jasper knew why he’d invited Sevrin today: to unburden himself. His insides twisted. “Believe it. I’m…like you.”

  Sevrin stared at him. “Like me?”

  Jasper didn’t look away. He deserved whatever Sevrin would say, and more.

  After another long moment, Sevrin’s nostrils flared. “You ruined her—Miss West.”

  The feel of the reins lightened in Jasper’s hand, as if he lost his grip with everything around him. “Yes.”

  “Don’t think that makes you like me.” Sevrin’s dark eyes narrowed slightly. “Everyone knows about my past. No one has a clue you got carried away with your aunt’s new charge.”

  Here was his chance to…what? Seek absolution? Understanding? Commiseration? He blew out a pent-up breath. “And a girl ten years ago.”

  Sevrin turned toward him in the seat. “What?”

  Jasper stared ahead at the vehicles crawling in front of them. “She lived near Edgewater—my estate in Yorkshire.”

  “You ruined another girl?” The incredulousness in his tone was almost amusing.

  “You see, I’m no better than you.” He tosse
d Sevrin a cynical smile. “Worse actually. I’ve got one up on you.”

  “What happened? Why didn’t you marry her?”

  She thought of Abigail, but oddly, the features of the trollop from Coventry Court entered his brain first. He searched for the memory of Abigail’s face, but it seemed blurred. What he did recall, however, was his consuming need to possess her. And the feeling had been reciprocated. Neither one of them could wait to bed the other, and so they had—propriety be damned.

  He gave Sevrin the truth. “The duke wouldn’t allow it.”

  Sevrin gaped at him. “You let him make your decisions for you? If you wanted to marry her, you should have done.”

  “I would have, but she left.” She and her family had disappeared. The duke had “consoled” him by saying she wouldn’t have made a very good duchess, and that as a country-bred girl she would’ve been miserable in Town. “It was several months before I learned Holborn had sent her away.” He rasped the words out, emotion hardening his voice.

  Sevrin shook his head. “What happened to her is terrible, but you have to let it go.”

  The traffic began to loosen. Jasper urged the horses to a steady walk. “Is that what you did?”

  He looked away. “You have a new situation now, one you can do something about.”

  Sevrin was right. Olivia needed his help. He had to keep her safe from Holborn’s machinations. Somehow, he had to bury the secret of her parentage.

  “I need you to help me,” he said.

  “Don’t ask me to drive your phaeton again while you chase after Miss West.”

  “Actually, I do need you to do that, but not so I can chase after Olivia. You’ll drop me on Queen Street so I may speak to my aunt.” Jasper needed to tell her he knew the truth, and that he planned to ensure Olivia stayed with her. “I also need you to talk to those women who come to the Black Horse. Ascertain what they know of her background. If any of them know she’s Fiona Scarlet’s daughter, they can’t reveal the relationship to anyone. Offer them any sum.”

  “Any sum? Saxton, you can’t pursue this woman. Even I know from my comfortable seat in the gutter that you can’t marry her.”

  Why had Sevrin jumped to that conclusion? “I never said anything about marrying her. I have to keep her secrets safe for my aunt’s sake. If Holborn learns of her parentage, he’ll cast her out as quickly and definitively as he did the last inappropriate girl who tried to infiltrate his family.”

  “So you buy off anyone who can reveal she’s Fiona Scarlet’s daughter. Then what? Aren’t you supposed to be courting Lady Philippa?”

  He was due at her townhouse in little more than an hour. “I am, and I will.” Right after he went to Queen Street.

  Chapter Fifteen

  OLIVIA WALKED quickly along Piccadilly, anxious to get home before Louisa returned from her afternoon calls. Her trip to the Haymarket hadn’t been as successful as she’d hoped. No one at the theatre had known Fiona Scarlet more than twenty years ago. Olivia did, however, learn the name of an old woman who’d dressed many of London’s actors, both at the Haymarket and the royal theatres. She’d obtained the woman’s address and planned to visit her as soon as possible.

  “Why, good afternoon, Olivia.” The overly sweet voice of Lady Lydia Prewitt halted Olivia mid-stride. “Goodness, you aren’t alone, are you?”

  Engrossed in her thoughts, Olivia hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings. Consequently, she’d failed to notice Lady Lydia and Audrey Cheswick strolling toward her. With their chaperones. Olivia briefly considered ignoring them and hurrying by, but ultimately rejected this idea, figuring it might be more detrimental than if she offered a rational excuse for being out alone. Now if she could just think of that reason…

  “Good afternoon, Lady Lydia, Audrey.” Olivia offered her sunniest smile. It wouldn’t do to appear guilty. “I was just out for a quick walk.”

  Audrey’s brows drew together. “Don’t you live on Queen Street? That’s rather, er, invigorating.”

  “I wanted to see the reservoir in Green Park,” Olivia improvised. Green Park was just on the other side of Piccadilly. Hopefully they didn’t notice she hadn’t come from that direction.

  Lady Lydia shook her head. “My dear Olivia, you must realize this isn’t Devon! You can’t simply go for a stroll in Town by yourself. If you crave solitude, have your chaperone walk ten paces behind you. I do.”

