Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (23 page)

‘You drew
attention to my honeyed tongue earlier this evening, Lady
Farquhar,’ he murmured, leading her to the
chaise
. ‘And I
promised to deliver, I recall.’

‘Do you have
an arrangement to elope with Lucy?’

She could not
believe herself, how baldly she uttered the words. Shocked, he
dropped her hand.

‘Am I to be
censured or applauded for my boldness?’ he asked, halting in the
centre of the room. The moment of uncertainty was over in an
instant as his smile resumed its confidence. Staring into her eyes
he raised her left hand, slowly circling the palm with his
forefinger. His eyes bored into hers as he murmured, ‘If you are
jealous, Lady Farquhar, I assure you that I would infinitely prefer
to elope with you.’

Stonily, she
met his gaze. ‘I prefer my widowed status, thank you.’

‘As I
thought.’ He sighed, feigning disappointment. ‘You have the freedom
to’ – he paused, recalling her sentiments of earlier that evening –
‘enjoy your fortune as you please, and not be censured for the
dalliances in which you choose to indulge.’

With a tug
Olivia found herself stumbling the last few feet and then she was
across his lap upon the gold and blue-striped
chaise-longue
.

She heard
herself shriek, a faint, cut-off sound, for Mr Petersham’s mouth
was covering hers while his arms had assumed the nature of
tentacles. She could feel one of them insinuating itself the length
of her thigh.

Was this what
he thought of her? A strumpet all too eager for a quick fumble in
the shadows?

She struggled
but perhaps he mistook her objections for the writhings of passion?
Just as she had mistaken speculation for admiration all these years
in the hooded gazes of other women’s husbands? Now she knew it was
speculation. How far might scandalous Lady Farquhar be prepared to
go with
them
given the right inducement?

Self-disgust
united with her terror. What a fool she was. As much a fool as when
she had been seventeen.

She tried to
pull her mouth away but blind lust gripped him and even if he
registered her resistance he did not heed it.

Horrible
blackness clouded up behind her eyes, filling her head as she
fought for control.

There was no
finesse in his exploration. His groping hands sent shivers of
revulsion through her but her protests were stifled by the
single-mindedness of his quest for physical fulfilment.

Ineffectually,
she tried again to push him away. Nothing was worth this foul
indignity, this trampling of her sensibilities. His mouth was like
a great sponge clamped over her lips, his arms like a vice caging
her to his will. Did he not register her unwillingness? Was his
mastery over her his enjoyment?

Like Lucien?
Dear God, how could she have been so blind as to walk right into
the trap set for her? Mr Petersham saw her as a conquest, nothing
more. Just as Lucien had. No spark of feeling for her had ever
burned in Lucien’s breast other than the need to possess and
vanquish.

How well she
had read Mr Petersham. And she had gone with him willingly!

She twisted
and writhed in her attempts to struggle free, but escape was not an
option until Mr Petersham had had his fill.

Panic was
overlaid with a desperate yet weary resignation that she had no one
but herself to blame. There would be no rescue until Mariah had
orchestrated the ghastly finale she’d planned for poor Lucy’s
edification.

And then a
sharp, clear familiar voice cut through her horror. For a brief
instant joy and relief pulsed through her as she registered the
beloved voice of her rescuer.

Almost
instantly her horror metamorphosed into a new form. Of all the
people to witness her latest transgression: Max.

The shock of
discovery caused Mr Petersham to release her. She wasn’t sure if
chivalry or devilry made him drape his arm possessively about her
shoulders as he sat up on the
chaise
, pulling Olivia up with
him. She felt the smug satisfaction conveyed by his caress as Max,
eyes like flint, looked past her, his voice low and terrible as he
demanded, ‘Unhand that woman!’

‘Who are you,
sir, to interrupt a tryst between willing—’

He stopped as
Lucy stepped out of the shadows and the stricken look she directed
first at her erstwhile admirer and then at her cousin made Olivia
wonder if any of this had been worthwhile – even had it gone more
or less to plan.

Though the
girl said nothing, Olivia thought she’d never seen the cruel
effects of betrayal etched more poignantly on another’s features.
With a heartrending wail Lucy buried her face in her friend’s
shoulder.

