by Darcy Burke
He was right, but that didn’t mean she appreciated his dictatorial attitude. Why was he acting so cold?
“Are you angry with me because I went out alone?” Or was he angry about what had happened at Benfield? She hadn’t seen him since then, and while her insides quivered like a Christmas jelly, he seemed cool as frost.
He shook his head and moved to the mantelpiece, keeping his face averted from her. “I’m not angry.” He turned, and his frigid expression had disappeared. “We need to keep the identity of your mother secret. Who knows about her?”
Goodness, the list could be endless. “The employees at the theatre.”
“Excellent, I can take care of them. It’s really too bad you didn’t use an alternate surname, however.”
She smiled wryly. How many times had she thought that same thing? “I might’ve done if I hadn’t already introduced myself to you as Miss West.”
He arched a brow. “Yes, and keeping me from the truth was very important.” His tone reeked of sarcasm.
“To Louisa,” she gently reminded him. While she hated that Louisa hadn’t trusted him, she wanted him to know it hadn’t been her preference.
He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Who else?”
She searched her memory. “My mother died not quite a year ago, and I lived with her most of the time during the past seven years.”
“That long?” he asked. “How did you manage to stay—”
“Innocent? It was difficult at times, but the one thing my mother was good at was protecting me.” On more than one occasion she’d provided special favors to keep Olivia out of harm’s way. Olivia couldn’t quash a shiver of revulsion.
Jasper came toward her. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Living with Fiona was…problematic.”
He paused before her, a bare arm’s length away. “Tell me.”
She could at least be honest with him about this. “I asked about your fighting because it frightens me. Several of her lovers hit her. They liked to inflict pain.” She gave him a piercing stare, wishing she could see all the way into his heart. “You don’t like that, do you?”
His pale eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “No. Did any of these men hurt you?” His hands fisted.
Just the one when she’d tried to intervene on Fiona’s behalf, but she couldn’t tell Jasper that. Not when he already looked so furious. She couldn’t encourage him to have violent thoughts. “No. They hurt Fiona. The last one pushed her down the stairs, and she died.”
He exhaled. “I’m sorry. That’s not why I fight,” he said, the ire dissipating from his gaze. “You saw what I did for Mrs. Reddy. I would never hurt a woman.”
She knew that, in her heart. Still, a man who enjoyed violence unsettled her. Not that anything Jasper did should matter—what he did had no bearing on her. Their relationship existed for Louisa. If not for her, they would part and never speak again.
“What do you plan to do about the theatre employees?” she asked.
“Aren’t there more than just them? What about your mother’s lovers?”
Olivia recalled Mr. Clifton and Lord Prewitt. The former had been quite certain—and accurate—in his recognition, while the latter had only supposed. Or had he? For all she knew, he’d made the connection and was even now spreading the on-dit about London.
“There were so many. I don’t know if any of them would recognize me.” Clifton didn’t circulate in the same set, and so Olivia didn’t see the point in mentioning him, but she had to tell Jasper about Lord Prewitt. She swallowed. “There was one instance…”
His eyes flashed and he moved forward a half step. “What? Tell me.”
“At the Faversham Ball, Lord Prewitt said I looked familiar. He didn’t mention Fiona’s name, so for all I know he could’ve thought I looked like his childhood governess.”
Jasper pressed his lips into a thin line. He looked a bit like his father just then. “Doubtful. But you say he didn’t seem certain?”
“It was a passing comment, and that was days ago now. Surely we would know if he’d started a rumor?”
He nodded. “Probably. Still, I’ll need to do a bit of investigating.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Ensure none of these people mistakenly say you’re Fiona Scarlet’s daughter.” He turned and walked to the windows, presenting his back to her.
“Louisa said people would believe what we tell them, that no one would be boorish enough to contest what she said.”
“Perhaps.” He turned. “I also wanted to ask about your trip on the heath the other day. You never told me where you went.”
She wanted to block that horrid visit from her mind. “I went to see my aunt. She was my foster mother.”
