“Olivia,” a feminine voice called from the street.
“Miss Goldsleigh,” this time a masculine voice called out, but that call came from farther down the street.
Olivia inhaled and opened her mouth as if to yell. He slammed his palm across her lips to shut her up, and her head hit the brick wall with a satisfying thud.
“Fuck!” he blurted and pulled away from her. He wouldn’t have time to get what he wanted today. “Look at me,” he demanded. Olivia opened her eyes and glared at him, but at least she was unable to sass back with his hand over her mouth. Her breath exhaled in acrid puffs through her nose.
Soon. Very soon.
“One week, Livvy, one week. You come to me and we’ll go home where you belong.”
The bitch had the nerve to defy him with a shake of her head. He wrenched her imprisoned arms a little higher, and she made a muffled cry. The throbbing of his cock was painful at this point.
“If you don’t do as you are told, I will make you very sorry,” he promised. Unable to turn her head, she looked away from him down the alley towards the street where the sounds of her friends were calling for her. “Do you doubt me?”
She stared back at him with animosity. If she knew how her antagonism affected him… God help him, how he wanted to break her. “What’s the name of that pretty sister of his? Penelope? Imagine her ending up like that fucking dog after I’m done. I’ll make her cry out first so you can hear how much she likes it.”
When she tried to bite his hand, he moved it from her mouth to her throat, but still she defied him. “You leave her alone. She has nothing to do with this.”
“One week. Otherwise I promise to come for her.”
Reginald let her loose and strode swiftly to the exit at the far end of the alley. God dammit. Now he’d have to find a whore to do something about his aching cock.
The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of the pretty Penelope.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Something was wrong with Olivia.
Henry had asked his sisters, but they didn’t know anything and suggested he was being silly. As far as he knew, his family knew less than he did about the dangers Olivia was in. Penelope suggested he give Olivia time, implying that she was nervous, but Henry had a nagging feeling he didn’t have time. He also interviewed the footman he’d sent with them to Bond Street, but all he learned after peppering the man with a million questions was an anxious footman. He did uncover one curious tidbit of information. Apparently, there were several minutes the servant couldn’t account for Olivia’s whereabouts.
Henry resisted the urge to ask Olivia about the incident herself. Whatever she was hiding terrified her. He’d figure it out, sooner or later, but later would most likely be too late.
He stood at the bay window in his study, staring out at nothing, paying no attention to the fine carriages and hackneys rolling up and down the street headed off to whatever nightly entertainment their occupants had in store. A rap on the door sounded, and the giant butler entered.
“My lord, a packet has arrived for you.” Siegfried laid a thick envelope on the surface of the desk. “May I get anything more for you?”
“Where is Miss Goldsleigh?”
“She is still in her room, my lord,” Siegfried noted. “There is a footman in the hall outside the door as you ordered. I also took the liberty of stationing one of the duke’s men outside her window as well, as a precaution.”
Henry nodded at the butler. Good thinking.”
The packet was indeed the one he’d been waiting for.
Sealed inside, a detailed report from his man outlined where Olivia’s cousin, Reginald Goldsleigh, had grown up, attended school, and lived up to the time he’d inherited his uncle’s title. Additionally, the report suggested several allegations of cover-ups and lingering rape charges of a young woman employed at his school during the time he attended. The more Henry read through the report, the more Reginald’s history seemed spotty at best and nefarious at its worst. There was nothing that necessarily confirmed Olivia’s account of what happened to her or Warren, but there certainly was nothing in it to recommend him as a decent fellow either. Unfortunately, Henry was left with as many questions as answers.
Henry withdrew his watch, checked the time, then snapped closed the cover and shoved it back in his pocket. He had already finished dressing for the evening and, bored and frustrated, he wandered down to his study to wait for the ladies instead of pacing in the foyer. He didn’t remember what was on the agenda, but it would be a waste of time better spent sorting out this mess. The one consolation in the evening’s whole pending nightmare was that since the surprise announcement of his engagement, he was no longer stalked like a wounded, limping gazelle by a pride full of society mamas.
