For someone normal.
Slamming the iron bars on temptation, he rose from her bed. The maid had left out her gown on the foot. He lifted it, stroking the filmy stuff between his fingers.
“Put this on, Olivia,” he said softly. “You need to cover yourself—” so I won’t ravage you senseless. “For warmth.”
She stretched, finally closing those tempting thighs. Blinking wearily, she gave him a soft smile.
“Did I do that right?”
The infinite rightness of her could not be denied. He placed the gown into her hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I shall see you tomorrow, my lady. Sleep well.”
It was a damned sure thing he would not.
“Dane.”
He stopped automatically at the tone of command in her voice, obeying her much the way the other men had earlier tonight. Then he shook off that reaction and turned to face her. “Olivia, I would prefer that you use that only in emergency situations.”
“Use what, pray tell?” She blinked innocently at him, her face still flushed from his lovemaking. She began to push back the covers. “I only wished to remind you that I intend to stay with you tonight.”
“No.” He held up a hand when she began to rise. If he spent one more moment with her thus, with the firelight flickering on her skin, his control would shatter. “You must rest as well. I shall have Proffit check in on me.” He shook his head against her protest. “My lady, Proffit makes an obscene salary to look after me. Let him earn it. I beg of you, let me be tonight.”
She nodded, obviously curious in a sleepy way, until he turned and left her chamber, blowing out the candle on the way.
9
When Olivia awoke the next morning, she rolled over with a smile on her face before she even opened her eyes. Things would be different today. She was sure that she and Dane had crossed a boundary the night before. He’d saved her life. She’d taken care of him.
He’d done that thing.
She bit her lip, her smile turning naughty, wondering if she could convince him to do that thing again.
At any rate, he would be properly glad to see her this morning. Perhaps he might even steal a quick kiss when the servants weren’t looking.
She rose and dressed, too cheerful for even Petty’s sour presence to oppress. She danced downstairs, feeling as though she could bear any number of Petty with Dane’s presence to bolster her.
But Dane was nowhere to be found.
Instead, his study contained only Lord Dryden sitting behind Dane’s massive oak desk. He looked very much at home in the deep green, masculine room. He smiled at her when she entered, although she noticed he slid the pages he was viewing beneath the blotter before he stood to greet her with a bow.
“Good morning, Lady Greenleigh. Did you rest well? No ill effects from last night’s incident, I hope.”
Last night. The only ill effect Olivia felt was a slight weakness in the knees, but she didn’t think that was what he meant.
She bobbed an absentminded curtsy. “I-am-very-well-thank-you. Have you seen his lordship?”
He smiled slightly. “Himself is out, I’m afraid. I believe he said he’d be back before lunch.”
Olivia sat in the chair opposite the desk, her enthusiasm deflated. “Oh.”
Lord Dryden sat as well, a grin creeping across his face. “I take it that there’s nothing I can help you with in his stead?”
Olivia jerked her head up at his teasing tone. Yes, he did mean what she thought he’d meant. She ought to be insulted. She ought to fling herself about in a fit of offense.
The look on his face was puckish and the gleam in his eyes was friendly, not lecherous.
She couldn’t help it. She snickered.
His grin widened. “You’re quite a surprise, I must say.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded her. “I thought you’d be more of a Miss Hackerman sort.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “What, all style and no substance? Spare me the Misses Hackermans of the world, do please.”
Lord Dryden made a moue. “Oh, I don’t know. I like her well enough—”
“In absentia,” they said together, and laughed.
Olivia regarded him with a smile. “I think you ought to call me by my given name. It ought to save hours out of your life, since you always seem to be here.”
He bowed his head. “It would be my honor, Olivia. You must call me Marcus.” He quirked one side of his mouth. “I do have a home of my own, you know.” He shrugged. “Dane’s cook is better.”
She laughed again, shaking her head. “Men and their stomachs. My brother was just the same.” She smiled fondly at Marcus. “You are very much like him.”
