“Me too,” Jessica said, “and I’m so glad we came.”
“I’m very glad you came, too,” Lady Fenwicke said. “It’s so nice to meet new neighbors.”
“We must go, though,” the countess said. “My husband will be wondering what has happened to us.”
“But he won’t worry.” Jessica shot Max a saucy grin. “He knows Lord Hasley is here to protect us.”
Lady Stratford rolled her eyes heavenward. “In the event of a dragon attack as we walk through the fearsome Sussex countryside, I daresay.”
Max bowed his head. “At your service, ladies.”
They all laughed, even Lady Fenwicke. Her lovely, tinkling laughter seemed to shock everyone else into silence again.
“Really, Sussex is so quiet, I do believe we’d have to conjure a dragon in order to find the need to be protected,” Lady Stratford said.
“There are dangers in Sussex,” Lady Fenwicke said quietly. “Just not where one might expect.”
Everyone stared at Lady Fenwicke until the countess broke the silence. “Oh, I do hope you’re wrong. I’ve found it to be very safe indeed, though I admit to not having lived here for very long.”
Max glanced again at Olivia. The line between her brows had deepened, and he suppressed the urge to smooth it out with his fingertip.
Lady Stratford rose. Max stood instantly, and the two other sisters and Lady Fenwicke rose as well. Jessica invited the lady over for tea in a few days’ time, and she accepted with a smile.
They left, turning from the gravel drive onto the wagon path. Max had a sinking feeling that the unexpected dangers Lady Fenwicke spoke of had to do with her husband. He hoped to hell he was wrong.
It wasn’t until they turned the bend that hid the elegant house from view that any of them spoke. It was Jessica.
“I’m going to be a good friend to her,” the youngest sister said solemnly. “I think she needs one.”
Max nodded. He couldn’t agree more.
Chapter Three
It was an unseasonably warm day, and Olivia had sat through the afternoon on the gallery bench, tucked beneath her parasol to protect her complexion from the sun. She was watching the others play—or attempt to play—tennis on the ancient court that had originally been erected on the grounds almost three hundred years ago in honor of Henry VIII’s visit to Stratford House.
The court was long and narrow with high walls but no roof. One wall had partially crumbled and the uneven floor was not conducive to balls bouncing properly, but Jonathan planned to eventually fix both. In the interim he still enjoyed playing, and he had purchased a new net as well as racquets and balls soon after he’d arrived in Sussex this spring.
Phoebe and Jessica were trying their best, but they’d never played tennis—it wasn’t a sport they’d ever seen in Antigua, and their lack of skill combined with the cracked floor and the crumbling wall made the game more about laughing, running, and fetching balls than actually hitting them over the net.
Jonathan and Captain Langley were fairly good, their skills obvious compared to the entirely lacking ones in her sisters, especially Captain Langley’s. And Max… well, he seemed far too large to make any sense of the court and the ball, though he said he’d played on occasion when he was at Cambridge.
Olivia would have liked to try it, but she knew her sisters and Jonathan would object, and if they did grudgingly allow her to play, they’d be overly solicitous and embarrass her. She didn’t want that kind of attention—not in the presence of their guests.
She’d long ago come to terms with the fact that her family would always believe that she would fall ill whenever she exerted herself physically. But that didn’t mean she had to agree with them. Once, when she was fourteen and in a particularly rebellious temperament, she had experimented in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep. She’d gone outside and run and run around the plantation. She must have run for an hour without stopping. It had felt so good. By the time she finished, sweat had caked her chemise to her body. And, not surprisingly—to her, at least—she’d felt wonderful the following day, and she hadn’t come down with a fever.
She’d experimented in later years, too, though less overtly. She was fully convinced that exertion wasn’t what caused the fevers, yet despite her protestations, her family didn’t believe her. They were all convinced that if Olivia exercised, it might kill her.
