“That’s because I am,” Michael replied lightly, the twinkle in his eye a sign of his teasing. He smiled and nodded in Jeffers’s direction. The butler came forward with his hat and a great coat, and after donning both, Michael led Olivia down the front steps.
With the help of a footman and Michael, Olivia climbed into the open carriage. Right behind her, Michael wrapped an arm around her shoulders and seated her next to him rather than in the seat across from him.
“Are you sure you are warm enough?” he asked, realizing he hadn’t given her a chance to stop for a shawl or mantle.
“Oh, yes, Michael, the night is perfect,” she replied with a smile, her fingers moving to touch the jewels at her neck.
“Your gown is beautiful,” Michael commented. “Who was your modiste?” he asked as the carriage pulled away from the curb and headed toward Mayfair.
“Madame Suzanne,” Olivia replied. “It was to have been a wedding gown for someone who apparently had second thoughts about her groom-to-be,” she said lightly, thinking she might have chosen such a gown for her own wedding had she been given the opportunity.
Michael snorted. “Indeed?” he answered, thinking the fit of the gown, the color and the style seemed to suit Olivia as if it had been custom made for her. “I am familiar with that modiste. My mother bought her last traveling ensemble there,” he said, a frown coming to his face. “I expect Madame Suzanne knows to send the bill to me?” he half-questioned, thinking the gown to be quite expensive.
Shaking her head, Olivia replied, “Oh, no. I paid for it with some of the pin money you gave me last Sunday.”
Michael regarded his wife for a moment, a look of surprise on his face. “You did not have to do that,” he said, his brows furrowing to the point that Olivia thought he might be angry.
A look of chagrin on her face, Olivia sighed. “I thought ... I thought that’s what pin money was for – to buy gowns and frippery and such,” she countered quietly.
Laughing out loud, Michael settled back in the squabs, pulling Olivia closer to him. “And here I thought you would spend your pin money on books.” He sighed and turned to place a kiss on her temple. “You aren’t going to cost me a lot, are you?” he teased, his free hand moving to take one of hers.
Olivia gasped as she considered the implication of his comment. “Did my father imply that I would?” she wondered, her ire suddenly up. She wasn’t about to admit that she had used some of her pin money to buy a book.
Michael regarded her for a moment. “Not at all,” he replied, the hand around her shoulder gently rubbing the top of her bare arm. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t spend what I want on you,” he added before he took a deep breath and then sighed rather loudly. “It came to my attention that I never asked you for your hand in marriage,” he finally said, his manner most serious.
“Oh?” Olivia replied, swallowing hard. “You must have spoken of it with my father ...”
“I did, in fact,” he replied before he reached into his topcoat and pulled out a ring, holding it up so she could see it in the light from the gas lamps they passed. “Here is the reason I missed dinner the night before last,” he murmured. “I waited for the jeweler to finish it.”
“Michael!” she breathed as she caught site of the sapphire and diamond ring. The stones were mounted on a gold band with the large, round cut sapphire surrounded by a ring of tiny white diamonds. The stones flashed and the gold glimmered with each passing street lamp.
“You’re not still wearing that piece of iron, I hope?” Michael said with a hint of disgust, reaching over to slide the ring onto her gloved finger. Over the satin fabric of her glove, the fit was rather snug, but Olivia considered she would be less likely to lose it during the ball. And she would be able to examine it more thoroughly under the candlelight in the ballroom at the Harvey’s.
“I most certainly am,” she retorted. “I’ve grown rather fond of it,” she added defensively, “Even if it does make my finger turn a bit green.”
Michael grinned and continued to hold her hand. “And this one?” he asked, fingering the sapphire with a thumb.
“I am already rather more fond of this one,” she admitted, ducking her head a bit in feigned embarrassment. “I shall wear it always,” she promised, angling her head so that she could kiss the corner of his mouth. He turned a bit and caught her lips in his, returning her kiss with a deeper one that left her both breathless and aroused.
