Desires of a Perfect Lady

by Victoria Alexander

  Her brows drew together. “How limited?”

  “To the length of time from Rathbourne’s death to your acquisition of the first item.”

  Her eyes widened. “Then that would be . . .”

  “A total of thirty-six days. It has been seven since we left Egypt and will take—”

  “Twenty-eight days.” She stared in disbelief. “Twenty-eight days?”

  “By our estimate.” He nodded. “But that includes time for travel. Given that it will probably take six days, we will have approximately twenty-two days once we arrive in England.”

  “We must to return to London at once.” She started to leave the bed, but he grabbed her and pulled her back.

  “We cannot leave until morning.”

  “Still, I need to get my things together.” She shook off his hand, grabbed the coverlet, and wrapped it around her, then got to her feet. “Beyond that, we have assumed the final object is to be found in London. What if it’s not? What if we have to cross another ocean to find it?” A touch of panic sounded in her voice. “What if—”

  “What if we have as little difficulty acquiring the last item as we’ve had with the first two?”

  She stared at him. “We cannot depend on that. My late husband was a very clever man, but he never anticipated that I would turn to you, or anyone, for help. If not for the fact that Sir Lawrence knew your parents, and the contessa understood my circumstances, we never would have succeeded. Indeed, I could never have come this far alone.” She shook her head. “And we are certain the last item will be the most difficult to obtain.”

  “No doubt.” He glanced around for his dressing gown, located it at the foot of the bed amidst their discarded clothes, and pulled it on as he climbed out of bed. “But he underestimated you as well.”

  “What if—”

  “That’s enough. ‘What if’ is a game we cannot afford to play.”

  She pressed her hand to her forehead. “You’re probably right.”

  “There’s nothing you can do now, and we are leaving in the morning.” He smiled in his wickedest manner. “So I propose we put the time between now and then to good use.”

  She cast him a reluctant smile. “You are insatiable, aren’t you?”

  “We have a lot of time to make up for.”

  “And we shall have that time when this is at an end. But if we are leaving in the morning, I need to get my things together.”

  She bent to pick up some article of clothing, and the coverlet slipped to reveal her shapely derrière. He caught his breath, grabbed her waist with both hands, and stared at the small of her back. He had been too busy to notice before. His stomach turned.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  He drew a deep breath. “Did you know you have scars across the small of your back?”

  “No.” Her voice was cool. “But I am not surprised. He took great pains not to mark any part of me that might be on public display.”

  “And I am to blame.” Even when she’d spoken of the relations she’d had with Rathbourne, he had not imagined it to have been this bad. Guilt and regret washed through him. He pulled her close, her back pressed against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her. “I am so sorry. I didn’t realize how bad . . .”

  “You didn’t?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She chose her words with care. “But in my letters, I told you, or at least the implication was clear.”

  He paused for a long moment then drew a deep breath. “I never opened them.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t open them until the night your house was broken into.”

  “You didn’t look at my letters before then? You didn’t open them for ten years?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I was too hurt to read the first. I assumed it was simply more of what your father had said, perhaps a bit kinder but . . .”

  She wrenched free of his arms, moved away, then turned toward him. “The first letter, when I told you that I loved you and did not want to marry the viscount. When I told you I was being forced into the marriage. When I begged you—”

  “Livy.” He stepped toward her.

  She backed away, shaking her head, stunned disbelief on her face. “I thought perhaps you were too hurt or too proud to respond. Or that you chose to believe my father over me. Or even that you hadn’t received my letter, or you couldn’t bear to open it until it was too late. I had a hundred different explanations for your silence. Then I realized it was for the best that you hadn’t responded as I feared for your life. But I never imagined . . .” Her voice rose. “You never opened it?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “To my eternal regret.”

  “To your regret? Your regret?” Shock shone in her eyes. “Oh yes, your life has been quite dreadful these last ten years.”

  “You know nothing about my life.” Abruptly anger swept aside his guilt. “You broke my heart. I believed your father. I had no reason not to. And need I remind you, two days later you were wed? I had no desire to read your letter and absolutely no interest in anything you had to say.” He narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, what would you have done if the situation had been reversed? If I were the one who had left you? Would you have read my letter?”

  “Yes.” She fairly spit the word. “Because I would never, never have believed such a thing until I heard it from your own lips. Because I would have trusted in you. In us.”

  “You could have found a way to come to me.”

  “I tried,” she snapped. “And perhaps I should have tried harder, but I was watched and kept in my room, and I was afraid. Yes, there, I admit it. I was terrified. And I had no one to turn to except you. And turning to you might have cost your life.”

  “I am not a child. I can well take care of myself.”

  “Are you forgetting who we are talking about?” She scoffed. “My late husband was ruthless and cunning. He was found with his throat cut in his own garden. It is not the kind of death that happens to men who do not deserve it. Who do not give as good as they get.”

