His Wicked Heart

by Darcy Burke

  “Come,” Louisa answered.

  “Good afternoon, dear. Were you out for a walk again?” She smiled from her chair positioned in front of the garden-facing windows. “Your cheeks are a lovely pink.”

  “Yes, it’s quite beautiful outside.” Olivia removed her bonnet. Sunlight streamed into the room, bathing the chamber with warmth and cheer. How quickly Louisa’s townhouse had come to feel like home. Which made her objective all the more difficult. But it had to be done. Olivia forced herself to perch on the edge of Louisa’s bed, though she would’ve preferred to pace and fidget her anxiety away. “I’ve some news to share.”

  “Oh?” Louisa straightened. “This sounds serious.”

  Best to just get it out. “I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you.” If Olivia’s cheeks had been pink before, they positively burned now. How she wished she’d been forthright from the start. When had she become so deceptive? First she’d tried to swindle Jasper, then she’d withheld information—pertinent information—from the person who’d treated her more kindly and generously than she’d ever dreamed possible. Louisa deserved better.

  Louisa immediately stood and came to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. “I know dear. Jasper told me everything.”

  Jasper? What had he told her? He didn’t know anything about her paternity. As far as he knew, she was Merry’s bastard. Her gut tightened. Had he somehow learned this truth as well? He’d be furious with her for lying again. “He did?”

  “Yes, he came to see me this morning. I was going to speak with you earlier, but I just didn’t know how to start. I’m so sorry about everything.”

  She was sorry? Olivia frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Jasper told me about your mother. About Fiona Scarlet.”

  Olivia was momentarily speechless. She’d planned to reveal this truth today as well as the question of her paternity, but hadn’t conceived of Jasper telling Louisa. Not after he’d sought to help her. “You’re not angry?”

  “Not at all, dear. I can see why you wouldn’t want to tell me, and I don’t blame you. Though I never would’ve judged you for it.”

  Olivia didn’t have trouble believing that, which was why she’d felt so guilty about keeping the secret. “I know, and I’m sorry. I should’ve trusted you.”

  Louisa smiled. “Yes, well, it seems trust is something we should all work on. I made a grave error in not trusting Jasper. You were right all along. I should have told him immediately that you’re Merry’s daughter. He is, in fact, helping to ensure no one learns the truth of your background.”

  The truth. Olivia didn’t even know the truth and probably never would. The mystery of her paternity would remain that: a mystery.

  “Olivia?” Louisa touched her arm.

  “Sorry, I was woolgathering. I’m glad that you and Jasper talked.” It was beyond time to be completely honest—or as honest as she could be. She’d never reveal her liaison with Jasper. Best to let that molder in the past. “However, Jasper doesn’t know the rest.”

  Louisa’s brow wrinkled. “There’s more?”

  “Yes, about my father.”

  “Merry?”

  Olivia’s chest burned. She wished, more than anything, that she’d been able to prove Merry had been her father. Aside from pleasing Louisa, there was nothing Olivia wanted more. “Yes, Merry and, ah, others.” There was nothing for it but to just get the words out. “I didn’t have a headache yesterday, and I didn’t have a pleasant visit with my aunt in Cheshunt. You see, she evicted me from her house upon learning her husband had sired me. Or so she believes.”

  Louisa’s color deepened. “But that’s absurd. Merry is your father.”

  Olivia smiled sadly, yearning for Louisa’s assertion to be true. “I only wish he or my mother were here to confirm it. My aunt raised evidence—quite as sound as yours unfortunately—that the vicar could be my father.”

  Louisa’s brows gathered over her troubled eyes. “What sort of evidence?”

  “Shared traits such as you describe with Merry. Also, similar marks on our scalps.” Olivia couldn’t help but notice Louisa’s shoulders slumping ever so slightly, but she didn’t want to stop until she’d finished. “I’d hoped to find someone who knew my mother. Someone who could confirm my paternity. I found a woman.” Louisa’s head perked up. “I’m sorry to say she added further confusion. A third man, named Oliver St. Jermyn, loved my mother and unlike the others, she loved him in return. We share the same hair color and it’s possible my mother chose my name for a reason. For my father.” Olivia tensed as she shared her theory and her anguish.

