The last thing Sam wanted to do was travel to Grasse. Jesus, the Mediterranean coast in June? It was hot enough already, and the sweltering heat of southern France would likely kill him. But that’s where his brother had taken up residence, and he wasn’t about to allow Olivia to travel there by herself, which, by default, made his feelings in the matter moot.
He had been waiting for Olivia, listening for her that early morning following their night of unexpected passion, knowing she might attempt to leave without him and head for Grasse alone. And when she tried to do exactly that, he was ready, following her out the door of Nivan and grasping her arm before she reached her waiting carriage.
Naturally, she’d been furious with him for discovering her intent to leave Paris in pursuit of Edmund herself, but he also realized the fault that made her want to run out on him lay entirely at his feet. He shouldn’t have kissed her, coaxed her to climax without her intention, without any consideration of the consequences, especially her feelings. And to take her against her kitchen wall, no less. God, what was he thinking? She’d bewitched him, enveloped him in some mysterious…power. A power she alone possessed, for in all of his good-for-nothing life of past relationships, he didn’t think any woman had made him feel the conflicting and unconventional things he felt for Olivia—the untempered lust, the aggravation, the need to tame and seduce and protect. Not even Claudette.
He simply couldn’t get her out of his mind, hadn’t been able to do so for even a minute since the night of their first meeting in England, a moment that now seemed a lifetime ago. But in every way he could imagine, she entranced and surprised him—her intelligence and unusually keen sense for business; her sweet, engaging laugh; her single-minded determination; and yes, even her innocence. And to make matters between them even more difficult, she truly had to be the most physically goddamned beautiful woman he’d ever seen or personally known. More than anything, though, she confused him to the point of irrationality, and not only was irrationality under any circumstance unlike him, his irrational actions concerning Olivia bothered him more than all the other factors combined.
He’d wanted her so badly the night of the ball, and in response to his urgent and inexplicable need to touch her, she had become desperate for him, even though she denied it. He knew the fairer sex and their responses too well, and he didn’t think he’d been with a woman before who had been so ready and wet, had come so fast from his simple stroking. She’d nearly driven him over the edge, and certainly she could feel his response to her climax afterward, when he moved up against her so she could know what she did to him physically.
But was she a virgin? He still had to wonder. She’d reacted to his touch, but that didn’t necessarily mean she possessed any real experience. Yet just because she hadn’t lain with Edmund didn’t mean she hadn’t been bedded before, either. She was French, after all, nearly twenty-five years old, and every Frenchwoman he’d ever known had been rather promiscuous. But then maybe he was jaded by his past, which sometimes came back to overwhelm him, and haunt him, as it did by bringing Claudette into his life again after all these years.
Now at last they were nearly to Grasse, the final leg of their journey through Provence to the town of their destination, alone in their hired coach, for which he’d had to pay a pretty penny to ensure a private ride. Their trip thus far had been slow going, as it had rained lightly but steadily since they’d left the city and entered the countryside, only to return to full sunshine yesterday when they traveled through the Gorges Du Loup and passed through field after field of aroma-rich lavender.
He sensed they’d both begun to feel a building anxiousness this morning after a breakfast of tea and brioche, realizing they were almost there. That wasn’t to say Olivia was speaking to him, for in fact she refused to utter a word unless she found it positively necessary to do so. He’d allowed her separate quarters when they stopped for the evening, but only after threatening to hunt her down if she left without his knowledge in the middle of the night. He’d been fairly confident in her compliance, as they were traveling to the same place for a singular purpose, and in many respects she needed him, which probably made her all the angrier.
He watched her now as she sat across from him on the padded coach seat, her ivory fan clutched in her hands as they rested on her lap, her eyes closed from the bouncing and steady movement of the ride. Today she’d coiled her plaited hair on top of her head and donned a typical day gown in bright aqua silk, her first opportunity to wear something other than the dark blue traveling gown that she’d insisted was quite comfortable even when buttoned to the neck. Not that it hadn’t flattered her figure even then, as Sam decided he could appreciate every one of her attributes no matter what she wore. But of course today was different since they would very soon be confronting the man who had ruined her financially, the man who looked just like him but differed in every other way, and she evidently wanted to look her best and most confident. Her aqua gown, cut squarely and low across her bosom, enhanced her figure, her flushed cheeks and vivid blue eyes, and had to keep her cooler now that the summer heat had returned on the final day of their trip.
