Charlotte was faced with yet another argument when she tried to get Olivia to put on the shepherdess’s costume she had commissioned to be made for her. Charlotte was faced with yet another argument when she tried to get Olivia to put on the shepherdess’s costume she had commissioned to be made for her.
“The skirt doesn’t even cover my limbs,” she protested in shocked tones. “It stops halfway down.”
“That’s the whole idea,” Charlotte said. “You will be wearing white stockings with pretty red ribbons crisscrossed around them.”
“My limbs—”
“I have seen your legs, Livy,” Charlotte said, “and aside from one being longer than the other, they look the same as mine. Besides, it will be so dark, no one will even notice.”
“How are you going to get this costume past Lion’s scrutiny?” Olivia said.
“Oh, he’ll be so busy yelling at me, he won’t even notice what you’re wearing,” Charlotte reassured her with a grin.
“What are you wearing?” Olivia asked.
“Wait and see.”
Actually, once Charlotte saw herself in the mirror, she thought this time she might have gone too far. She looked like she was wearing a sheet she had grabbed after rising naked from a bed with her lover. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but not by much. The togas worn by the Elgin Marbles had not looked nearly so revealing.
Of course, this actually was a sheet, a white silk one she had found in the cupboards where linens were kept. A ruby brooch she had begged from Olivia held the costume together at one shoulder. The other shoulder was bare.
She had stolen a bit of tasseled gold drapery cord from the library, crisscrossed it under her breasts, and tied it in a knot around her waist to secure the sheet in place. But if there was much of a breeze at Vauxhall, she was in trouble.
Denbigh would not be focused on Olivia’s stocking-covered legs, because he would be staring at her bare ones. She was practically naked under the toga and barefoot except for a pair of fragile white satin sandals that tied with pretty bows at the backs of her ankles. She had seen them in a shop window one day, after she had been to visit the Elgin Marbles, and had bought them on a whim. She had never had occasion to wear them until now.
Maybe it was the kisses—among other things—she had shared with Lion in the attic that made her eyes look so exotic and mysterious.
Or maybe it was the lining of kohl she had induced Sally to apply.
“He will never let you leave the house,” Sally said as she stared, wide-eyed, at the image of her mistress in the mirror.
Charlotte was inclined to agree.
If there had been more time, she would have tried to come up with another costume. But it was already nine o’clock in the evening, and she did not want to take the chance of missing her assignation at Lover’s Walk.
“It is not so bad,” she hedged.
“As what? A Cyprian would think twice about venturing forth dressed like that,” Sally said.
“It will be dark,” Charlotte said.
“Lady Alice said that Vauxhall—except for the walkways where no proper young lady would allow herself to be caught dead—is lit by hundreds of lanterns.”
“Damn and blast! There’s no help for it now, Sally. I’ll have to brazen it out.”
“Brazen is the right word,” Sally muttered under her breath, “as a Covent Garden abbess.”
“Thank you, Sally,” Charlotte said, working to keep the edge from her voice. “I have taken your point.”
She readjusted the slippery fabric across her breasts and belly and left the room. She figured it was best if she and Olivia went downstairs together. That way, Denbigh would not be able to make up his mind which of them provided the worst offense to his eyes and his consequence, and he would thus be rendered speechless.
She hoped.
She knocked on Olivia’s bedroom door, and when it opened and she saw Olivia’s expression said, “Don’t say a word. Lion will say it for you.”
Olivia’s hazel eyes crinkled at the corners with laughter. “I understand now what you meant earlier this afternoon. I feel positively overdressed in comparison.”
“Stubble it,” Charlotte said. But she was glad to see Olivia smiling again.
When they arrived at the drawing room door, where Stiles had told them the earl was waiting, Charlotte got cold feet.
“You go in first, Livy.”
“I think your first idea was the best one. I think we had better go in together,” Olivia said.
Charlotte took a deep breath and stepped inside.
To her horror, the Duke and Duchess of Trent were sitting in the two chairs before the fire. She had already whirled in retreat when the duke called out, “Come here, Charlie, and let me see you. And can that really be Livy? You look charming, dear girl.”
Charlotte kept her head high and her eyes straight ahead. She could hardly believe she was walking around practically naked in front of Denbigh’s grandparents. The thought of Lion seeing her like this had not been so bad. To be honest, there was a devilish imp inside her that had wanted Denbigh to see her as daring and decadent.
