Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (24 page)

She made her
tone deliberately careless. ‘Since it was only you I wanted – yet
clearly it is impossible for us to live with the uncomfortable
truth between us – I no longer care what becomes of me. I shall
make a point of enjoying my road to eternal damnation.’ She smiled
sweetly. ‘When your worthy Miss Hepworth becomes too tiresome you
can look to
The Tatler
for some diverting scandal about the
latest exploits of the brazen Lady Farquhar.’

Clearly he did
not share her self-deprecating humour for he said with a narrow
look, ‘The future Viscount Farquhar will not be brought up in such
a manner. If you want to keep Julian, you forget yourself,
Olivia.’

She heard his
shuddering breath. ‘At the end of the week you will marry Reverend
Kirkman. He has been … good … to you. You deserve each other.’

‘Oh God,’ she
whispered, covering her face with her hands. ‘Would you really
condemn me to torment by
forcing
me to marry him? Just
because he knows the worst of me? I am not
so
far beyond
redemption.’

‘I have
discovered too much, Olivia, to know what alternative you
have.’

She nearly
choked on her anger. ‘You self-righteous beast!’ she cried, lunging
at him with flailing fists. ‘You’re no better than Lucien! I hate
you!’

Caught by
surprise as the glancing blow struck his jaw, he gripped her wrists
while pain tore behind his eyes.

‘You hate
me
?’ he repeated.

He could not
believe it of her. What did she expect? To allow her
carte
blanche
to continue her reckless, ill-chosen path, dragging
Julian along with her?’

Wincing, he
acknowledged his love for the boy. How could he not?

For more than
a year they had been as close as father and son.

Her eyes were
like blue thunder, her skin flushed and her creamy flesh
tantalizingly bared by her sumptuous, scandalous dress; he thought
he’d never wanted her so much.

But the price
was too high. She would forever revel in the power she had over
him. He did not think his manhood could sustain a lifetime of
it.

She was
straining across his lap as he caught her wrists. Holding them
above her head caused her body to sag into his. He closed his eyes
against the desire to place a kiss upon the flesh that swelled
above her low cut bodice; fought the raging impulses that rushed
through his body as anger faded beneath his yearning. Her hot
breath on his cheek as he parried her blows quickly fanned the
flames into full blown desire.

For an instant
she stilled. He opened his eyes in the startled silence and saw
that she felt it, too. She wilted in his embrace, her face inches
from his, her eyes dark pools of need.

The thread
that connected their two hearts from the moment they’d met tugged
tighter. He was devastatingly aware of the soft contours of her
body and for a second he almost yielded.

Of all the
women he’d known, none had the power to stir his senses as the
fascinating, faithless creature before him.

Common sense
returned and he jerked back as if stung.

He turned his
head away before the hurt and surprise on her face could weave
their spell upon his all too susceptible heart.

‘We’re here,’
he said as the horses turned into the stable yard. With enormous
effort he kept his voice neutral. ‘Kirkman is waiting for you.’

She did not
want to go. He knew he forced her against her will; that he was
abusing his power in this act of spite and self-righteousness.

He didn’t
care. If she hated him for it, all the better. He didn’t know if he
had the fortitude to hold out if it was any other way.

Smoothing her
dress she sat back in her seat, glaring at him. ‘I had not known
such a fine line existed between the affection you’ve always
extended towards me and’ – she nearly choked on the words – ‘the
disgust you clearly feel for me now.’

When he didn’t
answer she whispered after a silence, ‘Could I change your mind?’
Then, more desperately, ‘I do not wish to marry Reverend Kirkman.
Since I have made that plain, perhaps you’d like to know my
reasons.’

‘I’m not
interested in your reasons.’ He knew he was being childish and
pig-headed but he wanted to hurt her. Humiliate her.

The carriage
jerked to a halt and Max rose over her in the small space. It was
not a comforting thought that his domination and angry snarl:
‘Perhaps confessing tonight’s little dalliance might ease your
conscience’ could only remind her of Lucien. Yet perhaps Lucien’s
behaviour was not so reprehensible given all he had learned of
Olivia. Opening the door and jumping out on to the hay-strewn
cobblestones he added, ‘If you have one.’

