by Laura Landon
She couldn’t forget how he’d kissed her. How he’d held her with such gentleness and such passion. Almost as if there were the slightest chance . . .
Damien slid his arm around the back of her chair and leaned close.
“Do you know what La Traviata means?” he whispered in her ear while his finger rubbed a small circle on the soft flesh of her upper arm beneath the short sleeve of her gown. “It means The Lost One.”
Olivia turned her head, her face perilously close to his. “And which one of us do you think that more closely represents?”
His finger stopped circling her flesh. “Both, Olivia. We are both lost.”
He turned back to watch the stage and moved his fingers from the back of the chair to rest atop her shoulder. It brought him nearer to her and put them in the closest proximity imaginable, perilously close to being scandalous. Olivia was certain the gesture was for show. And yet . . .
Damien looked at her. Oh, the torment in his eyes. As if he knew how close he was to succumbing to his emotions, to yielding to his feelings for her. She was nearly blinded by the first glimmer of hope. He was losing the battle to stay angry with her. She knew he was.
“Have you noticed how intently Society is watching us? I’m not sure if my return after all these years is the cause for their curiosity, or if my scar is the draw, and they can’t believe you aren’t repulsed by the very sight of me.”
Olivia jerked her head and stared at him in disbelief. “Did you think I would respond in such a way?”
His brows arched in a questioning manner. “I’ve had four years to observe the reaction of people who are not prepared for what they’ll see when they glimpse my face. For most, the sight of the scar running down my face is quite shocking. Take Lady Dunning in the box across the way. She’s had her opera glasses focused in our direction more often than on the stage. Her obvious pity for you is almost laughable.
“And the Ladies Eileen and Marlys Puttnam. They’ve both made a point to keep their eyes averted from the moment we arrived so they weren’t forced to look at my face. The looks of condolence they continually give you are almost comical. Do you think you’ll be able to weather their compassion?”
Olivia smiled. “Are they looking at us now?”
Damien’s eyes moved around the room.
“Oh, yes. Conversing with me has drawn their attention.”
Olivia turned to face him, then reached up with her hand and cupped his cheek. She placed her palm over his scar and did not take it away.
“Are they duly shocked, my lord?”
“Oh, yes,” he answered with a smile. “Duly shocked.”
Damien kissed the palm of her hand as the orchestra played the last note. The crowd erupted in a thunderous approval that barely drowned out the pounding of Olivia’s heart.
Oh, yes. She’d take down that wall brick by brick. Damien was right. There would be boundaries to their marriage. Only she would not allow him to set them. Just as she wouldn’t allow him to remain at such a distance. There would be passion in their lives. So much passion there wouldn’t be room for doubt.
Damien stood and helped Olivia to her feet. They took their time leaving the theater, stopping to talk to the scores of people who were curious to get a good look at the two of them together. They made their way through the exit, then down the walk to the curb where the carriages were lined as far as the eye could see. Olivia saw Johns wave when he saw them, then ease the Pellingsworth carriage closer.
“Who are the men standing with Johns, Damien?”
His hesitation made her take pause, and for a moment, Olivia wasn’t sure he intended to answer her. Then she noticed two more men who looked conspicuously out of place come up and stand close behind them. They were dressed in dark clothing and wore long, black cloaks that none of them seemed comfortable wearing.
“Damien?”
“The carriage is here, Olivia. Watch your step.”
Olivia stepped into the carriage. After Damien climbed in behind her, the carriage swayed again as two men climbed atop with Johns and the other two climbed on the back. Olivia leaned back against the squabs.
“Your jacket was torn when you came to the shipping office this afternoon. What happened to it?”
He looked at her in surprise. “I must have torn it.”
“And how did you get the grass stains on your pants?”
“I had a small mishap. That’s all.”
“I think not, Damien. I think something happened, which is why we have four men, probably armed, riding along with us. What are they protecting us against? Or should I ask who?”
The impassive look on Damien’s face held its hooded expression as the carriage rumbled down London’s cobbled streets. It was strange how hard he fought to keep her in the dark. As if she hadn’t had her share of battles over the last year and handled them on her own. As if letting her into one part of his life exposed every part of him.
“I’m waiting, Damien.”
She kept her voice steady with a certain amount of command in it, hoping it would put her on equal footing with him. She heard his heavy sigh and knew it had worked.
“Someone shot at me today.”
Of all the things she’d envisioned him saying, it hadn’t been that someone had tried to kill him.
“Do you know who?”
“There are not that many possibilities, I hope.”
“Of course not. Who do you think it was?” She hesitated. “Surely not your cousin. You said he left London and is—”
“It’s not Brian. I sent someone to the country, and they reported that my cousin had been there all day.”
