“That seems frivolous, doesn’t it?” she asked. His gaze slid down to her lips.
“Yes, I suppose it does, but it will make my aunt and sisters very happy, and that’s the price I’m putting on my succor.” She wanted a price to repay him. Well by God, he’d give her one.
“Fine.” Her words acquiesced but her tone remained defiant. Whatever, he didn’t care. She didn’t have to like it so long as she did what she was told.
Chapter Eighteen
Olivia wore a high-waisted pale blue dress with a sheer, silver overskirt. The effect made her dress shimmer with every step. The short bell sleeves were interwoven with blue and silver ribbons which were mirrored around the hem. Regardless of her attitude, the dress made her feel beautiful.
She resented the dictatorial way Lord Dalton bullied her into attending the evening’s ball. However, when Aunt Evelyn came to her room to inquire how she was feeling, it was apparent the dear lady had genuine concern for her, and it would have broken her heart if Olivia had canceled the plans. The damn man may be forcing her to attend, but since she couldn’t leave tonight anyway, she may as well do what she could to make the ladies happy.
Olivia had no idea how a dress could make her feel powerful, but it did. She knew she looked lovely—the mirror didn’t lie. Even she could see past all her faults, all the pieces of herself she wished she could change, and perceive a pretty girl. The powerful part came when she strode down the stairs, chattering away with Penny and Cassie, and Lord Dalton was staring up at her.
Gone was the fierce anger from earlier. Instead his eyes lit with another kind of fire altogether, a fire that seemed to leap from his gaze to ignite a slow burn under her skin.
“Good evening, Henry,” Cassie said.
“Are we all ready to go then?” Penny looked across the foyer. “Are Mother and Auntie down yet?”
Dalton ignored his sisters and extended his hand to Olivia. “You look stunning, Olivia.”
“Thank you, Lord Dalton.” Olivia smiled at him. “You look very beautiful yourself.” He did. Saying the man was handsome was an understatement. There couldn’t possibly be a man alive who wore formal wear than Lord Dalton. The fitted shoulders of his coat, the long line of his formal trousers, the cut of waistcoat framing his broad chest—it all begged for a leisurely look.
Which she did as surreptitiously as possible on the carriage ride to the Dartleby ball. Not even a scowl marred his handsomeness. The scowl wasn’t his normal expression, and even his family commented on it on the ride over.
“I’m not in a bad mood.” The way he growled when he said it ensured no one was convinced. How much of his foul temper was because of her she had no idea, but based on the number of times she caught him aiming the scowl at her, she guessed it was plenty her fault.
She tried to ignore him once they’d navigated the walkway and entrance hall and joined the throngs of fancily dressed London elite milling about the ballroom, terraces, and cardrooms. Aunt Evelyn and the Cavendish sisters, made it easy to get caught up in the excitement of the moment. It was hard not to when faced with the beauty of the lavish room and the attention they received from the young men in the crowd. Her dance card filled with stunning rapidity, as did Cassie’s and Penny’s. Before she knew it, she was whirling around the dance floor. Once again, she was able to live in the moment, distance herself from the reality that was her life, and enjoy the simple pleasures of being young and pretty.
Oh, if this was my life.
No matter how distracted she endeavored to keep herself with dancing and conversation, ignoring Lord Dalton was impossible. The man was unfailingly within her field of vision, and he was incessantly scowling at her, a fact which hardly seemed fair to the young ladies he partnered with on the dance floor. Though, if the girls in question weren’t so simpering and outrageously flirty with the marquess, she would have felt worse for them. As it were, she couldn’t believe the bald-faced overtures, and they didn’t appear to be coming from only the wives and widows either. She didn’t have to be near enough to hear the words, it was all in the body language, and Olivia was appalled.
And he had the nerve to shoot her a look from across the floor because she laughed at something inane her current dance partner said.
“You’re having an awful lot of fun for someone who didn’t even want to attend,” Dalton hissed at her when they crossed during a quadrille. Olivia kept a smile plastered on her face. How lovely to have the time between their next steps together to think of an appropriately witty response—a luxury that so rarely happened in real life.