A stable boy
ran up to enquire if Max needed fresh horses. Shaking his head he
turned back to Olivia who remained seated.

‘Please Max, I
will go anywhere except back to him. Take me back to my aunts!
Please!’ Her disembodied, heartrending entreaty did not soften his
resolve.

The dawn
shouts of the inn servants as they began their work and the
creaking of the water pump were reassuring. Cocooned in darkness
the intimacy between them during the ride here had nearly undone
him. Now daylight provided a welcome barrier. Yet as his gaze raked
her magnificent body and lingered on the perfection of her mutinous
face he acknowledged it would not take much before her charms
overcame his hurt and anger.

If he were to
accede to her reasonable request to be conveyed back to her aunts
the consequent confinement would be detrimental to his resolve to
sever all contact. He would be as enslaved as he ever had.

He dare not
risk it. Reaching in he took her wrist. She gripped the door and
resisted. ‘Take me back to my aunts! I’m not going!’

Releasing her,
he glanced round, realizing the dangerous path he trod. He could
hardly drag Olivia kicking and screaming through the inn and
deliver her to a no-doubt still slumbering Kirkman.

Disgusted by
his heavy-handed tactics he slumped against the carriage door. What
should he do now? He thought he heard her sobbing until her shrill
cry shredded all sympathy.

‘Take me back
and I will restore your fortune, Max!’

Her
tear-stained face emerged from the carriage, her bosom heaving
above the enormous pink silk roses that adorned her dress. The
dress of a courtesan; and the lies of a woman who would debase
herself to the limits if she saw profit in it.

‘I know where
the gold is! Take me back and I’ll prove it!’

‘Mr
Atherton?’

Relief surged
through him at the familiar voice. He doubted he’d have had the
fortitude to parry Olivia’s latest sensual onslaught had rescue not
arrived in the unlikely and unexpected form of The Rev’d Kirkman.
He did not for a moment believe her last desperate gambit.

Careful not to
look at her he bowed to the soberly clad gentleman whose shock at
their unconventional arrival was palpable, and said through gritted
teeth, ‘Lady Farquhar was anxious to see you.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

NATHANIEL’S
ROOM WAS cold and Spartan. No fire had been lit as he’d intended
spending the day in Bath searching for Olivia.

Oh, he knew
where she was, but he was not so certain he’d have been received by
the ladies who lived in the fashionable townhouse in Laura Place.
Who knew what tales they’d been told about him? That’s why he’d
planned to waylay Olivia when she was out walking. He could think
of no other way of managing it. Of making her understand marriage
to him was her only recourse, despite the impulses of her foolish
heart.

Until Max
Atherton had kindly delivered her to him.

He shook his
head, tempted to laugh at the way matters had played into his
hands. Max, his greatest threat – his only threat, really – had
delivered his quarry to
him
.

Olivia quailed
at the menace in his eyes before returning his hard look.

‘You ask what
I have done to have so vexed Mr Atherton? Perhaps the truth is
best, Nathaniel.’ Clasping her satin gloves together she adopted a
business-like manner from the wooden chair on which she sat.

‘I would hope
the truth is always best, my dear.’

She was not
deceived by the silken tone. Nathaniel, she had come to realize,
was always at his most dangerous when he spoke like this.

In a few
sentences she told him about Mariah’s plan and Max’s anger at
discovering her in the arms of young Lucy’s paramour.

Nathaniel’s
scorn turned quickly to amusement. Pacing the floorboards in front
of the empty fireplace, he shook his head as if unable to believe
her tale. Finally, to her astonishment he began to laugh.

‘By the saints
in Heaven, Olivia, I cannot believe that you have been delivered to
me, on a platter so to speak. And by Mr Atherton!’ He could barely
speak for chuckling. ‘It reminds me of the lively entertainments
Lucien staged in which you were the star attraction.’

She glared at
him. ‘How dare you speak of those days—?’

Grinning as he
turned to face her, he cut through her objections.

‘You realize
Mr Atherton believes I am Julian’s father.’

Her lungs
deflated. Gasping, she leapt to her feet, the chair crashing behind
her.

