Olivia and the Masked Duke

by Grace Callaway

  “We’re talking about interrogating a man on his involvement in a drug enterprise. Not choosing a china pattern.”

  “Nonetheless, we would be working together. And that is what I want from marriage,” she said in a heartfelt rush. “I know you want my obedience, and I will try my best to be guided by you. But I also want us to be trusted friends, the way we have always been. I want us to share everything: our darkest fears, brightest hopes, and grandest passions.”

  He opened his mouth…then closed it. She saw the conflict and yearning on his handsome features. It heartened her that he, too, wanted the kind of closeness she described even though he had to reconcile it with his protective nature.

  “Devil take it.” He looked thoroughly disgruntled. “Fine, you may come—”

  “Thank you!”

  “If you do as I say before, during, and after the meeting.”

  “Where you lead, I follow,” she said promptly.

  With an exaggerated sigh, he directed his gaze at the ceiling. “God help me.”

  20

  The following afternoon, Ben picked Livy up from Lady Fayne’s. The little vixen had told Lady Fayne that Ben was taking her for a drive through Hyde Park in his phaeton, an activity that did not require the presence of a chaperone. Ben did not know whether to find Livy’s ingenuity impressive or worrisome. Likewise, he was ambivalent about his decision to bring her along on his visit to Longmere.

  Last night, he’d been persuaded by her sincere appeal. Loyalty was one of Livy’s most endearing traits, and he understood her desire to help her friend…and to be a part of his life. The intimacy she’d described had stirred a tingling recognition, a whisper of a forgotten dream. He’d never had that before: a lover who was also a friend. A woman who wanted to share everything with him and whom he could trust with his deepest secrets.

  Perched next to him as he handled the reins of the two chestnuts, Livy was as pretty as a picture in her mint-green frock embroidered with yellow rosebuds. Her bonnet had a spray of fresh yellow roses and was secured by green ribbons, which fluttered against her smooth cheek. Encased in delicate kid, her small hands were primly folded in her lap.

  He was enchanted by the contrast between her demure exterior and her wantonness under his command, and he wanted a taste of the latter.

  “Does it hurt to sit?” he asked.

  Livy’s blush set off a satisfied hum in his blood. “Not really.”

  “Perhaps I ought to spank you harder next time,” he said thoughtfully.

  She slid a glance at him, an impish sparkle in her eyes.

  “But why?” she asked coyly. “I was a good girl for you, wasn’t I?”

  Christ, she was a quick study. He’d always enjoyed their banter, and flirtation made it even more delightful.

  “You were,” he allowed. “But you were also naughty, spending on my lap in a public garden.”

  Her cheeks turned even rosier. “I, um, thought you liked that?”

  “I did. It makes me hard just thinking about it.”

  Her gaze fell to his burgeoned groin, and his balls tautened when she wetted her lips. She was an adorable, natural wanton, and her needs perfectly matched his own. How did he get so bloody lucky?

  “I offered to, um, help. With your condition,” she said in a breathy voice.

  “You would like to serve me, would you?”

  “I would love it, sir.”

  The earnestness of her reply sent more blood rushing to his cock. He nearly groaned at the filthy image that sprang into his mind: Livy on her knees in front of him, staring sweetly up into his eyes as he pushed his prick between her pretty pink lips…

  He took a composing breath. “You will have a chance soon enough.”

  “How soon?”

  At her unmaidenly impatience, he had to stifle a laugh.

  “You will have to wait to find out, little brat,” he said. “Until then, let us talk of other matters. The present topic isn’t helping my concentration, and I don’t want to drive us off the road.”

  Her reply was a lighthearted giggle. Bemused, he shook his head. How could his little queen be so sweet and seductive at the same time?

  The fun moments made it easier to address the darker topics Ben had promised to tell Livy about. He spent the remainder of the ride sharing about his recovery from opium, including his work with Master Chen. He told her about the night watch, the discovery of the lethal drug, and the clues that had led to Longmere and his cronies.

  At the conclusion of his tale, Livy said softly, “You have always been a hero in my eyes, and now I admire you even more. It took great strength to free yourself from opium’s clutches. And you are doing the right and noble thing in trying to stop the spread of this dangerous substance.”

  He had to look away, fighting back an embarrassing surge of heat behind his eyes. Hell, she had a way of undoing him. Even as a little girl, she’d touched his heart in a way no one else had. As a woman, she would own him completely…and the realization was both alarming and heady. He couldn’t fail her the way he had his sister and his dead wife. Couldn’t lose her when she meant more to him than anyone.

  “Thank you.” His voice felt scratchy in his throat. “That means more than you can know.”

  “It means everything to me that you were willing to share your past,” she replied. “Now I understand the importance of our mission. We must discover who is behind this scourge and stop them.”

  The determined angle of her chin renewed his fears. He cursed his weakness in bringing her today. He ought to start this relationship the way he meant it to go on: with him in charge and her doing as she was told.

  “This isn’t our mission.” He levelled a reprimanding stare at her. “I will not have you endangering yourself for any reason, Livy. If something happened to you, I could not bear it. Perhaps I made a mistake in allowing you to accompany me today.”

