He couldn’t sleep. It had been hours—or at least it seemed that way—since he’d settled down between the cool sheets and laid his head on the feather pillow, attempting to drown his memories and current irritations in a sea of street noise and a grumbling stomach. He’d been an idiot to announce that he didn’t want dinner, that he just wanted to go to bed. He was famished, and tired, true, but not sleepy, especially with her in the next room.
He was too wound up to doze off. Nerves on edge, he’d tried to relax, but the longer he tried, the more he just stared at the ceiling, picturing his brother, always angry with him; Claudette, the beautiful woman who had come between them and altered their futures; and a host of past thoughts and feelings that merged together to interfere with peaceful slumber. And then there was his brother’s new wife, invariably in the background, sliding into every scene of remembrance to annoy and provoke him with her stunning image, her haughty smile and determined mind full of mischief, enticing him by her mere sudden—and completely undesired—existence.
Two weeks ago, Sam recalled, he had been bored; bored with his tedious work at the estate; bored with the ladies he knew who encircled him, or more accurately his title and wealth, like vultures in waiting; bored with what had become an otherwise mundane life. Now, of course, he’d moved beyond boredom to a whole new realm of irritation, to reservation regarding his immediate future, to a measured restlessness, and yes, a seemingly endless state of physical arousal.
Sam groaned and turned onto his side, staring at filtered streetlight that spotted the darkened wall of the small guest bedroom. Her well-maintained and expensive apartments lay in the bustling business district, though in a respectful and clean part of town, he’d noticed. He didn’t particularly enjoy the noise and quickpaced dirtiness of the city—any city—and he certainly wasn’t pleased to be in this one. Although she’d decorated her home in lovely fashion, he supposed, all pastels and flowers that resembled the particular style of the day, he refused to consider becoming comfortable here.
But here wasn’t the problem. She was.
For the first time in his life he felt totally perplexed by a woman. He didn’t know what to think of her, how to interpret her moods and objectives, how much to trust her decisions, actions, and words. Because of his uncharacteristic lack of knowledge where she was concerned, he didn’t act when he was with her, he reacted, and that, he’d realized over the course of the evening, could not only be a mistake but a danger to their still proper relationship. Normally, Sam considered himself a cool and even-tempered individual, controlled and self-possessed almost to a fault. But somehow, in only a few short days together, the Lady Olivia seemed to bring out the strangest responses in him, though he was, gratefully, fairly able to hide the affects. Or at least he thought so.
She vexed him with her feisty attitude; she made him want to shake her to rid her of the streak of defiant determination she possessed. And embarrassingly enough, the simple notion that such a beautiful creature married his brother made him inexplicably mad. Just mad. The most vivid memory of his childhood remained the fact that Edmund always seemed to win, in every competition in which they were both engaged. Sam rationally knew that many of his brother’s achievements over his were related to the duty that came with his title, and that all of his memories were tempered by age and immaturity. Still, he wasn’t allowed to roam free of responsibility, and never had been; Edmund not only had the opportunity, he took it with pleasure, and always had. In a manner, Sam supposed he was envious. He had obligations where Edmund had money, time, and choices. He would be required to marry a suitable woman regardless of her looks and intelligence, where Edmund could marry as he wished. Sam realized then that the old streak of jealousy toward his brother had returned in full force to slap him in the face. Not only had Edmund married a smart, remarkably beautiful woman, he had married very, very well. The Lady Olivia Shea, daughter of the late Earl of Elmsboro, had been an excellent catch.
But were they married? It would be the last great mystery until they found his brother and learned the truth of the man’s deception. The only thing Sam was sure about was that Olivia truly thought they were. After spending only a few days with her, she’d managed to convince him of her belief that she was Edmund’s wife, regardless of the circumstance in which she now found herself. And that, he considered with a dismay that shocked him, put the greatest damper on their relationship, whatever it might be, and his growing desire to have her.
Sam sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, turning onto his back again and pushing the sheets down to the edge of the bed with his bare feet, his body growing hot and uncomfortable in the suddenly stuffy room. Lying there quietly, his arms supporting his head beneath the pillows, he envisioned her nude form, curled up on a soft layer of white feathers and red rose petals, gazing at him with passion-filled eyes as her long black hair fell loosely around her shoulders, the ends curling around pink nipples that stood out and beckoned him to taste. Slowly, she offered him a stirring smile and reached out with an open palm, her long, shapely legs gradually lengthening to give him full frontal view of her exquisitely curved form. She invited him by reaching down and stroking her thigh with a perfectly manicured nail, back and forth, her fingertips brushing ever so gently against the thick black curls between her legs as she slowly opened her knees for his pleasure…
Sam’s chest tightened as his body grew hard with desire once again. Had he been so long without a woman that his mind no longer worked to discriminate between those he could and couldn’t possibly ever have? To those he shouldn’t even desire because of a past that had changed him?
