“I finally understand why your family is so overprotective,” he said. “They just want to keep you safe. To prevent relapses of the fever.”
She made a small dismissive noise. “They believe that every walk I go on will be my last one.”
“And you disagree? You don’t believe all your physical activity causes the fevers?”
“No, I’m quite sure it doesn’t.”
“What does cause them, then?”
“I’m not certain. They seem to be quite random.”
“How often do they occur?”
“Once or twice a year. The last one was last winter.”
“I’ve been thinking about it. It seems to me that if you were to get a fever from walking or being outside, you would have come down with one that day it rained on us. You were chilled and soaked to the bone.”
Olivia nodded grimly. “Meg was furious with me, and she was furious with Jonathan for not throwing me over his saddle by force and galloping me home before the rain struck.”
“And yet you didn’t fall ill from that. You fell ill now. What could possibly have caused it to happen now? Do you think it was the tennis?”
“I’m sure it wasn’t the tennis. How many times did we play tennis together, and in even colder weather, without it making me sick? I wish I knew what really causes the fevers, Max. But I’ve no idea, truly.”
Still holding onto her hand, he drew closer, and her eyes drifted shut, anticipation buzzing on her skin.
“Are you tired?”
“No,” she breathed.
And his lips brushed over hers, warm and soft, and then pressed, coaxing her to respond. She did respond, opening to him and moving her lips in a slow dance that made her heart thump wildly. Sensation curled through her body like a tendril of sweet smoke, caressing every part of her. She inhaled deeply, taking in his masculine presence—so different from the feminine essences that had surrounded her for so many years. There was a hardness, a toughness, to this man. But he had never been anything but gentle with her. He was the contradiction of strength and muscle with softness and compassion. She loved that about him.
Further, deeper, she sank into his kiss. His free hand moved up to her face. His hand was so large that when it cupped her cheek, he touched her from chin to crown. His fingers stroked at her hairline, swiping wisps of hair out of her face. And she realized that his hand was trembling.
The door glided open on its hinges. The only reason Olivia heard it was because she’d been so focused on Max, on the intensity of how her body responded to his touch, that the foreign noise snapped her into reality. Still, she didn’t jerk back. Even if she could have, she truly didn’t want to.
Slowly, seemingly with great effort, Max drew away. Olivia opened her eyes, tearing her gaze from Max to see Serena standing in the doorway.
Heat rushed to Olivia’s cheek as Max’s fingers slipped from it. Rising, Max bowed. “My lady.”
“Lord Hasley.” Serena’s voice was a trifle more clipped than usual.
There was an uncomfortable silence, and then, sighing audibly, Serena came inside, closing the door behind her. “I believe I shall pretend I didn’t see anything.”
Still smiling politely, not looking the least bit embarrassed, Max nodded. He looked down at Olivia. “Tomorrow, then?”
Still mortified, she nodded.
He was still holding her hand. With a final squeeze to it, he took his leave.
Serena watched him until the door clicked shut behind him, then she took the seat he had vacated.
“You’re feeling better,” she said.
“Mmm.” Her embarrassment fading rapidly, Olivia stared up at the bed canopy, looking at the curve of the rose stems in its pattern and the petals of the various roses it depicted. The roses bloomed in different stages, from tiny buds to voluminous blossoms, all pale pink offsetting the dark green of the fabric.
She slid her gaze toward Serena. “Do you intend to play big sister with me, Serena?” she asked softly. “Will you scold me now?”
Serena looked at her for a long moment, clearly considering that option. Finally, she said, “No.”
“Good.” Olivia returned her gaze to the ceiling.
“I know you and Lord Hasley have been developing an affinity for each other.”
“Hm. Is that what you call it? An affinity?”
“I think so.” Serena crossed her arms over her chest. “In truth,” she murmured, “I never expected this of you, Olivia.”
“I never expected it of me, either.” But, oh, how she liked Maxwell Buchanan. And, oh, how she liked his kisses… She sighed. “I suppose I’m no saint, after all.”
