Miss Goldsleigh's Secret

by Amylynn Bright

  “I do so hope I can count on a waltz from you at this evening’s ball.” Moreau looked to the Cavendish sisters as if to include them in his broad request. “May I make my request known now, chérie?” He closed the gap she’d placed between them, causing her to breathe through her mouth in an effort not to take in the overpowering aroma of his cologne.

  “I don’t know that will be possible, sir.” Her head pounded. “I’m not sure if I’ll be out this evening.” There was too much to do, too much to plan, and now this headache growing with each passing minute, she’d be useless anyway. Going to a ball was too frivolous to consider.

  Penelope looked to her friend in concern. “Olivia, why would you even consider staying in tonight of all nights? The Harcourt Ball is tonight, and it’s a very important social occasion. I know Aunt Evelyn is excited about presenting you there.”

  “Besides,” Cassandra added, “it would be bad form to disappear after receiving all those flowers. Are you ill?”

  Now she was cornered. Other friends who saw the little group were approaching, and soon there would be a dozen or more ladies and gentlemen crowded around them on the grass. “Actually, my head is pounding,” she confessed.

  “Then you must return home straightaway and take care of yourself.” The Frenchman took her by the elbow as if he planned to escort her home himself. “I shudder to think how many les juenes hommes will be disappointed if your beautiful face and esprit are not there this evening. Please, I beg of you.”

  Olivia gently removed her arm from his grasp. If he planned to take her all the way home, she was sure to vomit on his boots, and if her staying away from one ball caused him such distress, imagine what ruining his gleaming Hessians would do.

  “Perhaps that would be a good idea.” Penelope must have picked up on her distress because she skillfully insinuated herself between Olivia and the gentleman. “We’ll be quite all right, sir. In fact, I see one of our footmen just there on the path. He will see that we arrive safely home.”

  “Until tonight then.” Moreau seemed to seal her fate.

  Cassandra stepped to Olivia’s other side. “We will count on it, sir.”

  Olivia fervently hoped, as the three of them plus the addition of the huge footman made their way back to the house on Cavendish Square, that this headache would do her a favor and kill her.

  You couldn’t possibly be that lucky.

  ***

  She wasn’t. Dead that is. Why had luck forsaken her altogether?

  She awoke from a nap in the early afternoon, and her headache was significantly diminished. The minute they’d arrived home from their jaunt in the park, Cassandra and Penelope had hustled her up to bed, forced her to take a headache powder she suspected was laced with laudanum to make her sleep, and closed the curtains to shut out the light. The housekeeper arrived minutes later with cool compresses for her nape and a pillow of crushed lavender to lay her head upon. Olivia had only minutes to complain to herself about the highhandedness of it all before she succumbed to a deep, restorative sleep.

  She stared at the ceiling, blindly fixated on the plaster mouldings, and contemplated how clean and comfortable the bed was and the fact that she couldn’t hear rats scrambling around in the walls. Her last migraine had ended with a night spent sleeping in an opium den after she’d become delirious from the pain. That was the night Warren had been recruited by the house-breaking crew. The next morning, Olivia had vowed to get them out of the slums and two days later she’d collapsed into Lord Dalton’s arms on Bond Street.

  She turned to her side and curled around a pillow, hugging it tight to her middle. Perhaps if she begged Lord Dalton, he would see fit to allow Warren to stay for a while until she could get settled somewhere and send for him. It would be much easier to make her way alone than with an injured boy in tow. That was another consideration entirely. Traveling now might be very dangerous for Warren.

  She’d seen the man watching from across the street when she’d gone out with Penny and Cassie to the park this morning. Now that Lord Dalton had told her about them, she was watchful, and she wasn’t at all surprised to see him there. He was a rather rough-looking sort, and she thought it odd that he didn’t appear more official. Perhaps he was an underling, a man hired by Bow Street to do the dirty work. What did she know about the officials anyway? She’d spent the last weeks hiding from men she suspected were watching her for the purposes of bringing her to justice, not studying them like a science experiment.

