The Blackmailed Bride (19 page)

Olivia knew he wasn’t talking to her. Nor was she going to answer. She had every suspicion Nick would be chastising himself later, and she’d not add any guilt or responsibility onto him.

She was suddenly so tired she couldn’t think past the next syllable she wanted to say. But she mustered the strength to turn and look at Nick.

“May I ask a favor?” She dimly thought her words sounded slurred.

He nodded, although he still seemed lost in his private contemplation.

“May I rest against you? Just for a moment?”

Nick didn’t answer. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back until she was cradled against his chest. Olivia wasn’t sure what happened to the pistol…wasn’t sure she wanted to know, either. Sometimes ignorance was wisest.

N
ick knew as soon as Olivia’s breathing leveled to a deep, even pattern that Olivia’s fatigue had won its battle against her desire to remain awake. With exorbitant care, he rose from the settee. His future bride didn’t object when he lifted her in his arms and cradled her against his chest. Instead, she snuggled against him, as though burrowing for warmth.

Nick was tempted to sit again. To hold this woman until the sun rose and he was forced by propriety to leave. But soon enough, he wouldn’t have to part from her, wouldn’t have to whip his horse into a lather riding across town to save her. No, she would stay with him always, and he would protect her.

Gibbons was waiting outside the door when Nick used his free hand to open it.

“Thank you, my lord,” the servant whispered. Relief etched itself across every line of his expression. “I feared what harm would come to her while we waited for you.”

“You were right to send for me,” Nick assured him. “And she, unfortunately, has met with harm enough.”

Gibbons looked at his mistress’s face, and the color drained from his own. “Baron Finley did that?” he asked.

Nick nodded, although confirmation hardly seemed neces
sary. “Will you show me to her chamber? Your lady needs sleep now.”

The butler nodded and led the way upstairs. Nick walked past him, into the bedroom, and laid Olivia on the bed. He pulled the blankets over her, trying to ignore the stab of emptiness he felt once she was out of his arms. Gibbons didn’t follow him in, nor did the old man leave his post at the open doorway. Nick smiled at the servant’s protectiveness.

He contented himself with brushing a kiss across her cheek, and Olivia sighed in response. Whatever latent anger was still bubbling inside Nick lost some of its intensity at the innocent noise. He forced himself to walk away from the bed, to walk out the door, even though he felt he was leaving part of him behind.

“Should I send word to his lordship?” Gibbons asked.

“When is he expected home?”

“No more than a few days hence.”

Nick thought. He’d given Olivia his word. Further, Olivia was soon to be his wife, his responsibility, and he’d handled the threat.

Besides, he and Marcus had enough to discuss once the earl returned.

Nick wondered if they would still be friends once the talking was done.

“Leave it be,” Nick finally said. “The damage has been done, and Marcus might well not take our word that his sister isn’t gravely injured. It wouldn’t do for him to leave from the country in the middle of the night and show up on Finley’s doorstep demanding satisfaction.”

Gibbons nodded in agreement.

Nick could have made myriad excuses as to why he needed to stay by Olivia’s side. Fear Finley might return. Concern she would be worried and frightened even if he didn’t.

A pure and simple desire not to let the woman out of his sight.

But he bade Gibbons a good night—for what was left of it—and went to retrieve his mount and head home.

The space and distance would be good for him. They would give him an opportunity to cool his anger and bloodlust. He’d not felt this way—this consuming urge to violence—since his time early days in France. Back then, he’d been idealistic about his missions and convinced of his divine right to vengeance. But with age had come temperance. And it had been so long since he’d felt that surging and mounting desire to pull the trigger, the intensity had been nearly overwhelming. For a moment, Nick had not known himself what he was going to do…what he was capable of doing.

That had frightened him.

But he’d let Finley live.

Whether Marcus would have extended the same mercy was a different story. But Nick knew as much as he wanted to, and as justified as he might have been, he couldn’t return to the man he used to be. He wouldn’t have his future wife look on him with horror and fear.

Thinking about Olivia caused a pang in his chest. When he thought about what would have happened had he been delayed by mere minutes…

It wouldn’t do him any good to dwell, he decided.

One thing was certain, however, he and his intended were going to have a lengthy discussion.

Very, very lengthy.

And very, very soon.

