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Authors: Theresa Romain

BOOK: Season for Surrender
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He simply smiled.
“You think I can't touch you. Well, there's something I
can
do.” His smile widened. “This conversation started, if you recall, because you were concerned about Miss Oliver's reputation. How much is it worth to you?”
Xavier narrowed his eyes. “I'd never put a price on a lady's good name. I've told you that since the instant you conceived of this idiotic wager.”
“And how much is yours worth?” Lockwood lifted the decanter, studied it, and then poured another inch of brandy into his snifter. “Not to you. To her.”
Xavier watched Lockwood swirl and sip his brandy as casually as if they were joking at White's. “I'm not sure what you mean.”
“Would it appeal to her to be associated with a rake drowning in scandal? One who might have come by his title dishonorably? What do you think?”
“I think Miss Oliver is too wise to credit rumors, especially when she has seen no evidence for their truth.”
“You think so.” Lockwood tossed back the rest of his brandy and smacked the snifter down on the desk. “Are you certain? Not so long ago, she blamed you for a scandal that touched her family. Now scandal's starting to swirl about her again—because you and she have been spending a little too much time together. Alone. How would she react upon learning you're as bad for her as she once thought?”
“How did you know she blamed—” Thoughts arced and fizzed, and he realized: “
You
told that scandal sheet last spring. About Matheson and the girl he married. Miss Oliver's sister. You sold their story for all the
ton
to read, after I told it to you in confidence.”
“Naturally.” Lockwood flicked away the accusation like a gnat. “It was the perfect opportunity to lower your friends' lofty opinion of you. It worked with Matheson until Miss Oliver got it in her lovely little head to play peacemaker.”
For as long as that—
months—
Lockwood had been trying to poison him. Even then, the marquess had used Louisa as a means to his end.
Xavier inhaled deeply. Though his heart pounded, he kept his voice calm. “I don't think we have anything more to say to one another. You may leave in the morning; I'll grant you that much time to collect your possessions and fabricate some sort of family emergency.”
Lockwood struck the desk, hard, with the flat of his hand, making the snifter rattle. “You're not
listening
. You can't continue this way, Xavier. You're losing wagers already. Getting soft. You've got nothing to go on with.”
He leaned forward, his features fragmenting into planes and shadows as he brought himself nearly nose to nose with Xavier.
“But I can change all that, for a small price.” He paused, and Xavier imagined his fuzzy features curving into a smug smile. “A night with Miss Oliver. Nothing you haven't already had, I am sure? It's a more than fair bargain: I get to have her, and you get to keep everything else.”
He dropped back into his chair, and Xavier relished his grimace of discomfort as he settled into the thronelike Norman seat.
“Your idea is repulsive,” Xavier said. “Miss Oliver is no one's possession to give or receive, but I can promise you that you will never lay a hand on her again.”
“I think,” Lockwood said, rising to his feet, “she
is
yours to give. She wants you more than she realizes. I think you feel the same about her, too. And therefore, it will be my very great pleasure to take her from you.”
Xavier stood, instinctively matching his height against the marquess's, though he knew the time for physical intimidation was past. “You won't have Miss Oliver, no matter how much scandal you try to stir up. I'll let everything else go before I let you touch her.”
Lockwood smiled, master of himself again. “Your emphatic words let me know that I have chosen my price well. You simply need a little time to come to your senses. But don't take too long. I've already planted a few seeds of rumor. Her reputation won't last, and she'll never forgive you for its loss.”
“And what if I . . .” Xavier trailed off, letting a new idea sink through him. “What if I protect her with my name?”
Lockwood shrugged. “If you propose marriage to her, I'll violate her.”
The coldness of the statement froze Xavier.
Lockwood could do it, too. All the time, maids and governesses suffered the unwanted attentions of their employers. The women of polite society were slightly better off, if they had the protection of a male relative. Still, all it took to blight a reputation was a few minutes alone with the wrong man. And what recourse was there, once a woman had been so abused? The best she could hope for was to be married to her abuser. Shackled for life to a bitter, violent man.
No. Xavier had to protect Louisa. It was his responsibility, was it not? He'd made her a target, just by caring.