  Louisa turned her head. Her fingers played with the lace edge of her coverlet. Olivia’s body trembled in the enveloping silence. Finally, after several minutes, Louisa faced Olivia once more. “Your mother could have named you after the man she loved regardless of who sired you. Perhaps she didn’t even know the truth.”

  Olivia had also considered this, but hadn’t wanted to dwell on her mother’s perfidy. “It doesn’t really matter now. The truth shall never be known.” She steeled herself to say what she must. “I should leave.”

  “No!” Louisa’s blue eyes sharpened as she grabbed Olivia’s hand. “You’re right about one thing—it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if Merry was your father or not. You’re a daughter he would be proud of, a daughter I’m proud of. Perhaps I’m a foolish, lonely old woman, but I enjoy your company. You don’t truly wish to leave, do you?” Her gaze was searching, expectant.

  A daughter she was proud of. A daughter who’d tried to use Jasper for financial gain and who could never be the virtuous, marriageable debutante Louisa wanted. She really should go, but the thought of returning to her loneliness was more than she could bear. She struggled to speak around the ache in her throat. “No.”

  “I want to be clear. I want you with me, wherever that may be. We don’t need to stay in London, in Society. You said you didn’t want to find a husband, at least not right now. I was thinking we might adjourn to York, to the dowager house at Merriweather Hall.”

  Olivia felt a burst of love for this woman who understood her so much better than either of her two supposed mothers. “I should like that very much.” Though if she were honest, she would miss just one thing about Society. The very thing she’d dreaded from the start and had now grown quite fond of: Jasper.

  “Excellent. We shall leave as soon as Jasper announces his engagement.”

  Olivia’s mood deflated again. She knew Jasper would marry, and she knew it wouldn’t—couldn’t—ever be her. Still, the knowledge that it was imminent was a bitter reminder of what she could never have. She supposed she ought to regret their liaison, but she couldn’t. Not when she would cherish the memory always.

  “Olivia, dear, would you care to join me in the Rose Room for tea? Do you have a project you can work on? What about Jasper’s waistcoat? I haven’t seen it at all. Are you making progress?”

  She was, in fact. Working on it was a constant and usually pleasing reminder of the afternoon they’d spent at Benfield. Now, however, the thought of stitching the pieces together as she recalled every line and plane of his form made her sad.

  Pasting a smile on her face, she rose from the bed to fetch it. “It’s coming along quite nicely.”

  Louisa’s face lit up. “Perhaps he can wear it for his engagement dinner.”

  “That would be lovely,” Olivia said. Lying, it seemed, was a necessary evil. Especially to one’s self.

  THE dark, tight air of the Black Horse welcomed Jasper like an old friend. The club had already convened. He heard the unmistakable sounds of flesh hitting flesh just before he opened the door to the back room.

  Jasper scanned the low-ceilinged chamber and found Sevrin standing near the makeshift bar with Gifford. Sevrin raised a hand and Jasper cut through the spectators, eager for a glass of whiskey.

  “You’re late,” Sevrin said.

  Gifford filled and handed him a glass
.

  Jasper accepted the brew. “I was at the Haymarket talking with the manager, Colman.”

  “Ah, what news?” Sevrin asked.

  “After I explained myself, he was most eager to keep Miss West’s employment secret. He also understood the benefits of handling any inquiries about her mother with the utmost discretion.”

  Sevrin arched a brow. “You ‘explained yourself’? Why do I think that’s a euphemism for bribery?”

  Jasper threw back his shoulders in mock affront. “I don’t need to stoop to such tricks. I merely explained the advantages of having the support of the Earl of Saxton.”

  Gifford snorted. “Sounds like bribery to me.”

  Sevrin laughed, and Jasper couldn’t help but smile with him. It had cost him a hundred pounds, plus he’d offered his support if Colman ever needed it. Colman—eager for any sort of patronage—had been more than amenable. He wouldn’t say a word about anyone named Olivia West and would ensure his staff didn’t, either. The latter would be difficult to guarantee, but it was the best Jasper could do. He doubted anyone would go to the trouble to question theatre employees. Anyone that wasn’t Holborn, that was. He had to consider outright telling his father about Olivia and asking him to leave the matter alone.