She was barely aware that Olivia took her hand and led her, like a lost sheep, over to stand in front of the duke and duchess.
“What do you think of my two girls, Lizzie?” the duke asked his wife.
“Why, Livy,” the duchess said. “Arthur is right. You do look charming as a shepherdess. That crooked staff is the perfect touch. And Charlotte …”
Charlotte waited for the coup de grace. It was almost better to be cut down by the duchess, she thought, than have Denbigh do it.
“You are Diana, the Huntress, come to life!” the duchess exclaimed.
“What?” Charlotte turned her head to meet the duchess’s gaze and was startled to realize the old woman had the same silvery gray eyes as Lion. Hers were a little darker perhaps, than his, as though they had tarnished with age.
“Don’t you agree, Lion?” the duchess said.
Bolstered by the words of support from the duchess, Charlotte turned to look at him. She had never expected Denbigh to approve the costume. What she saw in his eyes was frightening to behold.
Not rebuke. Naked desire.
“She is Diana,” he said. “As she was meant to be.”
Charlotte felt her nipples peak. Her own desire, an answer to his, was impossible to hide.
“It’s time to go,” Denbigh said. “We cannot delay, or we will miss the fireworks.”
“Fireworks?” Charlotte said stupidly. Who needed to leave home for fireworks? There were plenty of them right here.
To Charlotte’s surprise and relief, Denbigh settled his domino over her shoulders to hide her arousal, and in the process, revealed his own. Charlotte had never approved of staring, but some things were too interesting to let pass by.
“I could see you were chilled,” he murmured in her ear.
That might have been the reason her nipples had peaked. But it wasn’t. And he knew it.
But she blessed him for protecting her from the too-knowing eyes of the duke and duchess.
Denbigh spirited the three of them into the carriage without more ado, merely substituting her cloak for his own at the door. Once they were in Denbigh’s town carriage on their way to Vauxhall, he gave her the tongue-lashing that had not been possible in front of his grandparents.
“What were you thinking of, Charlotte? No lady reveals so much in public.”
“It is a costume, Lion. I’m Diana, the Huntress.”
“You’re Attila the Hun,” he said. “Running roughshod over every feeling of delicacy.”
“You’re being unfair, Lion,” Olivia protested. “The purpose of a masquerade is to dress up and pretend you are someone else. Masks are worn so that no one will be recognized and faulted in any way for how they are dressed. I promise you, no one will know it is Charlotte behind the mask.”
“I will know!”
The air within the carriage was electrified. With those few words, Denbigh had admitted his real objection to Charlotte’s costume. It was sexually provocative … to him.
None of them said anything else during the ride to Vauxhall, but Charlotte’s mind was racing with plans for when and how she could make her escape from Denbigh. She wanted the information Sir Fenton had offered her. She needed it to have any hope of a future with Denbigh.
“I asked Lord Burton to join us in our supper box,” Denbigh said when they reached the entrance to Vauxhall, north of Kensington Lane. “I thought it would even the numbers.”
Charlotte exchanged a dismayed look with Olivia. Now she had two sets of watching eyes to escape.
Percy was already there waiting for them at the supper box.
“Good evening, old man,” he said, as he greeted Lion. “Ladies, ladies, you are exquisite,” he complimented them.
Denbigh scowled.
Percy ignored him, helping a masked Charlotte and Olivia into the box one at a time and setting their cloaks aside.
“You’re Henry the Eighth!” Charlotte exclaimed in delight, when she finally got a good look at him.
“Have the girth for it, my dear Lady Charlotte, don’t you think?” Percy chortled, patting a girth that was slightly larger than his own, thanks to a very little padding.
“I have taken the liberty of ordering a light snack,” Percy said. “Thinly sliced ham. Chickens as delicate as a sparrow. An assortment of biscuits and cheesecakes. And a quart or two of arrack to wash it all down.”
“What Percy means to say is that the portions are skimpy, and you will need the arrack to keep the biscuits from sticking in your throat,” Lion interjected.
Percy laughed. “I’m afraid Lion is right. There are other compensations to Vauxhall. The view is delightful,” he said, wiggling a pair of false bushy eyebrows at Charlotte and Olivia.
