by Kate Rolin
The music began then and Olivia tore her gaze from Cyrus, though she continued to feel his blessed, dark glaze upon her.
Derrick must have noticed, because he reached over to rest a hand on Olivia’s in her lap and leaned near her to whisper in her ear. It was a possessive move. She smiled politely, but did not comprehend a word he said.
The first hour went along in much the same way: Cyrus’s eyes on Olivia, Olivia’s on the stage. Haydn, whom she had longed to see perform, was now a mere object to focus her eyes on as her mind was solely on the dark man sitting alone in his box.
She sensed beside her that Derrick would not relax, in fact he seemed more tightly wound the longer that time went on. Because of that, she could not bring her eyes and fan to look toward Cyrus. She couldn’t be so obvious. Yes, she was going to reject Derrick’s proposal, but she didn’t want to humiliate the man.
The intermission would be coming up soon, but she had hoped to discreetly find Cyrus beforehand to avoid a crowd and a scene. She needed some way to signal to him to join her, but how if she couldn’t even turn to look at him?
She glanced down at her lap. That was it! Her bracelet.
She wore the sapphire bracelet Cyrus had given her for Christmas, but it was on the arm of the hand Derrick had refused to let go of. In fact, she felt he continually squeezed her hand harder and harder. Her fingers were starting to ache.
She chanced a glance at him and he looked harsh as he watched the concert below. Not at all like the Derrick she knew. Had Cyrus’s presence affected him that much?
She glanced down at her lap again. Derrick’s knuckles looked white, he was gripping her hand so hard now. She had to do something before he broke her own fingers…
Olivia fumbled with her fan in her free hand and clumsily dropped it in Derrick’s direction. Just as she hoped, he released her hand and bent to retrieve it for her. She took that split-second opportunity to glance at Cyrus, and just as she’d felt, his eyes were on her now—dark and unreadable.
Moving her left hand to the other side of her lap, she accepted her fan with her right. “Thank you,” she whispered and smiled, returning her eyes to the performance.
Her left hand now free, she stretched her gloved fingers for a second, then inconspicuously raised it to softly touch her hair, as if checking to see if her curls were still in place. She knew if Cyrus was still watching he would be able to clearly see she wore his bracelet—her olive branch.
Now. This was it. She would need to move quickly if he was to catch her meaning. She began to cough, not overly-loud, but enough to excuse herself to exit. Still gripping her fan, she lifted her skirts and exited into the hall outside their box. She didn’t want to stray far because she didn’t want to raise suspicion by being gone too long. Cyrus could come to her.
What she really expected from Cyrus, she didn’t know. An apology maybe? Declaration of love? A kiss? She just knew she needed to see him.
She quietly paced back and forth a little further down as she waited. She smiled when a deep voice came from behind, “Waiting for me?”
~
Olivia’s heart thundered as she turned about, but then she was unable to hide the surprise on her face as she looked up into green eyes.
“Derrick!”
The sneer on his face was unmistakeable. “Or was it your precious Duke you were hoping to see?”
Well, now was as good a time as any…
“Derrick, I do need to speak with you and I won’t make you wait any longer. I have an answer for you—I’m afraid I can’t marry you. I don’t love you and that isn’t fair to you. You deserve better than that and I’m so sorry…I appreciate all you’ve done for me and I hope you will agree to remain as Josef’s tutor, although I understand if you wish to resign. I do care about you greatly and I only wish you the best.”
When it appeared he was not going to say anything, she said, “I believe I will find my own way home now,” and started to walk past him.
Suddenly, he reached up and grabbed her by the hair, jerking her head back to look up at him. Anger and despise flashed in his eyes and made Olivia feel very afraid of this man who now seemed a stranger to her. He spoke low and his words chilled her, “Well now, that’s very admirable of you, but I don’t accept.”
Olivia’s head was still pulled back at an aching angle. She was speechless. Did he think he would still marry her after she refused? “I’m sorry Derrick, maybe I wasn’t clear. I’m not marrying you.”
Before Olivia knew what was happening, Derrick stormed off dragging her with him, his hand still pulling her by her hair.
“Ow, Derrick! Stop! Please, you’re hurting me!”
He didn’t say a word, but continued walking until he came to a door. He stuck his head in to make sure the room was empty and then flung her inside. Olivia noticed it was an empty retiring room.
Derrick shoved her to the floor, and spying a heavy brocade chair, placed it in front of the door. He then made it back to her in two large steps.
Gripping her upper arms, he yanked her up off the floor. “I don’t think you understand. I will marry you whether you like it or not, and there’s nothing you or your precious Duke can do about it. I will have what’s mine!”
“I do not belong to you, sir!”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You? You think I want you?” His fingers were digging into her arms now. “You apparently don’t realize, but my father lost my entire inheritance in an investment scheme that did not turn out in his favor. There was a man who benefited though, the late Earl of Eddingham.”
Olivia’s blood froze. “But…surely you can’t blame me for a poor business decision made by your father! I was only a child then and had no knowledge of what my father invested in. Why don’t you take it up with the current Earl of Eddingham?”
