Olivia and the Masked Duke

by Grace Callaway

Livy realized that the moment would end soon…and she didn’t want it to. She wanted to prolong this closeness with Hadleigh. In their velvet cocoon, the tension of their recent interactions had vanished. He was holding her, whispering to her, just like she had dreamed he would.

  What if she didn’t have another chance to be like this with him? She had to make the most of the opportunity. She would live up to her costume and decide her own destiny.

  She relaxed further into Hadleigh’s embrace. Since her costume was cut in a classical Grecian style, she had dispensed with her usual voluminous layers. Beneath her white tunic, she wore only a chemise, single petticoat, and short stays, and she could feel every part of Hadleigh pressed up against her. Goodness, he was like a wall of muscle…with a distinctly protruding edge.

  Her eyes widened. Zounds. Is that his male member?

  The night she’d kissed him at her birthday ball, she’d glimpsed the bulge in his trousers. It had appeared sizable from afar. Poking into her spine, it felt like a huge fire iron. Intrigued, she wriggled against him.

  “Stop that.”

  His whisper smoldered with warning…and something else. That husky edge had been present in his voice when he’d issued carnal commands to Cherise Foxton in the stable. It had made Lady Foxton mewl in desperate delight and beg for more—and Livy squirm with jealousy and longing.

  Because she had wanted Hadleigh to speak to her that way.

  In that deliciously dictatorial tone that said, You will listen to me because you belong to me and me alone.

  An impulse took hold of Livy. She could not afford to move much; to do so would disturb the curtains and give them away. Instead, she gently rocked back against Hadleigh, and his response was instantaneous: his harsh breath scalded her ear, his arm cinching tighter around her waist. His member became a thick, insistent pole lodged against her spine. The sensation of being surrounded by all the male virility that was Hadleigh made her feel light-headed.

  The more she rocked against him, the more sensitive she felt. The air trapped by the curtains was a humid caress over her throat and décolletage. Her breasts ached, the tips taut and tingling against her stays. When she squeezed her thighs together, dampness trickled from her core.

  The world faded away. There was only the desire raging through her like a fever.

  And the cure was Hadleigh.

  Ben gritted his teeth. Given her determined nature, Livy excelled at anything she put her mind to. At the moment, she seemed intent upon driving him out of his godforsaken mind. And he could not stop her without giving away their presence to the bastards on the other side of the curtain.

  His former Horsemen cronies Edgecombe, Thorne, and Bollinger were scoundrels who’d think nothing of ruining a lady’s reputation or using it as leverage to get what they wanted. Stamford, who appeared to be the group’s newest recruit, had a reputation for being equally ruthless.

  Thus, Ben had no choice but to hold still as Livy rubbed against him like a needy kitten. The rounded curves of her derriere rocked against his groin, testing the limits of his self-control. To his eternal damnation, he was hard. Her blend of innocence and sensual intuition made her a better tease than the most experienced of courtesans. She somehow managed to wedge his erection into the crevice of her arse, caressing his turgid length between her pert curves.

  Bloody fuck. He bit back a groan as her movements wrung a drop of seed from his tip.

  He reminded himself of all the reasons this was wrong. This was Livy: she was too young and innocent. She meant too much to him and was the daughter of his closest friend.

  His arguments were countered by the naughty persuasion of Livy’s bottom. He tried to hold her still, tightening his arm around her waist and putting his other hand on her hip. That only made matters worse, for then she was tucked up even closer, and he felt the lushness of the curve beneath his palm as well. Christ, she had perfect hips, the kind a man could hold onto as he plowed her from behind…

  No. He clenched his jaw, fighting to master himself. Do not go there.

  But Livy would not hold still. She started a new circular motion that dotted his brow with sweat. He began to recite the Kings of England in his head. When that didn’t work, he tried the breathing techniques he’d learned from Chen. When that failed to override the sublime cradle of Livy’s arse, he resorted to praying.

  Please, God, don’t let me do this. Don’t let me ruin the one good thing in my life…

  “Well, gentlemen, back to business, eh?” Edgecombe drawled. “We’ve rounds to make.”

