by Stacy Reid
“Tobias—”
“I would never dishonor you by taking a mistress.”
That blunt but earnest statement unnerved her. “Her lips were pressed to yours and her body contoured perfectly onto yours. I daresay you welcomed her advances.”
Tobias sighed in evident disgust. “She flung herself at me. I was about to throw her off the balcony when you arrived.”
“How convenient, but that is not what I witnessed.”
He gave her a steely smile. “You will trust me, wife.”
“My father—”
“I am not your father, nor am I like many men who take a mistress, dishonoring the vows they’ve made before God and their wives. I’ve made promises to you and I’ll be damned before I break any of them. You frustrate me with your willful and reckless ways, but you also hold my desire unlike any other woman I’ve ever met.”
Her heart lurched, and sweet hope bubbled inside her. Might their marriage truly work?
“You will return to the country,” he continued dispassionately.
Her heart calcified in her chest. “Tobias—”
“You will return tomorrow, countess.”
“And where will you be?”
“I will remain in Town.”
More separation. She stared at him mutely. “Will you ever approve of me as I am…love me as I love you?” she managed to ask, her heartbeat in her throat.
He jerked and then stilled. Though she ached for him to say yes, she knew it would not be so. The very fact that he wanted her away from him spoke volumes. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to her. “Dry your tears,” he said gruffly.
It was then that Livvie realized tears were streaming unchecked down her cheeks and her throat felt raw. She swiped at them furiously. The last time she had cried so piteously was when her father abandoned her. It infuriated her that Tobias would reduce her to a similar state of hopelessness. Her heart felt like it was being ripped from her chest and there was nothing she could do to stop the unrelenting ache.
He leaned over and cupped her cheeks, startling her. “Your crying has the power to gut me.” His thumb brushed away one of the tears on her cheek.
Though she very much wanted to lean into him, climb into his lap, even, she pulled away. “Do you have any affections for me, Tobias? For our marriage to work…we need more than passion. Mutual regard is highly welcomed.”
His eyes went dark. “I do not know. You make me feel…confused…desperate, feelings I am at loss with what to do with, feelings I do not welcome.”
She swallowed. “Would you love me if I was the docile sort? If I did not ride and fence as well as you do? Was my mother correct, do I need to change everything about me, for you to admire me as ardently as I do you? If that is the case, my lord, we will never have a happy situation. I am deeply regretful for my impulsive behavior in the ballroom, I never meant to embarrass you or tempt you to act in a scandalous manner.”
A severe frown split his brow. “I do not blame you for my actions. I was well aware when I lifted you what the reaction of the ton would be.”
She nodded mutely, painfully aware he did not acknowledge the fact that she loved him or that more was needed for them to be happy together. It pained her to admit it, but she could not endure such a union.
…
Tobias stood beneath the low-burning gas lamp on the street in Mayfair and watched his wife enter her father’s town house. His heart was a dull aching thud inside his chest. Not once had she glanced back as she alighted from the carriage and marched away with her head lifted high and proud.
Do you love me, Tobias?
Will you ever approve of me?
His town house in Grosvenor Square was only a short distance away and he started to walk home. He’d acted without thought when he lifted his countess in his arms and escorted her from the ball. The murmurings that had rippled through the crowd had unfazed him. The only thing he had cared about was that his wife’s eyes had been shadowed by hurt and betrayal. He knew her willful ways and understood instinctively she would have forced herself to stay and endure unpleasantness because of pride. Instead of arguing with her, he had simply acted…much like the way his wife was—reckless and improper. He grimaced, hardly caring if the ton assigned such epithets to him.
What did he care about?
Do you love me, Tobias?
He faltered. Such a simple question yet so intricate. He commanded his feet to move and several minutes later he belatedly realized he was standing in front of his town house. He walked up the steps almost woodenly. His butler opened the door.
“Welcome home, my lord.”
“Evening, Collins,” he murmured, shrugging from his jacket and rolling his shirt to his elbow. Entering his library, he tugged at his cravat, loosening it. He strolled over to the windows overlooking the small gardens at the side of the house, lingering deep in his thoughts.
Do you love me, Tobias?
He had no notion of how long he stood at the windows looking out into the dark. He only knew his thoughts were filled with his wife and the fact that he needed to return to her father’s town house and see her. The dawn broke as he stood there, bleak and dreary, so very different from the previous summer days, possibly a reflection of his mood.
His eyes were gritty and he was in need of sleep, but he could not delay. He must visit his countess. What he would speak of when he saw her, he was unsure, but the devastation her eyes had spoken of could no longer be endured. The volatile feelings she roused could no longer be withstood. A decision had to be made, and it was one they needed to do jointly. With rapid strides, he exited the library and went upstairs. He called for a bath, and his valet selected his clothes with welcomed efficiency.
An hour later, freshly shaved, trimmed, and dressed in buff-color breeches with a dark blue jacket and matching waistcoat, Tobias approached Lord Bathurst’s town house. Instead of calling for the carriage, he elected to walk, desiring the cold, crisp air to help him clear his thoughts. After a sharp rap on the front door, the butler allowed him entrance after perusing his calling card. A few minutes later he was situated in an elegantly appointed drawing room, waiting on his countess to descend, anticipation and surprisingly nerves, had him tugging at his cravat.
