Did she fear him? A knife, jagged and rusty, twisted in his bowels.
Poised to flee, distrust lurked in her gaze—her gorgeous eyes that had once sparkled with adoration.
He had done this to her, yet he had suffered equally. “Not one letter in three years. I assumed you had stopped loving me.”
“You made no attempt to contact me either, Allen. You’re the one who said we were finished. Surely, you knew the Duchess of Daventry had our address. For all I knew, you had married by now.” The sorrow in her voice ripped at his gut.
“There’s never been anyone else, Livy.”
Never would be, either. He cast a swift glance over his shoulder. No one seemed to pay them any heed, unless … He squinted. Unless that was Mother hiding amongst the draperies beside the French Windows. No. The figure was larger than Mother. Her Grace? He suppressed a chuckle. The woman knew no bounds.
Perhaps he could convince Olivia to join him in the library or Father’s study to finish this conversation. Who knew who might be loitering in the shrubberies, eavesdropping on their every word? This discussion was too private to have bandied about by a loose-tongued tattlemonger.
“What about Miss Rossington?” Lips pursed, Olivia darted a telling glance toward the manor. “She seemed quite attached to you. I didn’t imagine the darkling glowers she showered upon me.”
He shook his head again, noting Olivia’s high color. Was she jealous? The notion gave him a jot of hope. A disinterested woman didn’t harbor envy.
“Her father and mine attended Oxford together. She’s a guest of my parents, that’s all, no more important than the bevy of other woman they have invited tonight.”
Close enough to the truth, for Allen had never entertained any serious intentions regarding the chit. A drunkard’s ale lasted longer than his brief foray into insanity when he had fleetingly considered courting her. She had proved an amusing diversion—a way to keep his parents content that he dutifully searched for a wife—that is, until Miss Rossington’s true nature emerged. She’d fully exposed herself this evening, and her revelation had relegated her to an unsuitable.
“Oh.” Olivia fiddled with the elaborate pendant nestled above her décolletage.
Envy seized him. He would like to take the pendant’s hallowed place.
The matching ruby bracelet on her wrist sparkled in the muted light when she waved her hand. “And I suppose, as their son, you must do your duty?”
He hid a delighted smile.
Yes. Jealousy most definitely tinged her husky voice, though she attempted to disguise it with sarcasm. He quite enjoyed the notion she was jealous. It meant she still cared.
Rolling his head, he nodded once and grinned. “I like to think I’m a very dutiful son.”
Actually, except for a couple years before meeting Olivia when he had sowed his wild oats, he had been the epitome of propriety. Not only did his parents insist upon it, he’d found he wasn’t cut out to be a man about town. The drinking, whoring, gambling—all favorite pastimes of many of the ton’s privileged—held little appeal for him. Though hopelessly unpopular with the elite set, he rather favored a quiet life with one woman in his bed. Olivia.
She cocked her head, one earring swinging with the action. “Ah, yet you expected me to forsake my duty as an obedient daughter and leave my father?”
Her words ripped apart Allen’s attempt at lightheartedness. Damn, this wasn’t the path he’d intended their conversation to take. Olivia had neatly turned the tables on him.
“Did it ever occur to you that demanding we elope at once scared and unnerved me?” She pressed her palm to her chest, her features taut. “Every bit as much as Father announcing we were off to the Caribbean in two days’ time? Both situations frightened the living daylights out of me.”
Her revelation rendered Allen mute. Her situation had been wholly impossible, made worse by his juvenile ultimatum.
“Papa’s health had deteriorated since Mama died.” Tucking a loose tendril behind her ear, Olivia inhaled deeply, as if struggling for control. She sent a furtive look to the terrace, no doubt worried about her reputation. “Defying Papa might have killed him. How could I have lived with myself then?”
Her eyes glistened suspiciously once more.
Whirling away, she wandered to a row of rosebushes edging another neat path. “You hadn’t even asked Papa for my hand yet. He knew nothing of your intentions.”