  “No, you didn’t,” she said quickly. “I promise I will not interfere.”

  He did not trust her innocent expression. Yet it was too late to regret his decision, for they had arrived at their destination: a row of terraced brick houses in Fitzrovia, a fashionable area for artistic types. Longmere’s studio was the corner property. The large windows on all three floors were sparkling, free of the coal dust that clung to the glass panes of the neighboring addresses. As a painter, Longmere presumably needed good light.

  Handing Livy down, Ben led the way to the front door. “Let me do the talking.”

  “You are in charge,” Livy said cheerily.

  He was doomed. Sighing, he rang the bell. After several minutes passed, he did it again.

  “Do you think no one is here?” Livy asked.

  He felt a quiver of amusement as she balanced on tiptoe, trying to see through the window at the top of the door. She looked like a girl trying to peep at the treats in a sweets shop.

  “I’ll try again,” he said.

  When moments passed with no response, his foreboding grew.

  “According to Pippa, Longmere practically lives at his studio. It is odd that he is not answering.” Livy’s wide eyes reflected his own misgivings.

  He reached for the door handle…and it turned in his palm.

  “Go back to the carriage, Livy,” he said tersely.

  “But I—”

  He took out a pistol. “Now.”

  With obvious reluctance, she complied. He entered Longmere’s studio and didn’t like the stillness that greeted him. He cocked his weapon, crossing the antechamber to the nearest room. The door to the front parlor was cracked, and he pushed it open.

  The curtains were drawn; in the dimness, easels and paintings lurked like exotic beasts. Seeing no movement, Ben crossed to the windows and parted the drapes. Light flooded in, illuminating the jungle-green walls, the splashes of color on canvas…the pair of gleaming boots sticking out from behind a divan.

  Heart hammering, Ben went over. It was Longmere. The earl’s eyes were open, his hair a dark h
alo against the carpet. As Ben crouched to check for a pulse he knew would not be there, his gaze caught on the bottle tucked in the dead man’s hand. He read the familiar label.

  Laudanum.

  Footsteps made him jerk upright, and he turned to see Livy dashing into the room.

  “I couldn’t wait…” Her gaze fell on Longmere. “Zounds. Is he…?”

  “Dead,” Ben said grimly. “Of a laudanum overdose, it appears.”

  21

  1845, Fall

  Livy is 16; Ben is 28

  Dear Hadleigh,

  * * *

  It has been three months since I saw you last, and I hope you have been getting my letters. The ones I have been sending you twice a month. Mama says—and Papa agrees—that I must not pester you while you are in mourning, but I hope you find my correspondence a comfort and not a bother.

  I wish I had more entertaining tales with which to regale you but, alas, you must content yourself with my schoolmiss adventures. Things have improved considerably at Mrs. Southbridge’s Finishing School now that Glory and Fiona are here with me. Sally Sackville is still up to her tricks—next time I will tell you what she did to poor Miss Tomlinson, a new pupil—and she even tried to give me, Fi, and Glory a mean-spirited moniker: the Willflowers.

  Unfortunately for Sally, my friends and I like the name and have decided to keep it.

  I hope you are sleeping and eating better and that the country air is improving your constitution. If you wish to reply, I will be at our London address until October. After that, we will return to Scotland. We will be hosting our usual Christmas and Hogmanay celebrations at Strathmore Castle, and you are invited, of course, but by no means obligated to attend (although I do hope you will).

  * * *

  Your ever faithful,

  Livy

  1846 Early Spring

  Dear Hadleigh,

  * * *

  We missed you at Hogmanay, and I hope the Yuletide season brought you some cheer. Wherever you were, I hope you were not alone. I still have not received a reply from you, but I did see Aunt Beatrice, who said she paid you a brief visit. She seemed concerned about you, as any sister rightly should be. Yet when I suggested that I might visit you, she said something about leading a horse to water. In her example, I believe you are the horse, and I am not to try to force you to do anything.

  Thus, I shall continue to wait for your return. Patience, as you know, is not one of my virtues, but for your sake I will strive for self-improvement. Mama read the last sentence over my shoulder and started laughing… I do not see what she finds so amusing.

  * * *

  Your ever faithful,

  Livy

  1846, Summer

  Dear Hadleigh,

  * * *

  Thank you ever so much for the lovely birthday gift!

  Even before I read the accompanying note, I knew it was from you. Who else would understand my fascination with spiders and send me such a marvelous book on the subject? The engravings are wonderful and delightfully lifelike. I could not resist showing it off to my friends at school. Of course, Sally Sackville had to butt in to comment on my “peculiar interests”…so I showed her the drawing of the Theraposa blondi (the Goliath bird-eating tarantula).

  Her resulting case of the vapors made your present worth its weight in gold.

  Now that I am seventeen, preparations are underway for my debut. Soon I will be presented at Court, and I have been practicing my curtsy for the Queen. Suitors have also begun to call, which is more a testament to Papa’s title and my dowry than any personal attractions I can lay claim to.

  In this regard, I am sad to report that I haven’t changed much since you saw me last. Mama says I am a late bloomer, but I fear I might not bloom at all. I take comfort in knowing that, while I might not be the prettiest blossom, I am at least a hardy Willflower.

