Olivia was home alone when the Duke of Braddock came calling, because Denbigh had taken Charlotte driving in the park, and Charlotte had cajoled the Duke and Duchess of Trent into going along with them. Olivia was home alone when the Duke of Braddock came calling, because Denbigh had taken Charlotte driving in the park, and Charlotte had cajoled the Duke and Duchess of Trent into going along with them.
“His Grace would not take no for an answer, Lady Olivia,” Stiles said. “He insisted I bring you his card.”
She had never expected to see him again. She knew she ought to refuse him. She had promised Lion she would.
Her hand trembled as she accepted the stiff white card with one corner folded down to show the caller had come in person. Something had been written in ink beside the name inscribed in gold.
The duke was a man of few words, it seemed.
“Tell the duke …” Olivia was torn nearly in two by the divergent needs inside her. To do the safe thing. Or to take a chance.
The mouse peeked out … The cat was there. But so was the cheese.
“Tell the duke I will see him.”
The instant Stiles closed the drawing room door, Olivia put a hand to her head to still the thrumming pulse at her temple. What had come over her? What was the use of allowing this interview? She knew what he had done. Or almost done.
Ever since Lion had said he expected Braddock to take her to a house he kept for his doxies and keep her there overnight, she knew why they had stopped at that dark, narrow house and for whom the butler had been waiting at the open door. He had been waiting for her. And Braddock.
The duke must have changed his mind at some point, but that did not excuse him. He had contemplated her ruin. In her eyes, that alone was enough to damn him.
Olivia was not certain whether she was more angry with him for the fact he had planned to seduce her, or the fact he had not gone through with his seduction.
Had he balked at bedding a cripple? Had it been pity that made him take mercy on her? She would rather a thousand times he had taken her virtue.
It is only a crooked leg! she wanted to cry. It does not stop me from loving or wanting to be loved … in every way.
Most shameful of all was the thought that she would not have denied him. If he had wanted her, she would have given herself to him. It would not have taken much coaxing. She had wanted to touch his body. She had wanted him to touch hers.
Those thoughts brought heat to her face, turning her cheeks rosy just as Stiles knocked on the door, ushered the duke inside, and announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Braddock.”
Custom and courtesy demanded that she rise from her seat on the sofa and curtsy to the duke. She performed the first part of that duty by rising, then said, “Close the door when you leave, Stiles.”
The butler gave her one questioning look, but when she said nothing more, did as she bid him. When Stiles was gone, she sank onto the sofa without the curtsy because, quite simply, her knees had buckled under her.
Braddock’s face looked gaunt, as though he had not eaten. There were dark shadows under his eyes, as though he had not slept. And yet his eyes glittered with some strong emotion.
“You look tired, Your Grace,” she said.
“I have not slept much in the past two weeks.”
“I’m sorry if you have had some misfortune.”
“No misfortune. Except that I might have lost you.”
Her eyes flashed up at him. It was clearly a declaration of some sort. But she did not trust him now. She dared not trust him. She lowered her eyes and said, “Where have you been?”
“May I sit down?”
He had already taken a step toward her when she held out her hand and said, “Stay where you are. Please.” She did not want to take a chance that he would touch her. If he touched her, she would give herself to him. She was that weak. She was that needy. She hated herself for feeling that way. But she could not help it.
He put his hands behind his back, like a barrister waiting to present his case. “Will you let me explain?”
“I’m listening,”
“I went home, to the home where I grew up with my brother, James,” he said. “You would like it. My mother planted a rose garden beside the house. It is beautiful this time of year.” He paused, searched for what he wanted to say, and continued, “I needed some time to think.”
She watched him pace. It was all that gave away his nervousness. His Weston jacket and buckskins were impeccable. Not a blond hair was out of place. His polished boots were quiet on the Aubusson carpet. It was difficult to imagine him ever being agitated. He had always seemed so cool and aloof.
She took a calming breath and let it out. She refused to see the duke as vulnerable. She was the one whose feelings had been trampled. Let him make amends. If he could.