“Will you be my wife?” Michael asked, his lips moving to her jawline and then down to her neck to briefly take purchase and kiss her. “Please?” he murmured, the word not sounding a bit like a plea.
Olivia sighed and smiled. “So, I suppose that means my attempts to be your wife this past week have failed?” she wondered, not exactly sure what he implied by the question. Was this his proposal?
Sitting up, Michael regarded her with mischievous eyes. “You have failed at nothing. I am the one who must start from the beginning,” he replied with a sigh. The carriage suddenly stopped and a liveried footman was opening the door.
Other carriages lined the street in front of the palatial home of the Harvey’s, their occupants spilling out onto the lawn. Michael stepped out and turned to assist Olivia, opting to lift her in his arms and carry her out of the carriage and towards the house until they were well onto stone flags leading up to the front door. Olivia squealed with feigned embarrassment when he finally deposited her on solid ground. They were both aware of the stares of nearby guests who were making their way to the large front doors along with them, their silk-covered shoes dampened by the wet grass and mud.
As they climbed the front steps and walked into the huge vestibule, Olivia felt a growing sense of unease. When would she meet Lady Cunningham? And would her mother-in-law deign to welcome her to the family? Or shun her son for having chosen a wife without a title? “Where is the reception line?” she whispered to Michael as he removed his hat and coat.
“There isn’t one, which is one of the reasons I prefer this ball over so many others,” he replied as he leaned over, his lips touching the edge of her ear as he spoke.
Olivia shivered at the feel of his warm breath on her neck and the feel of his lips on her ear. “Oh,” she replied, nearly breathless. “But you will introduce me to our hosts, I hope,” she countered.
“I promise I will if we should cross their path,” he replied, a smirk on his face. Michael left his top hat and greatcoat with a footman and led Olivia up a wide set of stairs to a landing and another set of stairs. When they reached the middle of the top step, Michael suddenly turned, reached to cup Olivia’s face with his free hand, and kissed her. It was a quick kiss, but Olivia colored up, embarrassed that he would do such a thing in the midst of such a public gathering. Her gasp was matched by those who saw Michael’s impropriety, but he was grinning when she looked up at him and relaxed a bit.
He turned his attention to a liveried man wearing a white powdered periwig. The man leaned over and listened to Michael. The herald nodded and stepped back, announcing in a loud but clear voice, “The Honorable Michael Cunningham and The Honorable Mrs. Michael Cunningham.”
Olivia inhaled sharply, her gaze directed down onto a huge room full of people who suddenly seemed to turn in unison and look directly at her. She was slightly aware of a collective gasp and glanced over at a still grinning Michael. His gaze was on her, but he nodded his head and indicated they needed to descend the steps leading to the ballroom floor. Returning his nod and a self-conscious grin, Olivia allowed him to lead her down the stairs, one quivering hand firmly tucked in the crook of his elbow while her other held her skirts. When they reached the bottom, Olivia took a deep breath of relief. Within seconds, several people were surrounding them, at once eyeing her as they congratulated Michael on his having married.
“You dog, you,” a rather tall, older gentleman was saying as he elbowed Michael. Olivia
was glad to be on his bruised side, thinking the man would have caused her husband a great deal of pain if he hit Michael’s ribs.
And then she recognized the man.
“Ah, Grandby, so good to see you!” Michael said as he slugged the man on the shoulder. “Olivia, this is Milton Grandby, one of my sparring partners,” Michael said in introduction.
Olivia curtsied as she gave the man a smile and then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “It’s an honor to see you again, my lord,” she said, a bit surprised that her husband would introduce the Earl of Torrington so casually, even if the man was her godfather.
The earl’s face seemed to redden a bit after Olivia’s kiss, but no more so than Michael’s. Grandby reached out and captured Olivia’s gloved hand and kissed the back of it, his eyebrow rising as he took in the sight of the sapphire ring. “You may call me Grandby, m’lady,” he said in a rich baritone, “But if you were not married, I would simply request that you call on me.”