Serena smiled. “I suppose not. Still, after your experience of the London Season, you made it very clear to Jonathan and me that you wished to live with us. That you had no interest in gentlemen and no intention of marrying.”
“That’s all still true.”
Completely unconvinced, Serena raised a brow. “Really?”
“Of course. Lord Hasley will be gone in a few weeks”—and he’d take his kisses with him—“and my life will continue as I planned it. This is only a temporary… diversion.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I can’t see how else it might go.” She knew Max had a life outside Stratford House. She knew he’d be a duke someday and could never think of marrying someone like her, a woman of no fortune, flimsy connections, and questionable health.
The end of their relationship was inevitable, yet the thought of Max leaving still made her ache deep inside.
“Oh, Olivia.” Serena looked almost sorry for her. “What, exactly, do you believe is happening between yourself and Lord Hasley?”
“Well,” Olivia said slowly, “I like him very much. I enjoy his company.”
“And plainly he enjoys yours as well,” Serena said. “And from the way he’s worried about you in the last few days, I’d say he cares for you.”
“Yes, I think he does.” Olivia thought of his kiss. No wonder so many women were utterly bespelled by men’s caresses. The way he kissed her made her feel like he’d do anything for her, anything at all. He’d offer her the world on a silver platter.
Yet despite her inexperience, she possessed at least a modicum of wisdom. Even if he did care about her, she wasn’t cut from the cloth of a duchess.
She’d never thought of herself as mistress material, either… until recently.
“Dearest,” Serena murmured, “above all, I want you to be happy. I don’t want him to hurt you.”
Olivia took a moment to ponder this. “Do you really think Max is capable of hurting me?”
“Yes. I do. I don’t think he intends to hurt you, but it appears he has taken a bit of your virtue and probably desires more. He is a man, after all. And when he leaves Stratford House, he’ll take that part of you with him, and you’ll never see it again. Can you face that loss without feeling hurt and betrayed?”
Olivia didn’t answer right away. She thought about how she felt when he kissed her. Like she’d do anything to continue to experience the feeling his touch gave her. How her skin prickled with excitement, her heart pounded, her nerves hummed with anticipation. How she craved that sweetness that poured through her with each one of his caresses.
Could she savor those feelings he offered her for such a short time of her life, or would he leave her with a lifetime of regrets?
“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. She looked up at her sister, for the first time really thinking of her future, of the life she’d lead with Serena and Phoebe and their husbands and children. It was still what she wanted…
Wasn’t it?
She could never leave them… she knew that much. She’d already lost one sister, and she’d never survive the loss of the three she had left.
“I might want to…” She took a breath, steadied her voice, and continued. “I think I might want more from him.”
“Marriage?” Serena asked gently.
“Oh no,” Olivia whispered. “Not marriage. That would be impossible.” She looked at her sister imploringly, hoping she wouldn’t be forced to explain it.
Serena just looked at her, blank-faced. “What, then?”
“If I’m to live my life as a spinster… well, I might like to have the experience, just once, of… of a lover.” Heat rushed over her cheeks, hotter than when Serena had first entered the room. But she forced herself to continue. “I am very inexperienced in these matters, as you know, Serena. But… but I think Max would be a very gentle lover to me.”
She felt light. Breathless. So embarrassed she wanted to melt straight into the bed sheets. But if she couldn’t share her true feelings with her older sister, then she couldn’t be honest with anyone.
“Oh, Olivia. I want you to experience that singular piece of heaven,” Serena said. “I truly do.”
Olivia looked at her, waiting for the “but.”
“But I’m so worried about you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Long ago, Serena had fallen in love with Jonathan one summer and had spent some of the most joyful, erotically charged days of her life with him. But then he’d spurned her and for seven years she’d struggled to overcome her shattered heart.
Serena and Jonathan’s journey to happiness had been very long and fraught with difficulty. But Olivia knew her sister’s story was one of the rare ones. It would be more common for a lady in Serena’s position to spend her life mourning that lost love. Was that what Olivia would do after Max left her?