Olivia turned to see the expression on his face. “Do you think it was Richard?”
“Either Richard, or Nathan, Viscount Poore.”
“Surely you don’t think it was Nathan?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because Lord Strathern is dead. That incident is over. I spoke to Nathan and he assured me—”
In the flickering lamp that faintly lit the interior of the carriage, she saw his expression turn hard. “You spoke with Poore?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Shortly after his father died.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried,” she answered hotly, “but you weren’t interested in listening to anything I had to say.”
Olivia saw the chagrin on Damien’s face.
“Did you discover anything?” he asked.
“No. Nathan claimed he didn’t know who the father of Cassandra’s babe was.”
“Do you believe him?”
She hesitated. “No. I think he knows but is reluctant to say.”
“Then perhaps it’s possible he intends to exact revenge for his sister’s death?”
“No. Nathan knows you had nothing to do with Cassandra’s death.”
“Does he?”
“Nathan believes his sister told her father the babe was yours because his father wouldn’t give up until she gave him a name. Anyone’s name. But none of this comes as a great surprise to you, does it, Damien?”
When he didn’t answer, Olivia continued.
“You already knew Cassandra was pregnant and wanted you to marry her. She’d already begged you to marry her. The only part you didn’t know was that when you refused, she tried to rid herself of the babe before anyone found out.”
“How did you know that?”
“I figured it out from my conversation with Nathan.”
“After you thought I was dead.”
Olivia twisted the satin edging of her pelisse between her fingers, but kept her gaze lowered. There was anger in Damien’s voice and she was glad it was dark in the carriage. She wasn’t brave enough to look at him. “Yes, after. I went to him after his fathe
r’s death. He told me everything. Only it was too late.” She took a breath that shuddered in the darkness.
Damien slammed his fist against the cushion. “If Nathan knew the babe wasn’t mine, why didn’t he say so? Why did he let his father call me out?”
“Guilt, I think. He’s the one who found the healer who had a potion that would get rid of the babe. Only something went wrong and Cassandra died.”
Olivia pulled her pelisse tighter around her to ward off the chill. “I don’t know why she gave him your name, except perhaps because of your past association with her. Or because you’d refused her.”
“But that hardly matters, does it, Olivia? You believed Strathern’s accusations the minute he spoke them.”
Olivia felt each painful word pierce her heart. “And why shouldn’t I have? Do you remember how you reacted only moments before to our conversation about Cassandra? Your behavior was odd the minute I mentioned her. Of course I had reason to doubt. Not that I would have ever believed that you were the father of Cassandra’s child. But it was obvious that you were keeping something from me. That you were starting out our lives with secrets you intended to withhold from me.”
“That doesn’t explain your reaction to Strathern’s claim that I only wanted to marry you for the ships.”
“And you’ll never forgive me for that one moment of doubt, will you Damien?”
Olivia was spared Damien’s answer when the carriage stopped in front of her townhouse. Damien stepped to the ground and held out his arm. The minute she placed her hand on him she was startled by the knotted muscles that pulsed beneath her fingers. The wall he was so good at erecting was again firmly in place.
She walked with him to the door. Damien’s gait was steady, yet his limp quite pronounced. Olivia knew the muscles in his legs were probably as knotted as the rest of him felt.
She handed her wrap to Chivers, then headed for the stairs. “Chivers, send hot water and towels to his lordship’s room.”
Damien’s voice echoed through the silent house. “Olivia, I don’t—”
Olivia ignored Damien’s interruption and continued on her way to her room.
“If you’ll recall, your legs have not been tended to today. I want to change into something that will allow me to move more freely, and I’ll do what has to be done.”
“It’s too late—”
“It’s very late, my lord. Well past midnight. And I’m anxious to get to bed. But not until you’ve been seen to. I have no intention of having my sleep interrupted by your discomfort again tonight.”
And Olivia marched up the stairs, not caring that Damien was glaring holes through her back.
Hell and damnation!
Damien threw another swallow of brandy down his throat and waited for her to come. Why did she have to fight him every step of the way? Why did she continually search for a way to break through the hostility he’d cloaked himself with for the last four years? With every word and action, she tried another tactic to make him forget—and forgive what she’d done.
And now she would torment him even further with her smell and her touch and the feel of her body against him. And his flesh would ache as if she’d thrown him in the fire and left him to burn.
Damien took another swallow of brandy and froze when she walked into the room.
“Is the water still hot?” she asked coming toward him.
“Yes.”
“We should begin then, before it cools. Are you ready?”
“I’d prefer it if you’d—”
“I know what you’d prefer, Damien, but I’m not about to let you have it. You’d destroy me if I did.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?”