Since it was intended to be nothing less than a compliment, she was surprised to see a flash of distaste cross his face.
She recalled last night, when Lord Reardon had much the same reaction to young Lord Wallingford—supposedly Walter’s closest friend in London.
She gazed at Marcus with confusion. “Did you know my brother?”
He looked down at his hands. “I can’t say that I did. We … ah, ran in different circles, you might say.” His tone said he didn’t approve of Walter’s circle.
“What do you mean?”
Marcus looked away. “My apologies. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
She folded her arms and glared at him. “People only say that when they truly want to speak ill of the dead.”
His gaze slid back toward her. “Ah. Well …”
She let her breath out in a sigh. “Marcus, I only want to know what happened to my brother. I loved him, but I realize that no one is perfect.”
Marcus’s gaze softened. “I never heard anything ill of your brother himself … only of the company he kept.”
Olivia leaned forward. “What company was that?”
Marcus frowned. “They’re a useless lot, all in all. A bunch of well-dressed ruffians living on their expectations. More stupid than dangerous most of the time, but they’ve been known to do harm to …” He hesitated.
“Do harm to whom?” Walt would never harm anyone—well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was the time he’d caught the blacksmith’s son torturing a stray dog with a freshly heated poker. A broken nose and some cracked ribs—yes, what had happened to the other, much larger boy might be termed harm.
Yet Olivia didn’t think Marcus was talking about boyhood fights. “Do harm to whom?”
“The ringleader, young Lord Wallingford—well, suffice it to say that his family tends to go through housemaids rather quickly. And his second, Lord Ashby, is rumored to have raped his younger sister’s governess, although the woman disappeared before any charges were brought. Lord Connor isn’t as bad, although he won’t lift a finger to halt the excesses of the others. Too drunk, most likely.”
Olivia listened with growing horror. “No! Walt wasn’t like that at all! He wouldn’t consort with that sort of fellow, ever! He was honorable and fine and—”
Marcus only gazed at her sadly. “And drowned when he drunkenly fell off a pleasure barge fully stocked with prostitutes and opium.”
Olivia sat back, her jaw set. “I don’t believe you.”
Marcus raised a brow. “You asked me what I heard. If you don’t like it, I’m sorry.” His eyes took on a steely glint. “You might want to rethink calling me a liar, however.”
Olivia slumped. “I’m sorry. I know you are only telling me what I wanted to know. I know you aren’t lying.” But someone was. Walt might have been boisterous and occasionally careless, the natural result of being spoiled by their parents, but he would never, ever—
She stood. “Thank you for your time, Marcus, and your patience. I shall leave you to wait for his lordship now.” She turned to leave.
“My lady—”
She turned back. “Yes?”
Marcus was gazing at her soberly, his eyes shaded and unreadable. “Stay away from Wallingford and his lot. I’m not sure they’d stop at dishonor
ing a lady.”
Olivia pursed her lips. “Yes, well … good day, Marcus.”
She turned to leave the study only to find Dane standing in the doorway watching them. “Oh, good morning, Dane!” Blast Marcus for ruining her mood. She smiled at Dane, confident he would smile back.
He didn’t. He merely nodded and walked past her to seat himself in the chair Marcus had promptly vacated. “I’m glad you’re up, Olivia. I want to speak to you on a matter.”
He was being sly, the naughty fellow, just because Marcus was there. When the other man left, she’d get her kiss and then some, she’d wager. She smiled serenely and seated herself in the chair she’d had before. “Yes, Dane?”
First Dane pushed one of the papers in his hand over to Marcus, then he leaned back and regarded her seriously. “We’re leaving in a few days for my—our—hunting house in Scotland. Once there, we will host our own Hunt Ball to, er, celebrate the opening of the season.”
Olivia blinked. “I was under the impression we would be going to Greenleigh. I assumed that was the reason we had no honeymoon.”
Dane frowned at her. “Of course not. My … business affairs precluded our honeymoon. Everyone goes to Scotland at this time of year. It is grouse season.”