  The men left the study—about bloody time.

  Hearing the door close, Ben shoved his way out of the curtains. He dragged in breaths, fighting his raging arousal. The tap on his shoulder nearly made him jump. He swiveled to see Livy standing there, her eyes glowing jade jewels in her mask, her cheeks flushed beneath the rim of gold.

  “I want you, Hadleigh,” she whispered. “Please won’t you make love to me?”

  Her entreaty nearly undid him. Christ, how could he have not known that his little friend would mature into the stuff of his deepest, darkest fantasies? She was the very blend of spirit and submissiveness that never failed to arouse him. Combined with her wanton innocence, she was a Siren’s song to his lustful nature.

  God, God, how he wanted her…

  He curled his hands. You cannot have her. You are not good enough for Livy, and you cannot hurt her…the way you’ve hurt so many others.

  He opened the cages of his past, forcing himself to confront another pair of eyes, these ones staring up at him in the darkness. Hold on, he heard himself shout. His soul rumbled with the force of the oncoming train as she smiled and let go, choosing death over his attempt to right a wrong…

  Arabella surfaced from the swamp of memory, rising in a blood-soaked chemise. She walked toward him, her raven hair tangled and wild, her eyes unblinking. “You wanted this pregnancy. Now it has killed me and our babe, and it is all your fault…”

  A man’s voice cut in. “I beg of you, Hadleigh, have mercy. Don’t destroy me, I didn’t mean to hurt your sister…”

  With will borne of practice, Ben shut his demons back into their cages. They had served their purpose. He was in control once more and aware of what needed to be done.

  I’m destined to hell, but I will not take Livy with me.

  “I will never make love to you, Olivia. There is no future for us,” he said with cold ruthlessness. “You cannot give me what I need. I want a real woman, not some silly little girl.”

  She blinked, the sheen in her eyes slamming into him like a fist. Yet Livy, being Livy, didn’t give up.

  “I know I shouldn’t have tried to make you jealous…with Sheffield, I mean,” she said, her voice hitching. “That was childish, and I’m sorry. But if you’ll only give me a chance—”

  “How many times must I reject you in order for you to understand?” he said harshly. “I’m telling you once and for all: give up your juvenile fantasies and stay the bloody hell away from me.”

  He saw the moment he broke her. The pain in her eyes reminded him of how he’d felt, beaten and bloodied, in the alleyway. Yet that suffering had been a necessary step in his healing, and it would be for her too.

  Hell, he was her goddamned opium, even if she didn’t know it. But he did. Unlike that unfeeling drug, however, he refused to destroy her. His little queen…who meant too much to him.

  “You want me to stay away?” Livy choked out. “Fine, I’ll go. And you’ll never have to see me again.”

  She ran from him.

  Hands fisted by his side, he let her go.

  11

  1844, Strathaven Estate, Scotland

  Livy is 15; Ben is 27

  Livy wandered down the holly-festooned halls of Strathmore Castle. It was Christmas Eve, and the sounds of merriment spilled from the drawing room. Her parents were hosting a week-long holiday party with over three dozen guests in attendance. After supper, the furnishings had been pushed
aside for an impromptu dance party, with Aunt Thea playing the pianoforte and Aunt Rosie singing along. Everyone was having a wonderful time, and no one observed Livy leaving. She had noticed that someone was missing.

  Hadleigh. She hadn’t seen him since supper.

  Livy wove in and out of the public rooms, looking for him. Perhaps he had gone up to bed, but it was early yet, and she was concerned about him. She hadn’t seen him for a few months, and when he and his duchess had arrived yesterday, he’d looked wearier than she’d remembered. His eyes seemed permanently bloodshot, and he’d dropped a stone, his tall frame approaching gauntness.

  Is he ill? she fretted.

  She’d tried to ask him about it, but he’d ruffled her hair and told her not to worry. But she was worried. Something was wrong with Hadleigh. She’d tried to ask her parents, but they were also keeping mum about it.