“Ever since I heard about James’s death, about the way he was killed, I have had one goal.” He stopped and turned to face her. “To see your brother dead.”
She hissed in a breath at the stabbing pain of knowing for certain that Lion had been right. Braddock had never been interested in her. Only in using her to get to her brother. Her nose stung, and her eyes filled with tears. She blinked to force them back, but one squeezed out and slid down her cheek.
Braddock took a step toward her, and an anguished sound spilled forth as she rose to try and escape him.
She never had a chance. He caught her by the shoulders before she had taken two awkward, tilting steps.
“Don’t leave,” he said. “Please let me finish.”
“I have heard all I need to hear.” She could feel the heat of him, remembered the taste of him, yearned to be loved by him. But he did not want her close to him. He was the one holding them apart. He seemed to be struggling with some great emotion, but she could not tell what it was.
“I meant to hurt you, I cannot deny that. But in the end, I could not.”
“What do you want from me? Forgiveness? What you did was unforgivable. Absolution? I cannot offer it!”
She was not even aware she was looking at him until she saw the smile come into his eyes.
“You’re a veritable spitfire when you’re angry,” he said softly. And then, “All I want from you is you.”
With strength she did not know she had, she tore herself free. “How can I trust what you say? How do I know this is not some very clever ploy to arrange what you failed at the first time?”
She was almost hysterical, because he was offering her everything she had ever wanted, and she was too afraid to reach out and take it. He was saying things she had always dreamed her handsome beau would say. And she found that from a real live man, they were impossible to believe.
“Believe me,” he said, reaching out his hands to her.
She took a tilting step backward and said, “Believe the handsomest, richest man in England has honorable intentions toward a shy mouse with an awkward limp? I’d sooner believe pigs can fly!”
“It’s the truth,” he said.
“What about your brother? And my brother?”
“If I could forgive your brother for what he did, I would. But I cannot.”
“What are you saying? That you want me … but you still intend to challenge my brother to a duel and kill him if you can?”
“I have no choice.”
“You must be insane to think I would come to you under those terms!”
“They are the only terms I am free to offer,” he said.
Olivia could not believe what she was hearing. All she had to do to realize her heart’s desire was tie herself in marriage to a man who intended to kill her brother! The audacity, the sheer arrogance of such an offer was staggering.
She knew now why Braddock’s cheeks were sunken, and his eyes glittered with a fierce light. He wanted her. But he could not give up his need for revenge against her brother. Braddock was asking her to choose between them. She could have one, but not both.
She kept her eyes downcast. If she looked at him, she might be tempted to say yes. She loved him that much.
But she could never live with the guilt of having made such a choice. She would never be able to forgive him, or herself, if he killed Lion. They would never be able to find happiness with the death of her brother between them.
“I am sorry, Your Grace,” she said in a tremulous voice. “I must refuse your kind offer.”
He took a step back. He had said what he had to say. She had refused him. It was over.
She saw the light die in his eyes. And felt her heart break.
As she watched him go, she tried to think of a way to stop him. And realized there was information he did not have that might influence his decision. She need only tell him the truth about why her brother had challenged James to a duel. She need only tell him what James had done to Lady Alice, and he would be able to forgive her brother.
Maybe all was not yet lost.
Braddock was almost to the door when she said, “Your brother … Did it never occur to you that Lord James must have done something to provoke Denbigh?”
The duke turned to face her. “It seems your brother needed no provocation.”
“You know he was engaged to—”
That was as far as she got before the drawing room door burst open. Lion stood there, his silvery gray eyes staring daggers at Braddock.
“You are not welcome here,” Lion said.
“Lion, the duke has offered—”
“Carte blanche?” Lion said sarcastically.
The blood left Olivia’s face. Carte blanche was the open check a man offered to his mistress. It was among the worst insults Braddock could have offered her.