Jonathan served. The ball hit the service penthouse and dropped into the gallery. Max tried to return the serve, but he hit the ball straight into the net. He dropped the racquet at his side, shaking his head, a hopeless expression on his face.
“Game and set!” Jonathan said in triumph.
“Yes, yes. Thanks ever so much for the reminder,” Max said dryly. They ambled to the table the servants had erected beside the gallery bench, and each of them took a glass of cool lemonade.
Olivia smiled up at the two men. “That was a wonderful game.”
Max snorted. “Once upon a time, I was semiskilled at this game. Now I look like quite the idiot lumbering around out here.”
“On the contrary,” Olivia said. You looked marvelous. And he had. He was, simply, a pleasure to watch, losing at tennis or at any other time, for that matter. He smiled back at her… and her skin prickled all over.
In the past few days she’d often felt Max’s eyes moving over her like a warm caress, and when she looked at him, he’d smile faintly but he wouldn’t look away. He’d just keep gazing at her with such heat in his expression she could feel it from across a room.
Jonathan gestured toward the house. “Did everyone else go inside?”
“Yes,” Olivia said. “They were bored of watching you pummel Lord Hasley.”
Max groaned, and Jonathan laughed. “I’d best join them. How about you two? Shouldn’t you get out of the sun, Olivia? Max, want to go in?”
“No thanks,” Olivia said. “I’d like to enjoy the sun for a few more minutes, and then perhaps I will take a walk.”
“I’ll stay outside for a while, too,” Max said. “I’ll come in after I cool down.”
Jonathan said good-bye, gave Max a hard look of warning that Olivia found endearing, and trudged off toward the house.
“You needn’t stay out here with me, you know,” she said.
He sat on the narrow bench beside her, stretching out his long legs in front of him. After a few seconds gazing at the way the fabric of his trousers clung to his muscled thighs, Olivia averted her eyes from the disturbingly appealing view.
“I want to stay with you,” he said simply. “Besides, I thought you might like to have an opponent.”
“An… opponent?”
He raised the racquet he still held. “Yes. A tennis opponent.”
She felt a slow smile curve her lips.
He went to retrieve the racquet Jonathan had abandoned and then returned to her. “Come. I’ll teach you.”
She smiled up at him. “How did you know I wanted to play?”
His green eyes twinkled. “I saw the way you watched us—you looked positively envious.”
She rose, folded her parasol and left it on the bench, then walked out onto the court.
“Here. Hold it like this.” He sidled close to her, demonstrating how to grip the racquet. She tried to concentrate, but the warm masculinity of the entire length of his body against her side made her feel rather… wild. Swallowing hard, she focused on gripping the racquet exactly like he showed her.
He led her to the hazard side of the court. “Now… all you’ve got to do is hit the ball after I’ve sent it to your side. You just return it to me, either by sending it over the net or by hitting it off one of the walls.”
“Right.”
It had looked simple enough, despite the fact that Jessica and Phoebe had missed nine out of ten balls sent their way. Especially Jessica, who’d been laughing so hard at herself that by the end, tears were rolling down her cheeks and she’d declared she was hopeless and she’d never pla
y any sport in a less friendly crowd.
The only person who hadn’t been laughing was Captain Langley, but Olivia hadn’t seen him laugh in the four days since the gentlemen had arrived. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t kind—he was a lovely man. He just wasn’t the sort of man disposed to laughter, she supposed.
Max took the entire bucket full of balls and moved to the service end of the court.
Olivia smirked. “I see you don’t have much confidence that I’ll be hitting any of the balls you send my way.”
“None at all,” he said genially. When she laughed, he gently hit the first ball.
Anticipating where the ball would bounce, Olivia positioned herself quickly and pulled her arm back as she’d seen Captain Langley and Jonathan do, and she whacked the racquet through the air.
And missed. She spun around and watched the ball bounce wildly off the wall behind her.
She turned back to Max. “Again, please.”
He repeated his motion, and she missed again. “Swing earlier,” he advised.
