“With Max.” Blinking hard, she looked away. She would not cry over him. God forbid.
“How do you mean? He seemed so worried about you last night.”
“Yes. He did. But I found out…” She sighed. “Well, the truth is that when it came to Max, I didn’t heed your warnings. I didn’t protect my heart.”
“What happened?”
“Fenwicke gave me a few insights into Max’s character, and it’s not as solid as I’d thought.”
“For God’s sake, how could you trust the word of such a madman?”
Olivia bit her lip. “He showed me—in writing—a wager he’d made with Max. Max bet him a thousand guineas that he could seduce me.”
Serena gasped. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe it. It must have been forged!”
“It wasn’t, Serena. I know his signature. And Max was there. The expression on his face confirmed that it was true. It also explains why Fenwicke paid Smithson to watch us. He wanted to make sure that Max was telling the truth when he came back to London claiming he’d succeeded in the seduction of the frigid Miss Olivia Donovan.” Her voice cracked on the last few words.
“Oh, Olivia,” Serena murmured. “I’m so sorry. This… this is devastating news.”
Olivia gave her a faltering smile. “I should have known better than to let my heart become involved. I’ve been a fool.”
“It’s not your fault. He’s been so…” Serena shook her head. “Well, I believed he was utterly taken with you. The way his eyes follow you across a room… Well, seeing the way he looks at you always gives me shivers.”
“Me too,” Olivia murmured.
Serena’s arms encircled Olivia in a tight hug, and in the comfort of her older sister’s embrace, Olivia released her anguish and allowed the tears to flow. Tears for all the fear and horror that she’d endured in Fenwicke’s house. Tears for the loss of Max… and the loss of the part of her that had believed she was in love with him.
Max came to see her late in the afternoon. Knowing she needed to see him, to explain that she must distance herself from him, Olivia asked her sister and brother-in-law to give them time alone together.
She’d been standing at the window, staring at the gray world, at the rain falling in sheets outside, when he was announced. She turned to greet him as he walked into the room. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
He smiled. “What do you think of my new title?”
“I think it suits you.”
“Do you? It still feels strange to me.”
“Maxwell Buchanan, the Duke of Wakefield,” she murmured. “Do you like it?”
“Being the Duke of Wakefield?”
“Yes.”
He met her eyes and held them a beat before answering. “No, I haven’t liked it very much at all. It has kept me away from you.”
Something in her chest tightened. She gestured to the sofa. “Let’s sit down, Max.”
He waited until she sat and then he lowered himself beside her, gathering her hand in his own. Olivia had thought she’d cried all her tears with Serena earlier, but she could feel them welling in her throat again now, and it took her several moments to gather her composure.
“There’s something we need to talk about.”
He nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on her.
She took a deep breath. “You and I—we are very different. We’re from different worlds, and we’re going different places.”
“No,” he said firmly. “We’re not from entirely different worlds. You are an English lady as much as any lady born and bred in England. And as for us going different places—not if I have anything to say about it.”
“Please, Max. Please don’t make this more difficult for me than it already is.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “You’re not the man I thought you were.”
Max clenched his teeth. “Listen to me, Olivia. I once told you there was a part of me I never wished for you to see. That damned bet came from that part of me, and I regret it. It was a stupid, foolish thing for me to do.”
She sighed. “Why did you agree to it, then? Why did you sign it?”
He released her hand but he didn’t draw his gaze away from her. “Fenwicke and I have a long and complicated history. The man has always brought out the parts of me that are most like my father. That night I first saw you, Fenwicke was boasting about his ability to conquer women. He assumed that since you didn’t succumb to his advances, then you wouldn’t succumb to mine. I wanted to prove him wrong.” Finally, Max broke his gaze away from her. “I was angry. Angry at his arrogance, at his easy willingness to betray his wife. I wanted to beat him. Wanted to show him once and for all that he wasn’t better than me. I agreed to the bet, I signed the damned wager, and I planned to come to Sussex. But once I arrived at Stratford House I didn’t think of the bet once, except to consider what a foolish thing it had been for me to agree to it, and then to dismiss it once and for all.”
“Yet you came to Sussex with plans to seduce me,” she murmured. “Before you’d even met me.” She pressed her palm over her eye so the threatening tear wouldn’t fall.
Gripping the arms of his chair, he said, “There has always been a competition between Fenwicke and me. Ever since we were schoolboys, he’s been trying to best me. There have been many times I’ve wanted to wipe that superior sneer from his face, so I’ve made many wagers with him, always thinking ‘this is the one that will put the ass in his place.’ And I always win, but he always keeps coming back for more. It’s a compulsion for him… the never-ending need to best me.”
“And your never-ending need to prove to him that he can’t,” Olivia said softly.
Max sighed and looked away from her, but he didn’t disagree with her. “When I saw you at Lord Hertford’s ball, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. He saw me watching you, and the competition began once more.”
Olivia’s heart felt fragmented, like delicate crystal in the instant before it shattered. “You gave in to his need for competition, because you have that same need—you want to best him. You enjoy proving, over and over, that you are superior. So in the end, it was all a game to you. A silly, childish competition to see which immature, insecure boy would win the race. At the expense of my virtue. At my expense.”
