The Making of Baron Haversmere

by Carol Arens

  Even had Olivia thought the performance dull she would not have nodded off. How could she have with her hand taking odd turns at shivering and steaming, gloves notwithstanding?

  There had been a point when she had half a mind to slip the glove off, feel Josiah’s warm flesh curled around hers.

  She would not—no, never. It had been a very bold move to do what she had. Even so, she could not say she regretted it.

  She had never simply held a man’s hand for the sheer tenderness of it.

  Her husband had not been one for tenderness, at least not once the vows had been recited, but, no, even before that he had only play-acted at it. As naive and open-hearted as she had been, she had not known the difference between genuine and false.

  She knew it now.

  There was no doubt that Josiah Steton’s attentions towards her were an expression of open-hearted—something—and whatever it was, it was quite genuine.

  Indeed, every bit as genuine as the reason she had taken his hand in the first place. The man needed comfort for the loss he feared coming. She wanted to give that comfort. She was adept at giving comfort—did she not give it to Victor daily?

  Somewhere between the first and second act of the opera, something had changed inside her. The something was not at all maternal.

  What had begun as a compassionate gesture had quite turned on her.

  Indeed, compassion did not lead one to wonder what his large rough hands would feel on other parts of her person. It certainly did not make one’s pulse race and her heart feel like a melted lump, all sweet and gooey.

  She watched him going down the stairs ahead of her, filling the role of the Duchess’s escort.

  Light from the sconces along the walls made his hair gleam a rich and engaging brown. She thought to tap his shoulder and remind him to put on the hat, but if he did she would not be able to appreciate his hair, wonder what it would be like to touch it, smell it.

  ‘What do you know about him?’ Roselina nudged her with an elbow.

  What? Oh, Lord Grantly’s son, of course.

  ‘I have not heard any scandal involving him. He is Lord Grantly’s heir. The family is respectable. But take care, Roselina. Many men will seek an introduction. You will be sought after, but, please, do be more cautious than I was.’

  ‘Yes, I will be. And may I say something, as a friend? For we are, are we not?’

  ‘Indeed we are and you may.’

  ‘Good, then, because I tell you this in all affection. I have heard about your first husband. But you can trust Joe. My brother is as loyal a man as you will meet.’

  Having been acquainted with him for some time now, she did believe it. But who would he be loyal to?

  Just because they had touched hands all through the opera did not mean it would be her. She had lost count of how many ladies had glanced appreciatively at him tonight.

  The advice she had just given Roselina went for her as well. Be careful, be cautious and do not let your heart be broken.

  And yet—she still wanted to reach out and touch Josiah’s hair.

  Would it be so horrible to forget caution for one night, begin with it again tomorrow? Really, she had already abandoned it so what did it matter?

  Gracious, what a feather she had for a brain. She did not even know that Josiah wanted to have his hair touched.

  While she was wool-gathering, several people stepped between her and the rest of her group.

  She tried to catch up, but the effort was futile. Each second put her further and further behind them. Using the Duchess’s hat feather as a beacon, she made slow progress down the stairs.

  The room suddenly flared in cold white light. By the time her eyes adjusted, thunder rumbled over the roof. Through the open doors she heard voices exclaiming over the sudden deluge of rain.

  ‘You seem to have been parted from your company, Lady Olivia. Allow me to escort you home.’

  Cold air washed in from the open doors and up the stairs, but her chill had not to do with the temperature.

  ‘Nonsense, Lord Waverly. They are at the doors waiting for me,’ she said, which did not keep him from reaching for her elbow.

  She neatly avoided his grasp.

  ‘I will take you to them, then. There is a back stairway which will get you to the front more quickly than the stairs will.’

  ‘You are a man with a fast reputation, my lord. The very last place I will go with you is into a back stairway.’

  ‘I guarantee we will have a diverting time.’

  It would be useless to discuss this with him. Taunting her was all a part of his cat-and-mouse fun.

  As luck would have it, Lady Greene, who was an avid conversationalist, was on the step behind. Olivia moved to the side and let her step down between them.

  As she had hoped, the Baroness struck up a conversation with Waverly, which gave Olivia a chance to put several people between them.

  She needed to get to her party and quickly. The Marquess had been correct about the back stairs. With him delayed by Lady Greene, she would be able to escape down them and be reunited with the Duchess’s group as quick as a snap.

  She made her way back to the upper landing. With the crowd thinned out it was an easy matter to get to the stairway. Being lit by sconces, the two flights down were not perilous. At the bottom and down a long hallway there would certainly be a door which opened to the lobby.

  She was only halfway down the hallway when she heard the stairway door above squeak open. There was nothing for it but to exit one of the doors that lead to the alley before Waverly—and that had to be who was opening the door—spotted her.

  She went out the closest one and shut it softly.

  Cold rain hit her head, soaked her hair and washed over her face.

  Lightning blanched the alley. The thunder seemed very close, but further away than the first strike had been. Oh, but the rain came down in a torrent.

