I Love to Hate You: Revenge has never tasted so sweet... (Marry in Haste Series Book 1)

by Elizabeth Keysian

  Time for a change of subject. He leaned over his saddle-bow and gazed back at the stately towers and pinnacles of Hedenham House. “I wonder what entertainment old Burley has thought up for this evening.”

  Harry quieted his mount, then released the reins so it could crop the long grass at the edges of the ride. “Rumour has it we are to be invited to a costumed feast worthy of our Classical Ancestors.”

  “A masquerade?” He detested masked balls. All that pretence and foolishness. How would Athene and her guardian manage for costumes? He must see if there was time to send out for something for them.

  “A tad eccentric, isn’t he?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Harry tutted. “Aren’t you listening? Burley, of course.”

  The Duke of Burlington, whose ancient home they now occupied, was renowned for his ‘imaginative’ soirées, balls and parties. Dressing up was usually required, and there was always some exotic entertainment laid on, perhaps involving dancing goats or bare-breasted trapeze artists swinging from the chandeliers—specially reinforced for the occasion, of course. Only those members of the Ton who were too rich to care what Society thought of them, attended.

  Which was why it had been so odd—and disturbing—when he’d learned Miss Athene Hartville was to be a guest. He knew, from the close eye he kept on her, she had barely a penny to her name, and it was not her usual kind of thing at all.

  Which had made it all the more imperative he should attend the party himself.

  He cleared his throat. “Have you spoken to Athene yet?”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed for the briefest moment. “Miss Hartville? I’d no idea she was here. Far too impecunious for the duke’s set, surely? Perhaps she’s fortune-hunting.”

  Probably. How much of a fortune did she require? And did it matter whether or not a title went with said fortune?

  He yanked at the knot of his cravat. “I hope not—it’s so demeaning for a woman of her quality. She’s being chaperoned by someone who looks young enough to be her sister. Hardly a good choice of guardian.”

  “What’s she called?” Harry swatted flies away from his horse’s mane.

  “Miss Katarina Dunstable. They’ve been living in London.”

  “Oh. I thought her guardian was ancient.”

  “No—you’re thinking of her great aunt. She died years ago. There was a distant cousin who took her in afterwards and kept sending her off to dreary boarding schools. Athene’s only lived with her current guardian for six months. I understand Miss Dunstable is the sole surviving relation the poor girl has.”

  “Poor girl?” Harry’s head snapped up. “Since when did you have any sympathy for Athene? You tormented her horribly every time we played together. I’m surprised her aunt even let you near her. It was much nicer when you went back to school and it was just she and I together.”

  Oliver felt as if Harry had just slapped him. Forcing a joviality he was far from feeling, he retorted, “Tormented her? Nonsense. It was you who did that, trailing after her, making calf eyes at her, trying to make her hold your hand.”

  “Damn you, Oliver, I was only small. You were a brute. And old enough to know better.”

  “Did I really torment her? I rather recall her tormenting me.” Torturing, more like, with those pink lips always turned down whenever she saw him, those blue eyes spitting defiance while her red hair glimmered like a halo of fire around her head—a beautiful, elfin demon.

  “Then you have deliberately forgotten what a bully you were. To both of us.”

  Moonshine. He had always done whatever was in Harry’s best interest. And was still doing it. A thankless task, clearly. “Do we have to argue about how I did, or didn’t, behave over a decade ago?”

  “I don’t know, do we? It was you brought the subject up.”

  “I did not.” He rolled his eyes and cursed himself for rising to the lure.

  With a placatory smile, he turned to his brother and saw that strange expression flash in Harry’s eyes again. If he hadn’t known better, he might have suspected it was resentment. But about what could Harry be feeling resentful? He’d always looked after him.

  “Have you heard anything yet about that living at Morchard?” It was their father’s greatest wish, and his own, that Harry should take the cloth. The boy was getting into bad habits, and the Church promised an immediate remedy.