“I ought to kill you for that,” Braddock said. “Lady Olivia—”
“Is my sister. If I ever see you near her again, I’ll slap a glove in your face and kill you, as I did your blackguard of a brother!”
Braddock went white around the mouth. “You won’t have to wait. I’ll be happy to accommodate you. Name the time and place. Choose your weapon. Declare your seconds.”
“Stop it, both of you!” Olivia cried, her hands clapped to her ears.
“Stay out of this, Olivia,” Lion said in a steely voice. “It no longer concerns you.”
“What is going on here?”
Olivia ran to her grandfather, who had arrived at the drawing room door with his cane in one hand, and his other arm around Charlotte’s supporting shoulder. “Grandpapa, you have to stop them. Braddock has challenged Lion to a duel. And all because of a misunderstanding!”
“What!” Charlotte shrieked. “Lion, how could you!” She helped the duke as quickly as possible toward his chair in front of the fire. Olivia kept pace with her.
“Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Charlotte,” Olivia said. “He won’t listen to me.”
As soon as the duke was settled, Charlotte turned to confront Denbigh. “What happened?” she asked.
The earl remained stone-faced.
Charlotte turned to Braddock and demanded, “What happened?”
“Denbigh insulted Lady Olivia,” he said stiffly. “I have demanded satisfaction.”
Charlotte’s eyes goggled. She turned back to Lion and said, “Do I have this right? You are dueling with Braddock over an insult you gave Livy?”
Denbigh had the grace to flush. His ears turned pink. “It was not exactly like that.”
“How was it, exactly?” Charlotte asked.
“I’d like to hear that explanation myself,” the Duke of Trent said, leaning both hands on his cane in front of him.
“Don’t make him repeat it,” Olivia said wearily. “Just please, Lion, will you take back what you said?” She crossed to stand as close to Braddock as she thought she could safely go without inciting her brother. “Will that satisfy you, Your Grace?”
She gave Braddock a beseeching look, as though to say, If you love me, you will do this for me.
“It is only postponing the inevitable,” Braddock said in a voice meant only for her.
“Every day you are both alive is a day I rejoice,” she said equally quietly. It was as close as she could come to a declaration of how she felt about him. She would not, could not, give him more encouragement than that.
“If Denbigh apologizes,” Braddock announced to those gathered in the room, “I will take back my challenge.”
“Please, Lion,” Olivia said.
“Olivia, you don’t understand—”
“I understand honor better than you know, Lion,” she said in a fierce voice. “You insulted me. And Braddock. I wish you to take back what you said. And apologize.”
“Give over, Denbigh,” the Duke of Trent said. “The ladies don’t like to see blood spilled. And I can’t say I want to take the chance of outliving my heir. Too much trouble to manage all those properties,” he blustered.
Olivia waited to see what her brother would do. He was a proud man. He had been sorely hurt by Braddock’s brother. But if Braddock had ever offered any insult to her, it had never been spoken aloud to him. There was no substance on which to base his insult to her and to Braddock. He was in the wrong.
At last, he acknowledged it.
“I withdraw my comments regarding your intentions toward my sister. And I apologize for any insult I may have given you”—he turned to Olivia and finished—“or my sister.”
“I accept your apology and withdraw my challenge,” Braddock replied.
“Nicely done,” the Duke of Trent said. “I could use some tea,” he said. “How about the rest of you?”
Braddock turned and made his bow to the elderly duke. “I must excuse myself.”
“It has been a pleasure meeting you,” the old man said.
Olivia heard Lion grind his teeth.
Her grandfather must have heard the same thing because he said, “Sorry you have to go, Braddock.”
Braddock turned and made his bow to Olivia. “Until we meet again.”
Which sent a nervous tic jumping in Lion’s cheek.
“Good-bye, Your Grace,” she said firmly.
He looked at her lingeringly, and she knew that even now, he would take her. But she saw him dead upon a field of honor, and Lion at the other end of the same field, with his lifeblood dripping from him. It was a nightmare from which there was no escape.
Maybe when Braddock knew the truth, he would be able to make peace with her brother. But even then, James would always be between them.