She hadn’t said much at all to him today, and altogether refused to address their intimate encounter of the other night. There wasn’t much to discuss on that end, he supposed, though he hoped she thought about it as often as he did. But now that they neared Grasse, they needed to communicate, needed to exchange ideas and organize their plans. They needed to agree and get along. With that in mind, Sam decided it was time to break the ice and get down to business.
“What are you going to say to my brother when you see him?”
Her eyelashes fluttered open. “I don’t know,” she replied with only the slightest hesitation. “I’m not sure how to confront him yet.”
Considering her determination and general assertiveness, that surprised him. “Would you like me to confront him first?”
“No,” she answered curtly.
He leaned his head back against the cushion, holding her gaze. “You can’t stay angry with me forever, Olivia.”
That certainly got her attention. Her cheeks pinkened as her jaw tightened. “I’m not angry, I’m tired.”
“I see.” He interlocked his fingers in front of him. “Well, since you’re not angry with me, would you like to discuss what happened between us the other night?”
For a moment or two she said nothing. Then she closed her eyes again. “I’ve already forgotten the incident.”
The incident? Sam had to press his lips together to keep from chuckling. “You know, I haven’t forgotten it, Olivia,” he drawled. “I keep reliving it every second of every day.” He knew he was baiting her, but for some odd reason he wanted her to know exactly how she affected him in a purely sexual way.
Her nostrils flared in indignation, and then she raised her lashes once more and glared at him. “If I were to relive it, as you say you do,” she revealed huskily, “I would be betraying my husband. And even as much as I despise what he’s done to me, I took vows that I intend to honor. It seems the only thing I have left is my word.”
That response surprised him. He wasn’t used to faithfulness in marriage, or any relationship, and so it hadn’t occurred to him that she could be so upset over some perceived weakness of the flesh. Now he understood how deeply his lovemaking had bothered her, and in a way, he admired her for her devotion—as much as it perturbed him that she could so quickly dismiss what they’d shared.
They stared at each other for several long seconds, indecision weighing on every breath he took. And then he decided to hell with the doubts, he wanted her to know the truth, and she needed to be told, before they faced his brother.
“Olivia,” he started, sitting up a little as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I have something to tell you that you’re not going to like.”
She fairly snorted. “I don’t know if I can stand any more surprises from you, your grace.”
“Stop calling me that,” he charged, his own irritation seeping into his tone. “I think we’ve gone far beyond formalities, don’t you?”
She glanced out the window to the lavender-coated hillside, then back again, her features resolute. “I really don’t want to play games anymore, Sam.”
“I don’t either,” he returned softly, stretching his legs out in the coach so his feet pushed under the hem of her gown. “No more games. And no more lies.”
She tapped her fan on her lap, eyelids narrowed in wariness. “Are you telling me you’ve lied to me?”
Sam detected the slightest trace of hurt wrapped around her question, and it warmed him within. He smiled vaguely. “No, I’ve never lied to you, Livi, but I have withheld information.”
Her brows gently furrowed and she looked him up and down cautiously. “What information?”
He sighed, then said, “Important, even key information. And it’s going to upset you.”
She swallowed hard, but otherwise remained rigid in her bearing, no doubt bracing herself for more turmoil. He wished there were a good, easy way to explain everything he knew about her marriage, but he couldn’t think of one. Drawing a long, deep breath, he decided to just aim for sincerity.
“I’m going to tell you something, Olivia, and no matter how it makes you feel, I want you to know that it’s the truth as I know it.”
He waited for her to say something, but she just looked at him.
He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together in front of him. “Remember Colin Ramsey, the man you met at the ball in London?”
She tipped her head to the side a fraction. “Yes, of course I do. He’s quite difficult to forget.”
Sam didn’t know if that was good or bad, though the stab of jealousy piercing his chest annoyed him. Colin, the ladies’ man—gregarious, charming, flirtatious. Everything he wasn’t.
“You liked him, did you?” he asked, regretting the stupid and irrelevant question the moment the words left his mouth.
She smiled wryly. “He’s very handsome.”
Handsome? That’s it? What he’d wanted to hear was that she would never be interested in a man like him, but there was no way on earth he’d ask her to expound on her description of his friend.
He nodded, deciding it best to just move on. “What I’m about to tell you stays between us, do you understand?”
After a long pause, she maintained, “You’re going to tell me he’s involved in something illicit?”
Without hesitation he murmured, “Yes.”
She frowned as she opened her fan, swishing it very slowly in front of her face. “I can’t imagine what your friend’s…activities have to do with me, sir.”