  Jasper wasn’t sure he wanted to lead that untamed horse out of its paddock.

  “Why are you bribing the theatre manager?” Gifford asked.

  “He’s trying to make sure his aunt’s ward isn’t revealed as Fiona Scarlet’s daughter.” Sevrin looked at Jasper. “I spoke to some of the women who come around. One or two knew Olivia was Fiona’s daughter, but didn’t think much of it. I imagine to them, a mother like her is the same as any other.”

  Jasper was pleased with this news, though he wished Sevrin hadn’t mentioned Olivia’s mother in front of Gifford. The less people who knew—regardless of their station—the better.

  Gifford set his glass on the bar. “It’s coincidental you’re talking about her. Miss West, I mean. I saw her just this afternoon.”

  Surprised, Jasper moved closer to Gifford in order to hear him better. “You know her?” He suddenly recalled Gifford saying her name had sounded familiar that night they’d gone to The Locust.

  Gifford gave a light shrug. “I couldn’t place the name before, but later realized she’d sold some things in my mother’s shop—before she went to live with your aunt.”

  Jasper feared he was about to catch Olivia in another lie, and he didn’t like it. “Where did you see her?”

  “She came back to the neighborhood to visit.”

  Olivia had explained the same to Jasper, but was there more to it than that? Gifford wasn’t a bad looking chap, and Jasper liked him well enough. Did Olivia have some connection to him? Jasper felt a stab of jealousy. “She came to see you?”

  “Not exactly, though she’s promised to do so. She visited some old woman who worked in the theatre. I knew you wanted the truth from her, and so I stood below the window and listened to their conversation.” Shamefully, Jasper didn’t admonish him for eavesdropping. He was too interested in what Gifford would reveal. He tensed as Gifford continued, “You said she’d claimed to be Lord Merriweather’s cousin, but from what I heard, she’s told your aunt she’s more than his cousin. She says she’s his bastard daughter.”

  Jasper actually sighed with relief. No new lies. “I already knew that, but thank you for sharing what you overheard.” Because the information wasn’t helpful, Jasper felt slightly less charitable toward Gifford for eavesdropping.

  “Do you also know she really has no idea who fathered her? She was interviewing this woman in the hope of discovering her paternity. Your uncle is only one of several potential men.”

  Sevrin leaned forward. “The devil you say.”

  Jasper had lifted his glass to take a drink, but now dropped his arm, causing whiskey to slosh from the glass onto his hand. She’d lied after all. All this nonsense about a painted box pointing to Merry as her father.

  Jasper had thought they were past the lies, that she’d been honest with him the day they’d made love. But he’d known she was hiding something with her unchaperoned walk. He should have demanded the truth.

  Gifford coughed, drawing Jasper’s attention. “As long as I’m telling you this, I should also mention that she seems to be her mother’s daughter in every sense of the word.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Jasper’s throat constricted, forcing the words out in an angry rasp.

  Now Gifford turned slightly to face him. “She’s looking for the wealthiest title she can find. A girl from her station with the ton at her feet… She’s taking full advantage of her new position.”

  No, no, that couldn’t be true. Surely she would’ve tried to snare him by now. His blood ran cold. He’d lain with her. Was she hoping he might compromise her and force a marriage? No, she couldn’t be that calculating. But he recalled her plan to swindle him. She’d been precisely that calculating.

  Sevrin laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sax, do you really believe that about her?”

  “I heard her say it, Sev.” Gifford took a draught of his ale. “She made some comment about being smarter than her mother and doing better for herself.”

  Jasper’s fingers encircled the glass like a vise. “She’s the daughter of a whore. The night we met, she concocted a scheme to defraud me using her body. Then, just the other day, she gave herself to me, probably in the hope of garnering a marriage proposal. Yes, I have to believe it of her.”

