Lady Farquhar's Butterfly (5 page)

‘Brave?’ she
repeated in a whisper. He thought the look she cast him was rueful.
‘I only wish I were.’

He realized he
still had his arm about her. That she was looking up at him in
almost childish entreaty and that she had made no effort to pull
away. She was so very lovely. Far lovelier even than he’d imagined
she’d be before she washed her face. And she certainly did not
recoil from his embrace. He sensed she desired their closeness as
much as he.

When she
caught her breath at another roll of thunder he relished the chance
to hold her tighter. Acknowledging the potential danger of their
situation, he released her with a sigh. ‘Come, I’ll take you back
to your room.’

She clung to
his hand, resisting as he drew her along with him. Her face looked
ashen in the next flash of light.

‘Please don’t
leave me alone,’ she whispered, when they reached her bedchamber.
‘I am so terrified of storms.’

‘It’ll pass
soon enough,’ he soothed. Reluctant though he was to say goodnight,
he knew they couldn’t remain freezing in the passage much longer.
Well, he wasn’t freezing; his blood was fairly up just at the sight
of her, but he could feel her shivering.

She closed her
eyes, took a deep breath as she put her hand on the door knob and
asked, ‘You’ll not lock me in?’

‘Lock you in
your room?’ he repeated, trying to understand her.

‘Good God, is
that what your parents did?’

She shook her
head. ‘Not my parents,’ she said, leaning against the door as if
she were rallying all her fortitude. Another crack of thunder sent
her lurching back into his arms and as she fixed him with her
extraordinary luminous blue eyes he knew he was undone. That he was
as enslaved as any man could be when she begged him in a low voice,
‘Please don’t leave me alone.’

He needed no
more encouragement. Feeling like a fearless conqueror Max scooped
her up and strode all the way back to his own room. Easing himself
into the large, comfortable armchair by his bed, nicely warmed by
the fire, he settled her across his lap. Her head, heavy with
exhaustion, settled upon his chest and the staccato breaths soon
became regular.

In minutes she
was asleep.

CHAPTER THREE

WHERE WAS SHE?
Olivia woke with a start as the maid drew the curtains.

The girl
bobbed a curtsy. ‘Master said as to leave you to sleep. Sorry,
miss, but morning tea is in half an hour an’ I thought—’

‘Is it that
late?’ Olivia cut her off, jumping out of bed and drawing her
borrowed shawl about her shoulders.

How could she
have managed to sleep at all? she wondered, as she registered that
she was in Mr Atherton’s house. Then she remembered where, exactly,
she had fallen asleep and her hands flew to her flaming cheeks.

Her heart gave
a painful contraction.

‘Julian!’ she
whispered, though her heart threw up a different name. Being
reunited with her son was the reason her heart was behaving so
oddly, she told herself, as she quickly washed and dressed. It had
nothing to do with the boy’s uncle who had merely been kind and
done what any host would to allay the fears of a nervous guest.

She banished
the memory of his warm embrace. It was too dangerous to relieve the
exquisite sensation of relinquishing her worries in the arms of a
man with honourable intentions. So overwhelming had been the
feeling of comfort and safety that she had fallen asleep almost
immediately. In his bedchamber. But not before she had succumbed to
the comfort of his caress as his long sensitive fingers brushed
rhythmically across her cheek, as if she were a precious child.

When had she
last felt precious? Or deserved to feel so? she thought, choking
back her self disgust. And that, really, was the crux.

With brisk,
determined actions, she pulled on her stockings then waited
passively while the maid dressed her.

Soon she would
see Julian again, and that was all that was important.

But Julian was
out walking with his nursemaid and cousins, she was told. The
master, added the parlour maid, was in the drawing room, her tone
indicating that this was where Olivia should direct her footsteps.
Not towards a crowd of unruly little boys.

Arriving at
the doorway at the very same moment as Mr Atherton only added to
her awkwardness, compounded by his seeming inability to address her
coherently. Lord, what must he think of her forwardness last night?
she wondered.

‘I trust you
slept well, Mrs Templestowe,’ he began, the colour burning his
cheeks as he cast his gaze downwards, stubbed at a mark on the
carpet with the toe of his boot and added in a burst of
frustration, ‘
Must
I call you that?’

