The Blackmailed Bride (24 page)

Both Marcus and Finley turned to the new addition to the room. Nick stood just inside the door, arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the door frame. He watched the baron with a largely disinterested gaze.

“What are you doing here?” Finley asked, taking the words away before Marcus could ask himself.

“I thought perhaps you wouldn’t be willing to take no for an answer,” Nick said to Finley.

“Who are you to speak for anyone?” Finley stepped closer to Nick, and Marcus took several steps backward, willing to watch until he felt it was time to reveal what he knew.

“I’ll be Olivia’s husband in a few days.”

Marcus thought Finley looked as though he badly wanted to throw something across the room—perhaps at Nick, or even him. “You lie. Olivia will marry me. She knows what will happen if she doesn’t.” He brushed past them as though he were going to leave.

Nick stalked after Finley, and Marcus thought he saw a glimpse of the predator who had hunted traitors and enemies during the war. Had Marcus not known Nick, he might have been afraid for his own well-being.

“And what, pray tell, will you do if she doesn’t walk down the aisle with you? Threaten her with more of your blackmail? Strike her again?” Nick moved within a breath away from Finley, who now at least had the sense enough to seem regretful over his choice of words.

Strike her?
“What’s that about, Nick?” Marcus asked. “Has he hit my sister?” His voice was deceptively mild.

“Oh, yes,” Nick said without tearing his gaze from the baron. “I should have shot him then, I suppose. I might have, had I known the other ways he was tormenting the woman I love.”

Finley looked suddenly unsure. Very unsure.

Marcus leaned against the wall. He was curious to see how Nick would react to whatever Finley had to say. And he thought it best to repress his own white-hot anger.

“I don’t think this is any of your concern,” Finley told Nick. The words were probably meant to sound brave, but the quivering voice gave the fear away.

Nick gripped Finley by the front of his waistcoat. “What you don’t seem to understand is anything involving my future wife is my concern.”

Finley’s face lost all its color, and for an amused moment, Marcus thought the man might faint.

He half hoped he would.

Finley seemed to rally his remaining courage. “Olivia is an adult. She understands her actions and decisions have consequences.”

“As do yours,” Marcus interjected into the conversation. It was time to put an end to this foolishness. Finley wouldn’t be admitting his error, and Marcus was likely to lose what remained of his temper.

“We know you’ve been blackmailing Olivia,” Nick said again for emphasis.

“We also know what you’ve been threatening to expose,” Marcus said.

This seemed to surprise the baron. “You do?” he croaked.

Marcus nodded. “I also know your claim of having proof is a lie.”

“The letter exists,” Finley argued. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

Marcus shrugged. “Do you have it to prove what you’re saying?”

Finley wasn’t one to admit defeat. “It doesn’t matter if I don’t have the letter. The bare mention of your mother’s suicide will turn everyone against you.”

Marcus waved the papers in front of Finley’s face. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten your own dubious reputation. I’m sure your creditors will be interested to hear you’ve completely depleted your bank accounts and are in danger of losing everything. In another month, this beautiful home will have to be sold.”

Finley trembled with rage. “How would you know any of that?”

“You should have taken me seriously when I said I would do anything to stop you from pursuing my sister. I didn’t quite realize the depths you would plumb to get your way, but I was smart enough to do a bit of research on you.”

Everyone in the room knew the consequences of what Marcus was suggesting. Once the creditors realized everything
Finley could have gotten his hands on was already gone, and the baron was in danger of losing the roof over his head, they would begin to call in their debts in order to be the first ones who would receive the money.

They would descend on him like vultures scenting blood. And Marcus knew, after thoroughly checking the people Finley owed, many would be unwilling to wait for the magistrate before taking matters into their own hands.

“The marriage would have given me all the money I needed to save the estate.” Finley shot a disgusted look at Nick, and then turned to Marcus with beseeching eyes. “You wouldn’t want to see Father’s home sold to the highest bidder, would you? I know how much you respected the man.”