  Olivia tossed the pillow aside and levered herself up from the bed. Nothing would get done by pouting. She straightened her day dress, but it was hopelessly wrinkled from sleeping in it. One look in the mirror told her what she already suspected; her hair was a disheveled mess. She raked her fingers through the loose strands, trying to marry them up by tucking and twisting them in with the masses of blonde hair still in the pins. If she ended up going to the ball this evening, then Natalie would redo it, and if she didn’t attend, then what difference did it make? She looked in the mirror and shrugged, not really caring.

  The hallway was empty all the way down the corridor to her brother’s room. Warren wasn’t in his room either. His bed was made, the covers pulled tight and the pillows piled high. Shutting the door, she went in search of her brother.

  Her feet seemed to naturally wind themselves through the rooms and passageways until she found herself outside Lord Dalton’s study. With the door ajar, Dalton’s and Warren’s voices drifted into the hall.

  “…drank a lot and then he would,” her brother’s voice told Dalton.

  “Often?” Dalton questioned. “How often? Once or twice a month?”

  There was a brief pause before Warren answered, “No, every couple of days.”

  “Days?” Dalton replied, incredulous. “For how long?”

  “I don’t know, about three or four weeks I guess.”

  “You’re telling me your cousin got drunk and beat you and Olivia for weeks?” Olivia heard something slam down hard on wood. “Goddamn it all to hell.”

  “Well, he wasn’t really my cousin, exactly. He was Livvy’s cousin,” Warren explained.

  “How did you get away?” Dalton asked from somewhere closer to the door than he had been earlier.

  That question was enough to galvanize her into movement. “That’s quite enough, Warren,” she announced and strode through the door. “I’ve been looking for you all over the house.”

  Warren’s smile was broad and genuine when he stood from the enormous chair he occupied. “Hello, Livvy.”

  “You must be feeling much better.” She avoided eye contact with Lord Dalton. She knew he watched her—she felt his heated gaze—but after last night’s lust-filled and angry exchange, she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “My arm still hurts, but staying in bed is boring. Lord Dalton’s valet helped me get dressed.” Warren swept his hand down in front of himself, displaying his trousers and shirt.

  Olivia couldn’t help but smile. “Very nice. I do think it’s time to leave Lord Dalton to his work, though. Don’t you?” She looked at her brother pointedly.

  “Oh,” He clearly understood and seemed chagrined at how much he’d already said. “But, Livvy, what if he can help us?”

  Olivia didn’t answer. Lord Dalton had already helped them more than she could ever repay.

  A deep voice resonated behind her. “Warren was telling me more about your situation. Olivia, let me help you.” She noticed right off that he was using her Christian name. I guess we’re still stuck on that, are we?

  “I heard. Warren, will you excuse the marquess and me, please?”

  Warren stared at her for several long seconds before he spoke. “I didn’t say anything. I promise.”

  “I’m not angry at you, honey, but I need to speak with his lordship privately.”

  Warren cast her a frustrated glance and snorted a disheartened breath before glancing at Lord Dalton. Obviously, the marquess wasn’t going to undermine her request, and
the boy trudged out of the room. She followed him to the door and shut it behind him. She was alone with the man, which flew against all her good sense, but Olivia had much to accomplish in the next day or so, and she couldn’t worry about frivolous things like social conventions and the unseemliness of being alone with a man in a closed room. Besides, how much worse could it end up than it had the night before?

  She turned to face Lord Dalton. My word, he’s beautiful. She marshaled her emotions and tamped down the heat that threatened to flare just by being the object of his undivided attention. “I thank you very much for all you and your family have done. Your assistance is more than I deserve.” When he started to speak, she held up a quieting hand. “My lord, there is much you don’t know about the situation, things I can’t tell you, and I wish you wouldn’t pry into our lives or ask Warren about it. He’s just a little boy, and that’s not fair.”

