The Seduction of Lady X

by Julia London

  “You must see my point, do you not, Mr. Tolly? If you esteem Lady Martha, you must find a way to marry her. I should think that Lord Higginbottom would be quite pleased to marry her to a steward. She is the third daughter, after all.”

  He smiled wryly. “I do not intend to marry Lady Martha, Miss Hastings. Now then, I would suggest that as we are two reasonable people, we keep our attention to the problem at hand and determine how we shall find our way.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning . . .” God in his heaven, Harrison had no idea what he meant. He no more wanted to marry this girl than she wanted him to marry her. And as she’d astutely mentioned, he had no hope that he’d find a workable solution. But Miss Hastings was so young she didn’t understand that the few choices she’d had as a female in general had been eliminated the moment she’d conceived the child she carried. “Meaning, we must plan carefully. For your sake, and for the sake of your sister. Are you quite certain that the father of your child will not stand up to his responsibility?”

  Miss Hastings’s cheeks turned crimson and she glanced down. “I shall be perfectly frank, Mr. Tolly. I do not care to speak to you of such personal matters. I should like to speak to Olivia.”

  “I am trying to help you, Miss Hastings. If you are frank and honest with me, the better we might see our way out of this quagmire.”

  Miss Hastings groaned as if he taxed her. Harrison remembered when Olivia had been as spirited. When she’d first married the marquis, she’d infused that old house with a sunny enthusiasm that only a pretty young woman might do. She’d delighted in hosting teas and picnics. As Miss Hastings paced before Harrison now, speaking very passionately about how she had no desire to marry, that she would find a way to raise the child all on her own even if that meant selling vegetables, Harrison tried to remember when exactly the sunshine had begun to fade away from the main house. It was as if the gravity of Lady Carey’s difficult marriage was pulling her down, pulling the lightness out of her.

  “I am not afraid of work, you know,” Miss Hastings said, finishing her soliloquy. “Not in the least.”

  “That is excellent news for any husband-to-be,” Harrison said. “I will not stand in your way if you feel you must sell vegetables. However, I should like to avoid it if possible, which means you must be forthcoming with me. Shall we have tea while we discuss it?”

  She sighed. The young woman knew she was defeated, and began to yank the gloves from her fingers. “Very well. But on the morrow, I shall return to Everdon Court where I belong. I won’t ask your permission, either. I intend to go of my own accord.”

  Harrison smiled as he walked to the bell pull. “Very well.”

  “I mean what I say, Mr. Tolly,” she warned him as she tossed her gloves aside and began to undo the clasp of her cloak. “You had best know now that I am quite independent. And by the bye, if we are to be forthcoming, you may call me Alexa. And what shall I call you?”

  He rather thought she might call him stark raving mad, but he said, “Harrison.”

  “All right. Harry, then,” she said as he led her out of the salon.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Edward didn’t appear for supper that evening. Olivia didn’t know or care where he was and dined alone, then retreated to her rooms in peace. She settled in with a book Mr. Tolly had given her one afternoon when she’d discovered him reading it. When she had expressed an interest in the book, he’d insisted she have it.

  “I couldn’t possibly,” she’d said, admiring the red leather binding.

  “But you must,” he’d said with a winsome smile. “It’s just been delivered from London. I understand it to be a rather fascinating tale of a steward.” He’d smiled a little lopsidedly, as if that amused him.

  “A steward? Truthfully?”

  “Truthfully. You may not be aware that stewards are generally a rather fascinating lot,” he’d said, his eyes twinkling. “They are stuffed to their hats with secrets and intriguing tales.”

  “Really?” she’d asked laughingly. “What sort of secrets?”

  “Oh, the usual,” he’d said casually. “Gambling and marauding and mayhem. Illicit loves and bamboozles.”

  Olivia had smiled. So had he. “I could not possibly be more intrigued.”

  “No?” He’d pressed the book into her hand, and Olivia had wondered if he’d felt the spark between them as she had. “You must have it,” he’d said. “It is a jolly good tale of the inhabitants of Castle Rackrent.”

