The carriage slowed, but barely stopped before the door opened and Lucas jumped inside. He tossed his hat on to the seat and chafed his gloved hands together. His cheekbones were reddened from the cold and for a moment Olivia could see the boy described in his mother’s letters, returning home from an escapade with his brother and sister in the woods behind the house, cold, muddy, happy. Not that he was muddy, but as his eyes met hers with a hint of a smile she could see the remnants of that happiness. It was so different from the first time they had shared a carriage ride together and she wished it was her right to reach out to him, but she sat quietly, her muff hiding the tension in her hands.
‘This won’t do, Miss Silverdale,’ he said after a moment. ‘You are five minutes early. You must learn the art of fashionable tardiness.’
Her mouth did not ask her permission to smile. ‘I escaped early. Lady Phelps was not happy about my disappearing this afternoon when we are invited to the opera this evening.’
‘Ah. Then it was not out of concern that I might freeze my...freeze out there, but because you were being frozen back at Brook Street. I am sorry you are suffering for my transgression. I should not have come to the museum.’
‘Nonsense. It is as much my fault. Besides, I do not see why it is different from dancing with me in a ballroom.’
‘Don’t you? For someone so intelligent you can be singularly obtuse, Olivia. Or perhaps just wilfully so. I may be a rake, but I still have two siblings whose future I would not wish to contaminate any more than I must.’
She frowned, genuinely confused. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I mean, Olivia, that even I must be willing to accept responsibility for certain transgressions. Do you even realise what would have happened if any member of your party had come into that gallery just then?’
She flushed, more at the memory of that strange moment than at what might have happened. But she did realise. He might walk a fine line on the edge of society, but the only reason he was helping her was to protect the tarnished Sinclair name. If someone had seen them, he would have offered the amende honorable and she would find herself betrothed. Again.
To a rake. Again.
To Lucas.
‘Once this visit is over I draw the line, Olivia. There will be no more investigations. You are old enough and intelligent enough to face the unpleasant reality that life does not offer neat solutions to your problems. You will end your lease in Spinner Street and tear down your Wall of Conjecture and resume your life as Miss Silverdale.’
‘I know you are upset with me, but I will not allow you to dictate to me, Lord Sinclair.’
‘I won’t bother trying. But this time I will not be dissuaded from having a word with your brother and trust to his superior powers of persuasion. He might find your recent activities of interest.’
The heat in her cheeks began to sting. ‘You shoot to kill, do you not, Lord Sinclair?’
He looked a little heated himself. ‘When it is necessary, yes. This is no longer a game, Miss Silverdale.’
‘It was never a game. If you are angry at me, I give you leave to tell me so directly, Lord Sinclair.’
‘I am primarily angry at myself, Miss Silverdale. I should know better than to have set down this path in the first place. Once this meeting is over you will do better to focus your efforts on charming your way through London.’
‘I have no interest in doing such a thing, even if I were capable.’
He laughed, but it was the harsh dismissive laugh she disliked. ‘It does not suit you to be coy. What the devil do you think you have been doing these past weeks?’
‘Acting.’
The anger faded. ‘It is not all an act. Your admirers would not linger if that was all it was.’
‘My admirers would linger next to a week-old ham if it were possessed of my fortune.’
His grin doused the annoyance in his eyes. ‘You underestimate yourself. I won’t deny your wealth was the draw for people like Lady Barnstable and Lady Westerby, but, believe me, Countess Lieven would not have sponsored you on the strength of your wealth alone. She has no more patience for the likes of the Barnstables and Westerbys than I do. By the way, I think it would be as serious a mistake for you to marry either of them as it would be to marry your tame Colin.’
‘I have no intention of marrying Lord Barnstable or Lord Westerby.’
She did not bother mentioning Colin. She had not decided what she should do about Colin and she didn’t want to discuss him with Lucas. He did not answer, but though he sat with the same stillness that was so typical of him, she saw his thumb pressing down on the knuckles of his other hand one by one, as if they were prayer beads. She had noticed that habit before, but never realised it for what it was—he was tense and holding himself in check.
