by Mandy Goff
“Was there something in particular you wanted, George?” Nick asked.
The unwelcome acquaintance from his past looked mildly offended, but the flicker of emotion passed quickly. “Just wanted to see how you were getting along,” he defended.
“Well enough.” If the man were waiting for Nick to open a dialogue, George was certain to be disappointed.
“But undoubtedly,” George tried again, “you haven’t had the time to enjoy being home. Tons of invitations, I’m sure.”
Nick didn’t comment.
George turned his attention to Marcus, obviously assuming his inane commentary would be more welcome on that side of the table. Nick knew he should probably introduce the two men, but he didn’t. Doing so would only give George an additional reason to linger.
“Huntsford, here, has been pretty busy since he returned to town,” George told Marcus.
“Has he?” Marcus asked, his voice bland.
“Yeah, but that’s no surprise. Like father, like son, eh?”
Nick sighed. How long would he be compared to the dead marquess?
George, wisely enough, didn’t give Nick an opportunity to answer to the insult. “Hey, Huntsford, a couple of the guys and I were…talking, and I was wondering if you’d help me out.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “How would I do that?” And why, he thought to himself.
“Some are saying you’ve already got your eye on some chit. I’m wondering how confident you’re feeling about your ability to woo her.”
Nick stiffened, and he saw, from the corner of his vision, Marcus narrow his eyes. “I don’t know who would be saying anything like that.”
George started, but then, thinking he understood Nick’s game, laughed. “I get it. Don’t want to tip your hand. Smart move.” The man leaned back in his chair, balancing his considerable girth on just two legs.
Nick thought about kicking the seat out from under him.
“But you can trust me. I’m just wondering because some say this Westin girl is a harsh one.” George grinned, waiting on Nick to give him an answer.
“That’s my sister,” Marcus said. His voice had a hard edge to it.
George didn’t miss it. “Oh, I—uh—I’m sorry.” The man cast a frantic look to a group on the other side of the room. “I better go. Just—uh—forget about the other.” And he was gone before either Marcus or Nick could say another word to him.
Not that Nick particularly cared.
“It’s happening already, I suppose. The gossip.” Marcus sighed.
Nick managed a shrug. “We knew it would. Just a bit sooner than I thought.”
“You don’t know how grateful I am for your assistance,” Marcus said. “You’re a good friend to help me this way.”
Nick felt somewhat uncomfortable. Of course, he was doing this to help his friend…but he didn’t like to think of the time he spent with Olivia as being part of a job, or a duty.
Because he liked her.
Quite liked her, as a person. He found Olivia fascinating, and beautiful, and witty, and charming….
She was unlike most women he knew. While many of the ladies of his recent acquaintance didn’t know the real him and were after what they thought he had to offer them, Olivia seemed to appreciate him for the person he was—not the one he was purported to be.
Nick didn’t realize Marcus had been studying him during his long moment of silence until he looked up and his friend looked away guiltily.
“I don’t want you to feel you have to do this.” Marcus’s voice had dropped.
The significance of the situation, and the importance of his answer, wasn’t lost on Nick. He knew that the words out of his mouth next would dictate a rather large step.
“Olivia’s my responsibility, and I can keep her safe.” Marcus pushed onward.
And before Nick knew exactly what he was doing, he tumbled headlong into a future with Olivia’s continued presence. “The two of you would kill each other before it was over, if I didn’t help.”
“Perhaps,” Marcus allowed. He sat back, relaxing into his seat. And Nick hadn’t realized until then how much Marcus was dreading hearing his answer.
A waiter arrived with their food, and after depositing the china plates on the table, he faded away.
“I will say, though, that I hope your assistance in this matter is not going to cause problems for you on the marriage mart,” Marcus commented.
“What are you talking about?”
Marcus shrugged. “I didn’t know if you came to London because you were ready to settle down and find a wife. Are you looking? For a wife, that is.”
Nick didn’t know if he liked Marcus’s overly unconcerned manner. The nonchalance made him feel as if there were several layers to the question he couldn’t understand.
“No. Not right away. Eventually, of course,” Nick knew he was rambling but didn’t stop. “I’m happy to help as long as it’s needed.”
Marcus’s speculative look wasn’t making Nick feel any more at ease.
“What about you?” Nick asked, hoping to deflect some of the attention, and heat.
“What about me?” Marcus asked, returning to the plate of food in front of him before changing the subject.
Nick didn’t have time to answer before Marcus was speaking again. “Well, again, I appreciate your help with Olivia, but you can consider yourself on vacation this evening. I’m escorting Olivia to the theater, and I doubt Finley will show for that. I don’t think he could afford the box.”
“He might be with friends.” Nick didn’t know why he was trying to talk himself into an invitation.
Marcus shrugged off the concern. “Eh, I don’t really see Finley as a fan of Shakespeare. I certainly wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to. Olivia will be safe enough. I didn’t mean for this venture to take up all your time.”