  In an instant her gown was a ruin. What a mess she was going to make of the Duchess’s carriage.

  She started to run, her slippers splashing in puddles that grew deeper by the second.

  Looking down, she did not see the large figure coming towards her, but she did hear the running footsteps.

  All at once a coat covered her head. Everything went dark until a face popped under and lifted the coat, making a makeshift umbrella of it.

  ‘It’s only me.’

  Only Josiah Steton, who always seemed to be there in the instant she most needed him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, beginning to shiver.

  ‘I came to get you.’

  ‘I see that.’ Rain hit the coat he held over them, but cold wind blew in sideways. ‘But how did you know where I was?’

  ‘I lost you in the crowd. Then there was Waverly pushing his way towards the side door up there. He seemed in an all-fire hurry. I figured there must be an alley door so I came looking.’

  ‘Do you come after every damsel in distress?’ She asked this in jest, but only to lighten the deep emotion washing over her. She knew it was not only the weather making her shiver.

  As a widow she put on an independent face, even to herself. While she could not deny the man made her shiver, he also made her feel watched over—safe and cherished.

  ‘It is you I came after, Olivia, only you.’

  Lightning flashed again, thunder rolled away in the distance but she felt as though it was rolling through her.

  ‘We should go back to the others,’ she said because it was oh, so sensible.

  Her comment might have been more convincing had she not reached up to touch his rain-slicked hair and sighed out loud.

  ‘Yes, we ought.’

  And she might believe his answer if he were not drawing a line down her cheek with his finger, tracing the shape of her lips with his
thumb.

  ‘Josiah, I cannot—’ But she could and she wanted to.

  ‘Joe, I’m just Joe.’ His head dipped an inch closer to her face. She felt the warmth of his breath, which stole hers quite away. ‘You can if you wish it, Olivia. And the bald truth is, on my part, I wish it very much.’

  ‘I’m afraid... What if—?’

  But what if she did not? Would she shun joy for ever? Would she allow Henry Shaw to reach beyond the grave to rob her joy today, just as he had done with her past?

  No! She would not.

  ‘Be gone, wicked shade,’ she whispered.

  Joe began to back out from under the coat, but she caught his coat, drew him back.

  ‘I was not saying that to you.’

  ‘Ah, good then.’

  The warmth of his breath returned, but only for an instant. The gentle pressure of his lips came in its stead, igniting a delightful simmer under her skin.

  He dropped the coat. She heard it splash on the stones. He drew her closer, one arm around her back and one hand cupping her head. He tasted like—like—in the moment it escaped her.

  The alley faded away, puffed into mist. Indeed, the only real and solid thing she was aware of was being kissed—nearly devoured—by a cowboy. Being dressed in the highest fashion did not make him any less of one.

  Joe Steton was rugged to the bone. The most elegant of gentlemanly apparel would not change him.

  Tangling her fingers in his hair, she realised how very grateful she was for it.

  The crunch of carriage wheels on wet stone sounded at the end of the alley.

  Joe let go of her with a softly whispered curse that she took no offence to. Had she not been raised a lady she would have uttered it, too.

  ‘They’ve come for us, I reckon.’ He stooped to pick up the coat.

  The carriage door opened and one of the men with their party peeked out. ‘Ah, you’ve found her, then!’

  Oh, indeed he had. He had found more of her than anyone knew. He had unearthed a part of her that she had buried long ago.

  What no one could know—well, perhaps Joe knew it—was that inside, she was laughing, twirling jubilantly and quite over the moon.

  There was not much she feared more than that.

  * * *

  By the next morning the storm had moved on, leaving behind clouds and scattered drizzle.

  At least the storm involving lightning and thunder had passed.

  There was another one going on inside Joe which could not be cleared by pacing the parlour. Roselina, sitting at the secretary and writing a letter to Ma, was giving him odd glances, no doubt wondering why he was behaving so strangely.

  So he went out, collected his horse from the livery and went for a ride in Hyde Park.

  It was the thing to do, he’d heard. To ride out in the morning and socialise—be seen.

  Which was not the reason he was in the park. Giving Blue some much-needed exercise wasn’t it either.

  He needed good clean air and outdoor movement while wearing his familiar Stetson in order to think clearly.

  By sugar, he sure didn’t seem to be able to think right in the blamed top hat. With any luck the rain had ruined it beyond fixing. Same for the tight black boots that had lost their sheen to a mud puddle.

  Glancing about, he noticed he was travelling in the opposite direction of the other riders. That was fine since he did not want to converse with anyone but himself.

  He needed to give himself a good, stern talking to. Set what had happened last night right in his mind. He hadn’t gone looking for Olivia with the intention of kissing her. He only meant to see to her safety.

  If she hadn’t looked so appealing with water washing her hair out of its coiffure, with her face slick with raindrops, her lips dotted with them, or if she hadn’t been shivering, he might not have.