Nevertheless, he’d have to keep a close eye on his fiancée. Henry did not like the prospect of further surprises from Cousin Reginald. Dammit, if she would just open up about whatever she was keeping so secret. How could he make her trust him? Hadn’t he been more than generous with his trust, bringing her into his house, accepting her story without reproach, and believing—or at least feigning belief in—her ridiculous lies as to the origins of her latest injuries? Blast it all, he’d even volunteered to marry her to protect her from the bastard.
I think I’m due a little trust here. Overdue, actually.
Well, at least she’d made no more mention of running away to America or the Continent. Olivia was a smart, brave girl. Surely she’d see the idiocy of running away from the few people who sought to protect her.
Henry checked his watch again and levered himself up from his chair with a sigh. A musicale, he recalled, that was tonight’s engagement. God have mercy on his soul.
Cassandra and Penelope were both standing in the entryway when he turned the corner.
“Are you all ready, my plump little tangerines?”
“Tangerines?” Cassie narrowed in annoyance. “Who’s plump?”
“What is wrong with you?” his oldest sister asked.
Henry shook his head at Penelope but let a smile spread across his face. Nothing improved his mood like a quick spar with his sisters, and nothing guaranteed an argument like a creative endearment. “Nothing’s wrong with me, peach pit. What’s wrong with you?”
“No one else in the entire world calls people such strange names,” Penelope advised him.
Cassandra joined in, which made him grin wider. “Really. She’s right. And we’ve told you repeatedly we don’t like it.”
Henry shrugged and feigned innocence. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“You’re almost intolerable,” Penny informed him. “Honestly, I don’t know why we bother to put up with you at all.”
“Because I’m devilishly handsome and because your modiste bills would kill a less-devoted brother.” He pecked a kiss on his sister’s cheek as a peace offering. Penny snorted but was mollified. “Where are the others?” Just the three of them milled around the foyer.
“Mother should be down in a minute. Aunt Evelyn, too. Olivia, the poor thing, has another headache and begged off.” Cassie volunteered all this information while distractedly fiddling with the clasp of her bracelet.
“What do you mean, begged off?”
Penny shrugged. “She’s had a couple of very difficult days, weeks even, Henry. I’m sure she’s quite tired, and you know about her headaches.”
“Did she go to bed?”
“I guess so.” Penny shrugged. “Cass, did Olivia go to bed?”
“What?” Cassie looked up from her wrist and her jewelry. “Oh, I guess so.”
Henry started up the stairs. It sounded like a load of horse crap to him. He had visions of Olivia shimmying down a drainpipe. If that woman wasn’t wearing her night rail and tucked into bed, he was going to kill her. After a cursory knock on the door, he barged into her room, expecting to find her with one foot out the window.
“Henry!” Olivia sounded surprised
. Of course she was surprised. Who wouldn’t be when a crazed marquess barged into their room?
“I hear you’re not feeling well.” His tone had started out full of acid disbelief, but Henry felt a bit idiotic now. She appeared exactly as one would expect of someone who’d begged off a social engagement due to a migraine. While she wasn’t in bed, she was wearing a dressing gown and had been half reclined on a settee with a cool, damp strip of toweling on her forehead before his rude invasion.
“Yes. Fortunately they say the best cure for a headache is loud, thinly veiled accusations,” she replied, petulant. He deserved that.
The woman was owed an apology. Henry made as if to sit on the opposite end of the settee, so Olivia curled her legs up to her bottom. He settled into the plush seat and stretched her legs across his lap. “I’m sorry, sweetling.” He made his face truly repentant, not the fake repentant he used on his sisters. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Olivia relaxed back against the arm of the sofa. “No, it has to pass of its own accord. I took a sleeping draught.” She gestured to an empty glass on a side table.
