Mary Blayney (34 page)

10

N
O.”
He closed his eyes. “That is asking too much of me, dear girl.”

“We are miserable. My reputation is in tatters. Is it wrong of me to want to be held, to feel safe?” To feel his warmth against her cheek. Or pressed the length of her body.

“Not wrong, but unwise.”

Olivia turned away from him, wounded by his reasonableness, and now she did cry. Great shaking sobs that were as much anger as pain.

His arms came around her and she started to turn to him. “No, stay just as you are. It is temptation enough.”

Temptation or not, it was almost perfect to lie like this. She lifted his hand and kissed it and smiled when he kissed her head.

“We can do anything we want,” she said, sounding dreamy and anything but. “It does not matter anymore. Everyone will think I am ruined completely.”

He massaged one of her shoulders, which should have made her more relaxed, but even through the wool of his greatcoat she could feel the strength of his fingers. She wanted to move closer but she was afraid he would stop, or worse, move away.

“The truth always matters, Lollie.”

“What if no one believes it?”

His gentle massage stopped. “We would know the truth. We would know and I promised I would see you home safely.” He kissed the nape of her neck. “I keep my word.”

Garrett let go of her and turned on his back. “You have no idea what people are saying. Do not assume the worst and, in the name of all that is holy, we are not going to do anything that would make the worst the truth.”

She turned on her back, too. “All right.”

“If you cannot sleep pick your favorite memory from childhood and tell me about it.”

“Did you do that in the army?”

“No, I would put whatever I wanted to forget in a box and dig a deep hole and bury it. All in my imagination, you understand.”

“Was that not too much like burying the dead?” she asked, turning her face so she could see some of his.

“Precisely.” He did not turn toward her as he spoke. “Most often that is what I was doing. Taking the memories and the pain and putting them away.”

What he must have endured. It twisted her heart so tightly that it was hard to draw a breath. The ceiling was an easier place to put your eyes when you were sharing your soul. Was he looking at the same part of it that she was? Where the beam had a big crack halfway through it?

“Tell me a pleasant story, Lollie. So we can both sleep.”

“All right.” He made it sound like it would be a gift. “I remember a time when the whole family went on a picnic, with food that I had made with Cook. I was ten. We had such a wonderful time. Papa never laughed but that day he was as silly as my brothers were. They had a juggling contest and we played hide-and-seek.”

She smiled at the beam, remembering Gabriel trying to hide by climbing one of the trees.

“Papa kissed Mama in front of us—only on the cheek, but she was as shocked as we were. He said it must have been something in the deviled eggs. That I had a magic touch with food that cast a spell on all of them.” Why should that make her eyes tear up? “I was as happy as I have ever been that day.”

He was quiet but she could tell he was not asleep. “I can picture you, Lollie. Smiling. I have not seen you smile enough yet. But if I close my eyes I can see your ten-year-old smile. That was what cast the spell.”

“How can you know if you have never seen me smile?”

“I have an excellent imagination.”

He said it as though he were imagining something else. Olivia bit her lip and smiled at the beam.

“What is your happiest childhood memory, Mr. Garrett?”

“My childhood was much longer ago than yours, Lollie.”

She glanced at him. Just a glance. He was staring at the ceiling, his hands folded across his middle.

“I can wait, Mr. Garrett. We have all night.”

“Hmmm,” was all he said for awhile.

“I suppose one of my happiest memories is the first time I won an argument with my father.” He laughed softly. “Not an argument, more like a philosophical debate.”

“Will you tell me?” Even as she urged him to continue, Olivia wondered if men considered life nothing more than one contest after another.

“I was home from school, filled with the superiority of a twelve-year-old who has learned one or two things, both in school and after.”

She did not even want to imagine what a twelve-year-old boy learned after school.

“It was after dinner when we were at table. My older brother was at Oxford and not home yet. My mother and sisters had gone to the music room. Father and I could hear the hideous sounds coming from there and were in no hurry to join them, so Father asked me to pick a biblical passage and defend the sinner of the piece.”

“Was your father very religious?”

“Yes. Very.”

There was a long pause, and Olivia hoped he would elaborate. He had a brother and some sisters. He was not the oldest. That was only the bare bones of a family story.

“I chose the parable of the Prodigal Son and, of course, had to defend the son who took his fortune, wasted it and came back home when he realized that his father would forgive him.”