  * * *

  Your ever faithful,

  Livy

  * * *

  P.S. My family and I visited Aunt Bea’s country estate last month, and I took my brothers swimming in the pond. Remember the swimming lesson you gave me there? As a tribute to your teachings, I dunked Chris and Will quite thoroughly. You would have been proud.

  1846, Winter

  Dear Hadleigh,

  * * *

  This will be the last letter I write. I fear your ongoing silence is a reply in and of itself, and the last thing I wish is to be a nuisance to you. Please know that I will continue to think of you and pray for your happiness and health. Whenever you are ready, I will be here.

  * * *

  Your ever faithful,

  Livy

  1847, Spring

  My Dearest Livy,

  * * *

  I beg your pardon for my silence and thank you for your many letters. Even though I did not reply, I read each of them, often more than once. They were beacons in the darkness and gave me hope during what has been a long and rather unexpected journey. I am pleased to report that I am now recovered and plan to return to Society next month. It is my fondest wish that your face will be among the first that I see, little friend.

  Please convey my regards to your family.

  * * *

  Your servant,

  Hadleigh

  22

  The day after Longmere’s death, Livy sat with Pippa in the latter’s drawing room. Glory, Fi, and Charlie were there as well. Pippa’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Hunt, had left a few minutes ago to tend to funeral arrangements for their son-in-law.

  Before they departed, Mrs. Hunt had drawn Livy aside in the hallway.

  “Keep an eye on Pippa, will you?” she whispered, bright concern in her blue eyes. “She did not sleep a wink last night. She is not taking Longmere’s death well.”

  “Can you blame our daughter?” Her husband, Gavin Hunt, did not whisper. A tall, powerfully built man with a scar on his right cheek, Mr. Hunt said derisively, “The bastard didn’t even have the decency to exit in a proper manner.”

  “Now, darling, you mustn’t speak ill of the dead,” Mrs. Hunt began.

  “I spoke ill of him when he was alive,” Mr. Hunt reminded her.

  “Well, you are consistent, I grant you that.”

  At his wife’s exasperated tone, Mr. Hunt’s lips twitched. He put a large, proprietary hand on her waist. “I’m constant, Percy, which is more than I can say for that penniless, pompous fop. What Pippa saw in him, I’ll never understand.”

  “As a painter herself, Pippa was drawn to his artistic sensibilities,” Mrs. Hunt explained.

  “I was a cutthroat.” Mr. Hunt snorted. “Did you see me wanting to marry a lady cutthroat?”

  Mrs. Hunt’s gaze flitted upward. “Come along, dear. We have a meeting with the florist.”

  She dragged her husband off.

  Now Livy shared a settee with Pippa, and her heart ached to see her friend’s waxen countenance. It was as if Pippa’s inner lamp had been doused: her blue eyes had lost their sparkle, and her hair was dull and lifeless, pulled back in a severe knot. The frock she wore had been hastily dyed for the occasion, the heavy black deepening the shadows beneath her reddened eyes.

  For several minutes now, Pippa had been staring off into space.

  Worried, Livy asked, “Could I pour you some tea, Pippa?”

  “No. Thank you.” Pippa’s reply was monotone.

  “Perhaps there is something else you would like?”

  “Actually, there is.” Pippa’s gaze sharpened and circled the room. “Now that Mama and Papa are gone, I want the truth: was my husband’s death an accident?”

  The last two days had been an exercise in delicate maneuvering. After discovering Longmere in his studio, Livy had convinced Ben to let her break the news to Pippa. She, accompanied by Charlie, had had the painful task of informing Pippa of her husband’s death. Given that Livy had found Longmere’s body, Charlie had had to reveal the true purpose of the Society of Angels and the Willflowers’ involvement.

  Pippa, in an obvio
us state of shock over her loss, had absently agreed not to disclose the true purpose of Charlie’s charity to anyone…including Ben. Charlie remained adamant that Livy keep her vow of secrecy, and Livy wasn’t certain the time was right to tell Ben anyway. Despite the deep roots of their relationship, their romance had just sprouted, the feelings tender and new. She didn’t want to risk damaging Ben’s budding acceptance of her as his lover.

  I will tell him when the time is right, she promised herself.

  According to the note she’d received from Ben, he planned to pay his respects to Pippa today. Apparently, he had news to share. Before the arrival of the police, he and his friend Master Chen had done a search of Longmere’s study. Livy was burning to know if the two had discovered any clues to the earl’s death. For now, however, she concentrated on supporting Pippa as best she could.

  “Do you have reason to believe that Longmere’s death was not an accident?” Livy asked with care.

  “The police inspector who came by this morning stated that Longmere died from an overdose of laudanum. That makes no sense,” Pippa said feverishly. “My husband despised the stuff. It made him feel ill, and he never touched it, even when he had the most horrid toothache. When I tried to tell the inspector about this, he brushed me off, told me I was being hysterical and needed bed rest.”

  Ben had guessed that the police might not be much help. Apparently, he’d been correct.

  “Since you found Longmere, Livy,” Pippa said, swallowing, “I want to know what you saw.”