  Indeed, two maids lingered several yards behind the two young women. “I shall keep that in mind, thank you.” Olivia made to continue on her way, but Lady Lydia spoke again.

  “I’ve been thinking of you, actually.” Lady Lydia regarded her with narrowed eyes.

  Olivia stopped, her body suffering a chill despite the afternoon heat. She hoped Lady Lydia’s interest didn’t have anything to do with Lord Prewitt almost recognizing her. Had he later informed his daughter of just who he suspected Olivia to be?

  “Oh?” was all Olivia could manage to say.

  “Yes, I was thinking about the costume you wore to the Faversham Ball. It was quite stunning. And today, your walking dress…that coral hue does wonders for your complexion. You must tell me the name of your modiste.”

  Louisa and Olivia had discussed how to address this very question, but it hadn’t yet been raised. They’d agreed on a very simple, and honest, answer. “I designed the dresses.”

  Both Audrey and Lady Lydia’s eyes widened. Audrey smiled, her expression softening to one of…admiration? “How extraordinary.”

  Ever the interrogator, Lady Lydia asked, “Who assembled them?”

  “We employ some very talented maids.” Olivia gave a purposefully enigmatic smile.

  Lady Lydia’s mouth formed a practiced pout. “How disappointing.” She toyed with the ribbon of her bonnet for a moment. Then her eyes lit. “Unless you have a spare design you wouldn’t mind parting with. I’m certain my dressmaker could do the garment justice.”

  Olivia had no intention of allowing someone else to make her designs. She tried to think of how to politely decline.

  Audrey gently elbowed her friend. “Surely this is a hobby for Olivia. If she gave one to you, only think how people might harass her for their own design.” She turned to Olivia. “You’re very talented.”

  “Thank you.” Olivia warmed at Audrey’s defense and her genuine praise.

  Lady Lydia’s features hardened. The reaction was not of her typically rehearsed variety. “You’re right, Audrey. How gauche of me to have even asked.” She flicked Olivia a look tinged with some emotion. Jealousy perhaps?

  Olivia didn’t want Lydia to take her refusal personally. She didn’t want to share her designs with anyone, except family, like Louisa. And Jasper. Dear Lord, when had he become ‘family?’

  Gathering herself from her wayward thoughts, she smiled at Lydia and said, “Perhaps you can come to Queen Street one day, and I’ll show you my drawings.”

  Audrey nodded. “That would be lovely.”

  “Yes, we shall,” Lady Lydia said, recovering her usual busybody mien. “Father is always telling me to welcome new friends into Society.”

  The reference to Lady Lydia’s father only served to remind Olivia of the dangerous game she played. Even now, Lady Lydia could be aware of Olivia’s relationship to the notorious Fiona Scarlet. But since she hadn’t said anything, perhaps she didn’t know. Or, more likely, she was waiting for a prime moment during which to share this juicy morsel. Either way, Olivia’s patience with the interlude had expired.

  “I’m afraid I must be going. You’re quite right that I ought to have a chaperone.”

  “Would you like to take my maid?” Audrey offered.

  “No,” Olivia said. “Thank you, but I haven’t all that far to go. Being from the country, I’m an excellent walker so I’ll be home in a trice.”

  “Good afternoon, then!” Audrey called after her as she continued along Piccadilly.

  Determined to get to Queen Street as quickly as possible, Olivia took l
ong strides at double time, and was therefore out of breath when she reached her destination. Exhaustion slowed her ascent of the front steps. She smiled at Bernard as he opened the door and admitted her inside.

  “Good afternoon, Bernard.”

  “I trust you’re feeling improved?” he asked.

  Olivia had pleaded a headache in order to avoid joining Louisa on her calls this afternoon. Then she’d told Dale and Bernard she thought a walk might help. “Yes, thank you. Has Louisa returned?”

  “No, but Lord Saxton is waiting in the Rose Room.”

  Olivia’s pulse—already hammering from her walk—sped faster. What could he be doing here? With Louisa gone… She refused to consider the possibilities. What had happened between them couldn’t happen again.

  With a nod, Olivia walked to the drawing room.

  Jasper stood in front of Merry’s painting with his back to the door. He turned, and Olivia couldn’t stop herself from gasping. His lower lip was swollen at the left corner where an abrasion marked his flesh.

  She walked right over to him. “You’ve been fighting again.”

  His lips pursed. “I didn’t come to discuss that.”

  His firm tone chased away her concern. “All right. Why are you here then?”

  “I saw you on Piccadilly today. Where were you going by yourself?”

  She didn’t want to tell him about her search for her father. It was bad enough he knew she was a bastard. If he or Louisa knew Merry may not be her father, why they might just toss her out as Aunt Mildred had done.

  “I took a walk,” she said. He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand. “Yes, I realize I should’ve taken a chaperone, and I shan’t make the same mistake again.”

  “Very well. I’m glad you realize you’re Somebody now. If you want to embrace this life with Louisa, you must leave all that you were behind.”