Читать книгу The Blackmailed Bride - Mandy Goff - Страница 11

Several days had passed since Lord Danfield had been escorted from her house, and Olivia was just beginning to breathe a bit easier. She stopped expecting Gibbons to open the door to an irate Lady Danfield, and she no longer anticipated the scandal sheets announcing her violent tendencies.

The young man, it would seem, had decided to suffer in silence.

“Lady Olivia, there is a person awaiting you in the drawing room,” Gibbons announced as he entered her small parlor.

She looked at the butler in expectation. The old fear re turned. “It’s not Danfield, is it?”

The butler shook his head, but his face offered no other visual assessment on who was calling.

She entered the drawing room to find Lord Finley, their closest neighbor to their estate in Yorkshire and someone she’d known for years. Her smile of greeting was genuine.

“Lord Finley,” she said.

“Lady Olivia, you’re looking well,” he returned with a smile as he took her proffered hand. “Very well indeed.”

Olivia was accustomed to Lord Finley’s words of flattery; in truth, his compliments were so silly she usually didn’t mind them. “I’m surprised to see you here. I’d not heard you were in town.”

Lord Finley was a baron, and his land adjoined the Fairfax holding Westin Park on the north side. When the boys were children, the two were close friends. But that had been a long time ago.

Olivia herself valued her friendship with Lord Finley. After her mother’s death, he’d been a constant presence at her home, offering comfort and solace in the dark days that followed.

But she was confused as to why he’d chosen to leave his estate and come to town. Most years, Lord Finley bypassed the amusements of the Season. His complete disregard for the entertainments and activities of town life was another similarity they shared.

“My wish was to come see for myself how you are adjusting to life in London.” His gaze was appraising…and appreciative. “You don’t look worse for the experience.”

“I’ve not moldered away from lack of the country, yet,” Olivia said with a sad smile, thinking perhaps “not moldering” was the best she could say. “But I certainly have not kept my wish to return a secret.”

“Then why do you not go home?” Finley asked.

“Care for some tea?” she asked, ignoring his question. And at his nodded assent, Olivia crossed over to the bellpull in order to summon a servant.

Once the request had been dispatched, Olivia faced the baron; his stare was unnerving, and she remembered she’d yet to answer him. “Marcus wishes to remain in town. I certainly wouldn’t try to convince him to stay here without me.” After the ridiculously grand plans Marcus had devised for her, demanding to return to Westin Park would crush him.

At her brother’s name, the baron grimaced. She thought she heard him say, “Ah, yes. Wouldn’t want to upset Marcus would we?” But the statement was muttered, and Olivia couldn’t be sure of exactly what he’d said.

“Did Marcus say what inspired his sudden interest in town life?” he asked.

Confessing Marcus wanted her to make friends seemed rather embarrassing, so she shrugged as though to say his reasoning was a complete mystery to her.

“Did he know how vehemently you opposed leaving home?” Finley pressed.

The line of questioning made her uncomfortable. Finley’s fascination seemed something more than friendly curiosity.

“He knows my wishes, but he feels an obligation to introduce me to society,” she said in Marcus’s defense.

Finley stalked around to a side table, picked up a trinket, looked at it and quickly set it down. The movements were jerky, and his breathing was harsh. His back stiffened and his arms angled against his body. Olivia wondered if perhaps he were going to have an attack of some kind.

“Marcus didn’t tell you I came to see him before you left for town, then?” The words were clipped.

“No,” she answered cautiously.

His brows lowered, making angry, dark slashes, which obscured his eyes. “I thought as much.”

“Was there something he should have told me?” she asked. It was unlike Marcus to keep anything from her, and now, she was curious.

“Yes. You should have been consulted before our meeting was over,” he answered hotly.

The subject of their meeting and her role in the matter were a mystery. The only thing that could possibly have necessitated her involvement would have been if Finley were propos—

Oh, no, not that.

Finley was a friend, but he would never be more. While she liked him quite well, there was no tension, no attraction…nothing deeper than admiration and respect. And while admiration and respect were essential in a marriage, Olivia wanted something completely unfashionable in hers—love. And she’d certainly never led the baron to think she harbored any romantic feelings for him.

They’d been familiar, of course, but far from suggestive. The thought made her breathe a bit easier. Finley knew her views on marriage, just as he knew she did not feel that way about him. So something else must have been a subject of interest between the two men.

A maid entered with tea, and Olivia was able to busy herself with the preparation of their cups. She didn’t ask for a reminder of how he liked his as this was a scene they had played many times in the past. Although perhaps not with this level of discomfort.

