Scandalous Summer Nights (3 page)

“There’s not much keeping me in London anymore. And there are a few sites I’ve been wanting to explore.”

Huntford grinned. “Ah. I should have guessed. It’s not going to be the same around here without you.” He pointed toward the sideboard. “Drink?”

“No,” James answered quickly. Guilt squeezed at his throat like a too-tight cravat. The sooner he concluded this meeting and removed himself from Olivia’s home—and London—the better. “What was the matter you wished to ask me about?”

“It’s sensitive and… complicated.” Huntford sighed and tented his fingers. “It involves my sister.”

Bloody hell. It was probably too much to hope that the duke was referring to Rose. What if someone had seen James and Olivia together and informed Huntford? He didn’t
seem
angry, but the duke was notoriously difficult to read.

Somehow, James managed to choke out, “Which sister?”

“Olivia.” Huntford glared over his fingertips at James for what seemed like an eternity. Then he slid open a desk drawer to his right, leaned down, and withdrew a folded, sealed note, which he laid on the desk before him.

James exhaled lightly. Absurd though it was, he felt relief that Huntford had produced a piece of parchment and not, oh, a gun. However, he was not in the clear yet. Inclining his head toward the note, he asked, “What is it?”

Huntford eyed the note distastefully. “It came by messenger yesterday—from my father’s solicitor, Neville Whitby.”

James blinked. The previous duke had been dead for at least five years, and though he and his friend had never discussed it, James assumed the rumors were true. Huntford’s father, heartbroken when his duchess betrayed him, had killed himself with a bullet to the head. In the very study where they now sat.

“I know Whitby. Go on,” James encouraged.

“Apparently, my father made an unusual provision in his will. This letter was to be presented to Olivia upon the occasion of her twenty-first birthday.”

James shook his head, certain he hadn’t heard correctly. “Olivia is twenty-one?”

“Almost twenty-two. Whitby admitted that the letter had slipped his mind.”

“Did your father leave any other instructions?”

Huntford snorted. “None. Only that no one, save the solicitor, should be told about the letter until Olivia turned twenty-one. And at that time, it should be given to her.”

James pondered the possibilities for several moments. The dark shadows beneath the duke’s eyes hinted at his fears. The note could stir up all the grief Olivia endured when her mother deserted her and her father took his own life.

“Is there a separate letter for Rose?” James asked.

“I asked the solicitor if I should expect another when Rose turns twenty-one. Whitby swore that this was the only one.”

“Olivia knows nothing of it?”

“No.” Huntford’s eyes locked on his. “Whitby and I—and now you—are the only ones who know the letter exists. You’re the only person I trust enough to tell.” The duke stood, stalked to the window, and stared outside. “After all this time. My sisters had finally seemed to come to terms with my father’s sudden, violent death. Rose is much improved—although still more reserved than she used to be—and Olivia has shown much more maturity of late.”

James resisted the urge to squirm. She’d grown up, all right.

“I’d intended to see her engaged by the end of the season,” Huntford continued. “But now… this.”

James coughed, grateful that the duke was not facing him and therefore unable to see the sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead.

“Perhaps the letter’s contents are benign,” James said. “Your father could have set up a trust for Olivia.”

“I can’t imagine he would have done so for Olivia and not for Rose. He adored them both.”

“Maybe it’s just a bit of family history that he wanted to pass down to his older daughter,” James suggested.

“It’s unlikely,” Huntford said, turning to face him squarely. “My father was not of sound mind in the days just before his death, and I must assume that he penned the note during that time. I’m sure you’ve heard the gossip about the circumstances of his death. It’s all true. When my mother ran off to the Continent with one of her lovers, my father could not bear it. He shot himself.” The duke grimaced. “I’ve never spoken of it with anyone besides my sisters and Belle—before now.”

The words
I’m sorry
were on James’s lips, but somehow he didn’t think his friend wanted his sympathy. What the duke wanted was a solution to today’s problem, and the least James could do was help him sort through his options.