“We hear that every year in church. The vicar has given some fine sermons on it.”

“My contention was that the real sinner of the piece is the son who stayed with his father, the good and dutiful son who complained when his brother was welcomed back.”

“Oh my.” That was hardly the usual approach.

Mr. Garrett laughed. “Yes, my father did not like that at all. But when I explained that if the prodigal son was the one who believed in his father even when he had not seen him for years and knew he would be forgiven, was he not the son with the greater gift of faith. It was the son who lived with the father every day and did not understand him at all. That son was at greater fault.”

All right, she thought. That made sense. Olivia wondered what the vicar would say about that.

“My father did not say anything for the longest minute of my life. Finally when I thought I could stand it no longer, he said, ‘The prodigal had great faith. Good. You have a future in the church if not in the law.’”

She could feel him shake his head.

“I thought I would burst with pride.”

“Oh that is lovely. I am going to go to sleep doing my best to envision you as a boy. Bursting with pride.”

She turned and kissed his shoulder—it was the closest part of him—and fell asleep.

B
IG
S
AM WAS NOT HER LOVER,
Michael decided as he stared out into the dark. He was sure of that. She had no experience with men or sex. She must be years younger than he thought. She was pretty, healthy and well built, and would last approximately two weeks once she was out in county society. Unless she was a demanding shrew or the kind of woman no man could please.

You would think after being so exclusively in her company he would know more about her. It made him realize how much he depended on hearing a person’s accent and how they dressed to help him determine who they were.

It worked both ways. The accent he used, the words he spoke, how often he swore, all were used to shade opinion when he was playing a role.

Raoul Desseau had spoken self-consciously educated French, with an occasional slip into a country accent—as though his ambition had pushed him to the rank of captain, and not who he knew or where he was born.

Now that he was back in England it was hardly a matter of life or death, but he had spent so many years assessing people by their appearance and their words that it was second nature now. Not every villain spoke gruffly. Not every girl was as innocent as she looked.

At a guess he would say this girl had been cosseted, spoiled even, rather than taken advantage of. Perhaps she was being raised with the expectation of marrying well, of moving herself and her family into London society. Maybe she had been kidnapped by someone who had wanted to court her and had been refused.

Now
he
was thinking like a Minerva Press novel.

Despite her asking to be held he was positive that she was not trying to seduce him, or even flirt with him. She had been through a hellish experience and it was not quite over. He should have let her have the whole bed and slept on the floor, but he had given in to every other damn thing she wanted and that had to stop sometime.

As it was now, he did not even need to turn his head to know what she looked like sleeping. But it would be a joy to see her at rest when he was not afraid for her life, when he knew enough about her to know that her face reflected her thoughts with an honesty that would make lies difficult for her.

Her new curls were as willful as she was. He would never say it aloud, but thank God for that trait. It was the only reason she had survived whatever her kidnappers had planned.

If her curls were wild and wonderful, the face they framed showed a sweetness that her smile magnified. Every feature was open and direct: eyes that spoke as clearly as her words, cheeks that blushed or paled depending on her sensibility, lush pink lips that promised passion.

Michael closed his eyes and told himself that if she had a bad dream she would want comfort from him. Yes, he could comfort her, and her soft womanly body would just as surely comfort him.

The step beyond that would be inevitable with someone as forthright as Lollie-the-nameless. They would make love and she would lose faith in men completely, what little faith she had left. Michael turned his back to her and edged over so he was using about twelve inches of the mattress.

He had to think about something else or he would lie here sleepless all night.

O
LIVIA WOKE UP
the moment he turned away from her. She closed her eyes again and tried to think of something that made her smile. Oddly enough it was her hair. The thought of short hair had made her furious not twelve hours ago.

It was curly. Without the weight of its length her head was covered with curls. Tomorrow she would find a mirror and see how it looked. It felt wonderful.

It would not be so bad if it was like Mama’s and Jess’s. How nice to have one part of Mama forever and at least one thing in common with Jess.

Thinking of her brother was a mistake.

Now one sentence went round and round in her head. It was not a dream, even if it was the last thing she heard before the laudanum pushed her into oblivion.

“Her brother will give us the land on a silver platter.”

Money. Jess owed someone money. Probably a lot of money. That had to be the reason she was kidnapped. How many times had she insisted that gambling would ruin him? He could not give up the land Mama had bequeathed him. Any more than the rest of them could give up theirs.