Damien watched her walk to the basin of steaming water and put a towel in it. Her eyes turned to him and without words, gave the order for him to lie down. He did. He lay on his stomach so he wouldn’t have to look in her eyes.
She put the first hot towel across his left thigh. That was the leg that pained him the most. Then repeated the process on the other leg, until Damien could feel the tension ease in his knotted muscles.
“I’m talking about the plan you’ve perfected over the last four years to make me pay for sending you with Captain Durham. The plan to come back to me, make yourself a part of my life, yet make sure I’m never a part of yours. I’m talking about your determination to show me every day of my life that it’s impossible for you to love me ever again.”
She removed the towels from one leg with a snap. “Well, it’s not going to work. I was young and naïve, and I’d just heard the man I was supposed to marry had fathered another woman’s child and was marrying me for my father’s shipping company. I reacted exactly as any other nineteen-year-old would have reacted, with shock and disbelief.”
Before he could argue, she poured something over his flesh. It was cool and made his flesh tingle.
“What is that?”
“It’s an ointment Johns gave me. He said it will soothe your muscles.”
Damien jerked his head up to look at her. “Johns works with the horses, Olivia.”
“So he does.”
She put her hands on his flesh and began the painful kneading of his calves and thighs. Damien let his forehead drop back onto his forearms and sucked in a harsh breath.
“Who do you most suspect of trying to kill you?” she asked without a hesitation in her movements.
“Your cousin.”
She paused. “Yes, he’s the most obvious candidate.”
“Your cousin is buried in debts, and with me back from the dead, he’s lost any hope of paying them off.”
She continued massaging his legs, bending and stretching them, lifting and pulling each one until he gasped for breath. Damn, but she didn’t know what she did to him.
Then she rubbed the muscles high on his thighs and he clenched his teeth. She moved her fingers far to the inside of his leg. He bit down hard and moaned. Ah, hell.
“So what do you intend to do about him?” she asked.
“I have men watching the house, as you already know. And Captain Durham is searching for him. There aren’t too many places he can hide.”
“Aren’t there?”
She stopped rubbing his legs. Thank heavens.
“You can turn over now.”
He didn’t want to. Knew keeping his distance would be that much harder when he looked her in the eyes.
“Turn over, Damien. I’m tired and want to go to bed.”
Damien turned, and he was right. It was harder.
The minute he rolled over on his back he was forced to look up into her face. Her brown eyes were darker than before, her mahogany hair a richer shade of coffee, her creamy complexion flushed from exertion. Ah, hell.
He knew there were two kinds of pain in the world.
Then she touched him and he realized there were three.
She performed each step of the process, laying the steaming towels across his legs, then removing them. Pouring the cool, tingly ointment over his skin and massaging it in. Her touch drove him to distraction and he wasn’t brave enough to look into her eyes any longer.
He lowered his gaze from her face and froze at the sight of her breasts moving beneath her loose gown. He could almost feel their heaviness. And knew that with a flick of his fingers, he could unfasten the buttons to her gown and free them.
As if his hands had a will of their own, they reached out, his fingers wrapping firmly around her neck. She clasped her hands around his wrists and held him firm.
“You’re not going to win this battle you’ve waged,” she whispered, locking her gaze with his and refusing to let him go.
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, bringing her face closer to his. “Because I can’t let you.”
Damien pulled her nearer and she came willingly. She lowered her head and kissed him on the mouth, her lips touching his, her breathing melding with his.
His need was a frightening thing and he despised himself for his weakness. He deepened his kisses, delving into her warm, moist mouth until he met the treasure he searched for. A thousand explosions rocked his world, and he kissed her until they were both panting and breathless.
He wanted her. He needed her.
His heart thundered in his chest, his desire to have her was a mind-shattering explosion that rocked the earth from its axis.
He turned his head and ended the kiss.
This wasn’t the way he’d intended things to happen. Loving her again wasn’t part of the plan. With fierce determination, he concentrated on her betrayal and how it had nearly destroyed him, and he hardened his resolve. He would have what should have been his four years ago without sacrificing his heart.
He took a deep breath and rolled away from her. “Enough. I’ve had enough.”
She pulled away from him and stepped to the door. He stopped her with words he was sure she didn’t want to hear. “We’ll marry day after tomorrow, Olivia.”
She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. Her gaze flew to his face. Her eyes were wide with—
He sucked in a painful breath. He’d seen sailors with less terror on their faces when battling for their lives in the midst of a raging storm.
Her jaw clenched. “I have five days. You can’t make me marry you for five more days.”
His blood ran cold. “Make you? I’m not forcing you to marry me, Olivia. Your father did that when he wrote that stipulation into his will.”
Her face paled and her hands trembled when she clutched the handle on the door.
“But I still have five more days.”