“Would you care to tell me now what it is you were discussing with Marcus?” she asked as the baron took a seat.

Finley paused, as though he were not certain of what should be said. “Yes. You have a right to know,” he returned. “I wished to consult with your brother on a matter very dear to my heart—”

What? This was becoming the most peculiar conversation she’d had in some time.

“But your brother wouldn’t give me the time to explain my case before denying my request,” Finley continued, clearly agitated. “Now, I ask you, what kind of gentleman does not grant a serious proposal his full consideration before offering an answer?”

Olivia didn’t have a response.

“After abruptly and unfairly turning me away, Marcus didn’t want you to see me and hear what he’d done. That’s your reason for leaving the country so quickly.” He nodded once, apparently already convinced of the truth of his explanation.

“I still don’t understand.”

“I petitioned Marcus to let me make you my bride.”

Her stomach plummeted. She could think of nothing to say in response.

It would have been much easier if Finley had accepted Marcus’s refusal…something she needed to discuss with her brother later. How dare he not tell her about Finley’s proposal? Had he done so, at least she would have been prepared.

Because, by all appearances, Finley was unwilling to abide by Marcus’s ruling, and it seemed she must be the one to say the words.

“You wished me to be your wife?” she asked unnecessarily.

“I still wish it. Why else would I have followed you here?”

His declaration would have sent most women collapsing into the nearest chair in a flutter. What woman didn’t wish to hear such tender words? Finley was titled, wealthy, handsome and charming. His blond hair was always perfectly arranged, his blue eyes were bright and his features were pleasing.

“I am honored by your offer…truly I am…”

Perhaps he sensed her impending refusal because he hastened to add, “I have feelings for you I’d not thought myself capable of. And I think, were you to give this matter your full consideration, you would see we are well suited for one an other.”

She managed nothing more than an indrawn breath before he continued. “You would be taken care of and would have anything you wanted. I can assure you. You could live wherever you wished. I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do with your time.”

“I have no doubt you will make a very attentive husband,” Olivia rushed on when she saw his self-assured smile. He thought he had swayed her so easily with a few pretty words. “But I’m afraid I must decline the offer. I am your friend, but I wouldn’t make you a good wife.”

Finley’s mouth was a tight line.

“I really am sorry,” she hastened to add.

He cut off any further apologies with a slash of his hand. “You should give yourself time to adjust to the idea. It does you credit that you are not overly eager. I would like for my future wife to weigh her decisions carefully.”

Did he have to make this any harder for her? Had she not had enough groveling with the Viscount Danfield? Why were men so determined to believe that when a woman turned down their proposal the no was negotiable?

“I’m certain, in time, you will meet a woman whom embodies all of those qualities,” Olivia said.

“You are that woman.” Finley’s voice burned with such intensity she instinctively shied away.

“I count our friendship very dear,” her assurances continued.

“And would it not be the natural extension of our friendship to commit our lives to each other?” he asked. “You’ve told me you are closer to me than anyone else…save your brother,” he snarled the last word. “Imagine how comfortable we could be together.”

“I could never be that comfortable with you.” Olivia’s voice was shrill, several pitches higher than normal, an indication of her frustration. “I will not marry you. A union between us is both unwise and impossible.” She had to stop herself before any more words tumbled out.

“I see.” Finley’s response was toneless, an odd counterpart to the emotion so evident in his voice earlier.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, Julian,” she said his name quietly. “Especially not after you have done so much for me.”

His eyes met hers, and she was surprised by the venom there. “Yes, I’ve done quite a bit, haven’t I? I looked after you when no one else could be bothered. Your father and mother both gone…your brother busy with something else more than not.”

“Marcus had estate matters to attend to,” she argued.

He waved away her excuse. “I was there for you whenever you needed after your mother’s unfortunate accident.” He sneered as he said the words.

“I will be forever in your debt for helping me over the years. But you’ll have to accept my gratitude because that’s all I have to give.” She hoped he’d take the proffered olive branch.

His smile was swift but lacked its earlier charm. It was sinister, and Olivia couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to her friend. “Why would I settle for gratitude or friendship when I want so much more?” he asked.

“It’s all I’m going to offer,” she repeated.

“A shame. I’d hoped this wouldn’t have to get unpleasant.” He shrugged. “I can see I’ve been too optimistic.”

Unpleasant?

“Let me be clear,” he continued, “you have something I want, and I think you’ll find I have something you want as well. A wedding between the two of us will guarantee our mutual happiness.”