  He shook his head, heard the tap of drizzle on his hat brim. It wasn’t true. All those reasons were excuses.

  Kissing her had been on his mind for a good long while, since he’d first come across her in the cemetery.

  Blue snorted at another animal passing, its rider genteelly attired. Joe tipped his hat by habit, not really paying attention to the gesture. The fellow tipped his in return and rode on.

  Whether the gent smiled or not, Joe did not notice, being eaten up with guilt for what he had done.

  If Olivia thought he offered more than a kiss, he was a cad. He ought to have fought against the need to be so close to her. Resisted it—a true gentleman would have.

  Just went to show he was too rough to be turned into a silk purse. He might manage a show of it for the time it took his sister to find what she was looking for. After that he would go back to acting the fellow he really was.

  In the eyes of proper society, he was the son of a baron. What he actually was, was a heathen, following his desire about like a bull with a ring in his nose.

  Apologising for his behaviour would be right and proper, except that he was not sorry. It was more that he was repentant, which was a far different emotion as far as Joe was concerned.

  He would never be sorry he kissed Olivia. The memory of it would stay with him when he took his last breath. But he was repentant for what damage his indulgence might have caused her.

  ‘Come on, Blue.’ He patted the horse’s neck, then turned him for the livery. ‘I’ve got some forgiveness to beg.’

  * * *

  After breakfast, Olivia called for the carriage and went shopping. Fencroft House felt as though it was closing in on her, as if the air was stifling and the ceiling pressing down.

  With Victor busy at his lessons, there was nothing with which to occupy her mind. Which was far more occupied than it ought to be—with things it ought not to be. The more she indulged in thoughts best forgotten, the more a muddle her mind became.

  Last night, holding hands with Josiah had made her oblivious to the fate of the shepherdess and her flock, but his kiss—well, that made her oblivious to anything needing attention this morning.

  Purchasing a new gown was something that would take time and require concentration.

  Surely giving her full attention to silk and brocade would help her forget the scent of the cowboy.

  Mr Creed assisted her down the carriage steps. It was not right that it was Josiah’s face she saw smiling instead of the driver’s. She blinked hard to clear the image.

  As she entered the shop, the first thing she spotted was a dress in shades of green and amber. There was no way she would not see again the way Joe—Josiah—had been looking at her while holding the coat over them and waiting for her to give him a signal to kiss her.

  It was wrong. She should not have done it, yet she had never felt such a connection with a man before. Certainly not with Henry The Unfaithful.

  Roselina had been correct when she’d said that Joe would be loyal.

  She could only pray that she had not given him hope where none existed. For all the joy and elation she had felt in the moment, she did not mean it to indicate a commitment to him.

  Vowing a future to a man was not something she was ready to do. Most especially to one who would be leaving London at the end of the Season—perhaps sooner given all the attention Roselina was receiving.

  There was but one thing to do, she decided while fingering the fabric which was the shade of Joe’s eyes. That was to confront him this afternoon. Admit it had all been a huge mistake.

  And, no, that was not a tear she just whisked from her eye.

  * * *

  Olivia did not watch for Josiah crossing the garden for his afternoon lesson.

  Her time would be better spent reviewing today’s instruction in how to converse with a lady while not speaking of matters of great importance.

  After all, one did not want to offend delicate sensibilities. Which was rubbish, of cou
rse. Ladies were as capable of carrying on an intelligent discourse on social issues as gentlemen were.

  In many cases, more so.

  For all that she tried to keep focused on teaching absurdity, it was not uppermost in her mind.

  Figuring out how to be forthcoming with Josiah was. Especially given that she was not being completely truthful with herself.

  Telling him she had made a mistake in kissing him was what she needed to do, but she could not, in truth, say that it was.

  The memory was one she would cherish. However, she could not indulge in that behaviour again.

  ‘It would be unwise.’ She sat down suddenly in the chair at the garden table, drumming her fingers on the notes she would give him of what was, and was not, proper dinner conversation to have with a lady.

  ‘What would be unwise?’

  She spun about, surprised that he had come in without her notice even though she had been expecting him. Clearly she had been dwelling on what was unwise—revelling in it, more to the point.

  ‘Good afternoon, Josiah. It has to do with your lesson today.’ Did she seem collected, as if last night had not shaken her walls? ‘I was thinking it would not be wise to speak to a lady about politics. We have delicate conditions which might be thrown out of balance if we heard that politics was nasty business.’

  ‘Politics might throw anyone off balance.’

  And while the subject of off balance was fresh, it was time to discuss why it was.

  ‘Sit down and we will go over these notes.’

  What a coward she was. Life’s circumstances would not change because she feared speaking of them. She had done what she had done in kissing him. Now she would do what she must in order to make sure it did not happen again.

  If she meant to avoid a broken heart, she must avoid becoming too attached to the man who could break it.

  She pushed the notes across the table, but he did not even glance at them.

  With the way his gaze was so intent upon her, she could only wonder if he meant to kiss her again.