‘He believes
no such thing!’ Blackness whirled before her as she grappled to
back up her denial, a thousand truncated exchanges teasing her
memory with their potential for misunderstanding. ‘He couldn’t! I
wrote and explained everything surrounding the night I took Julian
in.’

He quirked an
eyebrow. ‘Yet he still deposited you here.’

In a gesture
of self protection Olivia’s hands went to her throat as he slowly
circled her before going to stand in the window embrasure.

‘For someone
who thinks herself so clever, my dear Olivia, you are remarkably
credulous.’ He chuckled again: a low, evil, gloating noise that
made her insides resonate with fear.

She’d never
been this afraid of him, before.

‘My dear
Olivia, of course that letter did not reach Max Atherton.’ From his
pocket he pulled an elegant wafer which he slapped upon the table.
‘When I suspected a damaging little confession from you was
forthcoming I was ever vigilant.’

The blood
drained from her head as she stared at the letter she had written
to Max. She could feel her self-control slipping. Desperately she
struggled to keep up the bravado, her voice cool and imperious as
she said, ‘Since Max has deposited me here and I have no wish to
remain, please be good enough to advance me a small sum so I can
return to my aunts.’ She drew herself up, wishing her dress did not
expose so much flesh.

He stroked his
chin, his expression thoughtful. Slowly he advanced. Her mouth felt
dry. She could feel fear swelling her glands, making it hard to
swallow; knew she must not let Nathaniel sense it. She tried to
choke it back but it was too strong, too overpowering.

‘I’m not going
to marry you and you’re not going to rear the future Viscount
Farquhar,’ she cried, recoiling from the hand he extended to stroke
the side of her neck. ‘That’s what it was all about for you, wasn’t
it? The power you’d have as Julian’s guardian.’

It was
suddenly clear. Cursing herself for a fool, she railed at him, ‘You
wanted me to trust you, yet all you wanted was power over me!’
Nathaniel’s smile was pitying. ‘Dearest Olivia, what have I done
that you suddenly hold me in such aversion? Four days ago you
eagerly anticipated being a bride.’

‘Not yours,
Nathaniel.’ With a shuddering breath she whispered, ‘Never
yours.’

He shook his
head as if her words caused him sorrow while his eyes told a
different story. They were black with anger. ‘After all I’ve done
for you, Olivia. The scandals I’ve had to deny, the lengths I’ve
gone to protect you from Lucien’s ill temper.’

‘To shore up
your own position.’ Strange how the truth revealed itself only
now.

His finger
hovered in the air just below her breast. ‘Lady Farquhar’s
butterfly has brought you notoriety, Olivia. If you continue to
refuse my suit, if you won’t accept the respectability I’m offering
you, you’ll not find it elsewhere.’

‘I wouldn’t
marry you if you were the last man on earth!’

‘Your Mr
Atherton must have been very angry to have deposited you on my
doorstep.’ He pursed his lips in a parody of sympathy.

‘Clearly he
has withdrawn from the quest for your affections. Still,’ he added,
‘I’ve no doubt there are many other worthy, blameless young women
eager to fill the breach.’

His hands
caressed her throat, toying with the pendant, the key Max had
threaded through the chain around her neck in the attic that
night.

The key to
Elmwood. The fact Max laboured under the most ghastly of
misapprehensions and that she had failed to convey to him so much
that was important gave her courage. ‘He will think differently
when I tell him the truth.’

If she could
only stop herself trembling. She wondered if her fear would fuel
Nathaniel’s malice as it once had her husband’s. For the moment his
manner was restrained, almost gentle. Lucien had used this tactic
as a precursor to violence. She trembled even more as Nathaniel
ignored her last remark, murmuring, ‘Here you are, horribly
compromised in my chamber, yet still you refuse to marry the only
man who’s prepared to pave your way back into society. You will be
ruined, Olivia.’

‘Marrying a
man I detest is not worth my return to society – in the unlikely
event the truth does not change Max’s mind.’ She held herself
proudly. ‘Regardless, my greatest comfort is knowing Julian will be
well looked after by Max who loves him as his own son. For you
surely never did, Nathaniel.’