Betrayed by Your Kiss

by Laura Landon

  Chivers kept his gaze focused on Damien’s. Damien thought he’d noticed a hint of warning in Chivers’s tone, then realized . . .

  Chivers hadn’t indicated whether having Damien so close would tilt the scales in his favor . . . or against it.

  Chapter 10

  Olivia threw down her pen and shoved her chair back from the desk where she’d been working since leaving Damien’s bedside hours earlier. Damn him. Damn him.

  Damn him!

  She walked to the large bay window that overlooked the well-tended garden and tried to soak in the beauty of the flower beds in full bloom. She needed something to soothe her, to ease the hurt. Something that would soften the knowledge that he didn’t love her. That he only wanted to marry her because of the ships. While she . . .

  A small stabbing pain clenched inside her breast. God help her, she still loved him with every beat of her heart.

  She pounded her fist against the window frame. How could she stop loving someone she’d loved her whole life? If only he’d leave. If only she hadn’t taken care of him. Hadn’t touched him. The minute she’d placed her fingers against his warm flesh, sparks of emotion nearly took her to her knees. Why hadn’t the feel of him beneath her fingertips been as heartless as the words he spoke, or as cold as the glare in his eyes?

  Instead, he set her on fire. From the tips of her fingers to deep in her belly. She’d been jarred by emotions she swore she’d never feel for him again. And hurt by the resentment she saw in his eyes.

  Olivia wiped away a renegade tear that dared to spill from her eye, then stiffened at the soft knock on the door.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. The Earl of Pellingsworth is here to see you. Are you receiving?”

  Olivia felt the air leave her chest. The Earl of Pellingsworth. It was a title reserved for her father. A title he’d held proudly, but was now given to her uncle, her father’s younger brother.

  “Yes, Chivers. Show the earl to the blue salon. I’ll be there momentarily.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Olivia waited until the door closed behind Chivers, then took a linen handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. It would do no good to let her uncle think she was a simpering female. And she couldn’t let him know the real reason for her tears. She couldn’t reveal Damien’s miraculous return from the dead to anyone. Not until they knew who was sabotaging the ships. Damien was right about that. She did need his help. Even though he was the last person on earth to whom she wanted to turn.

  Olivia smoothed her skirts, then walked down the hallway. She’d always been fond of her uncle and was happy that someone who was so much like her father had inherited the title after her father had died. Unfortunately, when her uncle died, that title as well as the entailed properties would pass on to her uncle’s eldest son, Richard, who was, without a doubt, one of the most repulsive people she’d ever met. She didn’t want to imagine what the Pellingsworth name would stand for when Richard assumed the title.

  She suddenly wished her uncle a very long, healthy life.

  Olivia shook her head in chagrin at the thought as she stepped through the open door and placed a smile on her face in greeting.

  “Lord Pellingsworth. How nice of you to drop by.”

  Her uncle popped up from the sofa, his thick graying hair sticking out on either side of his head as if he’d been caught in a windstorm, even though the day outside was sunny and calm.

  He rushed forward to take her hands, and Olivia gave his a gentle squeeze.

  “Olivia, my dear. I apologize for being so remiss in coming to see you. It’s been far too long. Your father would scold me for neglecting my duty.”

  “Nonsense, uncle. I’ve been perfectly fine.” She pointed to the chair next to the sofa. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “Thank you.”

  Her uncle took his seat as a downstairs maid brought in tea and a tray of cakes. Olivia poured, then handed him a cup of tea with cream and no sugar as she remembered he liked. He took one swallow, then set the cup and saucer on the table and scooted forward in his chair.

  “I’ll get right to the point, Olivia. There’s no sense delaying the purpose of my visit over small talk.”

  Olivia lifted her startled gaze to his and noticed for the first time that her uncle seemed a bit agitated. As if he were on a mission, and the mission was not a pleasant one. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  “I’m afraid there is, my dear. I don’t want you to think I’m interfering, nor do I want you to think I’m trying to tell you what to do. But I can’t just sit back without coming to your aid.”

  Olivia knew what was coming and didn’t want to hear it. “My lord, please don’t—”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “I’ve just learned of the problems you’ve had with your ships and cargoes. Oh, Olivia. I am so sorry, but I was afraid of this.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Afraid that once certain men your father considered competition realized a mere woman was running Pellingsworth Shipping, some of them would take advantage of your helplessness.”

  Olivia wanted to smile. Her father had been the only one who considered her more than qualified to run Pellingsworth Shipping. “I’m hardly helpless, uncle.”

  “You may not think yourself so, but I’m afraid that isn’t how you appear. Just consider your situation: you’re young, you’re inexperienced in the shipping world, you’re—”

  “I’m not inexperienced,” Olivia said in defense. “I worked with Father in the shipping office nearly every day of my life.”

  “That may be so, but you could have worked with your father for several lifetimes and certain members of my set would still consider you incapable of running a shipping company. You’re a woman, Olivia.”

  Her uncle said the last sentence as if being female were a regrettable condition.