Dispersing her
tension with a small laugh, Olivia replied with a wry smile, ‘I
think the outrageous manner in which I impinged upon your
hospitality last night affords you the right to call me Olivia, if
you prefer.’

For a moment
their gazes locked, then they both laughed. It cleared the air, Max
offering his arm to Olivia to lead her into the room just as Amelia
made her entrance.

With the most
cursory of greetings for his sister, Mr Atherton’s gaze returned to
Olivia’s face as he took his seat beside her, murmuring, ‘Did I
tell you, Olivia, that I’ve made you an appointment to come walking
with me after breakfast? There’s something I want to ask you.’
There was a gentle, teasing note in his voice which made Olivia
want to lean towards him and caress his cheek as she entered into
the spirit of light-hearted banter.

Instead, she
felt dread take root at the look in his eye: a mixture of
admiration and affection.

Fatal.

‘I think you
are a fraud, Olivia, for I can detect no sign of a limp, I’m
pleased to note,’ he said, casting first his sister, then Olivia, a
broad, self-satisfied smile before tucking into a large helping of
smoked haddock.

Olivia no
longer had an appetite. Oh yes, she was a fraud. But as long as he
failed to detect this she and her son had a future together.

Their
post-breakfast walk was a gentle stroll around the rose bushes and
the matter which Max wished to broach was Olivia’s attendance at a
house party he was hosting in three days’ time.

‘Please, will
you continue under my roof in the meantime?’

His look was
full of entreaty. She tried to resist it, tell herself it was far
safer to leave immediately. She couldn’t afford to further her
acquaintance with Mr Atherton. She had to invent an excuse which
precluded it.

But she could
think of no suitable objection, other than an objection to the
insistent voice of reason in her head.

Quite simply,
she wanted to enjoy his company for as long as she could.

When had she
last put her head on a pillow – much less a man’s chest, God
forbid! – and fallen into a sweet and dreamless sleep? When had she
last felt so light with happiness at the mere caress or squeeze of
a man’s hand?

For the moment
she ignored the truth of the matter, which was that she had to
leave. Soon. Before she was in so deep she was doomed.

‘What am I to
wear to the ball if I’m not to appear like some little dormouse
dragged in by your cat?’

He weighed
this up with a frown, turning and clasping both her hands in his.
‘Rather, some enchanting little squirrel,’ he said, finally. ‘At
least, that’s the impression you gave me when I dragged you out of
the mud during the storm. No! That excuse won’t wash with me.
Amelia can get her girl to come and measure you and work her
fingers to the bone so that you may step forth in finery that does
your beauty justice.’

‘Amelia’s poor
girl would never oblige your sister again.’

‘Do I really
look such a tyrant?’ He smiled, leading her along a path through
the manicured gardens towards the park. ‘I value my reputation
amongst my staff and the villagers and was merely trying to impress
you with my willingness to ensure all your objections are
quashed.’

The smile died
on his lips as he halted once more, putting his hands on her
shoulders to turn her towards him and asking quietly, ‘I really
would like you to come, Olivia.’

‘Well, yes, I—
what are you doing?’ For suddenly Max’s manner had become quite
altered, his expression decisive as he caged her hand which had
been lying loosely upon his arm, his footsteps purposeful as he
marched her to the copse of trees which bordered the formal garden.
Olivia had to run to keep up.

‘Taking you
deep into the shelter of those trees over there so we will not be
observed from the house, or spied upon by my sister who has
suddenly decided to prune the roses, by the looks of things.’

‘Oh,’ said
Olivia, faintly, as she found herself shielded from the house by
the thick trunk of a large elm tree on one side and Max’s solid
broad chest on the other.

‘Oh!’ she said
again, as his right hand deftly untied the ribbons of her bonnet.
Tossing it aside, his lips curved in a confident, appreciative
smile as he drew her against him.

‘Oh …’ It was
a final murmur of surrender as she melted into him.

She felt her
legs give way and her heart seemed to liquefy as his lips brushed
hers, his fingers twining in the curls at the nape of her neck.