“What could you possibly have that I would want now?” Olivia was starting to get angry. This didn’t have to destroy their friendship, but Finley seemed unwilling to leave any strand of their former relationship intact. “Why,” she continued, “would I consent to being your wife when you have shown such disregard for my wishes today? I don’t appreciate being ignored and bullied.”

“You will be my wife, and I don’t care if you’re agreeable. When we come before a minister, you will say your lines and you will not argue. And you will at least look happy.”

Olivia couldn’t help herself. The demand was so ridiculous, she laughed.

Finley’s hands clenched.

“I’m sorry,” she said between chuckles she couldn’t seem to stem. “It’s just…you’re jesting aren’t you…that’s not very nice.”

Finley sighed. “I’m not jesting. And I have to ask you to stop this foolish display. We have much to discuss before I leave.”

The next bubble of laughter died in her throat, choking her. “Lord Finley, I grow weary of having to say it and am running out of ways to do so. I will not marry you. Not now. Not ever.”

Finley paid the outburst no mind. “You do not wish to make me unhappy. You won’t like what I have to do if you displease me.”

Olivia ground her teeth together, “I can’t imagine any threat that would make me agreeable to becoming your wife.”

“This is becoming tiresome. Unless you wish me to share with the world what I know about your mother, I suggest you silence yourself.” The words your mother sent an icy pang of fear straight through her. He doesn’t know, does he? He couldn’t possibly. She wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the notion but didn’t because she feared ever being able to stop again.

“I see I have your attention now.” Finley’s smile was smug—and satisfied. “It really would be a shame to have your clever intruder story discredited. I’m sure someone went to a lot of trouble to make that look authentic.”

He does know.

“Whatever you are trying to insinuate is ludicrous,” she scoffed.

“Is it?” he asked, walking around her in a wide circle. His stride and manner were predatory. Stalking her fluidly, the baron had disposed of the vestige of the debonair gentle man.

“Perhaps you should leave now.” Her voice remained firm despite her insides churning with worry and the fear of discovery.

Finley shook his head, the gesture patently sorrowful and clearly mocking. “I’m afraid I’m not going anywhere. You and I need to talk about your little secret. Or should I say—our little secret?”

“There’s no reason to waste my afternoon discussing your madness.”

Finley clapped his hands together, as though she were an actress on the Drury Lane stage. “Brava. Should you turn down my offer, and find your family disgraced and penniless, you could tread the boards for your living. Your acting skills are sublime.”

He stopped his applause. “Because I will,” he threatened. “Disgrace you, that is, if you continue to refuse me.”

What was the point of pretending she didn’t understand?

So she said, “You couldn’t prove it.”

“Couldn’t I?” He raised his eyebrows, daring her to contradict him.

Olivia counted to three, hoping to calm herself and the rising hysteria. Then, she supposed it was better to be certain she was composed and counted to ten.

She stopped at twenty. “What supposed proof do you possess?”

“Rather condemning proof. Something our peers would find quite fascinating.”

“You don’t have anything,” she countered. But inside, she was reeling with the implications of what he said—if his words were the truth. Her mother had left behind a letter, explaining to whoever had found her that she still loved her family and begged their forgiveness for what she planned to do.

Could that be his proof? It had to be. But how had he gotten his hands on it? The letter had been safely kept at Westin Park.

Three steps brought him right in front of her. His hand reached and caressed her cheek, and she couldn’t stop her small tremor of revulsion.

“Don’t touch me,” she bit out.

He didn’t withdraw his hand. If anything, his smile grew wider. “You’re not in the position to make demands.”

“This is my house.”

“That may be, but you’re going to be my wife.”

She felt sick. “I’m not going to marry you,” she protested, but the words sounded weak and unconvincing.

“You don’t have a choice.” His voice was mild, as though they were discussing the pleasant turn of the weather. He had her and knew it. “Unless, of course, you wish for the world to know your mother wasn’t murdered by a burglar, but instead committed suicide.”

She cringed at the word.

Finley saw the response and correctly interpreted it. “I thought not,” he said.

“Don’t make me do this.” Her voice was pleading. Olivia doubted that beseeching would make any difference, but she had to try. “I’ll hate you,” she threatened.

“Don’t blame me. We could have done this amicably….” He trailed off. Of course, she was the one at fault for making him stoop to blackmail. “And your hatred bothers me not in the least.”

“But I don’t love you!” She slumped against a table, defeated. She doubted he would be bothered by her lack of devotion, either.

He wasn’t. “That’s not a requirement. It might have made things easier for you, but I’ll get what I want out of this anyway.”

What did he want? Money? Finances seemed the most obvious motivation. Her dowry was uncommonly large, something that couldn’t have been a secret among the wagging tongues of the ton. Of course, gossip also claimed that he was wealthy on his own merits, but perhaps his fortune was as much a sham as the kind demeanor he’d always shown her up until now.

