Secrets of an Accidental Duchess

by Jennifer Haymore

  When the two gunshots broke the quiet of the night, Olivia’s heart clenched. She jerked away from Jessica and looked between her sister and Peebles.

  “Who came with you, Olivia? Are Jonathan and Sebastian in the house?” Jessica asked, her voice rising in panic.

  “No,” Olivia whispered, looking at her sister with dread rising her gorge. “It’s Max.”

  She turned, lifted her skirts, and ran. She tried the closest door to the barn—the back door of the house, but it was locked. Her heart pounding with panic, she ran to the front door, barely noticing her sister and Peebles just behind her.

  The door opened easily, and they hurried inside. “Upstairs,” she directed. She was sure the gunshots had come from the upper story.

  Glimpsing the bottom edge of the banister beyond an arched doorway, she ran to the stairs and took them two at a time. At the top, she saw an open door to the right and heard a scuffling noise.

  That was Max. He was alive. He had to be.

  She sprinted down the corridor and rushed inside just as yet another gunshot exploded in her ears. She reeled to a halt, her senses overwhelmed by all that she saw.

  Beatrice was sitting up on the bed, looking pale and stark. Her dark hair was loose around her bare shoulders, and she clutched a blanket to her chest.

  The man who’d opened the door to them when Fenwicke had been in residence in Sussex stood in front of Olivia, panic twisting his long face. He was shouting, but her ears were ringing from the gunshot, and she couldn’t discern his words.

  Just behind him, two men lay still on the floor. Deep red blood pooled around them. She recognized Fenwicke’s dark, slicked-back hair. He was slumped over another man, hiding most of his body. But Olivia recognized the color of the coat. The shape of the hand lying limp on the floor.

  “Max!” She lunged past the shouting servant and fell to her knees beside the two men.

  Were they both dead? Neither of them moved.

  “No!” she sobbed, shoving at Fenwicke’s heavy form, trying to get him off Max. “No. No. No.”

  She heard voices behind her, shouting, but she didn’t hear what was being said. With a great heave, she thrust Fenwicke’s limp body off of Max.

  There was blood everywhere. All over him.

  “Oh, God, no,” she whispered. She cupped his face in her hands, his warm cheeks roughened by a day’s growth of beard. “Max… Max, can you hear me?”

  His eyelids fluttered, and Olivia’s heart leapt to her throat. She couldn’t speak as he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, clearing the cloudiness away until his clear green orbs focused on her.

  “Olivia?” he whispered. His brows drew together in confusion.

  “Are you hurt? Tell me where you’re hurt.”

  “I’m all right. He just nicked me…”

  “Oh, God, Max. You’re covered in blood!”

  “It’s his. Mostly his.” Both of them glanced to where Fenwicke lay, his body unmoving beside Max.

  “Is he… dead?” she whispered.

  “I think so.” Max struggled to sit up, wincing.

  “No,” she murmured. “Lie down. You’re hurt.”

  He sounded bone tired, but he sat up shakily. He frowned at her. “What… why are you here?”

  “I needed to be here. To help.”

  His gaze drifted just beyond her shoulder, and she turned to see Jessica embracing a sobbing Lady Fenwicke. “You found your sister.”

  “Yes. She was under the barn in a priest hole.”

  He gripped her wrist, and despite his apparent exhaustion, his grip was hard. “Why did you come here? You could have been killed.”

  She shook her head. “No, I knew you’d need my help.” She bit her lower lip. “But once I heard the gunshots, Max, I couldn’t…”

  “What should I do with ’im, Your Grace?” Peebles dragged the cowering manservant toward them, holding him by the scruff of the neck and pointing his pistol at him. “He tried to sneak away, but I caught ’im.”

  Max’s eyes went icy when he looked at the man. He struggled to stand, and this time she helped him. He awkwardly rose to his feet, pressing his palm over his side, grimacing.

