Brenda Joyce

by The Rival

  He stared.

  “So you see,” she said, in that moment overwhelmed with anguish, “this is a dilemma, is it not?”

  He did not answer; his jaw was flexed, his eyes hard and dark.

  “We are back to where we started,” Olivia whispered painfully. “An affair, or nothing. I cannot risk an affair. Garrick, please, help me to be strong.”

  “You know I would do anything you asked, but I am weak, especially around you.” He hesitated. “If I could, I would do the proper thing and ride away and never bother you again. Obviously that would be best for everyone, would it not?” His tone was bitter.

  Olivia could not breathe. She was on the verge of losing him—should he do what was honorable now. She could not speak.

  His smile was grim. “But I cannot ride away as if we had never met, or ever shared a moment’s passion. Fool that I am.” His regard was unwavering. “I am not returning to town, not yet.”

  “I do not know what to say, much less do,” Olivia whispered. “I am so confused.”

  “As am I. I saw Arlen briefly yesterday at Almack’s.”

  “What happened?” she asked, eyes wide. Dread overcame her. And when Garrick did not reply at once, Olivia knew with absolute certainty that the worst had happened or was about to. She grabbed his arm. “What happened?” she demanded.

  His gaze was steady. “Lionel informed him that while you were traveling home, I was at Stanhope Hall,” Garrick said slowly.

  Olivia felt all the color drain from her face. “Oh, God.”

  “Olivia, you must prepare yourself.” Garrick held her tightly. “If Lionel suspects the truth about us, then others do, too. In all likelihood, Arlen suspects something, thanks to my supposed brother. There is a good chance that Arlen will find out that you spent the night there—with me.”

  Olivia did not even see his face, although it was inches from hers. She was paralyzed. “He will come,” she said, the wave of knowledge intense. “He will come at any moment.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Olivia paced in her bedroom, clad in the same gown she had worn earlier that day. She had run all the way home, refusing to let Garrick take her there. Her heart felt broken, her nerves felt shattered; she had a sense of impending doom, and she knew Arlen was on his way to Ashburnham, to accuse her of adultery. Oh, God.

  And how had it happened that she and Garrick had parted from one another in anger and despair, instead of love? The future remained uncertain and fraught with danger. It felt hopeless.

  There was a commotion outside. Olivia froze. Her windows were open, and she heard the sound of a carriage approaching. For one more moment she did not move, trying to rein in her panic and hysteria. And then she ran to the window.

  She leaned forward, staring down at the Ashburn coach as it stopped in the drive in front of the house, directly below her. Liveried footmen leapt down from the back running boards and swung open the embossed door. As Arlen stepped out, Olivia shrank back behind the draperies, her heart in her throat, being very careful that he did not see her. Finding it hard to breathe, she waited for the rest of his entourage to appear. It, took her a moment to realize that he had come alone.

  That was not good. He never came to the country alone; he always came with an entourage, one that usually included Elizabeth. Her senses screamed at her in warning yet again.

  Briefly Olivia closed her eyes, her heart pounding with fear. And when she opened them, Arlen remained standing in the drive, clad in an emerald green frock coat and pale blue breeches, and he slowly lifted his head. Before Olivia could duck, his gaze went right to the window where she stood. Their glances met.

  Oh, God. He knew. He knew everything, he even knew about that morning in the cow pasture!

  Olivia was trembling. Quickly she walked to her dressing table and was made even more anxious at the sight of her frightened, guilty reflection in the mirror. She tried to rein in the panic and hysteria. No one knew about their meeting this morning, no one. Garrick had told her that he had left London suddenly, without telling a soul of his plans. As clever as Arlen was, he could not guess what had happened. He would not even know that Garrick was but a few miles away. She must keep her wits about her now. Otherwise she was in severe trouble indeed.

  She must go downstairs and greet Arlen graciously, as if nothing were wrong.

  Olivia crossed the room, determined now to dissemble, to lie. Her temples throbbed as she reached for the door and swung it open.