Denbigh growled.
Charlotte laughed. Percy’s comment made her costume sound lovely and enticing, rather than unrefined and indecent. She thanked him with her eyes.
She had first met Percy at Almack’s, where Lady Jersey had introduced him to her as an old friend of Denbigh’s. She would not have picked Percival Porter from a crowd as a person Denbigh would choose to confide in, but the more she saw of Percy, the more she liked him.
He was always in a cheerful mood and did not seem to care that his clothing choices were unfortunate. Despite the fact he was a viscount, he possessed none of the pretensions common to his class. She would have been quite happy to see him here, if she did not perceive him as a complication to her sensitive plans.
Their box was located in the center of the Grove, in the Cross Walk that ran crosswise through the center of the grounds between the South Walk and the Grand Walk. Unfortunately, the Lover’s Walk was the furthermost promenade from where they were situated. She would be lucky if she did not find herself accosted by some lurking rakehell before she got there.
“You’re chewing on your lip, Charlotte. What has you worried, I wonder? Planning some mischief?”
Lion’s question brought a flush to her cheeks. She immediately let go of her lip and said, “You’re sitting right beside me, Lion. What trouble can I get into?”
“I will feel safer if I have you in my grasp,” he said. “Come. We will walk.”
Not “May I have the honor of walking in the Gardens with you?” or “Will you allow me the pleasure of walking in the Gardens with you?” but “We will walk.”
Charlotte wondered what had happened to her strong American backbone as she followed Denbigh out of the supper box without a peep of complaint.
It occurred to her only after he put her arm on his and began to stroll, that if she were clever, she could arrange for Denbigh to escort her almost the entire way to Lover’s Walk. Then, all she had to do was figure out some way to send him away for long enough to meet with Sir Fenton.
All in all, Charlotte was feeling quite satisfied with herself as she began her walk with Denbigh through the famous darkened, tree-lined walkways of Vauxhall.
Olivia could not believe she had allowed herself to be manipulated into coming to Vauxhall with Charlotte, only to be abandoned in the supper box with Lord Burton. Not that she did not like Percy. They simply had nothing in common upon which to converse.
After several aborted attempts at discourse, Olivia said, “Do you think, Lord Burton, it might be possible for you to get me some strawberries?”
Percy jumped on her request like a duck on a June bug. “I’m sure I could manage it, Lady Olivia. If you will be comfortable alone for a few minutes.”
“I’m sure I will be fine.”
Olivia did not expect to be importuned while sitting in the enclosed supper box, even though it was situated among what must have been a hundred boxes, each containing other parties of boisterous revelers. She certainly had no intention of leaving the box by herself.
But not more than a minute after Percy left her alone, a tall, masked figure, dressed all in black like a highwayman, appeared at the entrance to the box and said, “May I join you?”
The blood drained from her head, and she felt faint. “Braddock,” she whispered.
He made a sweeping bow and said, “At your service, Lady Olivia.”
“How did you find me? What are you doing here? Lord Burton will—”
“Will be regrettably detained by my man.”
“My brother will—”
“Will no doubt be gone long enough for me to accomplish my purpose,” Braddock said.
“Which is?”
“To take you away with me.”
She did not try to run. She could not outrun him. She did not scream. Who would hear her amid all the shrieking laughter?
“Where can we go, that the past will not haunt us?” she said bleakly. “Where the future does not end in tragedy?”
“I am determined to have you,” he said in a steely voice.
“What price are you willing to pay?” she asked. “Will you give up your revenge?”
“I cannot.”
“Then I cannot come with you, Your Grace.”
“I will take you by force, if necessary.”
Her eyes went wide. “You cannot mean to abduct me!”
“Why not?” he said, his eyes glittering through the black mask, his mouth taut and harsh beneath it.
He hesitated. “That is the last thing I want, Lady Olivia.”
“Then give me another choice!” she cried.
“Very well. I will spare your brother, if you will come with me now.”
“As your doxy? As a kept woman?” she said angrily. “That will only provoke the duel you tell me you are willing to forego!”
“As my wife.”
He had shocked her into silence. He was giving her what she had wanted earlier that day. A way she could say yes to his proposal. But oh, the way was fraught with danger! What if he did not keep his word? What if he took her to wife, and he and her brother later came to blows?