“We had only known each other a fortnight, Livy.” Allen rubbed his nape before folding his arms. “I doubt your father would have received my request with any enthusiasm.”
You could have made the effort, dolt.
“I’m not sure it would have made a difference in any event.” She shrugged and offered a rueful tilt of her plump lips as she removed one glove. “My father was impetuous and disinclined to think about how his impromptu decisions might affect others. I’ve always suspected he didn’t want me to ever wed.”
Allen canted his head again. “And you truly knew nothing of his intentions? To pack you off to the Caribbean with no warning?” He gestured in the air. “I’m sure you can understand why I might find that hard to believe.”
“Allen, you come from a stable home. You know nothing of living with a parent who acted on the slightest whim. It wasn’t unusual for Papa to pack us up and cart the family off to some absurd location when he became obsessed with another peculiar notion. Bradford was spared somewhat when he went off to university. I’ve often wondered if the only reason he came back home when he finished was to act as a buffer and protect me.”
Olivia bent and sniffed a creamy rose then released a small cry of pain. Thrusting her finger into her mouth, she sucked the scarlet droplet from the tip where a thorn had scratched her.
At the sensual sight, Allen’s throat went dry as a more erotic image leaped to mind.
Egads, she’s hurt, and I’m envisioning lewd acts.
After a moment, Olivia regained her composure. After tugging on her glove once more, she continued her hesitant exploration of the flowers.
“Why Papa kept the news of our departure a secret is anyone’s guess. He was always been a bit eccentric and reclusive. After Mama’s death, he become more so. And at times—I’m ashamed to admit—quite addlebrained, especially as he aged.”
Another wave of guilt hammered Allen. Her father was ailing and, apparently, dicked in the nob, to boot. “I had no idea.”
Stroking a velvety petal, she lifted a shoulder. “No one did. One doesn’t discuss such delicate matters. It wasn’t until after we’d arrived in Barbados that Papa confessed his physician had recommended a change of climate in order to extend his life. The milder tropical weather was supposed to improve both his health and his doldrums.”
Remorse crushed Allen’s chest. He hadn’t known any of this, though it didn’t excuse his brash behavior. He’d wager his inheritance that after his harsh ultimatum, Olivia’s had pride kept her from telling him. Tarring and feathering was too merciful for him. His handling of the whole affair bordered on—no, was completely—despicable.
Striving for control, Allen tilted his head skyward and sucked in a steadying breath. “How long have you been in England?”
He lowered his eyes, unable to keep his gaze from feasting on her in the soft light. He needed to soothe her pain, to make amends for the hurt he’d caused. He yearned to hold her in his arms, as he had ached to do every day while she had been away.
“Just over a week.” Head bowed, she folded her hands before her. “Bradford and I are staying with the duchess until other arrangements can be made. Our uncle let the Mayfair house and Bradford’s never been fond of it so we’re seeking accommodations elsewhere.”
She’s been back a week and made no effort to contact me?
“Three years, Olivia. You asked me to wait one, but you’ve been gone three years.” Allen winced at the pain he heard in his voice.
Her gaze collided with his. Regret and something else flashed in the azure depths.
/> “I intended to return after a year. We all did, but Papa had apoplexy four months after we arrived. He never fully recovered, and the physician advised us travel was out of the question.” Her eyes shone glassy with tears. “He said it would kill Papa.”
“You never wrote.” Allen wandered to the flower beds to stand beside her. She was so close, only a handbreadth away, yet a yawning abyss of unbridgeable misunderstanding lay between them.
Olivia touched another rose. “And what would I have said? You made your position very clear. You also said you wouldn’t wait for me.”
Each bitter truth impaled him. “You might have told me of your father’s ill health.”
“To what purpose?” She cast him a sidelong look.
He snapped a rose’s stem then offered it to her.
“I would have known why you didn’t return.” To me, he ached to add.
“I thought you had come to hate me, Allen.”
Intelligence, wit, and a polite smile are a lady’s greatest weapons.