Her eyes followed him out the door. And out of her life.
It took every bit of persuasive power Charlotte possessed to convince Olivia that they should still attend the masquerade at Vauxhall that evening.
“I have a headache,” Olivia said.
“That excuse won’t work,” Charlotte said.
“I will have one if you make me go,” Olivia retorted. “How can you even consider attending a masquerade this evening, after the events of this morning?”
“I thought everything turned out fine this morning,” Charlotte said. “Lion apologized, didn’t he?”
Olivia made a frustrated sound in her throat. “I don’t want to go. Will that excuse do?”
“You have to come with me, Livy,” Charlotte pleaded. “I’m meeting a man who may be able to give me information about where Lord James and Lady Alice met in private. We need that information to aid us in finding out what hold James had over Lady Alice to make her betray Lion.
“Don’t you see? Once we know everything, you’ll be able to tell Braddock the truth about his brother. And I’ll be able to convince Lion that Lady Alice never purposely betrayed him. Don’t you want me to be your sister-in-law?”
Olivia perked up slightly at that. “This is the first I’ve heard of that. Have you had a change of mind? Are you willing to marry Lion? Have you told him you will?”
“Yes. Yes. And I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’ve figured out the mystery surrounding Lady Alice. Which is why I need you to come with me tonight. I need you to distract Lion long enough for me to sneak away to the Lover’s Walk.”
“I don’t know, Charlie. Meeting a strange man on a dark walkway does not sound like such a good idea to me.”
“Trust me, Livy. I know what I’m doing.”
“Very well, Charlie. I will go.”
“And you will help me distract Lion?”
“It is against my better judgment.”
“Please, Livy,” Charlotte cajoled.
“Very well. I will distract Lion. Now go away and let me rest.”
Having been successful in convincing Olivia that they should still attend the masquerade, Charlotte set out to find Lion and accomplish the same task—using different arguments, of course.
He was nowhere to be found in the three-story town house.
Charlotte finally went to the butler and asked, “Harvey, has the earl left the house? I’ve looked everywhere for him, but I can’t find him.”
“I have not seen the earl since luncheon, Lady—Charlie,” he replied.
It had taken her longer to get the ancient Trent butler to use her first name than any of the other servants. But she had told him she would consider it a discourtesy if he did not. That had allowed him to accede to her wishes.
Charlotte watched Stiles check to see if anyone had caught her using his first name. He had explained once that he did not mind if she called him Harvey, but he did not want any of the other servants thinking they could do the same.
Charlotte had given Harvey a lecture on equality that had fallen on deaf ears. Harvey could hear just fine, he simply did not choose to embrace her point of view.
“A butler is to the servants as a duke is to the nobility,” he had explained. “It is the way of the world. There are those who give orders and those who take them. Where would we be if the maid-of-all-work considered herself the equal of the housekeeper?” he asked.
“In a better world,” Charlotte said.
Stiles was not impressed. Despite all her arguments, he remained convinced that chaos would result if England abandoned the class structure that was all he knew. Charlotte had to be satisfied with crumbling one tiny corner of the class structure through Stiles’s willingness to address her, and to be addressed, in familiar terms.
“Do you have any idea where the earl might be hiding?” she asked the dignified butler.
“Did you check the third floor gallery?”
“Nothing but paintings of moldy ancestors,” Charlotte said, wrinkling her nose.
“The kitchen?”
“The earl knows where the kitchen is? He goes there?” Charlotte asked in mocking amazement.
The butler chuckled. “Oh, yes. When he was a boy … But that was long ago and before he lost his parents. I remember when …”
Charlotte had listened to more than a few reminiscences by Stiles, but daylight was fading, and she had to ensure that her plans for the evening remained intact. “I am sorry to interrupt you, Harvey, but it’s urgent that I find the earl. Do you have any other suggestions where I might look?”
“Perhaps he has gone to the attic.”
“I didn’t know there was one.”
