The Fifth Kiss (6 page)

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her coldly, his nostrils flaring. “Do you realize, my dear, that you are indulging in
black-mail
?”

It was her turn to be surprised. “Black-mail? I don't know what you mean.”

He sneered. “How innocent you look! Since you are doing the
deed
, you must be familiar with the word.”

“No … I am not
at all
familiar with it,” she said, nonplussed. “I have never heard it before.”

“Black-mail,
Ma'mselle Naiveté
, is an act of extortion—the word comes from Scotland, I believe—in which the victim (in this case, I) is forced by the black-mailer (yes,
you
, my dear) to pay a price (usually quite high) in exchange for the black-mailer's promise of silence on a private matter which would cause the victim embarrassment or difficulty if the matter were publicly known.”

Olivia stared at him openmouthed. “Why, that sounds … horrible! Almost
criminal
!”

“Yes, does it not? Black-mail, my dear, is a loathsome practice, indulged in by the vilest of scurvy fellows who bleed their victims dry by preying on their most intimate secret lives. They dangle the promise of secrecy before their victims like a carrot on a stick, while pocketing the most extortionate sums—”

Olivia gasped as the import of his words sank in. Then she slowly rose from her seat, her eyes blazing in fury. “Are you suggesting that I …
I
have come here to extort
money
from you?”

“I said a
price
. The price need not be money. You
did
come to offer your silence, did you not?”

She stared down at him for a moment, but then dropped her eyes to the floor. “Well, I … I
was
going to promise not to tell Clara …” she admitted, biting her underlip in embarrassment.

“And that silence was to be given in
exchange
for my acquiescence to your terms, am I not right?”

“Terms?”

“Yes. That I ‘stop' my reprehensible behavior, wasn't that it?”

A wave of humiliation swept over her, and she sank down on her seat. “Yes!” she said in a horrified whisper. “That was my intention.” She lowered her eyes in shame. “I suppose … that
does
make me a … a …”

“A black-mailer.” He smiled in wicked satisfaction. “Not much better than a common criminal.”

But the smugness of his tone and the injustice of his words struck her like a sharp slap on the face. She lifted her eyes and faced him with renewed spirit. “I wouldn't say I am quite a criminal, you know. The price I asked is not intended for my own enrichment. And it is not very high, either.”

“Not very high?” he asked incredulously. “My dear girl, it is
extortionate
!”

“Extortionate?” She gaped at him astounded. “I only asked that you give up your … liaison … and never again enter into such a situation.”

“And you don't think
that
is extortionate? My dear little black-mailer, what you ask is a price far higher than mere money. You would extort from me my very liberty.”

“Your
liberty
?”

“My right to live my life as I see fit.”

She blinked in complete bafflement. “Are you saying that … that taking a mistress … or having an affair with an opera dancer … or whatever it
is
that you're doing … is your
right
?”

“I am merely pointing out to you that you've come here to bargain with me like the veriest blackguard … like the scurviest of black-mailers.”

“But …” His accusation made her choke with sudden self-loathing. She
had
come to bargain with him—her silence for his acquiescence. It was undoubtedly an odious thing to do … to bargain with him by flaunting her knowledge of his secret immorality. Yet she had not done it to enrich herself. She had done it for the sake of her sister—his own
wife
! And she was asking for nothing more than his word … and the recovery of his own decency and moral rectitude. Why, the purpose was really for
his own good
! She looked up at him with imploring earnestness. “Is it black-mail just to expect you to be faithful to your own wife?”

“The conduct of my own life is my own business,” he answered with icy deliberation, “and not the concern of anyone else … and least of all the concern of an interfering, prying, black-mailing sister-in-law.”

His response so revolted her that the last of her feelings of self-disgust fell away. How had he managed to put
her
in the wrong when it was
he
whose behavior was so reprehensible?
Prying, black-mailing sister-in-law, indeed
! She jumped to her feet. “Oh, no!” she cried, her eyes flashing fire. “No, you won't put
me
in the wrong! I admit you're a cunning deceiver. Oh, yes, you are. A regular, scheming flat-catcher, as Jamie would say. And I almost fell into your trap! But I'm not such a flat as you think me. Perhaps I did—unwittingly—attempt what you call black-mail, but my intentions were only to protect my sister. You can't make
me
the criminal here.
I
am not the adulterer!”

He looked up at her, his eyes more menacing than ever, and he slowly got to his feet. “And I won't fall into
your
trap either, my dear,” he said, his eyes narrowed. “My wife does not need your protection. Did you really believe your little black-mailing scheme would do any good? Did you think I would permit my conduct to be dictated by a priggish, smug, sanctimonious little bookworm who has more effrontery than sense? You may think again, ma'am.”

Olivia whitened. “Are you saying that you intend to continue in your … libertinish ways?”

He gave her a contemptuous smile. “Exactly so.”

“Even though I am aware of what you're doing?”

“Even so. And you may tell your tale to whomsoever you please.”

“Even …?” She gaped at him, appalled. “Even to …
Clara
?”

For the first time, his eyes wavered. But almost immediately, his expression hardened, and his steely gaze steadied itself on her face. “As to that, my girl, you may do whatever you wish.” He turned his back on her and walked to the door. “I haven't the slightest interest in the activities of tale-bearers,” he added, holding the door open for her.

“And
I
haven't the slightest interest in the activities of
libertines
,” she flung at him, stung. She crossed the room to the door and faced him once more. “But I
do
care about my sister. And if I decide that it is in her best interest, I shall tell her
exactly
what I saw! Good day, my lord. You needn't bother to show me out. I can find my way.”

