by Cora Lee
“You didn’t marry him, though, did you?”
Olivia shook her head. “I knew he would hold that incident over my head for the rest of our lives, so I cried off.” She looked into the flickering fire, unable to make eye contact with the woman who had been her closest friend for years. “The footman disappeared after that, and I found out later that he’d suddenly come into a large sum of money.”
“It wasn’t—”
“My mother had paid him to ruin me.”
“Oh, my sweet girl.”
Mrs. D. was up out of her chair with her arms spread, and Olivia stood up to meet her. “She said she couldn’t bear to have me leave her,” Olivia continued softly, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice that was still present in her heart, even after all the time that had passed. “She died a year later, Mrs. D., and left me with more debt than I could ever hope to pay back.”
The tears came then. Olivia hadn’t realized how much the old wound still ached, but Mrs. D.’s fierce embrace made her feel safe in a way she hadn’t since before her father died. She sobbed into Mrs. D.’s shoulder until her lungs burned and her eyes dried, unable to understand why her own mother would have left her to such a fate.
~~~
Rhuddlan paced the length of his bedchamber that night, back and forth, unable to quiet his body or his mind. He’d received a second letter from Lewis describing more violence at Rhuddlan Hall, violence that had not attempted to follow him away from his people as he’d hoped.
He made his way over to one of the windows and leaned his forehead against the cool pane of glass. Between the ugliness pouring in from his home, the time he’d spent considering the potential execution of his own brother, and the revelation of Miss Stone’s true identity, it had been a very long day.
“What I need is a book,” he said aloud, his breath temporarily clouding the glass. “Something just interesting enough to take my mind off my troubles, but boring enough to put me to sleep.”
He pealed himself off the window and headed down the main staircase to Teverton’s library, taking a single candle with him to light his way. The large chamber was, as he’d expected at this late hour, devoid of people. The darkness and quiet were a relief—Rhuddlan felt some of the tension in his body bleed away just walking through the door. He chose one of the tall bookshelves at random and began browsing the titles.
A voice startled him in the gloom. “Is that you, Your Grace?”
Miss Stone—he had a hard time thinking of her as Miss Lockwood—stood in the doorway holding her own candle, a large shawl wrapped around what looked to be a nightdress, her bright hair trailing over one shoulder in a thick braid. Her voice was low, reminding him of the late hour and the impropriety of meeting her this way. Was she trying to trap him? To remedy her ruined reputation? He glanced out the open door, but couldn’t see much beyond the door frame itself.
“Did I startle you?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head reflexively. “No.”
“Good.” She started to take a step into the room, then stopped.
“If you’re here for a book, don’t let me stop you.” There was a slightly harsh note in his voice, but he wasn’t sure if it was residual anger at his brother or the fact that he felt betrayed by Miss Stone’s revelation.
She took a couple of steps then, but went no father. “I– I hadn’t meant to do this now, but perhaps we should talk.”
“About what?”
“Your proposal of marriage.”
His brows rose a fraction—in all the excitement, he’d nearly forgotten the offer he’d made her. Had it been only the day before? “Yes, we should discuss that.”
“I–I can’t marry you,” she said haltingly, pulling her shawl more tightly around her. “And after what you heard about me this afternoon, I doubt very much that you still want to marry me.”
Rhuddlan probably should have felt relieved at no longer being tied to such a woman. Instead he felt a prick of disappointment, which confused him even more. “If that’s what you think is best.”
Her brows drew down over her eyes. “Don’t you think it best? Given who I am.”
How was he supposed to answer that? He wanted to ask her why she’d lied to him about who she was, but just one word came to his lips. “Quite.”
“Good.” Her posture relaxed somewhat and she took a step back toward the door. “I should probably return to my chamber, then.”
One of them certainly should, but despite his mixed feelings about her, Rhuddlan was rather reluctant to part from her. “It’s been— This day has not been kind to me. Will you sit with me for a while?” It was a bold—and entirely inappropriate—request, and he wasn’t really sure why he made it.
“You want to sit with me?” There was curiosity in her expression when she turned back to face him, though it was tinged with disbelief.
“Yes,” he said, then quickly added, “but if you would rather leave, I won’t stop you.”
She tilted her head slightly to one side, appraising him, and he crossed his arms over his chest as if to cover himself. He’d discarded his tailcoat shortly after returning from his clandestine meeting at the farmhouse and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows—decidedly inappropriate dress in the presence of a lady. Even if the lady in question was in her nightdress.
“The day has not been kind to you, either,” he continued softly. “I suspect you might be in need of comfort as badly as I am.”
That must have struck a chord. Her posture, her shoulders, even the set of her mouth relaxed a little. “That’s true enough. What did you have in mind?”
“Anything that will bring us both pleasure,” he responded. When she lifted an eyebrow at him, he smiled for the first time that night. “There are few things I’d like more than to take you to bed, Miss Stone, but that’s not what I meant.”
“I’m not Miss Stone, Your Grace,” she said tightly, turning away again.
“My apologies. That’s a habit I have yet to break.” He took a step toward her, suppressing the urge to reach out and touch her. “What if we dispense with formality when we’re alone? May I call you Olivia?”