  Olivia had glanced anxiously down the hall, expecting Edward to appear at any moment and demand to know what she was about. “Thank you,” she’d said softly. She could not recall the last time Edward had given her anything, or had desired to please her. “I appreciate it more than I can say.”

  Mr. Tolly had given her a smile that made her skin tingle, and Olivia had quickly walked away, the book clutched tightly in her hand.

  He was quite right about the book—it was indeed entertaining, and when Olivia finished it that night, she laid it on her lap, then leaned her head against the chaise, her eyes closed. She imagined Mr. Tolly seated in a chair at the dowager house, quietly passing an evening with this book in his lap, chuckling to himself from time to time.

  She heard Edward coming down the hall before she saw him—there was a thump, as if he’d bumped into something, followed by a curse. Foxed again, she thought, and in the next moment, Edward stumbled into her room, blinking at the light. “What are you about?” he demanded.

  Olivia put the book aside and smoothed her lap. She could smell the whiskey on him from across the room. “I was reading.”

  “Reading!” He snorted as if he didn’t believe that she was capable of reading. “I sincerely hope you are reading something that will improve your mind,” he said, and began to untie his neckcloth, yanking at it. “Frankly, I find your education lacking, Olivia. You have no knowledge or opinions on matters of import.”

  Olivia wondered how this man, who couldn’t stay out of the bottoms of his cups, could possibly think he knew what her opinions were on anything. He never inquired and was quick to cut her off when she did try to speak. “What matters?” she asked casually.

  Edward sighed impatiently. “That is precisely my point. I should not have to enumerate them for you, should I? What are you reading?”

  “A book.”

  “Clearly it is a book! What is the book?”

  “Castle Rackrent,” she said, and stood from her chair, walking to the hearth.

  Edward paused from his fumbled attempts to disrobe and peered at her, swaying a bit. “That does not sound like a book with any redeeming value. What sort of book is it?”

  And here they went, Olivia thought grimly. “A fictional tale,” she said with a shrug.

  Edward dropped his hands from his waistcoat, his face darkening. “Must I instruct you in everything? Is your judgment so poor? I do not approve of your reading fiction, Olivia. For God’s sake, if you choose to read, do me the small courtesy of reading something of value. Not something that will weaken your mind any more than it suffers already.”

  Olivia imagined herself with her archery bow, an arrow pulled taut, and letting it go, watching it pierce Edward between the eyes. “Yes, dear,” she demurred, and when he eyed her suspiciously, she smiled as innocently as she could.

  But of course Edward was not satisfied. “Where did you obtain this fictional tale?” he asked snidely.

  Olivia hesitated only slightly, but long enough for Edward’s face to redden. “I asked you a question.”

  “Mr. Tolly lent it to me.”

  Something flickered in Edward’s eyes. “Tolly,” he said. He turned away from her and worked at his waistcoat. “That one seems to be entirely too involved in the affairs of women of late,” he said, at last managing to discard the waistcoat. “I will admit that I was rather disappointed in his stepping forward for your whore of a sister. But then again, he himself is a bastard. Who better to raise a bastard than a bloody b
astard?”

  “Edward!” Olivia said, appalled by his remarks. “How can you say such a thing? Mr. Tolly has always been steadfast in his service to you and this family.”

  He shrugged. “Does that make him any less a bastard? Is he not the child of a whore, just as your sister’s child shall be?”

  Impotent anger tightened like a vise around her chest. She knew better than to argue, but she could not hear Mr. Tolly or Alexa maligned and not speak. “Alexa is not a whore—”

  “And now I find that he is passing books about to the feebleminded,” Edward continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I shall have to address his lapse of judgment.” He swayed as he pulled his shirt from his trousers.

  “It was not his lapse of judgment,” Olivia said quickly. “I asked him to bring me a work of fiction and he did as I asked.”

  Edward stilled. He lifted his head; his eyes had gone hard. “You asked him?”

