Duke of Scandal (21 page)

“A
marvelous
time.” She pulled out a chair and lowered her body daintily into the seat, spreading her red gown out around her ankles. “He went pale when he first laid eyes on me. Then after a few moments of speaking with him and Brigitte, he grew extremely angry, though he managed to hide it with greater ability than he hid his astonishment. His reaction was better than anything you could imagine, and the best part was, he couldn't say a word without revealing himself to his betrothed because she never left his side. He was all mine to handle.” She held her palm to her mouth for a few seconds, giggling. “I told him I was married to a Mr. John Andrews, a banker from England, who was helping me with my personal finances because I'd
misplaced
some of my inheritance.” She dropped her arms to her lap. “Oh, my God, Sam, I wish you'd been there
to see it. The moment was
priceless.
”

Her exhilaration was contagious, and he found himself chuckling, leaning his head back against the sofa's frame. “I'd wish I'd been there just to see you in action, sweet. It took all my strength not to ride out there and watch.”

She cocked her head to the side, smiling at him. “I thought about you the entire time.”

That softly spoken revelation tied his stomach in knots, even as it warmed him from the inside out. “I hope so,” he muttered, realizing with reluctance that she probably didn't mean it the way he wanted her to.

“I kept thinking what a night we would have had confronting him together,” she continued, “with poor Brigitte on his arm, completely taken with the man, clinging to him as if I were going to steal him right from under her nose.” She scoffed quite dramatically, rolling her eyes. “What an absurd notion.”

Now he just wanted to kiss her senseless. “Did anything else happen? Did he say anything specifically about Nivan or your money?”

She squirmed a little, fussing with her skirt, her brows furrowed. “No, nothing specific, but then he really couldn't. I think I confused him more than anything, especially since I didn't act at all like a broken-hearted victim. But at one point Brigitte and I talked about the differences between Edmund and my husband.” She eyed him impishly, her broad grin returning. “I told them both that not only was my husband taller by a quarter of an inch, he was certainly just as handsome.”

Sam didn't think he could take much more of her
disclosure without picking her up and making love to her right there on the carpet, uncertainties and unknowns be damned. The fact that she even noticed that one of the only differences between Edmund and himself was his own minutely greater height mattered to him more than she could ever know.

“How long did you speak to him?” he asked, searching for every detail lest she forget.

She shrugged a shoulder, thinking. “Well, not long, maybe five minutes, which was a good thing, probably. There were about…oh…three dozen people or so, all there to congratulate him, so I couldn't take up too much of his time. But he never said a word about you—Oh! I did mention Aunt Claudette's name, though only in passing.” She leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “I would have adored hearing him talk about her, but the truth is, Sam, what I enjoyed most about the evening was knowing he
couldn't
comment on anything I said. He could do nothing but squirm, hoping I didn't reveal too much to his darling Brigitte.”

She amazed him—her cleverness, her charm, her extraordinary beauty, inside and out. At that moment Sam decided that the stupidest thing Edmund had ever done in his life was to let this remarkable woman slip through his fingers.

“How did you feel about him, Olivia?” he asked with a great degree of hesitation, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Perplexed, she asked in reply, “How did I feel about him? In what way?”

He rubbed his hands together in front of him, choosing his words carefully. “You've told me how you felt
confronting him tonight, that you were solely in charge of the moment, but you also once told me you loved him. I'm curious to know if those feelings returned to you. Were you jealous of his devotion to Brigitte?” He paused, then piercing her gaze with his own, he asked directly, “Are you still in love with him?”

She just sat there, staring at him without expression, for minutes—or so it seemed to him. Then she abruptly stood. “Edmund is a fool,” she maintained, voice low with certainty. “I could never love a fool.”

He placed his palms on his knees, pushing himself up to stand beside her, overflowing with a relief he had yet to fully understand. “You know, Olivia, I was just thinking exactly the same thing.”

Her eyes narrowed as she placed her hands on her hips. “You were?”

He took a step toward her, close enough to tower over her, gazing down at her face. “I was.”

Slowly, she began to shake her head, her countenance returning to one of joyous anticipation. “Tomorrow night will be a complete unveiling, Sam, for everyone, and I can't
wait
to walk into that ball on your arm.”

“I can't either,” he murmured softly, controlling his urge to touch her.

For several seconds they stared at each other silently, a thickening tension enveloping them that he knew she could positively feel. Her eyes widened with sudden realization; her mouth opened a fraction as she licked her lips with uncertainty. And then she broke the spell by taking a step back.