  “Hold him,” Max said coldly. “The ladies might confirm his presence when they were taken from Prescot, in which case he will be prosecuted for aiding and abetting a kidnapping.”

  Olivia glanced at Jessica and Beatrice, who clung to each other as they watched the proceedings. They both looked pale and scared, and Beatrice looked like she might faint at any moment, but Jessica held her firmly upright.

  The man went white. “I didn’t know anything about any kidnapping, sir!”

  Max eyed him dispassionately. “I daresay that’ll be for the courts to decide.”

  He turned away and slowly, painfully knelt down beside Fenwicke and took his pulse. Looking up at Olivia, he shook his head. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I wish you didn’t have to see this.”

  She bent down to help him back up, and she led him to one of the armchairs. He gratefully lowered himself into it.

  “I’m glad I saw it.” She knelt down before him. She laid her cheek on his lap, and he ran his fingers over her hair. “I should, perhaps, feel horrible about that, but I don’t. I’m glad he’s dead, Max. It’s good for me to see it. It’s good for me to know that I’ll never have to be afraid of him again.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Spring had arrived. The forest was unfurling its color—every shade of green imaginable covered the trees and shrubs in baby leaves. A thick layer of velvety grass draped the ground, and the sun peeked out from behind puffy clouds.

  A season for regrowth, rebirth, and renewal. For all of them.

  Olivia turned from the window to face her family. Jonathan and Serena were sitting together, reading, with Serena’s head resting on Jonathan’s lap as he idly played with her hair. Phoebe and Sebastian were arguing good-naturedly over which song Phoebe should learn to play on the pianoforte next.

  Jessica was on the floor playing pat-a-cake with Margie. And Beatrice was beside her, laughing and playing along. Beatrice was living with them indefinitely, and she was welcome to stay for as long as she liked. Olivia hoped she would stay for a very long time indeed. She was such a kind girl and so innocent, even after all the horror she’d been through. And lately, they’d begun to witness her smiling and laughing again, and they’d all rejoiced in it.

  And then there was Max. He had convalesced here at Stratford House from the gunshot wound in his side. He’d lost a good bit of blood and had been weak for a while, but the bullet had gone clean through him.

  Olivia’s gaze wandered to where he sat near the fireplace. Meeting her eyes, he lowered his newspaper and crooked a finger at her in a silent come here.

  Smiling, she crossed the room until she stood beside him. He folded his newspaper and set it aside before rising. “Are you ready?”

  “I am,” she returned.

  They linked arms and said their good-byes. Everyone glanced up and wished them a nice walk, then went back to their pleasant activities. As they left the drawing room, Olivia gave a happy sigh.

  “What is it?” Max asked.

  “I just love seeing my family so content. And I’m happy that Beatrice is finally emerging from her shell and beginning to enjoy life again.”

  “I am, too,” Max said gravely.

  “I’m happy you’re here, too.”

  They went to the kitchen where the housekeeper handed them the bundle they’d requested. By the time they emerged onto the lawn, they were both smiling. They walked past the crumbling tennis court in comfortable silence.

  “I think it’s warm and dry enough for us to start playing again,” Max said.

  Olivia bounced on her toes. “Oh, yes! Let’s play tomorrow if it doesn’t rain.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” Max grinned at her delight with the plan. “Just be easy with me, all right?”

  She laughed. “I’ll try.”
>
  They turned from the exposed lawn into the shade of the forest. Olivia allowed Max to take the lead, and she smiled to herself when she realized he was heading toward the spring.

  When they arrived, Max bent and placed the bundle from the housekeeper on the flat rock where he’d been crouching the very first time she’d encountered him here. He unrolled the blanket and laid it on the ground beside the rock. Then he helped her to get comfortable on the blanket, and she leaned her back against a tree trunk, looking at the spring.

  “Oh, look, Max,” she breathed. “The geese are back.”

  Taking his seat beside her, the basket with their luncheon in it on his lap, he glanced at the pond. “So they are.”