  “Perhaps we should send for the physician?” she’d persisted.

  Papa had sighed. “Hadleigh isn’t ill. You are too young to understand, poppet, but suffice it to say, the nature of his problem requires that he address it himself. No doctor—and no one—can fix it for him. Trust me, it is best to leave him be.”

  Livy did not believe in letting things be. Especially when her friend’s well-being was at stake. Thus, she continued searching for Hadleigh, and her tenacity was rewarded when she found him in the upstairs gallery. He was on the floor, slumped against a wall, his long legs splayed in front of him. His eyes were closed. He’d lost his jacket and cravat somewhere, his shirt open at the throat and his waistcoat splotched with wine stains.

  Hadleigh was always impeccably dressed. At the moment, however, he was a frightful mess. Anxiety percolated through her: she’d never seen him this way before.

  “Hadleigh?” she said loudly to wake him. “What is the matter with you?”

  His long lashes flicked open. He stared at her with eyes that were red-rimmed and more black than blue. This was a stranger’s gaze, and it chilled her nape.

  “Livy?” His gaze focused, his voice emerging thick and slurred. “What’re you doing here?”

  “The better question is what are you doing.” She peered at him. “Are you in your cups?”

  “I’m foxed, all right.” He gave a strange, hoarse laugh. “Wish it were just that, little love.”

  Not understanding, she frowned. “What else have you overindulged in?”

  He looked at her with those dark, lost eyes. “Life, Livy. I’ve had too much of life.”

  “Don’t say that,” she protested. “Life is a gift, and you should be glad you’ve many more years ahead of you.”

  “I’m tired,” he whispered.

  “Of what?”

  “Of running from ghosts. So many of them…” Although his gaze was aimed at her, it was as if he was looking beyond her into some spectral world that only he could see. “One day they will catch up to me and wreak their vengeance.” His lips twisted. “Perhaps they already have. That is why my life is hell…just like I deserve.”

  “Why would anyone seek vengeance upon you?” She forced herself to ask the question. “What have you done?”

  “What haven’t I done?” Anguish slashed deep lines around his mouth. “I’ve committed every sin, little queen. Everything I’ve done commits me to perdition.”

  Unable to bear his pain, she sat down on the floor next to him. She didn’t know what he had done. She only knew that he had saved her life and, in the three years since, been a true and steadfast friend.

  “Not everything.” She nudged her shoulder gently against his. “You saved my life, remember?”

  “You are my one good deed.” His laugh was mirthless. “And as sweet and pure as you are, even you cannot outweigh my sins.”

  As he rubbed a fist over his eyes, she noticed he was clutching something.

  “What have you got there?” she asked.

  He slowly opened his palm, and Livy recognized what lay within. She had helped her mama tie together the bunches of leaves and bright red berries, hanging them in rooms throughout the house in the spirit of Yuletide cheer.

  She tilted her head. “Why do you have a sprig of mistletoe?”

  “Wanted a kiss from Arabella. But she wouldn’t kiss me…even with this.”

  His misery tore at Livy’s heart. She couldn’t fathom why his wife would refuse a kiss. Her own parents kissed all the time. In fact, her brother Chris had taken to groaning, “Not in front of the children, please.”

  “Perhaps she refused because you’re inebriated?” Livy suggested tentatively.

  “No, it’s because I’m me. A wreck of a man. Not worth a kiss…not worth anything.” His eyelashes lowered, settling against his cheeks.

  Within seconds, he was asleep again.

  Livy bit her lip. He looked more relaxed, but she couldn’t leave him here when he was in such a state. Anyone could stumble upon him, and she was certain he wouldn’t want to be found this way.

  She pushed his shoulder. “Hadleigh?”

  “Hmm?” He didn’t open his eyes.

  She spoke directly into his ear. “We need to get you back to your chamber.”

  He winced, opening one bloodshot eye. “Too tired.”

  “You cannot sleep here, and you are too heavy for me to carry. Get up, and I will support you.”

  Grumbling, he managed to get onto his feet, swaying, and she ducked beneath his arm.