  “Olivia, I’m not trying to pry. Let me help you.” Lord Dalton reached for her hands, but she clasped them tightly together at her waist. It was difficult enough to have this conversation and ask what she needed to ask without adding the confusion of his touching her. Rebuffed, Dalton withdrew his hands, but he didn’t step back. “Warren is the most mature ten-year-old I’ve ever met.”

  “Yes, he is,” she agreed, “but he’s still a little boy, and it’s my fault he’s had to experience so much…awfulness.”

  “You’re being much too hard on yourself.” He advanced another step toward her, but she didn’t retreat this time. “You don’t need to do this all on your own. I can help you.”

  “You can help me, if you’re willing.” Olivia swallowed hard, and darn it all if she didn’t feel the annoying pinpricks of tears behind her eyes. She rushed the words from her mouth in an effort to control her emotions. “It’s more important than ever I leave as soon as possible.”

  Dalton shook his head with finality. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  She looked at him. “There are reasons I can’t stay here any longer.”

  Dalton’s eyes narrowed into ice-blue slits, and his voice took on a hard edge. “It’s time to stop playing games, Olivia, and tell me what the devil you’re hiding.”

  Oh, she wanted to, really. But the risk was much too great. If she had any hope of saving herself, she’d take it, but her greatest desire for now was to distance herself and her nightmare from this family, from this gorgeous man, from the only family she had left. What was the saying, sacrifice one for the many? Something like that.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She waved dismissively, but he didn’t appear dismissed. “Since our conversation last night…”

  “Oh my God.” He ran his hand through his hair, incensed and savage. “This is about last night? You’re still angry about what I said? Olivia, I am truly sorry. I thought you understood my words came out wrong.”

  “No, I accepted your apology last night, and I haven’t thought one word about it since.” Liar.

  “Then you’re leaving because of the kiss.”

  “No.” But she couldn’t meet his eye when she said it. Besides, that was hardly just a kiss. She didn’t even try to say she hadn’t thought about that since it happened.

  Henry laid his hand on Olivia’s upper arm, lightly squeezing her through the layer of her dress. “I apologize again for last night. I can’t imagine what came over me.” He truly didn’t. He’d acted like a lust-mad debaucher of women, and he’d be horrified if he didn’t want to do it again right this minute.

  He’d nearly choked on his cheroot and brandy when she walked into his study, her hair sleep tousled and unbelievably sexy, and completely ignored him to admonish her brother. Her ignoring him was just as well since he couldn’t have immediately formed intelligent words. His mouth dry and all the blood rushing south were not conditions conducive to nimble conversation. He endeavored to be very careful with her now. With last night’s debacle so fresh in his memory, he didn’t want to flub it again.

  “I’m not angry at you for anything, Lord Dalton.” Damn it, why wouldn’t she call him Henry? “I was just as culpable for last night as you were. I could have stopped you earlier if I’d wanted to.”

  He seriously doubted it. Fortunately, he wasn’t that kind of gentleman, and it never would have come to that point. Henry wondered where things would have ended up if he’d pressed his suit a little harder. Images of creamy skin, tangled flaxen hair and handfuls of breasts filled his imagination and shut off all sound but the roaring of heated blood in his ears. He exhaled a controlled breath in a desperate attempt to calm himself.

  “…last night, it’s just that much clearer.” She finished a long sentence Henry suspected was rather important.

  “What about last night?” he asked, trying to back everything up and get a handle on the situation.

  “Those men you saw last night, and the one today.” Olivia waved her hand in an expansive gesture. “I have to leave here. Not just for my sake, but for yours and your family. I’ll never forgive myself if anything should happen.”

  “You’re not leaving. I’m finally starting to unravel this mess, and I won’t allow you to run willy-nilly out in the streets of London because you seek to make things easier on us. No one here wants you to leave.” He barreled on when Olivia stared back at him with a look of implacability and determination. “I received word from my man earlier today. I’ve been waiting for you to recover from your migraine so we could discuss it.”