His eyes narrowed. “So you lied about living in Devon?”
“No, no,” she rushed to say. “My uncle died, and she moved to Cheshunt to live with relatives. Since she was close, I decided to pay a visit.”
He nodded, accepting what she said, but then he moved forward with an intent look. “You said you lived with your mother seven years. Why did you move from Devon?”
Though she wanted to be honest with him, some things were too painful to reveal. She couldn’t tell him Mildred had thrown her out after learning her husband was Olivia’s father, even if that proved to be false. Olivia offered a half-truth instead. “My aunt never particularly cared for me. Raising her half-sister’s—her half-whore-sister’s—child was a burden she never accepted. I left.”
His lips formed a grim line. “I don’t think that’s everything. By now, you should realize I’m quite aware of when you withhold information.”
“Like you refusing to tell me about why you fight?” She stepped toward him, afraid of the answer to her next question, but determined to ask it anyway. “Did the duke…beat you?”
He stared at a spot over her head, saying nothing.
Her frustration mounted. “Tell me why. I can’t reconcile this violent nature of yours with your other attributes, which include a vast generosity for those less fortunate. ” She knew from her experience with Fiona that some men just needed violence. The way others needed love. The question tripped from her lips. “Do you need to fight to feel…whole?”
His gaze turned frigid. “I had wanted to speak with my aunt as well, but as she has not yet returned, I shall call tomorrow instead.” He stepped around her, careful to make a wide swath, and left.
She turned and watched him go, disappointed that despite what they’d shared at Benfield, neither one of them was ready to trust.
JASPER rushed from Louisa’s townhouse, nearly stumbling down the front stairs. He wished he hadn’t allowed Sevrin the use of his phaeton. Without it, he couldn’t very well make a rapid escape.
Why had Olivia kept on him about the fighting? He understood she didn’t like it, given what she’d endured with her mother, but what he did had nothing to do with her. Wouldn’t ever have anything to do with her after he quashed any gossip about her and married Lady Philippa.
What really bothered him, however, was that he couldn’t answer her question. Why did he fight? He’d long enjoyed the sport, but at the Black Horse it had become something more. Upon reflection, he realized he’d visited the back room of the tavern every day since joining, whether to fight or merely to watch. And the thought of not going speared his insides, though he knew that day would come. How would he explain this hobby, the various bruises and cuts, to his new wife?
His aunt’s coach pulled to a halt in the street. Bollocks. Though he’d initially come to speak with her, he now preferred to avoid her. His interview with Olivia had been unexpected, and her interrogation as well as her evocative presence had quite upset his equanimity. He needed to maintain some semblance of composure for his appointment with Philippa. Talking with his aunt about her lack of faith in him would only further threaten his ability to remain in control.
The coachman leapt down to open the door. Jasper had no choice but to paste
a smile upon his taut face. A smile that promptly vanished as the duke stepped from the carriage. What was left of his poise slipped another notch.
“Saxton.” Derision marked his tone. “You’re just leaving?”
Jasper’s temple began to throb. “Yes, I’ve an appointment with Lady Philippa.” Though the thought of it at this moment only contributed to his oncoming headache.
“I presume you’ve come to see your aunt, but here she is.” He helped Louisa down and scanned the street. “Where is your vehicle? You can’t have been here long enough to send it to the mews, unless you’ve been awaiting Louisa for some time.”
Louisa gave her brother a derisive glance. “Perhaps he’s been visiting with Olivia. How is she? She had a bit of the headache earlier.” Louisa stared at Jasper’s mouth. “Oh my, what happened to your lip, dear?”
“Er, nothing.”
The duke directed him a pointed, assessing look, but didn’t address the injury. His lack of comment was suspicious. “Hmm, something must be in the air. Your mother left tea with an aching head.”
“That’s why you’re with Louisa, then?” Jasper was surprised the duke hadn’t demanded the coachman drop him at Holborn House first.
“And to see her home. Her ankle is paining her a bit.” He cast a dark glance at Jasper. “I do have a care for my sister. As you seem to for Miss West. I trust she’s feeling better?”