“If your father wrote the note in the days leading up to his death, as you suspect, it could be an explanation of sorts.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. It could stir up all the pain of that time. And what purpose could it possibly serve, other than to convey the depth of his anguish?”

“It could be an apology.”

“I had considered that. But we’ve already forgiven him. It took me the longest, I’m ashamed to say, but we’ve all come to terms with it.”

James stroked his chin and considered all his friend had shared. “As you’ve probably already deduced, you have four possible courses of action.”

Huntford raised a brow. “First?”

“Carry out the provision of your father’s will and give
Olivia the letter. As your solicitor, I would advise you to do so.”

The duke scowled. “Next option.”

“You could read the letter and then decide whether to give it to Olivia.”

“Let me guess, you’d advise against this.”

James shot his friend an apologetic smile. “I would. For legal reasons, obviously, but more so because Olivia would likely resent it.”

Huntford nodded. “Third option?”

“Destroy the letter. Pretend it never existed, and Olivia need never know.”

The duke paced before the window. “It’s tempting. Our lives are proceeding so nicely at the moment—why risk ruining that?”

James sighed. “As your friend, I can certainly understand why you’d want to spare your sister any unnecessary suffering, but…”

“But what?” Huntford urged.

“Olivia is a grown woman. Perhaps it’s time you treated her as such.” James was certain he’d pay for that comment next time they boxed. “Furthermore,” he dared, “if you destroy the letter, it can’t be undone.”

Huntford glowered at the letter as though he couldn’t wait to set it on fire. “That’s the whole point.”

“True. But as the weeks, months, and years go by, you might regret your decision. You might be sorry you never heard what your father wanted to say.”

“Damn it, Averill. Sometimes I wish you didn’t have quite so much integrity.”

Dear Jesus, if his friend only knew.

Eager to change the subject, James said, “There’s one
more option I can think of. In difficult situations, it’s often the most prudent.”

“What’s that?”

“Do nothing. Wait. Give yourself time to think it through. In the larger scheme of things, a few weeks or months are unlikely to make a difference—but extra time could bring you clarity.”

“Wait,” the duke repeated to himself. “I like that.”

James relaxed a little. Huntford seemed to have the answer he needed—at least for now—which meant James could be on his way. He was so eager to take his leave that if it weren’t extremely bad form, he would have slapped his friend on the back and sprinted for the front door. Rising slowly from his chair, he said, “Well, if there’s nothing else you need from me—”

“There is.”

James kept his expression neutral, but inside, he unleashed a string of curses. Normally, he would do anything for Huntford, but this situation was different—it involved Olivia. “How can I help?”

Huntford marched to his desk, scooped up the letter, and held it out to James.

James kept his arms pinned to his sides. “I don’t understand.”

“Take this,” the duke said. “Until I decide what to do.”

Oh no. No, no, no. “Why don’t you lock it in a drawer?”

“Because I’d have the key. I don’t trust myself. If I know where it is, I’ll be tempted to read it. Or burn it. Neither would be fair to Olivia. Take it”—he shook the letter for emphasis—“and keep it safe.”

James held out his palms. “This is a family matter. I shouldn’t get involved.”

The duke tossed the letter onto his desk and slumped into his chair, defeated. “I apologize. I won’t take any more of your time. Thank you for stopping by and for the excellent advice. I’ll—”

“Fine.” James was certain he would regret this.

Huntford shot him a hopeful look.

“I’ll hold on to the letter for a while.” James took it and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his jacket. “However, I must return it to you before I leave for Egypt.”

The duke closed his eyes briefly, as though deeply relieved. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Please give my best to Anabelle and ah… your sisters.”

Before long, James would be rumbling along the road in his coach, watching London disappear through the rear window. His driver, Ian, claimed he could cover the distance in three days. James had already loaded the coach with the clothes and tools he’d need for a few weeks of exploring in Westmorland and couldn’t wait to be on his way.

Huntford stood, walked to James’s side, and slapped him on the back. “I’ll walk you out.”

They made it to the foyer. Dennison was handing James his hat when the door to the drawing room burst open and a blur of pink silk and ribbons spilled forth.

“James! What a lovely surprise.”

