Duke of Scandal (3 page)

For now he couldn't trust her, or any words she spoke from her beautiful, luscious pink lips. That was certain. But she was the first person in years to claim a recent, intimate relationship with Edmund, and such vital information, to him, was a value greater than a trunk filled with diamonds.

The music started again and the two of them edged toward the pillar to avoid the masses twirling in dance. Colin remained where he'd been standing, though he now laughed jovially as he spoke and flirted with three adoring ladies. Nothing ever changed—except that at this party Sam had the attention of the stunning Lady Olivia.

“Very well,” he maintained matter-of-factly, his hands clasped behind him as he gazed into her eyes. “Since I have no desire to be ruined, I shall do my part.” He paused, then teased, “If you do yours, Olivia.”

She blinked. “My part? I have no part in this scheme.”

He lifted his brows in innocence. “No? Then I'll take it upon myself to find one for you.”

She was completely flustered now, her cheeks rosy again. He obviously infuriated her, and Sam wondered if his brother had done the same, feeling an odd satisfaction at the notion.

“My only concern is the House of Nivan, and you know it,” she whispered a shade above the music. “Aside from that, there is nothing between us, you
cowardly man.”

Sam almost felt wounded. He had no idea what she meant by her “House of Nivan” comment, but if not for the fact that she assumed he was Edmund, her statement would have stung deeply.

Someone from the dance floor bumped into her, shoving her dangerously close to him. She didn't seem to notice or care; her penetrating gaze never wavered.

“Get your finances in order,” she continued carefully, “and remember one thing…”

“Which one thing is that?” he asked softly.

She grabbed his arm boldly, clinging to him for support. “You'll never have this again.”

Then on tiptoe, in the midst of a gathering of hundreds, she reached up and gently placed her warm lips on his, lingering there for the briefest few seconds before quickly trailing her tongue across his top lip and pulling away from him.

Sam swallowed, his body charged, his mind a sudden whirl of awareness, none of it good.

She toyed with him, using the expertise of the French, now smiling knowingly up to his face, her eyes gleaming with self-satisfied mischief.

He never moved, never acknowledged her action.

“You have one week, my darling
husband,
before I tell the world what you did to me.”

With a lift of her skirts, the Lady Olivia Shea turned her back on him and disappeared into the crowd.

Sam stood rigidly still, ignoring the laugh from Colin, ignoring the stares of the appalled, one thought penetrating above all others:

With her lies danger…

O
livia paced the bright scarlet carpeting of Lady Abethnot's pristine drawing room, fingers laced behind her, staring at the tiny green-stemmed red apples that dotted the wallpaper, waiting impatiently for Edmund to arrive as he said he would in his note to her this morning.

It had been three days since the ball. Three days for her to consider their rather heated conversation, their uncomfortable dance, that unconventional…kiss. If one could call it a kiss. She shivered at the memory of his warm touch, her boldness that, up until the moment of contact, had been totally unplanned.

He had most definitely changed in the last few months, and not just physically. True, his hair was quite short now, his skin not as deeply tanned, no doubt because he'd moved from sunny France to chilly London,
and he'd dispensed of the jewelry and cologne, which surprised her most. But it was more than that. He
acted
different from the Edmund she remembered, and it had been just his unusual behavior of three days ago that confused her now, made her pause, forced her to think rationally about him for the first time since she left Paris two months ago.

Truthfully, she hadn't known Edmund very long before they'd married. But they seemed to take to each other easily, with an almost reckless abandonment, at least on her part, and she told herself at the time that getting to know each other better would be one of the joys of their married life. How naive she'd been! Edmund had never really loved
her,
he'd loved her money, as she had discovered upon visiting her bank shortly after he had abandoned her, her social prestige, her unique ability to run a challenging business from which he could profit by theft. And for all her smarts, she had been blinded by his appearance, his smooth and gracious behavior, his words of undying affection.

But never again. Never again would she allow herself to be taken by a man's good charm. Never again would she allow her intelligence, and especially her skills as a woman of industry, to be stolen and used by a professional liar. Her mother had instilled more common sense in her than that.

All of this had been in her thoughts constantly since he'd left her on their wedding night—until three nights ago at the ball when she'd met her husband again.

The moment she'd laid eyes on him she felt more than the intense pain of betrayal and humiliation she fully expected. She also recognized instantly that
she was still very much attracted to him physically, something she thought would have passed naturally by this time. She knew she didn't love him anymore, but she certainly, to her irritation, felt drawn to him as a woman to a man. That was probably the greatest betrayal of all.

