Clearly he did not share her self-deprecating humour for he said with a narrow look, ‘The future Viscount Farquhar will not be brought up in such a manner. If you want to keep Julian, you forget yourself, Olivia.’
She heard his shuddering breath. ‘At the end of the week you will marry Reverend Kirkman. He has been … good … to you. You deserve each other.’
‘Oh God,’ she whispered, covering her face with her hands. ‘Would you really condemn me to torment by forcing me to marry him? Just because he knows the worst of me? I am not so far beyond redemption.’
‘I have discovered too much, Olivia, to know what alternative you have.’
She nearly choked on her anger. ‘You self-righteous beast!’ she cried, lunging at him with flailing fists. ‘You’re no better than Lucien! I hate you!’
Caught by surprise as the glancing blow struck his jaw, he gripped her wrists while pain tore behind his eyes.
‘You hate me?’ he repeated.
He could not believe it of her. What did she expect? To allow her carte blanche to continue her reckless, ill-chosen path, dragging Julian along with her?’
Wincing, he acknowledged his love for the boy. How could he not?
For more than a year they had been as close as father and son.
Her eyes were like blue thunder, her skin flushed and her creamy flesh tantalizingly bared by her sumptuous, scandalous dress; he thought he’d never wanted her so much.
But the price was too high. She would forever revel in the power she had over him. He did not think his manhood could sustain a lifetime of it.
She was straining across his lap as he caught her wrists. Holding them above her head caused her body to sag into his. He closed his eyes against the desire to place a kiss upon the flesh that swelled above her low cut bodice; fought the raging impulses that rushed through his body as anger faded beneath his yearning. Her hot breath on his cheek as he parried her blows quickly fanned the flames into full blown desire.
For an instant she stilled. He opened his eyes in the startled silence and saw that she felt it, too. She wilted in his embrace, her face inches from his, her eyes dark pools of need.
The thread that connected their two hearts from the moment they’d met tugged tighter. He was devastatingly aware of the soft contours of her body and for a second he almost yielded.
Of all the women he’d known, none had the power to stir his senses as the fascinating, faithless creature before him.
Common sense returned and he jerked back as if stung.
He turned his head away before the hurt and surprise on her face could weave their spell upon his all too susceptible heart.
‘We’re here,’ he said as the horses turned into the stable yard. With enormous effort he kept his voice neutral. ‘Kirkman is waiting for you.’
She did not want to go. He knew he forced her against her will; that he was abusing his power in this act of spite and self-righteousness.
He didn’t care. If she hated him for it, all the better. He didn’t know if he had the fortitude to hold out if it was any other way.
Smoothing her dress she sat back in her seat, glaring at him. ‘I had not known such a fine line existed between the affection you’ve always extended towards me and’ – she nearly choked on the words – ‘the disgust you clearly feel for me now.’
When he didn’t answer she whispered after a silence, ‘Could I change your mind?’ Then, more desperately, ‘I do not wish to marry Reverend Kirkman. Since I have made that plain, perhaps you’d like to know my reasons.’
‘I’m not interested in your reasons.’ He knew he was being childish and pig-headed but he wanted to hurt her. Humiliate her.
The carriage jerked to a halt and Max rose over her in the small space. It was not a comforting thought that his domination and angry snarl: ‘Perhaps confessing tonight’s little dalliance might ease your conscience’ could only remind her of Lucien. Yet perhaps Lucien’s behaviour was not so reprehensible given all he had learned of Olivia. Opening the door and jumping out on to the hay-strewn cobblestones he added, ‘If you have one.’
A stable boy ran up to enquire if Max needed fresh horses. Shaking his head he turned back to Olivia who remained seated.
‘Please Max, I will go anywhere except back to him. Take me back to my aunts! Please!’ Her disembodied, heartrending entreaty did not soften his resolve.
The dawn shouts of the inn servants as they began their work and the creaking of the water pump were reassuring. Cocooned in darkness the intimacy between them during the ride here had nearly undone him. Now daylight provided a welcome barrier. Yet as his gaze raked her magnificent body and lingered on the perfection of her mutinous face he acknowledged it would not take much before her charms overcame his hurt and anger.
