Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (14 page)

It was hard to
control her ragged breathing. She struggled beneath him before
giving up, wishing she could manage more conviction as she
whispered, ‘Did you not hear me? I said I am not going to marry you
so we have nothing to discuss.’

‘Since this is
the first I’ve heard of this new state of affairs I’d say we had
plenty to discuss.’

Looming over
her, his expression was difficult to read. Olivia closed her eyes
against the anger, the wounded pride. She had not expected
intimidation.

‘I take it Mr
Atherton is behind your change of heart. Clearly you’ve deceived
me. You’ve met him before.’

Olivia
inclined her head a fraction. No point denying it. However it stood
to reason Nathaniel would take it badly being superseded by
Lucien’s cousin.

‘I love Max.’
It was catharsis to say it though whether or not Max still loved
her or
would
still love her was another matter. At least
telling Nathaniel that the truth was finally out in the open meant
he would surely not continue to press his suit.

She was
wrong.

He kept her
pinioned upon the bed, his body heavy as he angled one knee beside
her thigh to gain better purchase. ‘I have waited eight long years
to make you mine.’ His whisper sounded more like a desperate snarl
than a reaffirming caress. ‘We’ve had an understanding since before
Lucien died.’

Self-preservation battled within. She could not let him dominate
her, terrorize her, as Lucien had.

She struggled
again, managing to free one arm which she used to push him away,
hissing, ‘No, we have not!’

‘Then we have
misunderstood one another for my offer and your acceptance of it in
the summerhouse seemed to me the only logical outcome of a long and
difficult courtship.’

He released
her then. She curled up her knees and swung round to gain distance
but he sat heavily on the bed, pulling her across his chest and
catching her beneath the knees to swing her on to his lap.

Olivia went
rigid as he forced her head against his shoulder. The garment was
musty from its months consigned to a trunk without air but she
could smell the faint essence which reminded her so strongly of
Lucien. And beneath it, the animal smell of her suitor, roused by
anger and pride.

Nathaniel
grasped her by the chin and twisted her face to look at him as he
repeated roughly, ‘Do not play the coy maiden with me just because
another contender for your affections has presented himself. One
that you prefer.’ He clamped his hand round her neck and pulled her
head back on to his shoulder. ‘You know you cannot have him,’ he
hissed, as his hands caressed her throat.

‘You can’t
force me to marry you,’ Olivia rasped. She was close to swooning.
Unable to struggle to any effect, she lay limply in his arms.

‘There are
many compelling reasons for a match between us.’ The tenseness
seemed to drain out of him in response to her passivity. Nathaniel
sighed as his fingers explored the contours of her neck and chest.
He gazed out of the window. ‘Surely, my dear, you gave up fairy
stories when you married Lucien.’

Olivia tried
to swallow through her fear. ‘Nathaniel, I … I’m very fond of you
but—’

‘Don’t think
I’ll be satisfied with a sop like that,’ he sneered, bringing his
face close to hers. ‘We were meant to be together. Everything has
been orchestrated for this union.’

‘I want to be
with Max. If—’ She tried to be brave. ‘If you force me to do
anything against my will I
shall
scream, I promise you!’

‘I’m not so
stupid, Olivia.’ Rising abruptly, he pushed her back down upon the
bed. ‘Look at you!’ His voice dripped with derision.

‘Eight years
ago you were the toast of the town. A diamond of the first water.
Now, you’re just a shell. Your reputation is in tatters and the
charm and gaiety that captivated society just a memory. Oh, to me
you’re still lovely to look at. I had hoped to restore to you what
you had lost through your own foolishness. I had hoped to redeem
you. No doubt Max thinks a vacuous plaything will do very well
until he finds the kind of wife he’s really after.’ His lip curled
as he delivered his verdict. ‘An innocent, simple creature,
pleasing to the eye with no damning past to threaten his
manliness.’

She would not
let him see he had found his mark. ‘Max has honour and he knows his
own mind. He wants
me
.’

‘I’ve no doubt
he wants you, Olivia,’ chuckled Nathaniel. ‘Most men want you.
I
want you. But does he want to marry you? And if so, was
that after you threw yourself at him … but before you confessed to
him the truth?’

