The Spare (33 page)

She nodded.

"Hell, for all we know it's possible I've made a child in you." His eyes pinned her. "Did anything like that happen between you and Andrew?"

"No."

"You sound certain."

"I am."

"You never saw the Black Earl until I was at Pennhyll?"

"Never."

"Andrew never came to you in—as I have. As we have together?"

"No. I never thought of him that way."

"You do me, though."

She nodded.

Tiern-Cope regarded her for what seemed an eternity. "Very well," he said at last.

"My Lord?"

"Your cousin has relayed to me your wishes in the matter of your marriage."

"Yes." She clasped her hands on her lap, interlacing her fingers. Her heart turned into a lump of clay.

"Do you want to marry him?"

"Yes."

He tilted his head. "May I ask why, when tonight you told me you feel sick at the thought of him?"

Her throat threatened to close up. "Mama and I cannot stay here forever and not past your marriage."

"That does not answer the question I asked."

"I haven't any choice. You know that."

He went to the fireplace, grabbed a poker and stirred the embers then threw the poker back into the stand by the grate. "It's my doing. Every bit of it. I'm the reason you weren't hired for the school. I believed you were inches from James's bed, and I told Mrs. Leveret I could not recommend you. I told you James was not sincere in his attentions even though I suspected his feelings had changed. I closed you in that cell tonight and nearly got you killed in the process."

He walked to his desk and put his hand on a sheet of parchment. "This is a deed, Olivia. The estate was yours, free and clear, but your uncle, with my father's complicity, mortgaged it for twice what it was worth. I have signed over the deed to you. It's now truly yours. As it should have been. You have three tenants. I expect you and your mother can live well enough on the rents." He drew in a breath. "The issue of your marriage settlement is, therefore, somewhat more complicated than you believed when you spoke to your cousin, as there is now property to consider. That is," he said, "if you still wish to marry him."

She stared at the document in her hand.

"Perhaps, Olivia, you ought to consider other options."

"Such as?"

"James. There are marriage contracts on their way to me."

"Do you think I should?"

His eyes settled on her and after a bit, he said, "Egremont and I leave for Falmouth on Saturday."

"So soon?" Just four days away. Oh, God. In four days, he would be gone from her life. Four days. That must mean he would marry Diana immediately. "And your wedding, sir? Can it be arranged so quickly?"

"I think so."

She forced her mouth to curve. "Please accept my congratulations, my Lord."

"Thank you, but felicitations are, perhaps, premature. I have not yet settled matters with my intended."

"Oh."

"I have cried off to James."

"About me?"

"Do not be obtuse. I mean Diana. Diana is a lovely girl, but I have no affection or desire for her and she about as much for me. She would marry me out of duty to her brother, and for no other reason. If we married, her heart would slowly grow still less fond. And mine as well. I must marry, that is certain, but I do not want a flighty wife, no tender slip of a girl raised only for the ballroom. I want a wife of good sense, who knows something of the world and who will deal well with my absence for the duration of the war." He went still, but his eyes fixed on her. "In short, I want you, Olivia. Will you marry me?"

All the emotion ever to exist in the world lodged in her throat. She swallowed a lump the size of Pennhyll and tried to speak. All that came out was a croak.

His gaze remained on her. "I have not time for anything but honesty and plain speaking. You are constantly in my thoughts, at the center of my most intimate desires."

"I am irreverent. Outspoken and at times undignified."

"As ill-befits your age and station in life. Yes, I agree that's so. But that changes nothing."

"Marriage, my Lord, is for a lifetime."

His mouth twitched. "Marry in haste, repent at leisure?"

"Have you considered that?"

"That fact has not been far from my mind. I have no romance in me. No fine words. No high sentiment. I am as incapable of sweeping a woman off her feet as thoroughly as I lack the polish expected of my present situation. Believe me, Miss Willow, I have considered my feelings at great length and am quite content with them. Use that logical brain of yours. Not only am I a more eligible husband than your cousin, you have less reason to dislike me. Do you love James?"

"No."

"In that case, it would be illogical for you to refuse me."

"You must be the most perverse man in creation."