  “What man?”

  Henry didn’t like the look of fear that overtook her delicate features. “I sent a man to Draycott in the Moors straightaway to find out what he could about your cousin and the situation. I received an express packet from him this afternoon.” Dear Lord, she wasn’t going to faint again, was she? One slim-fingered hand trembled at her throat, and her face had gone alarmingly pale. He led her to the sofa and sat next to her, wisely not settling her on his lap as he had the previous evening. He continued gently since she stared up at him with owlishly large eyes that urged him to go on. “Curiously, your cousin hasn’t been seen much since about the time you and Warren fled for town.”

  Olivia moaned, wrapped her arms about her middle, and hugged herself tight. Her panic seemed overwrought to him, but what did he know? Henry had never been at the mercy of someone much bigger, stronger and more powerful than himself. He tried to imagine the terror of being forced to lock himself in a room, barring the door against imminent rape. How did a woman as petite as Olivia protect herself from a grown man? Wasn’t it just minutes ago he’d thought to himself that if he’d really wanted to pursue relations with her last night she would have been unable to stop him? Of course, he’d thought of seducing her, not forcing her like her cousin had intended, but the point was the same.

  She loosened the hold on herself long enough to dash a tear from her cheek.

  “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Olivia,” he rushed to reassure her. “You’re under my protection here, in this house. He can’t get to you now.”

  “No.” Her voice was modulated and eerily calm as she agreed with him. “Reginald can’t get to me now.”

  “So you’re agreed then. Excellent.”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “With all you’ve already done and all you’ve implied you are still willing to do—well, I don’t know where we’d be without you. Still in the park or someplace much worse, I’d imagine. I have no right to ask more…”

  “What do you need, Olivia? I haven’t heard from the solicitor yet, but that should be soon. I’m at your service. You should know that by now.”

  “Please let Warren stay here for a little while. Until I can get settled somewhere.”

  Dalton catapulted from the sofa like a furious rocket.

  She rushed to continue. “Please let me finish. He won’t be any trouble to you, I’m sure. I will reimburse you for his room and board somehow. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Hells bells, Olivia,” Henry thundered.
“Are you determined to get yourself killed?”

  She snorted at him. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

  “Then why are you so insistent on wandering off into the slums of London as opposed to accepting my help and protection? It’s really quite insulting.”

  “It’s for your own good. And I wasn’t thinking of London at all,” she said, the flash of her eyes and the set of her mouth defiant. “I’m thinking of America or the Continent somewhere. Things are different in America. I could get a job there without a reference. I am educated after all.”

  “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

  “I am not ridiculous. I’ve thought about this plan quite a lot actually.”

  Hands on his hips, Henry stared down at the lovely bird-brained woman perched on the edge of his sofa. “Oh really,” he challenged. “You’ve established a plan then. That’s good to know. Is it a better one than what guided you in London? Have you decided on a locale with balmy nights and rainless skies, because you won’t last thirty seconds sleeping on park benches in the cold rain.”

  Olivia rose from the sofa, her mouth agape and her eyes pinched in anger. “Sarcasm is mean, Lord Dalton.”

  “You’re a fool with this idiocy.” He wanted to shake her until he could hear some sense rattling around in that gorgeous head of hers. Instead, he had to satisfy himself with another swipe of his hand through his hair. Jesus, she was sure to make him bald in a fortnight.

  “I should go now.” Olivia made for the door, but he grabbed her by the arm.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” He dragged her back until she stood in front of him.

  Olivia glared at him like an errant and petulant child. “I meant back to my room, my lord.”

  “You will be attending the ball tonight with the rest of the family, then?” He should kiss her right now and wipe that maddening pout off her face. In minutes he would make her soft and pliant in his arms again instead of prickly and antagonizing.