If he were to accede to her reasonable request to be conveyed back to her aunts the consequent confinement would be detrimental to his resolve to sever all contact. He would be as enslaved as he ever had.
He dare not risk it. Reaching in he took her wrist. She gripped the door and resisted. ‘Take me back to my aunts! I’m not going!’
Releasing her, he glanced round, realizing the dangerous path he trod. He could hardly drag Olivia kicking and screaming through the inn and deliver her to a no-doubt still slumbering Kirkman.
Disgusted by his heavy-handed tactics he slumped against the carriage door. What should he do now? He thought he heard her sobbing until her shrill cry shredded all sympathy.
‘Take me back and I will restore your fortune, Max!’
Her tear-stained face emerged from the carriage, her bosom heaving above the enormous pink silk roses that adorned her dress. The dress of a courtesan; and the lies of a woman who would debase herself to the limits if she saw profit in it.
‘I know where the gold is! Take me back and I’ll prove it!’
‘Mr Atherton?’
Relief surged through him at the familiar voice. He doubted he’d have had the fortitude to parry Olivia’s latest sensual onslaught had rescue not arrived in the unlikely and unexpected form of The Rev’d Kirkman. He did not for a moment believe her last desperate gambit.
Careful not to look at her he bowed to the soberly clad gentleman whose shock at their unconventional arrival was palpable, and said through gritted teeth, ‘Lady Farquhar was anxious to see you.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NATHANIEL’S ROOM WAS cold and Spartan. No fire had been lit as he’d intended spending the day in Bath searching for Olivia.
Oh, he knew where she was, but he was not so certain he’d have been received by the ladies who lived in the fashionable townhouse in Laura Place. Who knew what tales they’d been told about him? That’s why he’d planned to waylay Olivia when she was out walking. He could think of no other way of managing it. Of making her understand marriage to him was her only recourse, despite the impulses of her foolish heart.
Until Max Atherton had kindly delivered her to him.
He shook his head, tempted to laugh at the way matters had played into his hands. Max, his greatest threat – his only threat, really – had delivered his quarry to him.
Olivia quailed at the menace in his eyes before returning his hard look.
‘You ask what I have done to have so vexed Mr Atherton? Perhaps the truth is best, Nathaniel.’ Clasping her satin gloves together she adopted a business-like manner from the wooden chair on which she sat.
‘I would hope the truth is always best, my dear.’
She was not deceived by the silken tone. Nathaniel, she had come to realize, was always at his most dangerous when he spoke like this.
In a few sentences she told him about Mariah’s plan and Max’s anger at discovering her in the arms of young Lucy’s paramour.
Nathaniel’s scorn turned quickly to amusement. Pacing the floorboards in front of the empty fireplace, he shook his head as if unable to believe her tale. Finally, to her astonishment he began to laugh.
‘By the saints in Heaven, Oli
via, I cannot believe that you have been delivered to me, on a platter so to speak. And by Mr Atherton!’ He could barely speak for chuckling. ‘It reminds me of the lively entertainments Lucien staged in which you were the star attraction.’
She glared at him. ‘How dare you speak of those days—?’
Grinning as he turned to face her, he cut through her objections.
‘You realize Mr Atherton believes I am Julian’s father.’
Her lungs deflated. Gasping, she leapt to her feet, the chair crashing behind her.
‘He believes no such thing!’ Blackness whirled before her as she grappled to back up her denial, a thousand truncated exchanges teasing her memory with their potential for misunderstanding. ‘He couldn’t! I wrote and explained everything surrounding the night I took Julian in.’
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Yet he still deposited you here.’
In a gesture of self protection Olivia’s hands went to her throat as he slowly circled her before going to stand in the window embrasure.
‘For someone who thinks herself so clever, my dear Olivia, you are remarkably credulous.’ He chuckled again: a low, evil, gloating noise that made her insides resonate with fear.
She’d never been this afraid of him, before.
‘My dear Olivia, of course that letter did not reach Max Atherton.’ From his pocket he pulled an elegant wafer which he slapped upon the table. ‘When I suspected a damaging little confession from you was forthcoming I was ever vigilant.’