Even more to the point, would Lion accept her decision to go with Braddock? Would he feel honor bound to challenge the duke because she had been stolen in the middle of the night from under her brother’s nose?
Surely she could assuage Lion’s anger. Surely she could make peace between the two people she loved most in the world. And she still had not even told Braddock the truth about his brother. When she did, he would understand why her brother had done what he had. It would ease the tension between them.
“Time is short, Lady Olivia. You must decide.”
She glanced at Braddock from beneath lowered lashes. In his fitted black shirt and breeches, his black boots and black cloak and black hat, he had come dressed for an abduction. He was going to take her whether she accepted his offer or not. He said he was giving her a choice, but she did not see it. There was only one answer she could give him.
“I accept your offer of marriage, Your Grace.”
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the roguish smile that split his face the moment she agreed to have him.
“My name is Reeve,” he said.
He had not touched her, or even taken a step toward her, since he had entered the box. But there was a feeling of expectation, now that she was his, a tension between them that had not existed before.
She was sitting at the table where Percy had left her, the crooked staff lying at her feet. He crossed to her and drew her to her feet and circled her waist with his arm to support her weight.
Her hands settled on his forearms, and she was surprised at how hard his muscles were.
“Look at me, Olivia,” he said.
“It is Livy. To my friends.”
She felt him relax into her body, as though a wall had come down between them.
“I am your friend, Livy. And I will be your lover soon,” he murmured in her ear.
“And my husband,” she said tartly.
“And your husband,” he agreed with a tender smile. “Will you say my name, Livy?”
“Reeve,” she said, and felt him hiss in a breath. “Reeve,” she said again. “Reeve.”
It sounded so right, so perfect, like their life together would be. Children! She would have children!
Their lips met and merged. All her hopes and dreams were bound up in him. It was more than a meeting of bodies to her. It was a joining of souls. She was his. Now and forever. For better or worse.
Worse.
She forced the specter of disaster from her mind. He had promised to marry her. He had promised to forego his vengeance. She would not borrow trouble where it did not exist.
But it would be better if Lion did not return and find them together here. It would be better to send her brother a letter explaining everything and give him time to calm down before he could reach Braddock to express his anger and, oh, God, his feelings of betrayal at her decision to marry Braddock.
Please understand, Lion. I love him. I had no choice about whom I loved. Any more than you did. He is the other half of me.
She pulled her mouth free of Braddock’s and leaned her head against his chest, where she heard his heart beating fast. “We must go,” she said.
“Anxious to be a bride, Livy?”
“Anxious to avoid my brother,” she replied.
He stiffened, then relaxed. “As am I. Let us go, then.” He stepped back and put his arm out for her to take.
As they left the box, he said, “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight, Livy?”
She kept her lashes lowered to hide the dismay in her eyes. “False compliments are not necessary, Your Grace.”
He stopped abruptly and lifted her chin with his hand. “There is nothing false about my feelings,” he said. “To me you are beautiful, Livy. I don’t know how I could ever have thought otherwise. And I would be Reeve to you.”
She forced herself to raise her eyes and look into his. She might as well know now if he was lying. She could not change what was going to happen, but at least she would not have jumped over the cliff without looking first into the abyss to see how quickly she was going to hit bottom.
His blue eyes looked down at her frankly, openly. And without deceit.
How was it possible he did not see her as plain, when every other man had? How was it possible he did not notice her crippling injury, when it forced her to lean upon his hand?
It was true, then. Love was blind.
“Thank you, Reeve,” she said softly.
“For what?” he asked.
There, where anyone passing could see them, the Duke of Braddock pulled Lady Olivia Morgan into his arms and kissed her silly. So silly Olivia was laughing with pleasure and embarrassment and delight when he was done.
“We have a long way to go tonight, Livy,” he said, treating her once more to his roguish grin. “It is time we were on our way.”
“I am ready, Reeve.” For whatever the future holds.
She was sitting in the duke’s opulent carriage, waiting for him to join her inside, when she saw Lion running toward them. Braddock saw him at the same time. Reeve pulled the carriage door closed behind him, thumped the roof with his fist and yelled, “Drive, Bailey. Drive!”
Olivia watched out the window as Lion’s angry face disappeared from sight.