His Wicked Heart

by Darcy Burke

  Jasper stepped away and allowed himself to look at Olivia and his aunt. Louisa brushed a hand beneath her eye, and Olivia stared at him, wide-eyed.

  Thurber stepped into the drawing room. “My lord, Lord Sevrin and his…friends are here to see you.”

  Sevrin didn’t wait to be invited. He moved past Thurber followed by Hopkins and a half dozen other men from the club. Sevrin took in the other occupants of the room and arched a brow. “It’s a party here this morning.”

  Jasper arched a brow, bemused as to their presence. “So it would seem.”

  “We saw the Times,” Sevrin said. “It was evident you needed help figuring things out.” The group of men surged forward, and Jasper schooled himself not to laugh. They were going to beat him into marrying Olivia? How he loved that club. How was he ever going to convince Olivia that he needed it?

  “I was just explaining to the duke that Lady Philippa has chosen not to marry me.” He gave Sevrin a very slight nod trying to silently communicate that this fact should not be disputed. “I was also explaining that I’ll be marrying Miss West.”

  The men relaxed. A few clapped each other on the back and grinned. Sevrin laughed softly. “Our work here is done then.”

  “What the hell is all of this?” The duke demanded.

  “Just a group of friends.”

  The duke’s lip curled. “‘Friends’? This lot?”

  “We came to ensure his welfare,” Sevrin said. “And that of his bride. We would hate to hear anything scandalous about her, or see anything unfortunate befall her.”

  “Indeed,” Hopkins said while flexing and unflexing his hand. The rest of the men moved slightly forward again, their expressions turning serious—and determined.

  Jasper looked at the duke. His expression had slipped, revealing a flash of concern. He quickly veiled it beneath his mask of disapproval. “You think to intimidate me?” he asked Jasper.

  Jasper gestured toward his fighting brothers. “Not me, them. I did not invite them this morning, though they are most welcome.”

  “You really will ruin the title.”

  “I won’t, but if I have to, I’ll have no trouble ruining you. Society’s approval is far more important to you than it is to me.” Or so Jasper had come to realize. Nothing was more important than Olivia’s approval, and right now that was the only thing worth fighting for.

  The duke wavered another moment, his gaze flicking back and forth between Jasper and the men from the Black Horse. At last he said, “Keep her away from me.” Then he stalked from the room.

  Sevrin grinned. “Now, I think our work really is done. Congratulations, Saxton.”

  All of them surrounded Jasper and either shook his hand or clapped his back. One laid a hand on his wounded shoulder and Jasper flinched. “Eh, sorry about that,” Hopkins said sheepishly.

  “I’m only sorry we can’t tar that fellow, Gifford,” one man said.

  “I think he’ll spend plenty of time in Newgate,” Sevrin said. “Now, lads, let’s leave Saxton and his bride to themselves. I’m sure they have things to discuss.” He bowed to Olivia and the other men did the same. Olivia’s cheeks pinked while Louisa grinned broadly.

  After they departed, his aunt rushed to hug him. “My dear boy. Well done! Who were those men?”

  “I belong to a fighting club. They’re my friends.”

  “Indeed? How extraordinary. I knew there had to be a reason for your various bruises. There was no way you’d suddenly turned into the clumsiest man in England.” She glanced back at Olivia who hadn’t moved. “I’m going to return to Queen Street. I’m sure you’ll deliver Olivia at some point. Olivia, dear, I’ll have our things packed for York. We’ll leave on the morrow.”

  She gave Jasper’s hand a squeeze before sweeping from the room.

  Jasper stood and watched Olivia a moment, unsure of what she was thinking. He took one step forward, but she took one back. “I’m sorry.”

  “What agreement was Holborn speaking of?” she asked.

  Jasper steeled himself for her anger. “I’d agreed to marry Philippa in exchange for him leaving you alone. I wanted you to be happy with Louisa, and he guaranteed it.”