  “You poke your nose into everyone’s business, Olly. I don’t know how you find the time, what with all your…your ladybirds, and…and gambling, and Lord knows what else.”

  Oliver sucked in a hissing breath. “If you cared to spend any time at Deerfold with our ailing father, you’d have realised—”

  Harry yanked up his mount’s head, dug his heels in and charged off.

  “—I am now doing all the work. I don’t have time for my own pleasures anymore,” he finished, sighing.

  Ah well, he must remember Harry was still young and had a great deal to learn. And one never behaved as politely with one’s siblings as one might with a friend or acquaintance. Even so, he wasn’t used to Harry being so waspish with him. And referring to him as a rakehell—completely unjustified. Aside from a few indiscretions whilst at Oxford…and wasn’t every hot-blooded young man entitled to those? Especially one who had been disappointed in love.

  This house party was going to prove more taxing than he’d expected. He needed to find out what was bothering his brother, who it was had dared kiss Athene in the dark—and teach the reprobate a lesson—and find out what had brought the impecunious Miss Hartville and her guardian to Hedenham.

  He suspected he already knew the answer to the latter question. And if he was right, he must find a way to crush Athene’s ambitions before she did herself more harm than good.

  Chapter 3

  “I’m so glad you’re good with a needle.” Athene’s guardian, Miss Katarina Dunstable, stood in the middle of their shared chamber, swathed in starched white linen.

  “Keep still,” Athene mumbled past the pins in her mouth. Naturally, she was a good seamstress. None of her guardians had been wealthy, so she was adept at making new dresses from old. Not a skill one wanted to boast about. “Nearly done.”

  “Of course, if the noble Duke of Burlington had any respect for his guests, he’d have warned us about the masquerade ball, and not expected us to make our own costumes from whatever we had to hand.”

  Athene pushed the last pins into position, then carefully lifted the linen tube over Kat’s head. “We knew, before we came, to expect eccentricity on a grand scale. I imagine the duke likes to challenge people.” She sighed. “The very rich take their pleasure wherever they choose, and we must all dance to their tune, I fear.”

  “Not the words of a woman who needs to find a wealthy husband. You must change your attitude, my dear. Everyone will think you’re a Revolutionary.”

  Kat wrapped a silk shawl around her shoulders and sat on a footstool close to the fire. Athene moved to the window to thread her needle. “I suppose you’re right. I ought to see wealth and power as positives. I shall force myself to get used to the idea while I stitch your tunic.”

  “I can’t imagine the gentlemen will fare too well with this last-minute costume making.” Kat reached for a brush and worked it through her hair.

  “I don’t think any sewing is required on a toga, should they choose to wear one. His Grace only requested we make classical costumes—he didn’t specify which culture. I assume the men will have their valets make their costumes, anyway.”

  She exhaled slowly. She’d spent so long getting a good fit for Kat’s outfit, there was barely time to create her own, and she might very well have to make do with a toga for herself. Which would mean exposing her less-than-exquisite shift.

  “I mean to leave off my corset,” Kat declared. “So the fit of my Grecian chiton must be perfect.”

  Athene refused to be shocked. She was used to Kat’s provocative behaviour. After nearly six months of trying, she knew a
ll efforts at reform were pointless.

  “If you’re happy to have your breasts unsupported it’s entirely up to you.” She bit off a length of thread and applied herself to her sewing, smiling inwardly at Kat’s huff of outrage.

  “I’ll have you know my breasts have no need of support. They are unsurpassable, and no gentleman can fail to admire their natural shape.”

  “No decent gentleman should be observing so closely.”

  “I don’t want a ‘decent’ gentleman. I want one in need of an excessively beautiful and accomplished mistress. Or even two, for that matter, for you could then be supported as well.”

  Athene narrowly avoided pricking her finger. “You know I hate men.”

  “You don’t really. You can’t say that when you haven’t even tried one yet. The joy of being a mistress is, the man isn’t there the entire time. You have more freedom than does his wife, saddled with children to bring up and households to run.” Kat shuddered.