  “Be that as it may, my lord, Pellingsworth Shipping has seen a steady increase in shipping contracts over the last four years, as well as a commendable income.”

  “But not over the last twelve months, if rumors of the accidents and unfortunate problems are accurate. It’s impossible to accrue the same profits while paying for the repairs and damaged cargo you’ve been forced to cover. And next year will be worse.”

  “You are assuming that the men I have hired won’t discover who is behind the mishaps.”

  Her uncle shook his head. “Whoever is behind your mishaps won’t give up, Olivia.”

  “And neither will I.”

  Something inside her forced her to show her strength. It was as if she needed to prove to her uncle that she could manage this latest onslaught of tragedies.

  “But I don’t want to see you in danger, Olivia. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. I would always think that if I had stepped in, I could have alleviated any risk to your person, as well as to Pellingsworth Shipping.”

  “And what do you suggest doing, that I’m not already doing, to eliminate the dangers?” she asked, trying to keep her temper in check.

  “You could get rid of the shipping company.”

  Olivia couldn’t hide her shock. “You expect me to sell my father’s shipping company?”

  “It’s the only way, Olivia. The accidents are only going to get worse, the disasters more catastrophic, until someone gets seriously injured or killed.”

  She clenched her hands in her lap. She couldn’t sell Pellingsworth Shipping. She wouldn’t even consider it.

  “No.”

  “It would be better to sell it than lose it. How long do you think you can run at a loss? How long before an entire ship and cargo is destroyed? How long before lives are lost?”

  Olivia abruptly rose from the sofa. “Surely you aren’t implying it will go that far?”

  “It will, Olivia. You know it will.”

  Olivia looked at her un
cle. “And to whom do you suggest I sell my ships?”

  “To me. I will give you a more than generous price for them. By selling the shipping business to me, it will always remain Pellingsworth Shipping.”

  A surge of anger raced through her, and she sucked in a shaky breath. “No, my lord. I won’t sell the ships. Ever.”

  “At least think about it, my dear. You don’t have to make a decision now, but at least promise me you’ll think about it. As I said, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

  Olivia shook her head, then gave in because she knew he wouldn’t give up until she did. “I’ll think about it, but I can guarantee you the answer will remain the same.”

  Lord Pellingsworth rose from his chair and wiped his palms against his jacket. “I know how hard it would be to sell the ships. But selling would be better than having the deaths of innocent men on your conscience. Think over my offer, Olivia. It will be best for all concerned.”

  Olivia watched her uncle leave the room. When she was alone, she walked to the sofa and sat with her hands clenched in her lap. Sell Pellingsworth Shipping? She couldn’t imagine it. She couldn’t imagine giving up something her father had spent his life building.

  But that’s exactly what might happen if she didn’t marry Damien. Perhaps that’s why her father had put the stipulation in his will. He knew how difficult it would be for a woman to venture into a world where men dominated. He understood better than she the problems that would arise. So he’d boxed her into a corner where she had no choice but to enter into a loveless marriage—for Damien would never love her. Or remain single four more weeks and let Damien inherit everything by default.

  Olivia ground her teeth in frustration. She may not like the choices before her, but she had choices. And she would make the choice she could live with.

  And marriage to Damien wasn’t one of her options.

  Olivia sat curled up in a huge floral wingback chair by her bedroom window and listened to the mantel clock downstairs chime four. The moon peeked through her window, casting bright rays of light that gave a glow to the room almost as if it were day. In the corner of the room sat her bed, which was hidden in the shadows. Olivia had lain in the darkness as long as she could stand the isolation, then moved into the light where she wouldn’t feel so lonely.

  Olivia leaned her head against the side of the wingbackchair and closed her eyes. Damien’s wound was healing quickly, and he’d left earlier tonight. Tilly had let that bit of information slip when she was helping Olivia get ready for bed. But he’d returned. She’d seen him from her bedroom window. He’d sneaked in the back through the garden gate a little after three.

  She didn’t know where he’d gone or why, but when he’d returned, he had had a bundle in one hand—clothes perhaps, and a bottle in the other. His gait had been unsteady, and Olivia thought he might have been drunk, but she couldn’t be sure. His gait was always uneven now, as if he’d sustained an injury to his legs. But his staggering this evening could also have been blamed on the bottle in his hand. She thought drunkenness more likely the cause because he’d bumped into the walls as he’d climbed the stairs. He’d entered his bedroom and tripped over something that crashed to the floor.

  Now, all she heard were the soft snoring sounds of a man deep in exhausted slumber.

  Olivia sat forward in her chair. A noise. Low and eerily haunting.

  She rose from her chair and put on her slippers and robe. The moon was bright enough that she didn’t need a lamp, and she stood in the center of the room and listened. She heard it again. From outside her room. Down the hall.

  Damien.

  She rushed from the room and ran down the carpeted hallway. She heard it again. A low, keening sound, the cry a wounded animal made when caught in a trap. And the moan grew louder.