They met in the middle of the line of dancers yet again, joined right hands and passed down the line. Olivia flashed her brightest smile at him. “I am having a wonderful time.” They turned counterclockwise. “I can’t tell you enough how much your encouragement has meant to me.” She hoped he heard the irony, but she couldn’t tell for certain since his scowl changed not one iota.
Upon arriving at the end of the line of dancers, they dropped hands and threaded between the opposite line, meeting again to clasp left hands and chasse back up the middle. “It warms my soul to see you with so many admirers.”
“At least my admirers,” she began, but then they split at the top of the line, crossed to opposite sides and traveled down the outside to meet once more at the end of the row, “keep their hands to themselves.”
His scowl intensified, his slitted eyes boring into hers from across the column. Fortunately, he didn’t have the opportunity to respond before they were joined by their partners and the quadrille was over.
Cassie and Penny wanted to introduce her to yet another influential couple. Her friends suggested meeting many of the notable members of the ton to help her cause of finding a husband this season, and Lady Evelyn agreed. Of course, the ladies had no idea all the prestigious people in London couldn’t help her. No matter how much they liked her now, they’d all run screaming the minute she was found out and the noose was slipped around her neck.
“Besides,” Cassie whispered as they made their way through the crowd, “these are particular friends of Henry, so they will be inclined to assist you in any way possible.”
Olivia resisted an eye roll. I’m certain any friend of Henry…
Lord Dalton stood at the back of the room in a small cluster of the most beautiful people Olivia had ever seen. Next to Dalton stood two men at least as tall as him, each with raven-black hair and staggering good looks. One gentleman stood with his arm wrapped casually around the waist of a gorgeous, willowy redhead, his hand resting easily on her hip. The lady gazed at the man as he spoke, an intimate smile playing about her mouth before she tilted her head back and laughed. The third man shifted to one side, resting his weight on the other leg in a move of languid grace that revealed a second woman in their group. The lady’s coloring mirrored that of Olivia. In fact, even her size was reminiscent of her own. A small, pretty blonde with a quick smile and animated features, she seemed to have the five of them amused with a comedic tale.
Lord Dalton must have sensed the approach of his sisters, because he turned his head towards them, catching Olivia’s eye, and she could have sworn his smile wasn’t due to the witty remarks from the lady. At the very least, it wasn’t a scowl, and she was thankful for that. He stepped aside to make room for the three of them.
“You all know my sisters,” Dalton began, and all assembled responded with nods and smiles and murmurs of welcome. “This is Miss Olivia Goldsleigh, a friend visiting from Staffordshire.”
The tallest of the gentlemen stepped forward. “Hello, lovely,” he cooed, and took her hand in his. His wolfish courtliness, coupled with dusky black hair and piercing green eyes, surely turned many female heads in London. While Olivia did agree he was handsome—there wasn’t any argument against it—she didn’t feel the catch in her chest and the thud of her heart racing the way a similar look from Lord Dalton would have affected her. She glanced askance at the marquess and was somehow not surprised the
scowl was back. Olivia extracted her hand, substituting a friendly smile to ease the moment.
Lord Dalton took up the space immediately to her right and confiscated her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “Olivia, this scoundrel is Christian Bellings, Duke of Morewether. Don’t find yourself alone with him.” Girlish titters came from the general direction of Dalton’s sisters.
“You wound me,” Morewether confessed, but to Olivia’s ears, he didn’t sound very put out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Goldsleigh.”
“And you, Your Grace.” Olivia dipped a brief curtsey. “Are you the duke my young brother is so taken with?”
“Ah, the sister of Master Warren.” Morewether nodded in acknowledgment. “How is the lad? That was quite a break.” She practically smelled the charisma rolling off the man.
“Very well, I think, thank you. He’s already using his injury to garner as much sympathy as possible. Just this morning, he was trying to figure out how to get as many sweets from the cook as he could finagle.”