Olivia reached out from under the covers for her sister’s hand. “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice firm. “It probably won’t even happen.”
“If it does, promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will.” She hesitated. “There is a difference between what is happening with me and Max and what happened with you and Jonathan so long ago, you know.”
“What’s that?”
“You expected him to marry you. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of you, or so you thought at the time. But I have no such misconceptions, Serena. I know Max cannot marry the likes of me. I know that whatever happens between us will only be temporary.”
“Are you sure, Liv?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Don’t allow him to…” Serena hesitated.
Olivia frowned. “Don’t allow him to what?”
“… get you with child,” Serena finished.
“How can I prevent it?” Olivia chewed on her lower lip. “Do you know? Perhaps we should ask Jessica. She seemed to know of something—”
“Ask him not to finish when he’s inside you.”
“Oh.” Taking a deep breath, Olivia nodded. “I will do that, then. If it… comes to that.”
“Promise me you will.”
“I promise.”
“Good.” Serena squeezed her hand, much like Max had done a few minutes earlier. “I just pray that when it’s over and he returns to London, he won’t take your heart with him.”
“Don’t worry, Serena. My heart is firmly encased right here.” And she pressed her palm against her chest. “Trust me. It’s not going anywhere.”
A week after Olivia had resumed her daily routine, she sat in the drawing room surrounded by family and feeling very content, despite the fact that she and Max hadn’t had a moment alone since she’d left her bed. The weather had been awful, and though it had stopped raining for a time in the middle of the day today, clouds now threatened the afternoon light. Olivia turned away from the window.
“Another day without my walk,” she grumbled.
“Good,” Phoebe said. “I don’t like it when you walk. Maybe if you stopped walking altogether, you’ll stop having those awful fevers.”
Olivia sighed, but her mood was too light to argue with her sister. Instead she traded a silent look with Max before going to Phoebe and holding her arms out for Margie, who reached for her with her two chubby fists. Olivia gathered the baby into her arms and walked past the men, who’d set up the card table and were playing a game of whist.
Olivia took Margie to the sofa and sat beside Jessica. She bounced Margie gently on her knees while the baby gave her a big gummy grin and grasped on to her fingers. “You sweet thing. Such a big, big girl I think you weigh almost two stone now, don’t you?”
“For goodness’ sakes!” Phoebe exclaimed. “She’s not that big!”
“She’s a big, healthy, adorable baby, and you should be very proud,” Serena murmured from her chair near the hearth, where she was working on embroidering a baby bonnet—for her own baby, Olivia knew. Although, as far as she knew, Jonathan still didn’t know Serena’s news. Why on earth had Serena kept such important, wonderful news from her husband for so long?
“I am proud.” Sebastian, Phoebe’s husband, looked up from his cards. “She’s the most beautiful baby that was ever born, I guarantee it. And she’s the perfect size, too.”
Serena had often said how much it surprised her what a doting husband and father Sebastian had become. He’d once had a reputation of being difficult and temperamental, but it was widely agreed that Phoebe had soothed his fighter’s spirit.
“I’m proud, too.” Phoebe’s expression softened as she gazed at the pretty dark-haired baby on Olivia’s knee.
“Good,” Jonathan’s mother, the dowager countess said, looking up from her book and over her spectacles at Phoebe. “One should always be proud of one’s children.” She smiled fondly at Jonathan. “As I am.”
Jonathan doggedly ignored her, but the tips of his ears turned pink, and Olivia smiled. Jonathan had hardly spoken to his mother for several years, but his marriage to Serena had mended everything that had once been sour between them.
“Speaking of familial love,” the dowager continued, “I’ve just received a letter from my own mother.”
“Oh, have you?” Serena asked. “How is she?”
The older woman chuckled. “She claims she is dying and summons me to London.”