Instead of his countess making an appearance, a woman who introduced herself as the housekeeper, Mrs. Andrews, handed him a letter.
“My lord, I was instructed by her ladyship for this letter to be delivered to you this afternoon.”
Foreboding slithered through him. “Where is my wife?”
Mrs. Andrews fidgeted. “Her ladyship departed at the crack of dawn with her maid and a small valise.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Andrews.”
He stuffed the letter into his pocket and departed. On the walk home, unable to suppress the desire until he was in the privacy of his library, he halted on the side street and tore into the letter.
Dear Tobias,
I can see now the marriage I had desired is not to be realized—one of mutual regard and the deepest of admiration. It would be quite easy to render all blame to you, but I cannot. I contributed to the distaste you currently feel for me and may forever endure. I’ve brought unwanted scrutiny and scandal to our family’s name with my bold and inappropriate behavior, despite knowing how much you abhor public scrutiny and aspersions. I hope you will eventually forgive me. I dearly wish I could change and conform to the expectations of society, those of the dowager countess, and even the ones you have. But I cannot bear the notion of living in a union so permanent and not acting as my true self but as a shadow of who I am.
I love you, most ardently, a state I am unsure will ever dissipate. It was clear to me that my sentiments were not returned and that you in fact wished me very far from your presence. The contempt I espied in your demeanor broke my heart, and I must leave until I no longer care that you see me as your inferior. Even if you cannot love me, I would wish for you to respect me as I am, admire me as I
am, and enjoy me as I am. I do vow I will do all in my power, if the situation arises, to act with the proper deportment of a countess and never bring shame to our family name again. I fear I am acting the coward in fleeing before you banish me to either Scotland or your estate in Jamaica to only return upon your goodwill.
Perhaps in time there will be civility between us and we can live in relative friendship like in most marriages of the ton. Until that time I will leave you be and explore the world, the rolling hills of the countryside, the great sights of Paris and Vienna, and perhaps even the Rose Cottage again. I will return to England eventually, for I’ve been told every lord is in desperate need of an heir and I know my duty. I cannot bear living with a man who dislikes the heart of me. I know I must return…but for now I need the space to stop loving you.
I can only hope when I do return, whether it is weeks or years from now, that we will have a pleasant and amicable marriage.
Your wife,
Livvie
A swell of emptiness rose inside of him, expanded and filled every crevice of his being. His wife had left him. God’s blood.
He forced himself onward at the sound of several footsteps behind him. The words of her letter replayed in his mind until cold, blessed numbness replaced the hollow, empty feeling.
…
Five days later, Tobias wondered if he should make a report to the runners of his countess’s disappearance. He’d sent grooms and messengers to his various estates across England and Scotland and she was not in residence at any of his properties. She had vanished with no report as to when and how.
Where would his wife have gone? With what money? Was she safe? No one was missing save her maid, along with one of his swordsticks and a pistol, and her packet of books. The fear he had been suppressing reared its head viciously.
God, please…let her be safe. Where are you, Olivia?
He spent the days writing and the nights prowling the house, hoping she would reappear. It tormented him that his wife was out there, alone, hurting, and with no knowledge of how much he truly admired her.
A fist slammed into his side, and he hardly flinched from the pain, instead he danced away on light feet from the jab aimed at his eyes.
His brother halted on the mat, panting. “You are distracted.”
Tobias inhaled, stripping the thin leather straps from his hands. “Is it safe to say our sparring is done for today?”
“I give up,” Grayson snapped, throwing his hand in the air. “I have held my silence, but in good conscience I can no longer do so. What in God’s name is going on?”
Tobias rotated his shoulders and went over to the table and grabbed a towel and raked it over his sweating skin. He and Grayson had been sparring for some time now. Tobias’s muscles ached and sweat ran in rivulets down his forehead, but he still wanted a more strenuous activity. Peace seemed to elude him. All he could think about was Olivia. It infuriated him that he was so weak. Were these the emotions his father felt for Mother, the ones that led him down his path of ruin?
“Why do you believe something to be amiss?” he demanded, as he and Grayson left the room and headed to the library, where he entered and sank into the high winged-back chair near the window, uncaring of his sweaty body.
With a scowl, Grayson dropped into the seat opposite Tobias. “You have been in Town now for three full weeks without your countess. Every effort I have made to enquire about Olivia has been thwarted. And now all I have been hearing of in the clubs is ‘the Quarrel.’ Bets have been placed in the books at White’s as to how long it will last for. Good God, man, I would never have imagined you to be embroiled in a scandal of such magnitude and seem so…so…unperturbed.”
His brother sounded flabbergasted, a state Tobias would admit he had been in since his wife left him. He felt hollowed even admitting it to himself. Tobias considered his brother. “My countess is not your concern.”
