Whenever Lucas thought he had reached the bottom rung of this particular ladder of discomfiture, something proved him wrong.
Attaching himself to the Lievens when they mentioned they were expected to make a stop of courtesy at Lady Hazelmere’s was sinking low indeed. He should have gone with Chase to Cribb’s Parlour or returned home, but neither the noise of Cribb’s or the silence of the Mausoleum were bearable at the moment.
In any case, he should not be here at another perfectly innocuous, utterly boring and wholly respectable entertainment. Unlike Olivia’s hapless suitors, he had the advantage of knowing precisely where and when he would have her to himself and precisely what he intended to do when he did. However unsuitable he might be as a bridegroom to a proper young woman, he was a damn sight better for her than any of her current prospects and, however properly she was acting under Lady Phelps’s aegis at the moment, she was as unsuited to becoming a London socialite as Sam. He could no longer consider whether it was a mistake. He could no longer consider much of anything that didn’t involve Olivia and it was time to accept this was not merely a fleeting, if particularly brutal, attack of lust or some peculiar effect brought about by the unearthing of his past.
The only problem, which Chase had identified with his usual brutal acumen, was that he did not know what she was thinking.
He did not doubt she desired him—she had been entrancingly open about that in the carriage, almost disastrously so. He also didn’t doubt that she liked him, that she enjoyed being with him, even that she trusted him, up to a point. But though he was glad for all of these he did not know whether they amounted to what he wanted from her. He couldn’t even label it love because there was surely something wrong in depending on an emotion that only two weeks ago he would have sworn either didn’t exist or, if it did, was beyond his ability to experience. If it was love that had him firmly by the heart and mind and groin, it was a damnable affliction and he understood better why the poets thrashed on so much about it.
More than anything he wanted to be as necessary for her as she was to him. And he had not the faintest idea if he was.
So here he was, standing in Lady Hazelmere’s impressive ballroom with its three massive chandeliers casting the light of hundreds of candles on a world he had done his best to avoid, searching the sea of fashionable silks and plumes and flitting fans for the warm brown curls of the most impossible woman of his acquaintance, his heart thudding as if one of the Tsar’s Cossack assassins had a knife held to the base of his spine.
‘The Silverdale chit? The odds are shortening on Westerby, but now that Sinclair looks like he might want to get riveted, I wouldn’t waste my blunt. I heard he came to speak with her at the Opera. Introduced his brother to her, no less.’
Lucas stiffened but did not turn at the murmurs coming from behind an arrangement of potted palms to his left that marked the entrance to the card rooms.
‘Did he? That is daring of him, given his brother is just as much a rake as he. Fascinating, but I have just heard an even more titillating titbit, my dear Forsyth. Apparently, the heiress baulks at the fence.’ The voice of Rodney Paget, ageing roué and gossip, was unmistakable. Lucas carefully moved closer.
‘What’s that, Paget? You have a tip for us?’ Forsyth asked eagerly.
‘I do, indeed. A most interesting piece of news fresh from the countryside. I came across Hamilton at Stultz today. Poor fellow just returned from a conjugal visit to his wife somewhere in the wild north and we were discussing the latest wagers at Watier’s. Apparently, the Silverdale heiress is from the town next to his. Got a name for her, too. The Gillingham Jilt.’ He paused for effect and there was a shuffling as his audience drew closer. ‘Left some poor sap at the altar and the fellow’s family sued her for breach of promise and won.’
‘What’s this about the Silverdale heiress, Paget?’
‘It’s true. Engaged to some fellow, but gave him his marching orders the day before the ceremony. Her family sent her away to a cousin to wait out the scandal. Looks like they think it’s safe to let her out and about. Pity. For an heiress she’s an appealing little thing. Still, can’t be too cautious. Someone should tell Barnstable to shy off before he’s burnt.’
‘And Westerby. Blast. I’d best go change my wager. If the girl’s a flirt...’
‘Stands to reason. I’ve seen her casting out lures to Sinclair. Aiming high. Perhaps she thinks he’s done up and needs her blunt.’