He shut that thought up tightly. “No need for threats, Lockwood.” Xavier still felt icy, and his words came out just as cold. “We shall keep our quarrel between ourselves. There's much you would hate to lose, just as I would.”
Lockwood trailed his fingers over the encoded ledger. “Everyone has something to lose, Coz. Especially you. My question is, what will you risk to keep it?”
“You ask me about risk? We've filled half the betting book at White's with our wagers.” Xavier seated himself on the corner of his desk. “If I have much to lose, I also have much to gamble with.”
A palpable hit; Lockwood grimaced at this reminder of his own empty pockets. “But you
have
grown soft, Xavier. You're not willing to gamble with Miss Oliver. And I am.”
He gave the ledger a shove back toward Xavier. “Go ahead, keep this. Who knows what you'll learn?”
And with that, he left Xavier alone with his thoughts.
With only one thought, really: that just when he realized what was most important, he might lose it.
Oh, Lockwood couldn't threaten his title. Xavier had been born within the bounds of marriage, and in the eyes of the law, that made him his father's son. The rightful earl. A rumor was nothing but a rumor.
Yet a rumor turned against him could topple the house of cards that constituted his reputation. For now, he was notorious, but he was also respected. If he lost that respect, he'd also lose all his respectable associations.
Or he'd take them down with him.
He sank down into his seraglio chair, the soft seat cradling his bones. Creative as he might be when plotting a worthless wager, he had only one idea now.
He'd trade on his reputation once more, for Louisa's good. To keep her safe. To lead her not into temptation, but deliver her from evil. And then . . .
Then she'd be gone, and it didn't matter what became of him after that.
Chapter 22
Containing Some False Statements, and Some True
“Thank you for meeting me, Lady Irving.” Xavier faced Louisa's aunt across the desk of his private study. This study had hosted more dramatic scenes in the past few days than it had in the few decades before.
He took a deep breath, then implemented his plan. “I have a confession to make.”
“Yes?” The countess lifted her brows. Her melon-colored turban clashed violently with the furbelows of her royal-blue gown, and she, as ever, looked unconscious of the fact.
Expression Number Five, Mocking Drollery, would be the most offensive. Xavier slipped it on. “I have little enough conscience for a great wrong, but enough for a small good. You see, I've attempted to seduce your niece. And while we haven't done anything irrevocable”—his throat caught on the word—“I think it best for the sake of her reputation that you remove her from the house party at once.”
He waited, Mocking Drollery firmly affixed, for the explosion. He hoped it would be huge. He hoped she would shout. Even strike him.
That was what a man deserved if he treated Louisa Oliver poorly.
Lady Irving sat straight-backed in the horrible Norman chair, looking puzzled. “Is this some joke?”
“It's not a joke.”
She nodded, then lifted a heavily beringed hand to her temple. “I could use a brandy.”
“Allow me.” Xavier popped from his chair and walked to the sideboard, filling a snifter for her ladyship.
Lady Irving sipped, then nodded again. “It's good.” She set the snifter atop the desk and folded her hands in her lap. “Now. You've been bothering my niece, you say. And you want me to take her away. Can't control yourself?”
Mocking Drollery wavered. “I . . . can't, no.”
“Don't intend to marry her?”
Xavier could only stare dumbly.
If you propose marriage to her, I'll violate her
, Lockwood had said.
She apparently took his silence as a negative. “Of course you don't. I ought never to have expected that of you.”
He smiled, feeling Mocking Drollery crack at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “No one should expect commitment from Lord Xavier. You and your niece ought to be honored that I scraped together enough restraint not to ruin her.”
The countess pressed at her temple again, then scrabbled for the snifter and wrapped her hands around its bowl, rings clicking against the glass. Her shoulders sagged, and she seemed to gain ten years.
“It's my fault,” she murmured. “Her parents trusted me.
She
trusted me. Thought I could keep her safe, even here . . .”
Xavier turned his head, looking at her aslant. This was not the reaction he'd hoped for.
Then she speared him with a stare sharp as broken glass. “It's your fault, too.”
Ah,
there
was the reaction he'd expected. He threw kindling on the fire. “
My
fault? Nonsense. Everyone knows what these house parties are like. If your niece wished to be a guest here, she should have been prepared for the price of admission.”