Jonathan didn’t look up from the cards. “She says that every year. She isn’t dying. That woman is tough as leather—I’m sure she’ll outlast us all.”
“Nevertheless,” the dowager said, “I think I shall go in the new year.”
“Oh, we’ll miss you,” Serena said. “How long will you stay?”
“A month, possibly two.”
Jonathan shook his head. “My grandmother is so odd. She always chooses to winter in London. Why not go in the spring, when it is more welcoming? And when all her friends are there?”
“She prefers it that way.” The dowager sniffed. “She can do as she pleases without running into Lady X or Lord Y and being forced to make pleasant conversation.”
“Well, I know firsthand how much she dislikes being pleasant.”
Serena shot Jonathan an admonishing look. “I should like to meet her sometime.”
“Oh, you will, my dear,” the dowager said. “I intend to bring her home with me.”
Jonathan snorted. “I wish you worlds of luck in that endeavor, madam. You’ll need it.”
The dowager gave Jonathan a serene smile. “I’ll do my best.”
Jessica leaned over and kissed Margie on the cheek, and then she rose. “Well, rain or shine, I’m off to Beatrice’s.”
“Are you sure?” Olivia looked toward the window at the ominous clouds gathering in the sky. “I really do think it’s going to rain.”
“Take a carriage,” Jonathan offered, glancing up from his cards.
“Oh, thank you, Jonathan. I think I will, if you don’t mind,” Jessica said. “Honestly, I don’t mind getting wet and I can carry an umbrella, but I’d rather not ruin my dress with mud.” She swiped her hands down her light pink lawn.
Jonathan rose to summon a footman. “I know you’d walk through mud for your bosom friend, but I think it’s best you take the carriage.”
“But what I don’t understand is why Lady Fenwicke hasn’t visited us since Lord Fenwicke
left Brockton Hall,” Serena said.
“Oh…” Jessica hesitated. “Well, she prefers to stay at her house.”
“But why?” Serena pressed.
Jessica chewed on her lower lip. “Well, I promised not to say.”
Everyone stared at Jessica. Even the three seated gentlemen all looked up from their cards.
Olivia smiled. “You’re a good friend, then, Jessica. An honest one. I’d like to have a friend like you.”
Jessica turned to her. “Oh you do, Liv. I’m not only your sister, you know.”
“I know.”
“But why would she want you to keep a secret?” Phoebe asked. “Is she in trouble?”
Jessica looked at Phoebe, fidgeted, and then just shrugged. “I truly cannot say. Please don’t force me to, Phoebe.”
Jonathan closed the door behind the footman and returned to his chair at the card table. “The carriage will be out front in a few moments.”
“Thank you, Jonathan. I’ll run up to fetch my things, and I’ll wait at the front for it. I want to be home in time for dinner. I do want to taste the oxtail soup Cook and Beatrice have planned for us all this evening.”
“Of course,” Serena said. “Have a nice time, Jess.”
Jessica left, and Phoebe frowned after her. “I’m worried about that girl.”
“Jessica?” Olivia asked.
“No. Lady Fenwicke.”
“Me, too.” Olivia pulled Margie close, stroking her fine, dark hair. In return, Margie grabbed a fistful of Olivia’s hair and shoved it into her mouth.
“Do you like the taste of my hair, Margie?” Olivia murmured.
“She finds it delicious, I’m sure.” Phoebe groaned. “That girl will eat anything.”
“She tried doing away with my toes last night.” Sebastian cast a doting smile in Margie’s direction. “Didn’t you, love?”
Hearing her papa’s voice, Margie turned her head. She pulled the hair out of her mouth and reached out a chubby fist for her father. “Pa-pa!”
Sebastian’s dark eyes widened. He turned to the other men. “Did you hear that? She called me papa!”
As the other gentlemen slapped Sebastian on the back for the obviously superior intelligence of his progeny, Phoebe jumped up from her chair and came rushing over. “Oh, Margie, did you say papa? Say it again, darling!”
Secrets of an Accidental Duchess Page 10