No, this went beyond such choice, such simple lust. This was strictly about her. She did this to him, and she probably didn’t even realize it, which made it all the worse—or maybe more exciting? But God, what he wouldn’t give right now to have her open the door to her guest room, walk to his side, and reach out and touch his hot, rigid flesh with a warm soft hand. His release from her stroking would be bliss beyond words.
Oh, yes, Olivia…Make me—
Sam’s eyes popped open and he slowly raised himself up on his elbows, shaking his mind clear, his ears suddenly attuned to the tiniest sounds coming from beyond his room. And then he heard it again—a creak of the floor and a wooden chair briefly scraped across it.
She was awake, like him. And thinking of him as he was of her? Probably not. He’d never known a woman to fantasize about a man that way, or admit to lusty thoughts. And while everything in his well-ordered and intelligent mind told Sam to lie back down, close his eyes again, and finish his erotic vision, his impulses got the better of him.
Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he waited only a moment or two for his erection to die a slow and painful death, then reached for his trousers and a linen pullover shirt, deciding it would be best for both of them if he were at least decently covered. He could only hope she’d be wearing nothing but a silken, sheer chemise.
Sam stood by the door for a few seconds, listening. Hearing nothing, he opened it cautiously and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.
Since he’d stubbornly marched off to bed earlier in the evening, he hadn’t taken the time to observe the layout of her home, though he had seen the parlor, now straight ahead of him, and assumed the dining room and kitchen were to his left, where he now noticed a faint sliver of light coming from under a swing door.
Sam walked silently toward it, reached out with the palm of one hand and opened it.
The movement obviously caught her by surprise. He heard her slight gasp before he saw her.
She sat at the end of the table, her vivid blue eyes wide with uncertainty, clearly startled by his presence as she held a mug of what he assumed to be tea in mid-movement to her lips.
“Your grace—”
“Sam,” he cut in, annoyed that she continued to ignore his request to call him by his given name. But he supposed that was natural given her upbringing and the circumstance in which they found themselves. “Am I disturbing you?” he asked casually, walking a few paces into the room.
Her ambivalence toward him, given their quarrel a few hours earlier, showed on her face, but to his mollification, she overcame it at once.
“Of course not, please come in,” she said pleasantly, lowering the mug to the tabletop.
Sam glanced quickly around the small room, noting how her kitchen lacked the embellishment and charm of the rest of her apartments. It remained small, functional he supposed, and tidy. Everything about Olivia Shea, he decided, spoke of fastidiousness above all description. But a kitchen wouldn’t be a place to receive guests, and so little had been spent on its design. Aside from a small stove, it consisted of only a wash basin and a few small cupboards, everything but the stove painted a glossy white. A square serving bowl of apples and plums sat next to a brightly burning oil lamp in the center of the table, its shiny fruit the only color to adorn the room. If it weren’t for her glossy black hair, now falling free to her shoulders and behind her back, and of course those stunning blue eyes, even she would melt into the background. Indeed, she looked absolutely nothing like the gorgeous, erotic creature in his fantasy of just a few minutes ago, as she—unfortunately—wasn’t wearing the flimsy chemise he’d envisioned, but a stark white cotton nightgown buttoned to her chin and covering her arms to her knuckles. Sam had to admit, though, that the appeal she naturally possessed remained in all its innocent glory even now.
“You seem to be studying me,” she said in a curious light, her head tilted to one side.
He smiled and readily pulled out the chair opposite her, sitting heavily then leaning back to stretch his legs out, crossing one ankle over the other. “Not at all.”
He knew she waited for more of an explanation, but she didn’t pry. She was too properly bred for that, though he thought he might have seen a flicker of annoyance cross her features.
“Did I awaken you?” she asked after a pause and a sip from her mug.
He drew in a deep breath and folded his hands over his stomach. “Actually, I hadn’t been able to fall asleep.”
She frowned faintly, her gaze traveling the length of his body, taking in all that she could see from above and beside the tabletop.
Sam supposed he looked completely disheveled and inappropriate in his untucked shirt and bare feet. Still, she didn’t seem to judge him and his attire, only notice it.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said, raising her mug again and taking another sip or two. “I know if one is not accustomed to it, the city lights and noise can seem quite blaring, even when tired.”
