by Darcy Burke
Unfortunately she did. But oh, how she wished the duke were wrong!
The footman helped her to the street. Olivia tucked the purse into her pocket as she trudged up the stairs to the house. Behind her, the coach rattled away, but Olivia didn’t turn. She thought about his threat, whether by unfortunate compromise or some other circumstance. What did he mean by compromise? Did he intend for her to be ruined? How ironic then, that she already was, and at the hands of his own son.
But no, he wouldn’t want that exposed—and neither did Olivia.
Bernard opened the door. She mustered a weak smile before walking directly up to her room. You’re a whore just like your mother. She wasn’t! She hadn’t traded her virtue for anything but her own desire. Her affair with Jasper hadn’t been based on money and, furthermore, it was quite over.
It wasn’t too late to reclaim the life she’d been proud of. She wondered if the position Gifford had mentioned was actually available or if it had been some sort of ruse. Since he’d so brutally attacked Jasper, she’d be a fool to trust anything he said. Still, she could check with his mother. Indeed, she probably ought to visit Mrs. Gifford anyway. She had to be sick over her son’s actions and the fact that he was now lodged in Newgate.
She closed her door behind her and went straight to her dressing chamber. She didn’t even possess a trunk in which to stow all of the belongings she’d accumulated in the short time she’d been with Louisa.
Tonight she would attend one last event with Louisa—a ball. She would smile and laugh and behave as if her world wasn’t about to fall to pieces. Perhaps she’d be fortunate and Jasper wouldn’t even be there. Louisa had said he was recovering well from his wound, but surely he would stay home and rest.
She pulled the duke’s bribe from her pocket and dropped it onto her dressing table. She shouldn’t take his money, but why not? In fact, it was truly a pity she hadn’t demanded more.
SINCE arriving at the Coddington Ball, Jasper had been subjected to the excessive delight of his mother and the satisfied arrogance of the duke. Though unspoken, their expectation that he would announce his betrothal this evening was palpable. Probably because everyone in the ballroom was whispering about it.
Such a shame then that he meant to disappoint them. The only reason he’d dragged himself out of bed was to see Olivia and make it clear his affections lay with her. First, however, he ought to take a moment and speak with Lady Philippa. He had no desire to shock her by paying public attention to another woman.
Though he scanned the room for Lady Philippa, his gaze kept settling on Olivia. Gowned in emerald silk, she was breathtaking. The bare column of her neck screamed for jewels and kisses, and not in that order. That idiot Twickersham approached her, and before Jasper knew what he was doing, he’d joined them.
Jasper gave Twickersham a cursory head-nod and bowed to Olivia. “Miss West.” Louisa was turned slightly from them, involved with a group of her friends.
“Lord Saxton, good evening.” Olivia directed a pointed look at his shoulder. “I trust you are well.”
He warmed at her concern. “Quite, thank you.”
Twickersham wrapped Olivia’s hand around his arm. “I was just about to lead Miss West onto the dance floor.”
Jasper’s mind screamed against the toad touching her, but what could he do? Olivia gave him an apologetic glance as she moved onto the dance floor.
Jasper stared after them, his hands fisting. While the bloated idiot positioned himself with Olivia and another pair of dancers, Jasper considered leaving. However, his departure would prevent him scrutinizing the way Twickersham held Olivia’s hand a bit too long during the dance. Better to stand here and fume.
“Jasper, dear, you’re glowering.” Louisa touched his sleeve. “You don’t look at all like a man on the verge of providing a month’s worth of good gossip.”
He tore his gaze from Olivia and her offensive partner to look down at his aunt beside him. Was his fury that transparent? “What?”
“Your betrothal? Is it imminent?”
Jasper returned his attention to the dance floor.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” Louisa asked. “Goodness, your shoulder isn’t paining you, is it? Perhaps you should return to Saxton House. I realize this is the last ball of the summer, but there will be other opportunities to announce your engagement.”
He kept his gaze focused on Twickersham’s hands. “I’m not here to announce my engagement.”
Louisa followed his gaze. “Who are you staring at?”