~A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment
Chapter Seven
Accepting the scarlet rose, Olivia solemnly faced Allen. Even in the dim light, with only moonbeams and the glow from the house’s windows, she glimpsed a trace of vulnerability in his turned down mouth and hooded gaze.
She had never been able to hide her emotions from him. What did she have to lose by being completely candid now? Not a blasted thing. After tonight, she would likely never see him again. She lifted the flower to her nose. Shutting her eyes, she sniffed deeply.
He’d given her a red rose. Did he know they symbolized love? Likely not. Purely chance he had selected that color of bloom. Foolish of her to wish the gesture meant more.
“I was so young—having just seen my eighteenth birthday the month before—and when you suggested we run away to marry that night, I panicked.” She waved her hand back and forth. “Everything happened so fast between us.”
He scowled, kicking at a stone lying on the grass. “Our love was real. Don’t tell me it wasn’t.”
Olivia nodded, and another curl slid free to tease her ear. Why bother to put her hair up at all?
“Yes, I know it is … was.” She stumbled over her words, but recovered, her voice softening. “I’ve never doubted it for a moment.”
He fingered a fragile petal. “Then why did you leave?”
“Why did you let me go?” She peered into his unfathomable eyes.
If he had only made some sort of effort, had come to her house or the ship, done anything to prevent her from leaving, her resolve would have melted as rapidly as sugar in hot tea.
The Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment says a lady never complains or criticizes—
Do hush, Mama.
Rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, Allen gazed off into space for an extended moment. The quiet hum of the guests on the terrace, the faint strains of the orchestra, and an occasional cricket’s rasping song interrupted his weighty silence.
“My devilish pride,” he finally murmured, splaying his fingers through his hair, leaving several tufts standing straight up. If his valet saw his destroyed handiwork, he would gnaw Allen’s hairbrush to a nub. “I’ve always been too prideful. Arrogant some might say. Definitely privileged, and I seldom don’t get what I want.”
Allen’s honest confession startled her, and Olivia dared to harbor the tiniest bit of optimism.
Grinning sheepishly, he rolled a shoulder. “I couldn’t credit that you would leave me, that you expected me to wait a year for your return. I desired you then, and I acted the part of an intractable bratling.”
“You broke my heart.” Utterly shattered it was more apt.
He hadn’t indicated he still cared for her, only that he had been as hurt as she. A breeze wafted past, and she crossed her arms, suddenly chilled. She must return inside soon, else Aunt Muriel and Bradford would become worried, not to mention the gossip Olivia and Allen’s extended stay outdoors would ignite. “Fearing your scorn, I didn’t dare reach out to you afterward. I have my pride too.”
“I know, and I’m remorseful beyond words.”
Stepping nearer, he took her hand in his. With his other, he lifted her chin until their eyes met. “Can you forgive me? Please? Might we begin again and take our time this go round?” He playfully tugged on of the escaped curls then caressed her cheek with his forefinger. “I promise not to be demanding and to always consider your feelings and needs. I beg you, give me another chance.”
Blinking back tears of joy, Olivia swallowed the lump of emotion choking her. Even when the carriage had rattled to a stop before the mansion, she couldn’t have imagined this most welcome turn of events. She nodded as one tear spilled from the corner of her eye.
Allen caught it with his forefinger. “I never want to make you cry again, Livy. A least not from sorrow I caused. Happiness or passion, yes, but never … never tears of unhappiness again.”
He kissed her forehead before resting his against hers.
They were probably being observed, and the tattlemongers would be flapping their tongues until next Season, but she didn’t care. In fact, Olivia wouldn’t be surprised if Aunt Muriel—silently cheering, and clapping, and congratulating herself soundly for contriving this whole wonderful evening—wasn’t lurking somewhere nearby, perhaps in those bushes just there, watching everything that transpired between Allen and her.
“I never stopped loving you.” He kissed Olivia’s nose. “Not for a single moment. When you left, the light went out of my life. I never wanted to smile again, and I cursed the sun for rising each day. I knew my selfishness and inconsideration had cost me the one thing that mattered most. You.”
