Betrayed by Your Kiss (15 page)

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach when he realized from what she might want to escape.

Or from whom.

He tried to ignore the ache that ate away at his insides.

“I’d ask you to dance, but I don’t trust my legs yet to maneuver the steps.”

She quickly looked away. “That’s all right. I don’t see my uncle here, so there’s no use in staying. I prefer to go home. It’s been a long day.”

“As you wish.”

They bid Lord and Lady Maddenly good night and Damien led her to their waiting carriage.

She didn’t speak on the way home, and he let her ride in silence. He was more interested in mulling over what she’d said earlier. That the kiss they’d shared had been filled with anger and control and dominance.

He couldn’t deny it. It had been—at first anyway. When he was trying to prove how easy it would be to govern her, to steal her self-control and make her do what he wanted. Before lust gave way to a passion that was so fierce he couldn’t fight it. Now he realized how much that passion dictated every move he made. Every emotion he felt. And how much of his heart she still possessed. How easy it would be for her to destroy him!

He sat back against the velvet cushions and watched the London townhouses go by in a darkened blur. By the time they arrived at Olivia’s townhouse, he knew that the only way he could protect himself was to keep her at arm’s length. That was the only way to make sure she never had the power to hurt him again.

When the carriage stopped, he helped her down and gave her his arm. They walked through the door Chivers held open for them and stopped to give him their wraps. Olivia silently gave hers over, then walked toward the stairs.

“Would you care for a glass of wine before you retire?” he asked.

Damien wasn’t sure why he wanted to stop her. Wasn’t sure why he was loathe to be separated from her.

“No, thank you. I’m quite weary. Do help yourself. You know where Father kept his liquor.”

“Yes, I do.”

She turned her back and began her ascent up the stairs. She’d only taken a few steps before she was stopped by a loud pounding at the front door.

Chivers reached to open it, and a very distraught Earl of Pellingsworth rushed into the house.

“Olivia!”

“Uncle?” Olivia descended the stairs until she stood in front of him. “Is something wrong?”

Damien stepped forward, but Pellingsworth didn’t cast a glance in his direction. His focus was on Olivia, and he stumbled across the room to get closer to her.

The earl’s clothing was in disarray, and his face held a frantic expression. He tried to speak twice, but issued breathy, guttural gasps as if he couldn’t make the words come into the open. When Pellingsworth finally spoke, there was a desperation in his words that sent a wave of alarm racing through Damien.

“Tell me it isn’t so! Tell me!”

“Tell you what isn’t so?” Olivia grasped her uncle’s hands and held them. “What’s wrong, uncle? Has something happened?”

“Where is he? Where?”

“If you’re looking for me,” Damien said, stepping out from the doorway, “I’m right here.”

Lord Pellingsworth spun around, then took a step backward.

“Oh, my God! It’s true.”

Pellingsworth clutched his hand to his chest and took several huge gulps of air. His face paled and he lifted a trembling hand and pointed to Damien in disbelief.

“You can’t be! You’re here! You’ve returned!”

Olivia turned a worried gaze in Damien’s direction, then looked again at her uncle. “Please, come into the study, uncle, and sit down.”

She reached to lead her uncle to the study, but he swung out his arm. He would have struck her if she hadn’t moved back.

Damien closed the distance between them as much as he safely dared. “Come here, Olivia,” he said softly. “Now.”

Damien tried to keep his voice calm, but it was hard when he saw the fury on Pellingsworth’s face.

Damien looked at Olivia and nodded, giving her a sign to step past her uncle and come to him. She did, taking a wide berth around her uncle. When she reached his side, Damien pulled her behind him.

“You’ve returned,” Pellingsworth gasped. “But everyone said you never would.”

“Yes, I have. Now, why don’t you tell me why my return has upset you so?”

“Because of the ships. She’d have sold them if you hadn’t come back,” Pellingsworth said, a disjointed tone to his voice. “I could have made her.”

Pellingsworth nervously rubbed his hand against the material at his thigh. “Now it’s too late,” he said, shaking his head. “He knows you have returned, and nothing will stop him now.” Pellingsworth paced back and forth like a tiger locked in a cage. “Oh, it’s all my fault. All my fault.”

“What’s your fault?” Damien stepped around the desk and faced Olivia’s uncle. “Who are you talking about?”

“Richard. My son, Richard.” Pellingsworth turned his attention to Olivia. “Oh, Olivia. If only you had sold me the ships when I offered to buy them.”

“You know I couldn’t sell you the ships. I could never give them up.”

“But you had to. You just needed time to realize it. That’s all.”

Damien didn’t have time to ask what he meant before Chivers knocked, then entered the room with Captain Durham’s first mate close behind him.

“You have a visitor, my lord,” Chivers said. “He insisted on accompanying me.”

“It’s fine, Chivers. What wrong, Harrigan?”

“We’ve got one of the men who’s been causing the trouble aboard the ships, sir. Captain Durham said for you to come right away.”

Pellingsworth’s eyes widened, and he bolted toward the door. Damien stepped in front of him to block his exit.

“Who is he?” Damien asked Harrigan. “Do you know him?”

“No, sir. We have him trapped aboard ship. He was trying to set fire to the
Commodore
. He ran for it when we saw him and is holed up on the upper deck.”

“Is he armed?”