Still, the changes in him, though subtle, as she considered it carefully, confounded her the most. He'd become far more aloof, diffident even, as witnessed by his standing next to a pillar all evening instead of mingling. The Edmund she knew would have danced with every woman in attendance, from beginning to end, laughing his beautiful laugh, charming them into submission—as he'd done to her.

Olivia abruptly stopped pacing and stared at the large, velvet-draped window, now rain-splattered so that she could see nothing beyond the glass but the murky grayness of late afternoon. Lifting a square satin pillow off the sofa at her right, she began twirling it absentmindedly with her fingers, engaged in deep, confusing contemplation.

He wasn't her husband.

But that was nonsense. Of course he was.

Yet in some manner he…wasn't. Not entirely. Not like she remembered him, at the very least. Could a person change so much in a matter of months? Or had it all been an act? And he'd
never
mentioned that he was a duke. Good God, she'd married a man of such noble blood, and he never told her? Instead he resorted to stealing her inheritance?

He's not the Edmund I married…

A knock on the drawing room door startled her. Be
fore she summoned a reply, Lady Abethnot entered in a flurry of pale pink skirts and plump cheeks.

“Olivia,” she remarked, a pleasant smile on her lips, “you have a guest. His grace, the Duke of Durham.”

Lady Abethnot gestured with her arm, and he stepped around the woman to enter the room, tall and stately, dressed all too handsomely in a dark brown frock coat and trousers, expressionless save for his eyes, which glared at her like one who was ready to do battle with the devil.

“Madam,” he murmured.

She curtsied. “Your grace.”

“Well, then,” Lady Abethnot cut in through a loud sigh. “I'll leave you to talk alone for a bit.”

“Thank you,” Olivia said with a smile to her hostess.

The lady smiled at her in return. “I'll only be in the next room should you choose to partake of refreshments. Call if you need me.” With that she scurried out, leaving the door open a respectable crack as propriety demanded.

He didn't seem to notice Lady Abethnot's departure at all. He just stared hard at her. Her husband who was not her husband. In every way.

Olivia quashed a sudden burst of inappropriate laughter that threatened to escape from the absurdity of it all. For at that second she realized definitively that this man, identical to Edmund in every physical way, was
not
the man she married.

Instinctively, she threw the pillow at him before he could speak. He caught it in one hand, then tossed it onto the leather chaise beside him.

“Who are you?” she asked bitterly, breaking the si
lence between them.

Without pause or prevarication he replied, “I am Samson Carlisle, Duke of Durham. Edmund is my brother.”

She managed to hide her surprise, clasping her hands behind her back. “Your twin.”

“Yes.”

That explained everything.

His gaze traveled slowly up and down the length of her body, for no reason she could think of, and his scrutiny made her shiver inside. He was certainly more arrogant than Edmund, and for a split second she also thought perhaps a bit more devastating in appearance.

“But you're obviously older,” she said, watching him carefully.

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Only by three minutes, to be precise.”

She chuckled from his distinct display of defensiveness, tipping her head to the side a fraction. “I meant no offense, your grace. However identical the two of you appear, you are the man with the title.”

One corner of his mouth turned up snidely. “So I've been told by my brother, repeatedly.”

“Ahh…I see.” Now she understood. Jealousy on Edmund's part lay at the core. For all she knew of her husband, she didn't doubt it in the least.

Silence reigned for a moment or two, and she shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. To a great degree, this man surprised her. He didn't flirt, he didn't sit, he didn't even look around the well-decorated drawing room. He just stared at her, expressionless.
Olivia wasn't sure what to do.

“I suppose I'm now your sister by marriage,” she remarked, attempting to break the ice.

“So you say,” he returned at once.

That insult took her aback. “So I say?” It was her turn to look him up and down. “Are you always so dour, sir?”

Clearly caught off guard by her audaciousness, he jerked his head back a little. Then he answered simply, “Usually. I'm nothing like Edmund.”

“That's an understatement,” she agreed with a grunt.

His eyes narrowed and he clasped his hands behind his back. “Knowing I'm nothing like Edmund, madam,” he said gravely, “is the only reason I'm here today.”

In some very strange manner, that remark, no doubt posed to be intimidating, warmed her instead, though she would never let such a weakness to his rather mundane comment show in expression or voice.

Smiling satisfactorily, she glanced down briefly to the sofa, running her fingertips gently along the cushioned back. “You look very much like him,” she admitted pleasantly, “though it only took me ten minutes or so to realize how different you are in personality.”

At long last he began to take a few steps into the drawing room. “I wouldn't know. I haven't seen or spoken to Edmund in nearly a decade.”

She almost gasped. Her head shot up abruptly as she looked back into his eyes. “I suppose that's why he never mentioned he had a twin. I can only guess the two of you had some sort of falling out.”