Olivia darted
a brief, guilty look at Max before she slid her eyes to the floor.
The disgust in his tone was echoed by the recrimination in his
slate-grey eyes.

He put a hand
on the other young woman’s shoulder. ‘Miss Hepworth, I think you
should escort your friend back to the ballroom,’ he said, his hard
gaze still encompassing the guilty lovers. ‘I shall follow in a
moment.’

As the weeping
Lucy was borne away, Mr Petersham rose. His mouth quirked and he
clicked his tongue.

‘A
disappointed suitor, perhaps? I do not believe we have had the
pleasure.’

Max ignored
the extended hand.

‘Lady Farquhar
is to marry Reverend Kirkman at the end of the week.’ She had never
heard his voice so cold. His gaze swept Olivia briefly. ‘I am here
to ensure she follows through on her commitment.’

‘Max, no,
I—’

He cut her
off, seizing her hand and pulling her up from the sofa.

‘Olivia, if
you would kindly come with me.’

Mr Petersham
did not even protest. Olivia’s last sight of him showed clearly his
amusement and his words followed her through the door.

‘My pardons
for having detained you from your obligation to the good reverend,
madam. Do call on me when you are again in the market for
dalliance.’

Dazed, Olivia
could not even respond. It was only after she was hustled outside
and pushed into a hackney that she came to her senses.

‘Where are you
taking me, Max? No, you do not understand—’

‘Did my eyes
deceive me?’ Fury resonated through him as he thrust her ankle free
of the door and leapt in after her, slamming the carriage door
behind him.

Cowering into
the corner her defences drained from her as he leaned across the
small, dark, musty space, the once-kind grey eyes boring into her
with revulsion.

‘It was a
mistake—’ She grabbed at the window sill to steady herself as the
carriage lurched forward.

‘Only because
you were discovered, Olivia!’

‘I did not
want to kiss him!’

As she put out
her arms to appeal to him he grabbed her wrists, thrusting his face
into hers. His eyes glowed with hurt pride and anger and her heart
quailed.

‘Do you love
him?’

‘Of course I
don’t!’

‘Yet you
compromised yourself out of – what, exactly? The dictates of your
wayward body?’ Like a wounded beast he was striking out. She winced
as if his anger had taken a physical form. If she could just
navigate her way through their current impasse all could be made
right between them.

She opened her
mouth to speak, but he cut her off once more.

‘Perhaps it
would
not
be so sickening if you admitted you cared for the
gentleman. What was I, Olivia? Another dalliance to pander to your
cravings and lusts?’

‘I’ve only
ever loved you!’ Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears as she
struggled to free her wrists, impulses warring between flight and
the desire to soothe his injured sensibilities in her embrace.

But she lacked
the courage, fear and desperation banishing her ability to use calm
reason to explain away his misplaced anger. He crackled with it,
his body stiff as he ended their contact with exaggerated
revulsion, his eyes bleak and cold.

She made
another attempt. ‘You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, Max! What
you saw tonight was a mistake—’

‘A mistake!
How easily lies and excuses trip off your tongue,’ he sneered,
flicking away her renewed attempt to appeal to him as he retreated
back against the squabs. ‘You lied to me from the moment you saw me
and it’s been lies ever since. I was nothing but a means to an end:
the return of your son.’ His voice cracked. ‘The son you would
parade before the world as Lucien’s heir! Well, now I know
better!’

‘Max!’ She
implored him. ‘My … my indiscretion with Mr Petersham was part of a
plan to save my cousin from the fate I suffered at Lucien’s
hands.’

There was
nothing to signify he was at all mollified, much less believed,
this confession. Scepticism dripped from his response.

‘Really?’ He
regarded her from his dim corner. For a moment he looked
frighteningly like Lucien but the pain in his eyes highlighted by
the breaking dawn almost immediately erased this impression and
gave her hope. Lucien had never looked so wounded in his anger.

‘A shame your
earlier indiscretions carried not the same thought for the future
of others.’

The direct
reference to Julian’s parentage made her mouth dry.

