Читать книгу The Blackmailed Bride - Mandy Goff - Страница 12

It wasn’t there.

The letter she’d believed would be in the rosewood box in the library at Westin Park was missing.

For a moment, Olivia could think of nothing. She stared at the dark velvet lining of the empty container as though the parchment would somehow mysteriously reappear. Olivia watched for several moments, waiting for one of the miracles Marcus so believed in to happen.

It didn’t.

The severity of her predicament overwhelmed her.

What was she going to do? Unfortunately, there were few choices…and none of them held much appeal.

Ignoring Lord Finley was definitely what she would prefer to do. Perhaps if she could keep her distance from him, making sure that he never had cause to be alone with her, he would give up his quest to make her his wife. But even as Olivia thought that, she knew the baron wouldn’t cave so easily. He would expose them. For herself, Olivia didn’t much care. She had no use for society or its good opinion. Marcus, however, would be laughed out of the House of Lords, unable to push through the legislation he’d been working on. And when her brother decided it was time to marry, no eligible woman would want to link her name with such a damaged and scandalized family.

So pretending she and Finley had never even talked wouldn’t work—much as she might have wished otherwise.

That left confessing this to her brother. But what would he say when he realized the secret she’d been harboring for years? Telling him the truth was the only option, wasn’t it? With Marcus’s help, she could devise a way to nullify Lord Finley’s threat and prevent their family disgrace from becoming common knowledge. Perhaps her brother could write him a bank draft. Or maybe they could figure a way to get the letter back, which would make Finley’s accusations—should he make any—seem like nothing more than spiteful fabrications.

But what would the revelation do to Marcus? Would he be reduced to the person she’d let herself become? Would the truth strip him of his faith in a God who would allow such things to occur the way it had to her? And what would he think of her part in the charade, and the fact that she’d hidden the truth from him for so long?

Marcus would be disappointed. Well, disappointed was probably not the right word. But she refused to consider a harsher emotion, one that would forever change the way Marcus looked at her.

She’d become a liar in order to protect him, never anticipating he’d discover the truth…either about her mother or about her.

She wasn’t sure which revelation would crush him more.

I could accept Finley’s proposal.

The thought repulsed her.

But was it worse than confessing to Marcus?

Could she bear to hurt her brother when she had another option?

No, she couldn’t.

Olivia thought she’d cried all the tears she had, but a few slipped down her cheeks anyway. Consigning herself to a loveless marriage—one built on deception and manipulation—was a heavy decision. But it was one she would make rather than becoming the instrument of disillusionment for her brother.

This was all because of that stupid letter. Had their mother only kept her last words—her selfish confessional—to herself, Olivia wouldn’t be in this predicament.

But no sooner had the hateful thought taken root than she chastised herself. She should have burned the letter immediately after reading it all those years ago. As long as those precious, final words remained undestroyed, Olivia had assumed the risk of someone finding it.

It was her fault. She’d been too weak, too overcome with grief and loneliness to destroy the last tangible link to her mother.

And now, it appeared she would pay for her weakness.

“How long have you been in here?” Marcus’s voice startled her so much she jerked, and the lid on the box slammed closed.

Turning, Olivia thrust her hands behind her back as though they were holding something worth hiding. How long had her brother been watching?

“Just a few moments,” she answered.

“Have you been crying?” Marcus asked in near horror as he came closer to examine her face.

“Perhaps.” She couldn’t stop the following sniffle.

“Would it be too much to ask why you are weeping in the library?” His voice was mild.

“I’ve missed my books.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She had missed her books. She’d miss them even more soon—along with the library itself, and the house and the life she’d be giving up when she married Finley.

“You took most of your books to London with you,” Marcus returned.

“Just my favorites,” she argued.

“I think we carried at least fifty volumes with us.” He was beginning to look less suspicious and more amused.

“I have a lot of favorites.”

He shrugged. “I believe Sarah is unpacking your things in your room. Do you wish to lie down for a few minutes?” he asked, eyeing her skeptically. “We’re not dining for many hours yet.”

“No, I’ll find something to amuse myself until then.” Or, more likely, she would obsess about what she was going to do, until she realized there was nothing to be done.

Then, she would cry some more.

“So you don’t have any pressing plans at the moment?” he asked, moving to one of the settees and sitting rather indecorously. He rested his head against the back of the piece of furniture.

She shook her head, wondering if he could see her with his eyes closed like that.

Apparently, he could.

“Excellent,” her brother said. “I planned to take Nick around the estate on horseback. Would you care to join us? I know how much you’ve missed being able to ride.”