  “Still, you could have—”

  “And you could have come to me! You could have demanded to hear from me what my father had said. You could have fought for me! Was it pain, Sterling, that kept you away, or was it merely pride?”

  He hesitated for no more than a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

  She cast him a disgusted look. “And the other letters? When I told you how frightened I was? That I feared for my life and my sanity? That I was a possession and a prisoner? And again I begged you to help me. You never opened those either?”

  “They came when my father was ill, and my life was occupied with other matters.” Even to his own ears, the excuse sounded feeble.

  “Well, I would have hated to have inconvenienced you!” She stared at him. “Weren’t you even curious? Didn’t you wonder what could be so important that I, the woman you thought had treated you so badly, would write to you?”

  “It was a difficult time.”

  “For both of us.” She snatched up her clothes and started for the adjoining door.

  “Livy.” He stepped closer. “You must understand—”

  “Oh, I understand, my lord. I understand a great deal.” She paused before the door and glared at him. “I understand that you believed I had broken it off with you for a man with a larger fortune. I understand that you were too proud and hurt to read my first letter and too busy to read the others. I understand—”

  “Livy, don’t—”

  “I understand everything.” Her voice shook. “I understand that I never would have accepted that you did not want me until I had heard it from you.” She drew a deep breath. “Through all the years, all the pain and fear and loneliness, the one thing I never doubted was what we had felt for one another. That no matter what had happened, the love that we had shared was real and true. Now I understand, for you, it was fleeting and meaningless and not worth fighti
ng for.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that at all.” Anger sparred with desperation in his voice. “Never!”

  She met his gaze, her expression hard, her voice cold. “It is now.” She pulled open the door, stepped through, and closed it firmly behind her. Almost at once he heard the key turn in the lock.

  Sterling stared at the closed door to her room. What had just happened? Things had been going so well. Then he had admitted his failure to read her letters . . .

  At once the answer struck him. It wasn’t merely the letters that had angered her. These were feelings held in check for a decade, on her side and his. A flood of long-held-back emotion. Theirs was an argument ten years in the making.

  She was right, and he knew it. Had known it for a long time. In the back of his mind, he might well have realized it years ago. He never should have taken her father’s word for her feelings. He should have fought for her. But he was young and proud and stupid. And hurt. Reasons, perhaps, but inexcusable, nonetheless.

  He ran a shaky hand through his hair. It was probably best to have it all out. All the recriminations and reproach. All the anger and the pain. The question was, now that they had faced the past, was there a future left to salvage?

  Nothing had changed, at least not for him. But then he had known the full extent of his mistakes. He couldn’t fault her for being hurt once again. His only revelation was the discovery of just how bad her life had been. And what she had sacrificed, rightly or wrongly, to save him.

  He had asked her to put herself in his place. In hers, wouldn’t he have done whatever he thought was necessary to save her life? There wasn’t a doubt in his mind.

  Still, he was not the same man he had been ten years ago. Not the boy, really, who couldn’t see beyond his own heartbreak. He was older and hopefully wiser and the Earl of Wyldewood.

  He had twenty-eight days to set things right between them. To prove to her he would never again fail her. Twenty-eight days to ease the pain of a decade and make amends for the past. And make her believe in him again.

  And this time, he would fight for what he wanted.

  Twenty-one

  Watch the sun set from an ancient place.

  From the secret list of desires of Olivia Rathbourne

  Olivia leaned her back against the door to Sterling’s room and struggled to regain some semblance of control. Her hands shook, and she couldn’t quite seem to catch her breath. Her eyes fogged with tears and she angrily swiped them away. It had been years since she’d surrendered to tears. The last time was the moment before she had realized she could depend on no one to save her but herself. And she had vowed she would never cry again.

  But then she’d vowed never to let anyone into her heart again either.

  She pushed away from the door and crossed the room, noting that the painting, wrapped in paper, had been delivered in her absence. She pulled on her robe, stepped out on the balcony, and braced her hands on the railing. She drew a deep breath and stared out over the lagoon, the setting sun casting a glow of magic on the scene before her. She scarcely noticed.

  He hadn’t opened her letters. He hadn’t trusted her enough to know that she would never betray him. She had long ago accepted that he had abandoned her to her fate. Until today, she had never suspected she still harbored any anger at all, let alone the rage that had swept through her. Why had this upset her so?

  Because his revelation brought back the pain she thought she had long put behind her? Because she had allowed herself to think about the possibility of a future with him? Because once again, in spite of her best intentions, she had found herself loving him?

  Sterling wasn’t the same man he was ten years ago. He had been twenty years old, with his life stretching before him. He hadn’t known the pain of losing people he loved, the burden of responsibility, or the duties of his position. Was it fair to continue to hold him accountable for actions that could never be undone? Was it right to hold the mistakes of the boy he was once against the man he had become?

