Scandalous Summer Nights

by Anne Barton

  “That’s quite a story,” James said. The irony of it was that Uncle Humphrey probably would derive great pleasure from attending the ceremony. Turning to Olivia, he said, “Would a small wedding in Haven Bridge suit you?”

  Huntford crossed his arms impatiently; James ignored him.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose the location is not so very important to me.”

  “Excellent,” said the duke. “I’ll take—”

  “Wait,” James said. The sight of Olivia so impassionate about her own wedding was unsettling. “If location does not matter to you, what does?”

  “I’d like to have my sister and close friends here, but we’re so far from home.”

  “Yes, we are,” Huntford cut in. “That’s the beauty of it.”

  “Perhaps we can arrange for them to come,” James offered.

  Olivia brightened a little, but then her brother said, “The less people who are here to witness it, the better. I, of course, will be there to see the union take place with my own eyes. Later this morning, I shall escort you both back to Haven Bridge and see that Olivia is settled in the inn there. Averill, you’ll stay with your uncle—or anywhere you like, so long as it’s not the same inn. I plan to spend the afternoon meeting with the local vicar and arranging for the banns to be read.”

  James cast a glance at Olivia. Her face was almost as pale as the simple white gown she wore—a striking difference from the lush gold confection she’d slipped out of last night. His blood heated at the memory of her boldly unlacing her dress for him and exposing delectable, silky skin. Good God. He shook his head and pulled himself together, grateful that her brother couldn’t read his thoughts.

  Huntford was still talking. “I have business to attend to, not to mention my wife and daughter, so I’ll leave this evening for London. But never fear, I’ll return to Haven Bridge in three weeks’ time, before the happy nuptials take place.”

  “It seems as though you’ve planned everything,” Olivia said.

  “Not quite. For obvious reasons, I hesitate to leave you in the same village with one another when you have only your maid as her chaperone, but I don’t see how to avoid it. In any case, your fate is already sealed. You might as well use the time to plan your wedding—and your future.”

  Olivia glanced at James, and he saw the wariness in her eyes. The adoration, the trust that had been there last night were gone. In keeping the letter from her, he’d crushed her lofty opinion of him. Where she’d once thought he was the model of integrity, she now doubted his intentions. And who could blame her?

  Three weeks until the wedding. That’s how long he had to try to make things up to Olivia.

  That’s how long he had to help her regain her sparkle.

  Later that afternoon, James was back among the picturesque hills of Haven Bridge. He retrieved his belongings from the inn, said good-bye to Olivia under the watchful eye of her brother, and rode his horse to Uncle Humphrey’s cottage. He rapped on the door. There was no answer, so he tested the handle, found it unlocked, and walked in. “Uncle, are you here?”

  He wended his way around unwieldy stacks of books and two sleeping cats, and followed the rather loud snores coming from the study.

  In his sleep, Uncle Humphrey looked older and frailer. In his waking hours he wielded a sharp wit and intelligence that made it easy to forget that he was close to eighty years old. Not so now. One of the cats stirred, stretched, and leaped onto Humphrey’s leg, prodding him awake. He blinked several times, looked up at James, and said, “Wondered where you’d been,” as though it were perfectly normal to wake up and find someone had walked into your house unannounced. “What happened to your face?”

  He touched his fingers to his bruised cheek. “I took a punch.”

  “You?” Humphrey’s white eyebrows furrowed together in disbelief. “You’re not usually on the receiving end.”

  “I deserved it.”

  “Oh.” Humphrey nodded thoughtfully. “How is she?”

  “Who?”

  “The girl. The one you chased after.”

  “I didn’t chase after Lady Olivia. I was endeavoring to escort her safely to her aunt’s house.”

  “I see.” But he said it in a way that suggested he knew very well the reasons his nephew had left Haven Bridge at the drop of a hat. And he was probably right, damn it.

  “We’re engaged,” James said flatly.

  “What’s this? Felicitations, my boy! I believe the news calls for a drink. Pour us each a bit of Scotch, will you?”