‘You omitted Payton from that denial. Do you think you would be doing that boy any favours by marrying him?’
‘Certainly the favour of removing his and his family’s financial concerns for the rest of their lives. Concerns that were precipitated by my actions.’
‘You keep saying that. What the devil did you do that would merit a lifetime of misery by shackling yourself to someone wholly unsuited to you?’
‘I told you, it was my fault Henry fell out with his employer and could no longer work around Gillingham. If not for me he would not have died, or at least not in such circumstances, and the Paytons would not now be facing financial ruin.’
‘Why was it your fault? What did you do?’
‘Does it matter? I thought you were not interested in petty details.’
‘What did you do, Olivia?’
She looked out the carriage window, her heart thumping, everything rushing back. Agony, humiliation, fury.
‘I can uncover it for myself, you know,’ he said into the silence and she arched her shoulders back. No doubt he could.
‘I was betrothed.’ Her voice wavered, so she cleared her throat and continued. ‘Three years ago. But I refused to marry him and his family sued me for breach of contract. I settled with them. Bertram’s...my betrothed’s father Sir Ivo is the local squire and Justice of the Peace in Gillingham and after Henry took my side Sir Ivo ensured no one there would seek Henry’s counsel. Henry was already engaged on some briefs in London, but he gradually spent more and more time here. I wanted to recompense Henry for the damage I caused, but he was far too honourable. He said he would have taken more work in London anyway since he enjoyed it a great deal more than what he did in Gillingham, but I think he was placating me. Colin assumed some of Henry’s work in the area and I thought it was not so very bad after all. But then he died.’ Her lungs felt tight, heavy at the top, but she continued. ‘After his death Mr Mercer dealt with the legalities and arrangements in London as a favour to me and he told me everything. But he was not the only one who knew what happened in Henry’s leased house. Sir Ivo heard the gossip from a fellow magistrate in London and spread the news throughout Gillingham.’
‘Were you forced into the betrothal with this... Bertram?’
‘No. I was in love with him.’
The same stillness remained, nothing but the rhythmic motion of his thumb pressing down knuckle by knuckle.
‘Then why did you refuse to marry him? What did he do?’
‘Why presume he did anything? Perhaps I merely fell out of love and decided he did not suit me?’
‘Is that what happened?’
The misery returned, hot and hard, and she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. She shook her head. The silence stretched and his hands closed softly on her wrists and drew down her hands. His touch was gentle, but he looked as cold as the first day she had met him.
‘What did happen, Olivia?’
‘I discovered he didn’t love me.’
He sat back and nodded, slowly, but his expression didn’t shift.
‘There is more to it than that.’
‘Yes. I think I could have borne that, convinced myself it would come in time, but I heard him...them. We were three best friends—myself, Phoebe and Anne—and we all fell a little in love with Bertram when he returned from London, even Anne though she was already married to a nice young man. I was amazed when Bertram began courting me, but he was so charming he convinced me he truly cared. Then a few days before the wedding I passed the orchard and overhead him and Anne... She was crying. She didn’t want him to marry me. She said that it was already horrid betraying John and that she did not even know if the child she was carrying was his or John’s and now all of us would be miserable. And then he...he assured her they would continue just as before except that now he would have all the funds he needed.’
She steadied her breathing and continued. ‘I needed to think, so for three days I hid and told everyone I was ill. Then I summoned Bertram. I don’t know what I expected. He didn’t show surprise and certainly not remorse. He said I was making a mountain of a molehill and that no one would believe me because he and Anne would deny it and he would put it about I was suffering from female complaints. He even told me tales of what they did to women who suffered from nervous prostration. Then...then he told me not to worry, he was capable of satisfying two women. He even tried to kiss me, but I couldn’t bear it and I told Twitch, my wolfhound, to chase him off. Bertram was furious and later he stormed in with his parents and even my brothers tried to make me explain, but I couldn’t. I just said, no, I had changed my mind.’
‘Why not tell the truth?’