“I—I think I'm ready to retire,” she said.

The gnawing he felt in his gut, the outright desire he couldn't assuage, very nearly overcame him. If she only knew what she did to him.

“Turn around,” he ordered, his tone a bit sharper than he'd intended.

She shook herself, puzzled. “I—I don't—”

“So I can unbutton your gown,” he explained softly.

He'd helped her this afternoon with that part of her dressing, only because she had no maid and, he supposed, she'd decided with her corset and petticoats she was covered enough for decency. Emergencies required unusual circumstances and all that. But now she seemed reluctant to allow him to help her.

He reached out and ran his fingers down her cheek. “It's all right, Olivia. Let me unbutton your gown and you can go to bed.”

After only a second or two of indecision, and without further remark, she lowered her lashes and turned around for him to do as he insisted.

Meticulously, he started at the top, near her shoulder blades, his fingers brushing her skin, feeling warm gooseflesh rise to his touch as he began to unfasten each one, moving down her back and over her corset with ease until he reached her waist. Then he grasped her upper arms and turned her to face him once more.

The look she gave him this time struck him hard. Her eyes were full of acceptance, understanding, trust, and a shade of pure devotion.

Clutching her gown at her bosom to keep it from slipping, she placed her free hand on his cheek and said huskily, “Thank you, Sam. For everything.”

He lifted her chin with his fingers. “I would do anything for you,” he whispered gravely, the intensity in his gaze full of hidden meanings and hopes.

She swallowed. “Good night, Sam.”

He sighed within. “Good night, Livi.”

Without a second glance, she turned once more and headed toward her room, closing the door softly behind her.

T
his morning, for the first time since she set eyes on Sam all those weeks ago, she'd deliberately lied to him. She didn't just withhold the fact that she would be meeting Edmund alone in the hotel's garden at ten, which she had also done last night, but had made up a reasonable explanation for her absence so she could get away. Strangely enough, doing so made her feel just like the snake she was leaving him to meet. But she couldn't think of another way to get around his constant presence. If Sam had any inkling of her plan, he'd not permit her to go, or worse, insist on accompanying her, which would leave her, ultimately, unable to confront Edmund the way she wanted to.

So, during a breakfast of coffee and baguettes smothered with sweet lemon marmalade in the hotel dining room, she'd casually broached the topic of her immediate
plans, stressing the need to leave a few minutes before ten for an appointment in fragrance sampling at one of the Govance boutiques. He'd eyed her suspiciously from across the small table, in silent speculation, she supposed, before he relented. In a quick thought on her part, she asked him if he'd like to escort her, knowing he'd refuse if it meant smelling perfume again, even though she carefully stressed that they would be completely different scents from those he'd sampled at Nivan. She grew nervous when he didn't immediately refuse, and for a second or two she wondered if he were able to detect her deceit—until he said he'd rather wait in his room and read last week's newspaper.

The sky had been overcast all morning, and by the time she said her good-byes to him and stepped outside onto the pavement at ten minutes to ten, it had turned quite dark with the promise of a thunderstorm to come.

Quickly, she made her way down the sidewalk, purposely passing the dining room windows without glancing inside in the hopes that Sam might see her taking the route toward the boutique three blocks away, though as soon as she reached the end of the street, she made a fast turn and headed around the building.

The Maison de la Fleur had been built in a U shape, with the flower garden placed directly in the center so patrons of the hotel could easily access the lawn path from the main floor foyer as well as view the beauty from their rooms above.

Because she had to traverse the long way around to the backside of the tan stone building, by the time she reached the garden gate that faced the center of the hotel, she knew it had to be just after their appointed
meeting time. The white wrought-iron gate that protected the enclosure pushed aside easily with only minimal squeaking, and she hastily stepped into the alcove and onto the gravel path.

The sky continued to darken, the breeze picking up with the coming storm, and Olivia shivered, wrapping her arms around her, suddenly chilled wearing only a lavender silk day gown with its short puffed sleeves.

She took in her surroundings, not exactly afraid but growing more instinctively cautious by the second, then swiftly started down the path in the direction of the centrally located arbor, scarcely noticing all the elaborately trimmed bushes and small beds of well-tended, sweet-scented flowers in a variety of colors.

The area proved to be quite private, and it occurred to her that should anyone witness the two of them together, they would only appear to be involved in a romantic tryst, certainly nothing new to the French. Unless, of course, he intended to harm her.