  And came face-to-face with her husband.

  “Arlen!” she exclaimed, her tone husky with her fear. She managed a smile. “I was not expecting you, but I saw you from the window and was just coming downstairs. Did you have a pleasant journey?”

  Arlen stared at her with a cold, unpleasant expression. “Frankly, I did not.”

  Olivia’s eyes locked with his, she felt his anger, and she recoiled. “I am sorry,” she began breathlessly.

  “Are you?” he asked, closing the door, which terrified her even more, and he stepped closer to her. He struck her.

  It came without any warning, a smack across the face that sent her to the floor. But she did not cry out, because she had known he would hit her eventually. She crouched there, panting, trying to control the fear—an impossibility. He towered over her. She told herself that he could do anything she wished and that she would survive, she had to, because of Hannah.

  “You stopped at Stanhope Hall. You spent the night there. It is all over London,” he spat. Suddenly he was squatting beside her. His face was close to hers. “Caedmon was there that night. You are fucking him.”

  Olivia wet her lips. “No. I would never do that. I did stop there, but only because the weather was terrible—”

  He did not let her finish. His fingers sank into the braided coils of her hair, cruelly, wrenching her head backward so she was staring up at the ceiling. He kept up the pressure, and Olivia fell onto her back. Otherwise her neck would have snapped.

  “You are a liar as well as a whore. There is no such thing as a coincidence. You carry on with my mortal enemy. Damn you,” he hissed in her face.

  “No,” Olivia tried to protest. “Why … why do you hate him so?”

  “After what he did to my sister, how could you ask?” Arlen snarled.

  Olivia’s straining heart jumped erratically. “I … I don’t understand!”

  He pinned her to the floor. “He seduced her when she was fifteen, the bastard. And he refused to marry her. He ruined her, damn his soul for all eternity, and the whole world knew it—and knows it still.”

  Olivia could hardly breathe. His grip continued to pin her to the floor. Elizabeth had lied, and Olivia was glad, fiercely so. Tears fell from her eyes.

  “Did he force you?” Arlen asked suddenly. “I could kill him. You know that I am a master swordsman. I could defend your honor and kill him.”

  “No,” Olivia whispered. She comprehended that Arlen believed his own words, and if he was right, the last thing she wanted was a duel—for Garrick to be wounded or die. “No, Arlen, you must believe me. We only spent the night there, Hannah and I. She slept in my bed with me. We stopped because of the weather.”

  Suddenly he threw his leg over her, causing her to stiffen. Terror replaced the fear, and with it came shock, because surely he was not intending to rape her. With one hand he lifted her dress and petticoats up to her waist, leaving her mostly naked and exposed.

  “Don’t!” Olivia cried. “Not this way!”

  “Why the hell not? You are a whore, and I will treat you as such—and maybe if I take care of that itch between your legs, you won’t think about rutting with Caedmon,” he mouthed in her ear. And with one hand he palmed her sex.

  Olivia wanted to weep, wanted to beg. Instead the tears began and fell silently, and no pleas came forth. She felt tremors racking her body, of fear and revulsion.

  “Mama?”

  At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Olivia jerked, only to see Hannah standing in
the open doorway, her face wrenched with confusion and fear. “Everything is all right,” Olivia began in a high falsetto.

  “Mama! What is he doing to you?” Hannah cried, coming forward, dressed for bed.

  “Go back to your room!” Olivia shrieked. “Do as I say, now!”

  Hannah froze.

  Arlen rose slowly, releasing Olivia, who yanked down her gown. He turned toward Hannah, his eyes oddly bright. Olivia glimpsed his fixed expression before he faced their daughter, and she was stabbed anew with terror. “Arlen,” she whispered. In one instant, so many horrendous scenarios rushed through her mind that she was on the verge of retching.

  But at that exact moment Miss Childs appeared, her face devoid of all color. She grabbed Hannah and whisked her away, firmly closing the door behind them.

  Gasping for breath, Olivia said a prayer of thanks. But her relief was short-lived. Arlen turned toward her again. Olivia closed her eyes.