  Saddled with children…would that be so very terrible? Mistresses weren’t expected to settle down to domestic felicity with children about their skirts. Which was one reason—among many, more obvious ones—Athene had no intention of becoming anyone’s mistress.

  Kat shivered again, her teeth clattering dramatically together. “Stoke up the fire will you, my sweet—I’m half frozen, but don’t want to get soot under my nails.”

  Athene bit back the remark that, if she got soot on her fingers, the Grecian tunic risked damage. Resignedly, she did as she was bid, then rinsed her hands in the icy waters of the basin before recommencing her sewing.

  After a series of vocal yawns, Kat stretched and sighed. “It’s so tiring having to wait about like this. By the time dinner is served, I’ll be too exhausted to eat.”

  “Assuming there’ll be any dinner. Our host may expect us to dance on empty stomachs.”

  “Oh, no—I’m sure there’ll be a banquet fit for a Roman emperor. You don’t decree a so-called classical orgy without providing food. Everyone must indulge themselves to excess.”

  “So, will we be dancing like maenads and using a vomitorium if we get too full?”

  Her guardian’s eyebrows shot up. “Wherever did you learn such words? What an extraordinary person you are.”

  “I’m self-taught. From the libraries of my guardians. You are the first to deprive me of scholarly books.”

  “I learned from the School of Life, my dear. It is far more interesting than any boring tome. And more likely to help you to find a husband. A rich one, I mean. But I’ll teach you what I can this week.”

  “Assuming you have the time and are not fending off potential lovers and protectors.”

  “How very dry you are. Men don’t find it at all attractive, you know.”

  “Oh, God.” Athene didn’t want to be attractive to men. But how could she get financial security, and the joy of having a true family, if not through marriage? It would be ideal if she could find a man who was seldom at home to bother her, an older man, perhaps a widower who already had children…meaning coitus wasn’t essential.

  Knowing her luck, she would not meet her ideal husband here. Kat had assured her there would be plenty of eligible bachelors at this house party, but it would be up to her to discover if any of them were widowers. Unfortunately, her first taste of them would be incognito, at the masquerade ball tonight.

  Correction—not her first taste. If only she knew who had kissed her last night and why. Mayhap, if she were patient, the man would make another move. She had to pray her trust fund, currently in Kat’s hands, would last long enough for her coy courtier to make up his mind about his intentions.

  She applied herself to her sewing once more, only to be interrupted by Kat, complaining, “Where is that wretched Hester with my ivy leaves? If she doesn’t return soon, there won’t be time to do my hair properly.”

  Hester, their lazy, simple servant—they could afford no better—had been sent into Hedenham’s grounds in search of ivy with which to make a wreath because Kat was sure she ought to have one for the masquerade ball.

  If Athene weren’t so busy sewing, she’d have accompanied their maid, to ensure she returned with something at least bearing a passing resemblance to ivy.

  A sudden knock at the door made her jump. This time she did prick her finger and was sucking on it ruefully when the door opened. But it was not Hester bearing armfuls of evergreens. It was one of the duke’s footmen.

  “Apologies for the interruption. I have a package for Miss Hartville.”

  Finger forgotten, Athene leapt to her feet and took the tiny, cloth-wrapped item. How odd. The footman was correct—it bore a label addressed to her. She thanked him and closed the door, then sped across to the window to open the mysterious package in better light. Which was immediately removed by Kat, crowding close to see what had arrived.

  “Quick, open it. It must be something from our host. Whatever could it be? It’s small enough to be jewellery. I wonder why he didn’t address it to me, as your chaperone and guardian?”

  Athene tugged at the string, and as she unravelled the white lawn wrapping, two brooches tumbled into her palm, one silver, one gold. She’d seen drawings of such things—shaped like a harp from the side but cruciform in front—in antiquary’s books. Such brooches had been used by the ancient Romans to pin their clothing in place.

  Closer inspection showed the condition of the items in her hand was far too good for them to be original. They were a modern jeweller’s copies, and heavy enough to be genuine gold and silver.