‘Because I knew my brothers would be livid and prove just how wild the Wild Silverdales could be and that could hurt them even more than Bertram. And besides, there was Anne. Do you have any idea what would have happened to her? To the child? Even if everyone believed Bertram, they would still doubt her. It would devastate her life. But that was not the worst of it...’
‘Henry Payton was the worst of it.’
‘Yes. I was so desperate to have someone hear me and foolishly I told him everything. He took my side but could not defend himself to Sir Ivo because I had sworn him to secrecy. I should have tried to help him, but I was already living with Elspeth and then Jack was killed and I kept my head down and tended to my narrow little world. Then Mercer came with news of Henry’s death and I realised none of it would have happened if not for me. So I had Mercer hire a Bow Street Runner and told Elspeth we were coming to London. That is why I am here and that is why I will consider marrying Colin if all else fails.’
Again the future stretched out ahead of her. Long and flat and desolate, like the worst of the moors in winter when they had nothing to offer but muddy patches and faded heather. Soon, all too soon, she would have to abandon her quest because no doubt he was right, she was tilting at windmills.
‘Are you still in love with this... Bertram?’
The question surprised her—of all she revealed, surely that was the least relevant?
‘No, of course not. Looking back, I doubt I knew what that meant. He was so dashing it was fashionable to sigh over him and for the first time in my life I was an object of envy and not merely for my dowry and so I dare say I wanted it to be true. As painful and humiliating as the truth was, I think I am very, very lucky to have escaped him.’
Her fingers played with the rug covering her legs and she wished Lucas would sit by her again as he had on their return from the vicarage. But he remained where he was, his thumb moving from knuckle to knuckle until the carriage slowed to a halt in front of a modest row of houses.
A young maid ushered them through the small house to a parlour in the back and a woman rose at their entry. She was not the elderly woman Olivia expected, but a handsome woman of forty or fifty years, dressed in a modest grey dress, a tiny terrier peeking behind her skirts. Her eyes focused on Lucas and a frown, almost of recognition, played across her pleasant face.
‘You are... Mr Tubbs?’
‘No, Mrs Eldritch. My name is Sinclair and this is Miss Silverdale. We were hoping you might assist us with some enquiries we have about a Mr Henry Payton.’
The effect of his words was alarming. The woman did not completely lose consciousness, but she turned ashen, her hand closing on the back of a winged armchair as she wavered. Lucas hurried forward and took hold of her shoulders, but before he could speak she took a couple of harsh breaths and straightened.
‘Do you have smelling salts, Olivia?’ Lucas asked as he pressed the widow gently on to the armchair and Olivia shook her head.
‘I will fetch the maid.’
‘No, please don’t,’ Mrs Eldritch whispered. ‘Please. It was merely a moment’s weakness.’ The terrier gave an agile leap on to her lap and she gathered it close, her light-blue eyes fixing on Olivia.
‘Olivia? Olivia Silverdale? From Gillingham?’
‘Are we acquainted?’
‘No. I have heard of you, though. From Henry...from Mr Payton. And you...’ She turned to Lucas. ‘I thought there was something familiar. Are you related to Howard Sinclair?’
‘His son. I apologise for the subterfuge in using Mr Tubbs’s name, but we... Never mind, may we sit, Mrs Eldritch?’ Lucas asked and she blinked, pressing her hand to her forehead.
‘I...yes. Do please sit down. Would you care for some refreshment? I haven’t...’
Her voice trailed off and she looked at them again as they sat on a faded brown sofa on the other side of the fireplace. ‘Why are you here?’
Olivia met the widow’s eyes and there was such pain there she could think of nothing to say, her mind suddenly scrambling away from this confrontation as from a snake. It was Lucas who answered.
‘I think you know why we are here, Mrs Eldritch.’
Olivia only realised Lucas’s ruse when the woman sank her face into her hands, her words muffled.
‘May God forgive me, I know I never shall.’
Olivia must have made a movement because Lucas covered her hand with his. He need not have worried, she was too stunned to speak, but she was glad for the warmth of his hand on hers.