The countess's face drained of color, leaving only two spots of rouge on her cheekbones. “She was unwilling?”
He smiled, wide and flashing. “Not by the time I was finished with her.”
His stomach churned, as nauseated as it had been when he drank an entire bottle of Armagnac on a bet. That foolishness seemed ages ago.
Sick rose into his throat, but he kept the smile fixed on his face: the damned smile, damning him, until the countess began to stand. She stood in stages, the pained movements of someone very old or very tired. Hauling herself forward, grasping the edge of the desk, bearing her weight on her arms. Forcing herself upright, then drawing her shoulders back.
Quick as a whip-crack, she slapped him.
He was almost relieved.
She looked down her nose. “I regret trusting you. I regret allowing you another chance. Not everyone deserves one.”
With careful control, she pushed her chair toward the desk, set her soiled glass on the sideboard, and turned to face Xavier again. He held his breath, waiting for the final verdict.
“I thought you were the sort of man Louisa needed. Someone who could bring her out of her shell and care for her just as she is.”
Xavier's throat closed again. He couldn't deny it.
“But I see now that you are the sort of man no one needs at all.” She turned her back on him and walked to the door with measured steps, then turned once more. “We'll be gone by midday.”
He nodded his acceptance. His smile didn't fade until she closed the door behind her.
This was the way things were to be now. He'd made his bed, of rumors and speculation, and it was far too large for anyone to lie close to him. At least he would not allow anyone else to be hurt.
It was a hollow triumph. But it was better than a defeat.
 
 
Louisa had not seen her aunt in such a temper since the end of her engagement long months ago, early in the spring. At that time, the countess had reserved most of her wrath for Louisa's stepsister, Julia, and for Louisa's former betrothed, James. Even for Lord Xavier.
Now, as Lady Irving crammed Louisa's gowns into trunks over the clamor of an affronted lady's maid, Louisa realized that she had been fortunate to be spared the brunt of her aunt's anger.
“Foolish girl,” said the countess, mercilessly crushing Louisa's favorite primrose silk. “No.
Stupid
girl. Stupid, to dally with a rake. Stupid, to open yourself up to scandal
again
.”
Slippers followed the gown, clunking against the lid of the trunk and falling onto the wadded fabric.
“Please, my lady,” cried the abigail, waving her hands. “Please, have a care for the gowns!”
“Damn the gowns,” said Lady Irving, snatching an armful of undergarments from the wardrobe and heaping them atop the silks in the trunk. “We'll buy new gowns in London. My niece seems to crave something less demure.”
Louisa went cold. “Please excuse us,” she said to the frantic lady's maid. She escorted the servant to the door of her bedchamber, then shut it and turned back to her aunt.
“What has happened?” she made herself ask. “You came in here like a whirlwind and started ruining my garments. I gather you've heard something from Lord Lockwood?”
Lady Irving stopped shoving at the linens and raised her head, nostrils flaring. “Lockwood? You've been fooling about with him, too?”
“
No
.” Louisa made her way to the armchair by the fireplace and sank into it. “No. I haven't been fooling about with anyone.”
“Liar.” Lady Irving turned back to the wardrobe and grabbed another armful of petticoats and shifts. “I heard it from the man himself.”
She tossed the clothing roughly into the trunk, then sank onto the bed. Her tight, boned stays creaked as they held her body straight. “Louisa, my girl. You foolish girl.”
Apprehension made Louisa wobbly-kneed; she couldn't have stood up if she'd wanted to. Again, she asked, “What happened?”
Lady Irving grimaced. “Our host summoned me to his private study for a most revealing interview. Seems he's been toying with you. Doesn't have enough manhood to marry you; only enough to ask me to take you away.”
“Oh.” Louisa felt as though she'd been deflated. “That was a very ungracious thing for him to do.”
The countess adjusted her turban with an impatient huff. “You know, I believe he thought he was doing us a favor. Said we should be grateful nothing irrevocable had happened.”
Louisa swallowed heavily. In spite of the tension in the room, her belly gave a quick squirm of heat. It was true, nothing but Alex's restraint had kept them apart.
She understood exactly what he was doing. Somehow, he'd decided her good name depended on her leaving the house party, and he had forced the matter.