“Oh, Allen.” She traced his jaw with her fingertips. “If only we had talked this through, this misunderstanding wouldn’t have kept us apart all this time. Promise me we’ll always be able to tell the other anything, and that we’ll listen before ever jumping to conclusions or acting rashly again.”
“Always.” He grasped her hand and pressed a hot kiss into her palm. The heat of his lips burned through the fabric of her glove, sending delicious frissons spiraling outward. “Tell me you love me still, Livy. That there’s a morsel of hope for us.”
“Yes.” She grinned and nodded. More curls sprang free. She didn’t care. “I do love you.”
He released a long breath, as if he had been afraid of her response. “Will you marry me? Not right away. We can wait if you wish. I won’t rush you. I know I asked you before, but I want to go about it properly this time.”
“Of course I will.” She toyed with his jacket’s lapel, giving him a coy smile. “Then you’ll ask Bradford—?”
“Ask Bradford what?”
She whipped around to see her brother standing behind them. So caught up in the magical moment with Allen, she hadn’t heard him approach. From the nonplussed expression on Allen’s face, he hadn’t either.
“Ask me what?” Bradford repeated, curiosity glinting in his eyes as he came nearer.
Allen stood taller and met his gaze straight on. “For your sister’s hand in marriage.”
Bradford’s face broke into an immense grin, and he clapped his hands.
“Thank God. I had no idea what I was going to do with her if you two didn’t reconcile.” He planted his hands on his hips. “She has been in the doldrums for months and months, a regular Friday face, I tell you, scarcely cracking a smile during her fit of the blue devils and—”
Olivia whacked his arm with her fan. “That’s enough, Brady. Say another word, and I shall not invite you to the wedding.”
Revealing his perfect white teeth, Allen returned Bradford’s silly grin. “Then we have your approval?”
“I’ll say.” Bradford chuckled heartily while pumping Allen’s hand “My approval, consent, permission, blessing—”
“Bradford,” Olivia warned. Must he carry on so? She hadn’t been so awful, had she?
His eyes widened. “By George, I�
�ll even pay for a special license, and we can have the deed done tomorrow.”
“Not so fast, brother dear, else I may take offense at your eagerness to be rid of me.” Olivia swung her amused gaze to Allen. “I should like a short courtship, but I would also like a wedding. Aunt Muriel will insist upon it, in any case.”
Allen raised her hand to his lips. “Whatever you wish, sweetheart. I’m eager to make you my bride, but won’t rush you. I’m just as certain my mother will want an elaborate showing too.” He winked. “I think it may be dangerous to allow the duchess and my mother to put their heads together. We might very well end up with the wedding of the decade.”
Olivia laughed. “Yes, Aunt Muriel is a force to contend with.”
“There you are, Allen, my dear.” Miss Rossington glided across the lawn.
Allen?
Only intimate acquaintances addressed one another by their first names, and unless betrothed to a gentleman, a young lady never did so in public. And she most certainly did not call him her dear.
A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment, page thirty-six.
Her fine brow puckered in puzzlement, Miss Rossington looked between Allen and Olivia then turned her attention to Bradford, eyeing him like a delicious pastry she would like to savor. Or gobble up, rather. She batted her eyelashes and licked her lips provocatively.
Brazen as an east end bit of muslin.
“Whatever is going on?” She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper, her wanton wiles in full play.
Wasted on Bradford. He might like dampened gowns and appreciate a beautiful face and form, but he couldn’t abide fast women, and Miss Rossington would make it round the racetrack swifter than The Derby’s prime blood.
Olivia couldn’t suppress her pleased smile as Allen wrapped a muscled arm about her waist and tucked her to his side, even if his actions were outside of acceptable.
“Miss Kingsley has just done me the greatest honor by consenting to become my wife.”
“What?” Miss Rossington, sounding is if she had gargled gravel, blanched and clutched her throat. “Your … your wife?”
Romantic Legends Page 64