It was a soft,
languorous kiss, too quickly over.

‘Lovely
Olivia,’ he whispered. He held her away from him, observing her
with tenderness. She didn’t realize she was straining to move back
into his embrace until he laughed, cupping her face and bringing
his mouth back to hers.

Sighing,
Olivia gave herself up to the unexpected, long-missed pleasure of
being kissed by a man who knew how to stir her senses.

How many years
since she had last felt desire? She’d forgotten how much she
enjoyed surrendering to a sensuality over which she had no control,
of casting away her inhibitions. His chest felt solid and
dependable pressed against hers, his arms strong and safe around
her, and he smelt good. Of sandalwood soap and horses.

‘Darling
Olivia,’ he murmured, kissing her gently once more for good
measure. ‘You have a most extraordinary effect on me.’ He shook his
head as if to clear it.

‘Mmm.’ Olivia
smiled and bit her lip, making no move to pull away. She was
disappointed when he released her with a sigh so as to retrieve her
discarded bonnet, but she laughed as he fumbled with the ribbons he
tried tying beneath her chin.

‘All thumbs,’
she said, as once again he tucked her hand into the crook of his
arm and stood looking down at her with a proprietary air.

‘I suppose
you’re too much the soldier.’

‘With a
longing for the comforts of hearth and home. My soldiering days are
well and truly past.’

She felt a
chill and knew the time was nearly upon her that she must leave
before she revealed too much of what she truly felt.

However his
tone was light as he added, ‘Though I daresay one can never quite
escape one’s past, can one?’

‘I daresay one
can’t,’ Olivia said softly, as she matched her footsteps to his,
her pleasure in the moment gone.

The pine
needles were soft and slippery underfoot and once Olivia fell
against him. The sloping snow-dusted lawn, now in full sunlight,
lay just ahead of them.

Max turned and
again took Olivia by the shoulders, his expression pleading.
‘Please say you’ll stay for my very grand entertainment?’ Longing
gripped her, despite her foreboding. For the first time in months
she’d had thoughts other than Julian. She’d fallen asleep in this
man’s arms, revelling in the warmth of his embrace as much as the
happy knowledge that her son lay sleeping nearby.

And now, once
again, she’d surrendered to her instincts rather than reason and
allowed her weak, fallible body to enjoy the pleasure of the moment
with no thought for the consequences.

When would she
learn?

But what could
she say? When he was looking at her in a way that made her heart
feel near to bursting with happiness and she wanted to hurl herself
into his arms and beg him to kiss her again?

She gave a
half smile and nodded, expecting to receive one of his open, easy
smiles. It was a cruel burden to know that she would soon
disappoint him.

Instead of the
boyish laugh she’d expected, his expression was grave.

‘Good.’ He
took a deep breath. His eyes glowed and, as she waited for his next
words, she felt the warmth of his admiration, ignoring the
knowledge, buried for now, that happiness was, as ever, out of
reach. For how could she not want to hear the words that conveyed
how she had altered his world in just a few short hours when it
merely echoed what was in her own heart?

‘I believe
you’ve bewitched me, Olivia.’

She was
silent. She had no response. Tying the ribbons beneath her chin
more securely, touching the key that hung round her neck – Lucien’s
key; the key which had driven him mad in its failure to yield him
what he wanted – she continued towards the house.

‘Olivia?’ His
voice was full of concern. He put his hand on her arm to detain
her. ‘What is it, Olivia? What have I said?’

‘It’s nothing,
a megrim,’ she managed faintly, pushing on. Not the truth. That
what he had said were the very words Lucien had used to accuse and
condemn her?

Of course he
would not have let her go and she would have been lying if she’d
pretended she wanted him to.

‘I’ve
frightened you,’ he said, coming to stand before her, not touching
her. ‘I’ve rushed headlong, following my heart, thinking only of
myself, without even the delicacy to enquire after your
bereavement, the true state of your feelings.’

‘You’ve done
nothing I haven’t welcomed,’ Olivia soothed, reaching up to touch
his cheek. ‘I lost my husband a little over a year ago and it was a
blessed relief.’ She wondered if he’d recoil; it would be easier if
he did.