Nick wasn’t sure why Finley felt he had the right to show up at Olivia’s home in the middle of the night, but Nick was more than willing to set the situation straight for him. And while he couldn’t understand what ties existed between Olivia and the baron, he was fully prepared to sever them.

Marcus arrived exactly five days later.

Olivia wasn’t waiting at the door to welcome him but he heard a loud commotion coming from the drawing room. She must be in there.

“My lord,” Gibbons greeted.

Marcus grinned. “You know, Gibbons, I almost missed you while I was gone.”

“I can assure you, my lord, you were alone in your suffering.” But the butler’s grin belied his words.

“Is my sister in?” Marcus asked, fairly sure the answer was a yes.

“Last I checked, my lord.” Something about the old man seemed out of character.

“With her suitors?” Marcus chuckled, heading in the direction of the sitting room.

“Not in several days, my lord.”

The young earl puzzled at the statement but didn’t bother to ask for a further explanation.

Marcus was rounding a corner when he almost tripped over a lady.

“Beg your pardon, my lady,” he said with a dramatic little bow.

“Oh! Lord Westin. How wonderful to bump into you.” The short, pudgy woman was near sixty, but she blushed as she raked her eyes over the young man.

“The pleasure is mine.” He made a move to leave, but she put a hand out to touch his sleeve.

“You must be positively thrilled!” she trilled.

“Um, yes. Yes, I am.” Granted, he was glad to be home, but Marcus thought her enthusiasm a bit overdone.

“I’ve been saying all along it would happen. And it was very gratifying to be proven correct.” She smiled at him, waiting for a response.

What lunacy had transpired during his absence? “Yes, I can see how it would be.”

The older woman leaned closer to him, dropping her voice to a whisper, although there was no one else about. “And I wouldn’t worry about the bit of gossip circulating about the two of them in the garden. Granted it was—from all accounts—a bit risqué. But betrothed couples can, of course, be given a bit more latitude and forgiveness.”

A distinctly sour taste filled Marcus’s mouth. “Of course,” he ground through clenched teeth.

The woman patted his arm. “I’m sure you are pleased your sister is finally marrying so well. Even if everything has been in a bit of a rush, it’s better than sitting on the shelf.”

Marcus saw red. “If you’ll excuse me, I must meet with my sister—about wedding arrangements.”

This made the woman titter all over again, but Marcus barely paid her any heed as he vaulted the stairs up to his sister’s rooms. Fury stole over him, and he needed to talk to Olivia before he lost all control.

Olivia was reclining absent-mindedly on the settee in the sitting room adjoining her bedchamber. A book rested across her lap, but she’d not glanced at its pages in several hours. She’d closeted herself in her chambers most of the time. The bruise on her cheek was fading quite nicely, and along with the rice powder she applied throughout the day, it was almost impossible to tell it was still there.

A quick knock came at the door, but before she could call out, it flew open.

“What have you done?” Marcus shouted as he entered.

After the barest of glances at his face, she realized he
knew
.

Without sparing a moment for a greeting, she asked, “How did you find out?”

Her brother nearly took the door off its hinges as he slammed it shut. “Does it matter? Did you honestly think you could keep your foray a secret from me? That I wouldn’t hear as soon as I stepped inside the house?”

“Gibbons?” she gasped, bubbling with righteous indignation at the thought of the old man breaking her confidence.

“No. It wasn’t Gibbons,” he said tightly. “But I see I am to add him to the list of traitors in my own home.”

Olivia said nothing. She fingered the fringe on her shawl, unconsciously unraveling the threads in her anxiety.

“How could you?” The hurt was evident in his face. Olivia felt the stab of guilt—as sharp as any knife.

Marcus continued, “There will be no marriage. You might as well pack your belongings because we’ll be returning to Westin Park.”

Relief washed over her. If Marcus wasn’t going to force her to stay in London and marry Nick, then she could always find a way back from the country later, and devise an excuse to explain her departure to Lord Finley.

“What will you do?” she asked.

“Simple,” he said, striding toward the door. “Kill your fiancé.”

Olivia jumped to follow him. She doubted that Marcus would kill his best friend—even over her—but she didn’t want her brother rushing off in a fury and ruining his friendship with the marquess.