  “Of course.” James walked to his uncle’s sideboard. “But I’m not sure it’s cause for celebration. Her brother, the duke, is forcing us to marry.”

  “Ah. Well, a betrothal is special regardless of the circumstances surrounding it.”

  James splashed the Scotch into a couple of glasses and handed one to his uncle.

  Humphrey pet the cat, which had settled itself between his hip and the arm of the chair, then shifted to his right to give his whiskered friend more space. He sipped his drink in silence for a minute before asking the question that had plagued James ever since last night—maybe even before. “What does this mean for your expedition?”

  If anyone could understand his dilemma, it was Uncle Humphrey. He shared James’s passion for antiquities and exploring and was, quite possibly, even more enthused about the trip than James was.

  “I still want to go.”

  “Does Lady Olivia have any objection?”

  “I haven’t had the chance to discuss it with her. But I can’t imagine she’d be thrilled at the prospect of me leaving the country days after we marry.”

  He glanced at Humphrey, hoping for a lecture on how he’d be a fool to even consider passing up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to explore the ruins of an ancient civilization with a skilled and respected team.

  “You have a difficult decision to make.”

  “What would you do?”

  Humphrey took a long, wheezing breath and closed his eyes. He sat like that for maybe a minute—long enough that James wondered if he’d resumed his nap. But then he coughed, opened his eyes, and said, “Take her on a picnic.”

  James shook his head. Maybe Humphrey wasn’t quite as sharp as he’d once been after all. “No, I meant about the expedition. Would you stay or go?”

  “I can’t answer that. I’m not in your shoes. But I remember that whenever your aunt Dorothy and I needed to work through a particular problem, we would pack a lunch and take a long walk and spend some time together. You could gain some clarity, some perspective. The worst that could happen is that you’ll have spent the day with a pretty girl.”

  James stroked his chin. This wasn’t exactly the sort of wisdom he’d been seeking, but he supposed a picnic couldn’t hurt.

  “She is pretty, isn’t she?” Humphrey’s cloudy eyes sparkled with mirth.

  “Very. Almost as pretty as Aunt Dorothy.”

  “Ah. Then you’re a lucky man, indeed.”

  Maybe Humphrey was right. He remembered the impromptu breakfast he’d shared with Olivia in his favorite spot atop the hill, before she’d injured her ankle. Though it afforded the best view in all of Haven Bridge, it definitely wasn’t accessible on crutches.

  As if he’d read James’s mind, Humphrey said, “Take a couple of horses to the northwest corner of my property, where the river runs into the woods. There’s something almost magical about that place.”

  “Magical? As in sprites and fairies?”

  Humphrey ignored the question. “I haven’t been there in years, but I’ve always suspected it’s sacred ground. Promise me you’ll visit it. With your pretty fiancée.”

  James shrugged. He had approximately three weeks to fill before the wedding. “Certainly.” Belatedly, he remembered the small matter of him needing lodging. “I have another favor to ask, Uncle. Would you mind if I stayed here with you for the next few weeks?”

  “Not at all. Provided you pour me some more Scotch.”
He held up his glass and gave a crooked grin.

  James obliged his uncle, removed a stack of books from the chair opposite him, and sat. “Tell me more about the land by the river.”

  Olivia was once again installed in a room at the Fife & Frog in Haven Bridge. Owen had departed the night before, and though he’d refrained from lecturing her one last time, she’d seen the disappointment in his eyes, and it stung tenfold worse than his anger.

  She shuffled about her room on her crutches, like a bird fluttering in a too-small cage. She could cross the room in four long strides, but her arms ached from exertion. Hildy pointed out that Olivia wouldn’t be so sore if she remained in one spot for more than, oh, ten minutes, but she could not help her restlessness.

  In an obvious attempt to distract her, Hildy rifled through the contents of Olivia’s trunk. “We need to find a suitable dress for you to be wed in. Perhaps the rose silk?”