  “Easy, there,” she said. “I have you. Just lean on me.”

  She navigated their way to his guest chamber, which was luckily on the same floor. By the time she got him inside, she was perspiring from her exertions. He might look skinny, but he was all lean muscle, all of it leaning heavily upon her. Somehow, she got him to his bed, and he flopped onto the mattress with a moan.

  “Don’t know why you’re complaining,” she muttered. “I did all the work.”

  He snored in reply.

  Rolling her eyes, she wrestled off his shoes and pulled the counterpane over him. She paused to look at his face, which even in slumber was not peaceful. His muscles twitched, grooves deepening here and there against his sculpted bones. He moved restlessly, dislodging the blanket, and that was when she noticed that he still had the mistletoe clutched in his hand.

  I’m me. A wreck of a man. Not worth a kiss…not worth anything.

  Sorrow squeezed her heart. How could Hadleigh think such a thing? She did not know his past, and it did not matter. Because she knew him. Knew that he was honorable and good, worthy of the best life had to offer.

  Impulsively, she leaned down and kissed his lean cheek.

  “Merry Christmas, Hadleigh,” she whispered. “You are deserving of all good things. May your dreams be sweet.”

  He mumbled something, his features relaxing.

  She doused the lamps and closed the door softly behind her.

  Present Day

  The afternoon after the masquerade, Livy and her friends entered Charlie’s drawing room. Charlie rose from the chaise longue in a sweep of cerulean moire silk.

  Smiling, she said, “Welcome, Willflowers. Do you have something for me?”

  Opening her reticule, Livy removed the small leather-bound journal and brought it over to Charlie. “Miss Jardine’s diary.”

  Taking it, Charlie waved them to the seats around the coffee table. She sat as well, flipping through the journal before putting it aside.

  “Splendid work,” Charlie said warmly. “I shall return this to its rightful owner, who I know will be most grateful. You have saved her from Edgecombe and his nasty plan and allowed her to move onto her future. She is in love, you see, and could not in good conscience accept her gentleman’s offer until she was free of the blackmailer.”

  The thought of love and marriage was more than Livy could bear. After Hadleigh had smashed her heart into smithereens last eve, she wanted nothing to do with either. She was done with Hadleigh. Done with chasing after him. Done with him patronizing her and treating her like an infantile
idiot. If he did not want her, then she had better things to do with her time.

  Helping others seemed like a good place to start.

  On either side of her, Fi and Glory watched her with concern. Her bosom chums knew her state of affairs: they had comforted her in the retiring room at the masquerade while she’d wept over the shards of her dreams. They had suggested canceling their appointment with Charlie until Livy was in better spirits, but Livy had insisted on coming today.

  She shoved aside thoughts of her ill-fated love and addressed Charlie.

  “It was our pleasure and duty to help,” she said resolutely. “Now that we have done our part, we wish to learn more about membership in the Society of Angels.”

  A smile touched Charlie’s lips before she spoke.

  “The Society of Angels is an agency that offers investigative services to female clientele,” Charlie said in business-like tones. “It is an organization run by women for women, the first of its kind in London.”

  Livy tilted her head, absorbing this new information. Given that sleuthing was a profession that ran in her family, she did not find Charlie’s proposition as outlandish as other young ladies might. In truth, the notion of investigating sounded intriguing…and like the perfect remedy for a broken heart.

  “I started this organization because the needs of women are not well served by agencies run by men,” Charlie continued. “The concerns of female clients are often not taken seriously, the clients themselves labelled as ‘silly’ or ‘hysterical.’ And if the cause of a woman’s travails happens to be a man in power? Well, you can guess the outcome.”

  Charlie’s words had a razor-sharp edge.

  “Do you speak from personal experience?” Livy asked.

  Charlie acknowledged her question with a nod. “I was once a young woman in need of assistance. I had the resources to afford the very best. Time after time, I was let down—if not swindled outright—by the male investigators I hired. Some even tried to take advantage in other ways until I dissuaded them.”