His Wicked Heart

by Darcy Burke

  Her breathing hitched as his fingers skimmed the outer shell, and he felt a surge of triumph. “A coaching accident.”

  “You said you didn’t own any horses.”

  The flash of disquiet in her eyes confirmed the lie. She drew back, and his body regretted that his mind had pursued this course instead of kissing her senseless. “They’d borrowed someone else’s carriage.” A plausible excuse, but he still didn’t believe her.

  So disappointing—both her dishonesty and his unquenched lust. “Ah, and therein lies the tragedy.”

  She turned, quickly, before she showed him any emotion.

  Liar.

  HE didn’t believe her. And why should he after she’d deceived him, and he’d caught her in another lie that afternoon? Keeping the lies separate from the truth was beginning to take a toll on Olivia’s brain. She had a monstrous headache. If her hands hadn’t been occupied with carrying a tea tray to Louisa’s room, she would’ve massaged her temples.

  “Is that you, dear?” called Louisa from the massive four-poster cloaked with pale blue hangings.

  “Yes, I’ve brought your tea.” Olivia toted the tray into the large bedchamber and placed it on the table beside the bed. Due to Louisa’s swollen ankle, they’d decided to remain at Benfield overnight.

  Louisa sat propped against an array of sunshine-yellow and ivory pillows. She smiled while Olivia poured out. “Lovely, thank you.”

  Olivia pulled a chair near the bed and sat with her teacup. “How is your ankle?”

  “It still pains a bit, but it shan’t keep me awake tonight. You did splash a bit of brandy in the teapot like I asked?”

  “I did.” Olivia tasted the brew and decided it was an acquired appreciation.

  Louisa sipped her tea and gave a contented sigh. “Wonderful, dear. Are you sorry we weren’t able to attend the musicale in Town?”

  “Goodness, no. I prefer your company to people I scarcely know.” Olivia was grateful for the reprieve from the likes of Lady Lydia Prewitt.

  Louisa’s forehead creased. “You’re not unhappy, are you dear?”

  “Of course not. I simply relish our time together.” Indeed, today had been nearly idyllic, save Louisa’s injury and Jasper’s interrogation.

  “I do, too.” Louisa smiled warmly.

  How was it that Olivia could be so fond of Louisa in such a short time? Probably because she knew Louisa felt it, too.

  “Oh, we forgot about your sketches for Jasper’s waistcoat.” Louisa sighed. “This troublesome ankle upset the entire day. I don’t suppose you showed him your drawings when he gave you a tour of the house?”

  “No, he showed me Merry’s paintings, and I’m afraid we quite forgot about the waistcoat.” He’d been too busy questioning her, and she’d been too busy trying not to tell him everything.

  After the gallery, she and Jasper had returned to the library to dine with Louisa, and he’d left almost immediately thereafter. He hadn’t offered a second ride, not that Olivia had minded. Her posterior was a bit sore, and she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to be alone with him again—and a groom holding her reins didn’t qualify as a chaperone as far as Olivia was concerned.

  “Pity. Ah well, I’m sure we’ll see him tomorrow.”

  So soon? His probing questions had further undermined any sense of security she’d managed. He’d sent someone to Newton Abbott, and what he’d find—though of course she couldn’t admit it to him—was evidence of her lies. There were no parents who’d died in a carriage accident, or any other way. And she’d left seven years ago, not earlier this year. Her aunt would surely tell Jasper’s investigator precisely when, and probably even why, Olivia had left. It was only a matter of time before Jasper knew everything.

  “Louisa, would it be terrible if people learned the truth about me?”

  Louisa set her cup on the table. “I care for you a great deal, so I shan’t lie to you. Bastards, particularly females, are not embraced by Society. Your options would be fewer.” She regarded Olivia with a concerned, but empathetic expression. “Please don’t fret, dear. No one is going to discover the truth. How could they?”

  “Lady Addicock is from a town very near mine. I realize the chances of encountering someone who is familiar with me or my foster family is slight, but it’s not completely impossible.” Especially if someone went looking. Someone like Jasper. Why didn’t she do as she’d threatened and tell Louisa what Jasper had done? Maybe that would put an end to it.