The blood drained from her head as she stared at the letter she had written to Max. She could feel her self-control slipping. Desperately she struggled to keep up the bravado, her voice cool and imperious as she said, ‘Since Max has deposited me here and I have no wish to remain, please be good enough to advance me a small sum so I can return to my aunts.’ She drew herself up, wishing her dress did not expose so much flesh.
He stroked his chin, his expression thoughtful. Slowly he advanced. Her mouth felt dry. She could feel fear swelling her glands, making it hard to swallow; knew she must not let Nathaniel sense it. She tried to choke it back but it was too strong, too overpowering.
‘I’m not going to marry you and you’re not going to rear the future Viscount Farquhar,’ she cried, recoiling from the hand he extended to stroke the side of her neck. ‘That’s what it was all about for you, wasn’t it? The power you’d have as Julian’s guardian.’
It was suddenly clear. Cursing herself for a fool, she railed at him, ‘You wanted me to trust you, yet all you wanted was power over me!’ Nathaniel’s smile was pitying. ‘Dearest Olivia, what have I done that you suddenly hold me in such aversion? Four days ago you eagerly anticipated being a bride.’
‘Not yours, Nathaniel.’ With a shuddering breath she whispered, ‘Never yours.’
He shook his head as if her words caused him sorrow while his eyes told a different story. They were black with anger. ‘After all I’ve done for you, Olivia. The scandals I’ve had to deny, the lengths I’ve gone to protect you from Lucien’s ill temper.’
‘To shore up your own position.’ Strange how the truth revealed itself only now.
His finger hovered in the air just below her breast. ‘Lady Farquhar’s butterfly has brought you notoriety, Olivia. If you continue to refuse my suit, if you won’t accept the respectability I’m offering you, you’ll not find it elsewhere.’
‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!’
‘Your Mr Atherton must have been very angry to have deposited you on my doorstep.’ He pursed his lips in a parody of sympathy.
‘Clearly he has withdrawn from the quest for your affections. Still,’ he added, ‘I’ve no doubt there are many other worthy, blameless young women eager to fill the breach.’
His hands caressed her throat, toying with the pendant, the key Max had threaded through the chain around her neck in the attic that night.
The key to Elmwood. The fact Max laboured under the most ghastly of misapprehensions and that she had failed to convey to him so much that was important gave her courage. ‘He will think differently when I tell him the truth.’
If she could only stop herself trembling. She wondered if her fear would fuel Nathaniel’s malice as it once had her husband’s. For the moment his manner was restrained, almost gentle. Lucien had used this tactic as a precursor to violence. She trembled even more as Nathaniel ignored her last remark, murmuring, ‘Here you are, horribly compromised in my chamber, yet still you refuse to marry the only man who’s prepared to pave your way back into society. You will be ruined, Olivia.’
‘Marrying a man I detest is not worth my return to society – in the unlikely event the truth does not change Max’s mind.’ She held herself proudly. ‘Regardless, my greatest comfort is knowing Julian will be well looked after by Max who loves him as his own son. For you surely never did, Nathaniel.’
He chuckled again, staring out through the greasy windows. With his dark, oiled hair combed back from his high, greasy forehead and his full, gloating lips, he looked more like a repulsive toad than ever.
She seized her moment. Leaping out of the chair she ran towards the door, gripping the knob as Nathaniel’s voice floated from the window embrasure.
‘You really have lost your wits, Olivia, if you think you can simply step out of this room and find your way home.’
‘I shall walk if I have to!’ she cried, as she tried to make the door yield.
‘An attractive proposition for the first drunken rider passing,’ he chuckled.
She must not buckle now, though she realized the door had been locked. The key, however, still protruded, though it was stiff. Relief flooded her as it ground its rotation. ‘Goodbye, Nathaniel.’
‘Not so fast, Olivia!’
How quickly he moved for such a heavy man, she thought as he gripped her elbow.
‘Not when you’ve failed to give satisfaction.’