Well, he supposed he had this coming. “A pleasure to see you, Lady Olivia.”

A
t the sight of James, Olivia’s breath caught in her throat—as usual. Each time she saw him, he grew more attractive. A fanciful notion, and yet the proof stood before her. James’s snug buckskin breeches showed off his narrow hips and muscular thighs. And his backside was perfectly formed: taut, well shaped, and… utterly squeezable.

Recalling that her brother also stood in the foyer, she reluctantly lifted her gaze from James’s trouser area.

Fortunately, he was handsome all over. His sandy brown hair curled slightly at the ends, begging her to rake her fingers through it. His full lips, slightly parted, invited thoughts of kissing.

Soon, she thought, he would be hers—to kiss, to hold, and to love.

Except… something seemed amiss.

She and Rose had been expecting James to come looking for her in the drawing room after his meeting with Owen. Olivia had practiced several poses—gazing out the window, looking studiously at a book, poring over sheet music at the pianoforte—all so that she would appear mildly yet pleasantly surprised to see James when he sought her out.

But he hadn’t.

On the contrary, he had his hat in hand and appeared to be on the verge of… of
leaving
.

Olivia glanced at Owen. Lord knew, he could be intimidating. If he had dissuaded James in any way, balked at the idea of him asking for her hand…

Well, she would require at least a year to forgive him.

In any event, she couldn’t let James leave before she had a chance to speak with him.

Before he could take one more step toward the door, she said, “Could I persuade you gentlemen to join Rose and me for tea? We were just about to ring for some.”

James opened his mouth to reply, but Owen cut him off. “Thank you, but Averill is in a hurry. I fear I’ve monopolized too much of his time already.”

“Really? For what reason?” she asked rather boldly—even for her.

“A business matter,” Owen said. “And it’s all resolved, isn’t it, Averill?”

“Yes. For now.”

Olivia looked from James to Owen and back again. How
dare
they refer to her as a business matter? And why wasn’t Averill fighting for her? Fighting for
them
?

Rose placed a gentle hand on Olivia’s arm. “We should
let Mr. Averill be on his way.” To James, she said, “I hope we shall see you again soon. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow evening?”

“I’m afraid I cannot.” Although James was replying to Rose’s invitation, he cast Olivia an apologetic look. “I’m leaving town for a while.”

And then she
knew
.

James’s visit had nothing to do with her. No proposal was forthcoming. In fact, he’d been about to leave London—without even saying good-bye.

Mortification washed over her, heating her cheeks. Weakly, she asked, “Where?”

“The Lakes,” he said vaguely.

Apparently oblivious to her misery, Owen gestured for Dennison to open the door.

“A pleasure to see you, Lady Rose, Lady Olivia.” James gave them each a perfunctory bow, and a moment later… he was gone.

Owen headed toward the stairs. “I’m going to spend the afternoon with Anabelle and the baby. I’ll see you both at dinner?”

“Of course,” Rose answered. When Owen was out of earshot, she slipped her arm around Olivia’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Liv. Let’s go sit and have some tea.”

“I just want to go to my room,” Olivia said, amazed she hadn’t already crumpled into a weeping ball of pink silk. “It was silly of me to assume—”

“No,” Rose said emphatically, “it wasn’t.”

“In any case, I need a little time to think.”

“I’ll go with you and help you out of your dress.”

Olivia shook her head and attempted a reassuring smile. “I can manage.”

Rose sighed. “Very well, but I must tell you one thing. You know that I am quite fond of Mr. Averill, but if he hasn’t realized by now what a treasure you are, then maybe he doesn’t deserve you.”

Despite Olivia’s desperate struggle to remain outwardly composed, a rebellious tear slid down her cheek. “Maybe he just needs more time to realize what a treasure I am.”

A proud smile lit Rose’s face. “That’s the spirit.”

Olivia gave her sister a hug and escaped to the privacy of her room, where she didn’t have to pretend to be spirited or strong and could have a good long cry if she wished.

And that was
precisely
what she did.