She nodded, pursing her lips together in concentration. He hit the ball to her, she swung, and pop! The ball went sailing over the net. And over Max’s head, over the crumbling wall, and somewhere into the bushes beyond the court.
“Excellent!” he cried. She returned his statement with a pained look.
They went through the remaining balls in similar fashion. She managed to return a few of them directly to him so that he was able to hit them back. By the end, they’d actually engaged in at least one short rally of five hits, and she felt flushed and happy.
He gave her an enthusiastic grin as she knelt down to retrieve the ball that had landed closest to her. “You’re very good.”
“You’re too kind.” She laughed. “I’m quite awful.”
He walked around to her side of the court, retrieving balls along the way. “No, really. Considering the fact that you’ve never played, I think you’re quite good. Some practice, and you’ll be a worthy opponent for someone like Langley.”
“Not you?” she asked.
“No, you’ll be far better than me.”
“Perhaps we should practice together then,” she said. “Because heaven knows, my sisters will have a fit if they knew I was running about out here.” She glanced in the direction of the house, glad that Jessica, Serena, or Phoebe hadn’t come to fetch her. Jonathan must have told them she’d gone for a walk.
“Why wouldn’t they approve of you running about?” Max asked.
For a brief moment she went still, considering telling him about her malaria. She knew from vast experience, however, how people tended to react to that information. Most drew away from her, as if they feared she’d pass the disease to them. Or as if they feared she’d drop dead at their feet at any moment.
The truth was, while she’d never be cured, she had the disease under control. Quinine, though it was expensive and had sometimes been difficult for them to obtain, cured her whenever the fevers came. Even though Mother had often hardly been able to afford their next meal, she had always made certain quinine was available to Olivia. And despite all her difficulties with her mother, that had been enough to prove to Olivia that she did love her deeply.
Olivia wanted to enjoy this autumn, and she wanted to have this time to pretend that she was a normal woman, just for a little while. Most of all, she didn’t want Max fearful that she’d collapse when they played tennis together—and she wanted very badly to play with him again. So she simply shrugged. “My sisters are protective of me.”
Max followed her gaze toward the house, and his hand closed around hers. She glanced down in surprise at their enjoined hands. His fingers were so big that they encompassed hers entirely. The heat of his touch permeated through the material of their gloves. Soft and gentle, yet firm. Hard and masculine. Her breaths came quicker, but she didn’t move. She kept her gaze on the house, though she no longer really saw it.
She didn’t pull away from him, although a small voice somewhere inside her said she should—she must. She simply didn’t want to. She wanted to stay here, just like this. Touching him innocently, even though something about it felt intimate. Even carnal.
She curled her fingers tighter about his and dragged her gaze to his. He was looking at her. No, not just looking at her. That implied he was doing something ordinary. But there was nothing ordinary about the way he gazed at her. His green eyes seemed to stroke over her, caress her. She didn’t know how it was possible, but she could feel his touch in faraway places she’d never felt before.
“Max,” she whispered. It came out as a question, though she hadn’t meant for it to.
He bent his head toward her, so close she felt the warm whisper of his breath over her lips… Oh, Lord, was he going to kiss her? She’d never been kissed before. She’d never expected to be kissed. It simply wasn’t in her realm of experience or expectation.
Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted him to kiss her. Every inch of her body cried out for it, rattling her, surprising her so much that she gave a violent shudder, and he jerked back, blinking.
“God.” He raked his free hand through his dark hair. “God, Olivia. I’m sorry.”
He’d called her by her given name. Her name sounded positively sinful in that low baritone of his.
She blinked at him. “You’re… sorry?”
His fingers slipped away from hers, and it took almost all her willpower not to reach for the comfort of his hand again.
“Yes. I—” He shook his head, and his expression turned rueful. “I shouldn’t have done that. Will you forgive me?”
Staring at him, Olivia caught her breath and slowly drifted back to earth, and with her returning senses came the truth of what she’d nearly just done. What she’d wanted more than her next breath.