Her continued formality was starting to irritate him. “Livi, love, so help me God, if you call me ‘sir’ or ‘your grace’ again when we are alone like this, in private, I’m going to grab you and kiss the living breath out of you.”
Her fan stopped moving in midair as her mouth dropped open a little. Then she gritted her teeth and inhaled sharply. “Do not call me ‘love,’” she articulated, fanning herself again. “I am not your love, and such informality between us is improper.”
Again she’d said something he hadn’t anticipated, and her instant and bold denouncement stung him far more than he would have expected. Very softly he replied, “You’re certainly not Edmund’s love, Olivia, and that’s what I want to discuss.”
She blinked, unsure, then once more turned her attention to the view outside. “You’re talking in circles, Sam.”
“So I am, I suppose,” he acknowledged through a sigh. He watched her, noting her rigid posture, the tension emanating from her stoic expression. This was going to hurt her deeply, but he could see no other way to get around the revelation than to just reveal the facts as he knew them. “Let me get to the point.”
“Please,” she said curtly.
He tapped his fingers together in front of him. “Colin Ramsey is a British agent.”
It took seconds for that bit of news to sink in. Then slowly she pulled her gaze from the window, her brows tightly furrowed, gaping at him as if he were completely insane. He continued before she could mention her disbelief.
Gravely, he said, “He specializes in forgery, in forged documents, that he both creates and deciphers for the government. He’s very, very good at what he does, is very experienced, and for his unique services they pay him well. He’s never been known to fail in detecting a fraudulent work.” He paused, watching her closely, then asked, “Do you understand?”
She remained silent for a moment, studying him intently, though she no longer looked annoyed, she looked edgy, twisting her fan in her hands.
Finally, she murmured, “What does he have to do with me?”
Sam had no idea how to put it delicately, so he simply revealed, “I had him review and analyze the marriage license you gave me.”
She shook her head a little, uncertain of his words and the meaning behind them. “But I gave you the original,” she returned, her tone low and controlled. “Not the copy. If he thought it was a forgery, then he’s mistaken.”
“He’s not mistaken,” he said gently. “The marriage document you and Edmund signed, the original document, isn’t legal.”
She stilled, her eyes opening wide with incredulity. “That’s not possible.” She drew a shaky breath. “I spoke vows; I was married by a priest—”
“Olivia,” he cut in, his voice deeply solemn, “I suspect you spoke those vows in front of a hired actor.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She blinked quickly, her features expressing shock coupled with confusion, suspicion coupled with anguish. He’d expected the heartache, and so felt the uncanny need to experience it with her. Edmund had hurt her profoundly, and that in itself made him despise his brother anew.
“I—I can’t believe you,” she whispered after a moment, her eyes brimming with tears she desperately tried not to shed in front of him.
“Tell me,” he urged after a long, deep breath, “was Edmund eager to announce your nuptials to Society?”
The question surprised her, and she hesitated before answering. “No. Because we’d married so quickly after our first introduction, he told me it would be better to wait and I agreed with him.”
“I see. So it might well be that outside of your Parisian circles people still don’t know about your supposed marriage.”
“Probably not.”
He ran a palm harshly down his face. “I would suggest he’s posing as a bachelor. Why do you think he’s in Grasse, courting another unsuspecting heiress? Because he can. Why do you think he didn’t bed you on your wedding night? Because taking you would not only complicate his plan of continued detachment from you emotionally, he could impregnate you, a risk he would never take because he expected, from the moment you met each other, to leave you. He had no intention of chancing the obstacle of an unwanted child, which, in a very sick way, was probably the most honorable thing he’s ever done in his life.” He paused for a few seconds, then said fervently, “Every fact in this sordid scheme indicates that you’re not married to Edmund, Olivia. And as much as that realization cheers me personally, I would never lie to you about this. Never.”
It took her several long minutes, it seemed, to come to terms with his pronouncement, his explanations and rationale, and what they meant to her and her relationship with his brother. She lowered her lashes and stared at her lap, her body very still, her breathing steady, nearly silent. At last she whispered, “Why?”
She couldn’t understand the insult, the reason for the deception, any more than he could. “Edmund is a deceitful bastard, and always has been. There’s no other explanation of why he does the things he does beyond his own personal selfishness.”
She looked up again, her face pale, features slack, her watery gaze melding with his as she contemplated the lies, searched for answers. “And my aunt knew of this, planned it with him.”
“Yes,” he replied, fighting the urge to reach over and touch her, knowing if he tried, she’d rebuff him quickly. “I’m sure of it.”