Several hours later, when it was time for dinner, Olivia pleaded a headache. Anabelle had a tray sent up, but it sat on Olivia’s bedside table, untouched. Even the aroma of roast beef and gravy couldn’t tempt her.

Her appetite had fled. Just like James.

Good Lord, her melodramatic thoughts were pathetic—even inside her own head.

She’d been a fool to anticipate a proposal, regardless of the timing of his visit with Owen. And she only compounded her idiotic behavior now, crying over him when he clearly hadn’t lost a moment’s sleep thinking about her. Instead he’d decided to traipse off to the Lakes for a few weeks’ worth of fossil-digging, or rock-watching, or whatever he called it.

The painful truth was that he’d never given any indication that he cared for her.

With the possible exception of what she now thought of as The Kiss.

She replayed it over and over in her head, pausing once when Rose came in to check on her and again when Hildy entered to remove the dinner tray. Sleep did not come until the wee hours of the morning, and even then, James invaded her dreams, making her blissfully happy one moment and leaving her utterly distraught the next.

When she awoke late the next morning, she felt slightly improved but still could not bring herself to venture down for breakfast and face her well-meaning sister, brother, and sister-in-law. Fortunately, Hildy arrived with a tea tray, complete with a plate of scones and biscuits.

“Shall I pour for you, my lady?” The maid gave a hopeful smile.

“No, thank you. I’ll help myself in a bit.”

The maid eyed Olivia doubtfully. After crying for a good part of the night and neglecting to braid her hair before falling into a fitful sleep, she must look a fright.

With a tight smile and a bob of her capped head, the maid left Olivia in peace.

Eventually, she dragged herself out of bed and slipped on her dressing gown. She even managed to swallow a few sips of tea while she sat in her chair and stared out the window overlooking their flower garden.

The tea grew cold, and Olivia lost track of time. She was studying a spiderweb outside the windowpane when a knock at the door demanded her attention. She glanced down and realized she still held her cup and saucer. Brown splotches stained her robe where she’d apparently spilled her tea. Crumbly remnants of a scone littered her lap.

Lord, she was a mess. “Come in.”

Both Anabelle and Rose entered, looking like someone had died.

Behind her spectacles, Belle narrowed her gray eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m certain I’ll survive,” Olivia said. She tried to smile but couldn’t summon the energy.

“We’ve been worried about you.” Belle perched on the footstool in front of Olivia’s chair. “Has something upset you?”

Olivia glanced at Rose, who shook her head. Olivia hadn’t thought Rose would tell Anabelle about The Kiss, but she was relieved to confirm Rose’s silence in the matter.

The three women had been close ever since Belle, a talented dressmaker, had been enlisted to make new wardrobes for Olivia and Rose. After Belle married their brother, Olivia and Rose had grown even fonder of her. The three women had few secrets, but kissing James was complicated because he was Owen’s best friend and Owen was Belle’s husband.

Not only did the whole thing make Olivia’s head spin, but it also served as a sad reminder that while Anabelle was living out her fairy-tale romance, Olivia apparently was not destined to do the same.

Belle still gazed expectantly at Olivia. “You can tell me.”

“I know. Thank you for your concern. I’m just out of sorts. I shall be fine in a few days.”

“A few days?” Belle shot Rose a look of alarm before returning her attention to Olivia. “That’s not like you. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me. You must remember that, when all seemed lost, you were largely responsible for bringing Owen and me together. I am forever in your debt.”

Olivia wasn’t ready to share the full extent of her heartache or humiliation. But her infatuation with James was not exactly a secret. “I suppose I’m sad because James is leaving for Egypt at the end of the summer. I’d hoped to change his mind over the next couple of months, but since he’s halfway across England by now”—she sounded bitter and didn’t care—“I shan’t have the opportunity.”

“Oh.” Anabelle sat beside her and threw her arms around her. “I’m so sorry, darling. I know how much you cared for him.”

Rose took Belle’s place on the stool. “It’s no wonder you’re distressed,” she said. “Even as a young girl, you were fond of him.”

Olivia knew that Belle and Rose were trying to show sympathy, but they couldn’t possibly understand. They used words like
cared for
and
were fond of
when what Olivia felt for James was a thousand times stronger. And it wasn’t past tense.