“Oh, yes. A great deal of furniture and clothing is stored there. In the gables, above the third floor. A steep stairway behind the maids’ quarters leads up to it.”
“Why would he go there?” Charlotte asked curiously.
“It was a place he went as a boy, when he wanted to be alone.”
“Thank you, Harvey. I’ll look for him there.”
The attic was laced with cobwebs, and the only light sifted in through two small, dirty windows at either end of the sloping roof. “Lion?” Charlotte called. “Are you up here?”
“How did you find me?”
Charlotte nearly jumped out of her skin when he appeared behind her, stepping out from behind several stacked wooden crates. “You did that on purpose,” she accused.
He grinned. “It was always fun to scare the maids when they came looking for me. It helped that there was a family of dormouses—dormice?—living up here, at least one of whom could always be counted on to scurry across the floor at just the right moment.”
“What’s a dormouse?”
“Similar to a mouse, but a little larger, about the size of a small squirrel. I used to feed them when I was a child. I looked where their nest used to be. It’s gone.”
“You came up here looking for a family of dormice?” Charlotte asked.
“Actually, I came up here to be alone.”
“Oh.” Charlotte realized, suddenly, how alone they were. It was as though no one else existed. The sounds of hackneys and carriages and curricles rattling over the cobblestones, or the clattering of coal heading down a chute into someone’s basement, or fishmongers and flower girls hawking their wares, could not be heard all the way up here. It was almost like being in the country.
“Oh,” she said again. This time it was a sound of wonder. “It’s so quiet up here.”
“Yes.”
They stood in silence. Staring at each other.
He had cobwebs in his hair. And dust on the knees of his breeches. And desire in his eyes.
“Go back downstairs, Charlotte.”
She shook her head. “I need to speak with you.”
“It’s dangerous up here,” he said, taking a step toward her.
Charlotte held her ground. “You can’t scare me off with the threat of dormice,” she scoffed.
“What about lions?” he said. “Do they scare you?”
This one did. Especially when he was stalking her, about to pounce. No one was likely to knock at the attic door. No one but Stiles knew they were up here. If she gave in to Lion here, there would be nothing and no one to stop him.
“Charlie.”
He made the detested nickname sound like a lover’s caress. She was so mesmerized by his intense, silvery gaze, that it was not until his hands tightened on either side of her waist that she realized he had caught his prey.
She swallowed hard. “Lion, this is wrong.”
His lips curled. “I have been telling myself that ever since you walked through that door. I have been saying to myself, ‘Lion, you are the chit’s guardian. It’s your duty to protect her from importuning gentlemen.’ And do you know what I have been answering myself?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly.
“ ‘Have you ever seen anything as beautiful as her eyes? Or as charming as her freckles? Or as willful as her chin? Have you ever wanted anything in your life more than you want to kiss her lips right now, this instant?’
“Do you know what I answered myself, Charlie?”
“No.”
“Exactly right,” he said with a gentle, teasing smile. “I said, ‘No, Lion, you have never wanted anything, or anyone, more than you want her right now.’ ”
“Lion, we can’t—you can’t—we mustn’t—”
He cut her off by capturing her mouth with his, by devouring her with his lips and teeth and tongue. She was consumed by his passion, and it fed hers. She had never felt such hunger, such a craving for something … something …
To be closer to him. To be inside him. To have him inside her.
She did not stop him when his hands curved around her breasts, nor when one found its way inside her bodice to touch her flesh, nor even when he unbuttoned the back of her dress and shoved it off one shoulder, so his mouth could close on her nipple through her thin muslin chemise.
She cried out as he suckled and held his head close, afraid he would stop. Afraid it would be over before the craving would be satisfied.
She could not get enough. She could not feel enough.
His mouth returned to hers, and he murmured, “Put your tongue in my mouth, Charlie. Taste me.”
A gently bred lady should have been—would have been—shocked or appalled or revolted by such a request. Husbands had mistresses for such depravities. Copulation was for procreation. Wives did not enjoy themselves in bed.