“God, no.” He leaned closer to her, and she had to fight to keep from drawing away from him. “I was intrigued by you that night at Hertford’s ball, but when I went to Stratford House and grew to know you better…” He shook his head. “I didn’t give a damn about the bet. I didn’t want to share anything of my experience with you with Fenwicke. I didn’t want to soil it like that. My need to best him seemed stupid and meaningless. I intended to pay him his one thousand guineas to make him go away.”
She stared at him, not knowing what to make of all of this. If she didn’t believe him now, then that meant all their time together at Stratford House, and all the letters he’d sent since he’d left, were false. And that didn’t make any sense either. If he’d already had the proof that he’d compromised her, then why send her so many letters? Why invite her to the public venue of the opera once she arrived in London? And last but not least, why on earth had Lord Fenwicke made so many threats against them both?
Once it might have been farfetched to think that Lord Fenwicke was as crazy as a loon, but she’d seen the truth of that firsthand.
“Our dealings have been similar to my father and uncle’s dealings: based on bitterness and competition.” Looking away from her, Max pushed a harsh hand through his hair, making his dark curls fly. He closed his eyes. “But I don’t want to live like that. I never have. God knows I don’t want to be anything like my father, but there is a weakness in me—that damned darkness—and Fenwicke kept sucking me back in. I was a fool to let it go on for as long as it has.” He gazed at her, his green eyes pleading. “I want out. I don’t want the darkness anymore. I don’t want anything to do with Fenwicke. I’m done with it… with him.”
/> She stared at him for a long moment, then bent her head down and rested her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to think.”
“I do,” Max said firmly. “Forget about him. Forget about the wager. Believe me when I say I’m never going to be associating with that man, or anyone like him, ever again.”
She looked back up at him, feeling utterly hopeless. “I can’t forget, Max.”
His lips tightened. “Why?”
“Because… I don’t think I can come to terms with the fact that our meetings didn’t begin innocently. I was little more to you than a desire to best a rival. That day you met me at the spring—that wasn’t by chance, was it? You knew I’d been going there. You engineered that meeting.”
Max blew out a harsh breath. “I wanted to meet you. I would have been there waiting for you even if the wager had never been made.”
“But you wouldn’t have been at Jonathan’s house, would you? My brother-in-law spoke of how you turned down his invitation at first—you laughed and said that you weren’t interested in hunting.”
He frowned. “Regardless of the wager, I was intrigued by you and I wanted to know you.” He leaned forward. “Listen, Olivia. Your intentions towards me have changed as well, and more than once. You went from wanting friendship, to wanting me in your bed, to… whatever it is you feel for me now. Does the fact that you wanted only friendship from me once make your current feelings for me any less real? Your feelings for me grew and changed, just like my feelings for you.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t think that makes me see this any differently. Yes, my feelings for you have grown, and I would like to believe that yours have, too. But I still feel as though I’ve been used. Like a pawn in a child’s game. The foundation of what we’ve built between us is unsteady.”
“That’s not true!”
“I can’t see it any other way.”
“I still want to be with you.”
“I can’t, Max. Not now. I need time… to work this out.”
She watched his entire face tighten, his expression harden. “Time?”
“Yes. Time away from you.” She rose on unsteady legs. “I need to reassess my priorities. I’ve been flying so high with you, but learning this has clipped my wings. I have to decide what I want, what’s right for me.”
“I’m right for you. Let me prove that to you.”
She couldn’t meet his gaze. She was so confused. One part of her was screaming that he’d used her simply to make a childish point; the other was shouting that she should—she must—give him a chance to prove himself. She had no idea which one to listen to.
“Please,” she murmured. “Give me time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. I just need… space. Please.”
She heard him rising beside her, but she didn’t turn to face him. “Very well. I’ll give you time to think, Olivia. But understand—I’m not letting you go.”
He rested his hand on her shoulder. The possessive weight of his touch sent a clear signal that while he might be capitulating now, he had no intention of making their separation permanent. Without another word, he let go, turned, and left the drawing room, closing the door softly behind him.
She sank back onto the sofa and lowered her face into her hands. “You’re doing the right thing, Olivia,” she whispered to herself. “It’s safer this way.”
But she felt the damp of tears on her fingertips, and an enormous part of her wanted to rush after him and throw herself into his arms.
Max kept himself apprised of Lord Fenwicke’s condition as well as Olivia’s movements in Town. A few days after Olivia returned to the safety of her family, Lord and Lady Stratford left London, but Olivia, surprisingly, had remained with the dowager.
The potentially enormous scandal of what had happened between Max, Olivia, and Fenwicke never developed into anything. Stratford and the Donovans didn’t speak a word of Fenwicke’s villainy to anyone—it was still unclear whether Fenwicke would recover, and the family had determined that it wouldn’t do Olivia any good to suffer through a long and draining legal battle against the heir to a dukedom. It wasn’t fair, and justice would never truly be served, but the fact that a select few could remain above the law was a fact of life they were forced to face.