“I can pay you for the proof,” she offered.

“Tempting,” he said, “but you wouldn’t be able to give me enough. I’m getting more from this than just the money you’d bring me.”

The hand that had been lingering on her cheek moved lower to caress her jaw, the side of her neck, settling eventually at the base of her throat. His fingers were smooth—and cold—but there seemed to be steel underneath the skin. He squeezed, the tiniest bit, and without any real pressure. The intended message, however, was clear. She was powerless against him.

“I need time,” she stammered.

He looked at her, and his eyes were skeptical.

“To prepare,” she rushed on, but a new thought was forming. A small, minuscule seed of hope that was barely visible through the haze of her despair. Perhaps he was bluffing about the letter. He might have seen it but not taken it.

“My brother will not be happy to hear of this,” she continued. “I wish for some time to try to change his mind about you. I would rather not have my brother and future husband—” she gulped at the word “—at odds for the rest of their lives.”

Finley considered the wisdom of eventually attaining Marcus’s blessing and nodded his assent. “Fine. I don’t wish to wait forever, though,” he warned.

“A few days, that’s all I require,” she affirmed. Olivia desperately wanted to clutch at this delay. Once she convinced Marcus to take her home, she could see for herself whether the letter was safe. If what she hoped were true, she could return to town and challenge Finley.

If the baron was telling the truth…well, she would think of what to do then.

“I expect to hear from you within a few days,” Finley reminded her as he took his leave.

Olivia was proud of herself. She waited until the front door clicked shut before bursting into tears.

Nick and Marcus were preparing to play a game of billiards when Marcus’s sister nearly ripped the door from its hinges.

“Marcus,” she gasped. Her chest rose and fell heavily, and Nick thought she must have raced her way up the stairs.

Nick snapped to attention when she entered, some instinct driving him to want to protect her from her obvious distress.

Marcus obviously agreed with Nick’s silent assessment. “Do you need a physician?” her brother asked.

“I need to go home,” she said. Her eyes darted frantically around the room. And when Nick shifted from his place in the shadows, she noticed his presence for the first time. He could tell from the subtle widening of her eyes.

“Please, Marcus.” Her voice dropped lower.

“What is wrong with you?” her brother asked, shaking his head.

Before she could answer, Marcus’s butler opened the door to the room. The servant’s gaze swung around and landed on his mistress. “My lady, Lord Finley left before retrieving his hat and gloves.” The butler let the statement dangle in the air. “Would you like me to send them with a messenger?”

“Finley was here?” Marcus growled. Nick understood the anger. He wouldn’t let Finley anywhere near his sister, if he had one.

“Briefly,” she answered. The look she gave the butler was withering.

“When did Finley arrive in town?” Marcus asked the room in general.

Gibbons shrugged. “I work for you, my lord, not him.”

Nick didn’t know, and Olivia didn’t appear to be open to sharing.

His friend muttered something unintelligible. “Go pack your things,” he told her shortly. “I will take you back to Westin Park.”

Marcus’s sister looked so relieved, Nick thought she might faint, or worse, cry. Before she could turn to leave, however, Marcus grabbed her hand, stopping her flight.

“Did Finley say something to upset you?” he asked.

She shook her head and tugged herself free from his hold.

Nick stared after the beautiful woman as she departed. The gentleman in him knew that the proper thing to do would be to ignore her distress, and let her have the comfort of believing her discomposure had gone unnoted. But he couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that wanted to go after her, to hold and comfort her until she was no longer afraid.

What was wrong with him?

Marcus still had his attention focused after his sister. “I’m sorry for that,” he said. “She’s not usually so…frantic.”

Nick brushed aside the apology. “When will you leave?” he asked.

“I guess at first opportunity. Perhaps in the morning. It’s several days’ journey to Westin Park.” Marcus put away his cue. The game of billiards now forgotten in the wake of Olivia’s appearance. “Can you spare the time?” Marcus asked.

“I suppose so, why?”

“Come with us. We’ve known each other for years, yet you’ve never seen my home.”

Nick considered the offer. He had no wish to intrude upon the siblings’ time together, but he couldn’t deny there was something infinitely alluring about escaping the scrutiny of town for a few days. And while he could have easily visited his country estate, Nick wasn’t ready for that yet. Wasn’t ready for whatever memories awaited him there.

“I don’t guess anyone will miss me.” And Nick was surprised to find he was swayed by the thought of having more time to study the fascinating Olivia.

The idea appealed to him more than it should.