“Olivia. She shouldn’t be dancing with that idiot, Twickersham. Aren’t you supposed to be chaperoning her?” His question came out much sharper than he’d intended. He glanced at his aunt.
Louisa’s eyes widened. “It’s just a dance, Jasper.” She looked at him shrewdly, and he was unable to turn back to watch Olivia. His aunt knew. She always saw what others never bothered to look for.
“Why aren’t you dancing with her?” she asked.
“I intend to.”
She grinned then. A face-splitting, heart-warming, life-affirming grin—the kind that lit up an entire ballroom and caused you to smile in return despite the fact that some nitwit was dancing with the woman you loved.
Oh yes, he loved her.
“Excellent,” Louisa said. “Why don’t you get some punch? I’m sure Olivia will be parched when she’s finished with the set.”
Jasper hesitated. He preferred to stay and supervise.
Louisa leaned close and whispered, “You can’t stand there and scowl.”
She was, unfortunately, correct. And as luck would have it, he caught sight of Philippa near the refreshment table. He took himself off.
When he was nearly to the table, a large, ham-faced gentleman with bushy brows stepped in his path. “You are Lord Saxton?”
Was this man approaching him without an introduction? Jasper made to push past him.
“I’m confident you’re Saxton.” He kept his voice low. “Your aunt is Lady Merriweather.”
Jasper froze and stared at the man. “What do you want?”
“My name is Clifton. I know your aunt’s ward.” The statement was full of insinuation and arrogance. He moved to the periphery of the ballroom.
Jasper clenched his teeth as he followed the man—he had no other choice. His hands fisted, pulling on the seams of his gloves. He pinned the man with a vicious glare when he reached the edge of the room. “Make your point.”
Clifton’s dark eyes narrowed, making him look like a snake slithering toward its dinner. “I’m prepared to reveal her true identity if you don’t agree to my terms.”
“I won’t be extorted.”
“I don’t want money. I want her. Tomorrow. Delivered to my townhouse. I will send the direction.”
Jasper nearly punched him then. He closed his eyes briefly and tried to summon the cool-headed man he’d been before he’d started fighting at the Black Horse and before Olivia had come into his life. She’d thrice tempted him to behave in ways he knew he shouldn’t, and now he wanted to tear this man’s arms off. For her.
“I’m not giving you Olivia.”
“I tried convincing her to leave of her own accord, but she didn’t. Now it’s up to you to give her over to me.”
Jasper looked at him sharply. “What do you mean you tried convincing her? You didn’t approach her, did you?” He advanced on the man.
Clifton stood his ground, seemingly unaware of Jasper’s broiling ire. “I sent a letter, but I doubt she would’ve shared it with you.”
What letter? She’d kept something else from him? His anger mounted.
Clifton stepped closer, adopting an even more hushed tone. “Your family won’t want the taint of her background marring your name. I think you’ll ensure she’s at my house tomorrow. I have a friend at the Times. I know they’d be dead interested in this story…”
Jasper drove his fist into Clifton’s face. Though he’d used his good arm, the quick moveme
nt sent a stab of pain to his left shoulder.
The large man staggered backward with a snarl. The people surrounding the refreshment table—including Lady Philippa—turned to stare.
Clifton came toward him, his hand fisted. Jasper was ready, despite the pain pulsing in his wound. The other man hesitated.
“Aren’t you going to try and hit me?” Jasper taunted. A touch on his arm drew his attention. Lady Philippa stood at his side.
“Saxton, come away.”
It was all Jasper could do not to launch himself at the bastard. “He offended me.”
“You can’t do this in a ballroom,” she whispered urgently.
Of course, he couldn’t. But he could do it on a dueling field. “Clifton, I’ll see you at dawn. My second will call on you later this evening.”
Clifton’s color paled a bit, but he gave a stiff nod. “I’ll send for my second at the Times.”
His meaning was clear. The secret of Olivia’s background would be printed in the newspaper for all of London to read and judge.
