by Laura Landon
“You should have told him. If he had known—”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. He would have been more determined than ever to stay. He was too proud to run.”
“But at least he would have understood why you sent him away.”
Olivia shook her head. “No. Nothing I could have said or done would have changed his mind. I was so young and scared. I was so afraid I was going to lose him. So afraid one minute he’d be alive and the next he’d be dead. I knew I couldn’t live the rest of my life without him.”
Olivia walked away from the captain so he couldn’t see the hurt on her face. “But I lost him anyway. As irrevocably as if he had died.”
“No, you haven’t,” Captain Durham answered, but there wasn’t the conviction in his voice that made her believe he was right.
“Why did he let me believe he was dead? Why did you let me believe he was dead?”
“I had to. He wouldn’t let me tell you the truth.”
“Why?”
Captain Durham breathed deeply. “If you could have seen how badly he’d been hurt, you’d know the answer. When I wrote you that letter informing you Lord Iversley was dead, I honestly believed he was. Then, when I found him, I didn’t think he’d survive. No one did. Not even the doctors.”
“But he did.”
“Yes. He did. And it took him nearly two years before he took his first step.”
Olivia’s stomach lurched. “Two years?”
“Two flaming yardarms fell on him before the ship went down, one across his back—he said you saw the scars the night he was injured—the second across the backs of his legs.”
Captain Durham filled a glass from the decanter on a small side table and lifted it to his mouth. “His legs were burned so badly the doctors wanted to amputate them, but Lord Iversley wouldn’t let them. I agreed with him. He was so close to dying, I couldn’t see putting him through more.”
Captain Durham took another swallow. “I lost track of the times I thought we’d lost him. The pain was so intense, the only way he could handle it was with alcohol and drugs. He lived on laudanum for months.”
“He’s still in pain,” Olivia offered, the knot in her stomach twisting until she thought she might be ill.
Captain Durham nodded. “It’s mostly his legs now. It wasn’t that long ago he couldn’t even walk, and he’s still building strength in them. When he’s on them too much, or overdoes it, the muscles knot.”
“He said you knew what to do to help him.”
“There was a man, a healer of sorts, who the locals considered a miracle worker. He was Chinese, so none of the English would go to him.”
“But you took Damien to him?”
The captain nodded. “The doctors did all they could for Lord Iversley, but the pain was still so bad at times I was afraid he’d—”
“He’d what?” Olivia asked, when Captain Durham stopped.
“Afraid he wouldn’t be able to take it much longer.”
Olivia’s heart skipped a beat. “You were afraid he’d take his own life?”
“There’s a point for each of us when we can’t go on. I was afraid Lord Iversley wasn’t far from reaching that point. So I took him to the healer.”
Olivia sank down on her chair. “Did he help Damien?”
“Yes. I’m not sure exactly what he did, and I wouldn’t expect you to believe all of it if I told you, but the wounds that wouldn’t heal before, slowly healed. And his mind healed as well.”
Captain Durham walked over to the small-paned window on the opposite side of the room and stared out of it. “From the moment he turned the bend toward recovery, he was obsessed with getting home.”
“Father obviously knew he was alive. Why did he keep it from me?”
“Because he knew you’d want to go to him. He knew you’d sail to India on the first ship that left England. And I knew Iversley wasn’t ready to face you.”
“He hated me that much?”
“He was still too angry and hurt to know what he felt. And still in too much pain.” Captain Durham took another sip from his glass. “Then news came that your father had died, and there was no stopping him from returning to London.”
Olivia sat back down and reached for the pen on the stack of papers in front of her. She gripped it until her fingers ached. “So he could claim everything he thought I’d taken from him.”
Captain Durham turned back toward her. “That’s not the only reason, my lady. This is his home. It’s where he belongs. It’s where you are.”
Olivia couldn’t hide the look of surprise. “I hardly think I was the reason he was so eager to come home, except perhaps to exact punishment for all the pain and suffering I’d caused him.”
Captain Durham paused. “I’m not going to lie to you by telling you what happened between you and Lord Iversley didn’t affect him. It did. But he loves you. He always has.”
How she wished she could believe the captain. How she wished she could feel a glimmer of hope that Damien could ever love her again. But nothing made sense where she and Damien were concerned. And with each confrontation, he drove her further away from him.
Olivia shifted the papers on the top of the desk. She’d worried enough about Damien. She’d let him consume every waking hour, and it was time she thought of something else. Something she could control. Like who had started the fire and wanted to drive her out of Pellingsworth Shipping.
“Do you have any idea who might be trying to discredit Pellingsworth Shipping, or sabotage our shipments?”
Captain Durham shook his head and crossed his thick arms over his massive chest. “I wish I did. I’d hang the reprobate from the tallest yardarm and let the birds pick his bones clean.”
Olivia tried to keep the smile from her face, but her lips lifted at the corners. Then her expression froze when the door flew open. It hit the wall with such force it nearly took the door from its hinges.