Nick wanted to argue…insist he should come. He knew Marcus was trying to give him a break, but Nick wanted to see Lady Olivia, to experience her reaction to watching the work of her favorite playwright brought to life on the famous Drury Lane stage.
But he said nothing.
What was wrong with him?
Nick studied his plate in order to hide his tumult of thoughts. Perhaps he was getting sick. That would explain the pang in his chest at the thought of missing an evening spent with Olivia.
Perhaps he was simply losing his mind.
Chapter Ten
“Are you almost ready?” Marcus called from outside Olivia’s bedroom door.
“Nearly,” she returned. She scrutinized the dress, deciding she rather liked the deep blue with the ivory gloves. And Sarah had spent what seemed like hours pulling and tugging her hair into place.
She should feel silly for caring about how she looked. Finley wouldn’t be at the theater—not that she would dress to impress him anyway—and attracting the attention of other men would get her in trouble.
Although, she thought—as a certain marquess came to mind—if things were different, she might not object…
She cast one last look in the mirror before leaving her chambers and descending the steps.
“You look wonderful,” Marcus said as she joined him.
“I must say, you don’t look too poorly yourself.” Olivia took his arm, allowing him to lead her outside to their carriage.
“I hope we can have a pleasant evening,” he said, no doubt frustrated that the past several days—since their disagreement and return to London—had been spent in a kind of tenuous but still strained peace.
“I don’t see why we can’t.” In truth, she was in a rather good mood. Although, she wasn’t quite sure what contributed to her sudden change in disposition. “Marvelous.”
As they arrived outside the Drury Lane theatre, Olivia’s enthusiasm rose higher. She always loved the theater but had yet to attend one of the ton’s fashionable stage productions this Season.
In spite of the people trying to angle her brother into conversation, they made fair
ly unhindered progress to their box. Olivia took her seat, leaned over the railing and peered at the swarming crowds below. How much longer until the curtain rose? Her excitement mounted with each passing moment.
“Nick, I didn’t think you’d be joining us tonight,” Marcus suddenly said.
Olivia whipped her head so quickly to look behind her, she felt a stabbing pain in her neck.
The Marquess of Huntsford entered their box. “I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion, but it was rather dull sitting alone in my box. I thought I might join the two of you.”
Olivia looked back from the marquess to her brother and tried to decipher the small grin on her brother’s face.
“Of course,” Marcus replied. He swept his hand out at the few empty seats around them. “We have plenty of room here. And company,” he added slyly.
Lord Huntsford opened his mouth to respond, but he stopped at the sight of her. Olivia forced herself to remain still under his scrutinizing gaze. It wasn’t offensive, merely appraising.
He spared Marcus a distracted thank-you and moved to take the seat behind her. Olivia fought a blush as he approached, remembering her thoughts from earlier, when she’d wondered what it would be like if she were free to win the admiration of this man—this handsome, charming man who shared her interest in Shakespeare…and who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since entering the box.
But I’m not free, she reminded herself, and looked away.
The marquess leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You look beautiful,” he said.
She turned to him, searching his face for any signs of sarcasm. He looked sincere, at least. “Thank you,” she mumbled. She diverted her attention again to the floor below, hoping to hide the embarrassing blush.
Marcus cleared his throat. Olivia swung around to look at him, but he didn’t appear to be studying them too closely.
Lord Huntsford was acting as though they were alone in the box—and in the theater. He leaned forward, not so far to be sitting in her lap, but far enough to make her uncomfortable. “You’re the most beautiful woman here.” But his voice wasn’t pitched low enough. Marcus raised his eyebrows, obviously having heard the exchange.
“I suppose I see someone in the hallway I should talk to,” her brother announced, rising from his seat abruptly. Olivia thought he muttered under his breath as he passed by them and flung open the door to the box. She couldn’t make out the specific words and wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“Lord Huntsford,” she said primly, “I wasn’t aware you were a fan of the theater.” She strove to ignore his close, close proximity.
He sat back—just a little. “I’m an admirer of many things.”
“I hear Kean is sublime,” she pressed on.
“As are you,” he returned.
She looked at his face, took in his startled expression, and surmised that he’d not intended to voice the compliment. She blushed and ducked her head so he couldn’t see the signs of her embarrassment.
“Behave,” she warned, hoping to lighten the sudden seriousness of the mood. She should put some distance between them. But Olivia’s traitorous body refused to move as little as an inch away.
“It turns out I didn’t see someone in the hall who required my attention,” Marcus announced as he reentered the box and looked at both of them.
“Am I interrupting something?” her brother asked after a long, awkward moment.
Olivia jumped guiltily. “Of course not.”
“Hmm,” came from Lord Huntsford, who seemed back to his normal, charming self.
“I feel like an extra player on this stage,” Marcus continued good-naturedly when the marquess didn’t sit back in his chair.
“I don’t suppose you could be a character with no lines?” Huntsford asked.
Marcus smiled.
“Would both of you be silent, please? The curtain is about to rise.” Olivia moved forward in her seat, peering through her opera glasses.