Jasper had to admit to seeing her, though he knew his father was ferreting for just this information. “Yes, she is well.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed. Definitely processing, and by the look of it, judging this knowledge. “Since you’re on your way out, I’ll drop you at Herrick House for your appointment. Unless you’re waiting for your horse or phaeton?”
Normally Jasper would’ve preferred to walk—all the way to York—than ride with his father, but he couldn’t ignore the warnings sounding in his head. The duke was dangerous when inquisitorial, and Jasper didn’t like that he’d set his sights on Olivia—it was the very thing they needed to avoid.
Louisa frowned slightly. She hadn’t missed the tension between father and son. “I’m sorry I missed your visit, Jasper.”
“It’s quite all right. I’ll call on you tomorrow.” He bussed her cheek before following his father into the dim interior of Louisa’s coach.
The duke wasted no time in launching an attack. Of course he couldn’t let Jasper’s battered lip go unremarked upon. “I know you’re not fighting at Jackson’s, yet nearly every time I see you of late you’re displaying some sort of injury. Either you’ve become the clumsiest man in England, or you’re fighting somewhere else. And poorly I might add, given the way you look most of the time.”
“Not clumsy.”
“Where?”
“Nowhere you’d know. Why did you really escort Louisa home?” Jasper hadn’t believed the duke’s declaration that he cared. No, he likely had far more nefarious motives. Motives that perhaps involved Olivia.
“Your mother and I are suspicious of Miss West. Her sudden appearance and immediate acceptance by Louisa are troubling. We don’t recall a vicar in Merriweather’s extended family.”
“You could be mistaken.” Jasper worried it was already too late to keep Olivia’s background secret.
The duke barked a hollow laugh. “Not bloody likely. She’s got to be an imposter.”
Perhaps there was a way to circumvent Holborn’s suspicions. “I had the same thought. I dispatched an investigator as soon as she arrived. I expect information any day.”
Holborn’s eyes widened. He grunted with…approval? “I’m surprised you thought of it. Pleased, but surprised.”
It was as much of a compliment as Jasper had ever received from the man. “I wouldn’t worry about Miss West. She’s of little consequence. I don’t believe she has any particular ambition, nor does she seem to covet Louisa’s fortune.”
“So she says. Oh yes, she gave your mother and me the same pretty speech. I still don’t trust her. Probably that God awful ginger hair.”
Jasper sought to keep his temper in check. “I will share the report when I receive it from my investigator.”
The duke leaned back against the squab. Sunlight filtered through the window and glinted in his sapphire eyes. “You’ve a particular interest in this girl, but you know she’s not good enough.”
“Of course not.” Though in his mind he knew what the duke said was true, admitting it aloud scraped at his insides. “I plan to marry Lady Philippa. We are, in fact, on our way to her house,” he added with more than a touch of irony.
Holborn snorted. “Very well. When do you plan to announce? Her Grace and I will host a dinner of course.”
“I plan to speak plainly with Lady Philippa today. Her father is currently in Oxfordshire attending to estate matters, but I believe she plans to write to him to request his return.”
“Indeed? This day is full of revelation about my wayward son. Perhaps you’ll manage to come up to snuff after all.”
The coach halted in front of Herrick House. Before Jasper could escape, the duke said, “I’ll be waiting on that report. If it’s lacking, I’ll send my own man to discern the chit’s true identity. I won’t put up with some gutter-born pretender riding the Holborn coattails. And you’d do best to stay away from her. Visiting her without Louisa’s chaperonage will land you in precisely the same predicament as ten years ago. If it hasn’t already.” He delivered a probing stare that churned Jasper’s simmering ire into full-blown rage.
Without a word, he exited and stood on the sidewalk until the duke had pulled away. Jasper was in no condition to see Lady Philippa, but she was expecting him. He had to get his emotions under control. God, he hated that the duke was right about him. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Olivia and, questionable background or not, she hadn’t deserved to be ruined.