He didn't answer her immediately, though he did
drop his gaze from her for the first time since entering Lady Abethnot's home, continuing to walk slowly toward her as he grumbled, “When did you meet him?”

His redirection of the path of their conversation didn't slip by her. Of course she wanted—needed—to know what actually happened to split them into warring enemies all those years ago. But she reined in her curiosity for now. With this turn of events she had more important things to consider. This man wasn't her husband, and Edmund had been the one to steal her money. Yesterday she thought she had answers; this afternoon she realized she could be as far as ever from getting her funds returned to her, or at least getting some sort of justice. And above everything else, she now had
this
man to contend with. What a nightmare.

Olivia felt a sudden jolt of nervousness as he neared her. Instead of answering his question, she asked instead, “Why did you lie to me about your identity at the ball?”

He snickered, the first sign from him of anything remotely resembling humor. “Because it was far too entertaining to watch you treat me, and think of me, as Edmund.”

Incensed, Olivia couldn't think of a reasonable thing to say to that. She took a step away from him as he took one nearer. He moved fairly next to her now, so close that the hem of her rose-colored skirts brushed his dark, polished shoes. She stood her ground this time, though, determined not to let him see how confused he made her just by his presence. She had the distinct feeling the man used intimidation on purpose because of his incredible height and very masculine build. Ed
mund had never done that, but then Edmund got his way by flirting, not intimidating. She suddenly had to wonder if this man had ever flirted with a woman in his life.

“When did you meet my brother?” he asked again, more pointedly this time.

She blinked, then ran her palms down her tightly corseted waist. “Wouldn't you rather sit to discuss this?”

His brows drew together fractionally, indicating to her that he hadn't even thought about sitting.

“Very well,” he said abruptly, turning and moving to the settee, “but my time is valuable, Lady Olivia.”

“As is mine, your grace,” she replied at once, her tone conveying a growing impatience. “I'm quite certain you won't stay a minute longer than is necessary.”

Her twist of words amused him. She could tell by the droll look he tossed in her direction as he sat heavily on the bright red cushion, though he didn't comment. She gracefully lowered her body into a small parlor chair near the window, facing him directly across a tea table.

He waited for her to begin, and she didn't waste his time. “I met your brother at a soiree celebrating the birthday of our gracious Empress Eugenie. Of course she wasn't in attendance, but it was in her honor, and everyone who is
anyone
was there.”

“Naturally,” he drawled.

Olivia realized she was in danger of rambling, her nerves making her resemble a typical capricious miss rather than the intelligent lady she was raised to embody. She shifted her bottom in her chair so that she sat
ever more regally, then clasped her palms together loosely in her lap, concentrating on keeping to the point. “Edmund is quite a charming man and he flattered me, your grace. I'm certain you're aware of his skills and his reputation as a rake. I was not entirely ignorant of his spurious adoration, you understand, but he also seemed quite fascinated by my work for the empress, and that impressed
me
—”

“Fascinated by your
work
for the empress?” he cut in as he crossed one leg over the other and stretched his arms wide across the back of the settee.

She tried very hard not to stare at the muscles of his chest as they instantly pressed against the whiteness of his tailored shirt, pulling the buttons taut. The man had a…healthy physique. Or so she suspected. She refused to look him over brazenly to be sure.

“Yes,” she replied after clearing her throat. “I think it was the central reason I quickly became…enamored of him.”

“What type of work do you do, Lady Olivia?” he asked, his amusement now coupled with a bit of genuine intrigue.

He didn't know. Which meant he hadn't checked what he could of her background after her appearance at the ball. For a few seconds she felt a tad insulted that he didn't seem concerned about her veiled threats of three days ago, but then not that many in London knew her now that she was grown and living in France. It did, however, give her an odd sense of satisfaction to inform him that “her work” had nothing to do with menial labor, nor was she talking about volunteering for one of Eugenie's good causes. In truth, she adored watch
ing gentlemen squirm when she told them she ran a business for profit, and that she was quite successful at it.

“I'm the proprietor of my late stepfather's manufacturing company. In essence, I am the sole manager of the House of Nivan in Paris.”

It took only seconds for her to realize he had no idea on earth what she was talking about. She'd wondered about that the night of the ball as well, when she'd mentioned Nivan and he'd given her a blank stare. She now understood why.

Sighing, she eased lightly into her stays and expounded. “The House of Nivan is a company that produces perfume, your grace, and is considered one of the best in all of France. We also make fragranced soaps, scents, and smelling salts, and ship our product all over the civilized world, as we've done for more than forty years.”