“The city isn’t the problem. Although I spend much of my time on my estate in Cornwall, I also live part of the year in London proper.” He smiled again. “No, if I’m tired, I can sleep through anything.”
“I see.” She caressed the side of the mug with her fingers. “So if you weren’t tired, why did you so readily retire this evening?”
The awkwardness of the question caught him off guard, and in a manner troubled him. If they were to succeed in their scheme to find his brother, they needed to get along, and get along on various intimate levels, regardless of his self-preserving lack of trust in her. She was smart enough to detect dishonesty in his answer.
Sitting forward and laying his arm flat on the table, Sam eyed her directly. “In truth, madam, your presence—or the presence of any woman—sometimes makes me…uncomfortable.” He hesitated, then decided to add, “The gentle sex and I have never mixed all that well in casual company.”
“I see.”
Strangely, to his annoyance, she didn’t look all that surprised.
“So you excused yourself for bed hours early and without dinner or a late supper to…get away from me?”
He adjusted his body in his chair. “Perhaps.”
She chuckled very softly. “Dearest brother, I didn’t think I was all that frightful to a man of your stature.”
Sam discerned an odd, restless tension envelop them both, not because she teased him for his supposed cowardice, but because she called him brother. The more he thought about it, the less he liked her thinking of him in that regard, especially since the more he knew her, the more he thought of her sexually.
“What are you drinking?” he asked in a purposeful attempt to change the subject. If she was surprised by the turn of conversation, she didn’t show it.
“Warm milk and honey, actually. It helps me fall asleep when I’m having trouble doing so. Would you like a cup?”
“Uh, no thank you,” he replied, pulling a face. “Sounds positively awful.”
She smiled. “Didn’t your mother ever suggest it when you couldn’t sleep?”
He smirked. “I didn’t really know my mother.”
The look on her face was very telling, though he couldn’t decide if she was shocked or appalled.
“Didn’t know her?” She tipped her head to one side speculatively. “Edmund said he left for the Continent before she passed on and that business kept him from attending her funeral.”
“She died seven years ago,” he confirmed. Shrugging, he amended, “But I’m sure you’re aware that in my world I wouldn’t have interacted much with my mother. Instead, I knew my nanny, then my governess, my personal valet, my riding instructor, my music instructor, various tutors…shall I go on?”
To his strange delight, her expression fell flat and her forehead creased in frown.
“No, I understand,” she admitted softly, sinking a little into her chair. “Although Edmund said he had a very loving childhood, with wonderful memories of his parents—”
“Edmund lied,” he cut in through a snort.
She blinked. “Lied…Of course.”
He regretted his utterance almost at once as he watched her falter, her body shudder as if trying to repudiate such a thought. Then she clasped her upper arms with her palms and hugged herself, lowering her gaze to the tabletop.
He cleared his throat, feeling rather subdued by her despondency over another confirmation regarding his deceitful, cheating, brother. “You have to understand that Edmund and I certainly have different perceptions of our childhoods.”
She offered him a tentative smile again, looking back into his eyes. “I’ve no doubt. Siblings always seem to.”
“True,” he continued. “However, we were raised exactly the same way, with the same disciplines that provided us with nearly identical opportunities. The only difference in our upbringing is that, in the end, more was expected of me.”
“Because of your birth order,” she interjected.
He nodded and lifted one of the bright red apples out of the bowl in the center of the table, studying it without thought as he twirled it around slowly in his hands. “Even today Edmund has freedoms I never had and never will, including the luxury to do as he pleases. But my brother resented the fact that because I was born three minutes before him, by a stroke of luck, whether ill or good, I will always receive opportunities and fortune he could never have. This is one of the key reasons he left a decade ago.”
“And yet he managed to marry first,” she remarked after a long pause of consideration.
His brows drew together. “Yes.” He wasn’t sure if he dare add that Edmund had no obligation to marry and had never wanted to, at least not when he’d last seen his brother.
“Why aren’t you married, Sam? That would, naturally, be your greatest duty to fulfill.”
Such a personal question took him by surprise. It was the first time she seemed more curious about him and his life and motives than she did Edmund’s, which, frankly, both bothered and pleased him.
“Unlike my brother,” he started, replacing the apple with great care in its rightful place in the fruit bowl, “I’ve not yet met a lovely heiress to fulfill my marital…expectations.”
For a split second he thought she might actually laugh. She blinked and rubbed her lips together, then sat forward and placed her arms on the table, palms down, her mug just beneath her chin.
“For a man bound to his duty, your grace, I’m amazed that you can afford to be so picky when a bride had to have been chosen for you years ago. Are you telling me there are no eligible ladies of gentle breeding who are willing to succumb to your good charms?”