“Yes, I did respect him. That’s why I’ve already spoken to my solicitor about making the purchase as soon as the estate comes on the market. I’ve been assured I’ll have the first option to buy because the land abuts my own.”

Finley smashed his fist into the wall, obviously aware he had well and truly lost. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“First, I must ask you to stop putting holes in my wall. As for the rest, I suppose that would be up to you. You can either keep your silence, or you can talk. I’m afraid you won’t get to enjoy seeing your public ruination, however, because you’ll be sitting in debtors’ prison.”

Nick contributed his own suggestion. “You should probably leave the country…tonight. The thought of you distresses Olivia, and I cannot abide that. And I believe I’ve made clear several times what I’m willing to do to protect the woman I love.”

“Where will I go?” Finley whined.

“I don’t care,” Nick answered. “But I’ll find out if you’re not on a ship tonight, and I’m certain you won’t like what Marcus and I will have to do if you refuse to see reason.”

The two friends left then, and as they walked past the bewildered butler, they heard the sounds of Finley throwing something against the wall.

“Think he’ll take your suggestion?” Marcus asked as they descended the stairs together.

“I think he’s probably packing now,” Nick said with a grim smile.

I
t was the day.

The day Olivia had almost missed out on and then thought would never arrive.

She’d woken with the roosters. And then she’d paced the length of her bedroom countless times, wondering how long it would take for ten o’clock to arrive.

Too long, she thought later.

Eventually, the time passed, and Olivia’s nervousness gave way to excitement, and then impatience.

She was ready.

She’d been ready for quite a while.

Olivia rode to the church with Marcus, who seemed rather quiet to her.

“Something on your mind?” she asked as the carriage pulled up in front of the small but beautiful country church.

“Home won’t be the same without you,” he said with a sad smile.

“At least Gibbons will be there,” she said with a smirk.

“Comforting,” her brother muttered. “Very comforting.”

The two walked into the back of the church together, and Marcus excused himself to go speak with Nick.

Olivia could think of nothing but the man who was soon
to be her husband. Once she saw him, all other thoughts and concerns fled. She truly was going to be the Marchioness of Huntsford, forever tied to the one person she had never expected to love, but now couldn’t imagine living without.

Olivia studied herself in the full-length mirror. And for probably the first time in her life, she was fussing with her appearance. She wanted everything to look perfect for Nick. The dress didn’t disappoint. It was a light green, trimmed with silver and delicate pearls. The modiste in London had nearly expired with nerves when Olivia had requested the dress be made in a matter of days, but the finished product was stunning.

And her hair. Well, it would never stay where it was supposed to. So in the interest of not having to fight to keep it in a tight chignon, she’d let the wavy tresses trail down her back in a tumble of curls.

“You look so beautiful.” Henrietta dabbed at her eyes as she handed Olivia her simple bouquet.

The flowers, something Henrietta had insisted on providing for Olivia, were wrapped in a silver ribbon. The white roses exuded a pleasing fragrance, so she sniffed them discreetly before turning back to her friend and soon-to-be aunt. Olivia was actually surprised at the modest arrangement. She’d half feared the bouquet would be too large for her to carry by herself. And she was also pleased to note there wasn’t one tawdry color in the mix.

“Thank you.” Olivia embraced her, uncaring if the tight hug would wrinkle either of their dresses. “And thank you for standing with me. It means the world to me.”

“I can’t tell you how much your asking meant to
me
.” Henrietta glanced at the tall clock. “I think it’s time.”

Marcus approached from Olivia’s other side. “You make me feel like an old man,” he joked as he wrapped her hand into the crook of his arm.

Olivia swatted at him.

“You really do look lovely. Our parents would be sad they missed this.”

“Don’t make me cry,” she warned him, fighting back the tears.

“Are you happy?” he asked with a smile. He already knew the resounding answer to that.

“Happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Good.” He guided her to the closed door of the church, which was just barely blocking the sound of the beginning of the wedding music.

“Ready?”

She could only nod. Her heart was in her throat. She wanted to remember every moment of this so that she could one day tell her children exactly how she felt when she was preparing to marry their father. The music was lovely, and as the doors to the church were thrown wide, Olivia blinked several times in surprise.

Flowers covered every spare inch of the sanctuary. It looked as though someone had planted a garden overnight in the building.

Olivia looked at Marcus, her forehead wrinkled and eyebrows pulled low.

Henrietta saw the look. “That was me. I know you said you didn’t want any decorations, but I assumed that was because you were afraid there wasn’t enough time.”

Olivia dragged Marcus over to the woman and kissed her cheek. “It’s perfect.”

“Your wedding should be,” Henrietta said with conviction.

The musician had begun to repeat the wedding march, banging a little more purposefully on the keys.

“I think someone needs to start walking,” Marcus said with a chuckle, “before Mrs. Jones breaks the pianoforte.”

They stepped forward and Olivia could feel the moment that
all eyes turned to the back of the church. She fought the brief rise of nerves. Henrietta went first in the processional, and Olivia tried to ignore the curious stares and instead worked to peer over the crowd and the duchess to see Nick.

He was waiting at the end of the aisle for her, and looking more handsome than he ever had.

Their eyes locked, and he smiled his beautiful smile at her.

Olivia didn’t wait for the cue, didn’t know if she was supposed to be walking already, and took off down the aisle.

“Are you sure you want to do this? You seem reluctant,” Marcus commented with a touch of humor in his voice as they made the procession toward the awaiting marquess. Olivia knew she was nearly dragging her brother down the aisle of the church. And while decency and demureness warred within her, her desire to join Nick at the front was too strong to allow her any sense of decorum. The sooner she made it to the front of the sanctuary, the sooner they could begin their lives as husband and wife together.

Those sitting around, the small gathering of friends and family who had come to witness the ceremony, also seemed to notice her haste. Quiet chuckles could be heard throughout the sanctuary. That was, when they could be heard in between the loud gasping sobs of Gibbons, who was sitting on the first row.

As Olivia and Marcus passed him, Olivia reached out her hand and laid it on the butler’s shoulders. He grew more emotional at the simple touch. He pulled out a piece of snowy-white linen and loudly blew his nose into the fabric.

When Olivia finally stood in front of Nick, she thought that perhaps he looked even more eager than she did. And as she took his hand, the rest of the congregation around them seemed to fade into the distant shadows.

Reverend Thomas smiled benevolently at both of them, and Olivia—without thinking—dropped hold of her future husband’s hands and nearly leapt forward to embrace the older man.

“Well, now.” he seemed surprised by her show of affection.

After a tiny squeeze, she turned back to Nick who looked more amused than shocked.

“We can begin now, Reverend,” Olivia said quietly, without realizing her voice was carrying to the farthest corners of the church.

“Thank you, child,” he said with a grin. “We have all come together to witness the union of two of God’s children who have found love in Him, and each other.”

The couple smiled at each other.

Olivia barely heard the rest of the time-honored wedding vows. She repeated after Reverend Thomas when prompted and listened with bated breath as Nick made his own declarations. She couldn’t believe she’d made it to this place, with this man.

When Nick placed the band on her finger, Olivia was aware of Marcus coughing quietly into his hand. She didn’t need to look at him to know he was crying.

She would tease him for that afterward.

Later, the wedding-goers would proclaim the couple the match of the Season, perhaps even the decade. And while the simple ceremony had been held in a modest parish church—something highly unusual considering the rank of those involved—all who were privileged to attend said they’d never before seen a service quite so elegant.

Or floral.

Nor, they said, had two people been so obviously in love. They were willing to forgive the bride’s haste, the brother’s tears and the butler’s hysterics.