“Which is undoubtedly what I would have done at his age.” The duke laughed. Olivia thought she heard a lovesick sigh coming from the general direction of Cassandra.
“Who are you trying to fool, Christian?” the red-haired lady asked the duke. “You’d do that tomorrow if given the opportunity.”
“I’m happy to break his arm if you’d like to test your theory,” Lord Dalton offered in a low growl. Olivia turned to stare at the man who held her arm captive and was relieved to see the darkening scowl was not aimed at her. In fact, all other sets of eyes seemed riveted on the marquess with varying degrees of interest and surprise.
Several seconds ticked by while Olivia fidgeted and the air thickened with emotion before someone spoke up. “All right then. Miss Goldsleigh, I am Francesca, Countess of Harrington, this scoundrel’s sister.” The redhead indicated the duke who aimed his dazzling grin at Lord Dalton. Next, she ran her hand along the arm of the handsome man on her left. “This is my husband, Thomas Wallingham, Earl of Harrington.”
“Please, call me Olivia.” She extracted her hand from Lord Dalton in order to shake Lady Harrington’s offered hand, when it occurred to Olivia to whom she was speaking. This new unexpected friend was Lord Dalton’s ex-fiancée and, at her side, the man who stole her from him. Standing as nonchalant as you please was last season’s biggest on dit.
The countess laughed at her reaction, a merry chuckle that invited Olivia to join her. “I see you’ve made the connection.” The lady leaned in an exaggerated motion, indicating with her eyes and a gesture from her head all the members of the ton surrounding them. “We are a scandalous group. It just kills all these people that we’ve remained such good friends through it all.”
Olivia looked from the lady to her husband, a man who obviously adored his wife. His smile was as genuine as his spouse’s. “Miss Goldsleigh,” he said and extended his hand to her. “Don’t let my wife’s general loathing of gossip dissuade you from enjoying yourself.”
“I shant, my lord.”
“Please,” Lord Harrington added, “we are Thomas and Francesca to our closest friends.”
“But we’ve just met,” Olivia said, stating the obvious. “We’re nearly strangers.”
The pretty blonde spoke up. “But we won’t be for long, I assure you. I am Anna Sinclair.” Finally, someone she could look in the eye without getting a crook in her neck. “And don’t be fooled by all these people mingling so near.” Anna indicated the eavesdroppers much the same way Francesca had done. “Every one of them is standing by, desperately hoping someone will start a slap fight. You know, that might be something we consider as a group Christmas present—a little something from us to the ton.”
The group of friends, enlarged by three more in Olivia, Cassie, and Penny, continued on in this way, laughing at jokes, telling stories, and resoundingly ignoring the snoops who surrounded them.
In fact, they were so oblivious to the rest of the crowd they almost failed to notice the arrival of yet another gentleman.
A gentleman with a very different agenda.
Chapter Nineteen
Cassandra saw him first.
“Do we know that man?” Cassie asked her sister and anyone else within earshot.
Francesca shook her head. “I don’t, and I thought I knew everyone. He certainly appears like a man on a mission though, doesn’t he?”
“He is quite handsome,” Penelope added.
Olivia hadn’t paid much attention to the conversational exchange up to this point as the sum total of the people she knew in London were standing in a loose circle with her, and she wouldn’t be much help anyway. In fact, she didn’t know the man had joined their group until he thrust himself between her and Anna, and his hand snaked around her left elbow and gripped tightly.
Surprised, Olivia pivoted on her heel in a combined effort to withdraw her elbow and to see who accosted her. The wind burst from her lungs in a startled gasp, and she staggered back against the solid bulk of Lord Dalton.
“Olivia.” The man said her name smoothly and used his clawlike grip to pull her upright again. Olivia was still too startled to resist him. She couldn’t even speak.
What does one say to a ghost?
She knew she must look like an idiot, gaping at him with no sound escaping from her slack mouth. But a person couldn’t speak when she couldn’t breathe. When had she last taken a breath? She was going to faint. When had she turned into a woman who fainted? She seemed to be doing an awful lot of it lately.