She turned back at the sound of her name on his lips. “And what would I call you?”
“Rhuddlan,” he answered automatically. “Or Lucas, if you’d like.”
“Lucas,” she said softly, coming closer to him, “the man who held me in the carriage as we ran from danger.”
“That was pleasurable, was it not?”
She nodded, stopping inches from him and stroking her thumb over his cheek. “It was for me.”
“For me, too.” Her thumb traced the corner of his mouth and his heart kicked into a gallop. “We could try that again.”
She didn’t move for a long moment, then she let the shawl slip to the floor and slid her arms around his shoulders. “Like this?”
“Yes,” he murmured, drawing her against him. Her body was warm, separated from his in some places by only her nightdress. When she sighed into the crook of his neck, he nearly came undone. “I would like very much to kiss you, Olivia,” he whispered in her ear.
She stiffened in his arms, but only for a moment. “I would like that, too.”
Her mouth was open and waiting for him when his lips found hers. He captured first her top lip, then the bottom one, before covering her mouth with his and sliding his tongue inside.
When she moaned softly and combed her fingers through his hair, he grinned. “Did you like that?”
“Yes,” she murmured, her eyes opening to meet his in the firelight. “Shall we do it again?”
He arched an eyebrow and bent his head, kissing her more deeply this time, sliding one hand down her back to cup her derriere. She pressed her breasts against his chest in response, slipping a hand inside his collar.
“You feel so good,” he mumbled, trailing kisses down her neck. She froze and he lifted his head. “Olivia?”
She pulled away, picking her shawl up from the f
loor and gathering it around her. “I’m sorry—”
Her voice caught on the word, and he wanted to take her in his arms again, to kiss away whatever had caused her distress. Instead, he let her put as much distance between them as she felt was necessary.
“No apology required,” he said gently. “Remember?”
He thought he saw the corners of her mouth turn up slightly, but he couldn’t be sure in the low light.
“I remember.” She adjusted the shawl, pulling it up over her shoulders. “But I’m still sorry.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“No, but I probably should.” Was that reluctance in her voice?
She was right, reluctance or no. She should leave and so should he. He should return to his own chamber so he could finish himself off and try to get some sleep. He would need to keep his head clear if he hoped to deal with Nick and Cumberland effectively.
But neither of them moved.
“Could we… could we actually sit for a while?” she asked, gesturing to the sofa that sat near the door.
“Certainly.”
She shut the door behind her before seating herself on the sofa, setting her candle on a side table. Rhuddlan joined her, feeling rather awkward about it. Only moments ago they’d been in a heated embrace that might have been heading toward the removal of clothing. How were they to conduct themselves now?
He decided to take his cue from Olivia. Taking a seat beside her, he smiled when she inched closer and took her hand in his.
Then the words came. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he asked quietly.
“I couldn’t,” she answered, casting her eyes down toward their joined hands. “After my mother and fiancé, then Sir George… I didn’t know who to trust.”
“Your—what?” He knew about her problems with Grayson, of course, but what was this about her mother and fiancé?
She squeezed his hand and haltingly told him about her betrothal, her father’s death, and a horrifying agreement made between her mother and a footman.
“Oh, God, Olivia, I’m so sorry.” He felt helpless, sitting there on the sofa unable to do anything more than hold her hand while she explained how her own family had betrayed her.
“I couldn’t risk you recognizing my real name and refusing to help me,” she said in a thick voice. “I needed your help too badly.”
“I understand,” he said, shifting closer to her to wrap her in his arms.
She relaxed against him, sighing into his shoulder, and he caught the scent of vanilla on her skin. They sat there together, holding one another, until the clock on the mantle struck one before reluctantly parting.
They crept up the stairs to their own chambers, her arm threaded through his. When they reached her door, she paused. “Good night, Rhuddlan...Lucas,” she whispered, caressing his stubbly cheek.
He lifted their clasped hands to his lips and kissed hers. “Good night, Olivia.”
He waited for her to go inside, then took himself to his own chamber where he shed his clothing and fell into bed.
Rhuddlan awoke the next morning feeling more relaxed than he had in days. He even found himself smiling as he made his way down to the dining room for breakfast. But no sooner had he pushed open the dining room door, than Miss Hatch burst in with wild eyes.
“He found her.”
“Who found whom?” Teverton asked, but Rhuddlan already knew the answer.
“George Grayson is here, and he’s found Olivia.”
Chapter Seven
“Where are you going?”
Teverton’s voice carried across the dining room, but Rhuddlan didn’t stop. “To do something stupid.”
He banged through the door, towing Miss Hatch with him. “Where are they?”
“She took Artie for a walk toward the home farm,” Miss Hatch told him, running with him to the front entrance and pointing. “That way.”
“Thank you,” he said, and made a dash for the door. His blood was already pounding through his veins, his muscles taut and ready for action. He took off across the manicured lawn, running at top speed in seconds, hoping there was a horse already saddled when he got to the stables.
He had to get to Olivia before Grayson hurt her.