Olivia’s questions echoed in his mind. Did he need this violence to be whole? He’d always believed his father had needed to exert physical superiority in order to maintain control—their relationship had worsened after the duke realized he couldn’t literally force Jasper to his will anymore. Was Jasper no better?
Suddenly, his long-held doubt of Olivia sickened him. Who cared if she was a Nobody from some backwater village? Hadn’t his sister found happiness with just such a person? A gentleman with no title, no fortune, and no approval from Holborn. Furthermore, Louisa needed a companion and by all accounts, Olivia fit the bill. Perfectly. Jasper believed what he’d just said about her character. She was without guile and seemed to genuinely care for Louisa. Whereas he was a blackguard cut in the image of his father.
Reluctantly he made his way up the steps to Herrick House. With spectacular effort, he quashed his emotions and summoned his most charming smile. His objectives were simple: ensure Olivia and Louisa were undisturbed and happy, marry Lady Philippa, and keep his hands off Olivia.
Chapter Sixteen
JASPER ARRIVED at Louisa’s townhouse rather early the next morning. The conversation with his aunt couldn’t wait another moment. Her lack of faith was slowly eating away at him, and coupled with yesterday’s encounter with Holborn, he’d completely bungled his call on Lady Philippa. He hadn’t discussed the engagement at all. He’d reasoned that he needed to solve the problems surrounding Olivia first. Then he could focus on Lady Philippa.
Bernard admitted him to the Rose Room where Louisa would join him momentarily. Jasper stood before the painting of Merriweather Hall. Remarkable how the roses and vines perfectly matched the box Olivia had in her possession. A gift from Merry to his lover.
Jasper tried to imagine his kindly uncle chasing after an actress of Fiona Scarlet’s infamy. Merry had been handsome, Jasper supposed, but without the bearing or stature of someone who would command attention. He’d been intellectual and witty, as well as artistic, of course. Perhaps that was the part of his nature that had appealed to the actress—and what had driven him to pursue her.
Later he’d m
et and fallen in love with Louisa, and Jasper could truly think of no two people more meant for each other. He knew Louisa missed him terribly and understood why she would want to find his daughter—and never let her go.
“Why, Jasper, this is an early call!” Louisa hummed into the room with a bright smile.
Jasper met her in front of the settee and kissed her cheek. “Good morning, Aunt. I’m afraid I have a few things to discuss with you, and they couldn’t wait.”
Her forehead creased. “This sounds serious, dear. Shall I ring for tea?”
“No, thank you. Let’s just sit.” He gestured to the settee and then joined her there.
Now that the moment was here, he couldn’t seem to find the words. Why did you lie to me? seemed harsh. Why don’t you trust me? sounded needy. He settled for, “I know the truth about Olivia.”
She scarcely reacted to what he said, merely tipped her head to the side. “And what is that?”
She couldn’t mean to continue lying to him? Jasper suppressed his frustration. “I know she isn’t Merry’s cousin. She’s his daughter.”
Louisa pursed her lips. “Olivia told you this?” She didn’t look upset at all. Perhaps just a touch disappointed.
Jasper’s temper pricked. “Yes, but only because I learned some telling facts about her and she had to confess. Louisa, I don’t think you contemplated this ruse very thoroughly.”
Now she frowned. “There is no ‘ruse’. I know Society will not accept her as Merry’s bastard. I did what I had to in order for her to be a member of my family.”
“Do you include me in ‘Society’ instead of as a member of your family? Is that why you kept the truth from me?”
At last, Louisa revealed a shock of surprise, but then Jasper hadn’t bothered to keep the hurt from his tone. “Jasper, my dear boy, I only wanted to protect you from knowing the truth. I know how hard you’ve worked to keep yourself from scandal.”
“Yes, but I would think of all people, you would trust me. Me.”
She took his hand between her small, soft palms. “I can see I made a terrible mistake. It’s been far too easy for me to believe you’re like your father, if only because you try so hard to fit into the image he’s cast for you.”