“Marcus!” she called as she trailed behind him in the hallway. “Stop! Nick and I meant no—”

He stopped his path toward the stairs but didn’t turn to face her. “Nick?” he asked. “Did you say
Nick?
”

His voice had dropped to a whisper, and Olivia was afraid to answer.

“Did I just hear you say Nick and you…?” he asked again.

“Yes,” she croaked, wondering if the revelation of the other
person involved in her public shame would make it better or worse.

“So you weren’t caught in a compromising situation with Finley?” His back was still turned to her. “No.”
Because of Nick’s intervention.

“Instead, you were found with my best friend?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But it isn’t what it seems—”

“Enough!” he roared. “Stay in your room. And don’t bother packing until I return from Huntsford’s.”

Olivia took a few steps forward, wanting to lessen the blow somehow. “Marcus, remember he’s your friend.”

“He was” was all the young earl said before descending the steps and leaving the house.

As Nick sat in his study, he attempted to make sense of his estate accounts, but every time he looked at the numbers, the figures melded together, jumbled or otherwise made themselves impossible to read. His heart wasn’t in his work. It was across Mayfair at Olivia’s house. In the days waiting for Marcus to return, he’d become a permanent fixture there. Her brother was due home today so Nick had forced himself to stay away.

Nothing in recent memory had been quite so difficult.

“I should shoot you,” Marcus bellowed as the door flung open. Nick’s butler Mathis was hot on the earl’s heels, breathing hard after the mad dash up the stairs.

“I’m sorry, my lord. I tried to stop him,” the butler panted as the younger man strode up to the desk.

“It’s all right, Mathis. He’s expected.”

The butler bowed stiffly and exited the room.

“Stand up,” Marcus growled.

“Why?” the marquess asked coolly.

“Because I can’t very well hit you if you’re sitting down.”

Nick sighed. “I have no wish to fight with you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have mauled my sister.” Marcus edged closer.

“Is that what she told you?”

“No. She tried to protect you in spite of your sins.”

That, Nick supposed, was slightly gratifying. Since she had extracted his promise that he wouldn’t tell Marcus what had occurred, she could have easily cast Nick to the lions and blamed everything on him, secure in the knowledge that having given his word, he would not contradict her. “All I can do is ask for your forgiveness.”

Marcus sat down heavily in a chair. “Well, you don’t have it. I trusted you with her. Thought she would be safe with you.” A mirthless laugh. “Apparently, I was throwing her to a hungrier wolf than Finley.”

Nick hated not being able to tell his friend the truth. Marcus would then abandon his lust for vengeance against him. But he would do nothing to break Olivia’s trust.

“I’ve offered for her,” Nick said instead, “and she has accepted. Everything is put to rights.”

“In society’s eyes perhaps,” Marcus allowed. “But not with us.”

“Given the circumstances, it was the best I could do.”

“So what am I to do?” Marcus asked. Some of his anger seemed to dissipate with his forceful exhale. “Allow my sister to marry you, and condemn her to a loveless union? Or do I forbid the marriage, and let the gossips eat her alive?”

“I hardly think marriage to me would be so disastrous.”

Marcus studied his old friend closely. “It would be for her. Olivia deserves to be with someone who loves her.”

Nick reached over and grabbed the decanter of water sitting on the edge of his desk and poured himself a drink. “I like and admire your sister a great deal.

“I will treat her well,” Nick added after Marcus remained silent.

There were several more beats of uncomfortable silence, and Nick sipped aimlessly at his water, trying to still his emotions. Would Marcus forbid the match?

Marcus stared at him before sighing in resigned defeat. “I guess there’s nothing to be had for it. The news is already circulating, and it would look worse for Olivia if I forbade the marriage.”

The iron fist gripping Nick’s heart eased.

“I’ve already procured the special license,” Nick said. “I think this business should be finished quickly.” Another sip. “Your sister and I discussed having the ceremony two weeks after your arrival.” Well,
Nick
had discussed…Olivia had listened in stony silence.

Marcus stiffened again. He seemed irked at being left out of the proceedings. “I suppose there’s really no choice in the matter.”

Marcus stood up to leave. “I’ll expect you to call on me tomorrow in order to finalize arrangements.” Nick nodded.

Marcus walked toward the door but before pulling it open, turned to face his old friend. “I hope you know this is the end of our friendship.”

“I was afraid it would be,” Nick said.