“Yes, yes, of course. But you see, my dear, I know of the money your father left you. Your inheritance came directly from what my father lost. Money that should have been mine! And mark my words, I will have what is mine!”
Olivia felt she was looking at a wild animal by the deranged look in his eye and his now disheveled hair. “You…monster! You will never have—“
Slap!
The left side of Olivia’s face hurt like never before. She felt a warm, metallic taste in her mouth and knew her lip must be bleeding as well. “I will never marry you!”
Pain at her right temple blindsided her then as he swung around and his fist connected.
“You will. I will make sure of it!” A sickening smile appeared on his face, making Olivia’s stomach turn even as she felt her right eye now swelling shut. “In fact, I’ll make sure of it right now. I’ll ruin you for any other man. Not even your precious Duke would want a whore!”
He dragged her to a nearby table and turned her over on it, furiously working to pull up her skirts all the while Olivia kicked and screamed.
“Scream all you want, but I’m afraid no one will be able to hear you over the music, my dear.” He paused before unbuttoning his breeches and ran a hand up her leg. “Mmm…I must say, I’m glad you turned out to be so desirable, though I would have married a cow to get what is mine.”
Olivia turned to spit at his face and was rewarded by another slap.
“Now, where were we?”
No…no, this could not be happening! She knew he’d let her live for he needed her to get to the funds, but now the thought of surviving what he was about to do seemed a worse fate than death itself.
She knew he was right. No one would hear her.
Unless…
Unless Cyrus had made it to their hallway to meet her. He may be out there now. She had to try!
“Help me! Please!” She gave one final shrill scream.
Derrick leaned on her, his face next to hers. “Now you are mine.” His breath revolted Olivia and then her world went black.
~
As soon as Cyrus had seen Olivia leave, he waited just a moment more so as not to be seen e
xiting at the same time, then he made his way as quickly and discreetly to where he felt she would be waiting for him—for him!
She was giving him another chance! Though he knew he was wrong for her for all the same reasons he’d given, and he especially didn’t deserve her after what he’d done, he loved her—fiercely—and was finally ready to accept whatever risks to his heart came with it.
Reaching the top of the stairs to her hallway, he looked and found it empty.
His heart sank.
Had he misjudged her meaning? Had she merely been teasing him?
No, he knew Olivia would not be so cruel. Perhaps he needed to keep looking elsewhere.
He started to turn when he noticed a lace fan lying in the floor with no owner in sight. As he went to retrieve it, he thought he heard a shrill cry over the music. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere further down the hall. His heart stopped—something was wrong. His long legs made quick strides as he called out, “Olivia?”
On his right, he came to a door and without hesitation went to open it, but something was blocking it from inside. He banged loudly, “Open this at once!”
A male voice replied, “This room is occupied, move along.”
Stratton.
Cyrus knew nothing else in that moment, but that he had to get to Olivia right away. He reared back and ran his body into the door with such force it splintered around the handle and he burst through, shoving the chair back on his impact.
One glance at a surprised Wainwright on top of a bruised and unconscious Olivia and Cyrus saw red. He took one long stride—more like a leap—and pulled Derrick up to his face by his cravat. His hands went about the man’s neck and he started choking him. “You monster! I won’t let you have her!”
Gasping for air, Derrick still smiled and managed to get a few words out, “I..already..have.”
Cyrus snapped. He began pummeling Derrick with blow after blow, continuing even after it was clear the man was unconscious. All he could see in his mind was that scene before him when he had first entered the room.
“Cyrus!”
Cyrus continued beating the man.
“Cyrus! Cyrus stop! You’ll kill him!”
Cyrus froze. It was Olivia—and she was conscious. He looked down to see a very bloodied, but alive Stratton. He unclenched his fists and turned to see Olivia. She sat in the floor in a crumpled heap, her face bruised and swollen, reaching her arms out for him.
She was alive.
Cyrus went to her in a flash and gently lifted her in his arms. He kicked aside the remnants of the door and made his way downstairs, holding Olivia close.
Finally with Cyrus, Olivia allowed herself to succumb to the darkness, but still it came and went. She heard Cyrus’s deep voice murmuring words of love—love—then felt the darkness creep in. Cyrus was telling someone there was a man upstairs waiting for the authorities—darkness again. A jolt, as if in a carriage, still with Cyrus’s arms about her—darkness. Familiar smells of Cyrus's home, voices around her—Charles? A soft bed. Cyrus ordering for a doctor. And for Elizabeth—but she shouldn’t bring the child. Why, Olivia wondered? She would like to see her son. And then, finally, deep darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
Cyrus sat by Olivia’s bed with his knees touching the edge and his head in his hands. How long had he been sitting here? Two, three days? He still wore the same clothes from the concert, now crumpled and stained with Stratton’s blood. His hair hung loose and wild about his head and a shadow of a beard lined his face.
Olivia had not awakened once, and no matter what the doctor, Elizabeth, or his servants said, he would not leave her side until he knew that she was going to be ok. He had also refused Elizabeth’s wish to move Olivia to her house.