  “So you did plan to marry her. What were you doing with me last night?” Her voice was so wounded, her face so pale.

  Jasper wanted to hold her, but he daren’t move for fear that she’d flee. “I did plan to marry her—for about an hour. I went to the Black Horse and my friends—Sevrin and that lot—talked sense into my foolish brain. Then I came to see you. Unfortunately, the duke got ahead of himself and shared the news with a reporter at the Times.”

  “But you said Philippa refused you.”

  “I had to. Philippa’s reputation is at stake. I have to let Society believe she refused me.”

  “Won’t your reputation suffer?”

  “I don’t give a fig about that.”

  Her eyes flashed with disappointment. “Why, because by marrying me you’ll be ruined anyway?”

  He couldn’t stand the distance between them another moment. In three large strides he was before her. He took her hands in his. “No, because now that I have you, nothing else matters. I do still have you, don’t I?” He sank to his knees, prepared to beg if necessary. “I know you’re probably feeling distrustful. I felt the same last night when I heard you’d received a threatening letter and didn’t tell me about it.” Her eyes widened. “But I decided it didn’t matter. I trust you, Olivia. I know you had a reason for not telling me.”

  She nodded sheepishly. “I assumed the duke sent it. I didn’t want to further damage an already horrid relationship.”

  He smiled at her. “You needn’t worry on that count—I’m certain there’s nothing else that could further tarnish how I view the duke.”

  She blinked at him, and he realized there were tears in her eyes.

  He squeezed her hands. “Please don’t cry, Olivia. See, I’m begging. Trust me, love me, marry me.”

  “I think I like your fighting club friends. I won’t mind if you continue with your membership.”

  He laughed, joy coursing through him. “They’re good sorts.”

  “The best since they chose you.”

  “Does this mean you choose me too?” His heart stopped a moment as he waited for her response.

  She pulled on his hands. “Oh, stand up and kiss me, Jasper.”

  Epilogue

  London, March 1818

  “ARE YOU sure you want to go?” Jasper asked as Olivia pulled her gloves on. “I’ll understand if you’d rather stay home and rest.” His gaze flicked to her waistline, which hadn’t yet begun to reveal the child growing inside of her.

  She smiled in response. “I know you’d rather stay home, but we promised Louisa we’d go to Lady Badby’s dinner party.” Furthermore, she wanted to show everyone, particularly Jasper’s parents who would no doubt be there, that she was more than capable of being Countess of Saxton.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him then nuzzled her neck. “I’d much prefer you here, alone, but I suppose I can share you for one night.”

  Thirty minutes later they ascended the steps to Lady Badby’s townhouse. If the line of carriages were any indication, her dinner party would be far too populated for a sit-down meal.

  They’d offered to bring Louisa with them, but she’d declined, saying she wanted to watch their grand entrance. Olivia stifled an urgent stab of anxiety. Everyone’s attention would be fixed on her and Jasper. They hadn’t been out in Society since they’d quietly wed in York the previous September.

  As promised, Louisa was waiting for them in the drawing room, though she was hard to spot at first given the thick crowd. She cut a path to them, beaming. “You look splendid, dears.”

  “Louisa, I thought you said this was a moderately-sized dinner party?” Olivia said, though she’d long ago learned Louisa’s idea of “moderate” was perhaps not what others would define.

  Louisa shrugged. “I
can’t imagine all of these people had legitimate invitations, but Augusta won’t turn them away. She’s over there preening under her success. You’re the toast of London already, and she snagged your first appearance.”

  Lady Badby was speaking with several people, her befeathered head bobbing and her beringed hands gesticulating. Just behind her stood the Duke of Holborn. Olivia looked about for the duchess, but didn’t see her. They hadn’t seen or heard from either of Jasper’s parents since leaving London in the fall.

  They had, however, spent time with Jasper’s sister, Miranda, and her husband, Fox, who’d come to their wedding. And now they were here as well. Miranda strode toward them, her husband trailing in her wake.