  Surprisingly, Louisa’s lips curved up into a mischievous grin. This was not the reaction Olivia had been expecting. “I should have told you earlier today, but I’m afraid I quite forgot with the excitement of bringing you to Benfield. I dispatched someone to Newton Abbott to talk with your aunt and uncle, and I’m sorry to tell you that your uncle died.”

  Although she’d left the vicarage in an abrupt and upsetting manner, Olivia suffered a stab of sorrow. She’d spent fourteen mostly happy years as their daughter. “And my aunt?”

  Louisa shook her head. “She went to live with relatives not far from here, actually. A small village called Cheshunt. Do you want me to send someone to ascertain her welfare?”

  Olivia had spent many a sleepless night thinking of what she might like to say to her aunt if she could go back to that horrible day seven years ago. Though the pain was still there, Olivia was no longer angry. Indeed, she hoped her aunt might have put the past behind her, especially with both Uncle and Fiona gone. “I think I should like to visit her personally.”

  “I can accompany you when my ankle’s better.”

  Olivia didn’t want Louisa to meet Aunt Mildred, who possessed a cool and rigid demeanor. In fact, Olivia couldn’t imagine two more dissimilar women. “Thank you, but I think I should go alone. I do appreciate your kindness.”

  Olivia smiled but inwardly continued to fret. Though her aunt was no longer in Newton Abbott and couldn’t provide Jasper’s investigator with the truth, there were plenty of other people in the village who would remember Olivia, even after seven years.

  Louisa patted the bed next to her. “You still look worried. Come and sit with me, dear.”

  Olivia set her teacup on the table and perched next to Louisa.

  The older woman took her hand. “I want you to know I will support you no matter what.”

  These words meant more than anything. Olivia had been thrown out by one mother only to be begrudgingly taken in by another. To be wanted, at last, was beyond wonderful. She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, so she merely nodded.

  Louisa squeezed Olivia’s fingers. “I manufactured this ruse to protect you. I don’t want you to worry. I want you to enjoy yourself. My goodness, your young life has been far too full of vexation and anguish. You’ve so many things to experience. I’m very much looking forward to your Season next spring.”

  “I don’t have to find a husband, do I?”

  “Goodness no!” Louisa chuckled. She let go of Olivia’s hand and picked up her teacup. “There’s no rush, dear. You’re not even close to being on the shelf. Plenty of girls don’t marry during their first Season. “

  Like Louisa who hadn’t wed Merry until many years later. “You were one of those girls then?”

  “Oh, no. I became engaged to someone else my first Season.” Her eyes sparkled as she wiggled her eyebrows. “I was quite popular. My father’s, now my brother’s, dukedom is one of the oldest and wealthiest in the kingdom.”

  These were facts, not boasts, but they reminded Olivia of the vast differences between them. “I didn’t realize Merry wasn’t your first husband. Were you happy?”

  “Not particularly, but it was my duty. So many chits complain about their status not being high enough, but it can be terribly oppressive.” Holding her cup with two hands, Louisa sipped her tea.

  She’d no idea someone like Louisa would feel trapped. Did Jasper feel that way? His role as heir to a dukedom had to be rife with obligation. “So you married a man of your father’s
choosing?”

  Louisa nodded as she returned her cup to the table. “That’s how it’s done.” She pulled a face, which was quite humorous on a woman of her distinguished experience. “Wokenham was much older. Nearly fifty.” She giggled. “Younger than me now, of course.”

  Olivia smiled, finding Louisa’s mirth infectious.

  “But he wasn’t nearly as lively. Didn’t care to ride. Didn’t care to socialize. Didn’t care to do much beyond read crop treatises.” She inclined her head, with a solemnly respectful expression. “Which served him well, since he owned the finest estate in Staffordshire.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He died just four years into the marriage. Four long, childless years.” Her face fell and she shook her head. “Oh, that’s horribly uncharitable of me. He was a kind man, just too far gone for someone of my youth and vivacity.”

  Olivia knew Louisa yearned for children and could hear it in her voice now. “What did you do after that?”