Jasper watched in mute fury as Clifton left the ballroom. Lady Philippa’s touch reminded him of where he was. The entire ballroom hadn’t come to a halt, but at least two dozen people stood staring. He glanced at Philippa, whose eyes were calm. “Please excuse me.”
She dropped her hand and nodded. “Will you be all right?”
“Fine.” He brushed by her and made his way past gaping ball-goers on his way to the nearest exit. He now owed Lady Philippa a Goliath of an apology and would beg her forgiveness tomorrow. But first he needed to find Sevrin to act as his second.
He reached the corridor and was nearly to the stairs when Holborn cut him off. “What the bloody hell was that?”
“The man offended me.”
“Then you call him out, you don’t strike him in public in the middle of a goddamned ball!”
“I did call him out.” Jasper pushed past the duke and moved toward the stairs. “I need to find my second.”
“Good Christ, Saxton, what could he have possibly done that would be worth a duel? I didn’t even recognize him. Go back inside and smooth the damage with Lady Philippa.”
Jasper glared at him then made to step forward again, but the duke grabbed his right—and thankfully unwounded—arm. His fingers bit through Jasper’s clothing into his bicep. “You’re not going anywhere. Get back in that ballroom and dance with Lady Philippa. I’ve spoken to Coddington, and he’ll announce your betrothal at midnight, if Herrick is amenable.”
“I’m not amenable. I’m leaving.”
“If you do, I’ll ensure your little harlot doesn’t know a moment’s peace.”
Jasper stared at him. “How did you know?” His encounters with Olivia should have been nearly impossible to discover.
The duke’s grip tightened, and the bruising pain reminded Jasper of his youth. “I know anything I please. Your mother noted that waistcoat you wore to Vauxhall. She saw your whore working on it at Benfield. Her Grace also saw you walk off with her toward the Hermit’s Walk and disappear. Fortunately, Her Grace did an excellent job covering up for your complete lack of discretion.”
Jasper’s fingers itched to push Holborn down the stairs. How dare he insult Olivia? “She’s not a whore.” Just a liar who still didn’t trust him. Why hadn’t she told him about Clifton’s letter?
“What is she, then? Your future countess, like that worthless chit ten years ago? I protected you from your foolish heart then, and I’ll do it now. Someone like her can never make you happy. She’ll embarrass all of us, and you’ll grow to resent her. Just as she’ll grow to resent you for putting her in an impossible situation. You can’t expect her to entertain the peerage?”
Jasper hated that the duke’s arguments weren’t complete nonsense. He’d had the same thoughts about Olivia himself. And knowing she still lied to him only exacerbated his doubt. Weakly, he disputed Holborn’s reasoning. “You make assumptions.”
Holborn squeezed his arm painfully. “Why can’t you do this one thing? James would’ve married the right woman years ago, but you’ve dragged your feet and now put this entire family at risk of unparalleled scandal. Not even your wayward sister stepped this far over the line. Damn it, Saxton.”
“Yes, I’m Saxton! Me, not James.” Jasper swung his arm away, but Holborn wouldn’t let go.
The duke’s foot slipped on the top stair. His grasp on Jasper loosened as gravity sucked at the lighter man. Jasper leapt in front of him and grabbed the railing for stability. His shoulder screamed in agonized protest. With his free hand, Jasper gathered a fist full of Holborn’s coat and set him firmly back on the floor. Jasper’s efforts lost him a few stairs, but he stopped himself before he tumbled to the hall below. He lightly rubbed his upper arm, where pain radiated down from his shoulder.
Eyes wide, chest heaving, the duke stared at him. “Don’t do this,” he croaked. “Please, I’m begging you.”
The duke was begging him? All Jasper had ever wanted was this man’s approval. He could have it if only he’d marry Philippa. But liar, schemer she may be, he couldn’t leave Olivia to the fate of the Cliftons of the world.
“You’ll ensure Miss West’s background remains secret. That man in the ballroom—his name is Clifton—claims to have a friend at the Times. Right now he’s delivering the tale of her past.”
The duke straightened his coat. “I’ll see to it immediately.”