She loved him before. She loved him now.

“Thank you both for your support,” Olivia managed. “I’m sorry if my sullen behavior has worried you. I’m sure I’ll be myself again eventually.” Inside, though, she felt hollow, broken.

“We understand,” Belle said. “You must take as much time as you need.”

“We will make your apologies at the ball tomorrow night,” Rose said, “and at Lady Bramble’s soiree the next evening.”

“Tell everyone I’ve taken ill. Or that I’ve got a horrible case of spots. I’m sure I shall be the subject of much speculation, but I don’t give a fig.”

“I have an idea,” Belle exclaimed. She smoothed a
matted lock of Olivia’s hair behind her ear. “You could leave London for a while. Visit one of your great-aunts. I know Aunt Eustace would be delighted to have your company.”

“That’s true,” Rose added. “Her letters always conclude with an invitation for us to visit. Nothing would make her happier.”

“I am horrid company at the moment,” Olivia said, but the idea of leaving London for the rolling green fields and quaint stone bridges of Oxfordshire tempted her. She could eat dozens of scones and let herself get pleasingly plump. “Let me think on it.”

“Is there anything we can get you at the moment?” Belle asked. “A fresh pot of tea or a new book?”

“No. But thank you for everything.”

“Owen is worried about you,” Belle admitted. “If you don’t make an appearance downstairs soon, he’ll insist on sending for the doctor. Do you think you could manage to come down for dinner?”

“I’ll try.”

Belle and Rose each kissed her forehead before leaving her to mull over her options.

Perhaps visiting dear Aunt Eustace was a good idea. She might as well become acclimated to spinsterhood. What better way than to play the part of companion to a sweet, seventy-year-old widow known for her bright blue turbans? At the very least, the visit would allow Olivia to escape London and give her wounds time to heal.

Unless
… Olivia sprang out of her chair and paced before the window. The thought of traveling had caused the smallest seed of an idea to take root in her mind and hope to sprout in her heart. Only, she had a different destination in mind.

She simply wasn’t ready to give up on James.

Instead of dwelling on the hurt and rejection, she pictured his rakish grin and broad shoulders. Instead of recalling his hasty good-bye, she basked in the memory of his lingering kisses and tender caresses.

But the passionate tangling of their tongues and the feverish way they’d clung to each other—though undeniably wonderful—had not been the most magical part of that night.

That
had been when James had reluctantly broken off their kiss and looked at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. And his dark eyes had glowed as though he very much liked what he saw.

He may not have realized it yet, but his appreciative, astonished gaze told her what his words had not—that he
did
care for her. And
not
just as a friend.

Olivia splashed cool water on her face and dragged a brush through her tangled hair. James did not want a simpering, whining miss. He craved adventure and excitement.

Fortunately, adventure and excitement happened to be her specialty.

She was through with hiding in darkened rooms and crying till her eyes were nothing but red, puffy slits. And for the love of God, she was through with scones. She marched to the tea cart, took the remaining pastries, and tossed them out the window to the birds.

She smiled, feeling a little of her old spirit returning.

By the time Rose came to check on her, Olivia had already rung for Hildy and dressed for dinner. Her maid managed to tame Olivia’s locks into a simple knot with a few loose tendrils. Rose exclaimed over how well she
looked—a little too effusively, in Olivia’s opinion. However, she supposed if one ignored her sallow complexion and swollen eyes, one might never know what a wreck she’d been for the past two days.

“I asked Cook to include your favorite—braised ham—on the menu,” Rose said. “She insisted on making those pastries you like as well.”

Blast. She’d start avoiding sweets tomorrow. “How thoughtful. Thank you.”

Rose extended a hand and helped Olivia to her feet. “Shall we join Owen and Anabelle in the drawing room?”

“Yes.” Olivia smiled brightly. “May I ask a favor before we go?”

“Anything.”

“I thought about your and Belle’s suggestion—about visiting Aunt Eustace—and I think a respite from town life is just what I require. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

“We can leave in the morning, if you wish.”