"We are well matched."

"What of Andrew? And Guenevere?"

"There is that." He shrugged. "If you remember, well and good. If you do not, I am prepared for that as well." He put a hand on the deed. "Olivia. Among the reasons I gave you this property is that I did not want you to feel compelled to marry by reason of your circumstances. Provided you are not a spendthrift, you need never worry for the future. Marry or not," he said in a low voice, "as your heart tells you."

He walked toward her and didn't stop until he stood inches from her. "I should do this properly," he said. He went down on one knee and reached for her hand. "Olivia, will you marry me?"

She touched his mouth, laying a finger across his lips. "Oh, my. Are you sure of this?"

"Yes."

"Then, yes. Yes." Her heart swelled, and when she tried to speak she almost couldn't make any more words come. "I love you so desperately."

He bowed his head, then rose, still holding her hand, and hauled her to her feet. One arm curled around her waist and like that, her chest pressed against him. "I am pleased and honored,"' he said softly. "This is right. You know it is." His other hand touched her cheek and curved around the back of her head. "Pennhyll wants you. The Black Earl wants you. I want you. And I will not dishonor you by offering you anything less than my name. I don't give a damn how many times I've made love to you in my head, I want you in life, undisputably and without the Black Earl standing around. When next we make love, Olivia, you will be my wife, and James must find a way to overcome his disappointment."

Time stopped when he lowered his head. Her skin flushed hot and then cold and then hot again as his lips brushed hers and lingered. A short while later, he drew back. "I think," he said with no change in expression, "that
deplorable lack of restraint
should be removed from the list of your faults." And then he looked over her shoulder and said, "Right on time."

Olivia looked back, too. Mr. Verney stood in the open doorway, Bible in one hand. Captain Egremont and Ned Fansher were right behind him.

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January 22, 12:01
a.m.

Sebastian stood unnoticed in the doorway and watched Olivia pace. Fifteen steps from the fireplace to the foot of his bed. She was his. At last. For the first time in more than a year, the world felt right. Hell. For the first time in his adult life. He'd done a splendid thing, marrying her. Tonight, at long, long last, he wouldn't doubt the reality. He would unfasten her hair and thread his fingers through those curls. His mouth would cover hers in fact instead of in thought. Tonight, he would hold her as tenderly and lovingly as any man ever held a woman.

He kept his hands on the sides of his thighs, thinking of how he would uncover her and how he would ask her to use her mouth on him. All manner of shocking requests entered his head, but in the main he wanted to lay her down on the bed right now, flat on her back and come into her as a man was meant to come into his wife.

One lamp burned in the room so that she walked in soft and furious darkness. Any minute she would see him, turn those gold-as-honey eyes on him, and he would be unable to do anything but fall on her in a mad, rutting lust when he ought instead to maintain a comfortable and distant aloofness. Jesus. He needed control over himself. Her bare feet trod the silk carpet, her thick braid swinging with the rhythm of each step. Her arm swung forward, and the ring he'd put on her finger flashed in the lamplight. He reached behind him for the door and gave it a push. Metal parts slid past each other with a sharp click as the fittings engaged.

She whirled. "My Lord."

"Olivia." He stepped away from the door between his sitting room and his bedchamber. There hadn't been time to prepare the adjoining room that had once been Guenevere's, so their wedding bed was his. He'd practically pushed McNaught out the door in his haste to join his bride. Jesus. He'd made Olivia his countess. His. Even in the dimness, her eyes shone like gold. He walked to the center of the room. She looked him over, pausing at the V made by the two halves of his robe. Good, he thought. Let her think what that meant, his bare skin showing. "My apologies for keeping you waiting," he said, pleased he managed not to sound as impatient as he felt.

Her hair caught the light and flared like molten fire. Tonight, at long last, he would have his hands full of glorious copper curls. He would know exactly how they felt against his fingers. With some effort, he looked at her face instead of her bosom. Her eyes threatened to swallow him whole. A man could lose himself in her eyes. "This is just an awful mistake," she said.

"No, it isn't."