  Olivia shrugged. “It’ll do.” If this were the engagement of her dreams, her sister-in-law, Anabelle, would lovingly craft a gorgeous gown. Daphne would alternately tease Olivia and offer her risqué wedding night advice. How she missed them, not to mention Rose and her quiet, solid support.

  “It’s simple and elegant,” Hildy said cheerfully. “And I’ll pile curls on top of your head and wind ribbon through your hair, just the way you like.”

  A knock at the door startled both of them. Hildy dropped the dress and scurried to the door. “Mr. Averill. Good morning.”

  He stood in the doorway looking breathtakingly handsome in a russet-colored jacket, buckskin breeches, and boots. His brown hair was charmingly windblown, and the warmth in his green eyes made her heart skip a beat.

  And yet, everything was awkward and distant between them. It might have been the stilted proposal—not his fault, but highly awkward nonetheless. Or, it might have been the matter of Papa’s letter.

  James knew how close she’d been to her father and how deeply his death had affected her. Yet, after all she and James had shared—cozy conversations, stirring kisses, and more—he’d hidden the letter from her. Owen had explained everything, how their father’s solicitor had delivered the letter and how Owen had hesitated to give it to Olivia. He’d tried to absolve James of blame, saying that he was only trying to be a good friend.

  But she’d thought their relationship was important, too. She wondered if she’d forever play second fiddle to Owen where James was concerned.

  “I apologize for calling so early,” he said. “But it looks like it will be a glorious day, and I wondered, Lady Olivia, if you’d like to join me for a picnic.”

  Olivia arched a brow and cast a pointed look at the crutches she held. Though she longed to escape her room, the very thought of traversing rutted dirt paths made her arms hurt. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t make it very far.”

  “There wouldn’t be much walking required of you. I’ve brought along an extra horse, and we can ride to our destination—a little spot on my uncle Humphrey’s land. I’ve never been myself, but he says the river is so clear and cool that you won’t be able to resist dipping your toes in it.”

  “I’d only be able to dip one set of toes.” She was aware she sounded like a sullen fourteen-year-old, but this was about protecting her heart, which had suffered just about all the ache it could take. Tempting though the picnic was, she couldn’t let herself get too close to James. The more time they spent together, the more painful it would be when he departed for Egypt.

  “I stopped by the bakery for hot cross buns…”

  Not the buns. Oh, he was good—very good. She sighed. “I suppose the fresh air and sunshine would be welcome.”

  “Even if the company would not?” James’s contrite smile said that he knew he was not in her good graces… but that he’d like to be.

  “I didn’t mean to imply such a thing. Hildy, you’ll join us, won’t you?”

  “Er, I’m not one for riding, my lady. Could I walk alongside you?”

  James shook his head. “It’s probably three or four miles over fields. Too far.”

  How convenient. “Well, since we are now engaged, I don’t suppose it matters. Hildy, would you please fetch my bonnet and parasol?”

  A few minutes later, James was hoisting her onto a docile brown mare with white markings. “How does the saddle feel? Are you comfortable?”

  “Quite.” She’d forgotten how much she loved the view from atop a horse, and the feeling of freedom that came from riding. She couldn’t wait to get into an open field and see how fast the mare could run.

  James tied her crutches to the back of his saddle and deftly swung himself onto his chestnut gelding.

  He led the way up the village’s main street, past the tiny shops and the village square. The road wound around a well-kept cemetery and, farther up the hill, a quaint church. The church in which they could very possibly be married.

  As her mare trotted by it, Olivia’s gaze lingered on the stone walls, arched door, and yellow wildflowers that surrounded the brick path leading to the steps. The picturesque scene was not so different from her fantasies.

  James did not seem to notice the church. His eyes focused on the rolling green mountains, the deep silver lake, and the cloudless azure sky. The warm breeze tousled his hair and the sun streaked it gold, leaving Olivia rather breathless. After a mile or so, he stopped and pointed across a field of tall grass. “We’re headed west, toward the tree line. We can keep to this pace if you’d like, or—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Olivia grinned and urged the mare into a gallop. The wind whipped at her bonnet, pushing it off her head and freeing long tendrils from confining pins.