Olivia gasped
and covered her eyes, twisting away from him. Had they been empty
taunts she could have borne them.

‘Ever the
slattern, Olivia.’ Bending over her, he trailed his forefinger
across her collarbone, skimming the tops of her breasts. ‘Like
satin,’ he breathed. He traced the arches of her eyebrows. ‘So
beautiful yet so stupid,’ he added, moving his mouth to her ear.
‘So stupid because you cannot let your mind master your body.
Unlike me, my darling Olivia, else I’d be walking away, satiated
right now. But I shall leave that for another night. Our wedding
night.’

Olivia started
to cry; short, shallow gasps, tears streaming down her face. His
shadow as he leaned over her was as oppressive as the weight of him
had been. She hiccupped. ‘How can you want me if you despise me so
much?’

‘Despise you?’
He considered the question as he tugged loose the bow of her
nightdress then retied it more tightly so that she was respectably
covered. ‘And love you in equal measure. I shall be your salvation,
Olivia.’

‘Max knows
everything
about my past,’ Olivia whispered, recoiling from
his touch, wishing for Max’s embrace to wash away the sordidness
she felt.

‘Everything?’
His brow furrowed as he sat. Hunched on the edge of the mattress he
reminded her of a calculating toad who has just received a blow. He
looked genuinely perplexed and Olivia revelled in her sudden power
until he delivered his
coup de grâce
. ‘How can he still want
you when he knows your dark and dirty little secret?’ His
astonishment was not feigned and Olivia’s self-disgust made her
crumple inwardly as he added, ‘He honestly forgives you for what
you have stolen from him?’

The look on
her face must have revealed the truth for suddenly he was standing,
his arms around her as he drew her to her feet, supporting her as
she swayed. His voice was triumphant as he cried, ‘Always the
dreamer, Olivia. You say you told him the truth. Ha! You’ve barely
scratched the surface.’

She felt the
wetness of her tears on the back of her hand as she wiped her
cheek, raising her head from his shoulder where he’d forced it.
This time she did not resist as he threw back the covers, lifted
her gently on to the mattress and tucked the blankets around
her.

‘There, there,
my love,’ he soothed, bending over her, offering her the milk Aunt
Catherine had warmed and brought her a short while before. ‘Drink
this. You’ve had a nasty shock, discovering your beauty isn’t
always enough to get you what you want. Soon I will be your
husband: friend, not foe. With every weapon at my disposal I shall
ensure Julian’s future remains secure.’ On stockinged feet he
padded towards the door, turning when he reached the middle of the
carpet.

‘Don’t worry,
Olivia.’

She turned her
head from his triumphant sneer.

‘You may not
love me, but your secret is safe. We both know guarding that little
powder keg is essential … for the happiness of
all
concerned.’

An empty
shell
.

Is that what
she was?

Shivering,
curled up in her narrow bed she listened to the mice in the
wainscoting and the rattle of the casement. Hours later the
chirping of birds announced the dawn.

How
desperately she had tried to find the words to unburden her soul,
to tell Max the truth when they had been in the attic. How close
she had been.

And she would
have followed through on her promise of the truth in the morning
had it not been for Nathaniel’s visit.

Max was the
light in her life. He made her believe the truth could be
overcome.

Nathaniel’s
visit reminded her it could not.

Quietly, she
sobbed, hunched beneath the covers, racked with despair. What
should she do? She was torn asunder by her feelings for the three
males beneath this roof but Nathaniel held the trump card. It
wasn’t just his insidious threats of revealing the truth about
Julian. Before Nathaniel’s visit Olivia had resolved to do just
that, herself.

It was his
judgement. With time Max would regard her as Lucien had – venality
masquerading in a cloak of beauty.

A thwarted
Nathaniel would turn her sins into moral outrages and evidence of
corruption not even the most besotted suitor could countenance.

Head pounding,
she tried to crystallize her thoughts. With the brightening dawn
her courage returned.

At the heart
of every decision she’d made since Julian had been born was his
future.

Marriage to
Nathaniel ensured the safety and welfare of her son. But how would
Julian judge
her
when he was grown?