  Probably not. She blew a long breath. And, as much as she had never truly stopped loving him, it was the man he was now who held her heart. The man he’d become through the years and in these past weeks. The boy had failed her once, but the man was doing everything he could to help her now. He was strong and steady, and when she gazed into his eyes . . .

  But was it enough to heal them both? To heal wounds she hadn’t been aware she still had. She didn’t know and was abruptly too weary to consider it further. Even she could see that she was in no state to make rational decisions. She needed to think. To sort out her feelings and emotions, her needs and desires and what she truly wanted. Now, however, she had more pressing matters to attend to. This newly discovered stipulation might well spell her defeat. Nonetheless, she—they—were not ready to give up yet. As for Sterling . . .

  She shook her head. She still had time. Twenty-eight days until her quest was over one way or the other.

  Twenty-eight days to complete the terms of the will. To decide her future, her fate. And this time, the decision was in her hands.

  Polite disinterest. That was the term for it.

  Sterling leaned on the rail of the ship and gazed unseeing at the water rushing by. Three days out from Venice, and he and Livy had shared little more than a handful of polite words. For the most part, she had stayed in her cabin, which was probably for the best. He had resisted the urge to pound on her door at least a dozen times. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything he could say to make this right. It was best to leave her be. For now. It might well have been the hardest thing he had ever done.

  “Fine day, my lord.” Josiah stepped to the railing beside him and rested his forearms on the railing. “Excellent weather for sailing.”

  Sterling grunted in response. He was in no better mood than Livy apparently was.

  “But they say we may be in for a storm.”

  “That would be a problem,” Sterling muttered in a dismissive manner, and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t the solicitor’s fault that he and Livy weren’t the most cordial of traveling companions. Josiah was caught in the middle. It was not a good place to be. He forced a pleasant note into his voice. “Thus far we are making excellent time.”

  “Indeed, we are.” Relief sounded in the young man’s voice. “Sir, might I ask you a question?”

  “Go on.”

  “What did you do?”

  He slanted the younger man a wry glance. “What? No initial pleasantries to ease into the discussion? No more talk of weather?”

  “No, sir.” Josiah paused. “I haven’t said anything up to now because I didn’t think it was my place. But I am a part of this effort, and it’s quite obvious that you and Lady Rathbourne have had some sort of falling-out.”

  Sterling raised a brow. “And you assume I am to blame?”

  “Since we left the hotel, in those rare moments when you and she have been together, I have noticed you cannot take your eyes off her.” He shrugged. “Whereas she looks anywhere but at you.”

  “You’re very observant.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He paused. “What did you do?”

  Sterling blew a long breath. “Nothing recently.”

  “I see.”

  “What do you see?”

  “In Egypt, you told me that you had once failed and abandoned her.”

  “And?”

  “Obviously your difficulties now stem from that past situation. Unless I’m wrong?”

  “No, you’re not wrong.”

  “However, it seems to me,” Josiah said slowly, “you have done more than anyone could expect of you in these past weeks to make up for that long-ago failure.”

  Sterling studied the younger man. “I do have a plan, you know.”

  “Excellent.” Josiah nodded. “And that involves doing nothing?”

  “Exactly.”

  “It seems to be working well,” he said under his breath.

  “Of course it’s working,” St
erling said with more conviction than he felt. “Olivia is a very intelligent and thoughtful woman. I am giving her time to come to her senses. To allow the sea air to refresh her spirits and put things in their proper perspective. Time to realize that no matter how I might have failed her in the past, I will not do so again. Admittedly, it might not appear to be working—”

  “As she does seem to be quite pointedly ignoring you.”

  “These things move at their own pace. It’s all part of the plan. Patience is a virtue, my boy.” Sterling nodded, wondering whether he was trying to convince Josiah or himself. Still, even as he said the words, they made a certain amount of sense. “Once we arrive in London, she will have to acknowledge my existence if only because she cannot complete the final collection alone. I shall prove to her that, even though she may be angry with me, she can indeed depend upon me.”

  “I see.”

  “It would help matters if you said that with a modicum of conviction.”

  “My apologies, sir, but I really don’t see.” Josiah’s brow furrowed. “Frankly, this plan of yours not to do anything at all seems rather, well, ill thought out.”

  “I have done nothing but think about it.” And think about her. “I don’t know what else to do at the moment.”

  “You could insist on speaking with her.”

  He shook his head. “There’s nothing left to say.”

  “Perhaps a simple apology—”

  “I have apologized.” Although, now that he thought about it, perhaps he had never really told her how sorry he was. Perhaps he had never really admitted to her what a mistake he’d made. What a proud, foolish idiot he’d been. Was it possible that he had never done something as obvious as apologize?

  “Then you have begged her forgiveness?”

  “Of course.” But he hadn’t, not really.

  “My older brothers, in situations such as this, would say a certain amount of groveling is in order.”