She could tell Marcus she didn’t want to spend any more time with his friend than she had to, but her brother would chastise her for her rudeness. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. The marquess was just a man, one she barely knew. But she didn’t like the way she felt when he was near. Nervous. Jumpy. Fluttery.

Olivia had counted herself fortunate Marcus and Lord Huntsford had decided to take their horses on the journey to Westin Park. She’d ridden in the carriage alone, which had been preferable to having to share a confined space with the marquess.

But they had still taken a few breaks, allowing Olivia to exit the carriage and stretch her legs. The marquess had the annoying tendency to seek her out during those moments. Much like when he’d found her in the library back in London, Lord Huntsford was nothing but cordial…so she couldn’t explain why he made her feel so unlike herself.

But she couldn’t avoid the gentleman indefinitely. She wasn’t going to stay locked in her room for days, and running into him or having meals together was inevitable.

Besides, London had offered limited opportunities to ride. Olivia didn’t care much for the sedate, stately stroll through the park. She liked to feel the wind in her hair, whipping it around and into a nest her maid would complain about later. Would she still be able to ride like that as Finley’s wife? She shuddered at the thought of the restrictions that he, as her husband, would be able to place on her freedom. But no, she wouldn’t let herself think about that today. She wasn’t Finley’s wife yet—she still had time to enjoy all the things she loved.

So she agreed.

“Excellent.” Marcus hopped up from his seat. “Shall we meet in half an hour?”

Olivia nodded. And she looked at her brother, thought about how much she was going to break his heart and couldn’t stop the impulse to hug him. Which she did.

Perhaps a touch too tightly.

“Olivia?” he asked.

Marcus was probably wondering if he would need to have a doctor come and examine her.

“I love you,” she told him. She might have sniffled, but if so, it was done very, very quietly.

He patted her on the back, used to her spontaneous shows of affection. “I love you as well.” He pulled back and looked at her face. “Perhaps the fresh air will make you feel better. You look peaked.”

She looked like a wreck. Leave it to Marcus to try and soften the ugly truth. He’d been protecting her all her life.

It was her turn to do so for him.

“You’re right. The country air will be refreshing. The carriage ride must have unsettled me.” She wondered if he could see signs of her deception in her face, but Marcus looked oblivious.

“See you shortly,” he called after her as she left the room.

Fortunately for her, once her back was to him, he couldn’t see the fresh tears that had started to fall.

How was she going to tell Marcus?

Not about their mother—no, she’d resolved that Marcus would never learn about that. But to keep the secret meant accepting Finley’s proposal, and if the way he’d rushed her out of London was any indication, Marcus would not be pleased with the news. What words could she possibly speak that would make him agree to her marrying Finley? How would she handle his disappointment? How would he handle his disappointment?

The litany of unanswerable questions kept her mind busy and her stomach churning. She could think of nothing that would make her task easier.

But after her maid Sarah helped her into her riding habit, Olivia had to scold herself. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life moping around. For the moment, she was still free and would enjoy herself. And for right now, that meant spending the afternoon with her brother.

“You look lovely,” Marcus greeted a short time later as she joined him and Lord Huntsford outside.

After thanking Marcus, Olivia forced herself to give Lord Huntsford a cursory glance. In deference to his presence, she inclined her head and murmured a greeting.

If Marcus noticed her rudeness, he didn’t comment on it. Olivia felt a pang of guilt and shame, but her coldness was for her own defense. Something about the marquess was irresistible. Certainly, he was handsome. But her attraction to him wasn’t purely physical. He exuded a strength and mystery that she found alluring. That appeal put her in an unenviable position.

She wasn’t free to develop any interest in him.

So she would keep her distance.

“Care for a race?” she asked her brother with a smile after they’d ridden along the length of the west perimeter of the property. The happy expression didn’t feel quite right on her face, but neither of the men noticed the subtle difference.

Marcus shuddered dramatically. “I don’t think so. I have enough pride to want no one to witness me losing to a woman.” Then he grinned at her.

Olivia could almost pretend as though she’d altered time and returned to her life as it was a few days before. She felt carefree and uninhibited.

Which, surely, was the reason she turned to the marquess next.

“What about you, my lord?” she asked.

Lord Huntsford turned the full force of his smile on her, and Olivia had to remind herself to breathe. “Now I feel I must, if only to prove I could do better than Marcus,” he said. “Anyone could do better than Marcus, my lord,” she exaggerated, simply because Marcus prided himself on his horsemanship—with just cause—and she knew it would aggravate him.

Marcus’s friend laughed. “Do you wish a lead? It would only be gentlemanly of me.”

Marcus laughed this time.