He didn’t know whether to snap back in irritation or chuckle from her ingenuity. But he felt certain that Olivia Shea was purposely teasing him, the first step in a more relaxed stand between them.
“A bride was chosen for me, the very lovely Lady Rowena Downsbury, daughter of the Earl of Layton. But alas, in the end she did the unthinkable and eloped with an American sea captain, sailing to the United States five weeks before our wedding.”
“How positively scandalous,” she murmured, her wide eyes sparkling from a combination of lamplight and awe.
He grinned dryly, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop to reply, “You’ve absolutely no idea.”
She said nothing for another minute, absorbing the details, it seemed. Then her smile faded a little. “I suppose that must have hurt you. Emotionally, I mean.”
He frowned fractionally and tilted his head to the side. “Hurt me? No. I only wish she’d left sooner, saving me the money I’d spent on wedding and honeymoon arrangements. Of course in the end her father lost the most and remained the angriest.”
“Naturally.”
Sam straightened when her sarcasm hit home, though he had to wonder if she took aim at him or her father.
“I was not in love with Rowena,” he explained, then wished at once he could take that ridiculous statement back.
She smiled fractionally. “I wouldn’t have thought that you were. Marriage isn’t about love, especially in our class.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve learned my lesson well, your grace. Never trust a man who says he is in love with you.”
Such an announcement irked him irrationally—and indescribably. “I suppose Edmund told you he was.”
“In love with me?”
“Did he?”
She eyed him directly, lashes narrowed as if she studied him to evaluate his trust. Or deception.
“I have been wooed by many men, your grace,” she replied evenly, returning to a bit of formality between them. “Most of them desired either my…innocence, or my inheritance, for nefarious purposes. Fortunately, until I met Edmund, I was blessed with a keen mind where men are concerned and was quite able to resist them.”
“But not Edmund.”
She thought about that for a second or two. “Edmund was different.”
“You mean he behaved differently?” he prodded with growing interest.
“Yes, in a manner of speaking.” She frowned. “He didn’t…he didn’t react to my appearance like other gentlemen, which, I admit, had me a little perplexed in the beginning. I suppose it appealed to my vanity to make him notice me.”
That truly shocked him. “You’re telling me, madam, that he didn’t take notice of your unusual beauty?”
His frankness made her blush. He could see the pinkness fill her cheeks even in lamplight, and the look was striking, affecting him again at a base level, which he tried hard to ignore.
After rubbing her nose with the back of her hand and brushing her palms across her lap, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Not exactly.” She hesitated, then continued. “Edmund told me he thought I looked lovely on many occasions, but it’s more complex than that. He took a rather…peculiar interest in me. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy my company, and liked to be seen with me socially. But he—” She shrugged and shook her head. “It’s very hard to explain.”
He nodded, then urged, “And yet I really need to know.”
She wasn’t sure if she believed him. He could sense it, see it in her wavering gaze. But his persuading seemed to work.
“He took little interest in my family, my past, but he cared immensely about my abilities as a business-woman and my work at Nivan,” she carried on slowly, voice lowered. “He seemed very proud of me, my appearance, my accomplishments. But he…he didn’t think of me…”
She paused once more, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.
Sam waited, finding her embarrassment altogether charming and enjoying the moment far more than he knew he should. And he was, quite frankly, fascinated by this revelation.
Her lashes fluttered downward; she couldn’t look at him.
“Although Edmund said he loved me, and that he married me for love, he never seemed to discover…passion with me. There was nothing remotely passionate about our relationship. I admit that after a while that bothered me.”
For the first time in years Sam sat motionless, stumped beyond words. “I see,” was the only response he could think of.
After another slight hesitation, she looked up again, directly at him, breathing deeply for confidence. “You have to understand, sir, that when I met your brother, and he reacted as a gentleman should in all ways, I found it refreshing. I was…drawn to him because he seemed to genuinely…like me. There was something different, something…friendly about the marriage that appealed to me.”
Now he understood. Sort of. “It sounds very much like a marriage of convenience.”
“With all things considered, sir, marriage to your brother wasn’t—and hasn’t been—all that convenient.”
That quick comeback amused him. “No, I suppose not.”
After a moment of silence her brows drew together in reflection. “Edmund said he loved me, and I believed him. But since he’s left I’ve come to realize that it’s more accurate to say he liked me, but he loved only what he loved about me. Does that make sense?”
Only to a woman. “Not exactly,” he replied.