She frowned back at him. “You’re going to hunt grouse? Why? You don’t even like chicken.”
He didn’t care for chicken, although he was surprised she’d realized it. “Hunting grouse is for sport, not necessarily for food.”
“But why?” she persisted. “You could shoot at clay targets, or run horse races, or very nearly anything! What did those poor birds ever do to you?”
“Because …” He sputtered for a moment. “Because that is what we do!”
“‘We.’ I do not see anything compelling in your logic.” She crossed her arms. Dane willed himself to keep his gaze level.
“Olivia.” He gazed at her warningly. “Back to my topic, I would like for you to take on the planning for the Hunt Ball in four days. Cost is not an object, of course, but I should like sophisticated fare and entertainment. Plan for forty guests.”
She blinked. “Oh. Ah … yes, of course. You do realize that four days is not much time.”
He smiled at her confidently. “You can do it. Your mother assured me that you’ve planned many such events.”
Oh dear. Mother had sold Dane a pig in a poke, for Olivia hadn’t even attended many such events in her life. She fought down panic. She might not have, but she knew Mother lived for such things. All she had to do was get Lady Cheltenham’s help in this.
She nodded regally. “Of course.” She held out one hand. “Is that the guest list? I must send the invitations as soon as possible.”
Dane put the paper facedown on his desk. “No need. I sent the invitations yesterday.”
Marcus, who had been watching them without expression, jerked his head to look at Dane. Olivia was surprised to see a brief flash of astonishment and anger cross Marcus’s face.
It was gone so fast she must have imagined it. Besides, she had her own astonishment to deal with. “I am not privy to the guest list?”
Dane’s mouth twisted up at one corner. “Don’t worry. I’ve only invited the best sort.” He clasped his hands on his desk and gazed at her, apparently waiting for something.
He wanted her to leave, without a kiss or even a real hello. She’d been given her assignment, just as if she were one of the servants.
She stood. Marcus and Dane stood with her. “I … I suppose I had best begin, then.”
Dane nodded, clearly dismissing her. “I expect to hear all about your plans tonight at dinner, my dear.”
By dinner? “Yes … yes, of course.”
She left the room, dizzy with confusion. Who was that man? Where had admiring-when-she’d-nursed-his-head Dane gone? What had happened to endlessly-willing-to-give-her-pleasure Dane?
How many men was she wed to, anyway?
The clock in the hall chimed. It was nearly noon. Her mother would be rising soon.
For the first time in a very long while, Olivia couldn’t wait to see her mother.
Dane watched Olivia leave the study, then turned back to the sheaf of papers in his hand. “We need to—”
“You sent the invitations yesterday?” Marcus was clearly stunned. “Yesterday, the plan was merely a proposal. You hadn’t yet secured the approval of the Four!”
Dane sat, regarding Marcus levelly. “I don’t need the approval of the Four to host a ball. If they’d not agreed, I would have held an interesting evening and Olivia would have made the acquaintance of some important people.” He shrugged. “There was no reason not to move on it instantly.”
“Without telling me. And what about Olivia? How do you expect her to pull this off in four days?”
Dane turned his attention to his work, but his jaw tightened. “Since when,” he said without looking at Marcus, “do you refer to my wife as Olivia?”
Marcus threw out his hands. “Since this morning when she asked me to. You’re changing the subject.”
“No.” Dane’s voice was flat. “I’ve closed the subject.”
“You know I don’t agree with this plan.”
“I know. You’re not the Lion yet, Marcus.”
“That horse should have hit you harder. Perhaps it would have knocked some sense into your thick skull.”
“Don’t be dramatic. This is a solid plan. If His Majesty chooses a lady, we’re set. If he doesn’t, we’ve all had some wine and dancing and no harm done.”
“I suppose.”
“No supposing about it. Now, may we please finish this other matter, Marcus?”
Marcus scowled, but took up the sheet that Dane had handed him when he’d entered.