Olivia smiled and shook her head no. “To the stone wall to the east.” She pointed out a straight path with her hand. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, my lord. I’ll see you when you get there.”

Marcus called their start, and Olivia took off. Hooves pounded the ground, sending clumps of earth flying. She laughed and felt the sound trailing out behind her. It almost seemed as if she were leaving all her troubles behind. For this one, brief moment, she allowed herself to be happy.

Lady Olivia won the race. And if she suspected that Nick might have pulled on his reins just a bit at the end, for the sheer pleasure of seeing her victorious smile, then she had no way to prove it. He was basking in that smile when the lady realized that Marcus had been waylaid along the path, leaving the two of them to return to the house together without his moderating presence.

The realization seemed to make her uncomfortable. The young woman shifted in her sidesaddle several times and fidgeted with the reins.

“You have a beautiful home,” Nick commented after a long stretch of silence.

“Thank you. I’ve always thought it was uncommonly lovely here.” Her sigh seemed wistful, and the forlorn noise drew his eye to her.

Mercy. She was uncommonly lovely herself. Their breakneck ride had completely mussed her hair. Tendrils framed her face, both wild and flattering against cheeks slightly pink with exertion.

“Are you staring at me, Lord Huntsford?”

Nick looked quickly away, a reflex more suited to a child who’d been caught peering at presents hidden in a closet than a powerful noble. But her question was quiet, genuinely curious. Flirtation didn’t appear to be her aim.

What kind of woman is she?

“I apologize,” he said. “I was merely thinking of how different you are.”

“That doesn’t sound very complimentary.”

“It is a compliment of the highest order. The ladies of my acquaintance wouldn’t be content to ride through the country when the amusements of town are within a day’s travel distance,” he assured her.

Olivia pursed her full lips. “London holds no allure for me.”

“We are kindred souls in that regard.”

“Then why do you stay in town?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. “You answer to no one. You may come and go as you wish. I should think, were I you, I wouldn’t step a toe inside the limits of London.”

He smiled at her and wished it were so simple. “Since my father’s death, I must take all the responsibilities of the marquessdom—unfortunately, that includes business in town. The mantle is heavy and not one I wear joyfully.”

Her expression instantly sobered. “I’m sorry about your father. How long has it been?”

“A year,” he answered. “I would have returned to England immediately after his death, but by the time news reached me, I was mired in business I couldn’t leave unfinished.” Why did he feel compelled to offer an explanation, vague though it might have been?

She didn’t ask what kind of business.

He wouldn’t have told her if she had.

“I didn’t wear mourning for him.” The confession was out before he could think of any reason why he would tell her this.

“I’m sure he would have understood your decision,” Lady Olivia said.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” Actually, the deceased marquess would have seethed with anger to know his son didn’t wear all black for him.

Nick had been so consumed with his own rage toward his father, he couldn’t fathom showing him that level of respect. “Our relationship was…strained.”

The woman at his side still said nothing.

In the silence, Nick warred with regret at a broken relationship with his father. But his father had insisted Nick yield to his wishes. Nick couldn’t do that.

So he’d left.

Which had created an even larger gulf, not just physically, between them. The only heir to the marquessdom running away to foreign lands, doing things nobody wanted to imagine…his father had been furious Nick would risk his life, and most important, risk the title leaving the immediate family if something were to happen to Nick.

Nick determined not to look at Lady Olivia, but when he felt a slight pressure on his hand, he looked down to find she was touching him to get his attention.

“I understand.” The two words held a wealth of untold sympathy. And he felt as though she truly did.

They both turned at the sound of an approaching rider.

“Apologies,” Marcus said as he came abreast of the pair. “One of the tenant farmers wanted to ask about repairing his roof. He stopped me before I could catch up with you.”

“That’s all right,” Lady Olivia said. “Now that you can finish giving Lord Huntsford a tour, I should probably return inside.”

If Nick thought her manner was abrupt, he had no reasonable explanation for the behavior. Just moments before, she’d been perfectly cordial.

Marcus, however, seemed concerned. “Perhaps you should rest before dinner.”

She nodded, but Nick noticed she didn’t voice an agreement. With a quick turn of the reins, she had her horse pointed back in the direction of the house. She waved a brief farewell then kicked her horse into motion.

Marcus had begun a conversation—something about the crops he was planning for the upcoming season. Nick listened as best he could with his attention diverted. Why was it that Lady Olivia could alternately be so charming and agreeable, but the next moment seek the quickest way to escape his presence?

Her retreating figure didn’t offer any clues, however. And while he hated the fact that he couldn’t seem to do otherwise, Nick stared at her even after she could no longer be seen in the distance.