Jasper couldn’t believe he was making this bargain, but it was the best he could do for Olivia. She could have a happy life. “Let her stay with Louisa. Louisa will take her to York. You need never see her.”
“Done.”
Jasper nodded. He couldn’t imagine announcing a betrothal tonight. Not with Olivia watching. “I’ll finalize things with Lady Philippa tomorrow. The banns will be read next Sunday.”
The duke looked as though he wanted to argue, but he pressed his lips together and nodded. “The duchess and I will plan an engagement dinner for Saturday next.”
Jasper’s gut churned. He wanted nothing more than to dive into a bottle of gin surrounded by the comforting sounds of violence. It was too bad his wound would prevent him from joining in.
Chapter Twenty-two
OLIVIA HAD watched Jasper hit Clifton from across the dance floor. The people around her were unaware of the spectacle, but she’d been unable to keep her eyes from Jasper all evening. As soon as Clifton had approached him, her heart had seized. Had Clifton sent that note? What was he doing here, and why was he talking to Jasper?
She feared she knew. And then when Jasper had struck the man, it became obvious. Jasper had sworn to keep her secrets safe, and he’d gone to extremes to do so.
Then Lady Philippa had intervened. Even from this distance, her care and concern were evident. As was his reaction. He’d backed down, and Clifton had walked away. It was all Olivia had needed to see.
Olivia turned to Louisa who’d been deep in conversation with Lady Addicock. “Excuse me, Louisa, I’ve a terrible headache. Would you mind if we went home?”
Louisa’s forehead creased. “Of course, dear.”
Lady Badby descended upon them in a flurry of bright red ostrich feathers stabbed into her hair. “Did you see Saxton nearly flatten that gentleman?”
Clifton was no gentleman, but Olivia remained silent. Louisa’s eyes widened. She shot a questioning glance at Olivia. It was an odd reaction and put Olivia further on edge.
“What happened?” Louisa asked.
“He hit a man over by the refreshment table.” Louisa and Lady Addicock turned their attention in that direction. “Oh, they’re gone now,” Lady Badby said with a wave of her hand. “Lady Philippa seems to have smoothed the situation. Oh, she’ll make Saxton a marvelous countess, provided her father doesn’t now deny him.”
Louisa gave Lady Badby a frigid stare. “No one will deny Saxton. I’m sure his reasons for striking that man were sound.” Olivia agreed wholeheartedly.
“Let’s hope so,
for he plans to meet him at dawn. He’s gone to fetch his second.”
Olivia fought to maintain her composure, but seemed to let something show. Louisa’s gaze narrowed briefly, but then she turned back to Lady Badby. “I’m sure this is nothing but baseless rumor, Augusta. And as a personal favor to me, I’d ask that you refrain from repeating it.”
“But, I was standing rather close by. I heard—”
Lady Addicock looped her arm through Lady Badby’s. “Come, dear, let us go discuss the weather or something else inane.” She steered Lady Badby away from a quite visibly annoyed Louisa.
“Yes, let’s go, Olivia,” Louisa said, taking her arm.
It took them several minutes until they could navigate their way through the ballroom. From the conversation surrounding them, it was apparent the story of Jasper’s altercation and impending duel had spread through the ballroom like a midsummer fire. However, by the time they reached the exit, they heard this: “Holborn has denied the duel will take place. The man—an unfortunate drunkard called Clifton—insulted Lady Philippa. Of course, Saxton wouldn’t put up with that.”
Louisa’s head perked up, but she said nothing. They left the ball in utter silence until they were firmly ensconced in Louisa’s coach.
Louisa turned to look at her. “Now, dear, please tell me why you asked to go home. I don’t believe for a second it’s due to a headache, though I daresay you may actually have one now.”
Olivia smoothed her skirt, searching for what she might say.
“Please don’t lie, dear. There’s no reason to. You know I love you, don’t you?”
Olivia’s throat constricted. She nodded, and tears filled her eyes. She blinked furiously. “That man that Jasper hit is someone from my mother’s past. I met him in a shop not long before you found me. He…propositioned me.”