“So this is the Chimera?” He tilted the drawing this way and that. “Not a very prepossessing fellow, is he?”
“That is his ‘Denny’ persona. According to Lady Jane Damont, he can seem entirely different at a moment’s notice. A face so ordinary and so forgettable—”
A face flashed across Dane’s mind. A mild-looking young man at the edge of a crowd. He reached for the drawing and held it nearer the light. “I feel as though I’ve seen him somewhere …”
Marcus brightened. “Excellent. Where?”
Dane searched his mind, but the image slipped away again. The fact that his head still pounded from last night’s encounter with the cobbles didn’t help. He shook his head. “I cannot bring it to mind at the moment.”
“Well, let me know when you do.” Marcus swore. “I want this bloke strapped down tight with a bright light shining in his eyes.”
Dane sighed and rubbed at his aching head. “As do we all.” Proffit had taken his obligations most seriously last night. Dane didn’t think he’d slept more than a few hours all told.
Marcus sighed and took his place at the desk. They worked through three stacks of reports before Dane looked up. “Are you staying for dinner? You can hear Olivia’s preparations and eat my food, which for some reason you prefer to your own.”
“I’ll stay. Do you really think she can pull it off?”
Dane shrugged. “According to her mother, she’s an extremely experienced hostess.”
10
Olivia controlled her panic until the Greenleigh carriage pulled up outside Cheltenham House. She would not have thought she would return so soon, especially not voluntarily.
Mother was going to pay for this. How could she lie to Dane thus? Nervously Olivia wondered in what other ways Mother had misled Dane.
Mother had better get her out of this one, before the entire house of cards fell down on them both. Dane was not the sort of man who enjoyed being lied to.
She hopped out of the carriage on the Greenleigh footman’s hand, too intent on her mission to look at him. It was only as she was turning away that she caught the insolent gleam of disdain in his eyes.
What was that about? Good Lord, were they all a bunch of Pettys?
No time. F
our days. The panic began to well up once more. Blast Petty and the footman and all the other sullen Greenleigh servants. Olivia was about to be tested and she was very much afraid she would not pass.
Mother was still in her morning gown, having a cup of tea in the sunny, comfortably shabby back parlor. “Oh, good morning, Olivia. Why on earth did you wear a green spencer with an orange gown?”
Why on earth did you insist I buy an orange gown? Olivia hated the thing. It made her sallow and it matched nothing. “Mother, I have no time to discuss my wardrobe choices. I’m here to discuss the ball.”
Mother perked up at that, of course. “Ball? What ball? The Season is well over, dear.” She patted the pile of opened invitations she’d been perusing. “All I have here are readings and musicales and dinners, none of which will be any fun at all, now that everyone who matters is off to Scotland.” She sighed. “I suppose your father and I will go on back to Cheltenham, though I dread another winter there. Do have Greenleigh send that cheque soon, will you, dear? I’ll be wanting to fill every hearth with coal this year.” She smiled at Olivia. “Isn’t it lovely? We’ll never have to worry about money again.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about money now if Father had implemented even half of Walt’s ideas on Cheltenham,” Olivia said absently. Mother hadn’t received an invitation to Dane’s Hunt Ball.
How could that be? Why wouldn’t he invite her parents?
Her mouth continued without her mind. “The restoration of the flour mill alone—”
“Olivia!” Her mother’s shocked tone brought her out of her musings with a jolt. “How dare you criticize your father! And to remind me of Walter when you know how terribly I grieve!”
Oh dear. She’d actually said that out loud.
Olivia finally sighed. “Mother, why not simply ask Dane for the funds?”
Her mother gaped at her, appalled. “Tell him? Expose our delicate matters to a man of such standing in Society? I’d sooner tell the Prince Regent himself!” Her voice began to rise shrilly once more. “Why not pin a beggar’s badge to my bodice right now? Should I smear soot on my face and crawl on the cobbles? I’d as soon do that than speak one word of this outside the family!”
Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 02] Page 9