  Olivia opened Damien’s door and stepped across the room. Silvery beams of moonlight shone down on the bed. His covers were wadded in a crumpled heap from the thrashing of his arms and legs. A heavy film of perspiration covered his forehead and cheeks, and the tortured expression on his face distorted his features. It was the intensity with which he fought his unknown demons that frightened her. The fierceness with which he battled horrors only he could see that was the most terrifying to watch.

  “Get it . . . off me! Off! Oh, God!”

  Olivia leaned over him, not knowing whether to touch him or not. It wasn’t that he was naked as some men were when they slept. He was completely covered, a white nightshirt covering his torso and dark satin pants on the bottom. What gave her pause was the viciousness he represented, the danger. Even though he was submerged in a deep, dark sleep, she knew his dreams were deadly as he fought his demons.

  “Damien?”

  “Oh, no . . . No more . . . No more . . .”

  Olivia extended her hand and touched his shoulder. “Damien, stop. You’re going to tear open your—”

  With lightning speed he reached out and grabbed her. He clamped his hand around her arm and pulled her toward him. Olivia flew through the air, over Damien’s body, and down on the mattress beside him as if she weighed little or nothing. She landed on her back, and before she could yell for help, he had his fingers around her neck and was squeezing.

  “Damien.” She choked out the word but knew he hadn’t heard her.

  She struggled, pulling at his hands. She scratched and dug her fingernails into his flesh, praying he’d wake up enough to realize what he was doing. His eyes were open but she knew he wasn’t seeing her.

  “Damien!”

  His gaze cleared, and with the same speed as he’d attacked her, he pulled off her.

  “Olivia?”

  She rolled away from him, gasping for air.

  “Olivia! Bloody hell.”

  She rolled into a tight ball on the edge of the bed and hugged her arms around her middle. She didn’t think he’d intentionally hurt her. But she was frightened.

  Her head pounded as she struggled to breathe, and her heart thundered in her breast. She moved farther away from him.

  “Are you all right?” He turned her over and looked down on her. His eyes were wide with fear, his breathing harsh and labored. His hands moved over her with frantic urgency. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  “No. I’m fine.” She coughed.

  He ran his fingers over her face and down her arms. He touched her gently, then brushed her hair back from her face.

  “Ah, bloody hell! Do you know what could have happened to you?”

  He ran the callused pads of his fingers down her neck, touching the spots where his fingers had clamped against her. He jumped from the bed with only the slightest stumble and rinsed a cloth in the cool basin water. He came back to the bed and laid the cloth over her neck.

  There was still a look of panic on his face. “What the hell were you doing in here?”

  “You were having a nightmare,” Olivia choked out. “I came to wake you.”

  “Don’t ever do that again! I could have—”

  He rinsed the cloth in the water again and laid it back on her skin. Their gazes locked and held. Neither of them could look away.

  “I’m fine, Damien. You just frightened me, that’s all.”

  “You’re going to have marks in the morning.”

  “I’ll wear something high that covers them.”

  His voice grew quiet. Softer. “Why couldn’t you have left me alone?”

  He stared at her, his breathing still harsh and jagged. Then he leaned over her. His body angled across hers, his hip touching her, burning her. He braced his left arm on the other side of her at her waist, his nearness more disturbing than she could fight.

  For just one moment, Olivia was certain Damien no longer remembered the scar that ran the length of his face. For just one moment he’d forgotten his vow not to love her. For just one moment s
he forgot he would never love her. And that kissing him would be the biggest mistake of her life.

  He lowered his head, and it was too late.

  His lips pressed against her with a desperation that stole her breath. He wanted her. She could feel it in the pressure of his mouth against hers, in the way his lips moved over hers.

  Again and again he kissed her, long, hard, deep. Until his breathing was a part of her. There was no gentleness in his taking of her. None of the refined passion he’d shown her in their youth, but a raw, needy demand that left her weak. Then his mouth opened atop hers, and his tongue entered her mouth.

  She was on fire, burning from a desire she’d harbored in desolation. She wanted him. Wanted him with a need that was all-consuming.

  Olivia wrapped her arms around his neck and gave in to him. His tongue sought her out, touching, finding. And she welcomed him with every ounce of her being. She needed him. Couldn’t get enough of him.

  Low, earthy moans echoed in the heated darkness, hers, his, their frantic breaths a part of each other. She’d never known such desire.

  She reached for him, holding, touching, rubbing her hands over his shoulders, down his arms. She couldn’t get close enough to him, and with each kiss of desperation, she knew he battled the same desires that raged through her.

  His hands touched her breasts as his mouth drank from her lips. Olivia arched into him, the fiery need inside her building until it was nearly out of control. And he kissed her again. And again. His tongue working her to a mindless frenzy. She held on to him, fearful she might drop from the frightening height where they’d flown together.

  She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders then moved her hands up and down his body. He was so strong, his muscles hard and knotted beneath her fingers. She moved her hands over the corded ripples across his shoulders, then cupped the sides of his face in her palms and—

  He pulled her hands away from him and pinned them to her sides. “Don’t touch me. Not there.”