  She beamed at Olivia and took her hands. “Ah, there you are.” She lowered her voice. “You’re glowing, dear. Is there something I should know?” She arched a brow at Jasper.

  “How can you tell?” Olivia asked.

  Fox slid his hand around his wife’s waist, completely unaware—or perhaps uncaring—that such public affection was frowned upon in London. “You should know by now that Miranda notices everything.”

  Miranda gave Fox a playful look. “A mother senses these things.” Their son was just a few months old.

  “Is Alexander here in London with you?” Olivia asked. They’d visited after his birth, but she dearly hoped to see him again.

  “Of course.” Miranda’s eyes sparkled with merriment. “You don’t think the duke and duchess would deign to visit their grandson in rural Wiltshire?”

  Olivia felt Jasper’s arm tense beneath her fingertips. She looked up at him and saw him staring at the duke. “Everything all right?”

  “Mmm, yes. I think so.” Jasper had visited his father before they’d traveled to York. He’d assured Olivia that despite the duke’s behavior up to that point, he wouldn’t trouble them. He’d also sworn that he hadn’t threatened his father in return, but Olivia still wondered why the duke had so easily agreed to leave them to their happiness. “I’ll just go and see.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Olivia said.

  “Brave girl,” Fox noted. “I’d offer my support, but I don’t think my presence will help your cause.”

  Miranda grinned at him. “Oh, he was practically pleasant when we visited them yesterday with Alexander.”

  Jasper arched a brow at his sister as if he didn’t believe that at all. Miranda laughed and winked at Olivia as Jasper drew her toward the duke. Holborn clasped his hands behind his back as they approached.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.” Olivia offered a curtsey.

  “Good evening.” The duke gave a slight bow. Olivia slid a glance at Jasper, whose eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He hadn’t expected anything so polite. Neither had Olivia, but she was acutely aware of how closely everyone in the room was watching them so she’d hoped for civility at the least.

  “Is Her Grace here?” Jasper asked.

  “Yes, somewhere about.” The duke attempted a tight smile, but to Olivia he looked as if he were suffering a stab of arthritic pain. “I trust you are both well?”

  Jasper covered her hand with his. “We are, thank you. Your solicitude is much appreciated.”

  “Of course.” The duke inclined his head, but his eyes were frigid. He’d publicly accepted them, but not privately. Still, it was precisely what they’d hoped. After all of his threats and thwarted attempts to drive Olivia away, he’d surrendered.

  People began to move toward them tentatively. The evening passed in a blur for Olivia until just before midnight when she found herself alone while Jasper fetched her a glass of lemonade. The duke appeared at her side.

  “Have you been waiting to pounce?” she asked.

  “A bit, yes.”

  Olivia didn’t want to play games. She knew where she stood with this man and accepted it. “Tell me why.”

  “Why I’ve allowed you to stay?” He looked out at the drawing room instead of at her. “You’re an actress. You can play the part of Jasper’s wife at least well enough to fool Society.”

  She laughed softly. “You don’t think much of me or Society.”

  “He was going to marry you, no matter what I said or did.”

  Olivia’s heart warmed, knowing the duke was right. Jasper would never let her go. “We’re going to have a child. Probably late in the summer. Don’t tell Jasper I told you.”

  The duke looked at her now. The faintest sheen glowed in his eyes. Not tears, but there was something inside him keeping his soul from shriveling completely. “Will you send word when he comes?”

  He. Holborn expected nothing else. Olivia nodded. “I will.”

  Later, Olivia sleepily curled against her husband’s side in their massive four-poster bed at Saxton House. “I had a nice time. I still prefer York, but I can manage a few months in London each year. Especially with Louisa, and hopefully your sister can come periodically, when the orphanage allows.”

  His fingers stroked her upper arm. “I will follow wherever you lead.”

  She looked up at him. “Did you enjoy tonight?”

  “You’re trying to ask about my parents. I admit I was shocked by their polite behavior.”

  “You didn’t really expect them to cause a scene?”