“Something is bloody well my concern. Do you think I have not noticed that you have hardly slept for the last few days? You’ve holed yourself up in the library, writing for hours on end. Dozens of callers are turned away every day. Does ‘the Quarrel’ have anything to do with the fact that Lady Blade challenged your former mistress to a duel? Olivia has been declared an original for her boldness and has become the rage. All the ladies of quality are banding together to form a society, a women’s club of sorts to protect their husbands from the harlots in society. It’s anarchy. The other lords are blaming you for not having a firm hand on your countess and all the ladies are celebrating her actions.”
A tight feeling twisted in his chest. “The ton is simply looking for fodder for the gossip mill.”
“This is more, brother. As a countess, Livvie has the potential to be a powerful force in society if they accept her. It is quite shocking to admit Livvie is more of a celebrity admired by women of all walks of society. There was a piece in the Gazette, which reported on the designs she wore her hair in weeks ago and the fashionable styles and bold colors she wore. It was humorously remarked that her eccentricity should have warned your mistress of your wife’s temperament.” Grayson frowned. “And the rampant rumors that you lifted her from the ballroom last Friday night and vanished with her?”
“It happened.”
Grayson’s eyes widened, and he gaped. “Where is my brother and what have you done with him?”
Tobias smiled, though he was not amused. “I find I am perplexingly unconcerned about our societal images.”
His brother appeared dazed. “Then what are you concerned with?”
“My wife’s tears.”
The fact that she left me, the truth that I ache to see her dazzling smile. The very memory of her tear-filled eyes gutted him, made him want to find her and hold her until she wept out every pain and frustration against him and then make love to her for an entire night. God, he missed her.
“And you’ve been holed up writing?” Grayson demanded, his gaze flicking to the pile of paper spread out on the oak desk. “I daresay the rumors hinting of a separation are more important than whatever you’re scribbling.”
At Tobias’s icy glare, Grayson snapped, “I’ve heard of a possible separation directly from Viscountess Wimple, who heard it from her lady’s maid, who heard it from her cousin, who is a footman at your estate!”
Tobias glanced down at the sheets on his desk, wondering what his brother would say if he knew every word Tobias had written was inspired by Olivia. He could do nothing without images of her dominating his mind. At night, he smelled her on the sheets even though she had never been in their town house. He heard her laughter in the hallway and like a madman dashed outside searching for her. Several days ago, his butler had looked at him as if he were afflicted. And maybe he was, because Tobias was damn well craving her, even knowing the danger she presented to his control. But did it truly matter?
“I almost beat a man to death.”
Grayson inhaled sharply. “What? And when did this happen?”
Tobias allowed himself to slouch down in the chair and sprawled his legs wide. “Olivia’s stepbrother attacked her. Instead of coming to me, she sought to defend her own honor. When I realized what was happening, I went to his estate and was almost too late. I lost control, Grayson. For the first time I can remember, I cared not a jot about scandal and its repercussion. I wanted to call him out and put a bullet through his heart. I am just like Father and all the other Blade men before him. Reckless and dangerous. My actions have haunted me, for I had the full intention of ensuring his demise, but the men I had watching him reported of his departure to Scotland.”
There was a pulse of silence.
“But you did not kill him, you stopped.”
“I wanted to. He hurt her,” he said softly.
“Any reasonable man would have lost their temper, Tobias. Hell, if someone attacked the woman I love, I would kill the bastard.”
His gut tightened. Did he love Olivia? Tobias scrubbed a hand over his face. The unrelentin
g ache he had for her inside, was it love, or reckless obsession like his father had possessed for his mother? “It’s dangerous how she makes me feel.”
“Dangerous to whom? To Livvie? You would cut your arms off before you would ever think to hurt her. You forget that you have something that Father and I doubt even grandfather had.”
He considered his brother. “What?”
“Honor,” Grayson said, his regard piercing. “You have honor, Tobias, and I do not speak of this lightly. Father abused his wife, mistrusted her, fought duels with many men because they simply stared at her. He gambled, partook in reckless racing. Your temper may rival his, but never would you act with such wanton disregard for another. I know you could never hurt Livvie, so exactly what are you afraid of?”
Everything. She made him feel lost and as if he belonged in the same breath. “With her…I am different.” With his countess, he felt carefree, not so rigid and infinitely more in tune with his passions. It hit him then like a fist to his gut. What he was most afraid of was losing Olivia. He was afraid of the raw intensity of emotions he felt for her. The lust, the tenderness, the way she made his heart stir. Never had he felt such riotous feelings before. He’d been worried they were precursors to the obsession his father had showed toward his mother and the scandalous tales of the Blade men before him.
“I would never hurt Olivia.”
And what do you think you are doing now? an inner voice taunted. Tobias surged to his feet and stalked to the windows. Hell, he had hurt her. In her eyes, he had seen the devastation when he walked away, and the damn fool that he was, he’d done nothing. Why had he even been surprised she was bold enough to leave him?
“Though I know I would never lift a hand to her…I would crush anyone who hurts her. Does that not make me reckless?”
Grayson stood, walked over to him, and clasped his shoulder. “No, it makes you human. Will you go to her?”
“If the men I have scouring England find her, thrice in a heartbeat.”