She could not afford fear or bad memories now. She had to clear her mind and find a way to save Jess without their older brother finding out. How was she going to reach him in London? Olivia knew she had a problem far more important than going home and dealing with gossip.

If Lynford discovered Jess’s debts were so great that he could lose his land it would be a disaster at least as bad as her being kidnapped.

She loved both of her brothers, even if they were as different as kippers and salmon. But Lyn deplored Jess’s lifestyle and Jess insisted that Lyn was obsessed with appearances. It had been years since there was anything more than an occasional truce between them: when Rexton was born, when Gabriel came back from France, Gabriel’s marriage to Lynette Gilray.

If Jess lost the land there was no doubt that Lynford would be every inch the duke and disown Jess. Her youngest brother would be lost to them forever. No matter if she begged and pleaded, the Duke of Meryon would have the last word.

She dozed off finally thinking that if Garrett insisted on seeing her all the way to her door, she had best tell him her whole name.

11

Y
OUR BROTHER
is the Duke of Meryon?” Michael stood up, unable to contain his astonishment. “We’ve been together for all this time, you’ve eaten my cheese and apples, drunk my brandy, slept beside me and only now find the courage to tell me who you are?”

“I’m sorry you are upset.”

It sounded to him like the most perfunctory of apologies.

“Mr. Garrett, you made it very clear how you feel about the duke. That’s only one of the reasons I was not willing to tell you when you first asked.”

Michael looked up to the heavens. “So this is how a Good Samaritan is rewarded. I find out that the woman I rescued is related to the one man in Derbyshire that I want nothing to do with? Jesus, Lord, help me.”

“Do not swear!”

“That was a prayer and praying is something I have not done in a long, long time.” Turning away from her Michael picked his favorite curse word and whispered it with vehemence.

“I heard that.”

“No, you did not.”

“Why do men think that swearing is the best way to handle a problem?”

“Why do women think that tears are?” He returned to spreading the coals of the fading fire, with a little more force than was necessary. “This changes everything, Lady Olivia.”

“Lollie.”

“What?”

“I told you I am called Lollie in the kitchen, and sometimes my brothers use it.”

“You will be Lady Olivia to me.” He could see that she would balk at every word he said. The terrified girl had disappeared after a few hours’ sleep. Though come to think on it, she had not been all that accommodating before. He’d thought that was because she was upset, not because she was the daughter and sister of a duke and used to having her own way.

He wiped sweat from his brow and pressed his lips together to keep the curses from erupting again.

“If the thought of helping me is suddenly repugnant I can manage on my own.” She tapped her bare foot on the floor, waiting for a decision. As if he had a choice. “As you may recall that was my preference all along.”

“You almost died on my watch, my lady. You are now my concern, no matter how much we may wish it otherwise.” Michael turned his back on her and collected Troy’s saddle and blanket.

What kind of divine game was being played here? He’d decided not to use his letter of introduction to the Duke of Meryon. Jesus, Lord, did it not matter what he wanted? The answer to that was obvious.

“I am going to saddle Troy. Come out when you are ready to leave.”

“I will walk.”

“You will ride. It will save your feet from more damage.”

She had no answer for that. “I know we need to be on our way, but I want to be sure that we have agreed on what we are going to do.”

Michael put the tack down and came closer so that he could tower over her. “I am not as considerate as you. There will be no discussion. We have agreed on a plan. Mine, since I am the one in charge. I will take you to safety and I will bring your brother and a carriage to you.”

“Absolutely not.” She folded her arms as though it would help her stand her ground.

“You are afraid of your brother. He beats you, I’m sure of it.”

“Now you are threatening me!”

“No, I am not and you well know it. It is only that I can understand how a man of less even temper than myself could long to throttle you.”

“My brother has more self-control than anyone I know. It is amazing he never loses his temper. I have never seen it happen. Though there is no doubt when he is unhappy with you.” She shook her head as if it was a truth she could not understand. “No one has ever throttled me. All right, Tildy, my governess, did, but that was only because I hid from her when she wanted me to practice Mozart at the pianoforte. Have you ever heard Mozart played badly? That was years and years ago.”

Her very insistence made it sound as though it had happened yesterday.

“He would never beat me but there are other ways that he could show his displeasure.”

“I will most likely have some sympathy with his choice, short of selling you to a white slaver.”