‘Tell us what happened. All of it, from the very beginning.’ His voice was soft, inviting, and the woman gathered the terrier closer, turning her tear-filled eyes on Lucas.
‘It is all my fault. It was never meant to go beyond a...a friendship. Henry... Mr Payton and I knew each other years ago. My husband worked for Lord Buxted in Boston and Henry came on business and... He never said anything, he was far too honourable, but I knew. I saw it in his eyes, and he must have seen it in mine. Then...’ Her eyes focused on Lucas. ‘Then there was that duel. My Septimus and another man, Mr Archer, acted as seconds. I am so dreadfully sorry about your father, Lord Sinclair. He was a most pleasant man, I never understood how...well, that is neither here nor there. After our return to England I did not see Henry until four years ago. He heard of Septimus’s death and my difficulties and came to offer assistance.’
‘And you became friends.’ Lucas supplied and she flushed.
‘That was all it was. At the beginning. We truly did not see anything wrong with it.’ She glanced at Olivia, her mouth twisting. ‘You might ask, if there was nothing wrong with it, why did we meet in secret? But then society has no forgiveness towards friendship between men and women, particularly if the woman is unwed or a widow. But in truth I dare say we were both aware those unspoken feelings were still there despite the passage of years...’ She breathed deeply and ploughed on. ‘When I told him I must leave London to stay with my sister’s family in Ireland he suggested the...change in our relationship. He leased a house and we met when he was in town and then, that day... I came as always, but the next morning... I woke, but he didn’t. Somehow I found myself at my brother-in-law’s vicarage and told him everything. He was naturally furious, but he assured me there would be no talk.’
‘You are not aware of the nature of the arrangements he made?’
‘No, he said he had a parishioner who might know of someone who could help. I do not suppose he will speak to me ever again and, anyway, I depart for Cork soon.’
The little terrier shivered in the woman’s lap, whining a little as it rearranged its front paws. The woman petted it, cooing softly.
‘Perhaps it was a judgement on me—if so, I can never forgive myself. We had become so sanguine about meeting Henry even came here once when I asked him to help me sort through Septimus’s papers and see what should be kept and what discarded. It was the first time he met Galahad.’
Olivia blinked. ‘Galahad?’
Mrs Eldritch patted the terrier. ‘This is Galahad. He took to Henry immediately. It gave me hope that it was not such a terrible thing to be doing. But obviously it was beneath contempt. Do you despise me?’
The words escaped Mrs Eldritch with force, as if pressed out with bellows. Olivia met her gaze, the light-blue eyes of a pretty woman left with very little too early in her life. Olivia searched for some anger or disgust, but found none. Perhaps it would come later, but all she could find was regret for this woman and for Henry.
‘No. I think I am glad he had your friendship. He was a good man.’
She hadn’t meant to make the woman cry. The terrier whimpered and danced on his mistress’s lap, and Olivia went to sit on a narrow chair by the widow. She didn’t know what to say so she clasped the woman’s hand and stroked the terrier until the weeping stopped.
‘I’m so terribly sorry,’ Mrs Eldritch said, drying her eyes and cheeks, and Olivia gave the terrier a final pat and began to rise, but she sank down again, avoiding looking at Lucas.
‘Did Henry ever discuss Howard Sinclair with you?’
Olivia saw Lucas shift in his chair, but the widow shook her head.
‘No, though he knew him through the Buxteds.’
‘You heard of the scandal, though?’ Olivia prompted.
‘Well, naturally I heard the gossip after the duel, though I never quite understood why Septimus and Mr Archer had to leave Boston simply because they acted as seconds. I admit I never thought it of your father, Lord Sinclair, but I was not of his or the Buxteds’ social circle and Septimus himself never shared the details of that day; it was not a topic suitable for...’ She stopped, clearly aware of the irony of her utterance.
‘Never mind, it was merely a thought. Thank you for speaking with us so openly, Mrs Eldritch. Goodbye.’
She rose, but the widow reached out and clasped Olivia’s hand, drawing her back down beside her.