Stunned by the overt suggestion, Olivia suppressed the urge to gasp and look horrified. Or giggle. “As one of your many goddaughters, I expect I shall do so as a courtesy,” she countered lightly.
The comment had the desired affect on Michael as one of his eyebrow’s cocked in understanding. Grandby was her godfather? Perhaps Grandby hadn’t recognized her. Michael was quick in his response, though. “Watch it, Grandby, or I’ll punch you really hard next time we’re in the ring,” he warned, his arm moving to capture Olivia around the waist and pull her a bit closer to him. Olivia couldn’t see the expression on Michael’s face, but the tone of his voice was light with amusement.
The Earl of Torrington rolled his eyes. “Christ! Olivia Waterford?” he confirmed as he held his hands out toward her shoulders. “The last time I saw you, you were ...” He held the palm of one hand out in front of him. “... Much shorter,” he claimed, using his other hand to make a fist. “I’ll be damned,” he said happily, turning his attention back to Michael.
As the earl moved to plant his fist squarely on the side of Michael’s shoulder, Olivia sucked in a breath and lifted a gloved hand to intersect the earl’s teasing punch. “I beg of you, my lord, save your punches for Gentleman Jackson’s,” she pleaded lightly, knowing the earl didn’t mean to do anything more than lightly punch Michael. She wasn’t about to have her husband more bruised than he already was, though.
Grandby’s eyes widened as he quickly pulled back his punch. “And she has quick reflexes, too!” he commented, his smile broadening as if he was proud of his goddaughter.
Stunned by his wife’s move to prevent him from being punched, Michael captured Olivia’s hand and redirected it to his lips, where he bestowed it with a kiss. “And very protective, too,” he murmured, an appreciative gaze directed at Olivia.
The earl watched the interplay between Michael and Olivia, saw how her face blushed as Michael regarded her and then redirected his gaze back to the ring on her hand. The viscount’s son had done well with his choice of wife. “Know any rich widows I could prey upon this evening?” he wondered, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the room. “I rather like this ball as it gives me the opportunity to find someone with whom I can attend all the rest of the events of the Season.”
This last remark was directed at Olivia, who still felt the color rising in her cheeks. But having overcome her initial embarrassment at defending her husband, she decided she could suggest one woman she knew was available. “I understand Lady Worthington has called off her wedding,” she commented with an arched eyebrow.
This was obviously news to the earl, and to Michael, too, as he turned his head to regard his wife. “Indeed?” Grandby replied quite happily. He glanced at Michael. “What happened?”
Michael shook his head. “This is the first I’ve heard that Weston is off the hook,” he replied, his eyebrow rising to match the earl’s. “Olivia?”
The color still high in her cheeks, Olivia bit her lower lip. “I do not wish to gossip ...”
“I order you to,” Grandby said as he moved closer, his manner suggesting he would do something untoward if she did not tell what she knew.
Olivia dared another quick glance at Michael before turning her attention back to her godfather. “She discovered her fiancé’s extreme gambling debts and did not wish for her fortune to be lost in a gaming hell,” Olivia stated quickly, deciding she didn’t want to find out what the earl had in mind for her if she didn’t tell. When she looked back up to find Michael frowning, she added with an apologetic tone, “I am wearing what would have been Lady Worthington’s wedding gown.”
A look of realization passed over his face, and he sighed. “No wonder you could buy it with your pin money,” he whispered, the corner of his mouth rising.
“I’m off then,” the earl announced suddenly. “I saw the lady just a moment ago near the lemonade. With luck, I’ll be her escort for the rest of this evening. Oh, and congratulations on winning the bet. I owe you some money,” he added as he pointed to Michael.
And then he hurried away, leaving the Cunninghams near the bottom of the stairs but with several people ready to take the earl’s place. “Congratulations, Cunningham,” another gentleman said as he shook Michael’s hand. “You won the marriage bet, I see,” Baron Whitehall commented as he passed by, his voice suggesting supreme disappointment. “My payment will be at White’s in the morning,” he added before he disappeared into the crowd.