  Olivia’s pulse ticked a little faster, but she looked him directly in the eye. “I did. The days can be rather tedious without an occupation.” She cringed inwardly at the look that came over Edward, the frown of disapproval that deepened the creases between his brows.

  “Well.” He threw his shirt aside and stood with his narrow chest and arms exposed. “It seems I must explain to the marchioness,” he said, his voice full of disgust, “that Mr. Tolly has responsibility for overseeing four estates and various business interests on behalf of this family.”

  “I am well aware of his responsibilities, Edward.”

  “Are you truly, Olivia?” he asked snidely. “For surely, if you were aware of his responsibilities, you would understand that it is beneath the man’s time and effort to be sent on a chase for fictional tales to amuse you.”

  “For heaven’s sake, it is only a book—”

  “Do not presume to tell me what it is or isn’t!” he snapped. “You are ignorant, Olivia. You bring to mind a cow standing before me now.”

  Olivia hated him. Reviled him. She hated his constant belittling, hated the way he smiled so cruelly, hated the air that he breathed, the space that he occupied. Her hope of a happy marriage had been so foolish, so naïve! For so long, she’d believed the best way to endure him was to agree with him. And in the beginning, there had been less trouble for her. But as time went on, the things she was forced to agree upon were more and more ludicrous or demeaning. Tonight she felt as if she couldn’t abide it another moment.

  There would be a price for it, but Olivia folded her arms and looked away.

  “Fear not, my love,” Edward said, as if they were playing a game. “I do not hold you entirely responsible for your many shortcomings. I think it is a defect of your birth . . . just as your inability to conceive a child is a gross defect.” He chuckled. “An inability to conceive children or ideas,” he said. “I married an imbecile.”

  Olivia started toward the dressing room. As she moved to pass him, she said, “It is more likely that the defect is in you, husband.”

  Edward’s response was lightning quick—he caught her, locking his fingers in a vise around her arm and yanking her toward him. “You think I am the defective one?” he breathed, and twirled her around, pushing her facedown onto the bed.

  Olivia instantly pushed herself up and off the bed. “You will not force yourself on me again,” she said breathlessly.

  Edward’s eyes turned black. He backhanded her across her mouth. The force of the blow sprawled Olivia onto the bed once more. It stunned her, but she managed to come up on her elbows and touch her fingers to her lips. He’d drawn blood.

  Olivia’s fury soared. She didn’t care that copulation was his legal right. She didn’t care that her mother had once told her that a wife’s duty was to submit willingly to her husband. She would not allow him to lay a hand on her, not without defending herself as best she could. She jumped up off the bed and faced him fully, her fists curled at her sides. “You are a beast. Keep your hands from me.”

  Edward’s laugh was loud and booming. Grinning like a madman, he lunged for her. Olivia tried to dart out of his reach, but he was too quick, too powerful. He threw her facedown onto the bed again and pinned her there with his body. “You stupid, stupid, bitch,” he breathed hotly onto her neck, filling her nostrils with the stench of his drink. “Do you think I took you to wife for your scintillating conversation? Your comely looks? I took you as a wife for one thing only, and that was to give me a bloody heir. And I will keep trying for what you owe me until you bear me one!” He put his arm across her neck and pressed her face into the coverlet. “If you cannot or will not provide me with my heir, I will see to it that I never have to look at you again. Do you understand me?”

  With that, he removed his arm from her neck, and as Olivia dragged air into her lungs, he took her by the shoulder and roughly flipped her onto her back. “So I ask you, Lady Carey, do you intend to open your legs to me as an obedient wife? Or shall you force me to take you?”

  Olivia was shaking, her fury was so great. She rose up on her elbows, lifted her face so that it was just below his. Edward misunderstood her; his gaze dropped to her lips and he lowered his head as if to kiss her. But Olivia turned her head to avoid his mouth and said, “I will never willingly submit to you again.”

  Edward’s mouth curved into a hideous smile. “Then you leave me no choice,” he said, and shoved her onto her back.