  “Why, I lived the charmed life of a young widow!” She smiled and adopted a far-off look. “The things you can do when you are not beholden to your father or your husband…absolutely glorious.”

  Olivia didn’t precisely know what those things might be, but was fairly certain that as a young, unmarried woman she wasn’t allowed to do any of them.

  “I missed having a family of my own, but was quite content to make decisions without consulting anyone else. Until I met Merry.” Her face softened, revealing the love Olivia had seen so often since coming to live with her. “Suddenly, the ability to play cards all night or jaunt to Bath at a moment’s notice didn’t matter. Not when I’d found the person with whom I wanted to share not only those amusements, but the simple things, such as sitting together drinking tea.” She lifted her cup and offered a mock toast.

  Olivia understood. To have a companion to share not only your joys and struggles but also your everyday occurrences seemed a special thing. She didn’t think her foster parents had enjoyed such a relationship. And her mother had certainly never sought anything so civilized. Over the last several years, Olivia assumed she wouldn’t, either. She’d accepted her lot and made the most of it. But now she had Louisa and could perhaps dare to dream of more.

  Provided Jasper didn’t expose everything. She wished she could tell him the truth. He loved Louisa enough to accept Olivia, didn’t he? Besides, she wanted him to trust her. She owed him that much after trying to trick him. “Jasper was very attentive today with his instruction. I think we could tell him the truth about my relationship to Merry.”

  Louisa frowned sadly. “I’m afraid not, dear. I know Jasper far better than you, and while he would tolerate your place in my household for my sake, I refuse to burden him with keeping our secret.”

  Olivia wanted to argue, but couldn’t dispute that Louisa knew him better. That still didn’t change the fact that disaster was imminent, and she’d have to find a way to circumvent it. She considered telling Jasper anyway, but then she’d be lying to Louisa. Again. Furthermore, Olivia could only imagine what Jasper would do if she claimed to be Merry’s daughter. His illegitimate daughter.

  Oh, what a deceitful tangle! All so she could inhabit a society she wasn’t even sure she liked. And for what?

  She looked at Louisa sipping her tea, the hint of a smile ticking up the corners of her mouth. Olivia couldn’t stop the surge of warmth that spread through her chest. For the first time in her life, Olivia truly belonged with someone, and for that, she’d lie to the king himself.

  Chapter Twelve

  JASPER STROLLED out of the Black Horse in the company of Sevrin and Gifford. The club’s attendance had been on the low side tonight. Even so, they’d managed four bouts. Rather than participate, Jasper had spent the majority of the evening drinking a bottle of whiskey while thinking of Olivia back at Benfield. This obsession—and it was an obsession—was becoming irksome.

  “You’ve been quiet, Sax,” observed Sevrin. He’d been challenged in the last fight of the evening and now nursed a fat lip. Sevrin rarely sustained visible injury, but tonight he’d been a bit slow.

  “Is that why you moved like tar?” Jasper teased. “Too focused on me?”

  Sevrin gave him a gimlet eye. “No. Though I’m surprised you even noticed, busy as you were studying the intricacies of your whiskey.”

  Gifford laughed. “You sound like brothers. How long have you been friends?”

  Jasper looked at Sevrin, who surveyed him in return. “Not long.” But Jasper did feel a certain inexplicable affinity for him. Likely because they were both scoundrels.

  Sevrin led them from the court onto the Haymarket. “Where next, lads?”

  Jasper usually returned to Saxton House after visiting the club. However, tonight he felt unsettled, hungry. The time he’d spent with Olivia today had left him wanting.

  Gifford gestured east. “The Locust?”

  The Locust was a gaming hell; that much Jasper knew, though he’d never been there. He was surprised at the suggestion. A young tailor’s apprentice didn’t seem the type to frequent such places.

  Sevrin nodded. “Why not?”

  Because he didn’t want to return to his cold bed alone, Jasper joined them. Did that mean he’d settle for someone who wasn’t Olivia? He recoiled at the notion, but reason told him he ought to consider using another female to eradicate Olivia from his mind. If he could. Doubt nipped his heels as he took long strides to catch up with his friends.