Damien stood in the opening, his face creased with anger, his stance as formidable as an avenging warrior’s. Fury invaded the room. It pushed through the open doorway in a great rush that enveloped her like a heavy cloak. Even Captain Durham stepped to the side to give way to Damien’s temper.
“What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay home. You’re not safe here.”
Olivia stood on legs that trembled beneath her but refused to back down. “I wasn’t aware you had the right to tell me where I could go or where I had to stay.”
“Don’t start that. Not now. You know damn well you’re not safe—”
“What I know damn well, is that for ten more days, Pellingsworth Shipping is mine. I am responsible for it as I have been from the day my father died. I am also accountable to no one for my actions. I alone will determine where I go and when. You, Lord Iversley, may issue orders as long and as feverishly as you’d like, but I am under no obligation to listen to them or abide by them.”
Olivia watched Damien’s features turn even harsher. Even Captain Durham must have felt the tension because he took another step away from the desk and quietly left the room.
Damien stared at her for several long, interminable seconds, each one stretching to what seemed hours. Olivia fought to keep her composure. For weeks she’d been tossed about in an emotional wind tunnel. The stability she counted on to maintain her equilibrium had been ripped from her grasp, leaving only confusion and frustration in its wake. And the cause of her turmoil stood before her, glaring at her with an expression riveted with censure and disbelief. Olivia wasn’t sure whether she wanted to run to him or run away. So she clutched the edge of the thick, oak desktop and prayed it was enough of a barrier to protect her from herself as well as him.
Olivia watched Damien’s shoulders drop as his virulent temper lost its fury. When he spoke, she heard a blatant tone of regret in his voice.
“What has happened to you, Olivia?”
Olivia sucked in an angry breath of air. “I have become what you made me.”
He shook his head, and one strand of dark hair dropped onto his forehead. Olivia wanted to reach out and push it back. She wanted to thread her fingers through his hair like she’d done years ago with such inexperienced naiveté. The coldness in his voice stopped her.
“I didn’t turn you into what you have become.”
“And what is that, Damien? What is there about me you do not like? My independence? The fact that I have a mind of my own and use it? Or is it that I have removed you from that lofty pedestal where mere mortals couldn’t compete with you? That I no longer look at you with stars in my eyes and open adoration on my face?”
Olivia stormed around the corner of the desk and stood toe-to-toe with him. “For four years I mourned you. I took care of the properties you’d left unattended, because it was the only way I could feel a connection to you. And when Father became so ill he couldn’t leave the house, I ran Pellingsworth Shipping as well as your estates.”
Olivia clenched her fists and glared at him. “Yes, I’ve changed, Damien. Do you honestly think that shallow, love-struck female you were going to marry could have managed seven estates and an entire shipping fleet without changing? All that was important to me when I thought you would always be there to take care of me were the latest fashions and which ball I was going to attend. So,” she said, drying her damp cheeks with her fingertips, “if you don’t like what I’ve become, you do not have to connect yourself with me. There’s a ship sailing at dawn. You’re welcome to leave anytime you—”
Before she could finish the sentence, Damien clasped her by the upper arms and covered her mouth with his.
His kiss was harsh and demanding. As if he were punishing her for another injustice he thought she’d committed. As if kissing her was the only way he could exert his control over her.
His kisses contained no passion, only dominance. It was as if she’d affected some baser part of him, and he wanted to chastise her for it. As if he wanted to destroy her independence and the woman she’d become.
Olivia knew she should fight him, knew she should struggle to escape his grasp, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She wanted to be held in his arms. She was desperate to feel his towering strength pushing against her. Desperate to feel his touch sear her flesh.
He deepened his kiss, all the while moving his hands over her. He ran his fingers across her shoulders and down her back. He wrapped his arms around her as if afraid she might escape his grasp, then moved his hands over her arms again.
His hands spanned her waist, then his fingers began their movement around her, over her, stopping only when they covered her breasts.
A strangled moan echoed in her ears, whether hers or his she couldn’t tell, didn’t care. The rasps of their breathing were a foreign sound that thundered in unison, one gasp meshing with another. And she wrapped her arms around Damien’s neck and gave in to him.
He deepened his kisses, opening his mouth atop hers, demanding she grant him entrance, forcing her to yield to him. And she did. Not because she had no choice, but because she didn’t want another choice. She couldn’t deny him something she was so desperate to have. Something she’d craved from the first time he’d kissed her.
Olivia hated herself for her weakness. Hated herself for yielding with such abandon.
His tongue entered her mouth with the determination of a conquering army, touching the innermost reaches of her mouth, battling with her, then mating with her. A thousand fiery spirals swirled to the pit of her stomach, churning and churning until her legs weakened beneath her. And he kissed her again.
And again.
Olivia fought to regain control of her senses. Fought to stop the desperate cries coming from deep within her. Fought to keep from giving in to him so completely. And failed. With his mouth on hers, his hands kneading her breasts, and her hips pressed hard against his, she welcomed every demand he made of her.