  Garrick dismounted his bay, handing the reins to a groom, both perturbed and preoccupied as he strode up the front steps of the Hall and entered the house. It was midafternoon, another pleasant summer day, but his mood was hardly bright. He had tossed and turned for most of last night, for he had not been able to shake anything that had occurred yesterday morning from his mind—he could not shake Olivia from his mind. His desire to be with her had not dimmed. Could she really walk away from him, from them? But was there an alternative?

  And what if Arlen Grey was on his way to Ashburnham? He had had an uneasy feeling ever since leaving her, and his unease had increased with the passage of time.

  Last night it had been so very strong. And it was very strong now.

  He was almost ready to ride back to Ashburnham, to make certain that all was well.

  He paused in the foyer to shed his gloves and lay aside his riding crop, when footsteps sounded in the corridor directly ahead. Garrick tensed. All his worries and concerns vanished as a distinct feeling of expectation, tinged with warning, came over him.

  Lionel walked into the hall. He smiled at Garrick.

  Garrick stared back at him in shock.

  “Hello, Garrick. You look surprised to see me. If you had stayed at Almack’s a bit longer, or gone gaming with us that night, I would have told you that I was going to the country myself. Father suggested it a few days ago.” Lionel continued to smile, but his glance moved appreciatively around the hall. “It has been a hell of a long time since I was here, you know. God, I have so many memories of this place.”

  Garrick recovered with difficulty. “You had already planned to come to the Hall?” His tone was heavy with sarcasm.

  Lionel walked to him. “Yes, I had. It is not unusual, or odd. After all, I have remained in town until now. Father suggested I inspect the estate.”

  Garrick’s jaw felt so tight, he wondered if he would break it. “Do not think to pull the wool over my eyes,” he said. “You followed me here.”

  “That is ridiculous,” Lionel said, his smile gone. “Absurd. Why would I follow you here?”

  “I don’t know—but I intend to find out,” Garrick said.

  “I came to inspect the estate,” Lionel said again.

  “Ah, yes. After all, you are the heir, and this will one day be yours.” Garrick remained mocking, but he trembled with anger. It struck him that Lionel might wish to see for himself that Garrick was having a liaison with Olivia. But why? To cause trouble? Or to gain a trump card—one he might play later?

  And had he not already caused enough trouble—at Almack’s?

  “Yes, one day the estate will be mine, and rightfully so,” Lionel said, his confidence clear. “And you do not care. Or so you have said.”

  “I do not care, for I am returning to Barbados as soon as possible.” If Lionel spoke the truth, and Stanhope had wished him to come inspect the estate, then the writing on the wall was clear. Garrick knew he should be pleased. He did not want any of this, and soon he would be free to leave this goddamn land, a place full of snobs and snits. Instead he was angry. Was this man his brother or a fraud? Could Lionel have changed so drastically over the years? There was another problem: Olivia and her daughter. Leaving them would not be easy. But if he left, her life might become placid and calm once again—Arlen might leave her in peace in the country. If he left, returning to Sugar Hill, one day, they both might forget these few passionate moments.

  His heart rebelled against the dictates of common sense and reason. It ached.

  “Does your bride know that you intend to live in Barbados?”

  He went rigid. “That is hardly your concern, now, is it?”

  Lionel sighed. “Garrick, I did not follow you here, nor did I come here to fight with you.” He held out his hand. “Can we not have a truce?”

  Garrick stared at him in disbelief.

  Lionel was smiling. “I am sorry about what I said at Almack’s. I do not want to fight with you. You are my brother,” he said. “No matter what you may think, no matter your doubts, you are my flesh and blood.”

  Garrick looked into his unflinching blue eyes and thought, It is as if he is speaking the truth. A chill swept him. “I do not give a damn about the earldom, I never have. And if you are who you say you are, then you know I speak the truth.”