  A proud mother goose swam by, followed by seven of the tiniest goslings.

  “Oh,” Olivia murmured, “they must be newly hatched. Aren’t they precious?”

  She felt Max’s eyes on her rather than the geese, and she glanced at him to see him giving her a soft smile.

  “Would you like to eat? Mrs. Timberfield packed some bread and cheese. And a bottle of wine.”

  “All right,” she said.

  Max laid the bowl of cubed pieces of bread and cheese between them, and he poured wine into the small glasses the housekeeper had provided for them. Olivia sipped at the wine and popped bits of bread and cheese in her mouth.

  She leaned back against the tree trunk, listening to the drone of the spring insects and feeling more contented than she ever had.

  “Olivia?”

  “Hm?”

  “How do you see the future?” he asked her.

  Gazing at the pond, she smiled. “I see it here. In England. With my family. All of us finally happy.”

  Suddenly, she felt unsure. She would have included Max in that idealistic picture, but did she dare? She couldn’t make any assumptions as to what his plans were. All she knew was that he’d long since given up on withdrawing when they made love… and that she risked pregnancy every time they came together.

  But the thought of bearing Max’s child—even out of wedlock—didn’t seem as appalling as it once had. If it turned out that she could bear children, she’d love to raise Max’s son or daughter. Having his baby wouldn’t change who she was. It wouldn’t affect her family’s love for her.

  She slid a glance at him to see him gazing soberly at her. “What about me?” he asked softly. “Do you ever think of me when you think of the future?”

  She moved the bowl away from between them and scooted closer to him, wrapping her arm around his chest and leaning up to kiss his jaw. She returned his question with one of her own. “Do you think of me, Max?”

  He captured her chin in his palm and tilted her face up to meet his lips.

  His kiss wasn’t gentle. It was powerful, possessive, and it thrummed with an energy that seemed to resonate through his body and over her before diving into her heart.

  The kiss deepened until it wasn’t a kiss anymore. She dimly realized that her breast was exposed, that his hand caressed it, the blunt tips of his fingers running over her nipple, sending bursts of pleasure through her, down to reside between her legs.

  She squirmed to release some of the pressure building there, and she felt the length of him, solid as steel against her thigh. He tugged her down until he was over her, and she was flat on her back staring up into those intense green eyes.

  He jerked his gaze away from her and moved down her body until his lips closed over her nipple, and she gasped at the sensation.

  “Oh, Max. I want you.”

  “Do you?” he asked.

  “Yes. Yes, please.”

  He looked up at her, his lips glistening from their kisses, his eyes intent, focused on her face. Serious.

  “When?” he asked her.

  “Now,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and drew him close.

  He kissed her again, but pulled away within moments to look at her again. “Just now?”

  “No,” she whispered. “No. I want you now…”

  He clutched her skirt and drew it up over her legs.

  “And tomorrow…” she continued.

  His fingers dragged over the sensitized skin of her calf.

  “And forever,” she admitted. She closed her eyes tight and waited. She’d just revealed her deepest desire to him. She had opened herself completely to him, giving him the power to laugh at her, to tell her that he hadn’t changed his mind about marriage, or that she was too sickly to qualify to be the duchess who would always stand at his side.

  A part of her hoped he’d enter her and they’d both ignore what she’d just said. That they could continue living in the present, so she wouldn’t have to think and worry about the future.

  “Open your eyes, Olivia.” His voice rasped with desire. His questing fingers found the slit in her drawers, and she arched up as he stroked the sensitive flesh between her legs.

  She couldn’t deny him. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her intently, his gaze seeming to bore through her and straight into her soul.

  “I love you,” he murmured. His sex nudged her entrance. “I’m going to love you forever.”

  He pushed in, seating himself deep inside her. She gasped at the invasion, but at the same time, her body arched up and opened for him, as if welcoming him home.

  He held himself there. Staring into her face, he said, “There is no other woman for me.”