A woman too
afraid to trust her instincts? Too weak to stand firm against
threats and coercion?

Miserably, she
reflected on the two men who held her hostage: Max with his love
and the fact he deserved an unpalatable truth she was too afraid to
risk. And Nathaniel with his threats and his
promises
to
hide the truth.

Drawing in a
rasping breath she struggled upright on her pillows, her heart
racing.

The truth lay
at the heart of everything.

Only the truth
would answer. Aunt Eunice had sent her to Elmwood to ‘set the
record straight’ so she could regain her son but from the outset
she had lacked the courage to tell Max the truth.

Yet Max’s love
had held firm in the face of her shameful deception. Why? Because
he believed she was pure of heart.

She was!

She shivered,
her mind engaged in a battle between hope and fear. Unless she
conquered her fear she’d never realize her dreams.

Nathaniel had
made her believe Max represented Julian’s greatest threat; that
only he, The Rev’d Nathaniel Kirkman, had the power to protect
Julian’s future. He’d used veiled threats to conjure up a future
unimaginably perilous for young Julian.

Oh God, she
thought, her pulses racing, why had she not seen the truth
before?

Max was not
Julian’s greatest threat: Nathaniel was.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AFIRE WITH
ANTICIPATION, Max waited for her at breakfast. After a night in
which doubts and fears chased firm resolves to forgive her
everything, he now needed simply to see her.

One frank
smile and a murmured reinforcement of her feelings for him would be
sufficient. He freely admitted he was enslaved.

Olivia had
suffered appallingly during her marriage to Lucien. However
shocking the truth, she was the victim of forces beyond her
control.

With an effort
he forced down his smoked haddock – and the impulse to jerk his
head round to Aunt Eunice on his left and give her the reassurances
she had wanted last night: that regardless, he would be Olivia’s
knight in shining armour. He would protect her to the end.

And he
would.

He just wished
he could reassure Olivia, but her chair remained empty and he was
barely able to hide his disappointment when Dorcas appeared with
the announcement that Olivia was still sleeping and seemed
feverish.

Finally the
moment of departure was upon him. He could delay it no longer.
Olivia’s aunts, Eunice and Catherine, exclaimed their pleasure at
his company, pressing him to return soon. Kirkman merely nodded
stiffly.

A thick
covering of snow whitened the curving driveway that led to the main
road. He’d said his farewells at the front step, exhorting everyone
to return to the warmth of indoors.

Now, from
astride Odin, Max gazed up at Olivia’s casement window.

In three
seconds he would be out of Olivia’s life, but not for long.

Hadn’t she
avowed her love for him? Surely all she required was affirmation of
his understanding and forgiveness. Even if his worst fears were
confirmed….

Ignoring his
apprehension he held firm, reminding himself of what was at the
heart of Olivia’s forthcoming admission: she was not to blame.

He lowered his
head to whisper encouragement to his horse, twisting in the saddle
when he heard the crunch of footsteps upon the gravel. Light,
running footsteps.

Wearing
nothing warmer than a flimsy Norwich shawl over her dress, Olivia
was hastening across the few yards which separated them.

Lord, she was
beautiful. With her hair hanging past her shoulders in two plaits
she reminded him of one of the Vestal Virgins in a book of
illustrations he’d had as a child.

Having been
tormented by Olivia’s unfinished tale, the myriad possibilities as
to why she was unable to commit herself to him – each more lurid
than the last – his heart now soared. Her haste and the look in her
eye could mean only one thing: she was here to confess and crave
his understanding.

And she would
have it.

Drinking in
those spectacular blue eyes and the full, curved lips he could kiss
forever, he would forgive her anything.

‘Max! You ask
why I believe I cannot marry you.’ Her voice came in breathless
gasps. ‘There is no easy way to say it and no time to dress up the
truth but if you will hear me out—’

‘Come with me
now,’ he urged, reason turning him into an impetuous schoolboy as
he reached down from the saddle for her. The urge to protect her
thundered in his breast. ‘If you are frightened of Kirkman, don’t
be, for I will let nothing harm you. Ever.’