  James rode several lengths behind her. Though he surely could have overtaken her at any time, he gave her space and let her savor the rush of thundering over miles of grass and watching the trees rise up to meet her.

  A long, winding stream bordered the edge of the woods, and she pulled back on the reins, catching her breath as the mare meandered along the water’s edge. James joined her there and slid off his horse, encouraging him to drink. Looking up at Olivia, he said, “You seemed like your usual self just then. I liked it.”

  She arched a brow. It might have been the exhilarating ride, the warm breeze, or the lush scenery. Whatever the cause, her heart did feel lighter.

  James walked along the stream, leading both horses toward the shade of the trees, then surveyed their surroundings. “Uncle Humphrey was right—this is a beautiful spot. Let me spread out a quilt, and I’ll help you down.”

  He untied their supplies from the backs of their saddles and handed a lacy blue and white parasol to her. She opened it, and from her perch atop the mare admired the view as James set up the picnic.

  His muscles flexed beneath his jacket as he unrolled the large quilt and snapped it in the air before letting it float to the ground, half in the sun, half in the shade. He propped her crutches against a tree trunk and set a bag in the shade. Olivia hoped the bag held the hot cross buns—the mere thought of them made her mouth water.

  He approached then, holding his arms out to her. She slid off her sidesaddle and wrapped one arm around his neck as he easily caught her. He slipped an arm beneath her knees and walked toward the blanket. After he set her down in the shade on the soft cotton quilt, she closed the parasol, put it aside, and removed her bonnet. The day was warm, and she was thinking that it wouldn’t bother her one bit if James were to remove his jacket. Or shirt, for that matter.

  He tended to the horses, watering them and feeding them a few apples before tying them to a low bough several yards away. He paused at the edge of the stream to wash his hands and shook them dry, then joined her on the blanket, sprawling his long, muscular legs in front of him.

  They began their meal with wine that he poured from a canteen into rustic tin cups, and it tasted better than anything she’d sipped from a crystal glass.

  “For the first course,” he said, “we can dine on sandwiches or sweet buns. Na
me your preference.”

  At last, an easy decision. “Sweet buns.”

  There were four, and after Olivia ate two—which were every bit as heavenly as she’d remembered—she decided to forgo the other offerings, at least for the time being. As James refilled her cup with wine, he said, “I think we should talk.”

  Olivia looked into the green eyes that she’d once trusted… and still adored. “I agree. What would you like to start with?”

  “Your father’s letter.”

  “I’m not discussing the contents with you,” she said.

  “I understand. I won’t push you to reveal what he said if you don’t want to. However, I don’t think we should keep secrets from each other.”

  Ah. Now he didn’t want to have secrets. She bit back the remark, closed her eyes, and listened to the soothing gurgling of the river.

  “I planned to tell you about the letter that night—the night Huntford found us. I was about to, but you looked so… so… beautiful. You can be damned distracting. I don’t expect you to believe me, and maybe it doesn’t make a difference anyway, but I thought you should know.”

  Olivia gazed at his slumped shoulders and haunted face. Yes, she believed him. Besides, she was still glowing on the inside from the fact that she’d distracted him with her beauty.

  “I should have told you about the letter before—I wanted to—but I didn’t want to betray your brother either. I should never have gotten involved in your family’s business anyway. I’m sorry.”

  “Is that why you visited my brother the day after the Easton ball? To discuss the letter with him?”

  James nodded slowly.

  “Do you want to know how foolish I am?”

  “You’re not foolish.”

  “I thought you’d come to ask Owen for my hand in marriage.”

  “Oh, Olivia. I’m sorry,” he said again.

  “I think it is I who should be sorry. I never should have kissed you on the terrace. That’s what started this whole series of unfortunate events—from your fight, to my sprained ankle, to the coach’s broken axle, to my fall from grace. All of it could have been avoided. If I’d only refrained from kissing you.”