  “Not particularly, but I’ve given up trying to predict Holborn. I’d like to think he has more sense than to cause the very thing he’s so afraid of, but he can sometimes be rash, as he was in my youth.” He’d told Olivia plenty of tales of his father’s cruelty, but her heart never failed to squeeze when she thought of Jasper’s childhood. It actually made her lack of a father preferable.

  She’d come to accept that she would never know the identity of her father, but she also accepted that she’d spent fourteen somewhat happy years with foster parents who had given her kindness if not love. And she supposed Fiona had loved her in her own way. But now she had the love of a true parent in Louisa, and that was more than she could have dreamed. Instead of feeling as if her life were missing something, she felt full, complete. Loved.

  She snuggled up against Jasper and pressed a kiss to his throat. “I love you.”

  He clasped her tightly. “I love you, too.” He turned toward her and kissed her lightly. “And did I tell you how proud I am of you? How gratifying it is to see every other man in the room glare at me with envy?”

  She smiled against his lips. “I know the feeling, though the women also bare their teeth.”

  He laughed. “How ferocious.” He kissed a trail along her jaw to her ear.

  “I was surprised you didn’t want to visit the Black Horse this evening. I know you want to see Sevrin and the others.”

  He nibbled at her neck, just below her ear. “I thought I might go tomorrow, if you’re amenable.”

  Olivia was fast losing interest in conversing. “Of course, they’re your friends.”

  Jasper pulled back. “Have I told you how lucky I am, how happy you make me, how I couldn’t possibly deserve you?”

  She tugged him closer again, directing his lips back to her neck. “Yes, yes, and don’t be ridiculous.”

  He licked a path to the underside of her chin. “You say that, but before I met you my heart was cold, ruined, utterly wicked.”

  She placed her hand on his chest over the heart that beat sure and strong—for her. “Your heart isn’t cold, nor is it ruined. But I hope you won’t mind if I prefer you remain the tiniest bit wicked.”

  He grinned as he lowered his lips to hers. “Anything for you.”

  Also by Darcy Burke

  Her Wicked Ways

  To Seduce a Scoundrel (July 2012)

  Read on for an excerpt of

  A lady on the brink of disaster

  Quintessential debutante Lady Philippa Latham is determined to avoid scandal at all costs so that she may marry well. When her mother’s outrageous behavior threatens their family’s reputation, Philippa unwittingly follows her to a party no unmarried Society girl would risk attending. As if that was
n’t bad enough, Philippa is “rescued” from disaster by England’s most notorious scoundrel, which sets them both on a path to public and personal ruin.

  A scoundrel in need of seduction

  Lord Ambrose Sevrin is infamous for ruining his brother’s fiancé and refusing to marry her. Content to remain among the fringe of the upper ten thousand, he is an intriguing enigma to London’s elite. Philippa thinks she’s met the true Ambrose—a gentleman who would fight to defend her and help her secure a husband before it’s too late. But he can’t be that husband, even for her. He won’t tolerate redemption—or love—for his crimes are far worse than anyone can imagine.

  Chapter One

  London, April 1803

  FROM THE comfort of the Herrick coach, Lady Philippa Latham watched her mother alight from Mr. Booth-Barrows’ carriage in front of a massive neo-classical house on Saville Street. Booth-Barrows tucked Mother’s hand over his arm and they climbed the steps of the townhouse, their heads bent close together. Like lovers. Philippa seethed. Loveless marriage or no, how dare Mother openly cuckold Father? And only days after she’d informed Philippa she must marry this season. How was she to accomplish that while her mother was cavorting about town with a man who wasn’t her husband?

  Philippa clasped her fingers tightly around the door handle, and before she knew her own mind, she was stepping from the coach. The footman leaped to help her.

  With murmured appreciation and a directive to wait until she returned, she dashed across the moonlit street. Nervous energy propelled her along her mother’s path. Philippa had never done anything so rash before, but she was intent on convincing Mother to come home immediately.