Charlotte never had a mother to tell her to lie still and do her duty. She had died too soon. Her father had said what happened between a man and a woman in the bedroom was a joy and a wonder. No more. No less.
Charlotte did what Lion asked willingly, excitedly, eager to please him and herself. She felt shivery, quivery all over, as she searched the inside of his mouth with her tongue, finding rich textures and sensuous tastes, and discovering secrets only a lover would know.
He liked it when she nibbled on his upper lip. Or sucked his lower lip into her mouth. Or traced the inside of his upper lip with her tongue. He was impatient. He wanted more. He wanted everything at once.
There was no telling where things would have ended, if the dormouse had not run over her foot.
Charlotte shrieked and jerked herself from Lion’s embrace, hopping up and down as though she were on fire.
“What’s the matter?” Lion said, trying to grasp her shoulders, trying to hold her still while she struggled to be free.
“A mouse!” she cried, grabbing his neck to get her feet off the floor. “A mouse ran over my foot!”
He picked her up and set her on one of the crates off the floor and looked around for the offending rodent.
Sure enough, a dormouse scurried from behind the crate Charlotte was sitting on, through a hole in the floor, and was gone.
“You are afraid of dormice!” he said, turning to her with a laugh. She watched the laugh get caught in his throat when he looked at her.
She was suddenly aware of her dress hanging off of one shoulder. Of the cold, damp spot on the front of her chemise. Of her swollen lips. And her tangled hair.
He had not fared much better in their loving encounter. His neck cloth had come undone, and his hair stood on end.
“Oh, God,” he said. “I almost … Charlotte, I …”
He came to her and took her hand and said, “Please marry me, Charlotte.”
For a moment she felt euphoric. That feeling lasted only as long as it took her to identify the look in his eyes as guilt. Not love. There was no love.
She pulled her hand free of his and used it to pull her dress back up over her shoulder. “No, Lion. I won’t.”
“You must,” he said fiercely. “I have … I have taken unconscionable advantage of you.”
“You did not hear me complaining,” she said. “I enjoyed myself as much as you did.”
“Enjoyed? Charlotte!” he roared. “A lady does not enjoy a tryst with a man who is not her husband.”
“I did.”
“Charlotte—”
She put her fingertips against his lips to cut him off. “Please, Lion. Let’s not argue about it. I want a husband who will love me. Because of what happened with Lady Alice your heart is not whole. When it is … if it ever is … I would like to have it.”
Making certain there were no dormouses in the vicinity, she hopped down from the crate and turned her back to him. “Will you please button my dress for me?”
For a moment she thought he would refuse. She looked at him over her shoulder and said, “Would you like me to go downstairs to the maids’ quarters and ask one of them to button me up?”
He flushed. And took a step closer so he could reach the buttons. She was amused that he seemed much less adept at buttoning her dress up, than he had been at unbuttoning it.
While she had his attention, she made the plea she had come to make in the first place. “Lion,” she said, “We’re still going to the masquerade tonight, aren’t we?”
“You still want to go?” he asked.
She turned to face him, so he had to button the top button with his hands over her shoulders. She looked up at him with her most earnest expression and said, “The reason I wanted to go to the masquerade—that Livy needed something to cheer her up—is still true. In fact, after what happened this morning with Braddock, she is more Friday-faced than ever.”
“If she is so melancholy,” Lion said dryly, “maybe she would rather be by herself.”
“Oh, that is the very worst thing for a sad person to do. Livy needs company. She needs to dance and talk and enjoy herself. Will you take us?”
“Very well, Charlotte,” he said. “If it would please you.”
“Oh, Lion, it would.” She stood on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips and then turned and ran for the door. She didn’t trust herself, otherwise, not to stay and ask him to unbutton her dress again. He was so very good at it.
At the door she turned and said, “Lady Alice did not betray you, Lion. Nor would I.”
Then she opened the door and hurried down the stairs, leaving him to enjoy the dormouse and his solitude.