“Do you think that is what the kidnappers were going to do? Is that why they were told not to hurt me?”

He had meant it as a joke but once again she found no humor in his humor.

“No, Olivia. I think it was much more personal than that.”

“What could be more personal than taking a woman to give as a prize to some man?”

“Not much, I agree.” He pressed his lips to keep from saying that in Lady Olivia they would be on the receiving end of a big surprise. “But, Olivia, think about it. There is no reason to take someone as well known as the sister of a duke when there are dozens of girls whose lives are not as sheltered.”

She did not answer at first, seemed to be thinking about it and, in the end, only nodded agreement.

“I think it is more likely they were using you to gain the attention of your brother.”

The suddenness with which she looked up and the suspicion in her eyes made him curious. There was something she was not telling him.

He folded
his
arms. “Lady Olivia, the less-than-honest, now I am not sure that you told me the whole truth about how you ended up naked in the forest. Was it perhaps some assignation gone awry?”

“I was kidnapped! An assignation? With whom? I do not interest men in that way.”

“If not, tell me—who is Big Sam? You do not attract men? That is such obvious nonsense that I am not sure I believe you at all.”

She either did not hear his question or ignored it. “The only reason I was not completely honest about who I was is because I was not sure you were being honest with me. I am still not sure. You may not be as terrible as my kidnappers, but how do I know that you do not mean to trap me into marriage or demand a reward?”

“Your reading tastes are showing again.” He clenched his fists so that he did not grab her and shake her.

“It does happen. You know it does.”

“Yes, and I assure you, my lady, that I want neither your brother’s money nor your hand in marriage.” He unclenched his fists to prove to himself that he was not really annoyed with her. “Lady Olivia, it could be that your brother will try to trap
me
into marriage to save your reputation.”

God help him, she took it as an insult, turning her head away from him, but not before he could see the hurt in her eyes.

“Why did you save me?” she asked, still not looking at him.

“Because, my dear girl, in a civilized world one human helps another in distress. You would have saved me if the roles were reversed.”
Please God, she would never know that the thought of abandoning her had crossed his mind.
“My lady, we must be on our way.”

She did not move, but did raise her head and fold her arms again. It was a stance he was beginning to dislike.

“I still want to approve—I mean hear—your plan, first.”

“I so appreciate your condescension,” he said with a touch to his forelock to emphasize his sarcasm. “How could I have doubted that you are related to a duke?”

“Mr. Garrett, there are still questions I want answers to.”

“I can explain the rest as we travel.”

“No.” The one word questioned his sanity. “You would not start an important dish without all the ingredients. Where do you think to leave me while you go to my brother?”

“When will you stop being a stubborn shrew?”

“When you stop acting like an obnoxious oaf.”

Michael decided it was time to walk away. Having reduced their disagreement to tears and childish name-calling was hardly forward progress.

“We can discuss the details of the plan on the road to Pennsford. I will tell you this much. We do not need to be any more devious than necessary.” He could hardly believe that those words had come out of his mouth. Devious had been a way of life while he was posing as a French officer.

“Finish your apple. It is all the food we have left. I am going to saddle Troy,” he said again, this time opening the door.

H
E WAS COMING
out of the woods when he heard horses, two horses, and, by the sound of their voices, two men riding. With a string of words that could either be prayers or curses he hurried back to Olivia.

“Two men are approaching. I do not know who they are. Lie on the bed with your back to the door. Pull my greatcoat up so that they cannot see your hair.”

For once she was too afraid to argue. “Could they be the kidnappers?” Her voice was muffled as she huddled under his coat.

“I don’t know, but we take no chances.” Her fear was painful to tolerate. He smiled at her face, which was all he could see of her. “I have handled five and lived to brag about it. Now tell me something about Big Sam.”

“What? Why?”

“Just tell me.” He could hear the panic and he kissed her forehead, hoping she could feel his confidence.

“He’s big. His name is not a joke.”

“Good, what else?”

“He will be worried and looking everywhere for me.”

“Good. Believe me, I know what I am doing. They will be gone in ten minutes.” Or he would kill them.

“Your gun. You might need your weapon.” She pushed it into his hand.

The girl was either bloodthirsty or clairvoyant. He would have to ask her later. With his pistol, the unloaded pistol, tucked into the waistband at the back of his pants, he opened the door and stepped out to greet his callers.