  His words were fuel to her furnace, and as he moved, his body gliding, so large and velvety smooth deep within her, he stoked the flames, and she burned, outside and in. She came quickly and violently as fire whipped through her body, leaving her undulating under him, breathless and then crying out his name as the rapturous pleasure spread through her.

  He followed shortly afterward, thrusting forcefully inside her, so deep and so hard that she could only hold him and take whatever he gave her. But there was only pleasure, powerful pleasure that only months ago she wouldn’t have believed a human capable of.

  And then he thrust deep, and his body went rigid then released with a shudder, and she felt him pulse inside her in that vulnerable moment of a man completely losing himself in a woman’s arms. Her arms.

  He slumped to the side of her, pulling her against him. There were clothes tangled everywhere, but she didn’t care. She snuggled against him and sighed, utterly content.

  She was the only woman for him. The only woman he loved.

  A few moments later, he shifted, and she felt him adjusting her bodice back over her breasts and her skirts down to cover her ankles. He pulled up his own trousers and adjusted his shirt and stock.

  “I fear we’re hopelessly rumpled,” she murmured, not caring in the least.

  He grinned. “Well, I’d rather not face Stratford with pistols at dawn.”

  “Oh, it won’t come to that,” Olivia said. “My sister would never allow it.”

  He chuckled, then his face turned serious. “I brought you something.”

  “Did you?”

  He turned and rifled through the basket that had contained the food. She watched him, curious, as he removed a tiny box.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He opened the box and tilted it toward her so she could see the contents. A diamond ring lay on a bed of scarlet velvet. It was a single diamond, round cut, and larger than any Olivia had ever seen.

  “It’s a ring,” she said unnecessarily.

  “Yes. Do you like it?”

  She reached out to touch the glittering stone. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “It was my mother’s. I want you to have it, Olivia.”

  She blinked hard, looking from the ring to his eyes.

  “And I want you to be mine. Legally.”

  “Legally,” she repeated. She was suddenly incapable of intelligent speech.

  “Yes. I want to marry you.”

  “Oh,” she whispered. “Are… are you sure?”

  He groaned. “How ca
n you ask that? How can you question my certainty?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. He laid the ring box down on the blanket and cupped her face in his hands so she looked at him as he spoke. “Listen to me. I need you, Olivia. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, inside and out. You’re brave, strong, intelligent, and wise. I love you. I want you, and I need you. I want to spend my life at your side. I want to have you in my bed every night, and I want to wake up every morning with you beside me.”

  She flinched. “Max, I don’t know if I can bear children—”

  “I never planned to marry, so I never planned on having children. My cousin will inherit the dukedom. My desire to marry you has nothing to do with potential heirs. I want to marry you because I love you more than anything in this world. I want to marry you because I can’t imagine my life without you.” He stared into her eyes, so solemn, so intent. “I want you to be my duchess, Olivia. Please… say you will.”

  Pressing her lips together, she nodded. “Yes, Max,” she whispered, “I’ll be yours. Always.”

  His breath released in a sigh, and he bent down and kissed her tenderly, his lips moving softly, gently against hers in a caress so sweet it was like a warm wash of honey over her body and through her soul.

  Pulling away, he reached for the box with the ring in it. He removed the ring and slid it over her finger. He smiled down at it, then looked up at her. “We’re…” He took another breath, and his smile widened to a grin. “We’re engaged.”

  Biting her lower lip, she nodded. For the first time in her life, she truly believed that her infirmity didn’t preclude her from being worthy of being a wife. Of being a duchess.

  Max jumped up, pulling her up with him. Lifting her by the waist, he spun her around until she was giddy with laughter. “We’re engaged!”

  She threw her arms around him. “Yes, we are. And there’s nothing in the world that would make me happier right now.”

  “Speaking of the world,” he murmured into her ear, “I want to share the news with it.”

  “Hm, well, you’re more than welcome to shout it to the treetops, though I’m not sure the geese and birds would really care.”