All in all, everyone agreed, it was a perfect day.

Nick’s estate was every bit as elegant as she’d expected it would be. The house was massive, with a beautiful reflecting pool in the front. The gardens—something Nick had pointed out as their carriage rounded the semicircle in front of the house—stretched for what seemed like miles. Yes, Olivia thought with satisfaction, she was going to like it here.

There must have been fifty or more uniformed and liveried servants waiting outside for the master and new mistress to arrive. Olivia tried to memorize the faces as she was introduced to the men and women, but knew that it would take time before she could recite their names without error. The staff had been welcoming and excited to have a new mistress of the house.

Stepping inside, Olivia was gratified to see that whoever had decorated—she suspected it was Nick himself—had impeccable taste. She wanted to see the rest of the house, curious to become acquainted with her new home. Olivia wasn’t given a tour, however. The most she saw of the house was what was on her way to their chambers.

All of her personal items had been delivered, and she noticed her copy of
Twelfth Night
sitting on the little stand by a comfortable looking chair. She walked into the dressing room, saw her brushes and other personal items and sighed with pleasure. Olivia marveled over how different, and better, the small things looked in the new setting. Would she never cease to be amazed at how completely and wonderfully her life had changed?

She hoped not.

Olivia thought she would be nervous, or even a bit sad, to be leaving behind her old life. All she found was an incredible joy and anticipation over the future bliss stretching out before her.

She looked at the miniature of her mother that Nick had insisted be placed on the dresser, and for the first time in a long while, she had a return smile for the painted lady.

She wouldn’t condone what her mother had done. Her suicide was a perfect example of the destructive power of love. Her mother had been wrong, you couldn’t love a person too deeply. But you could love them more than God, and when that happened, the relationship became unhealthy and damaging.

She hoped her mother had found peace in the last moments, but she’d never know. She did know, however, she couldn’t allow her mother to continue to govern her life—even unintentionally—from beyond the grave.

“I forgive you, Mama,” she whispered to the picture.

“What was that?” Nick asked, coming behind her and wrapping her in his arms.

She breathed in deeply, enjoying his nearness. “Hmm?” she asked dreamily, thinking they could stay like
this
forever and she’d not have any complaints.

“I thought I heard something,” he said.

“Oh, that. I was talking to Mother.”

He pulled back a bit and looked at her. His brows were pulled together, and a tiny smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “She wasn’t answering back, was she?”

“Not this time.”

“Not this…?” The playfulness in his face quickly gave way to puzzlement.

Olivia laughed, the loud sound echoing off the walls. “That was a joke.”

From the security of his arms, she felt free to admit, “I accepted my mother’s apology. She made one, in her letter.”

She felt, rather than saw him nod his head.

“I don’t have to live in the shadow of her shame,” Olivia continued. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at her husband. “Just as you don’t have to live in your father’s.”

His face was somber, but he nodded his head. “I know that now. I promise no more running.”

She smiled. “No more running, for either of us,” she agreed.

Neither spoke for several minutes. “I could stay like this forever,” Nick said as he rested his cheek atop her hair.

“Me, too, my lord.”

“I believe that’s Nick to you, Lady Huntsford.”

“Finally,” she breathed, thinking how long and hard the road to get to this place had been.

“Yes, indeed.” He kissed her, his mouth gentle on her own, and Olivia changed her mind. They could stay like
this
forever and not have any complaints from her.

“God is good,” Nick murmured as he pulled away from her.

“Yes, He is.” Her agreement was so swift and certain that he had to laugh—joyously. They had come such a long way in their short time together. Nick said a quick, silent prayer of thanksgiving. God had granted him what his heart had not been optimistic enough to desire.

Nick leaned down slightly so he could kiss his wife. “Have I told you in the last ten minutes that I love you?”

She smiled, an expression mirroring his own happiness. “Yes. But I don’t mind hearing it one more time.”

So he told her again…and again…and again…