The Blackmailed Bride

by Mandy Goff

“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.
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  “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.

  Chapter Three

  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?r />
  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.”