‘He spoke of you often, you know, Miss Silverdale. That is how I knew your name. I felt he loved you and your brothers quite as much as his own children. He was deeply saddened by what happened with your betrothal, but said it was all for the best.’
‘How could it have been?’ Olivia burst out. ‘He would not have had to seek employment outside Gillingham if it were not for my actions.’
Mrs Eldritch flushed. ‘That is not quite correct, Miss Silverdale. I do not wish to evade culpability, nor to spare Henry his share of it. He sought employment in London because of me and when the opportunity arose to take additional cases in London he did so. That decision predated your betrothal. It was quite the opposite—he even delayed taking up that employment because he felt you needed his presence after you ended your betrothal. He told me later how brave he thought you were to assume the burden of guilt. Though he himself felt it was better the world knew that young man for what he was, he felt he was in no position to preach morality. Forgive me, but I envied his affections for all of you. I always wanted children of my own, but God did not bless me. Perhaps if I had had children I would have found it in me never to start down this path. So you see, if anyone bears the burden of guilt for his death it is I. Sometimes I believe his heart would not have given out if it had not such a burden of guilt to bear. I do not ask you to forgive me, but please do not hate Henry for this. I could not forgive myself for that.’
‘I am not here to judge Henry or you, merely to understand. Henry was like a father to me and I will always love him, whatever mistakes he made. If there is anything I can do for you, you can always write to me care of Mr Mercer at Thirty-Two Threadneedle Street.’
Lucas took her arm and they walked out into the cold.
‘I told the carriage to wait for us further up. It would draw too much attention standing on her doorstep.’
She nodded and tucked her hands deeper into her muff as they walked. The cold air stung her cheeks and when he took her arm, pulling her a little towards him on the narrow pavement, she had to resist the urge to go further, lean utterly into the comfort of his warmth.
The carriage was moving slowly along the edge of the common at the end of the road, but the horses came over at a trot when the driver spotted them. Inside Lucas took a rug and placed it over her legs almost cautiously, as if she was an invalid. Then he turned to look out of the window, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth a stern line.
‘You were very kind to her,’ he said, breaking the silence.
‘It was not her fault.’
‘Most people would disagree. She would have accepted whatever accusation you chose to level at her.’
She shivered. She wanted to sink into his kindness, his approval. Sink into him. But she couldn’t. She hated that he thought her ruthless, but to have him praise the other side of that coin was unbearable.
‘Don’t make it a virtue in me. Please. I was not being kind. It was all I could do not to throw my arms around her and thank her. A voice inside me kept saying—it is not my fault. You heard what she said. It was not truly my fault he was in London. I need not bear that burden, because she is carrying it. So it isn’t kindness, it is relief. I have not redeemed Henry, but she has redeemed me and it is terrible of me to feel relief, but I cannot help it. I thought I began this to relieve Mary’s pain, but it was mostly to assuage my guilt. Oh, God.’
It struck her then, a wave of such grief, it felt like it would drag her to her knees.
‘Henry doesn’t exist any longer. Jack doesn’t exist any longer. I will never ever hear them again and they will never hear me. They just...aren’t. I can’t bear it.’
His arm was warm and hard around her shoulder as he moved her towards him. She realised she was still shivering. It was a strange shivering, like a wet dog, or jelly—mindless, purposeless shivering. It wasn’t hers, really, this shivering, because her body felt suddenly foreign to her, small and emptied and hollow...
She felt the scrape of her ribbon just under her ear as he pulled it loose. Her hair snagged on her bonnet, but he pulled it free and tucked it behind her ear, his knuckles resting for a moment on the pulse galloping beneath her jawline. Then he spoke her name against her hair, slowly moving his mouth back and forth on the sensitive skin just at the crest of her temple. It was soothing, she recognised that, some little arm inside her reached out like a monkey in a cage, scared but beckoned by a treat. The rest of her stayed in the dark where it was safe.
A terrible fear struck her—she might be disappearing, too, just like them. She had to stop this. Take action. She could not slip back into those years in Guilford. She straightened, dislodging his arm.