His words were ominous, but when he saw the revulsion in her face his lip curled. ‘I admit I am disappointed to be denied your charms in the marriage bed, but the idea of forcing myself on you is even more repugnant.’
‘Then let me go,’ she whispered, looking at his fingers curled around her forearm.
‘Not until you show me what’s in your reticule.’
No sooner had Max closed the door of Amelia’s drawing room than he found himself facing down a veritable regiment of women.
So much for a quiet sanctuary followed by the catharsis of sleep to calm his disordered wits, thought Max, as he was confronted by Olivia’s aunts, flanked by a formidable-looking woman in a gold toque.
Oh Lord, and there was Olivia’s cousin, Miss Lucy, too!
Amelia and Jonathan, he’d been told by the weary parlour maid who admitted him, had gone to bed.
‘Where’s Olivia?’ Aunt Eunice’s voice was strained as she peered past his shoulder.
On the sofa beside her, the young chestnut-haired Lucy raised a pale, blotched face, her mouth trembling as she wailed, ‘So you were too late, Mr Atherton! They’ve eloped, haven’t they?’ Before he could reply she dissolved into tears against her mother.
Grimly, he said, ‘There has been no elopement, Miss Lucy. I have just returned Lady Farquhar to Reverend Kirkman whom she is to marry at the end of the week.’ He doubted he had the fortitude to answer any more questions. Especially ones that brought back the uncomfortably draconian manner in which he had handed Olivia over.
He was surprised at the reaction to his perfectly reasonable announcement. Surely it was the outcome everyone had expected; desired, even.
‘The reverend!’ gasped Aunt Catherine, springing up and clutching her bosom as if he’d just told her he’d returned her to Bluebeard himself. ‘Oh dear me, no! Surely she did not request it?’
His discomfort grew. ‘It would appear Olivia does not know her own mind, yet it is too late for her to withdraw without great damage to her reputation.’ He picked up Jonathon’s snuff box which lay on the mantel
piece. Distractedly, he added, ‘Do you not think it better than facing the accusing stares of all of you in this room? It was a kindness.’
‘A kindness?’ repeated Aunt Eunice. Her thin frame trembled as she also rose. ‘Olivia holds that man in great aversion. She ended matters between them quite decisively before she accompanied us to Bath.’
Aunt Catherine dabbed at her eyes with a scrap of lace. ‘She did not deserve it, Mr Atherton. Not after what she did for Lucy.’
Silently, Max prayed for fortitude. Lucy?
‘She ruined my life!’ Lucy cried on a choking sob.
Aunt Eunice sank back upon the sofa. ‘I really don’t understand all this talk of betrayal, Lucy,’ she muttered. ‘And if Olivia has returned to Mr Kirkman, surely it proves her blameless?’
Aunt Catherine lent her argument to the cause. ‘Why would Olivia steal away your admirer, Lucy, when her heart clearly belongs elsewhere?’ She levelled an accusing look at Max as she settled herself beside her sister. ‘Besides, she only met Mr Petersham this evening and your mama has tried to tell you Olivia is blameless in the whole matter.’
‘Lady Farquhar has shown Mr Petersham up for what he is, Lucy!’ said Aunt Eunice. ‘It was very kind of her when she did not want to do it.’
Did not want to do it?
‘She was not unwilling!’ Lucy cried, close to tears. ‘I saw them!’ Max had seen them, too. With distaste he recalled the vision:
Olivia’s body pliant beneath the onslaught of that … villain’s … ardour.
Though, on reflection, it was difficult to gauge how pliant she had been. Yet he had jumped to the only conclusion possible, he defended himself, silently.
‘No respectable woman would compromise herself like that if she did not want to!’ Lucy persisted. ‘I hate her! I never want to see her again!’
Aunt Eunice gave Lucy a gentle shake. ‘You should never want to see Mr Petersham again, for Lady Farquhar has shown him up for exactly what he is.’
The lady in the gold toque leant forward. ‘A fortune-hunter, Lucy, and it was only because I prevailed upon your cousin to … to compromise herself – though that is too strong a word for I ensured the assignation was in private so there was no risk to her reputation—’
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