‘I doubt it, took two ponies off me at White’s the other week. Still... Can’t see her daring to jilt him.’
‘He won’t have her. Likely he’s bored.’
‘More likely feeling his age. Even the Sinclairs need heirs. If this is true and she is a deep player, I just might take a visit to Watier’s. The Gillingham Jilt, eh? Has a nice ring to it. Might make the Almack tabbies reconsider that voucher, eh? How long d’you think before that makes the rounds?’
Lucas did not wait to hear their assessment on the speed of London gossip. If Hamilton had spouted his news at his tailor’s that afternoon, it was a miracle they had not heard it at the opera.
He spotted Lady Phelps before he did Olivia. She sat very straight beside Lady Barnstable, but by the rigid smile stretched across her face it was obvious London gossip was already working its magic. He didn’t bother with subterfuge but walked directly to her.
‘Lady Phelps, may I have a word?’
She directed a harried look at Lady Barnstable, but as that lady was staring ahead determinedly, she rose, a little flushed.
‘Where is Miss Silverdale?’
‘Dancing with Sir Frederick Whitby, but...’
‘I presume you have heard that Hamilton has brought back news from Yorkshire?’
‘Yes. I...’
‘Has Miss Silverdale?’
Her shoulders sagged. ‘No, I do not think so. I heard this very instant. Mrs Fitzherbert very kindly came seeking enlightenment.’
‘I am sure. I heard Paget spreading the word near the card room. Well, we shall just have to nip this in the bud.’
‘Paget! It will be all over London by tomorrow. How can it possibly be nipped in the bud?’
‘Quite easily. It is one thing to enjoy themselves at the expense of Miss Silverdale, it is quite another to do so at the expense of my betrothed. The only way to combat gossip is through fear or the promise of an even juicier titbit. We will exercise both tactics.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Lord Sinclair...’
‘Just keep her with you when she returns from the dance. I will have a word with Paget and then return.’
He did not wait for her response, but sought out one source of the problem. ‘Paget. A word.’
‘Sinclair. It is quite marvellous how you have begun to come among us mortals. Are the rumours true? Are you indeed hanging out for a wife?’
‘No. I have already found one. Which is why I want a word with you. I hear you are enjoying yourself at her expense. I don’t like that.’
The fashionable smirk disappeared, as did the colour in his florid cheeks. ‘I... I did not...’
‘Yes, you did. If I hear from anyone that you repeated that charming epithet you spouted earlier, I will have my friends come demanding their vowels from you. That will be the opening salvo; you will relish what follows even less. So keep a leash on your tongue and on that of your feckless friends. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’
He strode back to Lady Phelps, making a quick stop by the orchestra on his way. Olivia was already there, standing with her back to him, but she turned as he approached. Her eyes were large, more green than gold, and very bruised.
‘Have you told her?’ he asked Lady Phelps, but his eyes held Olivia’s.
‘I had to, but...’
‘I will explain the rest. That is our cue, Miss Silverdale. Come.’
He held out his arm and she placed her hand on it almost blindly.
‘Where?’
‘To the dance floor, of course. They are striking up a waltz.’
‘But...it was to be a country dance.’
‘Was it? I think the orchestra leader found the waltz to be a more lucrative choice.’
‘But why?’
‘We are celebrating.’
‘I don’t think I want to celebrate gossip at my expense. Do you honestly think dancing a third waltz with you will overshadow the satisfying ring of the Gillingham Jilt? What a pity I hailed from Gillingham. I don’t think there are many towns in England who would have worked quite so satisfactorily with the word jilt. I always knew this was a mistake. I told Elspeth it was. There is no point in staying in London in any case.’
Her eyes dipped, but he had seen the burn of tears there and pulled her a little closer, stroking her palm through her glove. A faint pink flush rose over her pale cheekbones, but she kept her eyes downcast.
‘It was not a mistake; this is merely tonnish nonsense and will blow over in less time than it took to surface. It is best to face it head on. It is not in your nature to run.’
‘Yes, it is. I ran last time.’