‘We still haven’t answered the question regarding his comments about your father—’
‘It ends here, Olivia!’
His voice was reasonable but brutal in its finality and she wanted to raise her hands and stop it before the inevitable happened. She had tried to prepare herself, but to no avail.
‘But surely you can see this doesn’t negate...’
He was the one to raise his hands and she stopped again.
‘It ends here. We will not be chasing down any more vicars and widows, not even so you can grieve properly. You will have to find another way. You are no fool and you know your lists aren’t the real world, Olivia. What we saw today is the real world—people trying to go about their lives and mostly muddling through and making mistakes and living with them.’
He breathed in, turning towards the window. ‘This is not what I want to deal with; I deal with men who know what they are doing and the prices they might pay for it. That is fair play. This...this was the equivalent of stepping on a kitten’s tail or penning a wolf in with a herd of sheep. There are repercussions to every step we take. For all we know even by visiting Mrs Eldritch in that little town where everyone is watching everyone we have done harm. This is the last time we play Bow Street Runner.’
‘But what am I to tell Mrs Payton?’
‘Good God, you tell her nothing, of course.’
She knew it made no sense to argue with him, but she wanted, no, she needed him to understand. ‘How can I allow her to continue to believe Henry died in the arms of a courtesan? You don’t understand—that lie made Henry a stranger to his family. They not only lost the man they loved, but they lost him doubly. The way he died put everything into question. Not just their future, but their past, who they are. So, if I could, just a little, bring back who he was to them, even with his flaws, but who he really was, someone they recognise, then that is something. I don’t want to hurt anyone along the way, but I can’t help wanting to repay them.’
‘Do you honestly believe this will be an improvement on Marcia Pendle? Would you prefer to learn your husband had a relationship with a woman he had a tendre for twenty years ago and was meeting in secret for years? That he cared for so deeply he changed his life to be close to her? I doubt your godmother will find any solace in this revelation.’
He was right again. The truth might, to a certain extent, relieve her own guilt and salvage her perception of Henry, but Mary would be devastated to learn it had not been merely a carnal connection, but something that transcended what she shared with her husband of almost thirty years. Lucas was right and the decent thing to do was stop before she caused even more damage. Her dreams of saving Henry were just that, dreams. And not just Henry—she would have to abandon her desire to be a saviour for Lucas. She was no knight in shining armour. Sir Olive-a-Dale couldn’t even save herself and shouldn’t that come first?
‘It is over, Olivia. Do you understand?’
‘I understand.’
I understand you are done with me and I don’t want you to leave. I know you will eventually, but not today.
At least the shivering had stopped, but the darkness inside her was spreading. She sat, helpless and scared. Not of him, but of the distance forming between them. He was right to hate what they were doing and right to disdain her. Now he would leave, not like last time when he had been afraid of what he would find in himself, but because he disliked what he saw in both of them. She could not remedy that.
Her eyes devoured his profile, its hard lines and the tension in his mouth. His words were calm, but now that he was no longer touching her she saw the tell-tale movement of his thumb over his knuckles. He was not calm.
As if to confirm her realisation he shoved a hand through his hair, breathing deeply. She sat still, but her own hands prickled with the need to touch him, to relieve some of the barely leashed pressure inside him. She clasped them tight against the need to touch the hair he had disarranged. She remembered how it felt from the time he had kissed her, sliding against the soft skin between her fingers, silky and then feathering away against her palm. She shivered a little and before she could think she moved closer and took his hand, holding it between hers.
‘Careful, Olivia. I’ve expended my last ounce of nobility for the day. Don’t test me.’ His voice was flat, but hers shook a little as she answered.
‘I do not know what else to do.’
He breathed in again and she waited for him to draw away, but his other hand closed over hers, larger and warmer, but still rigid.
‘You don’t have to do anything.’
Yes, I do. I must stop you from leaving. I’m not ready yet. I never will be.
‘You must have had a very peculiar upbringing,’ he added, shaking his head.
‘Don’t make excuses for me.’