Then, with an agonizing roar, he dropped his arms from around her and pulled away from her as violently as he’d first taken her.
Olivia stumbled as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet. She braced her hands against the corner of the desk. Her legs no longer had the strength to support her while her chest heaved with one ragged gasp after another.
She wasn’t sure what had happened. Wasn’t sure how they’d reached the point they had.
With as much dignity as she could find, she pulled her gaping bodice together. Her gown was open to the waist, her cotton chemise unlaced, exposing her breasts. Breasts that still tingled from his touch. With trembling fingers, she pulled the thin material together, then fastened the satin buttons of her gown. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. What had she let him do?
She slowly lifted her shoulders and nervously straightened the twisted folds of her skirt. When she had some hold on her composure, she turned around. Facing him was hard. Seeing the regret on his face would only add to her shame. But she would not back down from him. She would not cower. She hadn’t started what had just happened. She hadn’t been the one to precipitate the kiss. With chin high, she turned.
He’d stepped to the other side of the room where he stood with his back to her. His hands were braced against the wall as if he needed support to help him stand. His head hung between his outstretched arms and his legs were braced wide. The dark material of his jacket stretched taut over his shoulders and his whole torso heaved from exertion. He hadn’t recovered yet and she waited for his breathing to calm.
She would not be the first to speak. She would not be the first to make excuses for what had just happened, or point an accusing finger. He alone would have to come to terms with the mistake he’d made.
“You need to go home, Olivia,” he said, his voice strained, rife with emotion. “You need to get out of here,” he whispered from the far corner of the room. “I’ll pick you up shortly before five. I’ve promised you a ride through Hyde Park, and we still need to attend the Maddenly ball.”
“I haven’t finished entering—”
“Just go,” he ordered. “I’ll enter them.”
Olivia shuddered at the anger she heard in his voice. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to take herself as far away from him as she could.
She grabbed her cloak from the hook by the door and whirled it about her shoulders. Her fingers trembled when she fastened the satin frog at the base of her throat and her legs shook beneath her. She walked to the door and stopped with her hand on the knob.
“The girl you thought to marry four years ago is dead, Damien. Just as the man I dreamed of marrying is. It is impossible for either of us to resurrect what we had before. And useless to try.”
With her heart in pieces, she walked out into the dreary, afternoon gloom. A light mist was falling but Olivia hardly noticed. How could she care about a little rain ruining her bonnet when she’d just lost so much more?
Chapter 18
The Maddenly townhouse was filled to overflowing for their annual ball. There were more guests than usual, many of whom had come only to see if Damien and Olivia would make an appearance. They’d nearly been disappointed.
Damien had waited for Olivia to come down for more than an hour, and finally, when he’d had one more drink than he should have had and his patience was long gone, she’d joined him.
She was stunning. Her gown of emerald green perfectly complemented her coloring. The décolletage was lower than he might normally approve, revealing more of her lush, creamy breasts than he thought necessary, but its cut enhanced her figure. The shimmering satin hugged her narrow waist to reveal curves he wasn’t sure he wanted the rest of the world to realize she possessed. Her thick, dark hair was loosely pulled back from her face and hung down her back in spiraling curls, partially concealing the flesh at her shoulders that her gown
didn’t cover. Her features were the same: a heart-shaped face of creamy clear complexion, huge dark eyes, high rosy cheekbones, and dark, lush lips just begging to be kissed. He couldn’t deny she made a magnificent picture.
As long as one didn’t look at the lifeless stare in her eyes or the dark circles rimming them.
She’d spoken little on their way through the city, answering only the questions directed to her, and with the briefest reply possible. She’d spoken to him even less once they’d arrived, directing her attention to those around her. It wasn’t lost on him that she chose the first opportunity to escape him. Or that she hadn’t returned.
Damien looked across the room where she stood with a circle of friends. She nodded her head as if someone were pulling strings to make it move, and she wore a dull smile that appeared as if it had been painted on her face. Then she laughed, the sound forced and hollow. Damien could take no more.
“Excuse me,” he said to the group of men who surrounded him, eager to gather any bit of information as to where he’d been the last four years.
Damien wended his way through the crowd, stopping only long enough to not be rude when spoken to, then pushed his way to where Olivia stood. She had her back to him, and when he approached, everyone saw him but her. Their wide-eyed reaction was one to which he had become accustomed. Not many in polite Society could view his scarred face without showing some sign of surprise.
Damien knew the second Olivia realized he was close. Her shoulders lifted and her back stiffened as if she were being forced to face something—or someone—unpleasant.
“Excuse me, ladies. I hope you don’t mind if I steal Lady Olivia from you. I’ve gone without her at my side far too long.”
The ladies all sighed, but Olivia ignored their reaction by saying, “But Lady Warren was just telling us who—”
“I’m sure Lady Warren can tell you later, my love. I, unfortunately,” he said, placing his arm around her shoulder in a most possessive grasp, “would like for us to greet my mother, who looks like she’s most anxious to speak with us. Then, I’d like to view Lady Maddenly’s garden.”