Olivia gave a curious look in Michael’s direction, but he was already shaking hands with another acquaintance. “Sir William, so good to see you,” Michael said with a slight bow. “My wife, Olivia,” he said with a nod in her direction.
The younger man cocked an eyebrow and regarded Olivia with a half-smile. “Positively delicious, Cunningham. Where have you been keeping her?” he wondered as he finally returned his attention back to Michael.
Michael bristled at the rake’s behavior and his comment. “My wife lived not far from my home, so I have known her a very long time,” he answered as civilly as possible.
Sir William seemed surprised by the news, as did Olivia. “Oh,” he replied, one eyebrow cocking in a suggestive manner. “Congratulations to you both, then. I’ll leave your winnings at White’s after tomorrow’s supper,” he added before moving away and allowing another well-wisher to approach.
Olivia kept a smile on her face but wanted desperately to get Michael alone so she could ask him about his winnings. As they made their way through the crowded ballroom, Olivia was well aware of eyes turned in their direction, of heads bent together with hands and open fans hiding whispering mouths, of men who nodded at Michael as if he had performed some sort of miracle and of other men who regarded him with derision. She was also aware of a light-headed feeling and a graying around the edge of her vision that portended a fainting spell. Wishing she could hide in the ladies’ salon, Olivia tightened her grip on Michael’s arm until he was forced to turn his attention to her.
“I do believe I shall have another rather deep bruise on my arm in the morning,” Michael said as lightly as he could manage given his teeth were gritting from the increasing pain he felt.
Olivia gasped and released her hold on his arm. “Forgive me,” she whispered, her cheeks bright red but her face otherwise too pale.
Michael’s brows furrowed as he saw the evidence of her distress. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked, taking her hands in his as she swayed.
Before she could answer, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turned and led her through a set of French doors. Within moments, they were in the back garden terrace, Michael nearly carrying her as they made their escape from the ballroom.
The sudden wash of fresh air was a relief, and Olivia took a deep breath, her lungs filling and her vision clearing even as Michael set her on her feet. When she did not immediately return his gaze, Michael lifted her chin with a gloved forefinger. “What is it?” he asked,
concern in his voice. “You looked as if you were about to faint!”
Refusing to meet his gaze, Olivia bit her lip. Anger threatened to make her lash out at him. What kind of wager had he made at White’s that could possibly involve me? she wondered. He’d obviously won the bet. And how much had he made as a result of winning the bet?
He’d made a fool of her, she was sure. He had informed the Duchess of Somerset of their marriage even as she was making the final arrangements to be the woman’s governess. He must have planned their quick wedding well before it happened. He had obviously known exactly when their nuptials would be long before he climbed into her bed – had probably even arranged it with her father. And he had been her sister’s protector for... for nearly a year!
When Olivia finally looked up to meet his gaze, tears threatened, but she swallowed hard and fought to keep herself steady. “It’s about the ...,” she started to say before she caught the edge of her lower lip with a tooth and looked away. She could feel her face bloom with color, as much from embarrassment as from the extreme heat in the ballroom.
Michael contemplated what to say before he saw her hesitation. The way the edge of her lower lip was caught, as if she was trying to bite back what she was about to say – he’d seen that many times in the past. The familiar gesture made a smile almost come to his face. “Please say it, Olivia,” he urged gently, despite not being sure he really wanted to hear what she had to say.
From the comments in the ballroom, he realized she now knew there was a bet involving their wedding. She must really despise me, he reckoned as he once again wished he had never agreed to such a wager.
Olivia slowly brought her eyes back to his. “Is this to be a marriage of convenience?” she whispered, a tinge of sadness creeping into her voice.
His breath catching at the question, Michael clamped his lips into a straight line and pondered how to answer. “Some will claim that, I suppose,” he began uncertainly, his eyes darting around them to be sure they weren’t being overheard before returning their attention to her. “But not me. I admit that, yes, many years ago, I did accept a bet involving when I would marry,” he continued, squaring his shoulders. “But that ...”
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