The actors took the stage, captivating with their flawless performance. From the moment the players began speaking their lines, she was engrossed in the drama unfolding beneath her. She didn’t hear her brother and the marquess whispering through most of the play, nor did she notice the curious stares from others around them.
Olivia didn’t sit back until the curtain fell for intermission. Then, she rose from her seat and joined the throngs of people littering the hall. Marcus and Lord Huntsford were still speaking with each other when Olivia took her brief leave, claiming a need of fresh air.
But fresh air was the rarest commodity in the crowded hallways. The paths were littered with people. Matrons meandered through the crowds, peering imperiously down their noses at people whose dress they considered gauche or whose manner they found offensive. Young men prowled the halls in pursuit of various game. Some were after heiresses to refill or supplement the family coffers. Others had a more licentious end in mind for their prey. And the young women, most ushered by their eager mothers, were in the market themselves, searching for the often-elusive perfect husband—wealthy, titled, handsome and chivalrous.
Olivia didn’t belong to any of those groups, and for the most part, the other occupants kept their distance. She was, therefore, able to navigate through the crush with the deftness of a weathered captain charting through choppy seas. Not having to sidestep any of the young men who usually came to speak to her was refreshing as she had no desire to converse, but it was also unusual.
“You can stop trying to walk so fast,” Lord Huntsford said from somewhere behind her. “I’m accompanying you.”
The man was relentless…and probably the reason for the lack of other men in her vicinity. She noticed him scowling at a gentleman who looked ready to walk toward them.
Seeing a column ahead that would afford them some privacy, Olivia maneuvered the two of them through the people and on to the other side of the impromptu hideout.
“I know I shouldn’t bother, but I really have to ask why you are chasing after me,” she said on a sigh.
“Can it not be as simple as my desiring the pleasure of your company?” he asked instead of answering her.
She laughed at his pitiful expression.
An elderly couple passed by then, with both heads turning to look in direction of the laughter.
Lord Huntsford seemed not to care what anyone—including her—thought. He was content to stand there, one hand on the column above her head. She shook herself; she couldn’t be charmed by him without disastrous results.
“This really must stop,” she insisted.
“Why?” The gleam in his eye unnerved her.
“It’s unseemly.” Not to mention should Finley become any more suspicious there would be more consequences than she wanted to contemplate.
He chuckled, a low, warm sound that made her stomach do an odd turn.
“I’m serious,” she persisted.
He cupped his hand to her face, an action that seemed to surprise even him. Olivia forced herself to resist the urge to turn into his touch or cover his hand with her own.
“You should stop,” she whispered, knowing her voice lacked heat and resolve.
But he didn’t remove his hand.
“Why don’t you want to be around me?” While the words were said lightly, there was vulnerability in his eyes.
He was giving her the opportunity to hurt him.
And, though the thought nearly brought her to tears, she was going to have to take it.
Otherwise, he might not leave her in peace.
And she was in enough turmoil without his constant, disarming presence.
“While I find your company not…unpleasant, I think, considering your background, it would be best if we weren’t seen so often in each other’s company.”
She regretted her necessary cruelty the moment the words were spoken.
“My background?” he echoed.
“Well…that is to say…I…” she stammered.
“Explain yourself.” H
e leaned forward menacingly, and Olivia had the absurd fear he would strike her—not that she wouldn’t deserve it. But she had to make sure he would cease whatever plans he had for the two of them. Even friendship would be too risky. Finley didn’t want her with anyone who could be perceived as a threat. And as she’d been reminded over and over again, she was in no position to bargain with him.
There was nothing for her to do but brazen it out. “I just mean, with all the women in France, and your father…” She knew those few words would cut deep.
He stepped away, hurt momentarily visible on his face before his expression locked down into blankness.
“If you believe that, you know nothing about me,” he said quietly.
Regret overwhelmed her. What had she done?
“I’m…” she began, unsure what words she was going to speak but halfway thinking they were going to be an apology.
She never got a chance to hear for herself what she was planning to say because he speared her with a glare and stalked away.
He stormed through the crowd, the masses seeming to part to allow him easy passage. And he didn’t spare her a backward glance. She ignored the burning sensation behind her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. This was the way things should be. It was better for everyone if he ended his odd fascination with her anyway.
“Lady Olivia?” A young girl approached her out of the milling, but thinning, crowd.
After a few moments, Olivia recognized the girl as Finley’s cousin, Anna.
“Are you all right?” Anna asked, coming closer and peering at Olivia with so much concern, Olivia felt like crying all the more.
“I’m fine,” she answered automatically. “How are you?” This was followed with a brief flare of worry. Is Finley with her? Has he witnessed anything between myself and Nick?
Anna still looked skeptical about Olivia’s well-being, but she answered, “I’m well. My mother was invited to the play by some old friends, and she let me accompany her.”
Olivia sagged with relief when she realized Finley was probably not in attendance then.
“Are you enjoying the show?” Olivia asked, wondering why she couldn’t seem to form anything more significant to ask.