She’d nearly kissed a man. Not only a man. Lord Hasley, probably the most virile, handsomest man she’d seen in her life. Not to mention the most eligible bachelor in England.
This wasn’t her. She wasn’t a wanton. She didn’t crave touches or kisses.
If she didn’t implicitly trust the people surrounding her, she might think she’d been drugged.
“I forgive you, Lord Hasley.”
“Max.”
She closed her teeth down over her lower lip. “Max,” she whispered. The way it came out reminded her of how she’d said it before. A needy, desperate question. She swallowed dryly, then jerked her gaze away from him. “Really, I am the one who’s sorry. I don’t know what came over me. This… well…” She hesitated, then looked imploringly up at him.
“This what?” he asked.
Blowing out a breath, she shook her head. “It isn’t me. I don’t do”—she waved her hand back and forth between the two of them—“this.”
He nodded, then gave her a pained smile. “I know, Olivia.” He hesitated. “Neither do I. Not… like this.”
She tilted her head at him, not understanding exactly what he meant but not daring to ask. What he did—what he’d done with other women before coming to Stratford House—was none of her business. None whatsoever. He was a bachelor, nine years older than she, and she had no doubt that he was far, far more experienced at encounters like this than she was.
Still, he’d said he understood that she didn’t do “this.” And he said he didn’t do “this” either, so…
Oh, Lord. Was he intending to court her? To make whatever it was between them permanent? Was he thinking of her as a possible wife?
A thrill rushed through her, leaving her senses tingling and her heart pounding hard. She dropped her gaze to her feet, feeling hot and awkward, and at a complete loss for words. In her periphery, she saw the gray flash of a tennis ball, and she forced her body to turn and head toward the wall to collect it. She heard the sound of him taking the bucket handle and his soft footsteps over the pavement as he followed her.
Silently, they searched for the rest of the balls and deposited them into the bucket one by one. When they’d finished
, she glanced at the far wall. “I suppose I should look for the ball that went over.”
“I’ll help you. The brush is thick, though—I doubt we’ll find it.”
“Well, it’s worth a try.”
They went behind the tennis court and picked their way through the deepening weeds and bushes, keeping an eye out for the ball.
“Your sisters obviously adore you,” he said quietly. “But I can’t understand why they shelter you so thoroughly.”
She’d been kneeling down to search under a bush, and she smiled up at him. “I adore them, too. The three of them are so different, and yet I love them all. We lost a sister a few years ago, too. She was Seren—I mean, Meg’s twin. It was the most horrible thing that ever happened to us—especially Meg—but in a way, I think it brought us closer together.”
And further away from their mother, but that wasn’t a story she was ready to tell Max, even if they were addressing each other by their Christian names now. Even if they’d almost kissed.
Deep in the bushes, she saw a flash of gray. “Oh, there it is,” she exclaimed. But then she frowned. The ball had been caught in the brambles of a rosebush, and there was no way she could retrieve it without ruining her dress.
Before she had the chance to say so, Max dove under the bush. Seconds later, he emerged, smiling, holding the tennis ball up in victory. “Got it!”
“Oh, dear. Your coat is torn!”
He looked down at the small tear in his sleeve, then back up at her. He gave her a wry shrug. “Ah well. My valet will have my hide. Then, he’ll likely burn it, along with the coat.”
“What a waste of a perfectly good coat.” At his raised eyebrow, she added with a laugh, “And hide.”
Max shrugged. “Gardner is far too fastidious to allow me to keep either now that I have damaged one of his fine works of art.”
“For goodness’ sakes!” Olivia patted his arm over the tear. “I’ll mend it for you. He’ll never need to know.”
He looked honestly shocked, which made her laugh.
“You’d do that for me?”
“To rescue such a fine coat? And”—such a fine hide, but, oh, she couldn’t say that!—“your hide? I certainly would.”
Secrets of an Accidental Duchess Page 5