The doctor had already been by this morning. That first night, he had stilled Cyrus’s worst fears by confirming no rape had actually taken place—the devil had merely lied to him. He also stated Olivia was merely badly bruised and beaten and likely in shock. No bones were broken. They would simply have to let her awaken on her own. The doctor had said it was a good thing Cyrus had found her when he did or it might have been too late.
Cyrus had wanted to curse the man—it was actually all his own fault. If he hadn’t let his fear and pride get in the way, none of this would have happened in the first place.
Instead Cyrus had merely nodded, silently vowing to himself he would spend the rest of his life, however long it would be, protecting and loving Olivia.
And if she never woke up? No, he couldn’t allow his mind to go there. He’d go mad. All he could do now was wait by her side…and pray.
He had not prayed since Lydia died. Unlike most of his peers, Cyrus had genuinely been interested in religion, but Lydia’s death had shown him that for all his efforts, it didn’t work. Yet, here he was, praying again as he had no other choice. He begged, pleaded, and bargained—declaring his love, his remorse, his faults.
He started and his head shot up. A warm hand had softly touched his knee.
He saw Olivia awake, barely smiling, and looking right at him. Thank you—he silently ended his prayer with the praise and grabbed her hand.
“Olivia, you’re awake!” He was at a loss for more words.
She tried to smile more, but grimaced. Her right eye and cheek were better, but still swollen. “It…hurts.” Her voice was gravelly after a few days without water.
Cyrus shot to his feet and flew to the door. “I need water…and the doctor…now!” He roared out into the hall.
He came back to Olivia’s side and reached to smooth her hair and gently touch the less swollen side of her face. “Shhh love, don’t talk. The doctor says you will be fine.”
As if the memory of that awful night came flooding back at once to Olivia, he saw her blue eyes grow large with fear. “He tried to…did…he?”
Cyrus could barely speak now, he was so overcome with emotion. He worked his jaw, “No love, he didn’t. The doctor says he was stopped in time.”
Relief flooded Olivia’s face and she closed her eyes. Just then, the water arrived. Cyrus dismissed the servant and knelt to Olivia, smoothing her hair to stir her. “Here’s water, love. You need to drink now. Here, I’ll help you.” He gently lifted her head from behind and held the glass to her dry lips. She took a few sips before exhaustion took over and she succumbed to slumber once again.
Cyrus remained and waited for the doctor. She was alive and she had awakened. He allowed himself to really look at her now. With her auburn curls splayed over the pillow, green sheets pulled up to her chin, and her face proclaiming purple and yellowing bruises and one swollen eye, Cyrus thought to himself that she never seemed more precious to him than in that moment.
He continued to wait.
And began to pray again.
~
Cyrus sat in his study two weeks later catching up on work he had neglected as of late while Olivia was in her room napping. The doctor had declared she had made a full recovery. She was even up and about these days, appearing to be her old self again. But he knew the emotional turmoil she had endured. He kept her company at meals, read to her in the library, walked with her in the garden, and listened to her as she played briefly on the pianoforte—content to simply be with her.
She had not mentioned that night again once. Never brought to attention the fact that she remained in his house, or that Josef remained with Elizabeth save his daily visits to see her. She appeared to accept Cyrus’s aid in helping her heal unquestioningly. And so, neither did he bring it up—not that night or even…them. He would wait and give her whatever time she needed.
Just then, Charles entered announcing Lady Brighton’s arrival and behind him Cyrus saw Elizabeth. He stood and smiled as she walked over. This all seemed so familiar. “Thank you, Charles.”
“Cyrus, dear, how is Olivia today?”
“Quite well. She’s napping now, but I can tell she grows stronger every day.”
Elizabeth smiled, her dimples
appearing. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. She has always been like a daughter to me, never having had children of my own. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to her too…” She broke off and turned away from Cyrus then, walking over to admire the painting that hung on the wall.
Funny, he no longer gazed at it daily as he once did, wishing the woman would come to life on the very canvas. He’d actually not thought on it in some time.
“She was very beautiful, your Lydia.”
Cyrus walked over to Elizabeth. “That she was. You knew then she was exactly what I needed, just as you have now, with Olivia—haven’t you?”
Elizabeth smiled, casting a side glance to Cyrus. “I see I’m found out.” She paused and then turned more serious. “I need to speak with you Cyrus. It’s important and I’m afraid it can’t wait.”
“Here, sit Elizabeth. What is it?” He remained standing, unable to sit at anticipation of what she had to say. He looked on as she settled on the small couch, smoothing her skirts.
“The morning following the—accident—one of your investigators showed up at my door. Apparently Charles had sent him to me as you were in no state to discuss his findings.”
“Yes? Go on. What did he find?”
Elizabeth squirmed uncharacteristically in her seat. “It won’t be easy for you to hear, or for me to tell you, I’m afraid.”
Cyrus stopped himself from shaking her. “Just tell me, Elizabeth! What did he say?”
“Let me start by saying I thought it very odd that I had completely forgotten about Clara’s youngest son. I suppose all those years ago I had become consumed with Phillip’s death and then my own family tragedies in Austria. Because I know everyone in London, I assume Clara—or George—must have paid handsomely to cover it all up.”
“Elizabeth, just tell me!” Impatience now tore at him.