  The small, squalid establishment occupied the ground floor of a brick building. Tables littered the main room, which they’d had to enter by squeezing past a drunkard negotiating with an aging whore.

  Sevrin towered over a table with four occupants—one snoring loudly—and cleared his throat. “Would you mind?”

  “Lookee here.” One elbowed another who promptly fell to the floor and didn’t get up.

  Sevrin took the now vacant chair and sat. “You chaps look about done, am I right?” He smiled, but drummed his fingers expectantly on the pocked tabletop. The two conscious men grabbed the man slumped on the floor and dragged him toward the exit.

  Jasper eyed the sleeping fellow. “What about this one?”

  “Ah, leave him,” Sevrin said.

  A wench in an excessively low-cut gown staggered toward them. She looked every bit as soused as the others. “What can I get ye?” She thrust her chest forward suggestively, but the tray in her hand indicated she purveyed beverages in addition to her flesh.

  “Gin,” ordered Sevrin. Gifford nodded in agreement.

  She plucked two cups from her tray and slammed them onto the scarred table. “You?” she asked, directing her bloodshot eyes toward Jasper.

  “Whiskey.”

  “Out, I’m afraid. I’ll go get summore. Don’ go nowhere. I’ve got to tell Ada the Vicious Viscount’s here!” She smiled widely, revealing a few holes where teeth ought to have been.

  Jasper’s insides curdled. Any notion he’d possessed to find a bed partner other than Olivia was well and truly dead.

  “Lively place you chose, Giff,” Sevrin said.

  “The Vicious Viscount. Really?” he countered, with an arched brow.

  Sevrin grinned. “It’s the alliteration I’m sure. Do I seem vicious to you?”

  On the surface he was irreverent, irresponsible, and irrepressible. Underneath, however, Jasper suspected there lurked something more. Something dangerous perhaps.

  The wench returned with his whiskey. “Somethin’ else I can get for ye three?” She moved close to Jasper, but he inched his chair away from her, bumping the knee of the snoring man. He stopped, but just for a second before resuming his loud rumbling.

  She pouted at Jasper. “No need to be rude. ‘Ere’s some girls over there what are interested.” She stabbed a finger toward the other corner on their side of the hell.

  Jasper turned his head. Three younger, more appealing women stared at them from where they stood gathered in a tiny coven. They looked
toward the men’s table and then spoke amongst themselves, frequently casting glances back in their direction.

  Jasper turned to face the table, determined to keep the unwanted women at bay, and purposefully oblivious as to whether his friends were in agreement. “Ignore them.”

  The serving wench slunk off.

  Sevrin slouched further into his rickety chair, giving no sign he gave a fig about the lightskirts. “You asked me awhile back about an actress, Olivia West. I saw a woman who looked like her at the Favershams’ the other night. I assumed I was mistaken, but then I heard her name mentioned at White’s earlier today. Some fellow, Twickenham or something, was going on about her. Is it the same woman?”

  Jasper wrapped his fingers around the cup of whiskey and squeezed the pottery. He downed the fiery liquid before answering. “It is.”

  Gifford sat a bit straighter in his chair. “Olivia West, you say?”

  “Do you know her?” Sevrin asked before Jasper could.

  “The name sounds familiar.” Gifford sipped his gin, regarding them over the rim of his cup.

  Sevrin turned to look at Jasper. “Twickenham said she was Lady Merriweather’s ward. Lady Merriweather is your aunt, I gather.”

  “Both statements are correct.”

  Sevrin leaned forward. “You’re being damnably reticent. How is this woman in Society?”

  Jasper should have realized someone would recognize her somehow. He was only glad it was Sevrin and not someone with more…influence. Preparing to share the spectacular story of Miss Olivia West, he signaled for more whiskey.

  “Miss West claims to be my uncle’s distant cousin. There is, conveniently, no evidence of this claim save a painted box that was definitely painted by my uncle and is now in her possession. I’ve no idea how she came to own this box, but my dear aunt believes she’s found a young woman in need of family and care, two things she’s desperate to endow.”

  Sevrin shook his head. “Are you saying Miss West is a charlatan?”

  “I suspect as much, yes.”