She expelled an irritated sigh and rubbed her forehead at her temples with both hands. “What I mean is, Edmund loved—wanted—what he loved about me—my wealth, my appearance, my intelligence, my social standing, my contacts in the community. Maybe even the power of Nivan as a business patronized by the empress. But in the end, even though Edmund found me enjoyable to be with, he never loved what I truly am. He never loved me. I only wish I had realized that before I spoke my vows.”
His chair creaked under him as Sam sat forward, elbows on knees, and clasped his hands together in front of him. “He used you, Olivia.”
She sat straighter in her seat, eyeing him defiantly. “That’s putting it rather simplistically.”
He shrugged. “And yet, in a word, that’s exactly what he did. Married you for everything but you.”
For the first time since he’d met her, she seemed on the verge of tears, blinking excessively and gazing at the ceiling for a few long seconds. Frankly, he loathed it when a woman cried, and yet this time it almost seemed appropriate. It was a defining moment, because in that instant he decided he felt something for her beyond the extremes of irritation and lust. She had roused a compassion in him that he didn’t think he’d experienced for a woman before, although rationally he admitted to himself that such a feeling came from the fact that she was now his responsibility. At least he hoped that’s where it came from. Then again, she could be playing him for a fool; most women tried to. Being compassionate certainly didn’t mean letting his guard down where she was concerned.
She cleared her throat and shook her hair back again. “Most people of our class marry for those reasons, your grace. This is nothing new. I was, and am, prepared to experience a solid marriage without romantic notions or love. I don’t need that to be satisfied.”
“Yes, but most ladies who marry for convenience, or arrangement, get something in return for the lack of romantic interest from their husbands. Whether there is love or not, they gain satisfaction from the stability of the union, from their children, family, social causes related to the marriage. My brother apparently left you with nothing, and that not only seems unfair, it’s deceitful.”
Instead of breaking down, as he expected any other lady might have, she tipped her head to the side a fraction and gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment or two, eyes narrowed and just a trace of a smile appearing on her lips.
“Apparently?” she repeated very softly.
“Yes,” he murmured.
He hadn’t wanted her to catch that inference. But at this point he couldn’t lie about the skepticism that remained regarding her disclosures about his brother. Whether he liked her or not, he wasn’t about to completely believe her without proof. For all he knew, she and Edmund were in this together as co-conspirators, though the more acquainted he and Olivia became, the less he thought it likely. Still, he wasn’t about to let her know that yet.
She continued to eye him expectantly for a few seconds longer, seemingly waiting for him to explain. When at last she must have realized that he had no intention of doing so, she offered him a knowing nod or two and wearily stood. They’d reached an impasse.
“I have brandy, if you’d prefer that,” she offered softly.
He slowly pushed his fingers through his hair. “Prefer that?”
“To the warm milk.” She swallowed. “To help you sleep.”
Awkward silence reigned, though Sam could hardly say the room, or the apartment, was quiet, given the variances of city noise—laughter, drunken singing, and the like—drifting in from the street below. Yet that hardly mattered when not only her scrutiny but her sweetness captured him suddenly, drawing him in, enveloping him in an unanticipated, static charge of total awareness.
Her eyes widened and she gripped her empty mug between her palms.
She feels it too…
“No thank you,” he whispered, slowly raising himself and moving forward a step to stand in front of her. “I’m sure I’ll doze off eventually.”
He gazed down to her face, noting the smoothness of her complexion, the hesitancy in her eyes, her pulse beating rapidly in her temple.
Edmund might lose.
It was a stunning, explosive idea, and the satisfaction he felt at that moment, coupled with a myriad of confusing possibilities, overwhelmed him.
Edmund had taken Claudette. And here his brother’s wife stood before him, sweet and innocent and uncommonly beautiful, fighting the urge to be seduced. But would such a game work if Edmund didn’t want her?
“Are you off to bed, then?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts with a delicate crease in her forehead.
He shook himself back to the moment. “I am, Lady Olivia,” he replied with a slight, formal nod.
Her lips pulled back into a gentle smile. “Livi.”
She had mesmerizing lips. “Pardon?”
“Those who know me best call me Livi,” she said softly.
They simply looked at each other for a few seconds more, then she withdrew first by leaning over to extinguish the lamp, offering him a fast but captivating view of the movement of bare breasts beneath her cotton nightgown.
God, how could Edmund not want her?
“Good night, Livi.”
In total darkness she replied in whisper, “Sleep well, Sam.”
He turned away from her and left the kitchen, walking silently back to the guest room by pale moonlight through shuttered windows, aroused and uncomfortable, his mind on only one thing:
Edmund has already lost.