Max had no intention of talking about it either, because despite the fact that Olivia was a victim, the incident would damage her reputation far more than it would his or Fenwicke’s. The word about Town was that Max had left for a few days without telling a soul. And Olivia had been at her aunt Geraldine’s house, and Lady Stratford had made such a fuss due to a simple miscommunication.
Not a word came from Fenwicke’s quarter… which worried Max more than anything else.
Did he know that Olivia had poisoned him? Was he planning revenge?
For this reason, Max had hired two men—one to watch covertly over Olivia and the other to watch every move Fenwicke made. If the man took a step toward Olivia, Max would know about it, and he’d stop him.
As for Olivia and her desire for him to stay away from her—he’d give her the time she’d requested. He was a patient man, but his patience wouldn’t last forever. Every day he spent without her intensified his desire to make her his in a permanent way.
A knock on his study door made him look up from the papers he was sorting. “Yes?”
The door opened to his implacable butler. “Your Grace, Mr. Childress is here to see you.”
Max sat straighter. Childress was the man he’d hired to keep an eye on Fenwicke. “Please show him in.”
The man was ushered into his study, and Max stood to shake his hand. “What news?”
“Lord Fenwicke remains abed, sir. It appears as though he’s too ill to be removed from it any time soon.”
“I see.” Good. “Is he out of danger?”
“I believe so, sir. The doctor believes that the bad humors will take several more days to clear themselves from his body.”
“And his vision?” Last week, Childress had reported that Fenwicke’s sight had been improving.
“Completely restored now,” Childress said.
“I see.” Max tapped his fingertips on the sleek mahogany of his new desk, thinking. “Keep watching him as you have been. And please gather a list of all his properties in the United Kingdom for me.” When Fenwicke recovered, Max had the impression that he’d leave London. And Max wanted a good idea of where the man was at all times, because that was information he needed to know if he was to keep Olivia safe.
“Yes, sir.” Childress saluted and left.
Max stared after the man, a sense of foreboding tightening in his gut.
Two days later, that sense grew when Mr. Tanner, the man he’d hired to watch over Olivia, came to see him just after he’d had his morning coffee and was in his study reading the Times.
“Miss Donovan left town yesterday, Your Grace,” Tanner said. “She left quietly, and I didn’t discover she’d gone until I’d spoken with the dowager countess’s coachman this morning.”
So she’s returned to Stratford House, Max thought grimly. Knowing that she would be miles away from him seemed to open a gaping hole deep inside his chest. Not to mention the fear that lodged like a lump in his throat when he thought of how difficult it would be to protect her when she was so far away.
He took a breath. She’d needed time, and he’d given her that. Fenwicke was safely in bed in London, so he didn’t have to worry for her on that account.
He’d give her the short month of February, and then he’d be back.
“Looks like a trip to Sussex for me next month,” he murmured to himself.
“Sussex, Your Grace?”
Max raised a brow. “Yes. Sussex.”
“Oh!” Tanner’s brown eyes widened. “You mean to follow after the lady. But she wasn’t heading toward Sussex. The coachman said she was traveling north.”
Max frowned. “Why north?”
“Well
, I couldn’t quite say—”
The man hurried after Max as he went into the corridor, bellowing for his horse to be saddled. Turning on Tanner, he pointed at the study. “Stay put until I return.”
The man nodded, and a few minutes later, Max was heading toward the dowager’s house in Bedford Square. When he strode into her drawing room, two ladies stood to greet him. One was the dowager Lady Stratford. The older one, a thin, wrinkled woman with a pinched face, scowled at him. She was, of course, Lady Stratford’s mother, Lady Pierce.
Lady Stratford hurried toward him, her hands outstretched. “My goodness, Your Grace. What on earth brings you here at this hour?”
Max realized it was early—in fact it was earlier than most Londoners awoke. It was extremely rude and uncouth to go on a social visit at this time of day.
He managed a stiff bow. “Forgive me, ladies.”
“Well, of course.” Lady Stratford led him to a chair. Max supposed there were some advantages of being a duke—one being that intruding into an acquaintance’s house at an unreasonable hour didn’t necessarily result in immediate banishment from the premises. “Can I offer you some tea?”
He glanced at Lady Pierce, who was gazing at him through a quizzing glass. “I doubt the duke came here for a hot drink, Sarah.”
Lady Stratford stepped back from him, wringing her hands. “Oh, you are making me quite agitated, Your Grace. Do tell us the reason for your visit.”
“I need to know where Miss Donovan has gone,” he said. “I know she didn’t return to Sussex.”
Lady Stratford’s brows rose. “Oh, well, she went to visit her sister, Miss Jessica, in Lancashire. She was only planning to be gone for a few weeks—she wanted to be back soon, before you…”
Max frowned. “Before I… what?”
The lady’s blue eyes twinkled. “Well, she thought if she stayed away too long, you might come after her.”
Despite himself, Max released a short chuckle. Olivia knew him well. “So… that’s where Miss Jessica and Lady Fenwicke are? In Lancashire?”
“Yes, indeed. Mr. Harper has a house there, and that is where they are staying until they determine the best course of action to take.” She leaned toward him. “To keep Lady Fenwicke safe, you know.”
Secrets of an Accidental Duchess Page 25