Finally she straightened her shoulders and shook herself, rubbing her eyes with one thumb and forefinger then wiping a cheek with her palm. “Do you—” She cleared her throat, squeezed her fan with both hands. “Do you think they’re lovers?”
Sam felt his insides twist in knots. She stared at her lap, unable to look at him, exuding a sweetness that melted his heart. “Olivia…”
She snickered bitterly. “You do, don’t you?”
Sitting back on the seat cushion, with keen tenderness he admitted, “I think they’ve been lovers for years.”
She shook her head, then leaned her temple against the side of the coach, staring out at the passing landscape.
He had no idea what to say to her, and so he remained quiet as well, resting his head on the cushion behind him, noting how the day had passed quickly and they were very near the outskirts of the town. They had to find a place to stay the night, gather their thoughts, make a plan of action, and later face the enemy that was his brother.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before, Sam?”
He turned his head to look at her again. She remained as she had before, gazing out the window. After a few long seconds of thought he replied, “I didn’t know if you were lying to me, if you and Edmund had planned this scheme together to swindle me of some of my inheritance.” He drew in a full breath, then added hesitatingly, “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
She shook her head. “What makes you think you can trust me now?”
“I don’t know,” he replied at once. “I really don’t know why I trust you, but I do. And that’s the most honest answer I can give you.”
She shifted her body in her seat, eyeing him askance. “I hate you for not telling me until now,” she whispered, a dark anger penetrating her voice.
He felt like a worm. Expelling a slow breath, he said, “I know. I’m sorry.”
She just watched him, caressing the smooth ivory of her fan back and forth with her fingertips, her expression guarded. Then to his complete shock, she placed her fan on the cushion next to her and raised her body off the moving coach seat to cross over to his side, sliding herself in next to him, her gown spilling over his legs. She scrutinized every feature of his face, his chest, and shoulders. And then she reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck to hug him tightly, tucking her face under his chin.
“I hate you, Sam,” she whispered up to his earlobe. She kissed his jawline once before cradling herself against him. “I hate you—but I need you so badly. God help me, but you’re the only person I trust in the world.”
A curious sense of unreality enveloped him, clouding his sensible, thinking mind with a fine mist of bewildering feelings he couldn’t at all comprehend, or tame. He had no idea what to say, what she expected him to do, if anything. She smelled like heaven, felt so soft, and for the first time that he could recall, he relished in the closeness of a woman without the slightest sexual intent. He twisted his body in the seat a little so he could wrap his arms around her and hold her with ease.
She relaxed her grip a little, and after a few moments of silence she murmured, “Thank you.”
Sam ached to kiss her right here in the coach, to caress her fears away, her anger and anguish, to explore every bit of emotion she brought out in him, to show her how he cared about her and her future.
As if reading his thoughts, she suddenly, and without warning, leaned up and placed her lips on his, gingerly, not moving but just lightly touching him. He felt her longing, her loneliness, in that one brush of warmth, and a nearly inaudible growl rolled in his throat. But he didn’t move, didn’t push for more, knowing the time for passion would come later. Every doubt about his need of her, his desire to be a part of her, became instantly clear, had in fact vanished the moment she confessed her trust in him. He would wait for her, but there was no longer a question that she would be his.
Gradually, she pulled away and sat up, withdrawing her arms from around him and relaxing them in her lap. Her gaze roved over his face, pausing at his lips, his hair and eyes, her forehead crinkled with a trace of curiosity—or puzzlement.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said at last.
He smiled to himself, knowing fully well she had no idea at all. “You do?”
She nodded slowly, eyes narrowed in careful thought. “You want to pretend, to make Edmund think you and I are married.”
Truthfully, he hadn’t thought of that at all, and for a moment he wondered what good it would do. But pretending to be married to her would certainly add to the confusion, and it might make for a very satisfying time. Actually, it might be the best way to confront his brother and catch him off guard.
“Can you act that well, Lady Olivia?” he drawled teasingly.
She swiftly left his side to sit across from him once again, eyeing him mischievously, a sly grin playing across her mouth as she smoothed her skirt back into place. Then she tipped her shoulders toward him, allowing him a scant view of her cleavage. “I won’t even have to, my darling man,” she murmured huskily. “I think you’re enraptured already.”
He smirked. “You’re very good.”
“Only of necessity,” she replied, sitting back for a final time, lifting her fan again and opening it.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cushion.
“Sam?” she whispered seconds later.
“Hmm?”
She paused, then softly admitted, “I really don’t hate you at all.”
He grinned, peeking at her through half-open lashes. “I know. I don’t hate you, either, Livi.”