  Gifford set his tankard on the bar with a thud. “I’m fighting next. Saxton, join me in the ring. You could use a good bout.”

  The lure of violence beckoned most fiercely, but the siren’s call was even stronger. Jasper knew he shouldn’t, but he was going to see Olivia. Right now.

  He set his glass down. “Next time.” He turned to go.

  Gifford grabbed his arm, surprising Jasper. “Why not now?”

  “Another time.” Jasper shook the younger man’s grip away and strode toward the back door.

  “Wait.” Sevrin caught up to him and followed him outside. “Where are you going?”

  “None of your concern.”

  “Right.” Sevrin ran a hand through his dark hair. “Still, remember who you are. If you’re caught with her, she wins. That is, if you really do believe she’s out to trap you.”

  Jasper couldn’t believe anything else, no matter how much he wanted to. His chest ached.

  “I won’t get caught. I want her away from my aunt. Tonight.”

  Sevrin nodded. “Godspeed, then.”

  Jasper turned and left. His carriage waited at the mouth of the court. His feet were leaden with betrayal and despair. He had only himself to blame. He knew he couldn’t trust her and yet he had. He’d taken her lies like a child gathers sweetmeats. And, as with too much sugar-laden food, he now felt sick.

  OLIVIA sat upright at the sound of her door opening. It was quite late, but she hadn’t been asleep. She’d stayed up working on Jasper’s waistcoat until her eyes were beyond tired, but she was nearly finished.

  “Who’s there?” she called, her heart racing. The lantern next to her bed didn’t cast enough light to see the door.

  The door clicked shut, and a shadow fell across her bed. “Get up.”

  Jasper. Olivia cringed at the fury in his tone. “Jasper? Why are you here?”

  “Get up. Now.”

  Fear pulled at her insides. She threw off the covers and stood beside him. “What’s the matter? Is there an emergency of some kind? Louisa—”

  He grabbed her arm and plucked up the lantern then dragged her toward her dressing chamber. “Just stop. You don’t give a damn about Louisa.”

  What had happened? Why was he treating her like this? Olivia dug her heels into the carpet just outside her dressing chamber. “Let go of me, and explain yourself.” She tried to pull her arm free, but he tightened his grip.

  “You don’t get to issue orders. I’ve had more than enoug
h of your lies, and you will leave. Now.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “Tell me what’s happened. Why are you acting like this?”

  He pulled her into the dressing chamber and set the lantern on a table. “Get dressed.”

  “I’m not doing anything until you tell me what’s going on.” She shook her head. “No, even then I’m not doing anything. I’m not leaving Louisa.”

  He wrapped his fingers around her other arm and held her in front of him. “You’ll do exactly as I say. I’m through with your lies and your machinations. It all ends now. I know you’ve tried to pass yourself off as Merry’s daughter, taking advantage of Louisa’s kindness and vulnerability. You’ve no idea how Merry’s death devastated her and for you to purport to be his daughter, to give her hope for some kind of happiness with someone of his blood...” He thrust her away. “You make me sick.”

  Oh, God. He knew Merry might not be her father. She closed her eyes, hating herself for not telling him. Like Louisa, she should have trusted him. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.” She opened her eyes, but the fury in his gaze made her look away from him. “Everything I told you before at Benfield was true. I just didn’t tell you there was a chance Merry wasn’t my father.” She flicked her gaze back to his. “It was too humiliating.” And painful. Her heart ached to claim him as her father.

  His eyes were colder than every long winter’s night. “It doesn’t matter. Your lies are finished. You can’t stay with Louisa another day. Get dressed.”

  “No! She doesn’t want me to. She knows all of this.”

  He froze. “What?”

  “Louisa knows. She doesn’t care. She still wants me to stay.”

  “Tell me everything. And don’t lie.” He stepped toward her, his features dark with angry menace.

  Olivia stood her ground. She deserved his ire. “I told you I visited my aunt.” He gave one very stiff nod. “She’d thrown me out when I was four and ten upon learning her husband had sired me. Since then, I believed my uncle was actually my father. Until Louisa found me in that shop and connected my handkerchiefs to Merry’s paintings.”