‘Please, Max!’
she cried, ‘I’m not ashamed of what I did, though I deeply regret
hurting you. Nor am I marrying Reverend Kirkman. I am resolved upon
it.’

Though he
avoided her outstretched hands her misery was overlaid by hope.
Right was on her side. She clutched convulsively at the reticule
that dangled from around her wrist. She could give him so much more
than he had ever dreamed. A fortune to go with her love.

Soon his eyes
would kindle with a very different emotion from the hurt and fury
that roiled there now. Yes, he was sickened at discovering her in
another man’s arms but there was ample evidence to vindicate
her.

‘What choice
do you have?’ The words crackled with contempt.

‘You made your
bed—’

‘But I don’t
have to lie in it!’ Olivia railed. Just because the reverend was
prepared to accept her, sin and all, didn’t mean another
wouldn’t.

She heard him
let out his breath in a slow whistle while she rested her head
against the window. ‘I told you the truth, Max.’ She strove for
measured calm. ‘I wrote to you and asked what you would have me do.
I have been in torment at your silence.’

‘So now the
fault is mine.’ His voice, disembodied in the shadows, was harsh.
‘I never received the letter, but that doesn’t change the fact that
what you did can never be undone. Julian is a bastard yet you were
prepared to parade him to the world as the rightful Viscount
Farquhar.’

Wounded, she
replied, ‘Max, I never meant to hurt you. When I looked into
Julian’s eyes I didn’t consider him a bastard. He was a tiny,
defenceless baby … and Lucien was desperate for an heir.’ It was an
effort to speak through her tears. ‘Do you know how many babies I
had lost? And yes, I should have admitted the truth. I realized
that the moment I met you’ – she dropped her gaze. It was painful
just to breathe – ‘before I fell in love with you.’

His mocking
laugh brought her head up. She stared at him. He truly did not
understand. She wondered how she could have misjudged him. There
was no forgiveness for replacing the babe she and Lucien had lost
with Lucien’s motherless bastard.

Gasping she
cried out, ‘Have you no compassion?’

‘Not for
scheming deceivers,’ he ground out, snatching her hands and moving
his face close to hers. ‘Look at you, Olivia!’ With his palms he
contoured her face. ‘You are without equal. Exquisite. What I
wouldn’t sacrifice to have you – if I did not know I would pay
twice in pain for the pleasure you gave me.’ He fell back against
the squabs, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Before you
destroyed me, as you destroyed my cousin.’

The empty
silence stung her ears.

Shocked, she
whispered, ‘I had no idea you hated me so much.’

‘Not as much
as I love you’ – he gave a shuddering sigh and his voice cracked as
he added, ‘But self-preservation prevents me from succumbing to the
lust that consumes me as we speak. For it is lust, only, Olivia.
Tonight you proved there is nothing in you to love.’ Raising
himself he glared at her. Never had he looked so like Lucien.

‘Besides, you
are going to marry Kirkman. You know there is no other path open to
you.’

Stung to
indignation she wiped her eyes. ‘Should I be compelled to atone the
rest of my life for compromising myself before him?’ Hunching
herself into the corner the anger built within her. ‘I can’t do it.
I won’t,’ she flung at him after a moment’s silence.

‘And
Julian?’

Goaded, she
muttered, ‘He is Lucien’s heir and as long as the world believes
that
he will be fine.’

‘Is that a
threat?’ Max spoke quietly. After a moment he let out a humourless
chuckle. ‘So you would tell the world the truth only if I had been
prepared to wed you and conveniently dismiss what stood between
us?’

He was looking
at her as if he could not believe it.

‘I can manage
very well without Mr Kirkman and if you choose to deny me my son on
account of it, you are within your rights,’ she said coldly.

‘And I can
manage very well without you!’

The anger
drained from her. Sorrow took its place. They had once loved each
other. It could have been so wonderful.

‘Olivia.’
There was so much pain invested in the word she nearly wept. She
kept her head averted.

After a
silence he shrugged and there was a distance to his tone as he
said, ‘A boy needs a father.’

‘Mr Petersham
would have done just as well.’

Max gave a
sardonic chuckle. ‘You really are trying to live up to your
reputation.’