There was a horse in the process of being saddled when he burst through the stable door. Apparently Teverton had planned to go riding after breakfast but Rhuddlan commandeered the beast, calling to the stable hands to take it up with their master.
He mounted the horse and turned it quickly, cheered momentarily by the responsiveness of the animal. When he gave the command the sleek Thoroughbred bolted out of the stable, practically flying as it drove toward the home farm.
“Oh, good boy!” Rhuddlan shouted over the wind rushing past, crouching low over the horse’s neck. “Let’s go find her.”
Halfway to the home farm Rhuddlan slowed the horse to a quick trot, even though every ounce of his being screamed for him to ride faster. He scanned the horizon in every direction, looking for a flash of color, listening for a cry for help.
That’s when he heard barking.
He slowed the horse again, searching frantically for the source of the sound. Then he saw them, a hundred yards away: a man and a woman facing each other, with a hellbeast between them.
Rhuddlan dismounted, keeping his eyes on the tableau as he quietly tied the horse to an old fence post and crept closer. Suppressing his body’s urge to charge in headlong, he tried to recall his days as a scout in the Army. Sneaking into enemy territory had been his specialty.
He skirted the edge of the scene, trying to get far enough behind the man to escape his peripheral vision. As Rhuddlan drew closer, he could see the man—by now he could identify George Grayson’s pig-like face—held a pistol, and was alternately pointing it at the woman and the beast. The beast was Artie, as he’d suspected, in full battle posture: he stood in a half-crouch ready to pounce, ears pinned back against his skull, teeth bared, fur standing on end all the way down his spine. Every time Grayson so much as flinched, Artie launched into a tirade of vicious barking, keeping himself positioned between his mistress and the threat.
Good dog.
“Please, Sir George, I’ll do anything you want. Just— Please, don’t hurt Artie.”
Grayson laughed and Artie lunged, not far enough to engage his threat but enough to make the man freeze. Olivia’s eyes flicked to the side of Grayson for a split second, and Rhuddlan knew she’d seen him. Good. Perhaps he could warn her before he began his charge.
“You’ll do what I want, all right.” Grayson’s words rang out clearly over the empty meadow they stood in. “You’ll watch your precious mongrel perish. Then you’ll join him. No one threatens me and gets away with it.”
Rhuddlan ran the remaining distance, tackling Grayson from behind and pinning him to the ground.
Olivia screamed as Artie sprung, unleashing his inner war dog and latching himself to Grayson’s arm. Grayson screamed, too, when Artie’s teeth pierced flesh and the dog began to shake his prey. The knight released the pistol and tried to pull away from his captors, but neither Rhuddlan nor Artie was ready to let him go.
“Olivia, love, come get this pistol,” Rhuddlan said with forced calm, driving his knee into Grayson’s back. “Old George here won’t be needing it any more.”
There were streaks of blood on the sleeve of Grayson’s tailcoat now, and Artie’s growling had grown more intense. “You let him go now, Loup Garou,” Rhuddlan said to the dog. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Loup! Lâcher!” Olivia commanded in a shaky voice as she came closer. Artie looked her in the eye as if to acknowledge the order, but refused to release his hold. “Loup Garou, I am safe now,” she said gently, picking up the pistol with one trembling hand and stroking the dog’s fur with the other. “You’ve done your job. Lâcher, s’il vous plaît.”
Artie finally relented, and Rhuddlan felt the breath go out of Grayson in a heaving sigh.
“Take him
and Teverton’s horse,” Rhuddlan gestured in the direction of the Thoroughbred some distance away, “and go back to the house.” Her brows rose nearly to her sunlit hair and Rhuddlan nodded. “I would like to have a word with Sir George alone.”
If she knew what he was planning, she didn’t indicate her feeling about it. She simply met his gaze and nodded slightly, grasping Artie’s collar and leading him away. Rhuddlan waited until she’d untied the horse and headed across the meadow with her little menagerie, then flipped Grayson over beneath him.
The knight was smiling. “Are you going to kill me now?”
Rhuddlan’s fist crashed into the man’s face without warning, producing a dull thud. “I said I would.” Thud. “I told you that if you ever came near her again I’d come after you, and no one would ever find you.” Thud.
Rhuddlan stood and hauled Grayson to his feet by the lapels of his coat, then threw him back to the ground. “Do you know what they called me in the Army? What Polite Society calls me now?”
He kicked Grayson in the ribs, watching with satisfaction as the man turned onto his side and curled up. “They call me Devil, George Grayson. And you should be afraid.”
Grayson tucked his head and covered it with one arm. “Please...” he croaked.
“Oh, you want me to have mercy on you?” Rhuddlan bellowed, turning Grayson onto his back once again. “You want me to show you the mercy you didn’t show Olivia Stone?”
“She’s not... who she says... she is...”
“I know exactly who she is, you worthless maggot.” Rhuddlan brought his boot down on Grayson’s groin. The knight tried to bring his knees up, but Rhuddlan didn’t move. “From this moment, she is her own woman. Do you understand?”
Grayson nodded faintly.
“She says she never wants to see hide nor hair of you again.” Rhuddlan put a little more pressure on Grayson’s groin. “You will not speak to her, nor about her, ever again.”