He pulled his hand from between hers and she tried not to cling to it, but he merely stripped off her glove and gently turned her hand palm up in his. He traced the stain of ink along her index finger and heat hissed up her arm, so vivid she thought she could hear it. The hairs on her arm rose in its path, all the way to her nape, reaching round to close a fist around her throat. It was all she could do not to visibly press her legs together as the flush of heat spread there as well.
‘Are your fingers ever free of ink?’ he asked. It was an innocent question, but either her internal fire or the rough gravel in his voice warped it in her mind. Still, she tried to answer it as given.
‘Rarely. Only when I run out of ink and must rely solely on pencils.’
‘You are no Lady Macbeth, scrubbing away at your sins.’
‘You’re wrong if you think I do any of this lightly, or that I don’t feel any guilt about my actions,’ she said, a little too fiercely, trying to pull away, but his hands closed hard around hers, gentling immediately as her resistance faded.
‘Oh, I know you do. I don’t think you do anything lightly. It would be far better if you did. But you are a very uncompromising person, Olivia. You want the world to work, but you have low expectations that it will do so of its own accord. Which means it must have worked very ill indeed for you in the past. I am glad this gives you some modicum of relief, but as you have just discovered it can fix nothing. Not in any meaningful way. You will have to face that you are only clinging to this so you can escape deciding where to go next. You’re running, Olivia. That’s all this is.’
‘Well, then so are you. Isn’t that what your whole life is about?’
‘The difference between us is that I embrace my running, I don’t try to put a grand name on it like seeking the truth or justice or redemption or any of that rot.’
‘You are right. I will stop.’
She untangled her hands, raising his left hand to her cheek, turning her mouth to the warmth of his palm. She acted without thought, but the moment his skin brushed across her lips it took her over and she froze, everything froze.
‘Olivia. I warned you.’ His voice was low and tense, but as she felt the curtain fall on her time with him she knew she could not allow him to leave without at least... She tested it again, mapping his palm with her mouth, her breath coming back to warm her lips, slip between them and out again. At the juncture between his fingers she felt a mirrored shiver just at the same spot on her own hand, could almost see him bend his head to press his mouth just there. To taste... So she did, her tongue dipping into that V, gathering the sensation of the roughened pad at the base of his finger, then the sudden soft satin of the sheltered skin, the tension of the muscles and sinews...every surface had a different flavour of his taste. Musk, earth, life, something as familiar as her childhood, but wholly new.
‘Olivia. Hell and damnation, we cannot do this. Listen to me!’ His voice was harsh, but he did not pull away, his fingers even curved, slid over her lips, sending a shiver of heat and anticipation through her.
‘I’m listening,’ she whispered. And she was, to the tension in his hands, his voice. She felt it in every inch of her body, telling her to act, to grasp this, take what she wanted, to give... Without thought she caught the tip of his finger between her teeth and pressed gently. He groaned, dragging his hand away only to grasp her shoulders.
‘Listen to me. We cannot do this, not here, not now.’
‘Then where and when? You said this is the end for you. There is no other time.’
She didn’t know if it was courage or fear that made her act. She just knew she didn’t want him to leave. It no longer had to do with Henry Payton or his father. It was him. It was terrifying. She turned, half-rising on one knee, grabbed the lapel of his coat and canted her head to press her lips to his.
He caught her arms above her elbows, as if to steady her or push her away, but she felt his indrawn breath against her mouth, a tremor in the convulsive tightening of his fingers on her arms. His lips were firm, but so smooth, like gliding over polished, sun-warmed marble. She pulled at them gently with her own, testing their pliancy, reminding herself how wonderful his kiss had been, how it lingered and taunted and plagued her since. It was impossible to consider he might leave. That this was, as he had said, the end.
Don’t think, Olivia. Think, and he’ll leave.
Her hands slid up, caught on the transition between his waistcoat and the linen cravat, softer and warm, her fingers just curving over the edge, poised to touch him. She softened her mouth against his and without conscious thought her tongue touched his upper lip, tasting and testing. Her fingers sought him, too, rose to curve over his neck, to his nape, everything inside her expanding, warming.