"I feel like jumping out of my skin or screaming or maybe just dissolving into a shapeless heap."

"Restrain yourself, if you will." He smiled. "For now."

"This must be a dream. It must be."

"I don't see the Black Earl anywhere, do you?"

"Then it's a dream. An ordinary dream. Tell me it is. That I'll wake up any moment now."

"Not until sometime tomorrow morning. Late. If I have anything to say about it. Think, Olivia, of how you feel. You know this is real. The Black Earl isn't here because we've done what he wants. We're alone. At last, by God." He tilted his head. "Now, what am I to make of that panicked look?"

She bit her lower lip.

"Olivia?"

"I'm afraid."

His hope of a relatively uneventful wedding night evaporated in the face of what he knew was more than the usual bride's trepidation. "Of me or of the unknown?"

"Both."

"Do you think I will hurt you? I won't." But he knew he might. What he did tonight would affect them both. The thought of what his brother had done to her that day at Pennhyll made his chest tight with anxiety. What if she'd married Verney or James or, God forbid, her sodding cousin Hew Willow or even someone else entirely, with her not knowing what had happened to her? Believing, even, that she was a virgin? Men put such store in a bride's innocence. At least he would not commit that crime against her. He didn't want her to know. Not ever. That secret he meant to take to his grave.

"It's that not. Not precisely, anyway."

"What then?"

"This happened too fast. Neither one of us was thinking." Her words came out on top of each other, like a waterfall onto rocks. "What happened to my dull life?" Her eyes looked suspiciously bright. "What possessed me to say I would marry you?"

"Whatever did possess you, Olivia, you accepted, and you spoke your vows before witnesses. Now, tell me why you are afraid when you must know I would never hurt you."

"You don't like me. You never have. Not from the moment we met. You were insufferably rude to me. Then those— Those dreams began. Things happened and we neither of us understand how or why."

He shrugged. "Put that notion out of your head, please, that I don't like you." He walked toward her.

"You want me to remember. I know you do, but what if I can't? What if I never do?"

"For tonight, my dear, put that worry out of your head as well. I will be satisfied with you whether you remember or not. You must believe that." He took another step toward her, but she retreated with each step he took. He wanted to murder the man who'd hurt her. The fact that it was his own brother made the anger deeper, a betrayal that he could never, ever forgive. "Have you forgotten the other reason I married you?"

She shook her head. At last, she could retreat no farther unless she meant to step into the fire. He put his hands on either side of her head and looked into her face. The heat of sexual desire uncurled in his belly like embers rising into flame. "I adore you, Olivia."

"Why?"

"From the first moment I first saw you, I wanted you. And I adore your red hair."

"That makes no sense. No one adores red hair, least of all you."

"But there it is."

She grasped both his wrists. "What if I disappoint you?"

"That is not possible." He slid his hands to her shoulders, pulling her toward him so she pressed against him. His fingers caressed, soothing, following the curve of her spine. "What pains I've been at to tell you all I dislike about you. God knows the list is a long one."

"There, you see?"

"If I ever took you to task for your joy, Olivia, it was because I lack the capacity myself." He brought her tight against him with just the pressure of his hand in the small of her back. "I have for too long believed the world a cheerless place. Then I met you and could not fathom you. If anyone deserves to see all that is dark and bitter in life, it's you. And you don't." He spread his fingers, angling them downward so that the tips touched the upper curve of her backside. "You're a mirror of my soul, Olivia, exactly my opposite. Can you wonder that I dislike you so when you cannot help but reflect everything lacking in me? You burn with life, Olivia, and I would at least bask in your warmth before I spend eternity burning in Hell. You cannot disappoint me. It's I who will disappoint you."

"No."

He stepped back. "Enough talk. You're too clever by half, Olivia. If I let you, you'd talk all night until you'd convinced yourself the moon will rise in place of the sun and that I would rather have Diana than you. Come now, I want to see you with your hair down. Do as I say." Sebastian watched her bring her braid over her shoulder and slip the ribbon off the end. Her fingers trembled. "Allow me," he said. "Turn around." She did, facing the fire while he unplaited her hair. "A stream of copper."