Olivia immediately disregarded that thought entirely. Edmund might be a charming rogue of the most calculating kind, but he wasn't a danger, of that she was certain. Nevertheless, the simple notion that he might, in some way, attempt to hurt her physically, put her on edge as she quietly traversed the path, her senses sharpened, her nervousness growing with each step, until at last the arbor came into view.

A sudden gust of wind blew strands of her hair across her cheeks and eyes, and she cursed her less-than-brilliant idea of wearing only one thin ribbon to tie it back at her nape. She paused for a moment to brush it aside, and that's when she caught her first glimpse of him.

Her stomach muscles coiled into knots as she watched him, standing with ease inside the white latticework structure, his upper torso and head hidden from view by thick, blooming bougainvilleas clinging to divider trellises. He seemed relaxed as he leaned his hip against the low fencing, one ankle crossed over the other, his arms crossed over his chest.

With a deep breath for confidence, Olivia straightened, shoulders back as she clasped her hands behind her and strolled nonchalantly to the front of the three short steps, stopping for a moment so he could witness her determination in her lifted chin, her vague smile.

“Edmund,” she drawled.

He stared directly into her eyes, his fierce gaze signifying his desire to intimidate. She tried very hard to ignore it.

“Olivia,” he returned, his tone low and icy.

Slowly, she climbed the three steps into the arbor proper, moving to her left, opposite him, her back to the latticework fencing. “So we meet again,” she said amiably.

“Indeed.” He waited, then asked, “Why did you come to Grasse?”

She rubbed the toe of her shoe along the wooden floorboard, a certain thrill circulating through her because she'd anticipated this moment for months. Raising her lashes, she glared at him. “I want my inheritance returned at once. You remember my fortune, Edmund, the one you so callously stole from me?”

He was silent for a long while, simply watching her, it seemed, his head cocked to the side a little, his eyelids thinned, jaw rigidly set. And then he lowered his
arms and stood erect as he began a leisurely stroll in her direction.

Olivia held her ground, though her smile had faded. “You're not going to kill me, are you?” she muttered rather sarcastically.

His lips curled up into a derisive smile. “You're as brash as ever.”

“One needs to be brash when one has been stomped on by a lying scoundrel,” she maintained, her pent-up anger seeping into her tone.

He reached up and scratched his jaw, his gaze ever watchful, still striding in her direction, though moving so slowly it was almost imperceptible.

“Where is your husband?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“Waiting for me just outside the main gate,” she replied at once. “For my protection, you know, should I scream.”

He actually chuckled, shaking his head as he did so. “Now who is the liar?”

Olivia swallowed her growing fear, though she'd absentmindedly reached behind her to latch on to the edge of the wooden fence butting up against her backside. With a lift of one brow, she singsonged, “You'll never know for certain, I suppose.”

He stood about two feet away from her now, bearing down on her with his immense height, arms to his sides, his expression ruthless. “What is it you expect me to do, Olivia? Hand you over a bag of coins?”

She glared at him, leaning toward him to charge, “I expect you to give me every cent you stole, preferably in a bank note. And don't even
begin
to tell me you've spent it all on my aunt Claudette.”

That snide remark truly seemed to stun him. His features went briefly slack and his eyes widened a fraction as his gaze roved over her entire form. Then he sneered. “Aren't you quite the tart.”

He was obviously trying to shock her, even scare her. But she had waited far too long for this encounter to allow a little intimidation on his part to force her into retreat.

Pulling back a little, she lightly shrugged and said, “If I'm a tart, then I'm a very clever one, aren't I? And I'm certain you appreciate that since you've obviously known quite a few tarts in your day.”

Olivia had never been so bold in front of him, and the minute shake of his head and faintly furrowed brows exposed his amazement.

With a snort of absolute disgust, she pushed herself away from the railing and began to walk a slow circle around him, fingers interlocked behind her, looking him up and down as if he were nothing better than a cockroach.

“What did you think I'd do when you left me? Cry in my pillow and accept my loss? Perhaps go to my aunt and cry on her shoulder while you listened and laughed at my naiveté in the next room?”

She stopped moving as she now stood behind him, in the center of the arbor, crossing her arms over her breasts as she watched him turn to meet her gaze, his features hardened with his tightly controlled rage.

“What exactly did you expect, Edmund?” she spat as her own anger grew. “Did it never occur to you that I'd pursue you? Did you think I'd just settle for the fact that a lying, betraying bastard pretended to marry me for
my fortune, stole everything I'd worked for at Nivan, and then walked out on me during what I thought was my wedding night?” She snickered with loathing. “Really, Edmund, can you actually be that
stupid
?”