‘Olivia.’ His voice was harsh, a warning, but one of his hands rose to curve about her nape as well and in the tension she felt the tearing forces inside him and for the first time she believed he meant what he said.
He wanted her.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, leaning against him, forcing him to take her weight. His hand captured her waist, tugging her against him in time for her to feel the shudder run through him, the faint protesting groan that she felt more than heard. Her body arched into the hard planes of his body, sliding her fingers deeper into his hair, catching on the vulnerable indentation at his nape, threading through the silky midnight of his hair, much softer even than it looked. Everything about him was extremes, confusing, alluring, devastating.
‘Kiss me again, Lucas.’
Finally he obeyed. He kissed her deeply, transforming her tentative caresses into a plundering exploration, his lips burning hers, his hands moving over her body as if plotting its downfall inch by agonised inch. Her skin itched and burned to be bared to his touch and, when his hands slid under her behind, raising her so that she straddled his legs, she arced her back, trying to move closer, to mould herself against him. He drew her lower lip between his, suckling it, his teeth scraping at it, his breath cooling and heating the pulsing, sensitised flesh. She moaned, her fingers pressing deeper into the warmth of his hair, begging for more.
The swaying of the carriage around a corner rode her body hard against his and his fingers dug deep into her buttocks, his hips rising to press the hard muscles against where she was burning to feel him. She might be inexperienced, but she knew what that ridge of heat pressing against her meant. She remembered Bertram moving against her, grinding his hips against her thigh, his face red and heated. She had not liked it much then, it felt unconnected to her dreams of soft kisses, but now that sign of desire shot flame through her, focused all her senses on it—she wanted to feel it again, she wanted to bare it against her, feel it, possess it...him...
She moaned, shifting and spreading her legs as much as her skirts allowed, trying to fit him against her. He groaned, too, grasping her hips and raising her off him, but he did not let her go, pulling her on to his lap and holding her close, his face buried in her hair.
‘This is madness. We are in a carriage, for heaven’s sake.’
He sounded tortured and it finally penetrated enough for her to really look at him. His eyes were as dark as midnight and her heart stumbled as she absorbed the devastating mix of desire and contrition in them and the tension in the grooves that bracketed his mouth. She didn’t doubt he wanted to bed her, but then he had probably wanted to bed dozens of women. He was probably well trained at walking away from temptation when necessary. All too soon this would be over and she would be left with...what?
She leaned her head against his shoulder, her hand against his chest. ‘Will you come to Spinner Street with me, Lucas? I shall think of something to tell Elspeth. Just for tonight. I’m not asking for anything else.’
‘You have no idea what you are asking for.’
‘Well, that is rather the point, isn’t it? I wish to find out and I would like you to show me. It is unfair of you to start this and then just leave me wondering. It is like being alight from within, like a hot air balloon, filling and rising, but not knowing which way to steer. I can’t imagine not knowing now. You must have had hundreds of women, why not one more?’
He cupped her face and leaned his forehead against hers.
‘That is a gross exaggeration, but even then you aren’t one more woman, Olivia. You are not someone I wish to trifle with. You deserve better than...this. One day you will fall in love with some young man. Not your proper and boring Colin, but someone and then you might regret...’
She pulled away and sat back in her corner. Her fingers shook as she refastened her pelisse.
‘Just tell me you don’t wish to, Lucas. Don’t start spouting mawkish nonsense you don’t even believe in.’
‘Olivia...’
‘No! I’m tired of being lectured about what is right for me and good for me. First my brothers and the Paytons and Elspeth and now you. I didn’t take it from them so I certainly shan’t from you. I decide what is right for me. You want to go, then go!’
‘Olivia, listen to me!’
‘No!’
He knocked on the carriage wall and it slowed.
‘Perhaps not here and not now, but you will listen to me and we will settle this once and for all. Tomorrow at noon I will come to Brook Street. Be there.’ He did not wait for her response, but opened the carriage door and disappeared into the gloom.