Her face was wan, and there was a dullness in her eyes Henry recognized as a true reflection of pain. “When did it come on? Is there anything that sets them off?”
“Not really,” she answered softly, as if even her voice was too loud. “Sometimes bright light or stresses will bring them on, or maybe if I’m exceptionally tired.” She closed her eyes and exhaled.
“What happened today, Olivia?” Henry asked, his voice soft but insistent. When an answer wasn’t forthcoming, he rubbed his knuckles along the soles of her feet, applying relaxing pressure. She didn’t answer, but seemed to recline more into the softness of the settee. “I know something occurred that has upset you again.” He massaged her insteps, turned the ankles, and applied gentle pressure to her toes. In lieu of an answer she gave a soft exhale signaling she’d finally relaxed into slumber. He sat for several moments watching her rest. Her head tilted to the side, leaning against the back of the settee. Hair tumbled free from the chignon at the back of her head and hung in disarray around her shoulders, framing her peaceful face. The skin under her eyes appeared darker than it had been two days before. Still, she looked a thousand times better than when he scooped her up on the street and brought her home, but whatever was troubling her now was definitely taking its toll.
Henry slid an arm behind her back and the other under her knees, shifting her onto his lap so he could carry her to the bed. She sighed, snuggled her head under his chin, and lifted an arm to circle behind his neck. The loose sleeve of her dressing gown slid up her raised arm, and the feel of her skin on his neck and the soft exhalations of breath fluttering over his throat made him wish he could lie down on the bed with her. Not to make love to her, but to comfort her aching, tired body and exhausted soul. He wanted to enfold her in his arms for the night and swear to her that she’d be safe, so safe she could cease worrying and sleep herself into wellness.
Olivia’s arm lingered at his neck in the loose embrace even as he laid her on the coverlet of the bed. The silk sleeve of her dressing gown pooled around her shoulder. Henry smiled and reached behind him to clasp her hand in his. He brought it around to his mouth and kissed her palm and smoothed his hand down the length of her arm. Her skin was softer even than the silk of her gown. He stroked the inside of her elbow with his thumb and found a new bruise blossoming just above the bend in her arm.
This time the bluish marks made a clear impression of fingers and a thumb wrapped around her arm. God dammit, Reginald had gotten to her again. Where? When? The five minutes she had been missing while shopping? He was certain her tormentor was Reginald. Who else could it be? When he saw that bastard cousin of hers, Henry was going to relish leaving a few bruises of his own, that was if he didn’t kill him first. He couldn’t wait for Olivia to tell him what he needed to know to protect her, and the precautions he’d taken up to this point to protect her weren’t working. Henry was going to have to step up his plans and find Reginald first.
Olivia slept for only two hours. Sometimes her migraines were like that. The confusion and vision problems would ease, leaving her to deal with the nausea and mind-boggling pain but no ability to sleep.
The house was quiet with the rest of the family away at social obligations, but she didn’t leave her bed. Instead, she lay in the darkness and allowed guilt and self-pity to consume her.
Reginald’s words repeated over and over in her mind – one week, one week, one week. Then he was coming for Penny. If she had thought the man was unbalanced before, his behavior had escalated to terrifying now. She didn’t have any doubt that he would do what he threatened.
Although it had been her first instinct, the more she sorted through the options, the more it became clear she couldn’t tell Henry. The man deserved to be made aware of the specific threat to his family, except that Olivia knew he would insist on trying to handle the situation. Reginald was not one to be handled. What would stop her cousin from killing Henry if Reginald thought Olivia truly cared for her fiancé? She was worried about Penny, but the idea of Henry dying trying to defend her made her want to vomit.
There were only two solutions. The first – giving in to Reginald and going with him—was unthinkable. The only alternative she could see that would protect Henry, Warren and the rest of the family was to leave, flee London as far as she could go. If she wasn’t present to be punished by Reginald torturing the people she loved, she believed her cousin would leave the Cavendish’s alone. It would no longer be fun for Reginald, and that was what drove his diseased mind.