He'd fisted his hands at his sides, so tightly his knuckles whitened, but he didn't say a word for several long, intense moments of uncertainty on her part. Then in a low, haunting voice, he warned, “Be careful, Olivia.”

Since she'd been boasting of her intelligence, she decided she'd be wise to heed his advice. He looked on the verge of explosion, his face red, his eyes glassy with a tightly controlled fury.

Drawing a long breath, she pivoted around and took three steps to the edge of the arbor, farther away from him, then eyed him again askance, thoughtfully.

“Are you planning to swindle Brigitte in the same manner?” she asked coolly, though truthfully not expecting him to admit it outright. He didn't disappoint.

“How did you learn our marriage wasn't real?” he asked, nostrils flaring, ignoring her question altogether.

“Didn't we just cover that?” She smirked, then enunciated, “I'm
smart,
Edmund.”

He didn't do or say anything for almost a minute, just leered at her, his mind racing to put the pieces together. And then suddenly his tactics changed completely. Opening his fists, he stretched out his fingers then raked all ten of them through his hair, just like Sam did, and for a second or two it caught her off guard.

He started pacing in front of her, his head down, a trace of a smile creeping across his mouth. “So you want your funds returned to you,” he said rather than
asked, his tone taking on a lighter quality.

Although her fear of him had abated somewhat, he'd thoroughly aroused her suspicions with such a repetitive comment. She knew him better than he thought.

“And you want something in exchange,” she remarked, a thought that sprung up out of nowhere but made perfect sense where Edmund was concerned.

He actually chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he paused in his stride and turned to face her directly. “I will return every penny posthaste if…”

He purposely baited her, trying to be charming. Just like the Edmund of old. “If?”

“If you swear to me you'll never mention any of this to anyone, especially Brigitte.”

What he suggested was positively outrageous and unscrupulous, and if she complied, it would make her as deceitful as he. Yet that's what he wanted—to put her in a position where she'd be just as accountable for her actions. Her silence in exchange for her inheritance. And considering how much Nivan mattered to her, he fully believed that he held her tightly in the palm of his sneaky, oily hand.

“You think I would actually stoop to your despicable level and allow that woman to be robbed of not only her future but her dignity?” she asked, with more hesitation in her voice than she desired.

“I love Brigitte,” he said matter-of-factly, “and I would never hurt her.”

She shook her head, eyes narrowing. “Don't make me laugh, Edmund. You don't know the meaning of the word.”

He shrugged. “Just because she's not as beautiful as you
are, Olivia, doesn't mean I don't have feelings for her.”

She couldn't believe his gall. “You're despicable.”

He ignored that, taking a step toward her. “I've already bedded her,” he disclosed rather casually. “I'm sure you don't want to see her reputation ruined.”

A loud clap of distant thunder startled her—almost as much as his unbelievable revelation. “That's impossible,” she blurted as a gust of wind blew her hair in her face again. She brushed it away quickly without thought. “Brigitte would never allow you to take such advantage before the wedding.”

He shook his head negligibly, his features distorted by a disgust he refused to hide. “No, unlike you, Olivia, she isn't cold and insensitive to her future husband's needs.”

She gasped as he stepped closer, staring down to her stunned face.

“I'm sure you don't want to see her ruined,” he repeated for emphasis, his tone dark and admonishing, “and so I'm
suggesting
to you that you keep your pert little mouth shut about everything you know. In return, I will have a bank draft sent to you at Nivan within the week.”

Olivia stared at him, hugging herself from the moist chill in the air, enraged at his audacity yet at this point totally unafraid of him. “You are such a loathsome creature.”

His gaze drifted over her face. “Only to those who don't know me well, and you never really got to know me, Olivia.”

She glanced down his frame, then up again. “Could you possibly be any more arrogant?”

He offered her his familiar, charming smile, placing his palm gently on her cheek. “Oh, I can be so much more.”

She quickly shoved his arm aside. “You don't fool me or frighten me, Edmund. I know exactly what you are.”

His congenial nature eroded before her eyes. Leaning very close, lids thinned, face taut, he murmured, “I'm certain your…
banker
of a husband can't provide for you, or Nivan, the way your inheritance can. And of course if you're lying to me and you really aren't married, as I'm more inclined to believe, because…” he sneered, “I'm smart, too, then you absolutely need your funds returned to you. Think about that, Olivia.”