  “People change. That is a fact of nature.” Lionel’s gaze was searching. “When I become the next earl of Stanhope, you will have nothing to worry about,” he finally said. “I promise you that. You will never be left wanting.” His hand remained extended. “Let’s start over, Garrick. As friends.”

  Garrick stared at the offered hand, shaken and tempted to accept it. But somehow he could not. His suspicions held him back now.

  “As boys we were best friends,” Lionel said.

  Garrick smiled tightly. “Neither one of us is a child anymore.”

  Lionel dropped his hand. His smile faded. “Very well,” he said. “If that is the way you want it.”

  Garrick did not reply. He had no reply to make.

  Lionel strode past him but paused at the front door. “I am afraid you shall have to dine alone tonight,” he said suddenly.

  “I think I can manage,” Garrick said, relieved. The last person he wanted to spend the evening with was Lionel.

  Lionel smiled, and it reached his eyes. “Arlen has invited me to dine with him and his wife tonight. I am off to Ashburnham.”

  Olivia dressed with great care for supper. Arlen had told her that they had a guest. She paused, seated in front of her dressing table, a wave of nausea overtaking her. She could not think of Arlen now without wanting to wretch.

  He had not, in the end, raped her. He had been incapable of the act. But he had tried, and when he had failed, Olivia had seen the hatred in his eyes. She had thought he would hit her again or, worse, strangle her to death. Instead he had stormed from her room.

  Olivia opened her eyes, glimpsed her expression in the mirror, and continued to tremble. No amount of rouge could put the color back in her face, and no powder was thick enough to cover the dark circles under her eyes or the garish bruise on the right side of her face.

  She lifted one hand. The gown she had chosen was a pale lilac silk, and the cuff was ruffled. The ruffles hid the bruises on her wrists.

  It could have been worse. She could have actually been raped—and then there would be the chance of conceiving another child. But such logic failed to comfort her. She had been grossly violated, and she was still ill. How could she endure her marriage now? She could never withstand such an assault again. She did not know what she would do if Arlen attempted to exercise his marital rights another time.

  It occurred to her that she might procure a weapon for herself and keep it nearby. To defend herself.

  Leave him. The words overcame her, echoing loudly in her mind, not for the first time. Yet Olivia knew Arlen would not let her leave him. He would hunt her and Hannah down. She had been up all night thinking about it. But she also knew that she and Hannah could not remain in the ma
rriage, not after last night. Her heart lurched with sickening force. She did not know what to do, how to escape.

  Mama! Hannah’s frightened cry as she had stood in the doorway while Arlen held her down on the floor echoed through Olivia’s mind. She trembled more violently, recalling the sight of her terrified daughter standing on the threshold of her bedchamber in her pristine white nightclothes. For the first time in her life, she thanked God that her daughter was blind, that she had not been able to see what Arlen had been doing.

  Mama! What is he doing to you?

  Olivia would protect Hannah at all costs, which meant she must sever her connection to Garrick De Vere. Her obsession for him had brought her to this predicament, and it had, in the end, done more than gravely disrupt her marriage. It had hurt her daughter. Her daughter had witnessed the dark underside of life, and Olivia was determined that she never have such an experience again.

  Disaster would befall them all. This was a disaster, and the proof was neither her bruises, her fear, nor her daughter’s fear, but the terrible pain in her heart. She had never imagined that loving someone could hurt this way.

  There was a knock on her boudoir door, and Olivia smiled, her eyes moist with tears, knowing it was Hannah. “Come in, dear,” she said softly, turning.

  Hannah opened the door and came inside, smiling, holding a large piece of parchment in her hand. Olivia smiled back at her, and when Hannah reached her, she put her arm around her and hugged her. “What is this?” she asked, taking the drawing.

  “I made this for you this afternoon. It’s a rainbow,” Hannah explained.

  “It is beautiful,” Olivia whispered, her voice choked. Of course, Hannah did not know what a rainbow looked like, and the drawing did not resemble any rainbow Olivia had ever seen. But the entire page was awash in brilliant colors. It was a startling, stunning tableau. “Why a rainbow, my dear?” she asked.