He inclined his head in a mockery of a bow. She responded with a brief and insolent curtsey, flounced down the hall and slammed out of the front door. He watched her go, a sneer curling his lip. “Damned busybody!” he muttered as he turned and stomped up the stairs.

chapter five

Olivia did not tell her sister what she saw. Nor did she say a word to anyone about her disastrous interview with her brother-in-law. She kept her own counsel, turning the incident over and over in her mind. But the more she thought about it, the greater was her confusion. On the one hand, she was forced to agree with Strickland's assessment of her character; she
had
behaved like a meddler and a tale-bearer. She felt a great sense of shame whenever she thought of her impertinence in going to see him. On the other hand,
her
misconduct did not excuse
his
. He was playing her sister false, and she would have liked to see him suffer for it.

On the other hand
, Jamie had said that all London gentlemen behaved in the same way. If that were true—if corruption was so widespread—then Strickland's crime must be judged less harshly; he was merely behaving like the rest of his kind.

On the other hand
, it was hard for Olivia to believe that London society was so degraded. And even if it were, a man of character should be able to rise above the foibles of his peers. If Strickland could not behave in an honorable manner, despite the corrupt behavior surrounding him, he was not good enough for her sister.

On the other hand
, her sister was convinced that Strickland was the best man in the world. Was it Olivia's place to set Clara straight—and ruin her happiness in the process?

On the other hand
, she had used too many “hands” already. Her head was spinning with these circular arguments. She was passing beyond the bounds of logic and was fast approaching the area of unreason. What did she know, after all, about marital intimacy, about the love between man and woman, or about the mores of men in Strickland's circle? She was quite out of her depth in these matters. For the first time since her eighteenth birthday, she regretted not having permitted her family to make more of her come-out. Perhaps, if she'd agreed to let them hold a huge ball (as Clara had wished), she would have been brought to the attention of the
ton
and would have gone about more frequently in society. As it was, the family had held a small dinner party in her honor, she had been squired about for a while on the arms of a few innocuous young men, and the entire enterprise had led to nothing. It was no wonder that she was woefully ignorant on matters of love and intimate relations between the sexes. Therefore, she reasoned, her wisest course of action in regard to
Clara's
problem would be to forget what she'd seen and—as Voltaire might have put it—tend her own garden.

Her own garden, she realized, was empty of appropriate experience. Olivia had not, until now, felt impelled to form close ties with any young man outside the family. As she had explained to her sister so many times, marriage was of no interest to her. She'd been quite content to remain as she was, spending her days in studying the classics of literature and assisting her brother in his researches. But during her conversation with Charles on the matter of Strickland's infidelity, she'd begun to realize the extent of her shocking ignorance in matters of sexual behavior. She found herself curious—and curiously eager to learn a little more of the subject. As the philosopher Spinoza had written,
He who would distinguish the true from the false must have an adequate idea of what is true and false
. Yes, she very much wanted to learn. But to learn, she must enter the lists! She must participate in the hitherto-repulsive game of courtship. She must indulge in those social rituals which involve dalliance, flirtation and coquetry. If she truly intended to satisfy her curiosity on this subject, she must begin to experience these things herself. With a sigh of submission she went to Jamie and hinted that she would like to meet some of his friends.

Jamie was quite pleased at Olivia's apparent willingness to move from Charles' sphere of influence to
his
, and he promptly arranged for her to join him and a few of his friends on an excursion to the theater at Covent Garden.

It proved to be a rather more enjoyable evening than she'd anticipated. Jamie had chosen his friend, Morley Crawford, to be her escort. He assured her in advance that The Honorable Mr. Crawford was a dashing young man, a great favorite with the ladies and “complete to a shade.” He turned out to be a personable young fellow who, though not very tall, was well-built, dandyish in his dress and jovial and lively in demeanor. But he was annoyingly given to offering the ladies in his company excessive, even fulsome, compliments, and after he had told Olivia that her eyes were “speaking” and that she was the wittiest creature in the world (after she had merely remarked of the performance that the actors were not as stiff as their lines), she feared that his company would be very boring indeed. However, his sublime confidence in his own ability to charm her, his ready laugh and his unremitting good humor had their effect, and before she quite realized how he had done it, she found herself somewhat taken with him.

Mr. Crawford, on his part, felt himself challenged. She had shown evidence of a cool reserve that he felt impelled to penetrate. “Besides,” he admitted to her brother, “she's a most unusual sort. She don't mince when she walks, she don't giggle and blush when you pay her compliments the way the other girls all do, and she says what she thinks straight out—quite like one of the fellows. And,” he added with a hearty chuckle, “she's prettier than I expected, your little sister—she don't resemble
you
in the least. She's perhaps not quite an out-and-outer, but a very pretty little plum.”

When challenged, Mr. Crawford was quick to act. The following week he called three times and succeeded in prevailing upon Olivia to ride with him in the park. This was followed by another series of morning calls, culminating with the proffering of a formal invitation to “Miss Olivia Matthews and Mr. James Matthews” to attend a ball being held by his mother in a fortnight's time.

Olivia, more in a spirit of curiosity than with any real enthusiasm (her mind more set on advancing her general education in love matters than in pursuing a specific flirtation), agreed to go. But when Jamie informed her that she would need to purchase a ball gown for the occasion, she balked. “I have no intention of doing any such thing,” she declared firmly. “I dislike those foolish, frippery gowns with nothing on top. It would be the greatest waste of time, effort and money, for I would have no occasion to wear it ever again. No, Jamie. Please tell Mr. Crawford for me that I've changed my mind.”

But Jamie refused. “It will do you no harm to learn how to comport yourself in a ballroom,” he declared. “And it won't hurt you to dress, for once, like a modish miss instead of a frumpish dowd.”

“I do
not
dress like a dowd!” she objected vehemently, looking down at the puce-colored jaconet she was wearing at the moment. “What is wrong with my appearance?”