  Olivia fought him, but it was no use. In moments, he had her hands pinned above her head with one hand. He dragged her skirts up around her waist as Olivia kicked against him, then pried her thighs open with his knee as he freed his cock from his trousers and thrust into her like the beast he was, glaring down at her in dark triumph for having managed it.

  When he had finished with her, Olivia rolled onto her side, clutching the gown he had wrenched off her shoulders to cover her breasts, then closed her eyes and recalled Mr. Tolly’s broad hand on hers, squeezing her fingers reassuringly, infusing her with his calm.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Even in the flurry of activity that surrounded the marquis’s departure from Everdon Court, Harrison noticed a difference in his lordship’s demeanor. As the coach was loaded and the horses harnessed, Carey seemed distracted and distant. One might even say distrustful.

  And distrustful of him in particular.

  They stood in the drive along with Brock. A coachman held open the door of the chaise with the black plumes and elaborate gold scrolls painted on the sides. “All is at the ready, my lord,” he said.

  “Thank you.” The marquis moved as if to put himself inside the coach, but with one foot on the step, he paused and looked back, his gaze raking over Harrison. “You like to read, do you, Tolly?”

  It was such an odd question that Harrison felt the hackles on his neck rise. “I do.”

  “Works of fiction?”

  Harrison wasn’t certain he’d actually heard the slight drip of derision in the marquis’s voice. “From time to time.”

  “I believe fiction is a waste of an educated man’s good time,” Carey said as he smoothed the glove on his left hand. “Nevertheless, I suppose it is a personal choice.” His gaze locked on Harrison. “However, if my wife chooses to read, I will have her read something more enlightening than fairy tales. She has enough foolish thoughts in her head without adding to them.”

  Harrison didn’t know what to say to such a baffling, narrow-minded view.

  But Carey was not finished. His polished boot dropped from the coach step and he turned around to face Harrison fully. “I should like to know on what occasion you presented my wife with books.”

  He said it as if Harrison had presented her with a key to his private rooms, along with an engraved invitation to adultery. “The occasion was a chance encounter, my lord,” he said evenly. “As I do enjoy a fictional tale from time to time, I’d sent for books from London. On the afternoon they arrived, her ladyship happened by as I was perusing them.”

  “Just happened by, did she?” the marquis
asked skeptically.

  Harrison had rarely wanted to strike a man as he wanted to strike Carey in that moment. He had never been anything but unfailingly honest with the marquis. On more than one occasion, Carey had praised his frankness. “Yes. She happened by,” Harrison repeated coolly.

  And still Carey peered at him, as if he were looking for any sign that he was dissembling. He moved a step closer. “Tell me, Tolly—did you have the books delivered here for her?”

  Of all the years he’d served this man, he’d never once, not once, done anything that wasn’t entirely honorable. “Of course not,” he said curtly. “They were for me, just as I said.”

  If Carey noted the hardness in Harrison’s voice, he did not show it. In fact, his features seemed to relax. His gaze raked over Harrison once more, and then he turned away and climbed into the coach.

  “Godspeed, my lord,” Brock said.

  The marquis did not respond. The coachman shut the door behind him, then jumped on the back runner and called out to the driver. Seething, Harrison stood with his hands clasped tightly at his back as the coach pulled away.

  When the coach had disappeared from view, Harrison demanded of Brock, “Has something happened?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary of which I am aware, sir,” Brock said as the coach disappeared from sight behind him. “But one cannot say what goes on behind closed doors, if you take my meaning.”

  Harrison’s anger soared. “Is Lady Carey about?”

  “I believe she was tending to her correspondence in the green sitting room.”

  Harrison strode to the main house ahead of Brock, his pulse racing with indignant anger. He headed for Lady Carey’s sitting room and rapped insistently. “Come!” she called, and Harrison strode inside.

  Lady Carey was seated at a table with a cup of tea at her elbow and a thick stack of vellum. The quill of her pen was bobbing quickly across the page. When she looked up and saw him there, her face lit with a sunny smile. He could see the sparkle in her blue eyes across the room. Her lovely face was free of the frown that often creased her brow. She was shining with happiness.