But she wished he'd gone about it any other way. He had betrayed her—their—confidence to one of her closest and dearest relatives. Louisa had the good opinion of few enough people, and she hoarded it. Treasured it. He should not have sold her so cheaply. Not even if he meant well.
It was carelessness, just as she'd suspected the first time they'd spoken in the library. It was less wicked than being intentionally unkind, though no more admirable.
“He is trying to help,” she said dully. “He wants me to leave for my own safety. He believes Lord Lockwood is a threat to me.”
Lady Irving inhaled deeply, like a hound scenting a new prey. “Then why wouldn't you simply leave? You're a sensible girl. Unless there's more to the story than that.”
Louisa gave a dry laugh. “There's much more. Yes.” She rolled her shoulders against the upholstered back of the chair, forcing herself to sit up.
Don't be spineless
.
Even now, she had a little too much pride to tell her aunt about the wager. That she knew Alex and Lockwood had invited her to the house party for the sake often pounds. That she'd tried to protect Alex from the consequences of losing that bet to his vindictive cousin.
Her aunt was right: it sounded foolish.
“I lost my head over him,” she admitted. “He made me feel as though he wanted to know me, just the way I am.” The words nearly choked her.
“Any man should want that,” Lady Irving said. Though her posture was still tense, her voice had softened.
“But they don't, Aunt.” Louisa hated the way her voice grew thick. “They never have. The one man who ever paid me attention was only interested in a marriage of convenience; then he fell in love with my sister.” James and Julia. Louisa had thought it didn't hurt anymore, but she was wrong.
Lady Irving patted the counterpane next to her, and Louisa forced herself up from the chair to sit on the bed next to her aunt.
The countess took one of Louisa's hands between hers. “It's terrible, isn't it? It
is
. It's terrible that you should be unappreciated.”
She gave Louisa's hand a pat, then released it. Louisa clasped it tightly in her lap with her other hand and tried to feel nothing.
Lady Irving wasn't through with her, though. “I understand why you were charmed by the earl, my girl. Charm is his stock-in-trade. But you still did wrong.”
She tugged a bolster to her, resting her elbows on it. “Not as wrong as he. He should never have dishonored you with his touch. But Louisa, I brought you here for two reasons. First, to get away from Julia and James, so you could start making your own path. Second, to open yourself to new experiences.”
She took off her melon-colored turban and scrubbed at her disarranged auburn curls. “I hoped you would find love. With Lord Xavier, even. The man has . . . potential.”
Louisa gave a choked laugh. “I thought so, too.”
Lady Irving patted her hand again. “I know you didn't mean to break faith with me.”
So her aunt's anger had subsided into disappointment. Louisa felt lower than a worm. She didn't even have her own anger at Alex to buoy her; only a numb, dull feeling as though she'd been kicked.
“You were right,” Louisa said. “I did need something new.”
“I didn't intend for you to have as many new experiences as you've apparently had.” Lady Irving gave her a wry look, then slid from the bed. “Gad, look at this mess. Disgraceful; your gowns will be ruined. Where's that maid of yours? We need to finish collecting your things. I told Xavier we'd depart by midday.”
Louisa let this pass; she simply trudged to the door and summoned the waiting abigail to return, to try to salvage her clothing.
As the maid and Lady Irving began a spirited discussion on how best to pack a trunk, garments flying in a froth, Louisa again seated herself in the chair by the fireplace. She let her eyes grow unfocused, and she required herself to think.
So. They were leaving, but scandal was still only a threat. Alex—Xavier—had contained it to her family circle. He thought he'd done her a kindness.
And then there was Lockwood, shallowly ruthless. Ruthlessly shallow.
She gripped the spindly wooden arms of the chair.
She'd come here shy and afraid, though determined to change. And she had. She'd taken her pleasure with a rake and left him unsatisfied. She'd jabbed a marquess with a hairpin, a knee, and a blunt-bladed dinner knife.
The memory brought an unwilling smile to her face. If she had courage enough to geld an assailant, she certainly had enough to hold her own in a conversation with a starchy matron. If she had sufficient pride to leave this house with dignity, she had more than enough to spend an evening at a ball without a dance partner.

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