‘That was different. You are different—you are the woman who has forced Sinful Sinclair to become her lowly page and run errands for her.’
The edges of her mouth wavered upwards. ‘That was easier than it might appear.’
‘Do not tell anyone, please. I would rather not have the moniker Sinful Sinclair exchanged for Spineless Sinclair.’
‘Perhaps Sensitive Sinclair?’
‘You are enjoying my downfall far too avidly, Olivia.’
Her lips curved, her eyes crinkling at the corners, the golden lights sparkling, and some of his tension began to dissipate. Whatever happened, of all the options he could imagine for her future, marrying him was at least not the worst and he would do everything in his power to make it the best. If she ever forgave him for what he was about to do. No, what he had already done.
‘I have something important to tell you, Olivia. I need you to listen to me and not react for a moment. Can you do that? No, don’t frown. Just tell me whether or not you feel you can take another shock. It is best done out in the open, but we can go find a quiet corner if you prefer.’
‘Has something happened to my brothers or the Paytons?’
‘No, it has nothing to do with them. This is about us.’
‘Us?’
‘Us. The gossip is about to die a swift death because in good Venetian tradition I have just made it clear to a key member of the worst of our society that if he insults you, he insults me. It is not quite a declaration, but will no doubt be interpreted as such.’
‘Are you mad?’
Yes.
‘No, I am very sane. This has been on my mind for a while now, but I thought it best to wait until we resolved our other problem as best we could before I broached this topic with you. Which I hereby do.’
‘Lucas, you cannot possibly be serious. You cannot offer for a woman simply to scotch gossip.’
‘It is done all the time, but...’
‘Perhaps, but this gossip has nothing to do with you.’
‘If it affects you, it affects me. Now that your quest is put to rest, I want to make that very clear. It was my intention to offer to you before this nonsense surfaced, but I thought it best to wait so we could become better acquainted, or at least acquainted in more normal surroundings. But I won’t stand by and have that bottom-feeding catfish make hay at your expense. Before you tell me again that I am mad, I want you to consider the benefits of my proposal. Aside from the prospect of travelling to Egypt and Venice and exploring the ramifications of kissing, I believe we are compatible on quite a few levels. I have the utmost respect for your intelligence and your integrity and I think you have a fair assessment of my faults, which is always useful in a spouse. I know you need freedom and space and I am willing to accommodate those needs...’ He took a breath, aware that he was beginning to babble as she remained silent, her eyes still wide with shock. Any more of this and he would start begging. The music was beginning to wind down and he was beginning to feel desperate.
‘Olivia. Say something. Other than “you are mad”.’
‘Lucas, you mustn’t do this. This is wrong. This is what you told me not to do with Colin. You do not wish to be married. Right now I have become a...a responsibility, but even if you wish to...to, well, I cannot say it aloud here, but even then you should not... Oh, what have you done?’
He kept moving in the dance, a little stiffly now, gathering his resolution against the pain.
‘It is done, Olivia. Just...trust me this time.’
‘Of course I trust you, Lucas. But I cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice. And merely for some mean-spirited gossip. I would have weathered it.’
He glanced towards Lady Phelps who sat watching them anxiously. He wondered what was to be done now. Though it was too late for that.
‘It is done, Olivia. Is it so very terrible?’
Her hand tightened on his. ‘Of course it is not in the least terrible, Lucas. I think... If you really do not mind... Did you mean what you said? Were you truly thinking of offering for me before this?’
The tightening knot in his chest eased a little. ‘I would not lie about that. Does that mean you will marry me?’
‘You are mad, but, yes.’ The words came out in a rush and she stopped and smiled at him, her cheeks flushed in the light of the candles. ‘I must be mad, too. Yes, Lucas, I would like to marry you.’
The music died and for a moment he stood there, his hand still on her waist, his other hand clasping hers, fighting the puerile urge to hug her to him, reassure himself with her warmth that he had not taken terrible advantage of the situation. Instead he pressed her hand on to his arm and led her towards Lady Phelps.