“Yes, my lord. Captain Durham wanted you to decide if we should rush him or not. Pinky can get a clean shot off from the crow’s nest of the
Wayward Lady
docked alongside the
Commodore
.”

“No! Don’t kill him!”

Damien rushed to the desk and pulled a pistol from a drawer. He walked around the desk and stopped when he saw Olivia rise to follow.

“You will stay here.”

She shook her head. “I need to—”

“No! I don’t have time to worry about you. We’ll take care of this, Captain Durham and I.”

Damien was surprised when her shoulders sagged in resignation. Then he remembered the other times she’d gone where she shouldn’t have: the morning of the duel, the night of the fire, the . . . “Promise me, Olivia. I want your word you’ll stay here and not follow me to the docks.”

“I, um . . .”

“Your promise!”

She opened her mouth, then finally spoke. “I promise.”

Damien turned his attention to Pellingsworth. “I’ll give you one chance to talk your son into surrendering. The choice will be his. If you can’t, we’ll go in after him.”

Pellingsworth nodded and followed Damien and Harrigan out of the room. Damien let the others go to the waiting carriage first, and when he reached the door he made the mistake of looking back. Olivia was standing in the middle of the entryway, looking terribly alone and frightened.

Damien wanted to go to her and hold her for just one second. He wanted to feel her in his arms once more before he left.

Instead, he said, “You gave me your word, Olivia. I’m holding you to it.”

She nodded. He turned, but not before he saw the look of concern on her face.

Damien walked out the door and down the walk to the waiting carriage.

The look of concern on her face caused his heart to soften. And Damien knew Olivia’s cousin, cornered and ready to shoot anyone who came near him, was not what he needed to fear most.

Olivia paced the floor from the study through the foyer and back to the study until she was certain she’d worn a path in the thick Persian carpet. What if this time Damien didn’t come back alive? What if Richard wouldn’t listen to his father and refused to peaceably surrender? What if Damien were lying hurt right now and needed her help?

Olivia nearly ran to the closet where Chivers kept the cloaks and reached in for her wrap.

“May I be of some assistance, my lady?”

Olivia froze with her hand still on her cloak and turned her head to see Chivers standing just beyond the door. She felt like a child who’d been caught stealing money from her mother’s reticule.

“I was just . . . I mean . . .”

“I understand, my lady.”

Chivers carried the tray Olivia hadn’t noticed he had in his hand to the study.

“Cook sent up a fresh pot of tea and something to eat. She thought perhaps you’d like a bite while you were waiting for Lord Iversley to return.”

Olivia closed the door to the cloak closet and followed Chivers into the study.

“It’s been hours, Chivers. You don’t think—”

Olivia stopped, unable to go on.

“I think Lord Iversley is quite capable, my lady. These things take time.”

“Perhaps if I just went down to see for myself. I could stay in the carriage and—”

Olivia stopped when Chivers looked at her from beneath disapproving arched brows.

“I’m sure Lord Iversley expects you to stay here where you promised you’d be.”

Olivia wanted to reprimand Chivers for his impertinence, but how could she? He’d been a part of her father’s household even before she’d been born. And he was right. She had given her word. Damien would be furious if she went down to the ships. Even more furious if she got in the way.

“But if he’s—”

Olivia swallowed the rest of her sentence when the mantel clock struck midnight. He hadn’t even been gone an hour.

“Perhaps you’d like to rest for a while. Tilly’s waiting upstairs in case you require her.”

Olivia knew what they were doing, all of them. Trying to keep her occupied to ease her worrying. She should be grateful.

“Yes, Chivers. I think I’ll go up to change. They haven’t been gone all that long, have they?”

“No, my lady. Not that long at all.”

Olivia went upstairs to her room and changed out of her ball gown. She tried to go slow to occupy more time, but her movements matched the racing of her heart. It was as if she couldn’t get downstairs fast enough, in case Damien returned sooner than expected.

But when she reached the study, the room was still empty. Hot tea and small sandwiches were waiting for her.

Olivia drank a cup of the tea, then paced the room. She stopped in front of the window and looked out onto the deserted streets, then she drank another cup of tea and paced the room again. And the clock struck one.

Then two.

And three.

And four.

Olivia stared at the mantel clock, daring it to strike six. She’d already made up her mind that on the last chime she’d call for her carriage and go down to the docks. She was past nervous. Past being so frightened that she’d become ill. Now she was just numb.

It was over. She knew it had to be. Damien could be in pain. He could be dead.

She couldn’t stand the wait any longer.

As much as she told herself he was experienced enough and good enough to take care of himself no matter the situation, she knew how easily disaster could strike. How quickly the man she loved could be taken away from her.

. . . the man she loved.

Olivia clutched her hands around her middle and rocked back and forth on the edge of the settee. She didn’t want to admit it. She’d fought the truth from the day he’d come back to her, but she couldn’t deny it any longer. Not now. Not when there was a chance she had lost him.

She loved him.

She loved Damien as desperately now as she had the night she’d made the decision to save his life. Only it wasn’t a love he’d ever reciprocate. Damien didn’t love her. He’d never
allow
himself to love her. He’d bluntly told her so. Told her he considered what she’d done an act of betrayal. An act for which he could never forgive her.

The clock on the mantel struck the hour. She rose to look out the window for the thousandth time, expecting to see an empty street as she had each time before. Determined to call for her carriage and go to find Damien. But in the distance she heard the clopping of horses’ hooves and the rumble of carriage wheels.