She allowed herself to cry, pitiful tears of heartbreak and loss for the life she’d never have with Henry.
There were six days to get out of London. She’d need to sell the gun and get to America – alone.
Chapter Thirty
“Have you seen Penelope?”
Olivia looked up from her book. “No, not since breakfast.” Reflexively, Olivia looked out the window of the Blue Parlor as if she expected to see Penelope stroll by.
“She was supposed to help me redress a bonnet today.” Cassandra sat her irritated self down in a huff. “I think she’s hiding from me.”
Olivia laughed and placed a ribbon in her book as a marker. “I’ll help you with the bonnet.”
Several hours later, Cassandra and Olivia had refitted the bonnet in question as well as several others and re-trimmed three reticules and a parasol. Wandering out to the family parlor for tea, they discovered Penelope was still nowhere to be found.
“Has anyone asked her maid?” Olivia asked Lady Vivienne, who snapped her lap desk closed with a vicious thunk.
“That girl can’t be found either,” Lady Vivienne said. “I hoped I’d find her with you two. We had an appointment today with the new Ladies Auxiliary Committee. I’ve told her again and again how I want her involved this year.”
Olivia frowned. “How long has she been missing?”
“I found you when I was looking for her about the hat this morning around ten o’clock, I think,” Cassandra offered. “I don’t know about before then.”
“Oh, that girl.” Penelope’s exasperated mother sighed. “I can’t wait around for her any longer. I’ll have to make some excuse for her absence.” Lady Vivienne handed her maid a sheaf of papers for her committee meeting and left in a frustrated lather, her maid trailing along behind murmuring mollifying, if unintelligible, responses.
“Where do you suppose Penny has hidden herself?” Cassie poured them both a cup of tepid tea. “I thought she was hiding from me and my bonnets, but I’ll bet her whole plan was to avoid the Ladies Auxiliary Committee meeting.”
Olivia stared into the tea cup balanced on her lap. “Do you think she’d do that?” Olivia willed Cassie’s answer to be yes. An irresponsible Penny was a much better trade-off than the horrible alternative.
Cassandra nodded and took a bite of vanilla biscuit then brushed crumbs off her bodice wi
th a sweeping gesture. “I suppose it’s possible. Mother has insisted Penny be active in the committee. They’re tremendously dull, you know, those committees.” She took another contemplative bite of biscuit. “She says it’s our duty as members of the peerage to aide those less fortunate. She’ll make me attend, too, if I don’t find a husband this season.” Cassie wrinkled her nose.
“If she was hiding, would she do it in the house or somewhere else?” Olivia asked.
Cassie shrugged. “We used to hide from our governess in the attic sometimes.”
Olivia’s teacup settled with a clatter on the side table. “All right let’s go. Come on. Up. Up.” Olivia pulled on Cassie’s arm to lever her off the upholstered settee.
“Well, I guess I’d better come at that.” Cassie scooped up five more biscuits and shoved them in her dress pocket. “You’ll never find the door.”
Cassandra had been correct. Olivia never would have found the door. It didn’t matter anyway. After an hour of searching around the dusty, crowded attic, they’d decided no one was up there.
“We’re down in time for luncheon. That’s good,” Cassie noted cheerfully.
“Where have you been?” Helen asked, noting their disheveled appearance when they came upon her and Warren on the way to the dining room. The children each held a fistful of charcoal pencils and a sketchbook tucked under their arms.
“We were looking for Penny in the attic,” Olivia absently told them. There were still six days before Reginald’s deadline. Under the circumstances, Olivia had to consider the very real possibility that her cousin was involved.
“Why was Penny in the attic?” Warren asked.
“She wasn’t,” Cassie informed them. “Were you sketching in the garden for nature study?”
“Yes,” Helen told her.
“Did you see Penny?” Olivia looked to the children. They shook their heads in reply and took places at the table, joining the dowager, Aunt Evelyn and middle sister, Daphne.
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