  “How exquisite,” Kat breathed, picking up the silver one. “This would suit me perfectly, would it not, with my silver-blond hair? The gold would go well with your fiery tresses. I must say, the duke is both generous and observant. I wonder if he has an opening for a mistress? When Lady Bingham secured this invitation for us, she hinted as much.”

  The brooches would be extremely useful. Being able to pin something on one shoulder would save hours of sewing. One could create a Greek or Roman style costume with just the pin and a curtain sash tied around the waist.

  Athene twirled the paper label between her fingers, then realised with annoyance the ink was still wet, testament to the haste of the sender. There was ink on the other side of the label too. “There’s something written on the back,” she told Kat, who had moved away to admire herself in the mirror.

  “It’ll say, ‘compliments of Burlington’. Or so I assume.”

  “No, it says—” She dropped the label, and a shiver ran up her spine. Whatever did he mean by this generous gesture?

  “We have to send these back right away.”

  “What? No, don’t be ridiculous. These are a gift, not a loan. I might add an off-the-shoulder cloak to my outfit as it’s cold.” Kat already had a piece of linen draped across her and was trying out different ways in which to pin it.

  “They’re not from the duke.” Athene’s fingers trembled as she laid her brooch on the mantelpiece.

  “From whom then?” Kat gazed at her in surprise.

  “From the man I swore to hate my entire life. Viscount Rushbourne. Damn him. Does he think to patronise me? Pour scorn on my poverty?”

  “Athene, calm down. It’s a trifle. And the brooches are for both of us, so he’s not singling you out. If it truly makes you uncomfortable, we’ll wear them for the ball and then return them.”

  “I will not wear his gift. You take them. Oh, how I’d like to unclip the clasp and stick the pin in him.”

  Kat snatched up the gold brooch. “You’ll do no such thing. I know you dislike him for teasing you as a child, but he’ll have grown out of that. Perhaps he’s trying to make amends now.”

  “No, this will be some trick of his. He used to love his practical jokes. The pins will be designed to come undone and reveal our underthings midway through the ball. Or he’ll use them to identify us so he can find some way of belittling us, or making us look foolish.” She was close to tears.

  Kat laid
a hand on her arm. “Listen to yourself, child. You’re being irrational. They are mere trinkets, chosen by a sensitive man of exquisite taste who is generous of heart.”

  Athene almost choked. “How little you know him. I’ll plead a headache and not go to the ball at all. How can I avoid him when everyone is going to be masked, and dressed alike?”

  “You will come, and there’s an end to it. I’ve never heard such nonsense. Now, you need a husband, and I need a protector—and if we don’t find them soon, we’ll both end up in the gutter. You will go to the ball Athene, or I’ll send your trust money back to the lawyers and throw you into the street myself.”

  There appeared to be no alternative—Kat would nag her mercilessly if she didn’t go, although she wasn’t likely to carry out her throwing-into-the-street threat.

  It was time for Athene to face up to her arch-enemy. Again.

  But if he was expecting gratitude from her, then the intolerable Viscount Rushbourne was in for a shock.

  Chapter 4

  Oliver’s jaw tightened as he watched the house guests swirling around the crowded ballroom. How was he to find Athene in all this crush? He’d know her by her fiery hair colour under normal circumstances, but Burley, curse the man, had few candles lit and the chandeliers not at all. The duke claimed the Greeks and Romans didn’t have chandeliers so, to be authentic, the room was illuminated with cressets and torches. One of the decorations was bound to catch fire at some point, but Burley would just laugh and have his footmen put out the flames.

  Where was Athene? If only he hadn’t been such a tongue-tied idiot last night. He’d called her ‘Miss Heartless’, suggested she’d craved his attention—but which of them was he trying to convince? He’d been thrown onto the back foot by hearing some devil had kissed her in the dark, and then he’d covered it up by behaving appallingly. Why did Miss Athene Hartville always bring out the worst in him?