“I’ve been waiting for the right time,” the man told her with a smug smile.
Olivia simply stared and shook her head, repeating the motion over and over. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. The litany, like the repetitive motion, did nothing to ease her panic.
“And you are?” The voice came from her other side, a strong, protective one she wanted desperately to hide behind. Lord Dalton.
“Baron Goldsleigh.”
“Cousin Reginald.” Dalton’s tone was deadly, low and intense. Olivia dragged her eyes from Reginald and looked at the other faces around her. Penny and Cassie each stared at her cousin with a murderous glare. The others shared expressions of various levels of confusion and malice.
“I am her cousin and her guardian as well as baron,” Reginald confirmed.
How was this possible? Reginald was dead. What had she been running from all this time? Had he sent the men she’d thought were the runners?
“Don’t you have anything to say to your long-lost cousin, Livvy?” Reginald taunted.
“What do you want?” Olivia asked him, her voice barely audible. He still had her by the arm, but she had moved as close to Lord Dalton as she was physically able.
“You, of course. I’ve come to bring you home.”
Olivia wasn’t going to faint. She was going to vomit. She was going to mortify her new friends and her hostess by casting up her champagne and roast duckling dinner on the polished parquet floor.
“I think you should unhand the lady.” The Duke of Morewether had walked the two paces to stand behind her. His tone suggested the flirty twinkle was gone from his eye.
Reginald shifted his condescending gaze to Morewether. “I’m afraid I missed our introduction.”
“I am the Duke of Morewether.” No hand was offered in greeting. The duke indicated Harrington, who flanked him behind her. “This is the Earl of Harrington and Marquess of Dalton.” Olivia couldn’t help enjoying the set down so succinctly delivered by the duke with a cutting combination of ennui and unmitigated malice.
Reginald gave a little nod, surely intended as an ironic genuflection, but he did release her arm. “Your Grace. My lords.” He brought his smug gaze back to Olivia. “Your powerful friends can’t help you, Livvy. I am your guardian, and I’ve come to take you home.”
“Only for a couple more weeks.” Her voice was so low and timid she almost couldn’t hear it herself.
“What’s that, my dear?�
�� Reginald’s use of an endearment nauseated her more. “You’ll have to speak up. We can’t hear you.”
“Only for a couple more weeks,” Olivia repeated, gaining strength.
“Nevertheless.”
“Olivia has found a comfortable home here,” Penelope spoke up. Her friend reached across the expanse and grabbed Olivia’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze of support.
Reginald turned his pretty face to Penny and gave the lady a winning smile. It was hard to believe a man who looked as innocent and attractive as her cousin had such a cruel, vicious streak. “I thank you, my lady, for taking such good care of her, but I cannot allow my responsibilities to become yours and your kin.”
“I’m going to stay here.” Olivia struggled to maintain her false bravado.
Reginald’s expression made an almost indiscernible shift, and for an instant his real personality flashed across his face, brutish and tormenting, before he schooled his features back into the congenial and attractive facade he showed the world. “No, you’ll come home where you belong. You’ve gallivanted around town long enough.”
“I hardly think—” Penny started, outraged, but Lord Dalton interrupted with a staying hand. Penny’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click of her teeth.
“There’s no need, Goldsleigh. Miss Goldsleigh and her brother are welcome to stay at Cavendish House for as long as she likes.” Lord Dalton pressed his palm against the small of her back. The supportive gesture gave her strength.
“Oh yes, the whelp.” Reginald dripped disdain. “You’re welcome to keep the boy. He’s no relation of mine, and I don’t hold any desire to foster him until he reaches his majority. Maybe you’ll find a use for him in your stables.”
Cassandra gasped, but Olivia wasn’t the least bit surprised. Knowing Warren had no one but her in the world was part of what drove her so hard. Her glance darted around them to find the eavesdroppers had grown in number and crowded ever closer. This was the sort of thing the gossip mongers of the ton lived for. It would get worse, she knew.
Miss Goldsleigh's Secret Page 14